The Bride Gift (26 page)

Ranulf twitched and stirred.

She could see the faint rise and fall of his chest.
Dear God
. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t take a life.

The sword dropped to her side and hung limp. Impotent fury lashed inside her. She couldn’t make the killing blow. The blade slid from her grasp to clatter onto the floor.

“I cannot.” Blood from the sword stained her hands and she wiped them against her bliaut. “I cannot.” Tears ran down her cheeks and over her chin. She had wanted this for so long and now, when her opportunity was before her, she had failed.

Their ally pushed himself to his knees. Helena gaped when he dragged himself over to the sword and gripped it.

“Lend me your strength, lady, and I will lend you my purpose.” His eyes bored into hers, willing her to aid him, but Helena backed away.

“I cannot.”

Rosalind hissed with frustration from behind her. “Do it,” she cried. “Or we will not live this day.” The baby gave a wail, harsh and discordant in the silent hut. “Do it for her.” Rosalind silenced the child against her breast. “And for Guy, because he surely would if he were here.”

Anger resurged through Helena as she gazed at the babe. In this place of death, new life struggled for the right to survive. Guy wouldn’t hesitate to make the hard choice.

Neither would she.

Stepping forward, she clasped her hands around the stranger’s and they raised the sword together.

Chapter 30

“Whist.” The man stopped suddenly. Their hands still joined on the pommel of the sword, they listened intently to the forest for sound.

Horses. Helena’s heart gave a hard leap. The thrum of hooves shook the ground. More men were coming.

“Now, lady,” the stranger panted. “We must act now, before it is too late.”

She wouldn’t be captured again. Ranulf would not put his hands on her again. If she were to die, then so be it, but he would die with her. With a surge of strength, Helena brought the sword down across the back of Ranulf’s neck.

The steel jarred against bone and then drove deeper with a sickening crunch. Helena wrenched her hands from the pommel. Gorge rose swiftly in her throat as she stumbled away from the body. There was so much blood. It spurted from his neck seemingly with a will of its own.

A shout from beyond the door. Helena leapt forward to grab the sword again, still stuck in Ranulf’s neck. She tugged it free, tearing it from the dead flesh, jarring the sword through the pommel. She gagged at the sound as she stumbled backward. Outside, the jingle of harness rang like clarion bells as more shouts broke the air. The stranger scrabbled across the floor. Feverishly he worked to free the dagger from Godfrey’s belt.

“
Helena?
” The cry rang harsh and raw through the clearing before the hut.

She trembled on her feet. It was nothing more than her imagination.

“Helena.” A figure towered in the doorway.

The sword weighed heavy in her hands and she dropped the tip to the floor. Her eyes turned to the figure sluggishly, her feeble brain unable to make sense of what she was seeing.

In two long strides, Guy was before her.

“
Jesu
.”

Her fingers still gripped the pommel of the sword. She should release it, but her hands refused to obey.

“Make sure they are dead.” Guy’s voice came from a distance. More men crowded into the hut behind him. “Helena?” Strong fingers gripped hers and worked the sword free from her grasp. The faint scent of sandalwood teased her nostrils. Rosalind cried behind her, soft sobs that shook through the air in the hut.

“Guy?” she whimpered.

“It is over, Helena.” His beloved voice.

Her knees buckled and he caught her, supporting her weight against his strong body. Warm hands covered her back, stroking and soothing her as he would a child. Her fingers clung to Guy’s hauberk, afraid he would disappear if she released her hold.

“Take me home, Guy,” Helena whispered into his chest.

His arms tightened about her and his lips touched her temple. “Aye, my lady.”

Ranulf’s body was dragged from the hut. Rage had churned in Guy’s belly to discover who lay dead on the stinking rushes. He’d been robbed of the right to kill the bastard.

As Guy prepared to leave, his wife held in his arms, Crispin stopped him. “Wait.”

He turned with a soft snarl. Helena wanted Lystanwold and, by God, he would see her returned to her home. He would make the king listen. He clasped her tighter.

A man stood beside Crispin, his face one that every man in Stephen’s army would know on sight. Guy had seen it across the battlefield more than once.

“I need to go south, with all haste.” The man’s eyes bored into Guy, daring him to state what they both knew. “Will you aid me?”

“How came you to be here?” Crispin asked quietly.

The man motioned to Ranulf’s body. “He thought to use me as a bargaining tool.”

“You make a powerful weapon,” Crispin observed.

“You have a choice, Guy of Lystanwold,” the man said. “Use me to gain favour with Stephen, or aid me to find my way back to my people.”

Helena stirred and opened her eyes. “He saved us.” Her gaze was haunted with shadows Guy ached to chase away.

There was no decision to be made. He had Helena with him now, thanks in part to this man. “Take one of the horses and two of my men to ride with you. They will see you safe and then you will do the same for them.”

“I swear it.” The stranger’s relief was palpable. “I pay my debts, Guy of Lystanwold. You and your lady will be remembered.”

The man touched his fingers to his lips and placed them on Helena’s hand. “Guard her well, Sir Guy. She is a lady to be treasured.”

Guy gathered Helena closer to him. The feel of her body in his arms almost brought him to his knees. She was safe. He had her. Moisture teased the corner of his eyes and he turned quickly, shouting orders. His men fell to with the loyalty he had come to expect of them.

The miles blurred in a frenzy of speed and urgency, Helena responding like a puppet to Guy’s gentle urging. Night gave way to daylight once more and still they rode hard. When they stopped, she rested, ate; did as he instructed. The babe grew fretful, but for the most part it slept. They stopped for Rosalind to nurse, but Guy pushed hard. Helena’s body ached, even as it obeyed her demands.

None of the party spoke much. They just pressed for home, every sinew and muscle straining to reach its walls and safety, at last.

The gloaming was closing in by the time the crenelated battlements of Lystanwold appeared before them. Men and horses were near to dropping.

“Almost there,” Guy whispered against her temple. Helena nodded listlessly.

The sound of the bridge beneath the horse’s hooves clattered through her skull. Guy drew the horse to a halt. He leapt to the ground and reached up for her. Helena dropped like a stone into his strong arms.

There were faces everywhere. People pressed closer to look at her. Helena sensed the silent weight of their eyes on her and fear clutched her chest. They must not see her like this.

“‘Tis our lady.”

“Sir Guy has our lady.”

“Stand aside.” Ewayne cleared a path through the gathered crowd. The faces moved back, giving her space, and Helena drew breath once more.

“The king?” Guy queried.

“This morning he received word that Henry’s army is moving in the south again. He is on his way to Wallingford. He took a goodly portion of your men with him.”

She sensed Guy’s nod of acknowledgement, but he didn’t stop. The dimness of the hallways closed about her. More faces appeared and disappeared from her vision as he strode forward.

There was a strange comfort in the numbness that seemed to have invaded her spirit. Her mind refused to dwell on the raw place deep within.

Guy reached the solar.

Willie was there and beside him, Geoffrey. A smile trembled on his lips and died. “My lady,” he murmured. “Are you hurt?”

“A bath,” Guy snapped at the boys. Willie flew into action.

“Geoffrey?” Something stirred within the dead place inside her.

“My lady.” His young face was creased with concern.

“You are recovered?”

“I am, my lady. We are prodigious glad to have you home.” He followed after Willie at a slower pace.

Guy laid her gently on the bed. He arranged the covers over her tattered dress.

“Sweet Mary, Mother of God, he found you.” Bridget’s voice sliced through the air. “I knew he would.”

“Bridget?” Guy shifted and Helena tightened her arms about him to keep him beside her.

“The worry you have caused me! I should box your ears.” Bridget touched her knee carefully. “Are you well, sweeting?”

Helena didn’t trust her voice and she nodded.

Bridget sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed. She compressed her lips tightly together as she struggled for composure. “I shall see to that bath.” She got hurriedly to her feet again.

The solar fell silent around them. Guy rose and stripped off his accoutrements of war. He struggled with his hauberk and Helena longed to go to him and help, but her limbs wouldn’t obey. He seemed suddenly too far away and fresh fear crowded into the corners of her mind.

“Guy?” The hard knot of emotion buried in her chest unravelled. She was safe. They were all safe and the tears would not be kept at bay any longer. “I must warn you,” she sobbed. “I believe I am going to cry.”

Guy crossed the room in two long strides. Scooping her up, he laid her tenderly across his lap. The tears refused to stop, flowing ceaselessly down her face. Guy tightened his hold.

People moved about the chamber, but she could do no more than cling to Guy. Here she was safe and more tears choked her throat. He held her until there were none left.

“Come, sweeting.” Guy lowered her to the floor. Her legs buckled beneath her and he steadied her with his arm.

She stood like an obedient child as he removed her bliaut. Her chainse was so ripped and torn, it was nothing more than a tattered remnant.

Guy hissed through his teeth as he took it from her.

They had brought in the bathing tub and Guy helped her settle within. The heat of the water surrounded her. Her tears had run dry and she sat and stared at the edge of the tub.

“Forgive me, Helena.” Guy choked out the words. His face was as set and stern as always, but his eyes blazed with emotion.

“Why are you sorry?” she whispered.

“I let that . . .” Guy’s jaw worked. “I let him take you.”

“Nay.” She could spare him this guilt. “It was Colin.” Her voice caught on the name. “He led me to where Ranulf was waiting. I should never have gone with him.”

Silently, Guy knelt beside her at the tub. There was a ritual thoroughness he followed as he dipped the washing cloths in the water and began to wet her body.

“Colin is dead,” he murmured gently.

Helena couldn’t rouse herself to care.

“We believe Ranulf killed him.” Guy palmed the soap as he spoke. “We found his body just on the far side of the clearing.” He worked lather over her dirt-stained skin slowly, all his concentration bent to his task.

“Why would he do that?” Helena asked. “Why did he have to kill Colin? Rosalind believes Colin loved him.”

Guy rubbed the cloth over her arms before he replied. “Ranulf cared for naught but himself. It is not a question of right or wrong, but more one of expedience.”

Helena shuddered and he paused a moment in his washing before he resumed his ministrations.

“You did not let him take me, Guy.”

He ran the warm cloth over her shoulder. “You were mine to protect and I failed you.”

“Colin betrayed me.” Just to say the words started a dull throb in her chest. “You could not have known that would happen.”

Guy bathed her chest and stomach, kneeling forward to work on the skin of her legs. His big, battle-scarred hands touched her as delicately as a maid. They seemed incongruous against the pale skin of her body.

“I see bruises. He hurt you.” Guy’s voice hitched as he turned her carefully and started to bathe her from behind. “He put his filthy hands on you and he hurt you. I would have killed him for that.”

“I killed him.” Helena could still feel the sensation of the sword hitting bone.

Guy made a strange noise, part sob and part laugh. “Aye.” He rose to his feet. “I wish his death were at my hands.” He spread his fingers wide. “I have waged war and taken life and now, when I would most like to use these killing hands, I am denied.” He met her gaze.

“You came for me,” Helena said. “You came for me as I knew you would.”

The grim line of his mouth softened. “I will always come for you, my lady.”

A tiny glow of warmth flickered to life within her.

The water cooled and Guy lifted her from the bath. Tenderly, he dried her wet limbs. “Will you eat?”

“Nay.” Helena limped toward the bed. “I would sleep first.” He pushed aside the bedclothes and made a place for her within.

As she waited, he stepped into the cooling water. He bathed quickly, dunking his head to clear away the last of the travel grime. He rose and dried himself, then approached the bed uncertainly as if not sure of his welcome. Helena lifted the covers and he slid beneath.

They lay in silence for a while. Then, Guy turned on his side, his eyes brimming with compassion and understanding. “I will be here and I will watch as you sleep.”

Helena finally allowed herself to rest.

Chapter 31

Guy guarded her sleep. Crispin had spoken to Rosalind about what had happened in that broken-down hut. Somehow, Helena had survived her encounter, helped to birth a child, saved a prince, and escaped. What a fine treasure Roger had offered him. He came to Lystanwold seeking the earldom and he had gained something infinitely more precious.

His bride. His gift.

She stirred in her sleep. Her brows drew together as if some spectre walked through her dreams. He soothed the furrow between her brows with his finger. She murmured softly and her breathing grew even once more.

He was content to lie and stare at her. The knowledge that she was safe and alive was painful in its sharpness. The fear he wouldn’t even admit to himself during his hellish pursuit rose and mocked him. It twisted through his gut, cutting deeper than any blade.