Stuart, Elizabeth (7 page)

Along
with the knights and men-at-arms, there would be serfs killed, the young
swineherds, and even the innocent women and children who got in the way. But
then there always were when great lords fought.

Jocelyn
hesitated at the door, then swung around. She couldn't let this continue, not
when she could stop it. "You must bring in your men, sir, and the
servants."

He
looked at her as if she had grown two heads.

"I
have a confession," she said. "A company of knights is on the way
from Montagne, and I doubt these men will be so easy to overcome as the ones
you found here last night."

For
a moment surprise held him speechless. "A strange confession coming from
the lady Jocelyn Montagne," he murmured.

"I've
noticed men aren't terribly discriminating when they fight. You've sent
children out there. They'll be murdered. And all to no cause. When the dust
settles and the killing is done, you will still hold Belavoir and my father's
men will still be outside. And neither you nor they will ever be brought to see
the incredible stupidity of it all."

His
finely contoured mouth turned upward. He wasn't angered by her words or even
worried. In fact, he seemed to be fighting a smile. "Tell me, madam. Do
you ever speak to your lord father in this manner?"

"Sometimes,"
she said.

"And
here I was fighting for my very existence across the sea and imagining
Montagne's life here at Belavoir to be pure bliss. What a pleasure to find I
was wrong."

Jocelyn
met his amusement with an icy dignity. "Laugh if you will, sir. We must
still send word to bring the people in. Sir Roger Carswell may not be a legend,
but he is a good fighting man and no fool, I assure you."

"But
not very discriminating," he put in. "I shall remember that if ever I
chance to face him across a sword."

Jocelyn
felt a prickling chill race over her. Robert de Langley wasn't concerned. There
could only be one reason why.

He
didn't need to be.

"They're
not coming," she said. "The messenger my father sent off never got
through. No one is coming from Montagne... are they?"

De
Langley moved toward her until only inches separated them. His very size was
intimidating, and he used it to good advantage. "When you come to know me,
madam, you will discover I leave very little to chance. But I do appreciate the
warning."

He
was so close she had to lift her chin to look up at him. "I didn't do it
for you," she snapped. "Both you and my father may go to the
devil—together or separately—in whatever barbaric fashion you choose."

De
Langley reached out and caught her hair, drawing it over her shoulder.
"How is it a Montagne worries about children and serfs?"

Jocelyn
had never met a man so unpredictable, so powerfully and overwhelmingly male.
The feel of his hand was unnerving. Her heart began to hammer, her breathing
accelerated. She tried to pull away, but got only pain for her trouble. His
hold on her hair had tightened.

"Contrary
to your belief, sir, the person isn't made by the name," she managed to
get out. "Besides, I told you. The death of any of God's creatures
distresses me."

"But
some more than others."

His
voice was soft, but something in the tone sent a thrumming awareness of danger
shivering through her. She could claim that she wasn't afraid, but when Robert
de Langley stood this close, when he tangled his hand in her hair and stared at
her like this, all her claims were like smoke on the wind.

"I
apologize in advance then, madam. Before all this is over I expect I shall have
distressed you a very great deal."

Jocelyn
swallowed hard. There was something dark and uncivilized burning in de
Langley's eyes, and it was growing more difficult by the second to hold his
gaze.

With
a sudden frown he released her hair and stalked away. "Gerard!" he
shouted, throwing open the door. Then he turned back. "You'd best go now,
madam."

With
a quick breath of relief, Jocelyn slipped past him and out into the passageway
where a young soldier was waiting.

"Gerard,
escort this lady to her chamber. See that food and wine are sent up for our
Montagne guests. I fear this one's taken the notion that we're barbarians. And
of course, we can't have that." He gave her a curt nod. "Until we
meet again."

Jocelyn
started to move away, then glanced back at him over her shoulder. The man was
compelling, frightening, yet oddly fascinating at the same time. She was
relieved to be leaving. She had gotten off lightly, she knew. Yet somewhere in
that complex mix of fear and relief an unexpected emotion stirred.

Strangely
enough, it was anticipation.

***

Robert
stared at the girl, unwilling, perhaps unable, to drag his eyes away. He had
never seen eyes the color of Jocelyn Montagne's. In fact, he still wasn't even
certain what color they were. Green, he'd decided when she opened them in that
shadowy bedchamber just after dawn, but then they'd lightened to a shade almost
yellow in the wan autumn sunlight outside.

Now
he caught himself staring again, mesmerized. Tan, an odd green-gray tan.
Changeable. Reflective. Like clear spring water over mossy stones. And so
damnably bewitching he'd almost forgotten himself just now, had almost laid
hands on her. It was an impulse he was finding increasingly difficult to
control.

He
turned away, deliberately trying to block out the memory of the way the young
Montagne woman had stared at him, the way her hair had felt against the sensitive
flesh of his wrist.

Like
her eyes, that incredible hair was deceptive. It wasn't black like he'd thought
last night, but a deep, rich brown so dark it seemed black until the sunlight
sparked its russet sheen.

Deceptive.
Like the daughters of Eve everywhere.

With
a soft groan, he closed his eyes, willing his mind to return to the business of
the afternoon. But the only business he seemed able to envision had nothing
whatever to do with provisioning Belavoir, or what a supposedly civilized man
did with a female hostage of good family.

He'd
learned years ago not to trust women, nor even to like them. He'd learned it
from the devil's handmaid herself, that bitch Marguerite. But he'd also learned
that, contrary to what he'd believed as a youth, he didn't have to like women
to enjoy what they were made for. Quite the contrary, as a matter of fact. And
he'd learned to enjoy what they were made for a great deal indeed.

He
shifted uncomfortably, struggling to get his mind back to business. But he was
hot and hard and he wanted a woman, a wanting he couldn't seem to will away
this time. He had a passionate nature, and it had been a long time since he'd
had the chance to indulge it. The planning, the hiding, the fighting had to
come first. Now those weeks of living like a monk were rising to haunt him.
Literally.

With
a sound that was half-laugh, half-groan, Robert gave up the struggle.
Discipline had been lax about Belavoir. There were numerous women here who had
serviced the garrison. Several had even solicited his men openly last night. He
would find one now, ease himself so he could get back to work. It didn't matter
who the woman was so long as she was young and clean and expected nothing more
of him than a coin.

So
long as she was slightly built and had dark hair that felt like warm, heavy
silk in his hands. So long as she had slanted green-gold eyes that gazed back
at him as if all of heaven and hell resided there.

He
grinned and threw open the door, moving purposefully down the corridor. What
would the Montagne woman do if he suddenly appeared in her chamber and
explained what he had
really
wanted from her today?

A
chuckle escaped him. From what he'd seen of her so far, he expected she would
do a very great deal indeed.

The
late
autumn dusk came early with a creeping chill that settled into the room.
Jocelyn frowned and poked up the fire. The afternoon had been incredibly
tedious. She had slept for a time, but then the hours had dragged. She had
started some mending, but there was really little to do, and she sensed that
Hawise needed occupation even more than she did.

She
glanced at the young maidservant, now industriously plying her needle. Her blue
eyes were watery, her plump, round face still blotchy from a recent bout of
weeping.

Adelise
had lit candles half an hour ago and was obviously trying hard to forget her
anxiety and focus her mind on her weaving. Still she jumped like a startled doe
with every sound from outside.

Biting
her lip impatiently, Jocelyn paced across the floor. God give her the grace to
endure confinement with these two. As much as she did love her sister, a whole
afternoon of reassuring Adelise, of pretending to be calm for her sake, was
beginning to tell on her nerves.

She
thought now with a kind of guilty longing of the excitement Robert de Langley
had spawned wherever they had gone this morning, of the frenetic activity that
must now be taking place. Slaughtering season was one of the busiest times on
any estate, and one of the most crucial to the welfare of all.

It
would be even more crucial to de Langley and his men, for while grains, peas,
and beans would form the staple of everyone's diet, the addition of meat
occasionally kept the strength and spirits up. For a castle under long siege a
goodly quantity of food of any kind, but meat especially, could be a deciding
factor in the eventual victory or defeat.

She
thought of the others as well, of all the men, women, and children Belavoir
supported. No doubt many would die, either by the sword or the slow stalk of
hunger before this battle of wills between her father and Robert de Langley
came to an end.

"Jocelyn!
Jocelyn, what should we do?"

Jocelyn
glanced at Adelise, became aware of a soft knocking on the outer door.
"Why, open it of course! Do you want them to hack it to pieces again?"

When
Adelise still did nothing, Jocelyn crossed the floor and swung the door open. A
man was standing there. One she'd not seen before.

"My
lady," he said with a bow. "I am Sir Geoffrey Talmont. Lord Robert
bade me beg your attendance below. He has some questions to put to you."

The
man was tall and darkly handsome, his voice cultured and deferential. His eyes
were open and honest with an easy humor hinted by the crinkle of laugh lines at
the corners.

She
thought of Robert de Langley, of his arrogant stance, his bold lion's eyes.
"I fear you lie, sir," she murmured. "I doubt your lord has ever
begged for anything in his life. Most certainly not my company."

The
man's face lit with amusement. "Let us say, then, that he wishes to speak
with you."

Jocelyn
nodded. "That I will believe."

She
started through the door, but the man stopped her. "You'll need your
cloak, lady. We'll be going outdoors, and the wind this evening is chill."

"Very
well." Jocelyn moved across the floor and retrieved her cloak. When she
turned back the man had entered the room. He was staring at Adelise with the
stunned expression Jocelyn had learned to expect from any man beholding her
sister for the first time.

"I'm
ready, Sir Geoffrey."

He
glanced up, recovering himself more quickly than most. "Certainly, my
lady." He glanced once more at Adelise who was regarding him as if he were
some netherworld devil, then turned politely back to Jocelyn. "While I'm here,
is there anything I might fetch for you or your sister? Do you need more fuel
for the fire, extra blankets, anything more to eat or drink? Let me know and
I'll see to it personally."

Jocelyn
smiled. Adelise's fragile blond beauty might stir lust in most men, but it
also, paradoxically, awoke a desire to protect her. "Thank you, sir, but
no," she said. "I believe we are perfectly comfortable at
present."

They
moved through the narrow, chilly corridors of the castle. Torches burned,
turning the pale stone a soft gold, throwing wavering shadows across the walls.
To Jocelyn's surprise, save for a guard or two, Belavoir seemed deserted.

They
hurried down a steep back stair near the barracks. Sir Geoffrey put his hand to
the iron ring and dragged the postern door open. The noise and stench hit
Jocelyn like a blow.

She
gazed out over the bailey. In the gathering darkness, people were swarming
around great bonfires, shouting and hurrying back and forth from the kitchens,
dragging pots and utensils of all kinds. Over it all the sound of pigs grunting
and squealing and the acrid smell of scorching flesh and singed hair carried to
her on the chill evening air.

"I
see they found the swine," she said. Then she stepped forward into the
chaos.

They
moved through the confusion. A large sow had just been slain. The butcher was
laying aside the needle-sharp sticking piece. Blood was running everywhere.

Jocelyn
lifted her skirts and kept walking. "Glennis!" she called sharply.
"What are you about, girl? Bring your pail and catch that blood. You're
letting it all go to waste. Margaret, Aenor, Felice, run to the kitchens and
get some barley and oats on to boil. Edwyr, you help them. Hurry now! How can
you think to have black puddings if you idle your time now?"

"You've
arrived in good time, madam."

Jocelyn
turned. Robert de Langley had materialized out of the darkness.

Sir
Geoffrey chuckled. "I'd thought battles confusing, but this is beyond me,
I confess."

"Not
something a knight has much training for," de Langley agreed. He moved
closer to Jocelyn. "I've set several men to removing the hooves and
singeing four carcasses. I remember the essentials of what needs to be done
from my boyhood, but I've no idea who best should do them. Without a bailiff to
assign tasks, we're running in circles and losing precious time."

He
hesitated. It was the first time Jocelyn had seen the man even remotely unsure
of himself. It was obvious he didn't relish the uncertainty. "I thought
perhaps, knowing the people here, you might recommend someone to oversee this,
madam."

"Certainly."
Jocelyn glanced out over the milling crowd. "It is a bit overwhelming,
especially with darkness catching us. Still, I've done it oft enough at my own
keep of Warford, even here at Belavoir last November during the slaughtering
season. With the fires we should be able to manage well enough. I'll see to it
myself."

De
Langley's voice was cool. "There's no need for you to do it personally.
I'm aware that blood and killing distress you."

"Crying,
hungry children distress me far more. Whoever is left after you and my father
are done trying to kill each other, whomever these people belong to, they will
still need to eat. And I suspect there will be nothing even remotely edible
within miles. We'd best get whatever's to be gotten now."

There
was a moment of silence. The wind swept the man's heavy hair back, sent his
cloak billowing and snapping, creating flickering unearthly shadows on the
ground behind him. The squeals of penned up pigs, the crackling of the fires
seemed unusually loud.

"What
a very practical mind you have, madam. It must be the Welsh coming out."

She
threw back her head, exasperated. "That's the third time now you've
brought up my mixed blood. If you mean to insult me, I suggest you try
something less obvious. My Welsh blood is so oft trotted out, the sting is
gone. Besides, even in the Montagne household, I could never be brought to
consider it shameful. My own ignorance, I suppose."

To
her surprise, de Langley wasn't angry. "Insult you? No, madam. I did mean
it as a compliment. And you'll find I offer precious few of those. To women
especially."

She
studied de Langley suspiciously. She had found herself too often the butt of
jokes to so easily let down her guard.

A
smile curled one corner of his mouth. "Madam...?"

She
felt a smile tugging her own mouth as well. "Actually, my lord—" She
broke off, let the smile come at will. "Actually, I'd consider it a boon
to be out here with something to do. I've never learnt the skill of sitting and
holding my hands in idleness. I've no desire whatsoever to be shut up again in
that wretched room."

"In
other words, I'd be doing you a favor by allowing you to slave out here with us
through the night, up to your ankles in blood and hog entrails?"

Jocelyn
nodded eagerly. Beside her, Sir Geoffrey chuckled.

"Very
well then, madam. Strictly as a favor, I relinquish command of all this
magnificence to you."

Jocelyn
accepted with another nod. It was amazing under the circumstances, but she was
suddenly excited, enjoying matching wits with Robert de Langley. It was
something she'd never done before, never even thought of doing with the men of
her acquaintance. But with this man she found it easy, exhilarating. "Very
well, my lord. I'll return command of your castle in the morning."

"My
castle?"

The
mocking inflection wasn't lost on Jocelyn. "Certainly. Belavoir has always
been yours. Even when you were dead." She thought of that midnight scene
in Belavoir's chapel,
"Especially
when you were dead."

Sir
Geoffrey laughed outright. In the light of the bonfires, de Langley's golden
eyes glimmered with amusement. "Are you by any chance hinting, madam, that
the legend might exceed the man?"

Jocelyn
remembered his arrogance of the morning. "When you come to know me, my
lord, you will discover that I never hint."

"Now
why does that not surprise me?" he said, turning away.

With
a curious sense of satisfaction, Jocelyn began organizing the confusion around
her. Soon men were disembowelling and cutting up the singed carcasses while
women hauled the livers, kidneys, and sweetbreads off to the kitchens.

The
meat was portioned up and readied to be salted and smoked for huge hams and the
all-important bacon. The intestines were cleaned to make sausage skins, the
bladders readied to hold the abundant and necessary lard, the hooves scaled and
saved for gelatin. Even some of the long, stiff hair was saved for sewing the
leather the hides would provide.

And
through it all, Jocelyn was aware of Belavoir's lord, moving among his people,
lending a hand with a heavy carcass here, a boiling caldron there, snatching up
a child who was wandering too near one of the roaring bonfires.

His
men were helping as well, those who weren't standing guard duty. Even his
knights were taking Jocelyn's orders and doing all these unknightly tasks
without a murmur, tasks Jocelyn couldn't imagine her brother or any of his
wellborn companions doing.

She
hesitated beside one of the fires, holding her cold-numbed fingers out to the
flames. The work was proceeding smoothly, but there was still a great deal to
do, and more swine would be coming in the morning. She had already sent a group
of servants up to the hall for a few hours' sleep.

She
moved toward a pile of straw and sat down, taking her first rest in hours.
Oblivious to the noise and confusion, several children were sleeping wrapped
snugly in blankets, half-buried in the straw.

Jocelyn
smiled, her eyes wandering over the children, then lifting to seek out the
tall, powerful figure moving among the fires. Her fear of Robert de Langley had
eased. He wasn't a man to be trifled with, and his temper was near as legendary
as his fighting skills. Still, she had seen enough of him to think he would be
fair in his dealings with her and Adelise, to know he wasn't the type for
wanton cruelty.

"M'lady?"

Jocelyn
turned. One of the kitchen women was moving toward her. "M'lady, I've cut
my hand, I fear. Such a clumsy creature I be sometimes."

Jocelyn
rose to her feet, taking the woman's bleeding hand. "Nothing serious,
Margaret. Find Maude and tell her I said to dress this for you."

She
studied the woman's wrinkled, weary face. Margaret was a good worker but she
was getting on in years. "While you're there, lie down and get some sleep.
Someone will wake you when it's time to come back."

The
woman nodded. "Thank you, lady. I do be all-powerful weary."

As
the woman moved away, Jocelyn glanced around for someone to take her place. Her
eye fell on Alys, the tanner's daughter. The attractive young woman was
pretending to work, but it was obvious she was more interested in flirting with
a nearby knight.

"Alys,
we've need of you here," Jocelyn called.

The
young woman pretended not to hear.

"Alys...
over here!"

The
woman flashed her an impatient look, but didn't budge. The knight wisely moved
away.

"Alys,
now!" Jocelyn snapped.