The Shattered Rose (7 page)

"Fall," he said quietly, and timing it to coincide with his father’s entrance, he hit his wife.

It was no playful tap, but Jehanne could have stayed on her feet. For a moment instinct kept her there, bringing a flash of outrage into her eyes, but men she crumpled, hand to reddened cheek.

Her dogs leaped to defend her, but Galeran grabbed her arm anyway. He was mailed. The dogs could do their worst.

Perhaps that's why she snapped, "Sit!"

Galeran began to haul her up, but was stopped from further violence by Lord William's iron grip. "Hey, now, lad, we don't want you killing her, for all she's done."

He broke Galeran's hold on Jehanne and thrust him into the restraining custody of Will and Gilbert. Then he went forward to raise his erring daughter-in-law, berating her, but assuring her that she'd be safe in his protection.

Gilbert growled, "You should have beaten her before Father arrived. You know how soft-hearted he is about women!"

Will said, "For once I agree with Gil. Now that heis promised her his protection, he'll not let you touch her."

"You can get a Church court to impose a penance," mused Gilbert. "Father can't interfere with that. Or when you send her to a convent, order her a daily whipping for a year. . . ."

Galeran let it wash over him. He'd planned on being stopped by his father, knowing the best way to melt his father's anger and get Lord William on Jehanne's side was to hit her. What sickened him was that he'd found it satisfying to hit her; his move to follow, to grab her and hit her harder, had not been acting.

He sent up a fervent prayer for strength and control.

He shrugged out of his brothers' loosening hold and went over to where his father was scolding Jehanne as if she'd just spent too much at the midsummer fair. He made peace with her confused hounds, then said, "Enough of that, Father. I want to talk to my wife in private. I promise not to hit her again. Today at least."

At his tone her dogs weaved between them, as if trying to separate them. Jehanne reassured them and sent them to the far side of the hall, away from their dilemma.

Lord William seemed just as concerned as the dogs, as if he, too, would like to get between them, but he stepped back. "Away with you, then."

Galeran seized Jehanne's. arm and steered her toward the solar. He knew his grip was too tight, but his fury seemed to have traveled to his hand and he couldn't control it. The last time he remembered being so unable to control himself was on his wedding night.

It was like his wedding night in other ways too. Pent-up desire simmered in him, threatening to overwhelm at any moment. He was again like a dead tree ready to burst into flame at a spark.

He had every right, too. Every right to throw Jehanne down and enjoy her body. Every right. Even if he were about to cast her off.

He dragged her into the solar, kicked the door shut, and released her with a violence that staggered her. He saw that her face was red and would bruise. Despite his promise to his father, she looked as if she expected more of the same.

He turned abruptly to put the width of the room between them, to rest his head on his arms against the hanging that covered the rough stone wall. "I'm sorry. I seem to be violent today."

"I don't think you need reproach yourself for that." She spoke softly, but every word was clear.

"Such violence serves no purpose."

"That blow did."

He pushed away and turned, leaning against the wall, arms folded. "I wanted to hit you, Jehanne."

"If our situations were reversed, I'd want to
Mil
you."

He looked at her, testing the implications of her words. "Would you indeed?"

Now it was she who turned away, moving to fuss with the hangings around the bed. Their bed. Where she and Lowick had . . . ?

"No," she said. "I wouldn't want you dead. But I'd want you punished. I'd find a way to make you suffer." She turned stiffly. "What punishment, Galeran? Don't play with me."

"What would hurt you most? Beating? No." He
was
playing with her and wasn't proud of it, but didn't seem able to stop. "To take the babes away, I suppose . . ."

She stared, turning sheet-white. "Galeran!"

Ashamed, he pushed away from the wall to go to her. "Don't, Jehanne. I didn't mean it—"

"Didn't they tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

She whirled and raced into the hall. Without a pause she picked up a pitcher of ale and hurled it full in Lord William's face, flinging the stone jug after. Fortunately he was still agile enough to duck, and the pot smashed on the wall.

Even over his father's bellow Galeran could hear Jehanne screaming, "Why didn't you
tell
him?
How could you not have told him? "

He grabbed her before his father overcame a lifetime's scruples and beat a woman. "Told me what?"

She was rigid in his arms. Rigid as stone, or a corpse.

The dogs were all around them again, whining.

Lord William wiped his red face with a cloth hurriedly presented to him. "I thought you'd had enough blows for one day, lad. . . ."

"Told me what?"

"Gallot's dead, Galeran," said Jehanne icily. "It was all for nothing. He's dead."

Into the silence Gilbert said, "Don't forget the rest, you frozen-hearted bitch. You killed him to make way for your lover's bastard."

* * * * *

In the end Galeran ordered his wife into guarded confinement in the small nursing chamber next to the solar, more to protect her from others than to punish her. He couldn't even begin to comprehend what had happened in his absence and wasn't ready to try. Days of hard traveling had left
him
unfit for this crisis, and his poor rest the night before was just masking exhaustion.

He took refuge alone in the solar, looking sightlessly out of the narrow window.

His firstborn son was dead before he'd ever held him, and some people suspected that Jehanne had in some way caused the death. He'd gathered that much from the cacophony of information before he'd shut it off.

Later.

He'd handle it later.

His tired eyes followed the road away from the castle, into the nearby woods. It drew him, but running away once was enough for any grown man.

He needed sleep but knew his tormented mind would not permit it yet, and anyway, it was only morning. There was a day to get through.

His precious first day home.

With a bitter laugh, he pushed away from the window. He'd have to put his insane, purposeless energy to use, and hope activity would drown out half-formed images of a child he had never seen. A child all the people here could tell him of if he asked—

Tears swelled in his chest, more agonizing than a wound. . . .

No. Not yet.

He would not weep yet, for if he began, he was not sure he could stop.

He headed for the door, but halted, looking at an ivory rose in its accustomed place on a small table against the wall. He had to believe it had some meaning for her. Had it sat there throughout his absence, even when she . . . ?

He picked it up, and the cracked petal tilted then fell off. Muttering a curse, he fumbled to push it back into the soft wax that held it in place. Then he froze, holding it in his hand, fighting the urge to crush it, even though the sharp edges would lacerate his hand.

With a deep breath he put it down, even though the petal was crooked. The risks were too great.

He went out to his great chair in the hall and summoned his officers to report on their management of his property during his absence. He didn't make much sense of it, but could tell Heywood had been well cared for.

He couldn't help noticing the way they all looked at him, though. On the faces of some he detected a sneer that said they didn't think he had the balls to handle his sinful woman, that he'd forgive her without a twitch of protest.

Some eyed him warily, however, as if expecting him to burst into berserker rage at any moment.

Either could be right, which is why he'd hit her, to get someone on her side. Galeran's father had sent Will back to camp and Gilbert back to Brome, but he stayed in the keep, watching from a distance in case Galeran turned to violence again.

And Galeran was glad there was someone to make sure he didn't.

Chapter 5

If he tried hard, a man could take a long time reviewing a two-year absence. What's more, the exercise could cram his mind so full of petty details, there was no space for other things.

Like a dead child . . .

Like an unfaithful wife . . .

Galeran tried very hard.

Once his senior officers had been interviewed, he went, trailed by his dogs, to inspect all parts of the castle.

He knew that no matter what had happened, Jehanne would have run the estate perfectly, but he went over all the records and discussed matters with every person in the castle of any importance.

When he found himself discussing bluing with the head laundry woman, however, he knew he'd gone mad. He handled it well enough, until he saw the line of white baby-cloths hanging out to dry. Then he left the woman in mid-speech.

He couldn't escape it, though. Now reminders of babies seemed to be everywhere.

He came across the record of the cradle made for Gallot by the carpenter. He couldn't bring himself to ask whether the cuckoo was in that same lovingly crafted nest.

A small pony chewed hay in the stable, the animal bought by Jehanne within weeks of Gallot's birth to be trained ready for him. If he'd lived, he might have been ready to sit on its back.

In one ledger he saw the price of a small pair of shoes of soft leather, suitable for a child taking its first wavering steps.

These things almost broke through Galeran's control, but he pushed them away and concentrated on practical matters—new pens for the animals, supplies of arrows, last year's corn yield.

Not long after noon, Raoul, bearing bread, chicken, and wine, found him outside the walls near the pasture observing the mares in foal. "Your household is eating in the hall."

"I'm not hungry."

"Eat!" Raoul thrust a chicken leg into his hand. "Fainting won't solve any problems."

Without appetite, Galeran pulled meat from the bone with his teeth. "Are you my official nursemaid?" But he was feeling all the silliness of his impulse to escape.

"Just your friend."

Galeran turned to lean on the fence, watching the healthy horses. One of his best mares was in foal to his father's newest and finest war-horse, or so he'd been told. The product could be exciting, but excitement seemed beyond him. "As a friend, then, what would you do in my situation?"

Raoul gave a wry grin. "Go
very
slowly and keep out of the way of my wife. I think egg-laying must be fascinating."

Galeran surprised himself by laughing. He returned to the castle with Raoul and went to investigate the welfare of the poultry.

By evening he had achieved a certain balance. The sharp core of pain in his chest had not disappeared, but it had crusted over, possibly just because of the deadening effect of exhaustion.

As he'd expected, everything in Heywood was in order. Even Lowick's labors had been efficient, probably because he thought he was looking after his own property. He'd not been much liked, though, and the joy at Galeran's return seemed genuine. That helped.

Galeran had not asked anyone about Jehanne, but her presence had been unavoidable throughout the day, conveyed in casual but concerned comments. That told him the people here still cared about her, and he wanted that. He wanted her loved and cherished as she had always been.

He wanted her protected against himself.

He gained the impression that she had not been happy this past year, and welcomed that too. He could not have endured a picture of her glowing with radiance.

When the sun began to move toward the horizon, Galeran decided he could at last allow himself rest and headed for the keep. He stopped dead in the middle of the bailey when it occurred to him that a thorough bath was necessary if he wasn't to foul any bed he slept in.

Which brought the thought that Jehanne always bathed and shaved him.

Without trying to analyze his motives, he sent the order that she prepare to do so.

He then realized he was still in his mail. He must have looked ridiculous checking domestic matters in full mail, but he supposed he was going to look ridiculous no matter what he did. He went to the armory and had the smith help him out of the metal and quilted leather.

It felt remarkably good to be free of the weight.

When the hauberk was off and he was just in his filthy linen shirt and woolen braies, he stretched freely for the first time in days. "My skin is probably marked for life."

"Skin recovers, Lord," said the smith, "which is more than can be said of mail." He looked the armor over with a grimace. "I fear you'll need new."

"Probably. But cherish that. It's been to Jerusalem."

The man's disgusted expression gave way to one of reverence, and he handled the rusty mail tenderly. "Aye, Lord,

I will." He looked up almost shyly. "Does it glow, Lord? The Holy City?"

Galeran sighed. "It's just a city, Cuthbert, with houses, inns, markets, and whores. It reminds us all that God came to earth and lived as a man, just like other men. I was in Bethlehem too, and it's just a village, not much different from Hey Hamlet."

It was clear that Cuthbert didn't believe him, and even had doubts that Galeran had been to the Holy Land at all.

People's beliefs were chancy things and hard to change.

Some people believed Jehanne had killed her baby. . . .

Galeran took a deep breath and headed back toward the keep. He met Raoul at the base of the steps, and noticed his friend had clearly already availed himself of a bath.

"Took your mail off at last, I see," Raoul remarked.

"Believe it or not, nursemaid, I'd have taken it off hours ago if someone had suggested it. It had become like a second skin."

"I assumed you were doing penance."

"Why would I need to do penance?"