Stuart, Elizabeth (8 page)

At
that, the young woman turned. She sauntered toward Jocelyn, sultry eyes
narrowed, full lips curved in a derisive half-smile. "D'ye still think
t'be giving us orders here? And you a Montagne? Well, there's those of us not
fancying to jump any longer at the word of a Montagne. I for one'll be waitin'
t'see what our new lord says first."

"If
I say move, you'd best do it and quickly!" Jocelyn replied. "Take
Margaret's place at the table. Now. Before I have that insolent tongue cut from
your mouth."

The
girl was still smiling, a superior, knowing smile. "I doubt our new lord
would be likin' that. He seemed to have quite a fancy for it a few hours ago.
But a lady like you..." Alys smiled again. "...I doubt you'd even
know what I mean."

Several
of the people nearby had stopped work to listen. A cold, impotent fury swept
Jocelyn, but she kept her face expressionless, her voice perfectly flat.
"Sluts have their place in the scheme of things, Alys, but even sluts have
to eat. I'd suggest you get busy or you might find yourself hungry come winter.
Take Margaret's place. No, on second thought, change with Felice."

She
turned and caught the other woman's surprised gaze. "Felice, you get up to
the keep and get some sleep. You've been out here all night, and I know your
back's been ailing. Alys won't have any trouble stripping and cleaning those
entrails. No doubt she's good with her hands, even in the dark. She might as
well use them to benefit us all for a change."

Laughter
swept the group. A few ribald comments were offered. It was obvious the
sentiment was weighted heavily in Jocelyn's favor. Alys hesitated uncertainly,
then took the knife Felice held out.

Jocelyn
began walking away, jumped when a deep voice sounded unexpectedly from the
shadows. "A masterful defense and flanking attack, madam. Your strategy
was inspired."

Jocelyn
turned. Robert de Langley stepped out of the darkness, his wide male grin like
a match set to oil. It was too much. "You'll find it easier to manage your
servants," she snapped, "if you restrain yourself from bestowing your
favors among their ranks and spend your coins with bought whores!"

De
Langley's smile didn't waver. "Let's see, last night you as much as
accused me of rape. Tonight you're berating me for bestowing my favors. Which
is it, madam? I should certainly like to know how
you
view the
matter."

Jocelyn
drew in a steadying breath. The conversation was insane and improper. "I
suppose only you and the girl know for sure, but I tell you this, sir. Alys is
a difficult enough creature to manage without your encouragement. She's one of
the kitchen servants, yet the bailiff here allowed her to shirk her work so
long as she—"

She
broke off, met the amusement in his eyes and finished coolly, "So long as
she pleased him. Obviously she expects to see old routines continued."

Robert
de Langley moved toward her. "I do assure you, madam, I'll have no
difficulty managing Alys. None at all. Nor will she find old routines
continued. I didn't interrupt just now, because you were handling the wench.
Let me know if she offers further insolence. I'll have that backside she's so
proud of laid bare and flayed with a lash. Perhaps I should anyway. If she's
given you trouble before—"

"No,
don't!" Jocelyn was taken aback by his callousness. "Would that
really be fair, sir? You've given the girl reason to think you favor her."

"I
gave her no reason to think that whatsoever. I took the very talented Alys for
one of those bought whores you seem to know something about." De Langley
smiled again, a knowing smile, a smile that made Jocelyn's insides shift and
tighten, that made something hot and uncomfortable uncurl in the pit of her
stomach.

"And
not that it's any of your business, madam, but since you do seem so interested,
I assure you Alys received good coin of the realm for her services. I favor no
woman."

Jocelyn
was far from cowed. In fact she was furious, although she didn't know why.
"And does your wife consider that a curse, sir, or a blessing?"

At
her words something changed in his eyes, in the hard line of his mouth, the set
and tension of his face. And in a heartbeat Jocelyn was reminded of why she had
feared so last night.

"My
wife is dead, madam."

Jocelyn
swallowed hard. "I... I..."

But
Robert de Langley had already turned away.

Jocelyn
watched Robert de Langley stride away through the crowd. Never had she so
regretted her sharp tongue as she did at this moment. Not even when it had
brought down a beating upon her head. The great Lion of Normandy was obviously
vulnerable, and in a way she would never have expected. He must have loved his
wife a very great deal.

She
frowned and bit her lip. It was easy to see that he was a man who enjoyed
women. It was written in the sensual way he moved, the husky, intimate tone of
his voice, the frank, assessing perusal he gave all women, even one as
unprepossessing as herself.

It
was no small wonder a man like that had taken a woman like Alys to bed so
quickly. Quite apart from love, which seemed rare, or the very real need to
sire heirs, men had physical needs that needed to be met.

Jocelyn
had learned about men early from managing her own keep of Warford. After her
mother's death, she had been forever having to protect the maidservants, first
from the insufferable bailiff her father had sent and then, when she had
finally gotten rid of him, from the castle's men-at-arms.

It
had taken her a long while to make her people take her seriously. There had
been months of struggle, of insolent challenges and subtle undermining of her
authority, even physical abuse by some of the individuals her father had sent
to rule her.

But
Jocelyn had persevered and, despite her youth, she had won. She had managed her
manor and seen it running smoothly, had gained the respect of everyone who had
mattered. Everyone except her father.

In
the end, it was he who had won. After fourteen years of indifference, of exceedingly
rare and painful visits, he had remembered that he had another daughter, a
daughter who had grown to womanhood in the wild and dangerous Welsh border
country.

He
had appeared unexpectedly, bringing a castellan to rule Warford and taking
Jocelyn away to Montagne. And she had been as powerless to stop the
disintegration of her world as she had on that other day when all she loved was
destroyed, the day her mother had died.

How
fresh was Robert de Langley's loss? Jocelyn knew from experience that time
didn't wipe out the hurt. It had been nearly eight years and her mother's loss
still grieved her. Still, time did bring acceptance. It had to. Life went on.

But
from the powerful emotion she had seen on de Langley's face, she suspected the
new lord of Belavoir hadn't accepted anything as yet.

"My
lady, a fellow by the name of Wat said to tell you he's singeing down the last
of the carcasses. I'll send my men off to bed now unless you've need of
them."

Jocelyn
looked up. Sir Geoffrey was waiting expectantly. He was obviously the captain
of de Langley's knights. "No, I've no further need of them. We'll be done
in a couple of hours. At least for tonight."

He
nodded and turned away.

"Sir
Geoffrey."

He
glanced back.

"How
long has your lord's wife been dead?"

A
strange, shuttered look dropped over his face. "Why do you ask?"

Jocelyn
felt herself flush unexpectedly and was thankful for the darkness. "I
don't mean to pry. I just—" She took a deep breath. "I angered your
lord just now. I spoke of his wife. I was..." She searched for a word.
"...disrespectful. I didn't know the woman was dead. Despite the situation
here, I'd really no desire to tear old wounds. Would you tell him that for
me?"

Sir
Geoffrey stared hard at the ground. "I will. If the time is right." He
glanced up. "In point of fact, madam, the less said about the lady
Marguerite the better. She's been dead now three years," he added.

Three
years. And a reminder of her death had the power to make the man look as he had
just now. "I see," she said softly.

"You
might as well know, Lord Robert had a son as well. Adam. He was four years old.
A fine lad." The knight hesitated. "We buried him some months ago,
but my lord took it hard, madam. Very hard. I'd suggest you not mention that,
either."

"No.
I won't. He's lost a great deal, hasn't he?"

"Yes."
The word was curt. In the firelight, the knight's eyes narrowed and the planes
of his good-humored face shifted and became hard. "And there's not a man
among us that won't give his own life to see he doesn't lose aught else."

Jocelyn
smiled. It was rare in these times to see loyalty such as this. "You've no
need to look so fierce, sir. Despite my name, I assure you I'm no danger
whatsoever to your lord."

The
man returned her smile with a thoughtful look. "Forgive me then, lady. I
meant no disrespect."

Jocelyn
nodded. "Get your men to bed, sir. We'll be at this again in a few
hours."

When
Jocelyn finally crawled into bed herself she was so weary she ached in every
muscle and was chilled clear through to the bone. She snuggled beneath the
heavy covers, longing to lose herself in the oblivion of sleep.

But
like last night, she found herself lying awake. And like last night, she was
thinking of Robert de Langley.

***

The
following day passed in a blur of squealing hogs and dripping red meat. All but
a handful of Belavoir's swine would be slaughtered, for hogs required too much
of an estate's precious foodstuffs to be maintained once the acorns and
beechmast were gone from the woods.

Robert
de Langley donned his hauberk and had his gray destrier saddled and brought
around. He would be spending most of the day in the wood with a contingent of
men, Jocelyn heard. They had set up a line of sentries to keep watch for
Montagne.

By
late afternoon, Jocelyn was heartily sick of her work, but the swine were still
coming in. The men were confining them in makeshift pens. The poor creatures
couldn't be slaughtered nor the carcasses disposed of fast enough.

Suddenly
a shout rang out from a man on the wall. Soldiers ran and men crowded together
atop the gatehouse. Jocelyn could hear horses, a great many of them. Someone
was coming and coming fast.

The
drawbridge was lowered, the gates swung open. Robert de Langley and a band of
his knights galloped in.

"Montagne
is coming!"

The
news swept the crowd like a stable fire.

Jocelyn's
heart began to pound, her stomach clenched. She put down her knife, then went
to a basin to wash her hands. The very people she had been laughing and working
alongside a few moments before now stared oddly at her.

Sir
Geoffrey went hurrying to Robert de Langley. "There's still a group out
looking for swine."

"Devil
take it, they were told to return by mid-afternoon! Who is it?"

"None
of our men. Just several of the boys off on their own. The Carrick lad's among
them."

Robert
de Langley went very still. From her place in the crowd nearby, Jocelyn watched
curiously.

"Lower
the drawbridge," de Langley ordered. "Keep the gates open until I
say. They may make it yet."

Geoffrey
nodded and turned away to give orders.

De
Langley took the stairs up to the battlements two at a time. "Get the
archers up on the walls," he called over one shoulder. "Keep the
horses here. We may need them."

The
bailey was thrown into instant confusion as men caught up their weapons and
scrambled into position. Sensing the tension, the horses snorted and stamped,
eager for battle.

Jocelyn
turned to the milling servants and began giving orders of her own. "Aenor,
Glennis, Felice, get this meat up to the kitchen! Will and Edwyr, you help
them. The rest of you women, gather up all the knives, pails, anything you can
carry and get back into the keep. And get these fires out!" She glanced
around. "Felice, find Maude. Tell her I said to fetch her medicines and
bandage cloth and to pour up fresh water. We may need it."

The
woman nodded. "Will there be fightin' then, my lady?"

Jocelyn
hesitated. "I pray not."

"I'll
be prayin', too." The woman paused, sent Jocelyn a quick, shy smile,
"For all of us, lady."

"Thank
you. My prayers will be for us all as well."

Jocelyn
turned and glanced up to the castle ramparts to the lone figure of Robert de
Langley silhouetted against the sky. She wondered now what he would do,
wondered if even he knew. Then she turned, making her way toward the battlement
stairs.

"My
lady, I don't think—"

Jocelyn
didn't pause. "You were ordered to watch me," she said, interrupting
the young soldier who had dogged her steps all day. "You can do that just
as well from up here."

"But,
lady..."

At
the top of the stairs the cold wind gusted over the wall, tugging at her cloak,
making her face tingle. She made straight for Robert de Langley.

"Who
told you to come up here?" he demanded without turning around.

"No
one told me I couldn't," Jocelyn countered. She leaned against the wall
beside him and squinted into the wind. She was so close she could feel the
warmth of his body. She suspected he could feel hers as well. "That bit of
haze off there to the right. Is that them?"

"You've
good eyes, madam. That is indeed them. But you'd best go back down now. My man
will see you to your chamber. I'll send for you if need be."

"I'd
rather stay here."

His
head snapped up. His eyes narrowed. "I send you away for your own sake,
madam. You might see that which will be distressing."

"I'd
much rather know what's happening, even if it is distressing. I believe you and
I are alike in that respect, my lord. Please," she added, "don't send
me back to wait without knowing. Think what you would want."

His
eyes moved over her thoughtfully. "Very well, you may stay if you wish, but
don't say I didn't warn you." He glanced at his man. "If even one
arrow comes over that wall, Gerard, get the lady downstairs and back
inside."

"Aye,
my lord."

"I
don't suppose dead hostages are of much use," Jocelyn mused. She held his
eyes. "I'll not overset your plans by getting killed, my lord. I've
annoyed you enough without that, I suspect."

"I
appreciate your thoughtfulness," he muttered dryly. "I do prefer you
alive. For any number of reasons."

He
turned back then, resuming his vigil to the east. The cloud had grown much
larger. "Your father rides fast."

Jocelyn
squinted into the wind. "So would you."

A
shout came from the near wall. "It's the lads! Three boys and a half-dozen
swine. They've just broken out of the trees to the west."

Jocelyn
glanced up. De Langley was staring fixedly at the oncoming force, his mouth a
grim line. Individual horses and riders were becoming distinguishable.

"The
worst possible timing," he muttered. "They'll never make it in."

"Who
are they?" Jocelyn asked.

"Three
boys. Just three boys who will never be men."

They
stood watching for several more seconds. De Langley's hands gripped the wall
crenel, went white at the knuckles. Then he whirled. "Mount up!" he
shouted down into the bailey, and then raced for the stairs. "Mount up.
We're going out!"

Robert
plunged down the stairs, ignoring the two steps at the bottom entirely. He felt
his feet connect with the hard-packed earth of the bailey, and he began to run.
His knights were swinging onto their horses. His own destrier was sidling and
backing, ears flattened in excitement, teeth bared and snapping at the
unfortunate man at his head.

Robert
caught up the reins. "Belisaire, hold," he ordered firmly, the sound
of his voice steadying the excited stallion. He swung into the saddle, shifted
his mailed hood over his head, then grabbed his steel helm from the man who had
rushed to help him.

"Geoffrey,
hold the keep. Leave the gates open unless you see Montagne overpower us. Use
the archers and the rest of the men as you decide. Le Bent... de Brie, make for
those boys. Get them in if you can under the cover we'll provide."

Robert
positioned his helm, drew it down over his head and secured it. "The rest
of you follow me. Montagne's men are worn from a forced march. They'll be
confused, not knowing who we are. We should be able to drive them back with a
few hard passes, then make the keep under the covering fire of our
archers."

He
swung Belisaire toward the gate. The stallion arched his thick neck, fighting
the bit in his eagerness. Robert drew in his breath. Despite this dangerous
shift in plans, he was almost as eager as his mount. The time had come. He was
fighting Montagne at last. This was why he'd come home.

"Let's
show Montagne how men fight!" he shouted. "Our cause is just. God be
with us!"

"For
God and for us!"
his men shouted back.

Easing
up on the reins, Robert set Belisaire toward the gate. The stallion responded
with an explosion of powerful muscles that had them flying over the drawbridge
and down the long hill in seconds.