The Shattered Rose (12 page)

"There will be no milk if he strangles you!" He tried to seize her then, but Jehanne whipped out her knife, and her men in the hall drew their swords. Lowick’s
men drew too, but they were heavily outnumbered, and so they and their lord headed for the postern gate in the dead of night.

With men of her own to protect her, Jehanne accompanied than down to the small door in the walls. Aline went too, wanting to make sure the chief cause of their problems left.

At the door, Lowick tried one more time to persuade Jehanne to flee with him. Failing at that, he fell to his knee to kiss her hand. "God protect you, then. And I will go to the bishop and beg his aid. He will speak to the king for us. I will find a way to protect you, a way for us to be together."

Jehanne, unfortunately, said nothing.

Aline muttered, "Good riddance," and prayed Lowick would quickly find some other propertied lady to prey on.

That wasn't fair, though, she thought as they all hurried back into the keep. Raymond was genuinely devoted to Jehanne. Perhaps that explained why Jehanne seemed so weak with him.

And there was reason for Lowick to fear for the safety of Jehanne and Donata. Men were not kind to adulterous wives and bastard children, and that knowledge haunted Heywood through a long, sleepless night. Aline, helping to prepare to open the castle to its returning lord, prayed earnestly to Mary Magdalene, patron of sinful women.

Dawn was welcomed as an end of waiting, though no one felt confident of what the day would bring. Jehanne, still outwardly calm, spoke one last time to her officers, making sure they understood their orders, and then tidied herself and went to wait in the hall.

When Aline realized she meant to greet her husband bastard in arms, however, she finally protested. "Donata is the only innocent in this, Jehanne. You can't put her at risk! Give her to me."

"No." It came out breathily, and Aline realized then that her cousin was almost faint with fear. Which meant she was not thinking clearly.

"Be sensible, Jehanne. You can't expect a man to be careful at a moment like this."

She tried to take the child, but Jehanne held on. "I won't hide her. . . ."

"It's not a matter of hiding. Give her to me!"

But then Galeran was there, looming in the doorway, an ominously dark shape against the dawn sky. With a hiss of anxiety, Aline retreated a few steps, telling herself that Galeran had always been a rational, good-hearted creature.

For a man.

Aline had five brothers and few illusions about the male of the species.

Anyway, was this man the Galeran she knew? He looked a mess—ragged, gaunt, bearded, and filthy, with new scars on his face.

She almost wondered if it
was
him, until the dogs raced forward to welcome him home. He gave them their due, then looked up. As he walked toward Jehanne and the baby, Aline sucked in a fearful breath.

This man was not the Galeran she knew. . . .

It had not gone too badly, though, all in all, Aline reflected.

And yesterday he and Jehanne had spent time together at the bath. Then this morning Jehanne had been in the solar with him for quite a while, though she'd emerged stone-faced again.

Hardly surprising. Aline couldn't ignore the new darkness in Galeran's eyes and the sense, emanating from him like heat from a fire, of choked-off rage. She couldn't forget that blow.

Perhaps Jehanne was relieved to see him riding away for a few days.

She went forward to interrupt whatever thoughts held her cousin captive, and saw something else. "Tears?" Immediately, she regretted mentioning them. Jehanne hated to be seen crying. "Donata's hungry."

Jehanne wiped her eyes, then turned. "I'm sorry. I lost track of time." Calm again, she led the way down the steps to the bailey.

Aline hurried after, wishing Jehanne
would
cry in public, and often. It would soften the men up in no time. "What's going to happen now?" she demanded.

"I don’t know."

"Didn't you ask Galeran?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Jehanne stopped and looked back at her. "Because he probably doesn't know."

Aline rolled her eyes. "You could have
asked
him. You were together this morning."

"We hardly spoke."

"But you were in there for ages! Oh!"

"Quite."

Aline could feel relief like a warm poultice to her heart. "Is everything all right, then?"

But Jehanne sighed. "No, Aline. Sex doesn't mend problems like this."

"What does, then?"

"I don't know." And Jehanne turned again to make her way across the bailey.

"You can't just put it out of your mind. You have to be prepared. What will Raymond do now?"

Jehanne stopped dead. "Raymond?"

"You remember Raymond," Aline said caustically. "The tall, blond one? He won't give up. He's probably doing as he said and trying to get the king's interest in his case."

"I suppose he is," said Jehanne, but her frown was thoughtful. "What gain to the king, though, in supporting Lowick against Galeran's family? And a returning crusader at that. They are the closest thing we have to living saints."

"So he'll have to give up?"

Jehanne turned pale. "So he might think of correcting fortune's move." She lifted her skirts and ran up the stairs to the hall, Aline pounding after.

"What?" she gasped as Jehanne shouted for her scribe. But then she heard the hasty note her cousin was dictating—a warning to Galeran to beware of sneak murderers in the woods.

"He'd try to
kill
him?" Aline asked as the scribe hurried off to give the letter to a fast rider.

"Why not? Why not?" demanded Jehanne, pacing the hall in a swish of skirts. "With Galeran dead, Raymond would once again be in an ideal situation to claim me." She suddenly stopped, hands gripped together. "Oh, if only I could ride with that note myself!"

"To protect him? Jehanne, he can look after himself, especially now that you've warned him. And he has that Raoul de Jouray alongside as well. All that brawn must be of some use."

Jehanne calmed and even laughed. "True. And I am resolved to have done with my fierce ways. Look what they have brought us to. I am going to put my trust in God."

Aline hugged her. "Then there is hope. And Donata is waiting, as you can hear."

Aline accompanied her cousin to the crying babe, sending up her own most earnest prayers for Galeran's safety.

* * * * *

Galeran was surprised by the note. He could read no particular affection in the terse words, but surely they must mean that Jehanne preferred him to Raymond.

Unless she simply feared to be judged an accessory to murder.

With a grimace at his thoughts, he pulled up his coif and rode on, keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding countryside.

They slept that night at a monastery, one that prospered under the protection and endowments of Heywood. In fact, many of its riches came from Jehanne's petitions for a child.

The Lord gives to his people, but He also demands sacrifices in season . . .

Was that a part of the answer? Had his disgust and lack of faith at the taking of Jerusalem angered the generous God, and caused Him to take back his gift? Galeran was not accustomed to thinking of God as petulant, but he wasn't used to thinking of him as cruelly unjust, either.

As he and Raoul sat in the guest parlor finishing a fine meal, Galeran said, "You're being remarkably tactful. No questions? No advice?"

"Do you want advice?"

"Yes."

"But will you take it?"

Galeran grinned and mopped up a delicious gravy. "Probably not."

"Then it may be harmless to give it. Put her aside. She's a sorceress."

Galeran stared at him. "A
sorceress? "

"Scoff if you want. No one who's under a spell knows it. It's clear the people in the castle think she uses magic."

"The people in the castle think she's strange because she doesn't always act like other women. She does not use magic."

"Then how did she get into your bed today?"

Galeran burst out laughing. "You can ask that? I was like a stallion with a mare in season. She had only to touch me."

Raoul leaned forward, jabbing a finger to emphasize his point. "That's because she persuaded you to that vow of fidelity. I always said it was unnatural."

"I persuaded myself to it, Raoul. It seemed right, considering what we were asking of God. And," Galeran admitted, "I've never wanted or taken another woman."

Raoul’s mouth slackened with shock. "There. You see! Bewitched."

"Raoul,
you
might see that as a sign of bewitchment, but it's only a sign of devotion. If ever a woman conquers your wandering affections, you'll probably feel the same way. I met and loved Jehanne before I had much interest in wandering. And she is a special woman." He saw Raoul gather breath to speak. "But
not
a sorceress. She's the most down-to-earth woman I know. Which reminds me. Don't embarrass Aline."

Raoul's brows rose. "Your wife's bantam cousin? What have I done to her?"

"Asked her to bathe you."

"Why not?" Then Raoul flashed Galeran a wary glance. "I didn't
ask
your wife to attend to me, however. I suggested she send one of the other women."

"That would hardly show proper respect to a guest."

"The situation would never have arisen if the little cousin had attended to it. Why didn't she?"

Galeran poured the last of the wine into their goblets. "Aline's always been very modest around men, despite being the only girl in a family of boys. A few years back she went to live at St. Radegund's convent, thinking to take vows there. She left only because Jehanne needed companionship whilst I was away."

"Then if men make her nervous, it's time she returned to the cloister."

Galeran smiled wryly. "She's doubtless staying on guard. She's a fierce creature for one so small. But once she's sure I won't hurt Jehanne or the babe, she'll doubtless take the veil."

Raoul sipped the last of his wine. "It seems rather a waste."

"Why? She's an ideal nun—clever, practical, and with : no interest in men."

"I can't quite envision it. But I suppose since nuns are supposed to be brides of Christ, He should get some of the pretty, lively ones."

Galeran almost choked on his wine. "One day, a thunderbolt will come down from the sky to turn you into a cinder." But then he considered his friend. "So," he added thoughtfully, "you find her pretty and lively, do you?"

"Oh, no!" Raoul raised his hands. "Keep your mind on your own affairs. Pretty and lively doesn't mean I want to become entangled with her."

"But—"

"But what
are
you going to do about your wife? Do you think you can just say, 'There, there, we'll forget all about it'?"

"That’s turning the conversation with a heavy hand... ." Galeran took a moment to wipe his knife clean, first on the remains of the bread, then on the linen cloth. "No, I don't suppose I can brush it aside when she has her brat at the breast."

He regretted the word
brat
as soon as it was out. None of this was the child's fault—Donata's fault. He must think of her as Donata.
Donata
should not suffer for her mother's sin.

"Ah, well." Raoul looked at him far too shrewdly. "Perhaps you'll see your way in time."

By silent agreement they went off to their beds.

Once there, however, Galeran couldn't help but think of Jehanne. Their loving that morning had eased him, yet could not touch a deeper hunger—the hunger to be with her in harmony as in the past, playing with each other as musicians play with instruments, drawing tunes both new and old simply for the joy of it.

After a sleepless hour, he left the bed and went into the chapel to kneel before the altar and pray.

First he rubbed away the stain of doubt that had crept into his mind. God did not snatch back gifts just because humans were frail. Galeran knew he had done his best in the Holy Land, that he had played his part in all the battles. As for his revulsion at the extent of the slaughter in the streets of Jerusalem, his sudden conviction that a true God would not call for this . . . Well, it had either been a valid insight or a weakness of faith, and God would redress the first or forgive the second.

He would not kill a child in revenge.

Galeran continued to pray, and peace settled on his soul.

Jerusalem and Jehanne had both shaken his faith in religion, but they had not touched his belief in divine goodness. In fact, the Holy Land had brought him a deeper, richer vision of God.

There, for the first time, he had truly believed that Jesus of Nazareth had existed—not the glorious lord of the manuscript pictures, but a man, like other men. As a child He had played with friends in the dust of Bethlehem as Galeran had played at Brome. As a youth He had set out to take up His place in the world. As a man He had died in Jerusalem as Galeran had nearly died.

The Christ had built and mended things, laughed and cried, loved and been betrayed by his closest friend. He had suffered temptation and doubt both in the desert and in the Garden of Gethsemane. Though He had never fathered a child, Christ had grieved for Lazarus in the grave. He, if anyone, could understand Galeran's pain, and light a path through the dark.

* * * * *

The next day they went on their way, still wary. The expedition proved peaceful, however. Day after day the sun blazed from a clear blue sky, but God granted His children the boon of puffy white clouds and breezes to relieve the heat. Even Raoul began to think more kindly of the English climate.

Everywhere, insects, animals, and people labored against harsher times, and the workers in the fields both blessed and cursed the life-giving sun. On the moors the sheep were glad to be free of their heavy fleece. In the valleys the peasants rejoiced as the first hay was formed into stacks. Cattle grazed stoically on thick grass whilst back in cottages and manors their rich milk became butter and cheese. Little armies of geese, chickens, and ducklings swarmed from spot to spot under the command of children, fattening for the autumn slaughter.