Stuart, Elizabeth - Bride of The Lion

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.
html
Bride of the Lion by Elizabeth Stuart
In an age of chivalry tainted by bloodshed and betrayal, two unlikely lovers are swept up by a passion strong as steel, sensual as velvet; and eternal as the stars...
JOCELYN MONTAGNE Reckless, exotic daughter of a Celtic noblewoman and a Norman knight, left to guard her father's fortress, she fought brutish takeovers with a dagger. But nothing could defend her from the brooding magnificence of the invader who quickened her wild Welsh blood and stole her tender soul.
ROBERT DE LANGLEY Full of arrogance and outlaw vigor, the fabled Lion of Normandy would hold his old enemy's daughter hostage for his plundered landsuntil he decreed that he must keep them both. Torn between vengeance and lingering desire, war made them enemies, and passion possessed them.
1994-95 RT Reviewers' ChoiceMedieval Historical Romance BRIDE OF THE LION Copyright 1995 by Elizabeth Stuart. St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010. ISBN: 0-312-95602-9 Printed in the United States of America St. Martin's Paperbacks edition/August 1995
This book is dedicated to sisters of all kinds: blood, spirit, and the heart. To Bobby Jackson and Nancy Smyth who were there for me as far back as I can remember, who are never too busy to laugh or cry or encourage... To Susan Spanel who has cheerfully given countless hours of time and talent to keep both my characters and myself on the straight-and-narrow path...
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
To Karyn Witmer-Gow and Eileen Dryer who have generously shared their knowledge and expertise, their time and talents and blessed common sense... And last, but certainly not least, to Anna Eberhardt and the irrepressible Tiffany, who can makeme laugh through even the darkest nights. One Western England, November 1152 The night was black as a witch's heart. A hint of snow rode the wind. In the shivering flare of a half-dozen torches, the heavily-laden ox wains rolled and bumped through the darkness, their drivers biting back curses as the animals stumbled clumsily against the frozen ruts of the road. A shabby company of knights bunched their mounts closely about the carts. Here and there a man fidgeted with his sword hilt or tested the weight of his shield. This duty was not one of simple escort; there would be no turning back. On this black and bone-chilling night they would win or lose allincluding their lives. The sound of hoofbeats echoed eerily from out of the frozen dark. Friend or foe? Men settled deep in their saddles, swords were loosed from their sheaths. A few brief prayers were offered. Surely God in his mercy couldn't intend them to be found out. Not now. Not after they'd been through so much, had come so far. A lone horseman surged out from the shadows.He reined in his mount so sharply the beast reared in protest. In the cart leading the little caravan, a tall, powerful figure rose to his feet. The man was dressed as a simple soldier. A poor, but serviceable mantle cloaked his mailed frame. "What news?" he asked softly. The rider leaned close. "The menare in place. All'sin readiness, my lord." "Well done, Geoffrey. All's in order here as well. The men know their jobs, the consequence of failure. No second chances this time." He hesitated a moment, looked keenly at the rider sitting shadowy and motionless a sword's-length away. "My thanks, Geoffrey, for... for everything." The teeth of the rider flashed white as he smiled. "I've a handful of this rich black earth you love. This England. It's tucked away in my belt. For luck." "Luck?" The man in the cart smiled grimly. "With luck and God's help there'll be a bit more than a handful changing hands tonight. Take care you're alive to hold your share, Geoffrey. I've neither the time nor the inclination to be training another to take your place." "Nor I to find another master so appreciative of my skills, so... so gracious of tongue, my lord." The man gave a sharp crack of laughter. Geoffrey tried to smile, but the effort was beyond him. Tonight meant so damned much. "Take care, Robert. I'll not be there to guard your back." The man nodded and jumped down, moving to the rear of the cart to unfasten the reins of his horse. Despite the hauberk of heavy chain mail, he swung easily into the saddle, the lithe movement bespeaking a lifetime of arduous training and riding to arms. "Pass the word and get back to your post. Belavoir's scarce two leagues away. Pray God we can carry this off for I'll run no more. I swear it. I swear it before
God!" Geoffrey nodded and raised his hand in a short salute, then disappeared again into darkness. The oxen were prodded into motion; the carts rumbled on through the night. The road led on through the silent countryside. Every minute seemed an hour. The darkness preyed on taut nerves. And then the castle surged up in the distance, blacker than its midnight backdrop of hill and sky, a massive affair of mortar and stone, impossible to take by assault. But not by treachery. The man in the lead reined in, halting the carts with an upraised hand. A grim smile curled his mouth. "Now," he murmured. "Now we wait." *** Jocelyn stared out over the torchlit confusion of the castle bailey, barely restraining the childish impulse to hug herself closely and spin round and round like a top. Within the massive stone walls, the men were making ready to leave. Dogs barked and men shouted. Children cried. Horses twisted and stamped, nervous in the cacophony of noise and the flickering light and ready to be away. The men were leaving. They would be gone a fortnight at the very least. After months of guarding her tongue and her temper, she was going to have freedom at last! Above her and to the right, the door to the keep swung open. A ripple of movement went through the men, and Jocelyn swung to look up, narrowing her eyes against the flare of torches as her father descended the stairs. Behind him came Adelise, gracefully holding aside her skirts, then Brian behind her, laughing, no doubt, at something his sister had said. Jocelyn's anticipation was suddenly tarnished. A flicker of pain, long-fought but not yet conquered, quivered and then went still in her breast. The three made the perfect picture, cut from the same sumptuous cloth of blue and gilt, the handsome Montagne features stamped unmistakably on each face. Tall and slender with eyes the cerulean blue of the sky and hair the unforgettable color of spun moonlight, Lord William Montagne of Castle Montagne and his son and eldest daughter made a picture to gladden the heart as they came together down the stairs. And then there was Jocelyn. She frowned and moved forward quickly. Her father was in a temper; haste and confusion always made him so. She'd best let nothing delay him lest she be the one to suffer for it. "You, girl, has all been made ready? I'd best not get halfway to Oxford and find you've left something off." Jocelyn lifted her head with a poise hard-schooled through the years. "All's in readiness, Father. I checked with Raymond at vespers and again just now. The supplies have been wrapped and packed as I ordered. You've plenty for the trip, though you'll have to buy more once you reach Oxford." Montagne glanced at his youngest daughter, merely nodding at the expected efficiency. "I hate to take
the last of the salt, but those supplies you ordered from Shrewsbury should arrive any day." He frowned irritably, glancing toward the gate as if willing the supplies to materialize before him. "Christ's wounds, we need that salt! If it doesn't come by tomorrow send Cedric and some of the men to search out that fat merchant and string him up by his heels. "This is butchering month, for Christ's sake! We need to put down Belavoir's pork before the hogs lose their fat. If the king hadn't called this damned council, I'd be off to Shrewsbury myself. I've half a mind to anyway. Of all the ill-conceived times for a council! My bailiff just cold in his grave, and now this rushing about in the middle of the night to catch Lord Borthwick because that damned fool of a messenger got himself lost..." His words trailed off to a grumble, and Jocelyn barely restrained a smile. "I doubt King Stephen would think our swine more important than council. Besides, the woods here are full of acorns yet. I rode out to check when we arrived last week. The swine will stay fat a while longer. Don't fret, Father, I'll see to it." He nodded again and glanced at her absently, his mind already on the long trip ahead and the coming sojourn at court. He motioned for his horse, and his squire brought the animal forward. He reached for the reins. "Stay close about the keep. I don't expect troublewho would dare here at Belavoir? Still, in these times, you never know." Jocelyn nodded, forcing herself to an appearance of meekness at least. She would do as she liked and he damned well knew it. It was a recklessness they hadn't been able to beat entirely out of her, a recklessness her father despised as he did the Welsh blood that ran, hot and fast, in her veins. Just as he had despised the woman who had given her birth. He seemed to sense her thoughts. "You do as I've told you, girl, and don't be up to your mischief. The folk here don't know you so well as they do about Warford and Montagne. Besides, you're far too old to be acting the Welsh wood sprite and running free in the hills. Watch your sister. Behave as she does and try to remember you're a Montagne." At that Adelise stepped forward. "Jocelyn and I will be fine, Father. But wasn't there something you wanted to ask her before you left?" "What?" Lord Montagne's piercing blue eyes narrowed. "Oh, yes... What is it you'd like me to bring you from Oxford, girl? I've a whole list of trinkets and cloth this pretty baggage has begged for. Might as well add a bit more, though God knows how the animals'll carry it all." Jocelyn gazed back coolly. There was a time she would have welcomed trinkets and cloth. She had asked for them, had waited with childish impatience for them. But the waiting had been in vain. "There's nothing, my lord, nothing I need. Don't trouble yourself on my account." He nodded, his gaze shifting quickly from hers. Cat's eyes. Witch's eyes. Jocelyn's smile became bitter. He had used the words when she was naught but a child, when there weren't tears enough nor even any witch's power to change her slanted green-gold eyes to blue, her dark, unruly hair to the silken sunlit color belonging to Brian and Adelise. "If there's nothing you want then we'll be off," Montagne said hurriedly. "No time to dawdle." Placing a
foot in the stirrup, he hauled himself into the saddle. Adelise stepped forward and caught his stirrup. "Father, wait! Take care of yourself. Be sure to wear that fur-lined cloak I gave you. Don't sleep where there's any damp. Oh, and be sure" Montagne leaned down, cupping his daughter's cheek, his large, rough hand gentled, gentled as Jocelyn had never felt it. "I'll be fine, child. I'm an old campaigner and know well enough how to care for myself." He brushed away her tears. "Besides, Brian will be there to see to my needs. Don't fret." He smiled then, coaxing her to smile with him. "It's that rogue of a brother of yours we'd best be worrying about. Make him promise to stay out of trouble. He might just do it for you." Brian had been speaking to one of his men. Now he pushed past Jocelyn with a cool, "God keep you, madam," saving his brilliant, flashing smile for the sister so like him. He leaned close to Adelise with a whispered word that made her laugh ring out. Then he kissed her farewell and swung into the saddle. Jocelyn watched the fond good-byes in silence. Then her father was shouting an order. The men began to file out. He swung toward her, his big chestnut sidestepping, fighting the bit. "Jocelyn, see to your sister. It'll be a day or two before Sir Roger and the rest of the men from Montagne arrive. I leave both Adelise and Belavoir in your care. Don't disappoint me." Jocelyn raised her head, searching his shadowy face for something she'd never found. "I'll see to them. Godspeed you." With another curt nod, he disappeared after Brian and the rest of the men. Jocelyn watched the gates swing shut, heard the wail of the windlass and the portcullis's descent, the low rumble of the drawbridge rising. She reminded herself of the freedom she would enjoy these next few weeks, of the pleasure she should be feeling, but the hurt was still there. And she was God's greatest fool. "Jocelyn?" The soft, quavering voice won her attention. She turned toward her sister, noting the tears that were flowing in earnest now. Usually Jocelyn spared little patience for women who wept easy tears. To her, sorrow was a well-known companion, best fought in silence, best conquered alone. Yet Adelise's was... well... Adelise was different. Her soft heart genuinely ached for every creature in pain, broke for every pain she couldn't relieve. And in these last three years since Jocelyn had left the easy familiarity of Warford and been brought into the household of Castle Montagne, she had developed a genuine fondness for the half-sister she had always thought she would hate. She moved forward at once, sliding an arm about Adelise's narrow waist, instinctively seeking to comfort. "If we hurry we can be up on the wall-walk before the men disappear. You can watch them another few minutes before they're lost in the hills." The women hurried up the stairs. Adelise rushed onto the battlements, gripping the cold stone and leaning forward, watching the bobbing torches as the men snaked their way through the darkness.
Jocelyn spared scarcely a glance for the men. Instead she leaned against the wall, throwing her head back to search the heavens for stars. Above her, dark-drifting clouds shifted and swirled across the sky. It was early still for snow, yet there was a harsh, brittle feel of it on the air tonight. The wind whistled through the wall crenels. It tore at her hair, billowed under her cloak with the biting edge of cold steel against the flesh. Jocelyn hugged herself, scarcely minding the cold. Up here she felt exhilarated and alive, at one with the freedom of darkness, the wild sweeping power of the wind. Up here she could almost imagine she was still a child, still free and in Wales, with her mother yet alive. "I pray God's mercy upon them. Do you think that they'll be all right?" "Of course," Jocelyn answered automatically, still drinking in the turbulent night. "It's such a long way to Oxford and the roads aren't safe. There are outlaws everywhere. Hawise told me so." Jocelyn was still staring at the sky. She made a silent vow to speak sharply to Hawise, Adelise's fanciful new maid. "They're a large company of knights and men-at-arms, Adelise. No outlaws will come anywhere close." Adelise fumbled for Jocelyn's hand and squeezed it. "I'm so glad we're together, Jocelyn. That we've gotten to know each other at last. I just wish" She broke off. Jocelyn smiled then, turned her head and waited patiently. Just what could a young woman like Adelise possibly have yet to wish for. "I just wish we could have come to know each other sooner," Adelise was saying wistfully. "That we could have had more time together. But I want you to know, Jocelyn, that you'll always be welcome wherever I am." Jocelyn frowned. "Whatever are you talking about, Adelise?" "It's possible I may be betrothed when Father gets back. Nothing's settled yet, of course," she added diffidently. "The negotiations have barely been opened. But Father spoke of it this afternoon. He wished me to know he favored the match." Marriage... Adelise was leaving. Life would be unendurable. Jocelyn searched for something to say, tried to inject real happiness into her voice; Adelise certainly deserved it. "Who is it, Adelise? What poor man have you smitten this time?" Adelise caught both Jocelyn's hands, laughing softly as she squeezed them together in hers. "Oh, Jocelyn... it's Edward! Lord Pelham, I should say. Isn't it wonderful? I scarcely dared dream, Jocelyn... didn't dare speak my hopes aloud even to you! Oh, Jocelyn, was there ever a woman so fortunate as I?" Jocelyn sucked her breath in sharply, felt the cold biting deep in her lungs. "Congratulations, Adelise. You'll be the most beautiful bride in all England. And the happiest." For a few moments Adelise chattered on, but the cold and the wind were too much even for such
happiness. "Jocelyn, I'm freezing! Let's get downstairs to bed. I just wanted to tell you here where no curious ears could hear. Father swore me to secrecy. This might not come off, you know." She hesitated. Her voice dropped. "And then I don't know how I should live." Jocelyn forced herself to say something comforting, to wrap her arms around her sister and give her a quick hug before pushing her gently toward the stairs. "You're shivering. Go inside before you catch your death." "Aren't you coming?" Jocelyn smiled. "You go on. I'll be along in a few minutes. I like it up here, you know." She heard the soft patter of her sister's feet on the stairs, then the distant call of a sentry pacing somewhere out in the night. Then all was quiet save for the wind. She leaned against the wall, searching the darkness above for any hint of stars. Of course the marriage would come off. Adelise wasa considerable heiress from her de Valence mother, quite apart from whatever substantial dowry their father might add. At the ripe old age of nineteen she'd had more offers than there were rats in the granary stores, for she was beautiful, with a slim blond radiance that drew men like moths to a flame. But Lord Montagne had always declined the offers. With the civil wars waging for England's crown, first between Stephen and his cousin Matilda, then between Stephen and Matilda's son, Henry of Anjou, their father had been loath to make close alliances. Loyalties changed too swiftly these days, and a man's word was no longer to be trusted. Too many men had been sucked into the maelstrom because of a hasty marriage and a politically disastrous blood bond. But Pelham? No father in his right mind would refuse such a prize. The man was heir to the earldom of Colwick and a warrior all men admired. He sat high in King Stephen's esteem, yet was distantly related to young Henry on his mother's side. A welcome awaited in both camps whichever way matters turned out. And Adelise would be happy, Jocelyn told herself woodenly. Unbelievably so, she imagined. But sweet Mary in Heaven, why did it have to be Pelham? A single star appeared througha rift of wind-torn clouds. It glowed alone in the darkness, then shimmered and haloed as if through a mist. Jocelyn blinked once angrily and then started for the stairs. God, she despised women who wept easy tears! *** The priest finished the last whispered benediction. The men had confessed and been shriven. Now they rose to their feet, shadows blacker than darkness, the hush of another world still upon them as they climbed aboard oxcarts and mounted impatient horses. Robert de Langley shifted in the saddle. These were good men all, and had followed him for love and loyalty, leaving homes and families far behind.
For seven long years he had led them, led them against increasingly impossible odds, into hopeless battles and out of them, through ambushes, betrayals, and at last over hundreds of miles of hostile land and a cold and cheerless sea. And in a very short time the running would stop. One way or another, it would stop. He frowned and drew his mantle tighter against the chilling bite of the wind. No mortal man could have foreseen the chaos that had ensued when King Henry's only son was drowned, leaving his overbearing daughter, Matilda, and her husband, Count Geoffrey of Anjou. The king had forced his barons to swear fealty to her, but at his death they had repudiated her and the hated Geoffrey, for the enmity between Normandy and Anjou had run deep. Grasping the sudden opportunity, the king's nephew, Stephen of Blois, had seized the throne. Thus had begun the intermittent civil wars that had annihilated farms and villages in whole sections of England. Though Stephen was a great warrior and an affable, well-liked man, he had proven a weak king at a time when England's need was strength. He had failed to control his unruly barons, and many attacked their neighbors, stole and killed and set up petty kingdoms where they ruled by the power of the sword. In the confusing struggle, Stephen could scarcely hold his throne in England. Normandy had been wrested away by Geoffrey of Anjouthe very Angevin the barons were fighting to keep out of England. Thus most of the great families had either lost their dominions in Normandy or been forced to change sides and support Matilda and Geoffrey and their eldest son Henry of Anjou who now called himself duke of Normandy. Robert frowned as he always did at thought of the young duke, for if there was any man on God's earth he hated, it was that overweening son of Satan, Henry. The man had sworn to take England and Robert believed he would try. And somehow, some way, he was going to fight Henry again and win. His eyes narrowed, his thoughts sliding back to that time last year when even his hatred for Henry hadn't been enough to keep him running and fighting, to make him care if he lived or died. Only for his men had he clung to life, a life he no longer wanted. He couldn't abandon them, masterless, in enemy lands; he couldn't let them down as he had Adam. Now he wanted to live, wanted it desperately! In fact, he'd sworn on that small cold grave back in Normandy that he would live. That he would live and that he would win. Or at the very least that he would die on his own land, on Belavoir land. And he wasn't about to let Adam down again. He swung his horse out of the shelter of trees, heading for the road. His men followed slowly behind him. In another few minutes the torches they carried would be visible from the castle, and the die would be cast. But then there had never been any real question of going back. Henry was the acknowledged duke of Normandy. Even Robert's erstwhile ally, King Louis of France, had been forced to admit that. Robert had nothingabsolutely nothingleft to go back to. They rumbled on, over the crest of a hill, down the last long slope before staring the steep climb up to the castle. Robert's breathing was steady but his heart had begun to hammer, his insides to quicken as they always did in the last few moments before a battle. Then a sentry called out a challenge from atop Belavoir's stone wall. And so it began.
Merciful Father God, don't let me let them down. "Ho! You the wall!" he shouted, halting at the great earthen ditch that surrounded the castle walls. "We're from Shrewsbury town, escorting a load of salt and supplies from the merchant Walter of Rouen. I was told we would be expected." By now several torches had appeared atop the gatehouse. "You were," the man shouted back. "Over a week ago." "We've had the devil's own luck," Robert returned. "First one broken axle and then another, then a band of whoreson outlaws to contend with. We've had no sleep in days and we're three-parts frozen besides. Judas, man, let us in!" "Can't. Not till morning anyway. You'll have to camp outside." Robert let out a string of curses as creative as they were obscene. The soldier must have been impressed, for in a matter of moments another voice was heard, this one with the unmistakable tone of command. "It's past midnight, you fool. We can't let you in. You should have made camp somewhere." "We're out of food. Haven't had a bite since the dawn," Robert shouted angrily. "With all the delays we ran out." "You won't starve before sunrise." "No... no, we won't. We've a pipe of good Gascon wine for the lord's table and two barrels of the best Cheshire ale for the rest of the household. Gifts from Walter of Rouen to the lord of Belavoir." With a harsh laugh, Robert wheeled his horse. "A pity you won't be tasting the ale. I'll let you know what you missed come sunrise." "Wait!" Robert's fingers tightened on the reins. His heart was pounding in earnest and every second seemed a lifetime. Then the drawbridge was starting to move, the heavy portcullis beginning its creaking ascent. The gate swung open and he was staring into the darkened bailey of Belavoir. He crossed the echoing drawbridge, rode through the arched stone gateway of the castle, holding his emotions in check, trying not to think of the last time he had passed beneath this gatehouse. It was sixteen years ago. He'd been naught but a boy of eleven, flushed with eagerness and pride and the foolish boy's belief that life was good and all things possible. It had been a lifetime ago, before Normandy and Marguerite and that devil's spawn Henry. Before Adam. The thought of his dead son steadied him. He sent a quick glance around the bailey. There were scarce a dozen men about. There'd be more on the walls, a few posted inside in the castle. But the remainder of the garrison would be sleeping. It was his only chance, and he was counting on it. He glanced toward the gatehouse stairs. A shadowy figure moved swiftly upward. That would be his man, Raoul le Bent, the supposed messenger from Lord Borthwick. It was his job to get inside the gatehouse, to overcome the guard and disable the drawbridge mechanism.
Robert swung down from his horse. The greedy garrison captain stood beside him. The man was a fool, didn't deserve command of an important fortress like Belavoir. He felt inside his surcoat, drew out some bound parchment and held it out to the man. "Letters. From Walter of Rouen to the Lord Montagne." "Give 'em to a clerk in the morning." The man turned his back and began moving toward the first cart. "Now, let's have a look at that ale." Robert slid the parchment back into his clothing, removing a dagger. "Certainly," he murmured courteously. "It's here. Second cart." One long stride brought him alongside the captain. His blade found its mark with the ease of long practice. One deft movement and the garrison commander went down, kicking but quiet. Robert caught the body as it fell, shoved it quickly beneath the cart. But it wasn't quick enough. A cry rang out. A soldier raced toward him, sword drawn. Others followed. Robert drew his sword with the sliding hiss of well-polished steel. The hilt was comforting, familiar in his hand. His heartbeat steadied, his insides settled as they always did once the fighting began. Then a wild exhilaration swept him. He was home. On Belavoir soil. No one was going to drive him away again! The need for secrecy done, his own men poured from the wagons. One wedged his cart deftly into the entrance so that the gates couldn't be closed. Another set fire to a load of straw they carried. With one fluid movement, he ignited a pitch-soaked arrow and sent it arching against the heavens, a flaming signal for Geoffrey and the men waiting back in the hills. Robert stole a glance over his shoulder. Sweet Jesu be praised! The drawbridge was still down. In seconds all was blood and smoke and confusion. Arrows began to rain from the walls. Half-dressed men stumbled from the barracks. The first were cut down easily enough, but those that followed weren't so readily handled. Robert fought his way across the bailey like a man possessed. He and his small force had to hold the gatehouse and bailey and take the entrance to the keep. And even with the skeleton force that was all Belavoir could muster, it was a near-suicidal quest, for it would be some minutes yet before Geoffrey and the rest of his men could arrive. He slashed at a soldier blocking his way, shifted his weight mid-stride and swung at another coming in from behind him. He felt a familiar impact as the weapon cleaved through leather armor, lifted a foot reflexively to kick the body free of his blade, to ready himself for the next man swinging at his head. He ducked, pivoted, dealt the man a glancing blow and swept onward. Three of his own men were struggling to catch up with him. He knew it was unwise to get so far ahead, but they had to take the wooden stairs up to the keep before one of these fools thought to burn them. Hurry, Geoffrey. For the love of God, please hurry! He had almost made the stairs. Belavoir men were swarming near the base, a host of aroused hornets. Then the blessed sound of hoofbeats rang out, the excited shouting of men fresh and eager and certain of victory.
Robert knew a moment of intense relief, sent up a brief prayer of thanks for the deliverance. Then he caught sight of a man at the top of the stairs sluicing liquid about from a small keg. Grease! They were going to fire the stairway. He might never take the keep. He and his men would be sitting ducks, caught between the archers inside the great stronghold and whatever assault that jackal Montagne could mount from outside the walls. Robert threw back his head, shouting the age-old cry of his housea cry that sent chills down the spines of his enemies, but had been unheard for well over a year. "De Langley... for God and for us. To me!"he shouted furiously. With a wild cry of fear, the man before him crossed himself and stumbled backward. Others followed, holding their swords, murmuring superstitiously. Robert held himself very still. And then he began to laugh, a wild sound, an insane act, here amid the fire and the blood and the carnage. But he couldn't help it. These fools thought him a ghost. "Robert!" He glanced back. Geoffrey was fighting like a madman, struggling through the crush. "Robert wait! Don't chance those stairs alone." His men were rallying to his war cry. They would be with him in minutes. But the grease was splattering down the length of the stairs. In seconds they could be an inferno. He caught hold of the wooden railing, lunged forward up the slippery treads. Halfway up, the man with the grease keg blocked him, sword drawn. On a lower rung of the stairs, Robert was at a decided disadvantage, but he fought as he had never fought before, because he'd never had so much to lose. And gradually the man gave way, backing up the grease-covered stairway. The door of the keep swung open. A soldier darted out, waving a flaming brand in his hand. With a strength powered by desperation, Robert drove himself against his opponent. The man stumbled, lost his balance in the slippery footing and went down. Robert kicked him down the stairway, lunging past up the last few steps in an effort to stop the man holding the torch. But the man had already touched off the grease. It flickered, caught, spread rapidly, and the platform before the door was aflame. The door to the keep stood open. Robert could see into the shadowy, firelit hall.So close... The flames were already licking at the grease on his boots. The heat rushed upward. Rage and frustration swept him. And fear. Not again. He couldn't go through this hell again! But he was so damnedclose!
With an animal-like snarl of his war cry, Robert launched himself through the flames. The guard stumbled back through the entrance, hastened to slam the great door. But a stick of firewood jammed it, a grubby kitchen lad clinging desperately to one end. The guard kicked the boy aside, but those few precious seconds were enough. Robert caught the door, put his shoulder into the crack and shoved his way through the entrance. And he was inside!
Two The interior of the great hall was smoky and dim and a hush of fear lay upon it. In the raised central hearth, a dying fire sputtered. Rushlights burned near the entrance and long, wavering shadows barred the floor. Robert hesitated in the doorway. Save for the soldier before him, the near portion of the room lay empty. The man held his sword at the ready, his shield well up, but he was ashen-faced, the whites of his eyes showing. Robert lifted his sword and stepped forward, but the man began backing away. "T-the Lion," he stammered out. "Christ save us! 'Tis the Lion of Normandy up from the dead!" With the smoke and flames behind him, Robert knew he must look like some specter from hell. He didn't hesitate to press the advantage. He was only one man against an unknown number back there in the dark. He lunged forward, hoping to finish the man, but the soldier whirled and fled, disappearing into the great gaping blackness at the far end of the hall. Robert held his breath, listening. The thud of boots told him the man had made the stairs to the upper floor. His ears told him something else as well. The hall wasn't empty. There were hushed sounds of movement, stifled breathing, back there in the dark. Straightening slowly, he gathered himself, fighting for control of his twitching, tingling limbs. The fierce struggle for Belavoir had lasted scarcely ten minutes, yet he felt he'd been fighting for hours. His heart was pumping wildly, his blood surging with the battle lust that made him long to seek out his enemies. But that would be the act of a fool. There could be any number of men back there waiting to fall on him. Here, he had only to hold fast and defend the door. Geoffrey and the rest of his men would be moving heaven and earth to get up those stairs. "My lord... be you demon or man?" With a violent start, Robert swung around, lifting his sword. A few feet away a face peered out from behind a stack of trestlesthe boy who had wedged the door. With the face came the memory. Robert caught a steadying breath. "Man, lad... at least most of the time I think so." The boy hesitated, looked him over with eyes that were obviously unsure. "We were told you were
dead. Burnt to a crisp, so men swore." "But I'm not as you see." "Your pardon, but I can't see anything of the kind." Robert glanced down at himself. He was soot-blackened and singed, his surcoat and mail liberally spattered with blood. No wonder the lad was unsure. But if that were the case, why had he held the door? "A bit of this blood is my own, lad. To my knowledge demons don't bleed." The boy crept out of the shadows. In age he appeared to be some nine or ten years, though he was gaunt as a reed, his dark hair long and matted. Robert jerked his head toward the rear of the hall. "Who's back there?" "None you need worry about. Only servants. The men-at-arms have all fled above. The cowards!" The boy's contemptuous tone amused him. "Lucky for me they hadn't your pluck, lad. Have you any notion of their count?" "Less than the fingers of both my hands. No more. The rest all went out at the first sound of fighting." There was a sudden increase in the noise from outside. Geoffrey was calling frantically. Robert stepped back to the door. The flames were nearly out; the oaken supports had never caught. "All's well," he called down. We hold the hall." "We hold the bailey and gatehouse as well," Geoffrey shouted. "Wait, Robert! Don't go any further. I'm coming up." Within seconds men were pouring into the hall, conquering the shadows with torchlight and herding the cowering, terrified servants from beneath benches and tables and gathering them near the hearth. In the confusion of giving orders and preparing to take the rest of the castle, Robert lost the boy, then found him standing unobtrusively against the wall. "You, boy, I've not yet offered my thanks. We'll speak later. I've not forgotten your aid." He turned to Walter le Foret, the knight responsible for the men holding the hall. "Mark that boy well. Guard his life as you would my own, for it's just possible we owe this hall to him. "And now," he continued giving a nod to the cold-eyed veterans ringed about him, "I've a notion to rid my castle of some vermin. Quarter to those who throw down their arms. And to those who don't," he said coldly, "no quarter." *** The smell of burning lay heavy in the room. From down the corridor came the faint sounds of shouting, then screaming. The intruders had reached the women's quarters. Jocelyn slammed the door to the outer chamber and dropped the bolt, amazed to discover that her hands were steady, still followed the command of her brain. If only she had awakened sooner, if only her bedchamber fronted the bailey instead of the rear wall. But she'd chosen this room herself for its quiet
and because from here on a clear day, she fancied she could see the Welsh hills. She turned back to Adelise, her thoughts whirling, fighting for a plan where no plans were possible. "It's too late to reach the back stair," she said, forcing a steady tone. "The men must have won the hall before we were even awake. When I find that wretch Edgar of Tutbury, he'll wish he'd never been" She broke off. Adelise looked near to swooning, and Hawise was already moaning, working quickly toward hysteria. Besides, it was likely the surly garrison captain was already dead. And she was wasting precious time. "Quick, back into our chamber!" she said, gesturing toward the small inner room the sisters shared. "Dress yourselves in whatever you can get on quickly. These doors won't hold them off long." At that, Adelise cried out, and Hawise began a high-pitched wailing. Jocelyn moved toward them. "Stop that noise! Hawise, help your mistress. Quick now, or I'll put you outside that door myself!" Catching hold of her sister, Jocelyn half-pushed, half-carried Adelise back into their bedchamber. The room was in darkness save for the narrow circle of light illuminated by the single night candle. She reached for it and hastily lit more. There was something about light that made the terror more manageable. Stooping beside her clothes chest, she flung back the lid, grabbing up the first thing that came to her hand. She dragged the loose yellow tunic over her shift, hesitated as the glint of a dagger caught her eye. It was the weapon she carried on her solitary rambles outside the keep. She knew well enough how to use it; her Welsh kinsmen had seen to that. For a moment, she stared at the blade, then she picked it up. The intruders had reached the door to the outer chamber. She heard shouts as they realized it was barred, then the ring of an ax against wood. Who would dare? Who would dare attack Belavoir? She spun around, dagger in hand. Adelise was dressed in a loosely flowing blue tunic with high neck and tight sleevesthere wasn't time to worry with the lacings of a bliaut overtunicand she was clutching her arms around herself, trying hard to be brave but shaking badly. Hawise was doing her best not to scream. Jocelyn doubted the girl's best would be enough. The noise of splintering wood filled the room, then a man's triumphant shout. She could hear voices and the tramp of footsteps. Jocelyn stepped forward and put an arm around Adelise. This was insane. It couldn't be happening! What fool would make an enemy of the powerful Montagnes? Someone was speaking in a soft, calming voice. It was several seconds before Jocelyn realized the words were her own. "It will be all right. We're far too valuable to be harmed. We'll be ransomed in a day or two, a week at most. You'll see." The men were testing the bedchamber door. A rough voice demanded entry. Adelise was shuddering uncontrollably in Jocelyn's arms. Hawise screamed. Someone outside said, "Women!" and began to laugh. And then the thud of the ax began. Jocelyn counted the blows. Who could it be... and would they be willing to settle for ransom?
Three... four... The smooth, age-darkened oak began to fragment before her eyes. Five... six... Holy Mary, Queen of Heaven, pray for us sinners now in the hour of our death... The door gave way. A grimy, ax-wielding soldier grinned at them through the wreckage. Several men crowded close, peering through the hole. Jocelyn hid the dagger behind her back and waited, her heart beating wildly, her breath coming shallow and fast. The man with the ax kicked the splintered timber aside and stepped through. The remaining men poured over the threshold, all four of them dirty and bloodstained, the lust for blood and conquest setting their eyes aglitter. Jocelyn drew in a deep breath and gripped her dagger tightly. She'd half-expected to see badges proclaiming the men in the earl of Chester's service. Though her father supported Stephen, he had worked out a truce of sorts with his greedy, quarrelsome neighbor. But Ranulf of Chester was an avowed supporter of Henry of Anjou and famous for his treacheries. However, these men wore no identifying markings at all. They were gaunt and hard-edged, their clothing faded and shabby. They put her in mind of a pack of wild dogs, outcast and living by wits alone. Outlaws. And they were staring avidly at Adelise in all her golden, disheveled beauty, staring as if they'd not seen a woman in years. Jocelyn shifted slightly, putting her sister behind her. "This is the lady Adelise Montagne, and I am the lady Jocelyn. Our father is Lord William Montagne. He will pay well if we remain unharmed." "So you're Montagne's get." Jocelyn sent a swift glance toward the door. Another man had entered. Though he was dressed as poorly as the others, was even more dirty and bloodstained than they, he was cloaked with a regal self-assurance, an instinctive arrogance, that would have set well on the highest-born lord. And if his men had made her think of wild dogs, this man put her in mind of some far more lethal predator. She had no doubt he was the outlaw leader. A renegade knight perhaps. Seventeen years of civil war had certainly produced a surfeit of those. He moved across the floor toward her, tall, and long-limbed; grace and power and danger incarnate, his sword lowered, dripping blood. Jocelyn caught his eyes and held them. They were emotionless and cold, an odd golden color shimmering in the candlelight. Involuntarily, she lifted the dagger. The man stopped. One side of his sharply chiseled mouth shifted upward, the slightest mockery of a smile. "I think, my lady, that you'd best give me that. You'll not like it if I have to take it away. And you
know that I can," he added softly. Behind her Adelise whimpered. Hawise began to sob loudly. Jocelyn swallowed and held tight to the knife. This was unbelievably foolish. Of course he could take it away. Her tongue flickered out, wet her dry lips nervously. "What terms do you offer? What promise of safety do you make us?" The man stood motionless, holding her gaze. She had the oddest notion she couldn't look awaythe cat charming the hare, both frozen until the spring. "Terms? You want terms of surrender?" The voice was incredulous, indignant. It came from one of the watching men, but Jocelyn didn't even glance his way. The man shifted his weight. Jocelyn drew her knife closer, instinctively readying herself. But the man merely pushed his mailed hood back, handed his sword to one of his men. "Of course that's what she means, Aymer. These Montagnes were ever an audacious breed. Now, my lady, just what terms will it please you to consider?" His voice held a cold, smooth courtesy, more mocking than if he'd laughed outright. He turned back to her, amber eyes narrowing beneath a rumpled head of thick, tawny hair. "I might just mention for your consideration, madam, that I hold the entire castle save for this room, of course. That your garrison is either imprisoned or dead. That the thought of negotiating terms for the surrender of my own home does not amuse me." He hesitated, then added softly, "That I ama man you'll do well not to cross." "Yourhome?" "Myhome!" The words were said witha fierce possessiveness that rang through the room. Jocelyn felt a frisson of dread slide through her, a foresight that had led some at Montagne to label her witch. Her nerve endings twitched and tingled. She took an involuntary step back. And though she'd never laid eyes on the manshe'd scarce been toddling about when he'd left Englandthere could be no mistaking that wild tawny hair, those predatory golden eyes of legend. "Who are you?" she whispered. "Robert... of Belavoir." With a gasp of unholy terror, Adelise gave up the quest for courage, slid to the floor in a dead faint. Hawise dropped to her knees beside her mistress, weeping and crossing herself, praying in a confusing, terrified jumble of English and French. Jocelyn bit down hard on her lip and forced herself to breathe deeply. Robert de Langley, King Stephen's Norman Lion, one of the most renowned fighting men of their age. Her father had betrayed him, had taken his lands and stolen his castles, had celebrated wildly when they'd heard he was dead.
Dead... he'd been dead for over a year! A sudden draft of air rustled the wall hangings, sent the candle flames flickering around them casting his face in glimmering bronze. "But... you'redead!" she said wildly. "So everyone keeps telling me." Jocelyn raised her chin, gripped her dagger as if it were a lifeline. "Well obviously you didn't believe them!"
Three Robert felt an unexpected flicker of amusement. He didn't think much of women in general, even less when it came to specifics. It was a lesson painfully learned, as most of his lessons seemed to be. But the young woman facing him was not at all what he had expected. Certainly not of a Montagne. He took his time, looked her over carefully, for his attention, like that of his men, had first been caught by the breathtaking loveliness of her sister. The girl was small-boned and delicate, coming scarce to his shoulder, with a cloud of unfashionable dark hair swirling well past her waist. Her face seemed the palest oval against that wild dark hair, with a small upturned nose and wide, full mouth, her lips parting now as she drew in her breath. But it was her eyes that made her unique, that brought a strange, haunting beauty to a face that might otherwise have been considered plain. Her eyes were set beneath heavy eyebrowsdark, startling arches that flared against milky-white skin. They were large and expressive, some light opaque color he couldn't make out in the candlelight. Dark lashed, slightly slanting, they gave her an exotic look, a foreign flavor like some Saracen wench set down in England. There was something else that made her distinctive. She was facing him across a naked blade she quite obviously knew how to use. And though it was clear she was afraid, she didn't show the slightest indication of backing down. He held out his hand. "Give me the weapon, madam. I assure you you'll not need it. Despite appearances to the contrary, neither you nor your sister are in any danger at the moment." She focused those unsettling eyes on him, stared as if she could see into his soul. Then she raised the dagger, holding it so that the hilt made the sign of the cross. "Swear it," she ordered. The words should have angered him. They didn't. "I so swear." For a moment they measured each other, then the girl lowered the weapon, holding it out hilt first. "You're a man of your word, so I hear. If in truth, you are still a man." Robert took the dagger, conscious of a disappointment as unsettling as it was unexpected. He hadn't wanted her to give in. He'd wanted the game to continue. He tucked the weapon into his belt, making his voice deliberately harsh. "I am flesh and blood, madam. Could I boast other powers, your father would have been enjoying all the delights of hell this year past. I plan to send him there, though, soon enough." He smiled sardonically. "By the usual methods, however."
If he had hoped to disconcert the girl, he had underestimated her. She merely stared at him a moment, then turned her attention to the beauty on the floor. Her sister was regaining consciousness, had begun to stir and moan softly. "Have I your leave to see to my sister?" she asked. "Certainly. And for the love of God, quiet that one or I'll do it for you," Robert remarked, nodding contemptuously toward the still-hysterical maidservant. The girl knelt and dealt with the situation summarily. She caught the young serving woman by the shoulder, murmured a few words that were largely ignored, then dealt her a sharp slap across the face. The hysteria was conquered abruptly, and the girl turned her attention to her sister, pulling her into her arms. The girl met his eyes. "In jest you asked for my terms, but I give them to you in earnest. That the castle folk here be spared, the women especially protected. That we three might remain in our chamber, that our door be repaired with..." She hesitated, glanced at his men who were still staring like starving men bidden to a feast. "...with a bolt on the inside to insure our privacy." If the young woman's voice was cool, his was ice. "Let me share a lesson in diplomacy, madam. One you obviously haven't learned yet from your lord father. Never negotiate in good faith. It gives your opponent too great an advantage." He put his hand to her dagger, settling it more snugly into his belt. "And never surrender your own advantage until you are certain your terms have been met. Yours are rejected, madam. The people of Belavoir are mine now, and I assure you I need no tutoring on how to treat them, certainly not from a Montagne! As for your door, I've no time or men to be squandered on foolish women's fancies. I've sworn to your safety and that will protect you far better than any thickness of good English oak." He turned and moved toward the doorway, aware of a rising unfocused anger, of a quickening current of feeling he couldn't identify. He'd been wasting time here and he didn't know why. Montagne's daughters were an important part of his plan, but his men could handle things from here. "My lord of Geis!" The girl's voice was peremptory, hitting him like a lash. He swung around, his anger unexpectedly coalescing, catching flame. "Don't call me that, madam, for I no longer hold the county of Geis! My estates in Normandy are forfeit, my title outlawed. I retain only what I can reclaim of the lands my family held here. Lands your father and that hellspawn Chester pledged to protect, then ravaged and divided while I was busy fighting Stephen's war in Normandy. Lands our dearest sovereign didn't even deem it worthwhile to hold for me in my absence." He drew in a breath to stem the familiar flood of bitterness, but for once it was beyond his control. Montagne and his children had sat here in his castles in safety, in luxury even, while he and his son had been hunted like animals through Normandy and half of France. Now Adam was dead. He wanted someone to blame, someone to punish, and the only available target was Montagne's daughter. His eyes traveled over the girl appraisingly, insultingly, lingering on her mouth, her white throat, on the generous curve of her breasts. He sent her a smile, one his enemies had learned to dread far more even
than his frowns. "You may address me as my lord or simply as Robert. Whichever you find appropriate during our continued sojourn together. I expect it will be long and rather boring. Perhaps together we can think of ways to make it more pleasurable. I assure you, I am at your service..." He hesitated, smiled again. "Day or night." The girl didn't flinch or even blush as he had expected. She continued to meet his eyes evenly. "My lord, then," she remarked, unmoved by his sudden outburst of temper or the calculated insult of his words. "I seek not to tutor you, only to speak a simple truth. The people of Belavoirare your people. They have remained so in their hearts, despite the fact that my father has ruled these lands. They've made the best of what they had, a situation poor folk have no power to amend. Do them no ill now because they were forced to serve another master. You are legend to them, legend and dreams. Don't diminish yourself in their eyes." The silence that fell was suffocating. It was difficult to breathe. Never had he felt so small, so conscious of being in the wrong. So unequal to being a legend. One of his men shifted his feet. Another cleared his throat. Robert drew in his breath. Whatever hehad ex pected from the girl, it wasn't this. He hadn'texpected to come off the worse from an exchange with Montagne's daughter. He forced a smile. "Snatching a bit of victory from your defeat, madam? I've a great deal of experience in the latter of late, very little of the former. Perhaps you should tutor me after all." He turned his head slightly. "Roger, find Rolf outside in the bailey. Tell him to stop his work on the stairway. He's to bring whatever he needs and repair this door at once. Edmund, you and Gerard guard the hallway. No one enters this room without my order. No oneincluding you. Aymer, see that everyone gathers in the hall. These people should know by now that they've nothing to fear. That I'm flesh and blood and no demon from hell." He glanced back at the young woman. Her face was a mask of alabaster, her haunting eyes unfathomable, her thick hair falling like ebony silk to the floor. He had an unexpected urge to plunge his hands through it, wrap it around his arms, feel it against his bare flesh. He held himself perfectly still, aware that his heartbeat was quickening, that his body was flushed and on edge in a way that had nothing to do with the recent fighting. He wanted this woman, wanted her in a way that had the blood pooling hotly in his groin, in the raw, elemental way men had wanted women since the beginning of time. He swallowed hard, staring at the girl, forcing his breath to a normal cadence. "We've matched swords, madam," he said at last. "I've won a battle and now so have you. It will be interesting to see how the campaign continues, for this war I will win." Then he deliberately turned and strode out without looking back, his men scattering quickly in his wake. For a moment Jocelyn remained motionless, staring at the shadowy, splintered doorway, listening to the sound of retreating footsteps. Then a violent trembling seized her. She closed her eyes, holding tight to the still-shuddering Adelise. Robert de Langley was an intimidating, overwhelming man! And something about him, about the scorching way he had looked at her, shook her to the depths of her being.
"God... dear God in Heaven," she whispered. "I thank you that we arealive!" *** He had reached the darkened vault of the stairway before he realized he was running away. Lifting a hand, Robert caught himself against the low stone ceiling, halting his reckless, headlong plunge down the stair. In the darkness behind him, Aymer Briavel skidded and slid into the wall, biting off a curse as he narrowly avoided crashing into his lord. Robert grinned. He had never stood on ceremony with his men. They had been through too much together, weathered too many hardships, lost too many battles, and laid too many comrades to rest. He'd prayed with them, fought with them, whored with them. And he'd never been hesitant to admit defeat, to own up to being in the wrong. "Tell me, Aymer. Why in God's name can I face a full complement of Henry's best Angevin knights without a qualm, but every confrontation with a sharp-tongued woman sends me racing for reinforcements as if all hell's demons pursued?" The young knight laughed, as Robert had meant him to. It was best to keep things light. "She was a bit unusual, that dark one. Took us all by surprise, my lord. But that other, by the Mass! Did you note that other one? Best keep her locked up out of sight, else every man here'll be sleepless and on edge for a month!" Robert laughed and resumed his descent at a more leisurely pace. "It's the fighting that's got your blood up, Briavelyour blood and your cock. Best lower 'em if you can. Given a weapon, I'm sure that bloodthirsty whelp of Montagne's would be happy to remove either or both. And in my opinion, she just might do it. I'd say she's worth a round dozen of that other that's got you so hot." "Depends on what you want her for, my lord. But a dozen? Sweet Jesu, I can't even bring myself to imagine!" The man laughed again, made a crude soldier's comment, and Robert smiled and continued down the stairs. It was the fighting and subsequent victory that had roused them all. One conquest made men want another, and if women were available the results were inevitable. But he'd never sanctioned plunder and rape, and the men with him knew better. Especially here at Belavoir. His lips twitched again. Actually, he'd wager his last breath that they thought on it a great deal though they wouldn't dare disobey. They'd wait it out, find some willing camp followers or half-clean whores. It was something he'd have to look to himself. God knew, they'd been living like monks for months. Since they'd slipped across the Channel and hidden out like outlaws. He thought again of the dark-haired girl, of that glorious hair, those unsettling eyes. Of how she would feel writhing and shuddering beneath him. Montagne's daughter. He blinked at the rush of heat the image evoked, at the taut, uncomfortable expectancy centered in his groin. It would be such a perfect, exquisite pleasure, satisfying the need of the moment, the vengeance of years.
Like his men, he'd be thinking about it. What a shame that was all he could do. He took the last stair, pausing in the shadowy well and gazing out into the torchlit hall. The room was large for a hall in England, though not nearly so large as boyhood memory had painted it. He'd seen kings' castles and bishops' palaces since then. But it was still a room that spoke of grandeur and wealth, of decades of de Langley power and prestige on both sides of the Channel. Where most English castles were still little better than primitive wooden forts atop palisaded earthen mounds, Belavoir had been built of stone. It was based on the huge fortresses in Normandy and Aquitaine with comfortable innovations copied from Saracen palaces his father had seen on Crusade. Roger de Langley had built Belavoir to repulse all attackers and stand fast in his absences as he made the rounds of his vast domains in England and Normandy. To stand fast for his sons and his son's sons. In this great room Robert had played and fought mock battles, secretly relishing the knowledge that while his elder brother Jordan would inherit the title of count and the vast de Langley lands in Normandy, Belavoir and all of the English estates would be his. But then Jordan had died in the seemingly endless Norman-Angevin struggle and Robert had crossed the sea to become his father's right arm, to win his own legendary renown as King Stephen's Norman Lion, only to die in a flaming funeral pyre set by Henry's Angevin devils in an abbey where Robert and a half-dozen of his men had taken sanctuary as a last resort. Only he hadn't been burned alive. He'd watched, wedged precariously in the smoke-filled stone bell tower, alternately praying for his soul and passionately hating the men below as they'd danced, laughing, around the flames. He'd slipped away in the darkness with Geoffrey and Aymer, the only others to survive the hellish ordeal. They'd rejoined what was left of his forces and hidden out in France. There the worst had overtaken him. A sudden, virulent fever had snuffed out his young son's life. Two anguished days to devour all the good that was left in his world. Two soul-shattering days to destroy four years of high childish laughter, sticky-sweet smiles, a sturdy wriggling body he still ached to hold in his arms. Two days as a prelude to hell. And when it was done, when the rage and grief were spent, the emotional wasteland traversed, he had taken his men and slipped across the sea. Secretly, a man long thought dead. He had come home. Home to England, home to lick his wounds and rediscover a reason to live. Home to retake Belavoir, to fight Henry again on his own terms. For a moment, Robert could almost feel his father's comforting presence, could almost hear the echo of people and places and a past long since dead. His mother had died when he was scarce old enough to remember, but he'd never lacked for love and care from the nurses and servants, the men-at-arms here at Belavoir. Now the need to return to that simpler time rose up so strongly it was like the anguished throb of a new wound. To his boy's eyes that life here in England had been charmed, his world simple and secure. Right had been right and wrong, wrong, with no shades of maybe to muddy the demarcation. He'd not yet learned about betrayals, hadn't needed to harden himself to the pain of living with a woman he'd once loved with
all of his soul and then hated with equal intensityhis beautiful wife Marguerite. Robert frowned and drew in a deep breath. There wasn't any going back, of course, and that simpler time had existed only in a child's imagination. The dead didn't return to the living, despite what these people here tonight had thought. Betrayals couldn't be undone, his own mistakes couldn't be mended. There was only now, and what he could make of his life from this moment onward. He was thankful to God for his life, thankful for the success this night that had won him back Belavoir. He would hear mass in the morning, commission a new statue of the Blessed Virgin as soon as he found a spare moment. More at peace now, he let his eyes roam the hall possessively. His hall. Anxious servants huddled together, whispering and glancing covertly over their shoulders. His men went about their business, seeing to prisoners and dealing with wounded or standing alertly on guard. He stepped forward into the torchlight. One of his men saw him and hailed him, but the words were drowned out as a wave of cheering swept the hall. Softly at first, begun by only a voice or two, it was seized by dozens of throats at once, swelling and reverberating through the high-ceilinged room like a chant. Then his men were joining in as well. A wall of sound broke over him. His name. They were calling his name. Robert hesitated. Beneath his singed clothing and bloody mail, beneath the dirt and dried sweat, he felt the shiver of gooseflesh rising along his skin. So they had hailed him once in Normandy. So they had hailed him in France. Before they had hunted him like an animal. He moved forward again, conscious of Aymer screaming wildly behind him. No dark thoughts now. Tonight was a victory for his men as well as for him. And God knew they deserved one. It had been a long time. He held up his arms. Gradually the room quieted. "I can see some of you here remember me from my boyhood. Some of you may even remember the good times of Sir Roger, my father. You know we are true lords of Belavoir, that no Montagne usurper can lay just claim to this castle and lands." He put his hand to his sword hilt, drawing his sword from his scabbard and lifting it into the torchlight so that the blood-stained hilt rose on high like a holy relic. "I swear to you now," he continued, his voice rising, accelerating with emotion. "I swear to you by this sword my father gave me and by the blood now staining it, that I will live or die in this place. That I will defend Belavoir and every man belonging here with my last breath, with the last drop of my blood." In a slow half-circle, he pivoted, holding the sword out before him like a priest with the sacred host. Then, in a lightning flash of movement, he drove it into a table. It shimmered in the torchlight, glowing and quivering as if it drew breath. "As God is my witness!" he shouted into the hush. "As God is my witness, I, Robert of Belavoir, last of
the great House of de Langley, do pledge to hold these lands. This I do swear upon the soul of my father... upon the soul of my dead son!" For a moment no one moved. No one breathed. Then the room erupted into wild and delirious shouting. Robert felt the tension of these last few weeks rush from him. He pivoted again, basking in the adulation, the smiling faces that were balm to his bitter spirit. A familiar face caught his eye: the grubby serving boy who had held the door open those precious seconds and earned naught but a vicious kick for his pains. Without him, this night of victory might well have gone differently. Robert held out a hand, beckoning the boy to stand beside him. The lad scampered to him, dark eyes wild with excitement, small face radiant as the sun. Robert swallowed hard. So had his own son looked up at him in days gone past. Instinctively, he went down on one knee. "What's your name, boy?" The lad gazed up at him as if he were a god. "Adam, my lord. Adam Carrick."
Four Theblow was unexpecteda knife blade out of the darkness, a sword-thrust dealt by a friend. Robert sucked in a sharp breath as the hurt washed over him, leaving him vulnerable, unprotected. Adam. Sweet, merciful God, buthe 'd barterhis soul to Satan himself if only his own son might be standing here now! Aymer Briavel had been close enough to hear the exchange. He took an involuntary step closer, his hand flexing against his sword hilt, helpless against this hurt. Robert put a hand on the boy's shoulder, forced a smile for the othersthe boy and the distressed young knight. "Adam." He said the word softly, experimentally. It had been a long time since he'd spoken it aloud. "Do you know, lad, that Adam was my son's name? He wanted so badly to come here, but he didn't live to see Belavoir. He died a few months ago. I buried him in Normandy." Robert smiled again. The pain was still there, the terrible, aching tightness in his throat that made it so difficult to speak. "I suppose since my Adam couldn't be here in person, he sent you in his stead to help me tonight." He squeezed the boy's shoulder. "Thank you, Adam. I may well owe you my life. It's a debt you may be sure I'll repay." The boy shookhis head. "Oh, no, my lord! You owe nothing. Nothing! When I heard your shout outside, I was bound to do what I could, even if you weren't of this earth. I'm your man, you know," he added solemnly, "like my father was before me." Robert's smile became a bit less forced. "Who was your father, lad?"
The boy squared his shoulders proudly. "Edward Carrick. He had great skill with a bow, my lord. He died at the battle for St. Clair. You used to call him your Welshman in jest. Because of the bow." Robert gripped the boy's thin shoulder. "Edward... Edward of Shrewsbury? You're Sir Edward Carrick's son?" The boy nodded. "But you're" He bit back the words. This was no serf or kitchen boy as he had surmised. The lad was well born. But he was filthy and dressed in rags a serf might have scorned. It was clear he'd been put to work as a menial. Some crude jest of Montagne's most likely. "It's obvious where you come by your courage, lad. Your father had the heart of a lion and nerves I was oft wont to envy myself. And he could work magic with a bow. It was a great tragedy when he fell. A tragedy for me and for England." The boy nodded, dark eyes far too serious in his gaunt child's face. "He always told me you'd come back here, my lord. That I should be here to aid you. And... well, here you are." The boy grinned and glanced away, a hint of shyness entering his voice for the first time. "I did what I could. That's all. Just like he said." Robert slid a finger beneath the boy's dirty chin, tilting the thin face gently toward him. If only the grown men, the so-called valorous commanders he'd dealt with had had half this lad's courage, half his loyalty, Normandy would be in English hands this night. "I wish I could bring him back to you, lad. I wish I could bring my own Adam back. But I suspect wherever they are, that they're both rejoicing right now. And I suspect that they're both very proud." "My lord!" Robert turned, rose to his feet. Geoffrey was hurrying toward him. He'd been outside the keep, seeing to the removal of bodies, the disposition of prisoners, and the searching of the outbuildings and walls for any remaining enemies. "My lord! William Jarrett just rode in from the outlying manors of Merlan and Harclay. Both fell easily to our forces. No casualties at Merlan, only one at Harclay." His eyes danced with triumph. "Three castles, my lord. Three castles in de Langley hands!" Wild cheering swept the room again. Robert stood very still. It had been a night of complete victory. His men had swept all in their path. He stood watching his delirious men, the shouting, happy servants. He wished his father had lived to see this night. And Adam. And his old friend Edward Carrick. But tonight was just the beginning, for with God's help, he was going to do it. He was going to take back every handful of de Langley soil in England.
And, like it or not, the Montagne women were going to help. *** The muffled sound of cheering faded away. Jocelyn caught her breath, strained her ears, but no further sounds drifted up from the hall. Drawing the covers beneath her chin, she snuggled closer to her sister's warmth seeking comfort. Adelise had finally dropped off to sleep, and so had Hawise, still whimpering softly. The three women shared the great bed, for Jocelyn hadn't had the heart to force the terrified young maidservant to sleep alone on her pallet. Not tonight. Not after what they'd been through. Not with what might be yet to come. Besides, the room was cold. The fire had burned low in the chamber's wall fireplaceone of the unheard of innovations Belavoir boastedand Jocelyn hadn't dared open the door to ask the guards for more fuel. Robert de Langley had seemed confident his men would obey him, but Jocelyn didn't feel like putting his faith to the test. Not with the memory of the way those men had looked at Adelise still so fresh in her mind. She closed her eyes, willing the much-needed sleep to come, but the memory of facing de Langley, of the scorching way he had stared, sent her heart pounding, her blood racing. Until tonight she'd thought half the legends about the man to be thatmerely legends. Now she wasn't so sure. It was said his life was charmed, that no mortal man could touch him. That when fighting he had the strength of a dozen knights, the cunning and dexterity of a devil. In battle after battle he'd rallied Stephen's forces, turned certain defeats into victories. But slowly the tide in Normandy had shifted as battles began to go awry, as one after another of the great barons had gone over to Geoffrey of Anjou. As the men owning enough property in England had given up and slunk home in defeat. For years now, the Angevins had been the acknowledged lords of Normandy, but de Langley had fought on. Wherever a rebellious vassal held out against Count Geoffrey and his young son Henry, de Langley was sure to be stirring the caldron of discontent. Wherever border raids from France and the disputed territory of the Vexin were successful, de Langley was sure to be leading them. He'd been a thorn in the flesh to the men of Anjou for years. He'd been unable to drive them out, but it was impossible for the Angevins not to fear him. Then word had come last fall that Count Geoffrey was dead, his son Henry the undisputed lord of Normandy, Anjou, Maine, and Touraine. Within months the unpredictable young duke had wed Eleanor, countess of Aquitaine, the scandalously beautiful and newly-divorced former wife of the king of France. Then an even more unbelievable story had swept the land: Robert de Langley was dead, trapped by Henry's men in a church and burned alive while men watched. God-fearing men everywhere had shuddered and crossed themselves. It was said King Stephen had wept openly, had taken to his bed for several days. But her father had rejoiced, Jocelyn remembered. For the first time in years, he'd felt secure in the de Langley lands he had stolen. Jocelyn felt a shiver run through her. She'd always dreaded these visits to Belavoir, to any of the de Langley holdings. The servants were sullen, not outright disrespectfulnot after her father had ordered
two killed, a dozen more severely and publicly punished as a warningjust slow, passive, pretending stupidity. They had hated her, too, for her Montagne blood, though Jocelyn had done all she knew to be fair in her dealings. It was only on her last sojourn at Belavoir, that she'd inadvertently won them over. Making an unexpected midnight visit to Belavoir's lonely chapel, she'd caught a half-dozen servants there lighting candles. It was the first anniversary of Robert de Langley's death, and a young kitchen boy had been wildly and bitterly defiant, had spoken words that could have sent them all to their deaths. Jocelyn had ignored the outpouring of venom, had calmly lit a candle and added it to the ones in the rack, dropping to her knees and saying a soft prayer for de Langley's soul. No one had spoken, no one had moved. When Jocelyn finished, she'd risen quietly and left the room, hesitating briefly in the doorway to suggest that the candles be removed before morning, before anyone else found the evidence. By the next day, she was conscious of a slight change in the atmosphere at Belavoir. Servants moved more quickly to do her bidding. There were even a few cautious smiles. It would be too much to say that she was welcomedno Montagne would ever be in a de Langley's castlebut the miasma of hate that had stifled her like heavy wool in July had lifted. She had been accepted; her dealings were considered fair. Jocelyn thought again of that night and thanked God for it. She just hoped someone remembered to tell the story to the man with the lion's eyes. She must have slept, haunted by those unusual eyes, for when she awakened they were the first thing she saw, long-lashed, golden, and shimmering with purpose. Jocelyn blinked sleepily and shifted her head, aware of a sharp aching in her hip she couldn't identify. "I said up, madam. I would speak with you." Her eyes snapped open. De Langley stood by the bed, the flat of his sword resting on the mattress alongside her body. Her hand went to her hip, rubbed at the ache. He'd struck her. He'd struck her with the flat of his blade! She sat up and shoved her tangled hair back, instantly awake and outraged. "Your sojourn in hell must have burned away your manners, sir! Have you forgotten how to knock?" "I assure you, madam, I've lost a great deal more than manners in the places I've been." De Langley sheathed his sword, taking a few seconds longer than necessary to meet her eyes. "I'd advise you not to test me further, madam. 'Twould be a shame for you to have to find out for yourself just what." Jocelyn's gaze didn't waver. Since she was a child, she had faced her enemies head up, eyes wide to enable her to see the next blow coming. For a moment neither moved. Then the man grinned, murmured unexpectedly, "You're the Welsh one, obviously. I suppose that accounts for it." Before she could comment, he turned and headed for the door. "You may have five minutes for whatever you think necessary. I'll await you out here in the antechamber. Take no longer than that for I
assure you, madam, I am in a hurry." He hesitated in the doorway and glanced back. His smile had faded, but a trace of humor still lightened his golden eyes, the smooth-shaven planes of his tanned, high-cheekboned face. "Besides, I did knock. You were sleeping so soundly you just didn't hear." And with that, he shut the door. Jocelyn released her long-held breath. So it hadn't been a nightmare. Robert de Langley was alive. "Oh, Jocelyn, what are you going to do?" Jocelyn glanced down at Adelise. Tears of helplessness were already brimming in her sister's blue eyes. "Find the chamber pot," she said with a trace of impatience. "I doubt there's time for much else." In five minutes Jocelyn was ready. She had slept in the yellow gown from last night, not daring to remove it. Now she pulled a russet bliaut over the loose underdress, lacing up the sides with quick fingers so that it hugged her slim body, then dragging her heavy hair back and tying it with a leather thong. There wasn't time to make the usual braid, and she scorned the new French head coverings Adelise had taken to wearing. De Langley obviously knew she was part Welsh. Let him make fun of her if he dared. She opened the door with a defiant shove, taking a moment to study her opponent. The man stood beneath the window, back turned toward her. He was even taller and broader of shoulder than she remembered. An odd little shiver slid over her. Light filtered in through the thin, scraped hide of the window covering, illuminating the loom he was contemplating, and the intricate tapestry Adelise had been working. In the shadowy torchlight last night his thick hair had seemed darker, tawny-brown. Now it caught the light in a thousand golden, honey-rich reflections. Jocelyn had a fleeting thought that a woman might sell all she possessed for such hair. "Do you weave?" he asked unexpectedly. "Yes, but that is my sister's work. It is beautiful, is it not?" He turned. His golden eyes met hers, traveled slowly over her in a way that made her shift her weight uncomfortably. Then they returned to her face, impassive. "Very. It's nice to know she's good for something. Something, that is, besides the obvious thing lovely women are good for." Jocelyn stiffened. "My sister is good at a great many things. Facing a bloody, rampaging lion in his den just doesn't happen to be one of them!" "So you agree. It ismy den?" "Lands in England belong to whomever is strong enough to take them and hold them these days." Amusement flickered briefly in his eyes. "You would do well at court, madam." "I think not." He turned away from the loom. "You see to the household, have taken over in the absence of the bailiff, I'm told, yet your sister is the elder by a year. How is it this task falls to you?" His eyebrows rose.
"Another of the things the lovely Adelise isn't good at?" Jocelyn kept her face emotionless, her voice even. "My mother died when I was ten. My father was seldom in residence at Warford Castle where I was raised. I learned early how to manage a keep, how to see to the running of a manor. It was necessary for survival. My sister does well enough at Montagne where she is known and loved for herself. Here, however, the situation has been quite different." "Yes. Amazing, isn't it?" She ignored his sarcasm. "What is it you want of me?" "I want you to take me through the castle, show me what's laid by for winter, go over the account books with me." He paused thoughtfully. "They tell me you read and write and handle household accounts yourself. I didn't believe it of a woman at first. Is it true?" "I speak and read four languages. I can write a bit in all four as well." Jocelyn lifted her eyebrows, a perfect parody of his mocking expression. "And how many do you read, sir?" "Enough to get by." He motioned toward the door, obviously unimpressed. "After you, madam clerk. We've work to do this morning. We'll be preparing for a siege." Jocelyn swung around in surprise. "A siege?" "Certainly. You don't think your lord father is going to ignore the fact that I'm here, do you? With any luck we'll have two days, three perhaps, before he discovers the message from Lord Borthwick was a ruse, before he comes racing back here to see what's afoot." A ruse? So the whole thing had been carefully planned all along. Jocelyn forced herself to ask a question, one that had kept her sleepless till dawn. "And what of us? Adelise and myself?" "Why, we'll discover what you're worth to Montagne, of course." De Langley smiled grimly. "And I warn you, madam, I plan to set a humiliatingly high price." "I see." "Such an excessively learned woman, I thought you would." Jocelyn forced herself to ask one more question. "And if he doesn't choose to pay your price. What then?" The man met her eyes, but this time the look in hiswas chilling. "Like you, I've learned to do whatever is necessary for survival. Let us hope, madam, for both our sakes, that we don't have to find out what that is."
Five Jocelyn sized up the man who stood across from her. The blood and dirt of last night were gone, so too the dangerous glitter of destruction and death in his eyes. But his casual assurance this morning was even
more chilling. Whatever is necessary for survival. She hadn't a doubt that he meant it. She hadn't a doubt either that her father would do little to ransom his half-Welsh daughter, the daughter of a repugnant marriage wrought of greed and politics. The daughter who had been nothing but an embarrassment to him all her life. She kept her voice steady by a major effort of will. "Belavoir had a good harvest this year. If you wish to see the stores, we'd best be about it. It will take us some time." She moved toward the door and shoved it open without looking back. But her heart had begun an unsteady pounding, her pulse throbbing in a way that made rational thinking impossible. She could hear de Langley's soft tread behind her, was overwhelmingly aware of the man at her back, of the sheer animal threat she was responding to on some instinctive level. How could anyone not fear such a man? How had her father dared steal his lands? She stepped into the corridor. Two soldiers standing guard stared curiously as she walked past. Down the hall, two servants were scrubbing at a brownish stain on the floor. She hesitated.Blood. Blessed Christ, it was blood! A whole pool of it. One of the women glanced up, started to smile, but Jocelyn was rushing past, trying not to think of what she might find downstairs in the hall. Her pace picked up. She was almost running, but couldn't stop herself. At the head of the stairs de Langley caught her arm. "Wait." She swung round to face him, eyes wide, breath shallow and fast. "I said I was in a hurry, madam, but I don't require such haste as this." His words were calm, but his eyes probed hers questioningly. "You've not yet broken your fast, nor have I. Perhaps we would both be the better for a bit of good ale and some bread to steady us before we start." Jocelyn stared at his hand. She felt the warmth of it through her sleeve, the strength in his grip. His gaze followed hers and his hand fell away. The fingers were long and graceful, the hand well-shaped and clean. It took Jocelyn an instant to realize she was studying it for blood. "Did you really think that I took Belavoir without loss of life?" She looked up. Was she really so obvious? "No, I..." She willed her breath to a steady rhythm, forcing herself to hold his unnerving gaze. "It's just different seeing it this morning. Wondering if it might be someone I knew." Wondering if a few days hence it might be my own. "They were all given quarter if they threw down their arms. Something my garrison here wasn't offered when your father took control. Sir Edwin de Beouff was castellan thena good fighting man, a
childhood friend. Though they knew I couldn't hope to come to their aid, my people held out here for over six months. When they were too weak from hunger to fight, Montagne took the castle." De Langley's eyes were flat and cold and lifeless. "The knights he allowed to be ransomed, but Sir Edwin was put to death along with all of the men-at-arms. Here in the bailey. As an example. An example of what happened to men loyal to me." Jocelyn found her voice with difficulty. "I didn't know." He turned abruptly and started down the spiraling stairs. "Now you do." They reached the hall, and Jocelyn was amazed to find everything clean and running smoothly. It was filled with hurrying servants and deferential, well-behaved men-at-arms. Save for the different faces, she would never have believed fighting had taken place here only last night. At de Langley's order they were served ale and cheese and some good white bread Jocelyn knew had been baked for her father. She was surprised to discover that despite her fears, she was overwhelmingly hungry. The food tasted good, the ale even better. She stared at it suspiciously. "Cheshire alethe best in the west country," de Langley said. "I brought it in with me last night." Her anger rose at the arrogance of the man. "You brought your own ale on a sortie to take a castle?" "Actually, I was pretending escort for a cart train of supplies from Shrewsbury. It got my men and myself through the gates." "The salt," she said. "The salt we've been waiting for." He nodded. "I had a bit of trouble persuading the real escort to abandon it. Unfortunately for them, they had little choice." "So that's how you took the place so easily." "I assure you, madam, there was nothing easy about it." He took a long sip of ale, his eyes meeting hers mockingly above the rim of his cup. "Take care or you'll diminish the legend." "I suspect," she responded coolly, "that the legend is growing, even as we speak. But what of the garrison commander? Edgar of Tutbury, by name." "Dead, madam." He frowned. "I'm sorry if his death distresses you, but the man was a fool." Now it was Jocelyn's turn to take a long sip of ale. Men had died last night. No doubt more would die once her father arrived. And she and Adelise would be caught in the middle. "The death of any of God's creatures distresses me," she said. "But some more than others. Sir Edgar was a man I neither liked nor trusted." "How is it, then, that he was left here responsible for the castle? For you and your sister? God's blood, if he's the best Montagne can field against us, my men and I have nothing to fear." Jocelyn almost choked on her ale.Sir Roger! Sir Roger and the men from Montagne were coming.
She'd forgotten in all the excitement. The men might be here by evening, by morning at the latest. How could she best use the knowledge? She reached for the bread, forced herself to offer itto the man across from her, then calmly tore a piece off for herself. "Most of the men went with my father to Oxford. It's widely known Belavoir is impregnable. Even with a small force as garrison, my father thought us safe behind these walls." She raised challenging eyesto his. "Besides, who would dare risk attacking us? My father's only real enemy was thought dead." "Yes, with me dead, with that traitorous pact he and the earl of Chester have to refrain from attacking each other, he must have thought he had nothing to fear." De Langley smiled, that smile she had hated so last night. "How satisfying to disappoint him. There's much to be said for coming back from the dead." They were quiet for several moments, eating, and Jocelyn studied him covertly. Robert de Langley had been a legend within his own lifetime. When word of this leaked outof his return from the dead and his easy success last nighthe would only become more so. She watched him eat, watched him lift his cup to his mouth. Unable to contain her own curiosity, she asked, "How did you do it? How did you get out of that burning church and survive all this time with none the wiser? They say your body was found, that Henry of Anjou even wears the ring they took from your hand." He was silent so long, she thought he had chosen to ignore her. Then he held out one hand, stared thoughtfully at his long bare fingers. "Yes, Henry has this annoying passion for stealing things that belong to me. Personal things. If I read you a list of them, madam, I'm quite certain it would astound you." He hesitated, his eyes narrowing, hardening. "I did hate to lose the ring, though. It belonged to my father. Perhaps I'll get it back one day, when I take it off Henry's corpse. What a sweet day that will be." He flashed her another smile, short and bitter, as he pushed back from the table and rose to his feet. "It's a long and ugly story, madam. One scarcely fit for such pretty ears. Besides, we've no time. Drink up. We've a great deal of work to do this morning." And work they did. Jocelyn and the lord of Belavoir spent the morning trailing over the castle and outbuildings, peering into every niche of every storeroom, tramping through the bakehouse, brewhouse, dairy, stables, smithy, and even the empty pigsty. The man astonished Jocelyn with his appetite for detail, with his insistence on seeing everything for himself. With the way his quick mind took in a roomful of grain, making the lightning calculations to decide how many mouths it would feed for a month. He was obviously a man well-used to command, accustomed to responsibility for the welfare of others. He would be a good lord for this place. Far better than her father had ever been. They ended up midday in the dead bailiff's office. Jocelyn took out her keys and opened the chest where Belavoir's records were stored. De Langley caught up a parchment roll and opened it, his eyes scanning quickly, thoughtfully, down the page. So he did read. Enough, as he had put it. Not that she wouldn't have expected it by now. He glanced up and caught her smiling. "A private joke, madam?" he asked, lifting his imperious eyebrows.
"Private, no. I was only thinking that enough to get by in Normandy is certainly better than much of England can boast." For a moment he looked puzzled, then a flash of comprehension dawned. "My father believed in education. Surprisingly, yours must have as well. I'd not have thought it." "My father, no." Jocelyn shook her head. "My mother made it possible for me to learn to read and write, so I'd not find myself at the mercy of some dishonest cleric or bailiff some day." "A wise woman. Rare as hen's teeth in my experience." Jocelyn met his eyes, then glanced away self-consciously. Her eagerness for learning had been an object of scorn to her father, her near-magical facility for languages another cause for his fear and suspicion. She wondered if Robert de Langley would feel the same. "I'd something of a gift for languages," she said. "By the time I was three, I'd learned to speak not only French, but English and Welsh from the servants and nurses I'd had. At six the priest in our household began instructing me in Latin, much against his better judgement, I might add." "Don't tell me. You threatened him with your dagger." His words were so obviously said in jest Jocelyn couldn't resist a smile. So Robert de Langley had a sense of humor. "No, but as I recall, one of my mother's brothers did. We Welsh are a godless lot, you know. No fear of Rome, more's the pity." The man laughed outright. It was a beautiful laugh, deep and generous and somehow at odds with his usual, guarded look. Years of bitterness dropped away. With it went much of her fear. She'd never talked this easily with any man save Edward of Pelham, and him only because he'd been bent on wooing Adelise. "I think I'd enjoy meeting these Welsh kinsmen of yours," de Langley said. "We might find a few things in common." Jocelyn was still smiling. "Remain here in the marches long enough, sir, and I'm certain you shall. They've a tendency to come calling on Englishmenusually after dark. Come to think of it, you'd probably all get along quite well." De Langley laughed again. Then his eyes caught hers and the laughter abruptly faded. They narrowed, changed, some new emotion flickered to life in their depths, something powerful, earthy and completely incomprehensible. Something that made her heart slide into her throat, that set every nerve in her body tingling. For a moment neither spoke. In the silence Jocelyn could hear the measured sound of her breathing, the erratic beat of her heart. A current of something dangerous and uncomfortable eddied around her. It was like that moment last night when she couldn't move, couldn't look away. De Langley glanced down and broke the spell. "There's a great deal here to go through, but it's getting late, and I've much to see to. Get back to your room and take your meal with your sister. I'll send for you if I need you again."
Jocelyn nodded. She was ashamed she hadn't thought of Adelise. Her sister would be wondering what had happened to her. She would be even more terrified by now. "We'll get back to this tomorrow or the next day perhaps," de Langley was saying. "This afternoon will be far too busy." "Oh?" "As you most reasonably pointed out this morning, we've no meat put away for the winter. A little matter of a dead bailiff and some salt I was holding hostage. A fortress without meat isn't a fortress for long." He turned. "This morning some of my men along with some servants and swineherds began to search the woods for Belavoir's hogs. By afternoon the first of them should be getting back. There'll be good eating tomorrow for all." Jocelyn moved toward the door, her fertile imagination picturing the events now in motion. When Sir Roger and the men from Montagne arrived, those woods would become a killing ground. And to what real purpose? They couldn't hope to take the castle. Not with her and Adelise inside. 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 deviltogether or separatelyin 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 hadreally 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.
Six Thelate autumn dusk came early witha 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 halfan hour ago and was obviously trying hard to forget her anxiety and focus her mind on her weaving. Still she jumped likea 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 potsand utensils of all kinds. Over it all the sound of pigs grunting and squealing and the acrid smell of scorching fleshand 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'dthought 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." "Mycastle?" 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. 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 howyou 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.
Seven 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. His men streamed out behind him, shouting and eager. Montagne's forces saw them and hesitated. They bunched together in confusion, then straightened and surged forward with an angry, pulsating roar. Robert shifted the comforting weight of his shield to his left, settled himself more deeply in the saddle. This was the life for which he'd been born. It was what he did best. He lifted his sword, focused on his target, a tall knight on a rangy chestnut.We are in the right. God make us strong. The two sides met with a shuddering shock of bodies and steel, a deafening clamor of noise. Belisaire struck the chestnut in the shoulder, the force of the stallion's body knocking the smaller animal backward and down. The hapless rider was powerless even to get in a blow as he was trampled by steel shod hooves.
Robert fended off a sword-thrust with the upper corner of his shield, then matched blows with the enemy knight for several seconds. He maneuvered his mount with his knees, drawing alongside the man, bashing him in the face with the edge of his shield, finishing him quickly with a sword stroke the man never even saw coming. He heard the familiar grunt of thrashing, struggling horses, the heavy breathing of men fighting for their lives. He laid about him with his sword, striking at everything that moved. A surge of power and excitement carried him. Montagne's forces outnumbered them, but his own men were fighting like devils. He was going to win. Two knights came at him at once. He fended them off with sword and shield. His great blade swung and fell, swung and fell, in an effortless hypnotic rhythm that drove the men back. He swept past, then swung around, driving Belisaire broadside into one of the horses. The animal stumbled but regained his footing, his rider lifting his shield, protecting his right side. Robert shifted his knee. Without hesitation the stallion checked and moved left. Robert followed swiftly with a powerful, crippling stroke, feeling the satisfying crunch of separating mail, the silken passage of fine steel through soft flesh. He freed his sword, readied himself to face the other knight. But the man was backing off, had already swung to take on another opponent. Robert hesitated. He could hear the sound of his own labored breath whistling through his nose guard. He lifted his head, allowed himself a moment to search the field. Horses snorted and squealed, men shouted in triumph and screamed in agony. And above it all rang the clatter and rasp of steel against steel. He narrowed his eyes, searched the field through the anonymity of his helm's eye slits. Montagne's men were beginning to fall back, but Robert wasn't ready to return to the keep. Not now. His blood was up and he wanted Montagne. As if in answer to his need, he sighted the red boar insignia Montagne had taken to wearing. He spurred toward the man, his shout of hatred ringing down the field. With the heatof the fighting upon himhe wasn't going to proceed by his plan. He wanted vengeance. He wanted it now! *** Jocelyn gripped the edge of the wall obliviousto the fact that the rough stone had cut her hand. She had seen men practice at fighting, had even watched one rough tournament melee Brian had told her was almost like battle.But never had she imagined anything like this. The fighting was spread out on the plain belowher. Men surged first one way and then the other, then droppedout of sight in a sickening crush of shimmering steel, flailing hooves and spreading circles of red. Screams came to her easily on the wind along with the clatter and ring of steel. Jocelyn held her breath, watching as Robert de Langley surged across the plain like an angel of death. His sword rose and fell with a grace that was both beautiful and terrifying to behold, with a stark economy of motion that was unstoppable.
The arena of fighting narrowed, tightened, untilthe struggle was centered on one small area of the field. Opponents came at de Langley from all sides. In the crush, he disappeared, and Jocelyn's heart slid into her throat. It seemed impossible he could come out alive, but she caught glimpses of his gray stallion, knew he was still upright in the thick of the fighting. It seemed unthinkable that he might die. Not now. Not after all he'd been through.God keep him. Please, God, don't let him fall. In the press ofmen and horses, she recognized a bay stallion her brother often rode. She spared scarcely a glance for Brian; she couldn't drag her eyes from de Langley. She swallowed against a sudden tightness in her throat, blinked against a surge of tears. Robert de Langley was fighting with all of his heart and all of his soul for all in the world he had left, his home and his people and three boys who might yet become men. She gripped the crenel edge tighter and leanedout, her heart hammering painfully in her throat. Her eyes were riveted on that gray horse, on the legendary man who rode as if the animal were a part of him. "Please, God," she whispered, in what had become an impassioned, involuntary litany. "Please, God, please, God... please, God..." The fighting went on. She couldn't bear to watch yet couldn't drag her eyes away. And then for no reason she could see, the battle abruptly shifted. De Langley broke free. His men began streaming back toward the keep while de Langley himself and a dozen others circled and fought a rear-guard action with a handful of Montagne men brave or foolish enough to try to follow. All around her the men on the walls began to cheer. Jocelyn came to herself with a start. Caught up in the drama below, she had forgotten she wasn't alone. The Belavoir men clattered across the drawbridge and swept through the open gates. The archers atop the walls sent a volley of arrows hissing toward the Montagne men. Then the gates swung shut, the drawbridge groaned upward. The men were safely inside, her father and his forces raging in impotent fury outside. A host of catcalls and taunts followed the arrows over the wall. Jocelyn was surprised to find her legs weak, her heart racing as if she'd been fighting alongside the men. Her sweat-dampened shift clung to her body, making her shiver in the icy wind. She drew her cloak close, shaken by what she had witnessed, by how it had affected her. And she was more than a little surprised and ashamed to realize her eyes had been all for de Langley, that she hadn't looked once for her father, hadn't thought once where her own interests lay. The knights were dismounting. In the grip of a bewildering awe, she watched the lord of Belavoir. She had never known anyone remotely like Robert de Langley, had never experienced emotions as confusing as the ones she was experiencing now. He helped drag one of his men from the saddle. Blood reddened the man's back and one whole side of his body. It dripped from his torn surcoat, staining the brown bailey earth. Two men caught him under the
shoulders and supported him up the stairs into the hall. Robert de Langley swung around. He had removed his helm, and his eyes swept the battlements. Even from this distance she could tell he was in a rage. "Bring me the women! The Montagne women," he shouted. "It's time we raised the stakes."
Eight By the time Jocelyn and the knight named Gerard came down from the wall walk, Robert de Langley had gone into the keep. Jocelyn followed him into the hall. Women were already hurrying to the wounded. Jocelyn searched the room for de Langley. He sat alone at the high table. He held a quill in his hand, was scratching furiously at a sheet of parchment. Still half-overwhelmed by what she had seen, Jocelyn started toward him, then she saw Adelise. "What's happened?" Adelise whispered. "Has there been fighting?" Jocelyn nodded. "Father's come. Lord de Langley and his men went out to meet him." Adelise's pale face turned even whiter. "Sweet merciful Christ! Are they all right?" Jocelyn put out a hand to steady her. "Yes, they're all right. It was only a skirmish," she added, glancing over her shoulder toward Belavoir's lord. Robert de Langley sat still at the table, but he was watching them. "Come here, madam. Bring your sister," he added in a voice that boded no good. Jocelyn stepped forward at once, keeping her arm about Adelise. De Langley pushed back from the table and stood in full, blood-spattered armor. The heat and rage of the fighting were obviously still upon him. His face was flushed and hard, his golden eyes blazing with anger. "Well, madam, and did you enjoy your view?" "Enjoy is not the word I would use," Jocelyn said evenly. "I'm not sorry I stayed though, if that's what you're asking." "I'm glad I was able to offer you entertainment... that my men didn't spend their blood to no cause!" "From what I could see 'twas Montagne men did most of the spending." "Most, yes. I've lost none yet, but I fear one may go soon." "If it's only one, I would consider it a holy miracle. I doubt my father can say the same." "That depends, I suppose, on who that one is." De Langley hesitated, then came round the table. His eyes narrowed. "Your father should be dead, madam. Will be soon, if I've anything to say in the matter!" Jocelyn felt Adelise gasp and begin to tremble. Her arm tightened about her sister in warning. Why was the man so furious? From what she'd seen he'd done a magnificent job of fighting off the Montagne
forces. "You've voiced that sentiment before, sir, but I've no intention of discussing it with you. It is a matter between you and him. May God decide it. But as to your wounded..." Jocelyn glanced back over her shoulder toward the injured men. "Both my sister and myself are held to have great talent with healing. If you'll allow it, we will see what can be done." Adelise made an inarticulate sound of protest. De Langley's eyes swept past Jocelyn and focused on Adelise, the predator selecting his prey. "What? Can it be you've no wish to help, lady?" In a poorly chosen moment of bravado, Adelise lifted her chin. "No! No, I'll not help. You're a murderer! I hope your man dies. I hope you all die!" "Do you now?" The silken words sent a shiver of unease through Jocelyn. She had never seen any man look as Robert de Langley did now. "My sister is overwrought, sir. She just learned of the fighting. Pray don't regard any" "So I am a murderer," de Langley said. He moved closer, eyes riveted upon Adelise. "Well, I suppose some would agree with that. But even in battle I don't butcher men from behind. I don't wait until they're outnumbered, distracted, held down by someone else so I can hack at them from the rear." His large hands clenched convulsively. Jocelyn could tell he was losing control. "That's what your father did on the field today, my lady Adelise Montagne. It's a matter I'll think long and hard on how to repay. And if that man dies" He broke off. His hand shot out, catching Adelise and spinning her around and back against him. He held her easily as she struggled, dragged off her wimple to send her silvery hair cascading free. He caught up a fistful, dragging her head back roughly against his shoulder. "Since you've called for his death, I suggest that you pray now, madam," he murmured against her ear. "I suggest you pray for that man as you have never prayed in your life. He is worth a hundred, a thousand of one such as you! And if he dies, it's you who will pay for his blood.You! And I assure you I'll not make it easy." Jocelyn sucked in her breath. This had come upon them so quickly, so unexpectedly. Robert de Langley drew his dagger. "My lord...don't!" The blade glittered dangerously next to Adelise's white face. The girl whimpered and tried to move, but her head was pinned against his hauberk. "My lord, this is beneath you! Let her go." "If you think vengeance beneath me, madam, you've formed a singularly inappropriate idea of my character!"
"Whatever outrage my father committed, it wasn't her fault." Jocelyn sought his eyes, willed him to look at her. "Let her go. You're frightening her half to death." He looked up, and she knew from his eyes the exact moment he mastered his rage. "Please..." she said. "Let her go." De Langley drew in a deep breath and glanced around, aware that every eye in the hall was riveted upon them. "Oh, for the love of God, I'm not going to kill her!" he snapped. "I'm going to cut off a piece of her hair." He caught up a length of Adelise's hair, rubbed it between his long fingers. "Such unusual color, such fine texture. A little token to remind Montagne what I hold in my hand." He smiled thinly. "Don't you think your lord father will recognize it?" Adelise whimpered again and attempted to struggle. "I'd suggest you hold still, madam. Very still. I'd hate to cut that pretty throat by accident. When I murder people, I generally make sure it's intentional. Besides, you're far to lovely to kill... yet." Adelise closed her eyes and caught her lower lip between her teeth. Tears ran from beneath her lashes. Jocelyn could stand it no longer. She stepped forward and held out her hand. "Give me the knife!" she snapped. "You're going to cut her, and then we'll all be sorry. And you most of all, for you'll have lost an extremely valuable hostage!" De Langley glanced down at her. Surprise and respect mingled in the look. "Give it to me," she repeated. "If you want something to unsettle my father, this is most certainly it. But my sister has had enough. We've all had enough!" To her surprise, he lowered the knife. "Perhaps you're right," he said, holding it out. "We've already ascertained, have we not, madam, that dead hostages are of little value." Jocelyn took the knife, drawing in a long, relieved breath. She hadn't really believed he was going to hurt Adelise. No civilized man would do such a thing. Still, for a moment... "Hold still, Adelise" she said. Her sister was sobbing, but she bit her lip and managed to hold her head steady. Jocelyn reached up and caught a length of hair in back, pressing the blade against it. It severed the hair as if it had been warm butter. She held it up. "I believe this is what you wanted. I've no doubt my father will recognize it. You may let her go now." De Langley released Adelise. The girl staggered, almost fell, then caught herself against the table. "You're a monster! Amonster!" she cried. "You and all of your blood should be hunted down and destroyed!" De Langley eyed her contemptuously. "We have been, madam. I'm afraid I am all that is left. A pity, I'm sure, from your point of view that Duke Henry and his men weren't more thorough. I suspect your father will think the same when he receives my missive."
He caught Geoffrey's eye, jerked his head toward the stairs. "See the lady back to her chamber. I suspect she'd be happier once she's above stairs. I will be, I know." Geoffrey moved forward with alacrity. He put a supportive hand on Adelise's arm and helped her stand. "Come, lady. I'll fetch you some wine. Your woman can help you to rest." Jocelyn watched her sister move toward the stairs. When she glanced back, Robert de Langley was staring at her, a thoughtful, speculative look in his eyes. All at once she became aware that she was still holding tight to his dagger. She held it out, her thoughts, oddly enough, of the father and brother he had lost, the wife he still mourned, the young son he had buried so far away. As Sir Geoffrey had said, the man had lost a very great deal. Her own anger was rapidly cooling. "Forgive my sister, sir. Adelise has always been close to our father. I'm afraid your words frightened her. She struck out in the only way she knew." De Langley took the weapon, lifting his eyebrows with something of the old mockery. "An apology, madam? I'd have thought you more likely to come at me with this." Jocelyn shook her head. "After that first fright, I didn't really think you meant to harm her. You are rather daunting, though, when you are angry, my lord." "So I've been told." The rage and excitement that had carried him had faded. Jocelyn could see now how utterly exhausted de Langley appeared. And with good cause. She thought of that terrible fighting, of these last two days of his tireless, sleepless work... of the many sleepless nights that had doubtless preceded this. "How long has it been, my lord, since you've slept more than a few minutes at a stretch?" "Something in the nature of five years, I believe." Despite the lingering tension, Jocelyn smiled. "Then get yourself off to bed, sir. The sun is setting and regardless of what my father might like, he can do little for now but make camp." De Langley shook his head, glancing over his shoulder to where the women were caring for the wounded. "I must sit with one of my knights, Aymer Briavel. He's unconscious, barely made the safety of the gates. Still I..." He hesitated, drew in a deep breath. "I don't want him to die alone." That brief hesitation spoke volumes. Jocelyn understood now the reason for his rage. "He is dear to you?" "He was with me when that church was burned around our ears. And after, through... through" He broke off, toyed carefully with the point of his blade. "You might say, madam, that we've been through hell together. Events like that forge a bond between men. Yes, he is dear." An ocean of pain lay concealed in the words. Instinctively, Jocelyn touched his arm. "I'm sorry, my lord, for what my father did to your friend." His eyes lifted to hers and held for a moment. "And I, madam. For any fear or hurt I've caused you. For
what I may cause you still." An inexplicable sadness swept Jocelyn. "I understand," she said softly and started to turn away. "Wait." She glanced back. "Does your father read, madam?" "No. But my brother Brian does." De Langley nodded. "I've a note readied to send off, but there's still a little something I need." The ghost of a smile eased the weariness about his mouth. "Let down your hair." "What?" "Montagne has two daughters." De Langley lifted his knife blade, pointing to her hair. "Let down your hair, madam. I doubt I've the energy just now to repeat that last performance with you." Jocelyn hesitated a moment, but the man was obviously serious. She reached up self-consciously, releasing the braided knot at the nape of her neck. The thick rope of hair fell nearly to her waist. De Langley stepped closer. Catching up the braid, he swung it over her shoulder, using his knife to slit the thong at the bottom. Jocelyn sucked in her breath as his hands began working down the length of the braid, releasing it. The sensual tugging against her scalp sent a tight, shivery feeling coursing through her. Her heart began pounding, her whole body tensed and flushed. And when the back of his knuckles inadvertently brushed the side of her breast, she jumped as if she'd been burned. She glanced up, realized too late that it was a mistake. Robert de Langley was close, his long-lashed golden eyes focused on her with an intensity that was overpowering. She could feel the heat of his body, could feel it somehow transmitted to hers. Every nerve in her body jangled. She was reminded unexpectedly of Alys, of the woman who had lain beneath him, of the many women who had doubtless lain beneath him. She tried to say something to break the tension, but couldn't manage it, could only stand there, self-consciously, as his hands worked the length of her hair and then combed through it slowly again. Jocelyn swallowed hard. The man was certainly taking his time! God in heaven, why didn't he just cut off her hair and be done? He smiled, but there was something about the smile that was odd, forced. "Don't be afraid, madam. I assure you I shan't cut your throat." With the words, he slid one hand beneath her hair. It was large, powerful, the fingers curling about the nape of her neck with a tension she'd never been conscious of before. His thumb rested against her pulse point. She knew he must feel the surging rush of her blood. With a major effort of will, Jocelyn held herself still. She focused her eyes on his chest, on the dried
blood staining his hauberk. Whose had it been? With a last tug of her hair, his hand fell away. He drew the dark severed lock across his palm, measured it against the spun silver of the one beside it. "Strange. With the same sire that the two of you should be so different." All her life Jocelyn had been measured against Adelise; all her life she had been found wanting. "Same sire, different dams," she whispered. "Is there nothing of your father in you? The castle folk here say not." Jocelyn swallowed and stepped away. She needed to get a clear breath, to free herself from the grip of whatever it was she had just experienced. "He would like to think not, I imagine. I am far from his favorite child, as I'm certain you've heard as well." De Langley held her eyes. "I've heard it. A point very much in your favor, you can be sure." "Not to the people of my acquaintance." "Then you've made the wrong acquaintances, I expect." He started to turn away, then hesitated. "I must get these tokens off to Montagne. It's time he learned I'm back from the dead to haunt him." He hesitated again, stared at the hair in his hand and frowned. "I know you'll need to go to your sister, but I would appreciate it if you would do whatever you can for my man. The wound is a bad one, I doubt there's ought to be done. Still, if you do have unusual skills..." Jocelyn found her voice. "I'll see to him. And any others here who are wounded." "I would appreciate it," he repeated. Then he turned and moved away. Jocelyn found the young knight without trouble. There were a more than dozen anxious men ringed about Aymer Briavel. And his wounds were indeed bad. He had a huge hacked gash across his shoulder, had taken a blade through the edge of his back and out one side. The blood loss had been so rapid he had barely maintained enough consciousness to remain mounted and reach the gates. Jocelyn frowned. So that was why Robert de Langley had broken off the fighting. It was little wonder he had been in a rage when he got back. The wonder of it was that he hadn't slain both her and Adelise outright. She checked the man's bandages, speaking softly with Maude while she did. The woman was as skilled a healer as Jocelyn had ever seen. She had cleaned the wounds as best she could then packed them with poultices of crushed willow, yarrow, sicklewort, and dried moss. She had bound his side and back as tightly as she dared, but the blood still oozed from both wounds. "Well, madam, and what do you think?" Jocelyn glanced up. Robert de Langley was bending over her. "I think he's in God's hands. Have you sent for your priest?" De Langley nodded. "I was hoping Aymer might regain consciousness if only for a few minutes. Enough to speak to the priest."
Jocelyn shook her head. "He's bleeding still and in the stupor oft caused by such. I don't think it likely to happen." In a matter of minutes, the priest was kneeling at Jocelyn's side. She listened to the comforting words of the sacrament, watched as the priest anointed the unconscious man with the holy oil. Then it was over and the men were scattering resignedly to their duties. As the early hours of evening crept by, Jocelyn removed the blood-soaked bandages, carefully stitching the layersof muscle and flesh back together, packing fresh poulticesof honey and herbs against her work. She watched Robert de Langley move about the keep, checking with his sentries, setting his men to sleeping in shifts. It was obvious he didn't really believe her father would attack, not after whatever it was he had written on that parchment. But it was more obvious still that he was as good as his word. The man left nothing to chance. From her vigil beside Sir Aymer's pallet, Jocelyn directed the workings of the castle folk. The injured men had to be stitched up and cared for, food had to be prepared. Sir Geoffrey came by and knelt for a moment. "How is he?" "The same, I'm afraid, though the bleeding is lessening. By God's grace, it's a clean wound. Nothing inside seemed out of place." Jocelyn glanced up. "But I've no idea how much blood he's lost. It may be too much." "A shame. He's a good man. A good friend. I'll sit with him, lady, while you go and get something to eat." Jocelyn shook her head. "I've sent a woman to fetch me something. I can eat here as easily as anywhere else." Geoffrey nodded and sat quietly, his eyes on the unconscious man. Jocelyn stared curiously at the knight across from her. Sir Geoffrey was different, all of Robert de Langley's men seemed different from the men she had known all her life. She tried to put her thoughts into words. "This knight is a friend, you say. Lord de Langley said the same. I've not seen such friendships among my father's men. Is it because you have been through so much together, because your lord is so... so..." She floundered for words and found nothing appropriate. A flush stole over her face, and she added with some embarrassment, "Actually, I find your lord difficult to describe. He seems a hard man but not harsh, a good man yet readily capable of things that aren't good. He is an easy man to fear, yet I find it impossible not to respect him. His men seem to worship him, yet he leads them out to court death against impossible odds. I don't understand it." She glanced at the dying man and frowned, thinking of the wild fighting she had witnessed, of what de Langley had said of her father. It was true. Despite her father's fierce pride, in some respects he was dishonorable. He had taken an oath years ago to respect and protect the de Langley lands. But so had the earl of Chester, so had several of these western marcher lords. When it came to the getting of lands, there was little pride and no honor. They were like starving wild dogs here in the
marches, snarling and fighting among themselves for a bit of choice meat, as happy to kill each other as they were their traditional enemies across the Welsh border. And they had little respect for anything, in this world or the next. She thought of her father's indifference at her mother's death, of his obscene rejoicing when he'd heard the news of de Langley's horrible end. Anger and disgust surged up. "I find myself shamed tonight, sir," she said. "Shamed by an honor that shifts like the wind, by vows taken for convenience and broken as readily for the same reason. If I could give your lord this man's life... if I could give back his wife and his son, his lands and all he has lost, I would. I swear it. I swear it before God!" If Geoffrey was surprised by her outburst,it didn'tshow. "But you can't, can you? Nor can I." He smiled, then added gently, "You can't atone, madam, for that which you haven't done. No man here holds Aymer's injury against you, least of all Lord Robert. These are hard times. Only our Blessed Lord knows if there will be harder yet before all's done, if this is the end waiting for each of us with the next sunrise." He hesitated. "You say we are different, madam. Well, perhaps we are. We've been through things, done things, most men won't see or do in their lifetime. "You say my lord is a hard man and that is true, but sweet Christ, he's been forced to be. We all have! I tell you this, though, and you'd do well to remember my words. Robert de Langley isn't the man to shift with the wind norto think lightly of his vows. What he says he will do." He hesitated again, sought for a lighter tone and foundit. "And as to the reason men still follow him, why I can only say that he has the gift of saying the unbelievable and making men believe, of attempting the impossible and oft times pulling it off. There's a magic in Robert de Langley, madam. We follow him because we can't help ourselves. And not a man among us would have it any way else orany other man as our lord." Jocelyn struggled to return Geoffrey's smile. "I'm surprised you've not made him king." She offered the wordsin jest, but the man across from her seemed to be seriously considering them. "There are many who think England would be a great deal better off, but Robert is Stephen's man, body and soul. He's taken homage of Stephen and sworn to uphold him as king. You could rip him apart limb from limb and he'd not go back on that." He glanced up, sent her another smile. "But enough of this, madam. I've things to see to now, else it's me that'll be ripped limb from limb." He rose to his feet. "Send for me if you've need of anything, if there's any change in Aymer." Jocelyn nodded. "Would you do something for me now, sir?" "If it's within my power, most certainly." "Will you see that food is sent up to my sister and her woman? Ask whoever takes it up to tell her that I am helping out with the wounded. That I'll be up later." "I'll be most happy to take care of it personally, my lady." Geoffrey grinned. "I'll go at once and see what the lady desires." Jocelyn smiled. "My thanks, sir."
He bowed. "Ah, my pleasure, lady." Jocelyn watched him walk away. Geoffrey moved quickly across the floor and soon disappeared into the shadowy well at the base of the stairs. "Any change in Aymer?" Jocelyn looked up. Robert de Langley was standing a few feet away holding two wooden bowls. "The same I'm afraid, though no worse." "I suppose I should be thankful for that." He squatted and placed one of the bowls beside her, then settled himself on the floor, cross-legged. "Your supper, madam." Jocelyn widened her eyes in surprise. "When I sent for food, I didn't expect you to bring it." He shrugged. "I was hungry. I was coming to check on Aymer. It seemed the simplest thing." Somehow Jocelyn couldn't imagine her father or Brian doing anything of the like. "I've noticed you do that often the simple thingseven if they aren't the ways of a lord. Your men, too. I was amazed they helped with the swine." He drew his dagger, began methodically slicing up the fresh pork in his bowl. He lifted some into Jocelyn's bowl to accompany her beans and bread. "Living the life of an outlaw is a humbling experience, madam. My men have learned to work if they want to eat. You'll find few jobs beneath our dignity. Especially if it has to do with the getting of food. It's difficult to pretend to a knight's pride when your stomach is rumpling so loudly you're afraid your enemies will find you just from the noise." Jocelyn watched Robert de Langley eat. There was nothing frightening or awe-inspiring about the legendary Norman Lion now. Yet in an strange way that inspired even more respect. They finished the meal in silence and a servant fetched them two cups of ale. Jocelyn had noticed de Langley had no squire, that there were no young men in training among any of the knights in his service. She asked him about it. "I sent them away. There weren't many left anyway. The way my men and I have lived these last years was no way for boys to grow up. Besides, the risks were too great, the fighting too vicious. I've watched too many children die." Jocelyn thought of the son he had lost, of the three boys who had made it safely inside the gate this afternoon and of what he had risked to make it so. "Is that why you went out to meet my father today?" He shot her a hard look. "Don't make it something it wasn't. I wanted to fight your father. Those boys were just an excuse. The whole keep is making me out to be a hero." He frowned. "I assure you, madam, I'm not." "I suspect you'll have trouble making the boys believe that." "Those boys had a beating from one of my men and then such a tongue-lashing from me they're probably all wishing they had met their fate."
He took a slow sip of ale, then sighed and leaned back against the wall. He stared thoughtfully at an empty pallet a few feet away. "Madam, I'm at least two-parts asleep right now and will be good for little come the dawn unless I catch some rest for a few hours. Can I trust you to see to Aymer, to wake me if there's any change, good or ill?" She nodded. He lifted his eyebrows and smiled. It was thoughtful, slightly mocking, yet warmly intimate for all that. A smile she'd no doubt she would still be calling up come the winter of her life. "And can I trust you not to conjure some weapon from thin air and put an end to me once and for all? I'll be quite defenseless while I sleep." Anyone less defenseless than Robert de Langley awake or asleepJocelyn had yet to find. She smiled. "Go to sleep then, my lord, and see. We'll find out just how well I handle temptation." Weary amusement lit his eyes. He held her gaze a few seconds more, then turned, calling to one of his men. He issued a string of orders, then set several guards to watch over the hall. Lying down on the empty pallet, he curled his right arm under his head for a pillow. "Wake me if there's any change in Aymer," he ordered, closing his eyes. "He's a good man. I don't want him to die..." He gave one last tired sigh, "...alone." Jocelyn watched for several minutes, then drew a blanket over Belavoir's sleeping lord. He didn't stir. She wondered how many battles Robert de Langley had fought, how many friends, how many children he'd had to watch die. She thought of that moment up on the battlements, the sight of his fingers clenching the stone. Three boys, he had said. Just three boys who won't become men. And then he had gone out to fight. A thin, raggedy form crept out of the shadows, stationed himself fora protective vigil not three yards from where de Langley slept. One of the kitchen boys, Jocelyn realized. The one who'd railed at her so vehemently that long ago night in the chapel. She searched for a name, remembered vaguely that the boy was called Adam. She'd wager he was the one the servants were all gossiping about, the one who had held the keep door during the battle for Belavoir. And she'd wager something else as well, that he was one of the three Robert de Langley had risked everything for this afternoon. As she watched she saw other shadowy figures moving about the room. Men casually shifting positions, moving nearer their lord ina subtle but unmistakable ring of protection. Jocelyn stared at the sleeping man. There was a magic in Robert de Langley, Sir Geoffrey Talmont had said. She was beginning to wonder if he might not be right. Belavoir's lord might not consider himself a hero, but there were obviously others who did. And she very much feared she was becoming one of them.
Nine
"Mylord, the Montagne herald is at the gate again. He calls for a meeting." Robert lifted his ale cup and took a leisurely drink. "Give him the same message as before, Raoul. I'm otherwise occupied this morning. I'll send for him when I'm ready to talk." The man grinned and turned away. Geoffrey reached for the pitcher of ale and poured himself a cup. "How long do you plan to keep Montagne guessing?" Robert smiled. "I want him to worry and guess and fret a while longer. He won't believe it's me, you know he won't. Perhaps he'll think it's Chester changing his coat yet again, taking his keepmy keepwhen his back was turned. Let Montagne learn how it feels to be betrayed by his own ally. God knows I've owned that joy oft enough." "If he gets angry enough he might do something foolish." "Not for a while, at least. The man has too much to lose." Robert took another sip of ale, his gaze shifting to where Jocelyn was changing Aymer's bandages. His friend had survived the nighta miracle in itselfbut this morning he had been delirious, his skin like live coals to the touch. It was only to be expected with such an injury. Still, the knowledge of what would most likely happen was like a knife shifting in Robert's gut. Aymer was a good man, one of the best. He didn't deserve to waste away like this from a fever's burning fire. One thing more, he thought darkly. One debt more to add to Montagne's account. As if feeling the draw of his gaze, Montagne's daughter glanced up. Their eyes met and Robert felt that strange quickening sensation again. It was a sudden acceleration of his pulse, a stirring of his blood, a heightened awareness of the woman in every inch of his body. Taking Alys to bed had provided only a momentary relief. Now he ached with the hunger for a woman again, but by some strange perversity of his body and soul, it was Montagne's youngest daughter that stirred him. "Unusual, isn't she?" Geoffrey asked. "What?" "I said she's unusual. A bit too bold for my taste, but there are men who like that in a woman." Geoffrey grinned. "A pity she's Montagne's daughter. I've not seen you so intrigued by a woman in a very long time." "Don't be a fool!" Robert snapped. "I've not the slightest interest in" Geoffrey's grin widened, and Robert broke off. It would be pointless to deny his interest. Geoffrey knew him too well to be fooled. Robert allowed himself a self-conscious smile. "All right, so I'd like to take her off upstairs and bar the door for a couple of hours. She is unusual and we've lived like monks too damned long. That's all." "Is it? Well, perhaps you'll get your wish. If Montagne can't be frightened into coming to terms, I
suppose you can do what you damn well please with the girl, with both of them as a matter of fact. That is the plan, isn't it?" Of course that was the plan. Geoffrey knew it as well as he and liked it even less. Montagne was said to be a doting father. Robert doubted it would require much bullying and threatening on his part to bring the man to some kind of agreement. But that was the problem. He didn't want just any agreement. He wanted it all, every part and parcel of de Langley land the man had stolen. And to pull that off might require more than empty threats. Robert glanced back at Jocelyn Montagne. While he'd slept, she'd been up nursing Aymer, seeking her own bed just before dawn, he'd been told. He was beginning to wonder as to the wisdom of his plan, beginning to wonder just what he would do if Montagne called his bluff and refused to turn over his castles. It wasn't as if he held the man's son and heir hostage. All he had were the women, and if a man had a healthy son, daughters weren't particularly important in the scheme of things. "My lord. Montagne is at the gate himself. He's demanding entrance." "How many with him, Raoul?" "No one. He rides alone." Robert's eyes met Geoffrey's. He shrugged. "Well, I never said the man was a coward, just dishonorable." He emptied his ale cup and pushed back from the table. "I suppose this deserves some kind of an answer at least. Tell him to wait. I'll see him. He may have a safe-conduct inside the gate." Geoffrey rose to his feet. "I suppose things are bound to get interesting now." "When have you known them not to be?" "Since taking service with you? Never." Geoffrey grinned. "'Tis only the matter of degree I wonder about. Sometimes things get a bit hotter than at others." Robert smiled at the oblique reference to that burning church. He and Geoffrey and Aymer. They had survived the worst of it together, the worst until Adam's death. His smile faded. For a moment his defenses crumbled and the vast expanse of emptiness and hurt that lurked round the edges of his consciousness surged out to engulf him. Adam. His blond and blue-eyed joy. His grubby fallen-angel child with the wide eager eyes and four-year-old fascination with every aspect of life from why a man couldn't reach the sky to how worms crawled and why they could see in the dark. His throat closed up. His whole being ached.Once more... merciful Christ, just once more to hold Adam in his arms! He swallowed desperately, convulsively, fighting the wave of pain that almost got the better of him at
times. He didn't plan ever to loveever to needanyone like that again. He didn't ever want to leave himself open to this kind of hurt. God... oh, my God, why did you have to take my son? "Robert?" He glanced up, met the worried eyes of his friend and drew a deep, steadying breath. "I was thinking. About Aymer. He's burning up with fever." Robert hesitated, drew another deep breath. "In times like these, I suppose we're fools ever to learn to care about anyone... anything." "Only think how barren life would be if we didn't," Geoffrey said softly. "You're right, I suppose, though sometimes I do wonder." Robert managed a smile, leaned over the table and picked up his heavy helm. "Do me a favor, Geoffrey," he added, forcing as light a tone as possible from his still aching throat. "Don't get yourself in the way of a sword-thrust anytime soon." Geoffrey made an overly obsequious bow. "No, my lord de Langley. I know you've no time to be training another captain just now." Robert smiled again. It was easier this time. Friends did make it easier. God grant that he didn't lose Geoffrey. Or Aymer. "You're right. Come along now, my captain. Let's find out what Montagne's made of." As they crossed the hall Robert found himself hesitating a few paces from Jocelyn Montagne. He cleared his throat. He had no idea what to say to her but felt an overwhelming urge to say something. "Your father is outside the gates. Is there aught you would have me say for you?" Jocelyn shook her head. How could she tell Robert de Langley that her father would care little for any word from her? She studied his face. He looked better this morning after his sleep. The lines of exhaustion weren't nearly so obvious. She thought again of the wild fighting, wondered if it was about to happen again. A shiver of apprehension slid through her. "I don't suppose it would be possible for me to come with you?" "Not this time," de Langley said. "I expect, however, that it won't be long until you and your sister are released.I assure you, madam, it's what I'll be working toward." He turned abruptly, and he and Sir Geoffrey headed for the door. Jocelyn bit her lip, feeling a strange rush of emotion so confusing she didn't even know how to pray. And then the words of comfort were there. Holy Mary, Queen of Heaven, pray for us poor sinners now.... *** Robert gazed down through the indentation of a wall crenel. Montagne sat on his big chestnut destrier scarcely a bow shot away. And he was alone, his men were drawn up and waiting at a distance. Robert narrowed his eyes against the surprising brightness of a sun they had scarcely seen for two weeks. It was a beautiful day, clear and crisp, but warmer than it had been these last days. In the distant
wood, a few trees still clung stubbornly to their leaves, bits of gold brightening the barren backdrop. He drew in a lungful of sweet autumn air. It was a good day for a man to feel his heart beating, to know his blood ran warm and alive in his veins. Despite the frequent pain, it was good to be with the living, to work and hope for a better time to come. He leaned down. "Walt, Richard, let down the drawbridge. Open the gates." The drawbridge creaked down. Montagne hesitated, then spurred his horse closer. Robert smiled. The man had reined in at the edge of the earthen moat. In these days of dishonor, of vows taken lightly and broken more so, only a brave man or a fool would come alone into an enemy-held keep. "Who are you?" the man shouted up. "Who has unlawfully seized my castle?" Robert leaned down. "It's rightful owner. Robert of Belavoir." "Do you take me for a fool? The man's been dead this year past." "What is it, Montagne? Afraid to meet a ghost?" "I fear no man living." "Then come inside." "You come out." Robert grinned and shouted down lazily, "I fear I'm not so inclined. You wish to speak to me? Come inside and we'll talk. Frankly, I admire your courage. I only wish you'd shown a bit of it seven years ago before the battle of Chretien. You and your men melted away on its very eve. My father died during that battle, you know. I've often wondered how things would have gone had you held the ground you'd pledged to hold that day." "Things would have gone just the same!" Montagne snapped. "England couldn't hold Normandy. I knew that long before I left and came home. All the reasonable men were doing so. The de Langleys would have fared far better if they had done so as well." Montagne hesitated. His horse backed and sidled nervously. He brought the animal under control. "Half of England knows about that battle," he shouted. "If you think that bit makes me believe you the ghost of a dead man, you'd best think again!" "But what if it is me?" Robert called. "What if I am who I say I am? How does it feel to know your daughters are in the hands of the man you cheated and betrayed." A muffled curse rose on the air, "Come in, Montagne," Robert taunted. "Come in if you want to talk. I've given my word you'll be safe, that you can ride out again at your wish. And if you don't want to talk... well, I'll leave the rest to your imagination."
An obscene curse rose, then the man spurred angrily onto the drawbridge. Perhaps the lady Jocelyn had inherited something from her father after all. Robert slid his helm over his head, moved quickly toward the stairs and started down. Montagne rode through the gates, swung his horse about to face the stairs. His sword was drawn. It lay at the ready across his thigh. He was obviously nervous, half-believing he'd ridden into a trap. Robert slowed. Let the man worry and wonder a little, let him glance at the gate and gauge whether or not he could make it again. "Show yourself, damn you!" Robert paused. He was over halfway to the bottom, almost level with the mounted man. "Do you still not recognize me, Montagne?" "Of course not. Take off that damned helm!" "Certainly." Robert raised his arms, slipped his helm up and over his head. The wind blew his hair back. There was a moment of strained silence. Then: "God... God in Heaven, it is you!" Robert smiled. "So I've been telling you." "What..." Montagne swallowed convulsively. His mount fretted against the strain of the bit. "Name of God, man,what are you?" "Why, the lord of Belavoir. Did you ever really doubt it?" Silence lay heavily over the bailey. The sunlight slanted off Montagne's armor, gleamed along the naked blade he carried. Robert thought of how he hated the man, of how he had ached to put a blade through him yesterday. With one word the man could be his prisoner. From his face he knew that Montagne was thinking it, too. "Don't fret, Montagne. I keep my word," he said softly. "You're free to ride out when you choose." "What do you want, de Langley?" "That should be obvious. Even to a wit such as yourself." "Enlighten me." "Think about it. I'm sure it'll come to you." "Damn you to hell!" Montagne growled. "I've been there," Robert snapped back. Montagne spurred his horse toward the stairs. The chestnut shied from the stone, but he forced the animal against it. Robert backed nimbly up three steps and drew his sword. He was just beyond sword-reach of the
mounted man. "Stop toying with me," Montagne snarled. "I'm aware you hate me. I know you have my daughter, and I'm fully alive to every last damn thing you're not saying. But I warn you, de Langley. If you hurt Adelise I'll move both heaven and hell to make sure there's not enough flesh and bone of you left to be resurrected. Not by Christ Jesus himself!" "How do you know there's any now?" Montagne pulled himself together with difficulty. "Enough of this. I can see you're flesh and blood, though how you can be no doubt only the devil himself knows for sure. Now what do you want? Tell me in plain language." Robert placed both hands on his sword hilt, turned the point downward onto the step beside him and rested his weight against the hilt. "My lands, Montagne. Every last hill and valley. Every last tree and serf." "Don't be a fool. I've spent a fortune shoring up the crumbling walls of some of your keeps, installing trusted castellans, building new castles to protect what I've won. I'm not about to hand all that back over to you." "Then I suppose there's nothing more to be said. A pity. I dislike killing women." Montagne was smiling now. "Don't give me that, de Langley. You're so damned careful of your honor you'd not think of killing a hostage, a woman especially. You're bluffing and we both know it." Robert met his eyes coldly. "You're a fool to take me for the same green boy you knew seven years ago, Montagne. I've been to hell and back since then. I have killed hostages. I wouldn't blink at the need to kill more. And don't wager on the fact that I'd not take the life of a woman. You'll lose, Montagne and so will your daughters." He smiled. "There are two, you know. You seem to have lost count." Montagne shook his head. "Say what you like. I still think you're bluffing." "What would it take to convince you I'm not?" Robert drew his dagger with his left hand, sighted down the long gleaming blade. "I sent you a bit of hair yesterday. Would you like a finger this evening? An ear come the dawn? I assure you, it can be arranged." "Shut up!" Montagne's horse sidled nervously. The man jerked at the reins, then swore as the animal began to back and fret. "Let me see them," he said at last. "I want to see that they haven't been harmed." Robert thought for a minute. "Tomorrow. I'll send for you." "Now," Montagne growled. "I don't think so. Tomorrow, Montagne. Take it or leave it." The man stared back with such venom Robert's fingers tightened on his sword hilt instinctively. "Very well. Tomorrow. And God help you, de Langley, if I find them in any state other than they were when I left."
"It's been a temptation, Montagne, but you'll find them unharmed. For now." With that, Montagne whirled his horse and spurred through the gate. Robert let out a long breath of satisfaction. Montagne had been a fool to reveal his true feelings. But then Robert supposed a father might be forgiven for acting a fool. Let the man think on it a day or so. Let him worry. Having once been a father himself, Robert could imagine the hell his enemy would be going through. He could almost pity Montagne. Almost... but not quite. *** Jocelyn bathed Aymer Briavel's burning face then squeezed the cloth back into the bowl. It was difficult keeping her mind on her work when Robert de Langley and her father were probably discussing her and Adelise at this very moment. But the injured knight was burning up, and she needed more water. He had been restless earlier, flailing about in delirium, spending his precious strength until there was little left to be spent. Now, praise the saints, he lay quiet. She only hoped it wasn't that strange sleep that oft presaged death. She glanced around for a servant and saw one of the young kitchen boys hovering along the wall in the shadows. "You... Adam, isn't it? Run, fetch me more water." The boy was off like a quarrel shot from a bow and back again just as quickly. He knelt at Jocelyn's side, his eyes trained anxiously on the injured man. "He's worse, isn't he?" Jocelyn studied the boy, wondered at the wild look in those dark, intent eyes. "His fever rose in the night, but that's to be expected with a wound of this type. But yes, I fear he is worse." A spasm of grief crossed the boy's face, a look so intense, so raw, it was painful to look upon. Jocelyn reached out, but the boy shrugged away. "It's my fault," he cried out. "It's my fault, so you might as well say it! Everyone else is. It's my fault if this man dies." He hesitated, his narrow chest heaving with an enormous crushing guilt beyond his ten-year-old ability to manage. "I-It should be me. I led the others out. 'Twas my fault. But I'd no idea my lord would fight. Truly I didn't! He should have left us. Would to God he had left us to fend for ourselves!" Jocelyn frowned. If this was the kind of tongue-lashing Robert de Langley had thought appropriate, she was going to have something to say to the man. "Stop shouting," she said. "If you can steady yourself, I need help turning this man to change his bandages. If not, fetch me someone who can." The boy bit his lip and struggled to gather himself together. "I-I'd like to help. If you think I could, lady." She nodded. "I've already seen to the wound on his side, but we need to move him. I must get at the one on his back." The boy was small, but wiry and surprisingly strong. Together he and Jocelyn were able to shift the knight so that she could remove the sodden bandage.
It came away with difficulty, clotted with dark blood and a greenish ooze that made the boy swallow and loose all color."Blessed Mother!" he whispered."Blessed Holy Mother..." Jocelyn frowned, working to ease the dried clots away from the stitches so that she could check her handiwork. The flesh about the wound was reddened and angry, but not abnormally so. Actually the wound looked quite good, though it was early yet to tell if the dark, stinking rot would set in. She glanced at the terrified child and forced a smile. "It looks good, boy. This is normal and to be expected. It's the fever that's our worst enemy now. You can help with that too if you like." He nodded, biting his lip again. "Here." Jocelyn handed him the wet cloth, directed him to wet the man's face, his throat, the muscular arms that lay, still as death, at the man's side. Adam glanced at her dubiously. "Does this help?" "No one really knows. I think it does." Jocelyn smiled wryly, thinking of the many fevers she had treated in this simple manner, of the superstitious fears her skills as a healer had engendered among the simple folk of both Warford and Montagne. She didn't know if Aymer Briavel would live. That was in God's hands. But for the moment at least, this boy was in hers. And as they worked together, Jocelyn began to draw him out. Shyly at first, coaxed by easy, sympathetic questions, the boy told his tale, told what he could remember of his dead mother and father and the good years before the coming of the Montagnes. She was disgusted by what he revealed of his treatment these last years, even more appalled by what she knew he held back. It was little wonder Adam Carrick looked on Robert de Langley as some sort of god, little wonder that the boy's act of bravery during the storming of the keep had spun him to such dizzying heights as the two-day darling of de Langley and his men. And it was little wonder that the boy was now terrified that the mistake he had made was so great, so unforgivable that he would fall forever from the favor of the one man who could change his world. Jocelyn's heart ached. She could well remember wondering what terrible thing she had done that her own father couldn't stand to look on her, could remember trying desperately to please a man who wished she had never been born. But at least she'd had a mother's love and protection during those early years. This child had been denied even that. She studied Adam's long matted hair, threadbare tunic and dirt-darkened skin. No one would take this grubby, ill-fed child for the son of an important knight, but the appearances at least could be set to rights. Whether the inner scars ran too deep for healing, time alone would prove. She called for the woman Maude, set her to a careful watch of the fevered knight. Then she turned to the boy. "I thank you for your help with this man. I'll need you again later, I expect. But for now we need look at you." "Me?" Jocelyn nodded. "You're a young man of good blood, but no one would think it to look at you, Adam.
In normal times you'd be a page, preparing to become some lord's squire. Come along with me now to the kitchens. You must begin to dress and act like your father's son, like a young man in the household of a one of the greatest knights in Christendom." She smiled, put out a hand and ruffled the boy's thick hair. "And the first thing we need do is cut this wild mane of yours. I'll set some of the women to see if they can find you clean clothinga clean shirt at least. Then we must shed some of this dirt." Adam protested, but Jocelyn would have none of it. And despite her Montagne name, she was a sufficiently awe-inspiring personage that when she swept into the kitchen buildings, one guardian man-at-arms and a filthy, protesting urchin in tow, hot bathwater, shears, and clean clothing miraculously appeared, as did several women to help with the indignant, struggling boy. That was how Robert de Langley found them. He hesitated in the doorway, amazed at the scene that met his eyes. A large wooden washtub hadbeen drawn up near one of the hearths. Water puddled the floor and drenched the heavy skirts of the women, while a dripping scrap of a lad was hissing and spitting, fighting the water and the soap that was being roughly and indiscriminately administered to his flesh. Robert looked at the grinning man standing guard. The man gestured toward the tub. "The Carrick lad, my lord. The lady Jocelyn determined to find if there was a boy beneath the dirt. Seems there was after all. You set me to watch her, my lord, but I'd not the courage to get caught up in that. A few minutes ago I'd have bet a month's wages our Adam would have made good his escape. Now I'm not so sure. By the Cross, he's a game one, though, for his size." A truly obscene soldier's oath filled the room, sounding absurd in the high childish tones of a ten-year-old. Robert glanced at Jocelyn Montagne and bit back a grin. The words hadn't shocked her. She simply ducked the boy under water again. He moved toward the scene of the fight. The lady Jocelyn was soaked from head to toe. She hadn't stood idly back to order others in the struggle. But then he wouldn't have expected her to. "Keep a respectful tongue in your head, lad, else I'll take that soap to the insides of your mouth," Robert warned. As one, the people around the tub turned toward him. Adam sank back in the water, subdued. Robert ran an approving eye over the boy. "I see someone's cut that hair." He swung to face Montagne's daughter. "My lady, I hear this was your idea." "Yes, I've just learned who he is and what's happened. All that's happened," she added significantly. "It seemed someone should take him in hand." Robert glanced at the breathless, wide-eyed boy, at the scattered puddles of water, the indignant servants, evidence of a battle, hopeless but hard-fought. It was getting harder to keep back the grin. "A bit of a handful, by the look of things." "He has strong feelings about soap and water," Jocelyn said dryly. "Perhaps you might say something to persuade him differently, my lord."
Robert turned. "How do you think to take service with any respectable lord looking like a swineherd? Clean yourself up, boy. And clean up your mouth. Montagne's men may have damned themselves to hell with that kind of talk, but mine don't. If you plan to remain in my service, I'd best hear no more of it." The boy caught his breath. "But I-I didn't think you'd want me. Not after... after..." He broke off, took a deep steadying breath and finished bravely: "Not after yesterday. I know all that happened was my fault. You didn't say it, butI know it's true. Your man lies at the point of death because of me. And they say..." He hesitated again, met his lord's eyes squarely. "They say Briavel is your friend. I'm sorry, my lord. I wish it was me. Me instead of him!" Robert frowned. In his anger he'd obviously been too hard on the boy. Edward, forgive me,he thought.I'll try not to fail your son as I did mine. "Aymer Briavel lies near death because he is a knight who followed his lord into battle," Robert said. "Get used to it, boy, because you'll see much of it if you live long enough. And if any one is to blame, it's me, not you. "I was so caught up in the fighting I remained on the field long after our purpose was done. That's a decision I'll live with the rest of my life. It's a decision every commander must make. Make and then live with. I've made my mistakesplenty of themand both friends and enemies have died for them. I've long since learned not to fret over what's past. "As to your future, boy, only God knows for sure, but I'll need good men aplenty and the boys who'll grow into them. I happen to think I'll need you. I've already spoken to my man Raoul le Bent. He's agreed to spend the afternoon taking you through your paces with a sword. Edward Carrick was as good a man with a blade as they come. I'lllook to see something of the same in his son. Now if you believe yourself ready for that, if you're up to the work of itand work it will bethen get cleaned up and dressed." The boy looked as if he'd just been handed the keys to Heaven by Saint Peter himself. He grabbed up the cloth and began to scrub himself so vigorously Robert doubted that in another few minutes there would be any skin left to clean. Children were so simple to please, so terrifyingly easy to fail. He glanced toward Jocelyn Montagne. She was staring at him, a smile lighting her face, a look of overwhelming approbation softening the brilliant fire in her eyes. He thought of his meeting just now with her father, of the man's obvious belief that some ridiculous sense of chivalry would keep him from harming a woman. With a heavy scowl, Robert turned and walked away, a gut-searing surge of memory sweeping over him. He had killed a woman in another life, another time. And he had no regretsnot about that one, anyway. But Montagne couldn't know that; he only knew the legend. And God help him if that fool Montagne called his bluff.
Ten Jocelynleaned againstthe dusty shelves ofthe herbroom, peering into the small earthenware pot of feverfew. Only a small fuzz of dried plant shadowed the bottom.Soon that, too, would be gone. In just two days' time, she had used months' worth of Belavoir's medicinals, but all of the injured men were mending without further ills, andAymer Briavel was definitely better. She rummaged about amongst the jars, searching for an additional bit of yarrow she remembered seeing. Robert de Langley had met with her father yesterday. He had told her little of the meeting, only that negotiations were proceeding. He had been curt afterwards, absenting himself from the keep for most of the day. In his absence, she had coaxed Adelise to stop cowering in their chamber and come downstairs. Sitting alone and unoccupied with only the fearful, imaginative Hawise for company hadn't been good for her sister's frame of mind. And it was as Jocelyn knewit would be. Adelise's soft heart had been touched by the injured men. Despitethe fact that she considered them her enemies, shehad done what she could to ease their pain and lift their spirits. Jocelyn's mouth curled wryly. If only she could distill the essence of her sister's smiles, she would have little need for the more common remedies. Adelise's soft touch and beautiful smile did more for an ailing man than any quantity of yarrow or feverfew. Footsteps sounded at the door and Jocelyn glanced up. Oneof Robert de Langley's knightsstood talking to the man-at-arms guarding her. "Something has happened?"she asked. Theknight bowed and stepped into the room."My lord bade me fetch you, lady. He would speak with you above stairs." "Very well." Jocelyn followed the knight toward the stairs. She would have good news to give Robert de Langley. Briavel's fever was waning. He had even regained consciousness this morning for a bit. The man was young and healthy and fighting to live. It was possible he would do just that. She smiled at the thought, her steps quickening to keep up with the long-legged knight. She had been able to do this one thing to atone for her father's treachery. De Langley wouldn't have to bury another who was dear to him, at least not any time soon. They passed the entrance to the hall and continued up the back stair, then turned into a separate wing of the castle. They were out of the women's quarters now, heading toward that part of Belavoir where her father and brother had always lived, where guests slept when they visited. The knight stopped before the door of the lord's solar and Jocelyn's heartbeat quickened. Robert de Langley would keep bachelor quarters. She had no business being here. She drew in a deep breath and stepped through the doorway. She had no choice, after all. "Well, girl, and where is your sister?" Jocelyn froze, trying to hide her surprise.
Her father was frowning, glaring anxiously at her and then toward the man at her side. "The other, you knave, where is the other? Lady Adelise?" The man beside Jocelyn stiffened. "I've no notion, my lord. I was sent to fetch the lady Jocelyn." With that he bowed and stepped back, closing the door sharply behind him. Jocelyn glanced around the room. Sir Geoffrey Talmont stood unobtrusively to one side, three armed and helmeted knights flanking him. Robert de Langley was no where in sight. Nor was Adelise. Her father was armed and wearing his hauberk. There was an anxious look on his hard, still-handsome face. He moved hastily toward her. "Where is Adelise? Tell me, girl, is she well or ill?" Jocelyn met his eyes. "When last I saw my sister, sir, she was working at her loom. And yes, she was well. We have taken no hurt in this place." Her father drew in a quick, relieved breath. His face looked lined, old, more anxious than Jocelyn had ever seen it. She felt an unexpected urge to reach out and touch him, but he had stopped several feet away. "Well, that's good news at least. I was afraid" He broke off, staring hard at the rush floor. The muscles of his throat worked once as he swallowed, struggling for control. Jocelyn averted her gaze but kept her head high. Without warning, her throat muscles knotted, ached. Her father cared little for herthat much she had always knownbut it was something else again to have it thrown in her face so blatantly, and in the presence of strangers. No one spoke. Montagne paced forward and back and then stopped, staring at Jocelyn. "By the Mass, daughter, where have you been? You've dust soiling your robe and cobwebs in that tangle of hair. Surely you could have made yourself more presentable." Jocelyn ignored the impulse to brush at her hair. She had never been able to please him. "I've come straight from the herb room, father. There was much to do with wounded men in the hall. I didn't know you were here, nor was I given a chance to repair my appearance. I doubt it would have made much difference in any case." Montagne's eyes narrowed. "You left your sister alone to see to our enemies? Devil take you for a fool, girl! What if Adelise came to harm in your absence? By God's wounds, I do begin to wonder at this delay!" Jocelyn didn't answer. Her father was fast working himself into one of his tempers. She wondered if that was what Belavoir's lord intended. Montagne whirled toward Geoffrey Talmont. "I suggest you produce my daughter as promised, sir. If this is some knavish trick to get me here alone, by God, you'll find no advantage to it! My son commands our forces now, and reinforcements have been sent for. I swear by the soul of my dead wife that Brian will pull down this castle stone by stone if he has to. That every man here will rue the day he was born!" "Is that the soul of your first wife or your second?" a voice inquired from the doorway. "Do let's be
specific about our oaths, though I suppose it scarcely matters with a man well known for breaking them." Jocelyn swung toward the door. The lord of Belavoir stood there, casually dressed as if for hunting, in open jerkin and shirt, chausses, and soft doeskin boots. His sword and dagger were belted at the waist, but he wore no mail. And he was smiling, that glittering, dangerous smile she had feared so in the beginning. Montagne struggled to hold his temper in check. "Where's my daughter?" "Here. Both of them." De Langley stepped aside, drawing Adelise from behind him, half-supporting, half-dragging the girl into the room. Adelise was ashen-faced and trembling, her terror so apparent Jocelyn had to resist the urge to rush to her side. Adelise looked up, gave one soft, despairing cry, "Papa..." Tears welled in her eyes. "Oh, Papa, you did come!" De Langley released her and Adelise stumbled forward, sobbing, as Montagne covered the space in two long strides, catching his daughter up in his arms. Jocelyn watched the reunion, watched Robert de Langley watching as well. She felt like a pawn in a chess game, won, but scarcely noticed. Adelise was the valuable piece that would decide the game. She knew it, and everyone else in the room knew it as well. "Enough of this affecting sight," de Langley said dryly. "Montagne, you can see for yourself that your daughters are well. How long that happy state continues is entirely up to you." Montagne glanced up, his arm still supporting Adelise. "I'm willing to negotiate terms. I want my daughters released." "There will be no negotiation. My terms are these: complete withdrawal of your forces from my lands and your signed pledge not to make war on myself or my vassals. To be sure you hold by your word, a half-dozen of your vassalsmen of my choosingand the eldest sons of the ones remaining are to be given over to me. They will remain for a time as my guestshostages if you will to stand surety for your pledge." "You can rot in hell, sir!" De Langley shrugged. "Perhaps. But I'll do a great deal of damage to you and yours before I oblige you in that, Montagne." Montagne struggled for control, drew a breath and released it. "I'd oblige you if I could, de Langley, but I can't do what you ask. These are difficult days, as you well know. It's hard for a man to keep his vassals in hand. Why, my men would revolt if I asked such a thing." "What a pitiful lord you must be." Robert de Langley moved into the center of the room. "You've heard my terms and there'll be no negotiation. Either agree or get ready to do what you think necessary. I assure you, I shall do the same." There was a long moment of silence. "All right, de Langley, I'll get off your lands. I'll even give you my
pledge not to return to fight you for them. But I'll give you no hostages, and that's final. Take it or leave it." "I'll leave it then," de Langley returned. "I don't intend to get you off my lands only to have you take half back within the week. You know full well it will take time to garrison my castles, to set up loyal castellans and establish my vassals. I need to be sure you won't come back." "I can't do what you ask. I've told you that." De Langley paused. "If you fear your own vassals, then give me your son. Brian Montagne will do very well in lieu of the other hostages." "Never!" Robert de Langley's face hardened. "It's obvious then, isn't it? You plan to go back on your pledge." He jerked his head toward the door. "Get out, Montagne. I'm done wasting my time." "Wait. I won't give you Brian as a hostage, but that doesn't mean I intend going back on my word. I'll honor any pledge I make. To show my good faith, you may keep one of my daughters as a hostage." Montagne forced a tight smile. "That should satisfy you, de Langley. I keep one, you keep one. You can be sure I'll keep my pledge." "Papa... Papa no!" Adelise cried out. "Papa" "Hush!" De Langley appeared to be considering the proposal. Jocelyn held her breath, clenched her fists so tightly she could feel the nails digging into her palms. De Langley nodded. "Very well. But the choice of the women is mine." "No!I mean..." "I make the choice." De Langley smiled thinly. "Men get bored during a siege. A lovely woman can provide some entertainment. That is, if there should be a siege." Adelise gasped and turned her face against her father's shoulder. "You wouldn't dare," Montagne snapped. "Stephen will have your head if you harm any woman of gentle birth. No man of honor would countenance that." Robert de Langley appeared unperturbed. "So long as I bring him my sword and a goodly number of fighting men, I doubt I need fear our lord king. We all know Stephen overlooks these lapses of honor amongst his barons, just look at Chester and yourself. And I suspect your neighbors would much prefer fighting with me than against me, Montagne." He smiled again. "Ask them and see." "If you think none will learn of this, that none will condemn your behavior, you're wrong," Montagne blustered. "I'll make sure" "Oh, I intend for people to learn of it, I intend the whole land should learn of it," de Langley returned. "I intend that every move I make shall be most excruciatingly public. We'll see just how proud the
Montagne name remains after one of your daughters is the castle whore for a few months." He hesitated, lifted one eyebrow sardonically. "Now, shall I tell you which one I want?" With a low growl of rage, Montagne reached for his sword. De Langley jumped back, kicking a nearby table onto its side between them. In a flash, his men had their swords out and were forcing Montagne against the wall. Adelise bit back a cry, covering her mouth with both hands. Jocelyn rushed to her and put her arms about her sister. "You forget yourself, sir," de Langley said coldly. "I suggest you not do so again. Now get out before I forget the provocation you had for that action." Montagne was still holding his sword at the ready. He measured the blades between himself and de Langley, then rammed his weapon back into its sheath. "You have until tomorrow at sundown to bring me an answer," de Langley said. "After that, I'll know how to proceed. I've been contemplating my revenge for years. I can take it on you or your daughters. You choose, Montagne." He hesitated. "Now get out. And don't forget. It's your choice." Montagne glanced at Adelise, but it was to Jocelyn he spoke. "See to your sister," he said gruffly. Jocelyn's arms tightened about Adelise. "I will." "Papa... do whatever you have to," Adelise managed to get out. "My love to Brian... a-and you. Remember that, Papa. Remember it!" Montagne nodded and turned stiffly toward Robert de Langley. "You'll have your answer, de Langley. And I pray God that you rot in hell!" Then he headed for the door, wrenching it open and stalking off without a backward glance. Robert de Langley met Jocelyn's eyes briefly and then looked away. "Get them out of here, Geoffrey. See that they have whatever they need." Geoffrey sheathed his sword wordlessly escorting the women to the doorway. At the threshold, Jocelyn turned back. "A fine performance, my lord," she said. "But I pity your soul if it was aught other than that." Robert de Langley didn't respond, only stared at her with eyes that were flat and cold and told nothing. Jocelyn knew de Langley was bluffing. No man of honor would even think to do what he had threatened. He was bluffing. He had to be. But what if she were wrong? It was impossible to get Adelise quieted. She lay across the bed, sobbing so wretchedly Jocelyn feared she would become ill. Nothing Jocelyn could say or do, no reassurance she could offer, seemed to make any difference. After a time Jocelyn stopped trying. She ordered the flighty Hawise to build up the fire, then sent the girl away and poured herself a cup of wine from the flagon Sir Geoffrey had provided.
Drawing a stool near the hearth, she sat down and sipped the wine. It was good, her father's best, the one he saved for. important occasions. Jocelyn permitted herself a wry smile. Sir Geoffrey was offering what comfort he could, or perhaps it was only the token offered the condemned. She took another drink, staring thoughtfully into the fire, listening to the soothing crackle of the flames, the soft weeping from the bed behind her. Robert de Langley was a hard manhe'd had to be, as Geoffrey had said. But he was also well aware of her father's pride, well aware, by now at least, of his affection for Adelise. Might not the man be trading on both to force her father's hand? She poked absently at the fire, becoming aware that the weeping behind her had stopped. She rose and moved to the bed. Adelise was lying curled toward the bedcurtain, eyes wide and staring, swollen from countless tears. Jocelyn climbed onto the bed beside her. "Sit up, Adelise." She held out the winecup. "Drink this. You'll feel better." Adelise shook her head and closed her eyes. "I suppose it's foolish to think of Edward right now," she whispered. "But I... I can't help wondering... wishing all this hadn't happened. I mean... it's ruined now. Everything! Oh, God, Jocelyn, Ihate that man! That horrible man!" Jocelyn stroked her sister's hair back, tucking a damp strand of spun silver gently behind one ear. She thought of Edward of Pelham, his handsome face, his pleasant manner, of his many kindnesses to her and Adelise, his attentions to them both while he was laid up at Montagne last month with an injured shoulder. But it was Adelise he had obviously wanted, which didn't come as any surprise. "You'll have your Edward," Jocelyn said. "Father will do as lord de Langley has asked. He won't risk your being harmed. We'll be away from here by tomorrow, and you can begin making wedding plans." Adelise shook her head, turning away with a look of anguish. "Oh, Jocelyn, you don't know!" She swallowed hard, drew a deep, shuddering breath. "Y-you just don't know what's happened. He... kissed me," she whispered, squeezing her eyes tight shut. "He kissed me... touched me" Her hands clenched convulsively at the bedcovers. "Oh Jocelyn, it was horrible! He said he wanted me. That if Father didn't do what he said" She broke off again. Tears slipped from beneath her closed eyelids. "And then he forced me out into the passageway, told me where he was taking me. He said Father had come, but I didn't believe him. I thought he meant to... to" Adelise turned her face into the pillow, unable to go on. "If he touches me again, Jocelyn, I-I'll kill myself! Surely God will forgive me. Surely Our Blessed Lady will intercede." "Don't say such a thing! Not to anybody. It's mortal sin, Adelise!" Jocelyn drew in a sharp breath. "Promise me you won't say that again. That you won't even think it!" "I can't help thinking it," Adelise whispered. "Oh, Jocelyn, you just don't know what he's like, what he's really like! And I keep thinking what I might have had with Edward. But now that's all ruined!" Jocelyn frowned, tried to think of something comforting to say and couldn't. Of course Robert de Langley would want Adelise. Every man who wasn't a babe or near dead of old age did. But Adelise had always been carefully protected before. She had never so much as spoken to any man alone. Their father had cared for Adelise like a nervous hen with an only chick, but now all that care and concern had only
put Adelise in more danger. Jocelyn's frown deepened, her thoughts sliding back to that time nearly four years ago when she had first come to Castle Montagne. Her father and older half-brother had treated her like a mistake to be corrected, improved, or at the very least kept out of sight. It was Adelise who had seen through the icy indifference Jocelyn had feigned, who had offered warmth and love and acceptance, returning good even for the ill Jocelyn had meant. On several occasions she had even come between Jocelyn and the punishment their father intended. Adelise had made life bearable, even good at times. She had brought about an uneasy truce between Jocelyn and the Montagne men, encouraging their grudging acceptance of Jocelyn's unusual ways, her many talents. Besides truly loving her sister, Jocelyn owed Adelise a great deal. And the Welsh paid their debts. Always. For good or for ill. She slid abruptly from the bed. "I must leave, Adelise. Will you be all right here alone for a bit?" "Oh, Jocelyn, don't go!" "It will only be for a bit." Jocelyn forced a smile. "There's something I must see to. Here, sit up and have some wine. Sir Geoffrey took it from Father's best, I'll be bound. We might as well drink it as to leave it for Robert de Langley." At that, Adelise did sit up. Taking the cup Jocelyn held, she made a wry face. "You're right. I don't want him to have it." She sipped the wine, her eyes meeting her sister's above the rim of the cup. "Be careful, Jocelyn. I doubt either of us are safe from that man, not even after all you've done to help." Jocelyn nodded. "I'll be careful." Then she slipped from the room, telling de Langley's man outside the door a hasty improvisation, "Your lord wished to speak with me again once my sister was resting. Will you go with me now to find him?" With a nod he set off down the corridor, and Jocelyn followed, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs. She hoped Robert de Langley would agree to see her, prayed he wouldn't still be in the same foul temper of half an hour ago. The door to his solar stood slightly ajar. She could see several men inside, and she bit her lip uncertainly. This wasn't a good time. She would have to come back. One of the men glanced toward the door. "My lord," he murmured, nodding in her direction. Robert de Langley turned, frowned. "Madam, what do you do here?" Jocelyn took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold. "I need to speak with you, my lord. Alone." "Alone? Here?" De Langley stared at her thoughtfully. "This is neither the time nor the place. Besides, nothing will change for any discussion we might have."
Jocelyn moved into the room. "Sir Aymer Briavel will live because of me. You owe me something for that if for nothing else, my lord. A few minutes of your time and attention is all I ask." She hesitated, added softly, "Is that so much to exchange for the life of a good man?" "Very well, I will grant your request, madam. As you said, I do owe you something for your help." De Langley's men melted away without a word. The last one left, closing the door behind him. Jocelyn swallowed hard. She had been alone with few men in her life, her father and brother, an occasional bailiff or two. Certainly no one even remotely resembling Robert de Langley. Certainly never in the intimacy of a private sleeping chamber. But this was no time to be thinking of propriety, not with the discussion she was about to initiate. "Well, madam...?" Jocelyn's heart was pounding so loudly she was sure he must hear it. She met his eyes. "I would speak to you about what happened here this afternoon." His frown deepened. "There's nothing more to be said." "Oh, but there is. A great deal, I believe." "I told you before, madam. I'll do whatever is necessary to secure my lands. If it harms you or your sister, I'm sorry. I'll grant you that much at least." He hesitated. His mouth hardened. "I'm sorry," he repeated, "but it's your father's choice at this point, not mine." She heard regret in his voice, regret and determination. Sir Geoffrey's words came back to her.What he says, he will do. She tooka long, steadying breath. There was only one thing to say. She had prepared herself for the possibility. "Then I would ask you to grant a request, my lord de Langley. Use me if you must. Use me instead of Adelise."
Eleven Robert held himself still, so still that for a moment he was sure even his heart had stopped beating. Inside him something ached over the injustices of life.If anyone is hurt, madam, I'll take care it not be you. "No!" he said, so sharply that the girl flinched. But she didn't change her expression, just stood there, staring, her eyes like the rare colored glass he had seen once in a Paris cathedral. "No," he repeated more softly. "Let's hope that a choice doesn't become necessary, that your father will do as I ask." "Certainly... but I must have your word on this. It's of the utmost importance to me." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Do you even know, madam, what you are asking? Perhaps I should enlighten you with the details." "I wasn't convent-raised as my sister, but bred up in a rough border keep with servants and coarse
men-at-arms to hold in check. You may spare me the details. I do know the most important ones." He lifted his eyebrows. "Do you now?" "Yes, my lord, I do know what I am asking." She drew in her breath. "And I know that Adelise would never survive it, but I would." She hesitated again, but her gaze never wavered. "I am not, perhaps, so pleasing to look upon as my sister, yet have I heard it said that all women are alike for such a purpose. Choose me if it becomes necessary to force my father's hand. After all, you do owe me something for the life of your friend." "And a poor payment you would have me give you," Robert murmured, turning away. He poured himself a cup of wine, and drank deeply. When he glanced back the girl was still staring. "If you hesitate because you think my father cares little for my fate, you are right. He's made that clear enough. But I do have value of a sort. With me he will learn you mean what you say, and that Adelise would be next." Jocelyn shook her head. "He won't let it go that far. He'll give what you ask. I'm sure of it." Robert wondered what that speech had cost her, wondered at the kind of father, who could make such an admission necessary. A becoming flush stained the girl's cheekbones and, for the first time, her gaze shifted uncomfortably from his. He poured another cup of wine and moved nearer, holding it out to her. "And why is that? Why is the lady Adelise the favored child?" "That should be obvious," she said, taking the wine. She lifted the cup and drank, refusing to meet his gaze. "Not to me." At that she did look up, her heavy eyebrows archingin polite disbelief. "In addition to all the obvious reasons my father prefers his eldest daughter, you may add one more. He and my mother didn't suit. In me he sees her failings and more. Welsh bloodeven the blood of princesisn't fit to mingle with good Montagne stock. That fact was brought home to me oft enough in my childhood." She hesitated again, adding coolly, "Oh, he was polite to my mother, of course. He dared not antagonize her family. After all, he did marry to secure his borders while he was off about his wars for the king. Save for occasional visits during the year, however, he and my mother trod separate paths. She and I went our own way, visited often with kinsmen in Wales. We were happy enough, just the two of us, but then she died." The girl stared down into her cup. "After that, after he remembered he had another daughter, he brought me back to 'civilize' me, to redeem my improper upbringing. All the Welsh are such savages, you know." For a moment there was silence between them. "Your father is a fool." Robert said at last. "Youdo know that, I hope." The faintest hint of amusement lightened her face. "It scarcely behooves me to agree with you. 'Twould bemost unfilial andcompletely disrespectful."
"And true," Robert finished. He smiled then, feeling an unexpected sense of kinship with this girl. He'd made more than his own share of jests at life's misfortunes. "Oh, there aren't many at Montagne who'd agree. There are those who would say I deserved what I got." The girl lifted her cup and drank deeply. Robert stared at her mouth as she drank, at the alabaster skin of her throat, the smooth woman's curves beneath the plain brown cloth of her bliaut. Her chest rose and fell unevenly. She wasn't as poised, as indifferent, as she wished to appear. The very stillness and privacyof the room weighed down on him. He watched Jocelyn Montagne drink, couldn't keep his mind from thoughts of kissing her. He'd been having them often these last daysvisions of tasting that wide, passionate mouth, of exploring that small, shapely body, teaching her all the sensual pleasures of the flesh, teaching her that there was more to life than the ugliness she had seen thus far. He stared at her hair, carefully drawn back and braided. He couldn't help remembering the way it had looked that first nighta wild, bewitching fallof silken-hot darkness. He wanted to see it that way again, to run his hands through its heavy waves. He wanted to loose it over her shoulders, spread it over her bare breasts... to wrap it around his throat, around his "I said why are you staring, sir?" Robert swore, turned abruptly, and splashed more wine into his cup. Judas, he was behaving like a fool! "Oh, for pity's sake, I am not a witch!" the girl snapped. "Despite what you may have heard, you've no need to fear that." He swung back, eyebrows lifting in surprise. "You're not what?" "A witch. If I'd any extraordinary powers, I assure you I'd have used them ere now, on any number of people!" Robert frowned and took a slow sip of wine, studying Jocelyn Montagne over the rim of his cup. "Did I miss something? Were we speaking of witches?" "Some say that of me. I'm sure your people have told you by now. It's because I watch people and I think and sometimes I sense what they're going to do. Because I'm a healer." She frowned, shrugged. "It's because of my eyes and these God-accursed eyebrows. I may look different from every other woman in Christendom, my lord, but you've no need to fear me. I assure you I can't give you the evil eye. You may do with me what you will." Robert felt a smile. If only he could. "And I assure you, madam, I am not afraid of witches." "But I'm not" "No," he interrupted, still studying her appreciatively. The girl was different, but in an earthy, exotic way, a way that was challenging and provocative, a way that aroused both his blood and his brain. "No," he said. "I didn't think you were." "But you were looking at me so oddly."
"Do you tell me no man has ever looked at you like that before?" "Men have looked at me oddly all my life," she said coolly. "I've that kind of face, I've been told." Robert allowed his smile free rein. No doubt there had been men who had looked at her like that, men who had imagined all the things he had been imagining just now but had been too intimidated to do anything about it. But he wasn't a man who was easily intimidated, and he was done with imagining. He had kissed the shivering, bloodless Adelise today for policy's sake. He might as well kiss the lady Jocelyn for pleasure. Perhaps she would find it pleasurable as well. "I could tell you, madam, just why that is," he murmured, putting down his cup and walking slowly toward her. Jocelyn held Robert de Langley's eyes. He was doing it again. Staring. Trying to make her back down. And something about the look in those untamed golden eyes set up an uneasy tightening in her stomach, an unsteady pounding of her heart. He halted in front of her, lifting his hand to trace the line of her jaw with one finger. His touch was cool, but a rush of heat suddenly suffused Jocelyn's chest, rising to her throat, flaming across her cheek bones. She drew in her breath and stepped back. "If you think to frighten me as you did my sister today, you are wasting your time and mine. I don't frighten easily." An odd half-smile curled one corner of his beautifully shaped mouth. "I am not so foolish, madam. I'm well aware you are made of much sterner stuff." Jocelyn forced herself to hold Robert de Langley's stare. Belavoir's lord admired boldness, that much she knew; and any respect he had shown her these last few days she attributed to that fact alone. But her heart was beating so hard it was painful. Her pulse drummed like thunder in her ears. She felt like a rabbit about to be eaten by a fox, a lamb about to be savaged by a lion. She lifted her chin higher still, clinging desperately to a courage that was rapidly draining away. "If you're done, then, trying to intimidate me, we need to talk about Adelise." "But I'm not done," he said softly. "In fact, I've scarcely begun. And I have nothing, absolutely nothing, to say about the lovely Adelise." His eyes were beautiful, Jocelyn realized irrelevantly. A warm golden color deepening into amber then ringed with gray about the irises. She could see herself reflected in them, experienced the oddest sensation that she was drowning in them. He reached for her, sliding one arm about her waist, drawing her toward him. She didn't struggle. This was the treatment she could expect, this and a great deal more if he agreed to what she asked. If her father didn't turn over his lands. She was held against his chest by a strong arm encircling her waist. His hand feathered down her spine,
splayed out at the small of her back, pressing her against him. On instinct Jocelyn's hands rose to his chest, but she didn't try to push him away. It would have been futile. She could feel his powerful chest muscles shift and tighten beneath her fingers, could feel the hardness of his thighs against hers, the hardness of that lower male part of him pressing boldly against her belly. The heat of his body enveloped her, an awareness of his size and power and strength, of his overwhelming and discomfiting maleness. She had never been so conscious of her own smallness, of her softness, of the way a woman's body could fit so perfectly against a man's. She had never in her life felt so fragile, so female, so tightly and exquisitely drawn. De Langley's hand rose again, his thumb tracing her cheek, her jaw, the curving lines of her mouth. His gentleness was so different from what she had expected, what Adelise had so fearfully described. She stared up at him, eyes wide, as his hand slid beneath her chin, intimately stroked the suddenly sensitive contours of her throat. His hand was large and strong and warm. She had the fleeting thought that it felt good against her bare flesh. Then he was tilting her head back. He was going to kiss her. Whatever horrible thing had happened to Adelise was about to happen to her. For a moment more he hesitated. Amusement danced like tiny flames in his eyes. "You need not look at me like that, madam. I'm not going to eat you, you know. At least not today." He was smiling openly. "And I will tell you something further, for with all your learning I suspect you know little of this. All women may be similar, but they are not exactly alike. Especially not for the purpose we've been discussing. There must be scores of interesting differences, dozens of intriguing variations to explore. Perhaps we should explore some right now. You tempt me far more than you know." Jocelyn's throat went dry. She thought of Alys, of Adelise, of the wild pounding of her heart, of the tilting, tightening whirl of her stomach. She watched him lean close, watched the heavy downward sweep of his lashes. No man had the right to have such eyelashes. She closed her eyes. His mouth settled over hers. She felt the firm, full texture of his lips, the sensual, velvet sliding of his mouth against hers. This wasn't the rough mauling she was expecting. She felt no humiliation, no pain. Instead an overwhelming feeling of warmth and security enveloped her, a warmth and tenderness begetting the strangest, most intimate sense of belonging. If this was a kiss, it wasn't so bad. It was almost... almostpleasurable! He shaped her lips with his own, sucked at them, seduced them into opening. His tongue glided along her full lower lip, wetting it, tasting it, sucking it into his mouth in a way that made a tiny shiver run through her, a shiver that rippled, intensified and grew. Her whole body began to warm, to tingle, to ache where it met his. A weakening, melting sensation flowed through her, turning her knees to jelly. He bent her back further against his arm and she grasped his shoulders, surprised by the exquisite pleasure of holding him.
Then he was inside her mouth, his tongue exploring her so thoroughly, so intimately, it was shocking. She gasped and tried to turn away, but she was anchored by the curve of his arm, by the large hand that caught and cupped her chin as he deepened the kiss, as his tongue began a slow, rhythmic thrusting against her own. This was what the woman Alys must have meant, what must have frightened Adelise. Then a strange, shivering tension began to build, a hot, uncomfortable quickening in the deepest, most secret part of her, and she ceased to think at all. A flood of heat washed through her, a wanting for even more. The desire was powerful, too strong to fight, sucking her down, dragging her into a dizzying whorl of sense and sensation, where the only thing that mattered was his mouth against hers, his hard body pressing against her soft one. As if from a distance she heard a voice, then de Langley's muttered groan. He lifted his head, breaking the kiss just when she was realizing how desperately she wanted him to continue. "Geoffrey... damn it, man, this had best be important!" Geoffrey! Jocelyn came to her senses with a start, frantically pulling away from Robert de Langley. He held on to her a moment, then reluctantly let her go. What had she been thinking? What had she been doing? She could see Sir Geoffrey Talmont standing just inside the doorway. "Forgive me, Robert. You didn't answer when I called, and it is important, I fear. A large force is heading up the road." Geoffrey hesitated. "It's the king's standard the men carry. It's Stephen, Stephen himself." De Langley went still, so still he could have been carved from stone. "He's reached Montagne's camp. No doubt we'll have company soon." Geoffrey waited, his eyes still trained on his lord. "Do we let them in?" For a moment longer there was silence, and then laughter, the most cynical laughter Jocelyn had ever heard. "Let them in? Of course we let them in!" De Langley ran a hand through his hair. "Would you have me defy my sworn liege lord?" He turned then, picking up his empty winecup, clenching it in one hand. "One more day," he muttered. "Christ, Geoffrey, just one more day! One more day and we'd have had everything!" He hurled the cup against the wall, watched the explosive shatter of pottery against stone. "But then when in God's name did Stephen ever have a sense of timing, save when he seized the crown and started us all down this miserable road?" Jocelyn was still standing where Robert de Langley had released her, still trying to regain her equilibrium. After the shattering effects of that kiss, it was difficult to take in what the men were saying. And she must
have missed something, because it didn't make sense. Robert de Langley was Stephen's man, one of his favorites. The king would be delighted to learn he'd returned from the grave. Yet she had never seen such bitterness, such carefully controlled rage in any human being. "I'm sorry, Robert, but all's not lost. You know something willbe negotiated." "But I don'twant to negotiate! Judas, man, I'm sick of negotiation and political foot-dragging that goes on for years! I'm sick of being bound by my oath and my king when others just take what they want! We'll never get all of it back now. Not without months or years of fighting. Not without losses that are damned unnecessary! I've been through this before and I'll bedamned if I'll let it happen again!" He turned, eyes blazing. "I want to win, Geoffrey! Christ Jesus, man, I just want towin! And for the first time in years, we could have." "I know." With a visible effort, de Langley pulled himself together. "Well, so be it. I've not come this far to give up!" He glanced up, found Jocelyn's eyes riveted upon him and seemed almost surprised to find her still standing there. "Get back to your chamber, madam. Prepare yourself to meet your king. I've no doubt he'll take both you and your lady sister under his protection. God knows Stephen has ever a place in his heart and his court for every woman, child, disaffected rebel, and mad dog. And the pity of it is, he still can't even understand why he's so oft bitten." Jocelyn stumbled across the room, wishing she could disappear. But by now her mind had begun to function. Robert de Langley was right. Everything would soonbe over, at least for her and Adelise. Stephen was nothing if not chivalrous where women were concernedstupidly so, her father had often said. The king would never allow any harm to come to them. De Langley was right about something else as well. It would be difficult to get his lands back. The king needed her father's good will, for the Montagnes were a power here in the marches. They held the border peace and blocked the earl of Chester's design to seize all of the west of England for Duke Henry and his Angevins. And her father had been treating recently with Chester. Geoffrey was holding the door open, his dark eyes missing nothing. She was unable to meet his gaze. To have been caught in Robert de Langley's private chamber being passionately kissed by the man! And several of his men could attest that she had come there of her own free will. Her father would be furious if he ever found out, and she would be ruined! She heard the door close behind her, well aware she was flushed and uncomfortable, her breathing wildly unsteady. She remembered that odd light in Robert de Langley's eyes as he had bent to kiss her, remembered how his arms had felt around her, how his kiss had made her feel. It hadn't been painful or humiliating or any of the things Adelise had led her to believe. She lifted her hand, trailed her fingers slowly across the base of her throat in the way he had done. She could still feel the tingle, the heat of his touch, the strange shifting and tightening in her body his kiss had caused. And for the first time in nearly three years she found herself thinking that Adelise Montagne was a fool.
Twelve Thesound of trumpets echoed on the crisp air. Brilliantly colored pennants fluttered and snapped in the wind, accompanied by the jangle of harness and lances as England's king and his small retinue clattered through the open gates of Belavoir. Robert stood in the bailey, forcing a smile as his sovereign lord, Stephen of Blois, searched the crowd for him, as the truth of Montagne's impossible tale suddenly flared in his eyes like sunrise. Stephen spurred to within a few feet of him, swung from his snorting destrier and was beside him in three short strides. "Robert! Robert de Langley! By Christ... by our Blessed Lord Savior, I dared not believe it true until now!" Robert had gone down in the dirt on one knee, but Stephen was immediately beside him, was lifting him up in as crushing a hug as his six-foot frame and long soldier's arms could provide. Robert's smile became a bit less forced. There was no doubt Stephen was pleased to see him. Tears stood in the king's eyes and his face was suffused with joy, such incredulous joy there could be no doubting. "Robert, I never thought to look on you again this side of the grave! God is good. God is infinitely good. So many have been taken from me, yet you He has restored. You whom I've almost looked on as a son." Stephen pushed him away, gripped his shoulders and looked him over critically. "It is you, isn't it?" he asked anxiously, and then he began to laugh. "By my troth, I do wonder if I'm not dead or dreaming." Robert's smile was now genuine. It was difficult to resist the charm Stephen of Blois had always had in such abundance. More difficult still because the man had been a lifelong friend to his father, had personally seen to Robert's knighting and followed his early career with such joy. "Never fear, Your Grace, you are neither. I'm alive as ever I was and as happy to see you. But come inside. We've much to catch up on." "By the splendor of God, I would say we do!" Stephen turned, one arm still gripping Robert's shoulder as if he feared his friend would disappear if he let go. "Robert, you've not met my justiciar, Richard de Lucy. Come, Richard, come and meet the legend. Come and meet my dear friend." A middle-aged man of average height and shrewd gray eyes approached them. Robert nodded as did Richard de Lucy. "We are well met, my lord," Robert said. De Lucy sent him a cool smile. There was a watchfulness in his eyes, a reserve Robert sensed was habitual. It seemed an odd pairing with Stephen's effusive charm. "Aye, we are well met, de Langley. You have given His Grace much joy this day, joy as well as a perplexing problem. A problem we must solve with all dispatch." "I'm well aware of that," Robert said. "But I can scarce be faulted for attempting to regain what is mine." "Faulted, no. I only wonder if you know how things truly stand here in England, of the dangers here in the west."
De Lucy would be a man to reckon with, Robert thought. Pray God he hadn't already sided with Montagne. "I believe I do." "Good. Leicester and I have come up with a plan" "Enough of this!" Stephen said. "We will talk business later. For now I just want to sit down and talk with my dearest Robert." "Of course, Your Grace," De Lucy said, stepping back. They went toward the keep stairs. Robert hesitated, gesturing for Stephen to precede him. To his surprise, de Lucy pushed past him, taking the king's arm as Stephen clutched at the railing and hauled himself up. For the first time Robert became aware that Stephen's tall frame seemed slightly bent, his broad shoulders rounded and stooped. He had expected the silvering hair, the added lines defining the face of a man who had always lived life to the fullest. But he hadn't expected this. He had continued to think of his king as the hale and vigorous warrior, the flaxen-haired god he had last seen nearly six years ago. The reality was far different. Stephen had aged a lifetime in those years. All the outward charm was still there the easy, flamboyant way that made all love the man that led few to respect the king, but the outward shell of the man was beginning to deteriorate. Robert narrowed his eyes at the thought, at the dismal realization that the earth was about to shift beneath his feet again. God help England if this aging, well-meaning man was all that stood between her and that fire-eater Henry of Anjou. And God help him! *** The summons came with the darkness. Jocelyn had been expecting it, had been by turns both reluctant and eager for it ever since she had heard the flourish of trumpets signifying the king's arrival. She glanced across the floor to where her sister was adjusting her tunic. She hadn't told Adelise what had happened in Robert de Langley's room. His kiss had been too confusing. She was reluctant to talk about it, reluctant even to think about it. She only hoped Sir Geoffrey and Robert de Langley would hold their tongues as well. But then with Stephen here, Belavoir's lord would have far more important things on his mind than a kiss stolen from a woman who meant nothing to him. She expected he had forgotten it entirely by now. Just one of his scores of variations, she told herself wryly. The knock came again. Jocelyn hastened to open the door. A young page stood in the hallway in the silver-and-blue livery of England's king. "Lady, you and your sister are bidden to attend His Grace the king, to sup this night with him and his lords." Jocelyn nodded. Without warning, her heart began to hammer uncomfortably, a sudden breathlessness overcame her. It was ridiculous, but she was actually nervous. "His Gracedoes us much honor. My sister and I will be pleased to accompany you."
Adelise joined her in the doorway, her silvery hair uncovered but braided modestly, a gold and pearl-encrusted crucifix hanging about her neck from a narrow ribbon of silk. She looked ethereally lovely in an ivory gown of the finest wool with an overtunic of velvet that matched the blue of her eyes. Jocelyn smoothed the soft gold wool of her own tunic self consciously. The material wasn't as fine as she could have wished, but it was her best and she knew the color looked good on her. But then it mattered little enough what she wore. The room would be filled with men who would have eyes for none but her sister. It had happened often enough now that most of the sting was gone. They followed the page into the crowded, torchlit hall. As they entered, the crowd stilled. All noise died away. Jocelyn hesitated. Stepping aside, she allowed her sister the precedence accorded the eldest, but Adelise slipped an arm about her, drawing her close. "We've been together through this trial," she whispered. "We'll face the end of it together as well." So together they moved between the crowded lines of trestle tables, ignoring the stares and whispers. The king was seated at the high table in the chair of state. Robert die Langley sat to his right, her father to his left. Jocelyn's eyes swept from her father's frown, to Stephen's beaming smile, to Robert de Langley's coldly impassive countenance. There was no hint as to how these last hours had gone for him, of what might have happened since he had sent her away. She sank into a low curtsy, shamed by the sudden rush of warmth that rose to her cheeks. She wouldn't look at him, wouldn't think of him. He had certainly spared no glance for her. Her father came around the table and down the steps, holding out his hand to Adelise and lifting her up beside him. "I would present my daughters to you, Your Grace," he said gruffly. "My eldest, Lady Adelise of Montagne, ofwhom you've heard much..." He nodded toward Jocelyn. "And the other, Lady Jocelyn of Warford." Jocelyn rose to her feet in time to see the king studying Adelise appreciatively. She took the opportunity to study him. Stephen of Blois was in his fifties now and looking every day of it. Rumor held that the death of his queen some months ago had broken both his will and his health. Perhaps, in this instance, rumor was right. The king's broad, good-humored face still showed traces of the extremely handsome man he was held to have been, but it was lined now with the cares and griefs of nearly seventeen years of a vicious civil war. Only his eyes seemed young. They were green and alive with a handsome man's appreciation for a beautiful woman. And they were trained on Adelise. He came around the table and down the steps, smiling, reaching out to take Adelise's small hand between his large ones. "My dearest child, what a pleasure it is to meet you. Your father has spoken proudly of you and I see his fondness hasn't led him to exaggeration. You truly are a treasure." Adelise smiled shyly and murmured something inarticulate, a blush staining her cheeks a most becoming shade of rose. Stephen laughed delightedly, glancing back over his shoulder at Robert de Langley. "Ah, Robert, I can see why you were so loath to give this bewitching creature up. Come down here now and make your peace with the Montagnes, all of them." Despite her earlier promise to herself, Jocelyn found she couldn't keep her eyes from the man. She
watched as he rose to his feet and walked around the table, as he moved down the stairs with all the wary, effortless grace of a cat. Something swelled and tightened inside her until it was difficult to catch her breath. He seemed taller tonight, his golden eyes more arresting, his tawny hair like heavy-burnished gold in the torchlight. He was dressed in a tunic of crimson velvet that must once have been magnificent, though it was obviously now the worse for many seasons of wear. He wore no jewels, no chains of gold nor even the simplest ring. She remembered that Henry of Anjou wore a ring he treasured, and a slow burning anger began heating her blood like a flame. Robert de Langley had spent his life and his patrimony fighting for Stephen across the sea, and he had lost it all: lands, wealth, even the family he had obviously loved. He had returned to England, retaking his home against all odds, and now, to add insult to injury, he was being forced to entertain and make peace with the very man who had betrayed him, who had murdered his friends and seized his castles and lands. Jocelyn clenched her fists at her sides, wondering if she were the only one here who burned at the injustice, wondering how the man himself could look so coolly self-assured in his worn velvet tunic, so calmly unconcerned in the midst of this powerful, glittering throng. How could Stephen do this to him? And how would she ever be able to hold her tongue? Robert halted next to the king. "I'm here, my liege, as I always am when you call." If the words hinted at a bitter irony neither his face nor his voice gave more away. Stephen turned, anxious affection in his eyes for the man who had given all for his cause. "I know that, Robert. I know that and believe me, I do value it, far more than you may think just now." The two stared at each other, and Stephen was the first to look away, back to Adelise whose hand he still held. He smiled down benignly. "My dear child, I'm well aware that you've been held here against your will, that you've heard grave threats made by this man in the presence of your father. "However, Robert de Langley of Belavoir is well known to mehe has been since his childhoodand I assure you upon my honor and his own that there is no better man anywhere, that he never had any intention of carrying out those threats. Robert has sworn upon holy relics that he never meant harm to you or your sister. He has also sworn to keep peace with your father, as your father has sworn to keep peace with him." Stephen paused for breath, glancing out over the assemblage. "We have won this day an end to the feuding between the houses of Montagne and de Langley. An end to this new threat to England's peace, a peace which has been so long fought for and so dearly won. At this moment contracts are being drawn up to be signed on the morrow. Contracts insuring a just end to this dispute." He hesitated again. The volume of noise and excitement was swelling rapidly. The king lifted his voice. "We've much cause for celebration this night and will look forward from here and not back. The proud old houses of de Langley and Montagne will soon be joined in a treaty to insure no more discord, a treaty that will keep all in the west secure." He turned, placing Adelise's hand in Robert de Langley's. "It's my joy to inform you that our friend Robert de Langley and the lady Adelise of Montagne will soon be joined in the holy estate of marriage. God's blessings upon England and upon you both."
Jocelyn felt as if the floor had been cut away from under her. Adelise stood frozen, her already pale cheeks bloodless. For a moment that seemed an eternity, no one moved. Then with one soft, whimpering sob, Adelise crumpled at de Langley's feet. De Langley simply watched, didn't even try to stop her graceless slump to the floor. He met the consternation in Stephen's eyes with a shrug of one shoulder. "My bride-to-be is obviously overcome with her good fortune. Don't be concerned, Your Grace. From what I've seen, this happens quite often." The room erupted in chaos. Jocelyn pushed forward and dropped to her knees beside Adelise. "Please, my lords... Your Grace, don't be alarmed. My sister does this sometimes with so much excitement. There's no need for concern." She began chaffing her sister's hands as a strange man knelt beside her. "Is the girl apt to be hysterical, to say things she ought not when she wakes?" he asked in an urgent whisper. Jocelyn glanced up. "I'm afraid so. We'd no warning of this, you see." "Then we must remove her at once. These treaties are held together by a thread. Half the men in this room are waiting for any excuse to start a brawl, your father and de Langley among them." "Someone should have thought of that, then, before the announcement was made in such a fashion," Jocelyn snapped. "We were trying to avert a war, madam! We hadn't time to think of some foolish girl's sensibilities." "Then don't blame the girl for an honest reaction. Of such things are wars oft made!" The man drew in his breath in surprise. Jocelyn hadn't the remotest idea who he wassomeone important because he was seated at the high table. At the moment, however, she didn't care whom she offended. She was still reeling from the announcement the king had made. She looked around the hall. Her father was pushing through a crowd of soldiers, trying to reach a laver of water. Halfway across the hall, her brother Brian was also fighting his way through the crowd. Everywhere men were rising from their seats looking uncertainly toward their lords, their hands on their weapons. She turned to the stranger. "Help me, sir. There's a withdrawing room just off the rear of the hall. It was used as the solar in the old lord's day. We can revive her there in privacy." The man nodded and swept Adelise up in his arms just as Brian reached them. Jocelyn turned to block her brother's path. "She is fine, Brian, truly. Only swooning from excitement and her refusal to eat. You know how Adelise gets when there is aught going on." He would have pushed past her, but Jocelyn caught his arm. "Brian, please... find someone and tell them to send wine and food to the old lord's solar. That's the greatest service you can do Adelise. That and keeping the peace in this hall for her sake." Brian turned a smoldering look upon her. "If he's hurt her, I'll kill him! So help me God, if that whoreson de Langley has even touched Adelise"
"No one is hurt, Brian," she said sharply. "Adelise has simply fainted from the excitement. Imagine how foolish she'll feel when she wakes and discovers all the fuss being made." She studied his face and her fingers tightened on his arm. Her brother was a handsome man, his face the harsher, more masculine version of their sister's. But there was something in the petulant set of his mouth, the chill in his eyes she couldn't trust, something that had sometimes made the hairs along the back of her neck lift uneasily. Besides, once when she was an outspoken eight and hea spoiled young know-it-all of thirteen he had struck her. She would never forget the satisfaction on his face, the impotent rage on her mother'sas she had fought the swelling and blood to determine if the fragile bones of her daughter's face were broken. "Please, Brian, for once just doas I ask... for her sake," Jocelyn murmured. "See to your men here and don't let them start a brawl. You know how rumors willfly." Brian jerked his arm from her grasp. "God knows there'sbeen food enough in this matter for all the gossips in England. Adelise's name will be dragged through the dirt as it is." He glanced back over his shoulder at the angry Montagne men. Several had weapons drawn. "I'll quiet my men and be along in a few minutes. Tell Adelise." The stranger was just settling Adelise in a chair when Jocelyn entered the chamber. Adelise had opened her eyes and was sobbing into her hands. The man frowned and stepped back. "Thank you, my lord," Jocelyn said. "If you can arrange for us to be left in peace a few moments, it might be well for those treaties you favor." "I'll do what I can, but I'll not be able to keep them away for long." Then he bowed and was gone. "Oh, Jocelyn, I can't... I can't marry that man!" Adelise wailed. "Anyone! Anyone, but not...him! Father can't ask it. He can't!" "Adelise, listen to me. A great deal can happen between the announcement of a betrothal and an actual marriage ceremony. It's possible this won't come off. After all, you are almost contracted to Pelham." Jocelyn hesitated, then bent and took her sister's shoulders firmly between both hands. "For now, though, there are scores of men out there just looking for any excuse to spill each other's blood, our hotheaded brother among them. Montagne men and those of de Langley are at daggers drawn already. Anything might touch off a fight. "You've a right to be upset, Adelise. I know you fear Robert de Langley. But we must be very,very careful what we say. You know Brian's temper. He's already threatening de Langley. If he starts something, there could be men killed." Adelise wiped at her cheeks with the back of one hand. "Oh, Jocelyn, you know I don't want anyone hurt, especially Brian! But if all this were happening to you, you wouldn't be telling me to be calm. You've no idea how awful he was to me. How awful the very thought of... of being with that man... i-in any way" She bit her lip. "I can't marry him." The tears began flooding her cheeks once again. "Ican't!"
Jocelyn thought of Robert de Langley, of the way a smile softened his hard face, the way his beautiful laughter had sounded on the one occasion she had heard it. She thought of the way his arms had felt around her, of the way he had kissed her. An uncomfortable feeling swept through herunexpected longing, then angry, hopeless regret. She felt an odd little catch in her chest, a sudden resentment toward her sister that shamed and unsettled her. She wrapped her arms around Adelise and hugged her close, burying the jealousy in the furthest reaches of her consciousness. Adelise was all that was perfect and good. She deserved a man like Robert de Langley. She was the only kind of woman who could. "Oh, Adelise, I don't mean to make light of what's happened. I'm sorry you're so unhappy. You know I would change it for you if I could. But all will be well, I'm certain of it. Somehow we will make it all come out right."
Thirteen Midnighthad come and gone and the still, quiet hoursof the night were upon them. The long sessions of drinking and talking had ended, and most in Belavoir were abed.Jocelyn spoke a few last words to the cook, smiled at a sleepy spitboy who was turning great slabs of porkover one of the open fires. She caught up her cloakfrom a wall peg and drew it around her shoulders. Come tomorrow, Stephen and his forcesher father and de Langley includedwouldbe riding north to the aid of Ralph de Toneil, a baron who had the misfortune to hold lands not far from the land-hungry earl of Chester. The insatiable Chester had laid siegeto his castle without warning in the hope of taking it before word leaked out. Unfortunately for Chester, de Toneil had managedto get a man through the lines and to the king. The matter had been unfortunate for Robertde Langley's plans as well. The king had been within a day's ride of Belavoir when her father's surprised messengers had come across his trail. Stephen had hurried to Belavoir with his army, more than willing to detour to the aidof one of his more important baronsespecially one who seemedto be wavering in his loyalties. Lifting the latch, Jocelyn slippedout, leavingthe com fortable warmth and light of the kitchen buildings for the darkness of the deserted bailey. Above the keep stairs a pair of sputtering pine torches flared and guttered inthe wind, twin pools of light shivering golden against cold stone. All else was dark and still. She frowned. There was one otherwho hadbeen hurt by Chester's aggression: Adelise, who had never hurt anyone in all her life. Jocelyn thought of her sister. Despite the cold and her own weariness, she didn't want to go in and lie down beside Adelise. She didn't want to listen to more of her sister's weeping, to have to comfort her yet again about her coming marriage to Robert de Langley. A freezing blast of air gusted across the courtyard, carrying the faint, earthy smell of dry leaves and dead bracken, of change and loss and the coming harshness of winter in the border country. Drawing a deep breath, Jocelyn stopped and threw back her head, taking in an endless ebony sky so spangled with stars it brought an ache to her throat. The night was sharp and clear, like the pain that had come so unexpectedly.
She shivered and hugged herself, frustrated by the ridiculous feelings she seemed unable to control. She was being foolish, she who had always prided herself on her cold practicality, her clear-eyed acceptance of life as it was. First she had been simple-minded enough to dream of Edward of Pelham just because the man had been kind to her. Then Robert de Langley had swept into her life on a passionate, golden torrent of wonder and fear, a storm of powerful emotions Jocelyn hadn't even begun to recognize until it was too late, until the king had made his astonishing announcement. A jumble of emotions had swept through her then anger, jealousy, hurt, a pervading, incomprehensible hurt unlike any she had ever known. Her instinct had been to slip away and hide, to nurse the pain in secret as a wild animal would some injury. But first had come the interminable interview with Brian and her father, an inquisition into the treatment she and Adelise had received at Robert de Langley's hands. It was obvious the Montagne men were against any blood bond with de Langley. It was just as obvious they'd had no choice in the matter. In addition to the restoration of his castles and lands, de Langley was demanding an impossibly high fee as repayment for all his lost revenues over the years. Adelise and her rich dowry had been deemed a proper settlement by the king and his council, a glittering prize for the man who had never wavered in his loyalty. To pacify the father of the bride, no fine would be levied for his aggression. In fact, to sooth any qualms he might feel about giving his daughter up to a man he feared might abuse her, Stephen was granting him the lucrative office of sheriff of one of the nearby shires. Within a few weeks or months Adelise would be married to a man who terrified her simply because she was an heiress and the king had ordered it so. She had no choice in the matter. A woman belonged to her father until she was wed, to her husband thereafter. And God help the woman if she were given to a man who made her life hell, for there was no way out. Jocelyn had seen that well enough in her own parents' marriage. She studied the distant stars, thinking of her mother, wondering if she had been bitter. Her mother must have felt a terrible loneliness and frustration being wed to a man who despised her, feelings she would have hidden from an impressionable young daughter who was having a difficult enough time of her own. But Adelise's marriage would be nothing like that. Jocelyn felt a keen sympathy for her sister's bitter unhappiness, but she truly believed that it wouldn't last long. Robert de Langley was one of the finest men in England, the finest man anywhere, Stephen had said. Adelise would soon lose her fear and discover a rich and rewarding life as his lady. Jocelyn wanted that for Adelise. She truly wanted to rejoice in her sister's happiness. But she couldn't go back to that small room they shared. Not yet. For the truth was she would have foolishly bartered all the remaining years of her life to trade places with Adelise for just one. For just one year to be so heart-stoppingly beautiful every man turned to stare. For just one year to be Robert de Langley's lady. Don't let me be a fool. Holy Mary, gracious Mother of our Lord, please don't let me be such a fool! Hugging her arms about herself, Jocelyn walked slowly along the edge of the keep, making for the stairs up to the wall-walk. On a night like tonight, the battlements would be deserted save for a few sentries.
She reached the top of the stairs without challenge. There wasn't much of a moon, and the wind was strong, sweeping over the battlements, tearing through the crenelated teeth. Jocelyn stepped into the shadowy protection of the wall. Up here it was cold and uncomfortable, but there was a freedom in this place, a wildness that spoke to something inside her, something she was forced to keep hidden most of the time. "You should be abed, madam." Jocelyn gasped, whirled. A shadow darker than the surrounding blackness disengaged itself from the wall and moved toward her. "You're fool to be walking about alone at this hour." She was quick to recover command of herself. "As you are, my lord de Langley. There are more than a handful of men in this keep who would thrill to the knowledge that you had been murdered during the night." "Ah, but I've a sword and a dagger at hand and the wit and power to use them. What's your excuse for such foolishness?" Jocelyn turned and stared out over the shadowy countryside. He was her excuse, but she couldn't say that. "I have none. I just didn't want to go in." "Nor I." He moved closer, leaning against the wall and staring out over his darkened land in silence. His arm lay so near, Jocelyn thought she could feel the heat of it. She wished to God he had never touched her, that she had never discovered what it was like to stand, even for a moment, in his arms. Foolishly, she wished he would hold her again. "How does your sister, as if I couldn't guess." "Not well," she answered honestly. "This betrothal has been a shock." "That it has. For all of us." De Langley gave a short, bitter laugh. "Do you know, madam, that I'd taken a vow, a holy vow never to wed again? I thought I was done with such things after that last time" He drew in a sharp breath. Jocelyn could just make out his hard handsome features, but she couldn't see his expression. But then she didn't need to see his expression. Anger resonated in his voice, bitterness in every taut line of his body. "How then, came the king to force this?" she asked. "He's a man with much respect for such things I've been told." "Oh, easily enough. His brother is bishop of Winchester. We'll have a dispensation by the end of the week. God himself can't help the man Stephen of Blois decides to favor." Jocelyn scarcely blinked at the blasphemy. She was stunned any man could so love a woman that he
would actually take a vow never to wed again when she died. Sweet Mother of God, what would it be like to be loved by such a man? "I'm sorry," she said. "Aye, so am I. Sorry for being forced to take an incredibly beautiful, almost obscenely rich wife. The king's justiciar, Richard de Lucy, thinks I'm insane, that my time as a dead man has addled my wits. So does my old friend Robin of Leicester." He laughed again, cynically this time. "Perhaps it has. But somehow making an alliance with your father, seeing him rewarded for taking my lands and murdering my people doesn't seem like a blessing no matter how enticing the rest of the package. "Besides, I've no fancy for lands so far to the east as your sister's dower lands lie. Half my time and energy will be squandered traveling. Time and energy my enemies will be happy to see wasted." He turned to her. "And be she ever so lovely and rich, I've little desire for a wife who lives in fear of me. It would far better have been you, madam. At least you don't drop at my feet each time I frown." He was waiting, looking down at her. He'd meant the words as a jest, Jocelyn realized. It was the only way any man could have meant them. From somewhere deep inside she found the strength to respond in like fashion. "Ah... but then it was a reward the king was intending, my lord, was it not? Things in Normandy may be different, but here in England sharp-tongued shrews with small dowrys are seldom considered in that light." "Neither are weeping, wailing females who swoon at the first sign of difficulty." "My sister is afraid of the man she thinks you are. I've no doubt you could show her quickly enough not to be." Jocelyn hesitated. "And I hope you do show her that she has no reason to fear you. If you do, she will make you a wife more wonderful than any you could ever dream." She waited for him to respond. When he said nothing, she forced herself to go on. This was an unlooked for opportunity, perhaps the only one she would have to help Adelise. "My lord de Langley, I would speak plainly to you, for my sister's welfare touches me greatly. Adelise was bred up in a household that cossetted her, that shielded and protected her and indulged her every whim. "If she is tender and easily frightened it is because she has never faced hardship or challenge. My father and brother have raised her so. If she is shy and biddable it is because she has molded herself in that fashion to please them. Adelise has the kindest, sweetest nature of any creature on earth. If she had any other she'd have been ruined by now with the spoiling she has had since the first day she drew breath. "You are wrong to hold her in contempt, my lord. Adelise does have courage, a quiet courage that comes to her aid when those she loves are in danger. She has stood in my defense on many occasions. I wonder sometimes if I would be alive this day if not for her." He shifted nearer, his arm inadvertently touching hers. "And is that the reason for what you did this afternoon?"
Jocelyn's heart skipped a beat. She didn't want to be reminded of the afternoon. "Yes, it is. That and the fact that I love Adelise a very great deal." "So I had surmised. I only wonder if she is worthy of your feelings, of the sacrifice you were willing to make for her sake. Somehow I think not." "That's only because you don't know her. When you do you will better understand what I did." Jocelyn wished she could see his expression, wished she could read his thoughts. There was a gentler, caring side to this man. He had obviously loved his wife to distraction, been devastated by the loss of his son. If only she could reach that part of him. "My lord, be gentle with Adelise. Have patience with her fears. She wants this marriage no more than you, perhaps less. She" Rude laughter interrupted her words. "I've scarcely the imagination to envision anyone wanting it less." "Perhaps you'll understand then, if I tell you her heart is already taken by another," Jocelyn said. "A man she was hoping to marry, a man who had already asked for her hand." "What?Devil take it, woman, why wasn't this mentioned earlier?" "Because nothing official had been done, no contracts signed. It was only an affair of the heart so far, Adelise's heart. From what I've heard, no such consideration would have swayed the king." Robert de Langley let out a breath that frosted like smoke on the cold night air. "No, I don't suppose it would. There are too many other considerations for anyone's feelings to weigh. Or so I've been told." He turned. "Who is this man your sister wishes to wed?" "It isn't necessary that you know that. The less said about it the better, I expect." "On the contrary, madam, it is very necessary that I know. Think how difficult it would be should I become friends with the man. Worse yet, what if I fight and wound him in some friendly joust or engagement? Can you imagine what your sister's feelings would be then? If you truly wish me to have a care to your sister, I must know to keep from hurting her unwittingly." He leaned closer, grasping her arm. "Come, madam, give me his name." Jocelyn tried to ignore the feel of his hand on her arm, tried to focus only on what he was saying. It was happening already; he was showing a tender concern for Adelise. So why did it cause her such pain? "It is Pelham. Edward of Pelham." "Pelham, yes... a most advantageous marriage that would have been. Judas, was there ever such a muddle!" He released her abruptly. "It's late. I'd best get you in before someone comes in search of you." He caught up the edges of her mantle, drawing them together. "By the Mass, this isn't a cloak for such weather. You must be freezing to death in this wind." And before Jocelyn knew what he was about, he had unclasped his own cloak and flung it around her, and she was swallowed up in its too-large folds, in the lingering warmth and subtle scent, the overwhelming essence of the man.
His hands lingered beneath her chin, reminding her of the way he had touched her this afternoon, the way his fingers had felt against her bare skin. "There, that's better. If you must be about on such a night, for pity's sake wear something better suited. You're liable to catch your death." He was standing so close his shoulder brushed hers, so close she could feel his breath in her hair. A heady sensation of warmth washed through her, a warmth akin to that she remembered when she'd once had too many cups of strong wine. Her heart began racing, that familiar breathless sensation seizing control once again. And of a sudden she realized that all her notions of honor and decency were not what she had supposed, for she was foolishly hoping he would kiss her. She wanted it more than she could ever recall wanting anything else on earth. She remembered his kiss of a few hours ago so clearly she barely held back a groan. She wanted so badly to touch him. To lean into his chest and run her hands across his shoulders, to explore the flat, hard planes and curving muscles of his body. In her healing, she had seen men unclothed before, knew what was done in the getting of children. Now she thought of him like that, all golden-hot eyes and sleek, powerful muscles. She thought of the sensual way he had touched her, of the shattering effects of his kiss. She thought of him naked. Kissing her. His large body covering, possessing, her small one. Her whole body began to ache, to tingle, to warm with that powerful, liquid heat she remembered so vividly. And somehow she knew with a certainty she could never have explained just how right it would be to lie with him, to feel his body joining with hers. This man who would be her sister's husband. This man she suddenly wanted so desperately, so very hopelessly to be her own. With a deep, shuddering breath, she pulled away. The image had been overwhelming, so intense, she was trembling. Merciful God in Heaven, she was committing adultery. With her own sister's husband! "Are you afraid of me?" he asked softly. "No!" Jocelyn leaned against the wall, needing the support, the harsh reality of cold stone beneath her hands. He caught her shoulder, turning her to face him. "After the way I behaved this afternoon, I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. But I can assure you, madam, you've nothing to fear in that regard." A surge of humiliation washed through her. He hadn't liked it, hadn't liked kissing her. While she had liked it far too well. But then he had kissed Adelise. He'd kissed scores of women, hundreds probably. Obviously she hadn't fared well in the comparison. It was an unfamiliar variation on the old painonly far more humiliating, far more difficult to fight.
"I-I'm not afraid. Not of you, sir. It is only late, as you said, and I am tired and cold and... and... it's been a long day. And we both have to be up betimes on the morrow." She was talking too fast, too breathlessly. And what if he guessed? Dear God, what if he guessed and what if he laughed? She fumbled her hands free of the heavy draping folds of his cloak starting to remove it. "Take this back, sir. You'll be freezing and" He caught her hands, holding them together between both of his. "Do you always argue, madam?" She strained to free herself. She was humiliated, ashamed. Perilously close to tears. She forced herself to stare up at him with something of the old effrontery. "Certainly, my lord. Do you always command?" He laughed. It was such a beautiful laugh, did such odd, inexplicable things to the pit of her stomach. "I suppose I do. An irksome habit, no doubt, but one I was bred to. I can see that with you for a sister, I shall have to mend my ways." His sister. Jocelyn caught her breath against the ache. If she moved, if she breathed, she would betray herself. Unexpectedly, he lifted her hands to his mouth, brushing a warm kiss against their backs before he released them, a kiss that nearly undid her. "Come, madam. We'd both best get inside. As you said, we must be up betimes." He took her arm, leading her wordlessly along the walkway toward the stairs. She longed to pull away, but didn't. He would only reassure her again, explain that she had no reason to fear him. And, foolishlyshamefullythat wasn't the reasoning she wanted to hear. They reached the steps and he stood back, allowing her to precede him. Preoccupied with her thoughts, Jocelyn was halfway to the bottom before she became aware of the men. They stood at the base of the stairway, one relieving himself against the wall, another muttering drunken curses at his companion's careless aim. Jocelyn slowed, almost missed her footing and caught herself against the wall. Something about this wasn't right. Behind her, Robert de Langley must have felt the same. He slowed, his hand closing around her elbow, halting her without a sound as he slid past, his right hand shifting to his sword hilt. Jocelyn's heart began racing, a chill shivering the length of her spine. Sweet Mother of God, where were the sentries? She'd seen none all night. And what were these men doing out? With tensions high and two feuding lords within one keep, the men-at-arms were all being carefully kept to their barracks. The curses below exploded into an argument. One of the men shoved the other and both lurched forward against the stairs. In a moment they had their swords out, were flailing drunkenly at one another.
De Langley's sword was outas well. Soundlessly. Jocelyn caught the faint, deadly glitter of polished steel in the starlight. "Quick, madam. Get back upstairs!" he hissed. She caught up her skirts and whirled, hurrying upward. There was that in his voice that brooked no argument. She heard a grunt, footsteps, the first clattering shock of steel meeting steel in earnest. She swungaround. Dropping all drunken pretense, the men had leaped toward Robert de Langley. Jocelyn leaned against the wall, fumblingfor the circu lar bronze clasp on de Langley's cloak. Against the reach ofa sword it wouldn't be much, but in close quarters the long metal pin could make a weapon. She squeezed her fingers against the clasp, her breath coming shallow and fast. De Langley was outnumbered,but he was obviously holding his own. Shewatched for several moments, then slowly, her fears began to fade. On the narrow stone stairs the man above held an advantage, so long as that man was an accomplished swordsman. And from the look of things, Robert de Langley had been defending battlement stairs all his life. She continued to watch, mesmerized by the spectacular swordplay. No wonder half of Normandy and most all of England had longed to follow him. She understood the attractionthe "magic" Sir Geoffrey had called itfor she felt it herself. She had a wild, irrational longing to take upa sword and rush into the fray at his side. But the lordof Belavoir needed no aid. The would-beassassins were so obviously outmatched she couldn't imagine why they were still fighting, why they didn't just turn and flee, unless The faintest of sounds caught her ear. She glanced upwards. The darkness shifted, stirred. She caught the faintest glimmer of steel,a whisper of boot leather against smooth stone. And there, slipping stealthily down the stairs was a man. Jocelynsuckedin her breath, knowing instinctively that anyone rushing to de Langley's aid would have shouted and called for help. The two men below must be a diversion. This was the man coming in for the kill. She drew back against the wall, forcing herself to wait, counting off the dwindling seconds until the man came within reach. She steadied herself, drew in her breath. Now! Swinging the cloak from her shoulders, she flung it up and over the man's head, covering his face, tangling his arms and his sword. There wasn't time to call for de Langley. There wasn't time even to be afraid. She stepped closer, anchoring the broach against her palm, putting all her weight behind it as she wielded the long metal pin like a knife. The man was struggling to drag off the cloak. She probed through the wool for his throat, felt the pin scrape then catch in flesh. She gouged it home with all her strength.
The man's surprised grunt turned to a cry of pain. He struggled to free himself. She twisted the pin again and he tried to fend her off, dropping his sword as she stabbed at his arm. The sword clanged noisily against the step, and Jocelyn kicked it down the stairs. The man cursed and groped blindly for her, arms spread like an outraged bear. She sidestepped him, braced herself against the wall and shoved. He teetered on the edge of the stairs, clawing at the cloak. In the darkness, she saw his head emerge, saw him focus on her and gather himself like a cat. Another few seconds and she wouldn't have a prayer. Another few seconds She ducked under his arms, kicking at his knees. A splintering pain shot through her foot, but the man lost his balance and pitched over the edge, dropping half the height of the stairs to land with a thud and a curse on the hard bailey earth below. Jocelyn leaned against the wall, fighting for air. A few steps below her, Robert de Langley managed to fling one of his attackers down the stairs. The other turned, fleeing quickly into the darkness. De Langley bounded up the steps to her side. "Madam, for the love of God, are you all right?" He caught her arm. "Jocelyn...?" "Yes... yes, I'm fine," she managed. "And you?" "Certainly!" He snapped the word out as if amazed she could doubt it. Despite the danger and her fear, despite her own breathlessness, Jocelyn began to laugh. No wonder Robert de Langley's men thought him invincible. It was obvious he thought so himself. "Madam..." The voice was sharp, questioning. "Are you certain you're all right?" The exhilaration of the fight still gripped Jocelyn, the pounding of her heart, the rushing of her blood had yet to subside. So this was what battle was like. And victory. No wonder men became drunk with it.She was drunk with it. But she truly must sound like a madwoman. "Yes, my lord, I'm fine, save for my arm, which you're crushing. And I greatly fear you'll do worse if we don't find your cloak. That whoreson cur took it with him over the edge, along with your broach which I stabbed into his cowardly hide!" Instead of releasing her as she had expected, de Langley crushed her against him and gave a shaky laugh. "Judas, madam, here I'd thought to find you fainting from fear. I should have known better." Jocelyn didn't try to speak. She rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the wild throbbing of his heart, drinking in the exhilarating feel of his arms wrapped around her. He was strength and warmth and safety in the darkness. He was what she longed for, what her whole being ached for with an intensity that was overwhelming. "You could have been killed," he was saying. "By the Mass, Jocelyn, don't ever,ever do anything like that again! This wasn't a game we were playing. Those men were in deadly earnest." Jocelyn smiled. She liked the sound of her name on his lips, liked the obvious concern in his voice. "But I
was in earnest as well. A broach pin is weapon enough to cut a man's throat. At the very least, that jackal should carry a scar, the better to recognize him by daylight, don't you think?" De Langley rested his chin against the top of her head and chuckled. It was a curiously intimate gesture, more warmly familiar than a kiss. "I do apologize for the insult. I must rearrange my thinking, it seems. I've never gone into battle with a woman to guard my back. However, you will do very well. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were one of my veterans." Jocelyn smiled again, reveling in the warmth of Robert de Langley's approval. "We can look for the man tomorrow. I'll tell" "You'll tell no one, Jocelyn. You must not speak of what happened here tonight. I prefer to pursue it in my own way." A chill of apprehension slid through her. "Do you know, then, who the men were?" "Who they were? No. Who sent them? Most probably. However, Stephen wouldn't thank me even if I could prove it. It would put him in a most difficult position." Jocelyn sensed his withdrawal before he released her and stepped away. He could only be speaking of her father, yet she couldn't see him party to this ambush in the dark. "You might have enemies besides those of the house of Montagne," she offered. "I might. Certainly someone has either drugged or bought off Stephen's sentries. This could never have happened if my own men had been allowed to remain on guard." He glanced over his shoulder, searching the shadowy recesses of the walls. "We'd best get inside now. I'd no notion my enemies would act so swiftly, but I'll not be caught unawares again. We might not fare so well if those men find friends and come back." Jocelyn nodded, shivering now in the wind. She was amazed at how cold she was suddenly, how overwhelmingly alone she felt outside Robert de Langley's arms. Together they hurried down the stairs, discovering de Langley's cloak and broach pin in the shadows alongside the wall. He knelt to retrieve them, then escorted Jocelyn quickly to the chamber she shared with Adelise. The exhilaration was gone now, along with that unforgettable moment of closeness. It hadn't been real. On the morrow, he would be leaving. In future she would see him only as Adelise's husband.That was reality. Jocelyn fought for composure, for the familiar icy poise that had always sheltered her from hurt. "I'll wish you a safe journey then tomorrow, my lord, but I would ask you to have a care, especially in any encounter with Chester. My father is loath to fight him, even though Stephen himself has ordered it. In such a state, anything might happen. Have an extra contingent of men you trust at your back." "I do assure you, madam, I know how to care for myself in battle. But I thank you for your words... and for your aid tonight. I'll have to think of an appropriate way to show my gratitude." She heard the amusement in his voice and made the mistake of glancing up at him. He was smiling a smile that caught at her heart and made it turn over, that was warm and brilliant and devastating as the sun. She felt an extraordinary need to reach up and touch him, to trace that beautiful mouth with her
fingers, to cup his face with her hand. She swallowed hard, besting the urge. "You've no need to show me gratitude. Only think on what I said tonight about Adelise. I assure you, sir, you'll never regret patience and care spent early in the game." "I'm not known as a patient man, madam, but since you've just risked your life in my cause, it would be churlish indeed to refuse. I do swear to you, Jocelyn, on the relationship you and I will soon share, that I will grant the request made of me tonight. I will do as well by the lady Adelise as I can contrive. I will value her at her true worth and do my best to give her her heart's desire." He took a step nearer, catching Jocelyn's shoulders. She had never known a man so overwhelmingly physical, who could shake her so badly with naught but a touch or a look. "I do swear to you now that I'll do my best to make a good husband..." His smile was gone, but amusement lurked deep in his eyes. "Foryour sake, madam. For what you did for me tonight." Jocelyn's throat closed up. She didn't even try to breathe. She had never felt so close to losing control to splintering and falling apart. Robert de Langley bent and brushed his mouth swiftly against hers. "A kiss of peace between us. That, at least, after what I have put you through. After what we have been through tonight. God be with you and keep you safe... sister." And with that he was gone, striding down the corridor without looking back, disappearing around a darkened corner. Jocelyn leaned against the door, pressing her fingers against her mouth, blinking against the hot blaze of tears in her eyes. Hissister! She was soon to become Robert de Langley's sister. And she was certain she had never hated any thought so violently in all her life.
Fourteen M'lady, Peter be finished layin' fresh rushes in the hall. Said to tell you he's takin' his cart down by way of Three Springs Meadow. To see if he can find some bracken to put down in the stables." Jocelyn gave a practiced jerk to one corner of the bed covers, deftly smoothing the heavy, embroidered coverlet on her father's great bed. Within the next few days, the king of England would be sleeping here. Raising her head, she shoved a wisp of hair from her eyes. "Thank you, Elen. I'm done here as well." She straightened. "See if you can find Adelise. I sewed on her wedding tunic last night. It needs one last fitting before I can finish." The maidservant hesitated. "She's still in the chapel. Father Matthew be with her now." "Again?" Jocelyn bit back a sigh. "Very well then, don't disturb her. I'll tell her myself when I see her."
The woman left, and Jocelyn moved to the window recess. She had thrown back the shutter and golden sunlight streamed in along with an abundance of fresh, cold air. She leaned her forehead against the icy stone. It felt good to her heated skin. She thought of the last week, of the journey back to Montagne and the overwhelming task that had naturally fallen to her: turning Montagne inside out to prepare for a visit by England's king and for Adelise's grand wedding. Even under the best of circumstances the preparations would have been overwhelming, but with Adelise distraught and their father and Brian off fighting for Stephen, the job was nearly impossible. Time was short and servants harried, tempers frayed, and Jocelyn herself so distracted she could scarcely keep up with all that must be done. But she was secretly thankful for the activity. She worked hard through the days directing the cooking and cleaning, the gathering together of the mountain of provisions they would need. Then at night when the castle quieted, she sewed on her sister's wedding clothes by the light of an extravagant half-dozen candles, concentrating on the tiny, perfect stitches, the elegant silken embroidery that was her wedding gift to Adelise. And she kept her thoughts rigidly to the safe, predictable track she had set that of making Montagne ready for a royal visit, of preparing Adelise's clothing for a suitably grand wedding. If her mind sometimes wandered to darker thoughts, deeper waters, to a foolish, impossible yearning for what couldn't be, she drew quickly back. After all, she knew her place in the world well enough. She'd had eighteen long and painful years of learning to manage her thoughts, control her feelings. And if her thoughts were sometimes unruly, her feelings unmanageable, she supposed that was just her burden to bear. "Jocelyn, quick! Where's Adelise?" Jocelyn swung around. Her half-brother Brian stood framed in the doorway. "I rode on ahead to warn Adelise, but the others are just behind me," he was saying. He hesitated, trying to catch his breath. "Pelham's coming. He brought his men to join the king two days ago and couldn't be dissuaded from riding here for the wedding." "Pelham? Oh, Brian, no! He's the last person on earth Adelise needs to see." Brian grimaced and stepped into the room. "That isn't the worst of it. He and de Langley have had words. They even drew steel on each other last night, though Leicester and de Lucy separated them quick enough, more's the pity. Jesu, why couldn't de Langley have stayed dead! I'd give five year's rents from Montagne if only someone would put him away! If only someone could get rid of" He glanced up and caught himself, seemed to realize to whom he was speaking. "God's love, madam, I wouldn't actually murder the man, not thatI wouldn't welcome a good honest fight between us." Jocelyn stared at her brother. But it hadn't been honest that ambush in the darkand she had the oddest feeling that Brian had been involved. "You can't fight him, Brian. He'll soon be blood kin." "I know that! Don't you think I know that?" he snapped. "God, if only Pelham had spoken sooner, Adelise would be contracted now. Stephen would have had to find some other heiress and we wouldn't even be in this mess!"
Jocelyn kept her gaze steady on his. But there are two of us, she wanted to say.Two Montagne daughters. Why was it no one ever remembered that fact? "Adelise will likely still be in the chapel," she said instead. "She spends most of her time there, trying to reconcile herself to this." She pushed past him, leading the way out the door. "We'd best warn her quickly. She won't take this well, I'm afraid." They hurried down the spiraling tower stairs and out into the sunlit bailey. The gates were open and Jocelyn could see the first of Stephen's men riding up the long hill. They tried the chapel, but Adelise wasn't there. By the time Jocelyn had checked her bedchamber and the rest of the women's quarters, the men were already entering the hall. She paused on her way down the stairs. Her eyes swept past the king and Brian, instinctively searching for Robert de Langley, singling him out easily enough as he strode across the floor. The man moved with an unconscious arrogance, an easy, sensual grace that affected some place inside hera place she had never even known existed before. It was ridiculous, probably sinful as well, but she found pleasure just in watching him. She would never forget their first meeting, when he had won Belavoir and stepped through her shattered doorway. And no matter how hard she tried, no matter how diligently she prayed for deliverance, she could neither forget nor regret the way he had touched her that afternoon in his chamber, the kiss they had shared that had somehow touched her soul. Involuntarily, Jocelyn's whole body quickened and flushed. And despite all her efforts to the contrary, despite her rigidly practiced self-control, her firm lectures to herself this last week, a wild and rebellious yearning swept through her. She wanted to run down the stairs and be swept up in his arms as she had that night out on the battlements. She wanted to rest her cheek against his chest, to feel warm and wanted within the circle of his arms. As if feeling the intensity of her gaze, de Langley swung around. Jocelyn was aware the moment he saw her, felt the heat in her body surge as their eyes connected, as a smile warmed his face and he walked straight toward her. She reached down and clutched the railing. She wasn't ready for this, hadn't prepared herself well enough for this meeting. Her pulse was racing, her stomach twisting into knots. She had never felt so helpless, so out of control. De Langley reached the foot of the stairs, and Jocelyn realized she must look a fool. She had dozens of duties to perform, yet here she stood staring down at one man. She forced herself into motion down the stairs. "You see," he said. "Back all in one piece, even without you to guard my back." She tried to smile. "So I see. We had word Chester had lifted the siege, that the king didn't have to engage him." "Aye, all that effort and we didn't so much as see the backside of his men. I could have told Stephen how it would be, did tell him, as a matter of fact. Ranulf of Chester will never stay to fight if he thinks the
odds even or better that the fight might go against him." Jocelyn halted on the last step where it was easier to see into his fascinating eyes. "But I'd of thought the king would go after him. Won't Chester just do the same thing as soon as Stephen's back is turned?" "Out of the mouth of babes..." de Langley murmured dryly. "Oh, aye, you would think so, wouldn't you? That's what I counseled, as did some of the others. Unfortunately, Stephen decided against it, helped along by your father and others who didn't want to fight. And yes, we will have to do it again. I'll probably end up doing it to protect my own borders. And since I doubt I'll be able to count on my father-in-law, I'll probably have to do it alone." Jocelyn frowned. She didn't like the thought of him fighting again. She'd worried enough this last week. "Perhaps it won't come to that. Perhaps Chester" "De Langley... Robert de Langley!" A tall, blond figure pushed through the crowd. "I want a word with you, sir." De Langley turned. Edward of Pelham was moving toward them, face set into a frown, blue eyes dark as a thundercloud. "We need to talk, sir. Privately... with the king." "After last night, Pelham, I've nothing whatsoever to say to you. Besides, the king ordered us to keep our distance. He fears I'll kill you if you draw steel on me again. I might at that," de Langley finished coolly. "Oh, you'll talk to me!" Pelham snapped. But de Langley had deliberately turned his back, was already moving away. Pelham lifted his voice. "Very well, if you don't want this in private, we'll all hear it publicly. I've just learned you murdered your first wife. What do you have to say to that, my noble Lion of Normandy?" The whole room hushed. Jocelyn found herself clutching the stair rail so tightly it hurt. In the stillness, the neighing of a horse came to her clearly from outside in the bailey. De Langley swung around. His face was pale, golden eyes brilliant. "I would say that you must have some interesting contacts in Normandy. Most likely in Henry's court. It might behoove Stephen to discover just how you came by that talk." "Don't change the subject! I want to hear how you murdered your wife. I'm certain the Montagnes would like to hear it as well. Especially Lady Adelise." From across the room, Stephen was pushing toward them. "How dare you, Pelham! How dare you come here and make trouble! I've been patient with you, but this isenough!" Pelham didn't take his eyes from de Langley's. "I've a right to ask. The lady was in the process of being contracted to me. I'll not have her abused, perhaps murdered as well." "We will take this up privately!" Stephen snapped. "Both of you. Come with me." "Not yet, and it please Your Grace," de Langley said. "I've been publicly charged. I've the right to
answer publicly as well." He held Pelham's eyes. "My wife died of a fever. Any number of people who were present can swear to it." "But there was more to it, far more than any fever. You barred the door with your sword, wouldn't let anyone in, so I've heard." Pelham paused for effect. "Not even herpriest!" "Yes, there was more, though nothing so sinister as you'd like to imply." De Langley hesitated a moment, gathering himself with an effort. "My wife was several months gone with our child. She was in the process of losing it, a bitter time for us both, you'll agree. There were reasons we needed to talk alonenot even her priest was welcome. I saw to it, though, that she was shriven at the last," His face was impassive, his voice cold as ice. "At a time I was least able to defend myself, that ridiculous talk of murder was begun by my enemies. None took it seriously. Not even the Angevins." He shook his head, eyeing his accuser as if the man were a halfwit or worse. "God's love, Pelham, you can tell that tale held no truth by the simple fact that the Angevins didn't pursue it. Had there been the merest hint of evidence, Henry would have been screaming it in every corner of the land!" "No, there wasn't any evidence, you did take care of that!" Pelham snapped. "But even your own men wonder. Some say" He broke off for de Langley had stiffened, his right hand sliding to his sword hilt. The king's justiciar, Richard de Lucy, moved to stand between the men. He put a hand on de Langley's sword arm, turning aside to the king. "I believe we've heard enough, Your Grace. These ridiculous accusations are nothing but heresay and the gossip of idle men about a campfire. Most likely all in their cups. Lord de Langley has answered patiently, but as you said, this is enough." Stephen moved to stand beside his favorite. "Certainly, it's enough. More than enough. Pelham, I would have you get back to your post. You were charged with seeing to the main camp outside these gates. If I see you within Castle Montagne again, by the splendor of God I do swear, sir, I'll have you put in chains!" Pelham sent him a bitter look. "I can see you've no plans to look for the truth. I warn you, however, I intend to." "Enough!"Stephen bellowed. "We'll speak of this later, you and I. Now get out!" Pelham turned to go, but Robert de Langley stopped him. "I would hate to have to kill you, Pelham. There's no woman on earth worth killing a good man for, most certainly none worth dying for. Remember that, Pelham. Remember it and thank God and His holy angels that I do understand this ridiculous sickness you have." A long look passed between the men. Then Edward of Pelham pushed through the crowd, striding out the door without a backward glance. Jocelyn watched as Brian slid out the door in his wake. She drew in a deep breath. Was there no end to the misery Robert de Langley had faced? To have lost his wife, and unborn child, then to have heard the vicious gossip that he had murdered them. To be hearing it still! Stephen turned and put a hand on de Langley's shoulder. Everywhere men were whispering. Some
looked angry, others thoughtful. All were staring curiously at Robert de Langley. Richard de Lucy glanced about the hall. "Get this marriage done and done quickly, Your Grace. Another few days and it might not come off at all." Stephen nodded wearily. "Tomorrow. Find Montagne and tell him. We'll have this all over tomorrow." *** The remainder of the afternoon passed in a blur of confusion and work. To Jocelyn it was a blessing; there was no time to think. When she broke the news to Adelise, her sister took to her bed with a bout of weeping so violent it brought on one of her headaches. Jocelyn saw to the frantic preparations in the kitchens, returning to her chamber to dress for the supper meal. Her father had commanded that both she and Adelise be present. How she was ever going to get Adelise up and ready, she had no idea. She dressed quickly in her best gold tunic, then laid out an exquisite one of soft rose wool for Adelise. "Adelise, my darling, you are making yourself ill to no cause," she murmured, sitting down on the bed and bathing her sister's forehead. "Despite what you fear, all will go well for you. Lord de Langley is a good man and does mean to make a good husband. He swore it to me himself. In those very words." Adelise opened her eyes. Jocelyn ached for the pain she saw there, wondered if it was reflected in her own. "But, Jocelyn, you don't understand," Adelise whispered. "You can't possibly understand how I feel, how it hurts knowing that tomorrow I'm to wed Robert de Langley... that" She swallowed, then choked, "thathorrible man instead of Edward!" Jocelyn continued her soothing ministrations with the cloth. "Perhaps I don't understand exactly," she murmured. "But I do know how it is to have all your dreams destroyed. To have your life changed in an instant. To be uprooted and sent where you don't want to be to live with people you fear and distrust." Adelise shook her head impatiently. "But it's not the same, Jocelyn! Don't you see? You were coming to live with family, but I'm going to... tobelong to that man! And he's already killedone wife!" Jocelyn stiffened. "That's only the vilest gossip, Adelise. Robert de Langley's wife died of a fever." "That's not what Edward thinks." Jocelyn's eyes narrowed. "And how did you hear this? Have you spoken with Pelham?" "No," Adelise said wistfully. "I only wish there was some way I could. But Hawise told me. She said he stormed into the hall and challenged Robert de Langley. That he even defied the king for my sake." She gave a dreamy sigh and closed her eyes. "She said everyone's talking of it." Jocelyn threw down the cloth in exasperation. "Oh, for the love of God, Adelise! Pelham only repeated some ugly gossip. He blackened a man's character with no proof at all. Frankly, I wouldn't have thought him the man to do such a thing."
Adelise's eyes snapped open. She stared at Jocelyn in hurt surprise. "Adelise..." Jocelyn tried to soften her voice, to stem the angry flow of words. "Adelise, I know you're terribly disappointed. Life has a way of doing that sometimes. But if you'd just give the man half a chance, I swear you'd soon find yourself the happiest woman in all of England!" Adelise shook her head. Tears flooded her beautiful eyes once again. "You don't understand, Jocelyn, but then how could you? You're always so brave, but I'm not like that. I've tried to be, but I'mnot! "I'm afraid, Jocelyn," she added, softly. "I'm afraid I'll not be able to get through this tomorrow, that there'll be so much worse after that. Sometimes... sometimes I really do wish I were dead!" "Oh, for pity's sake, don't talk such nonsense, Adelise!" Jocelyn swung around in surprise. Brian stood in the doorway. She wondered how long he'd been listening. "Leave us," he said, meeting her eyes. "I would speak to my sister alone." Jocelyn started to protest, but Brian and Adelise were close. Perhaps he might be of more comfort. She slid from the bed. "There's wine there on the chest. Get her to drink some, if you can. I've stirred in rosemary to ease her head." She hesitated, frowned. "Father told me she must come down to supper. I think it a mistake, but didn't dare argue. Perhaps you can" "Don't bother yourself," he interrupted. "I'll bring her with me." "Brian, no! Don't make me go down. I can't face them. Not tonight." Brian filleda wine cup. "Of course you can, Adelise. Are you forgetting you're a Montagne? No coward's blood in us." He sat down on the bed, holding out the brimming cup. "Here, drink this down. You've nothing to be afraid of, you know. I'll not let that arrogant whoreson de Langley harm a single hair of your head. Certainly you must know that." Jocelyn swung around in the doorway, staring at her brother in angry disbelief. "Brian!" But Adelise was already sitting up. She took the cup he was holding, gazing up at him as if he truly were her deliverer. Brian glanced back over his shoulder. "I believe I did sayalone, Jocelyn." When she still didn't move, he asked, "Well, and what are you waiting for? I'd think you would want to see to the kitchens. It'll be your head if Father finds anything amiss." Jocelyn stared at him a moment, fighting to hold her tongue. And then she closed the door. *** Somehow they got through that interminable, uncomfortable meal. Adelise did manage to compose herself and come downstairs, and though she ate little and spoke even less, her hysteria was over. She seemed to have accepted her marriage as inevitable.
Jocelyn breathed a weary sigh of relief, but it was short lived. The king had barely complimented the first course when a fight broke out between some de Langley men and some from Montagne. The altercation was swiftly stopped, but men sat silent and uneasy in its aftermath, and Stephen's determinedly cheerful banter struck a false note. Things grew more difficult when the king proposed a toast to the betrothed couple. Men lifted their cups and drank dutifully, but Adelise sat silent and unmoving, refusing to lift her cup. It was a deliberate insult to Robert de Langley, to the king as well, though Jocelyn doubted Adelise had thought that far. Lord Montagne had the grace to look uncomfortable and lean over and speak to the king, but Brian only grinned down the table. It was obvious he was enjoying his enemy's humiliation. After that, no more toasts were offered until the meal was ending. Then, to everyone's surprise, Robert de Langley rose to his feet. His face was impassive, his voice cool. "To you, my lady Adelise, may you soon find all the happiness you desire," he said graciously. Adelise reached for her cup, lifting it toward her betrothed with hands that were surprisingly steady. "And to you my lord de Langley. May you soon have everything you deserve." De Langley sent her a thoughtful look. "Aye, madam, I suppose we can both drink to that." He raised his cup. "To a better tomorrow, both for us and for England." This time the shouts of agreement rang to the ceiling, and something inside Jocelyn seemed to slip and give way. She hadn't realized how tense she had been all night, how overwhelmingly weary she was, both in body and mind. It was going to be all right. Adelise would learn to stand up to him. Robert de Langley would realize what a treasure he had. All would be well. They would both be happy. So why did her throat ache and her eyes blur and burn? And why did she long for nothing so much as to be alone where no one could find her? The two women took their leave of the king. Jocelyn followed her sister up the stairs and into their chamber. The room was cold. Defiantly Jocelyn added an extravagant amount of charcoal to the unevenly burning brazier. This was no night for frugality. Besides, any extravagance would surely be laid on the king. She dragged back the bedcovers, sliding between the cold sheets. After tonight she would sleep here alone. She glanced toward Adelise. Hawise was brushing out her sister's exquisite hair. Jocelyn closed her eyes, trying not to think of where her sister would be sleeping, of what would most likely be happening by tomorrow at this time. "Hawise, you may go now," Adelise said. "Tonight you must find a place in the hall as I told you. This is the last night Jocelyn and I will be together as sisters. There are things we must speak of." Jocelyn met her sister's eyes. She was surprised Adelise was so calm. She had expected another bout of weeping, had been steeling herself to try to comfort her somehow. Hawise took up her blankets and left without protest. Adelise blew out the candles and slid into bed
alongside Jocelyn. The room was quiet save for the soft hiss and sigh of the brazier, the occasional snap of aged, burning wood. "I'll miss you," Adelise said at last. "Things will never be the same, I'm afraid." "I'll miss you as well," Jocelyn said. "More than you can imagine. But things will be better for you, Adelise, and that makes me happy. I know you don't think so, but all will turn out for you for the best, I believe." There was another long moment of silence. "I hope so. Dear God, I do hope so! But I'm afraid. I'm so afraid things will never be the same after tomorrow, for any of us." Jocelyn reached out in the darkness and hugged her sister tightly. "Things change, Adelise, but that doesn't mean it has to be for the worse. Change is hard. I know that. But life does go on and you must go on with it. You must work to find the happiness for which you were born. You'll have a great house to manage, you'll be your own mistress..." She hesitated, then forced herself to go on. "And despite what you think, you'll soon have a wonderful husband who adores you. Besides, we'll always be sisters. No one can ever change that." She forced a small laugh. "Believe me, I did wish to change it when we were small, but now only see how foolish I was. How stupid I was not to have loved you from the first, instead of splashing mud all over that beautiful red mantle Nurse had you dressed in." Adelise gave a small, choked laugh at the memory, trying desperately to regain control. It was comforting to speak of the past, the good parts. For a time the sisters reminisced in the darkness, retelling familiar stories, sharing small triumphs, past laughter. Gradually, the talk quieted. Jocelyn closed her eyes against the terrible despair creeping through her. How would she ever endure life here without Adelise? "Jocelyn?" The voice was small and forlorn. "Yes." "Jocelyn, I'm afraid I'm rather stupid. I've never been clever or strong like you. I always wished I was, you know." "Adelise, don't be" "No, listen, Jocelyn, I know it's true. None of that matters now, though, I... I just want you to know that I love you, Jocelyn. And I hope, I really hope you'll come to see me after I'm gone. I'll so look forward to seeing you. I..." Her voice broke. "Oh, Jocelyn, swear you'll come!" Jocelyn thought of Adelise and Robert de Langley, of how overwhelmingly difficult a visit to Belavoir would be. "Of course I'll come," she said evenly. "Don't be a goose, Adelise. You know I'll look forward to it." "And I want you to know, Jocelyn, that what I said before still holds true. You'll always have a home
wherever I am. I know you and Father don't always understand each other. If you ever need someone to speak to him for you, you've but to ask, you know. That is, if he's still speaking tome." Jocelyn felt a nagging sense of shame. On the worst night of her life, Adelise was thinking of her. While she had been thinking of Adelise's new husband. "Don't be silly, Adelise," she managed. "Father's dislike of Robert de Langley won't change his feelings for you." "There's just one thing more," Adelise said after a moment. "I... I don't quite know how to ask it. I suppose you'll know. You always seem to know everything somehow." She cleared her throat awkwardly. "What is it that happens... in the marriage bed? I've some idea, but I'm going to feel foolish enough tomorrow night as it is. I'd at least like to know what to expect about... aboutthat." Jocelyn almost laughed at the bitter irony. The priests were right. Godwas just, and punishment for sin appropriate and sometimes swift. Then quietly, as gently as possible, she told her sister how she imagined it would be to share a marriage bed with Robert de Langley.
Fifteen Jocelyn awoke tothe cold and the darkness, tothe dreary soundof rain drumming against the roof, and the odd, unfocused feeling that something was wrong. She shifted toward the center of the bed, instinctively seeking her sister's warmth, but that side was empty and cold. With a sigh, she squirmed back to the narrow cocoon of sheets her body had warmed.For a few minutes she lay still,trying not to think of what would happen today and what it would mean, willing herself to go back to sleep, if only for a little while. But she kept hearing her sister's strained voice. Jocelyn, I'm so afraid... With a frown, she sat up, shivering, reachingfor her heavy bedgown and pulling it around her shoulders. She climbed down from the bed and found her clothing, dressing quickly by the feeble light of the tiny night candle. Adelise would most likely be keeping vigil in the chapel, and Jocelyn didn't want to think of her sitting there all alone. But whenshe reached Montagne's chapel it was empty and dark and her footsteps echoed loudly in a stillness that was eerie and black as a tomb. She held her candle aloft, walking slowly toward the altar, searching the shadowy recesses on both sides of the nave for any sign of Adelise. What she found was a piece of parchment rolled carefully and tied with a ribbon, one of Adelise's ribbons. Jocelyn stared at the roll, her insides knotting with dread. Adelise had said she wished she were dead. "Oh, God..." she whispered. "Please, God,no!" Shesnatched up the page, untying the ribbonwith fear-clumsy fingers, her eyes flying along the scarcely-legible scrawl. It was writ so poorly she could hardly make it out, but as the words and phrases swam together, she allowed herself to breathe. It wasn't so bad as she had feared. Adelise hadn't committed such a grave, unpardonable sin.
But she had done something almost as bad: Adelise had run away with Edward of Pelham. Jocelyn sank to her knees on the icy stone, rereading the letter, stunned at the enormity of what her sister had done. As the probable consequences shifted and whirled through her head, her blood ran cold. Robert de Langley would be humiliated before some of the most important men in England. He had already threatened to kill Pelham. Now, no doubt, he would follow through on that threat. And Adelise... Jocelyn shivered involuntarily, remembering de Langley's rage once before. If he didn't murder Adelise outright,' he would make the rest of her life a living hell. And Stephen. Dear God, the king would be furious at Pelham, but also at the Montagnes. It would put her father and Brian in an extremely difficult position. "Oh, Adelise," she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. "What a foolish,foolish thing you have done!" She rose to her feet, still shivering, trying to decide what to do. She should go to her father. The letter was addressed to him. It would be up to him to break the news to de Langley. But as she pictured that horrible scene, she knew it was wrong. Robert de Langley deserved to learn of this before anyone else at Montagne, and he deserved to learn of it from a friend. He deserved the chance to get himself in hand before tongues began to wag, and the whole country shared a laugh over the proud Norman Lion being left at the altar by his terrified bride. Slowly, Jocelyn retraced her steps from the chapel, turning blindly toward one of the few private sleeping chambers Montagne boasted. Only a handful of the highest lords had the luxury of a sleeping chamber, and they were doubled and tripled there. The rest had to make do with benches and pallets in the side aisles of the hall or camped outside in the rain with their men. As the bridegroom, Robert de Langley had been housed with all honors. Jocelyn had checked with her father's steward to make sure of that. But she'd never in her wildest dreams thought she would be visiting the man there in the dark and chill of his wedding morning to tell him his bride had disappeared. His chamber door loomed up long before Jocelyn was prepared. She knocked quickly before she could lose her nerve. "Who's there?" a sleepy voice called out. "None you need fear," she whispered. "I've a message for Lord de Langley. Something he must hear." She heard the bolt drawn back. The door opened a crack and a sleepy, suspicious boy peered out. One of Richard de Lucy's squires. "Let me in," she repeated, when the boy made no move. "You can see I'm no threat. I've pressing matters to take up with Lord de Langley." The boy inched the door wider and Jocelyn entered, almost stumbling over a pair of blanketed, sleeping figures at her feet. A half-dozen knights were bedded down here in the antechamber.
One of the men woke, grabbing for his sword, but the boy's words stopped him. "Naught but a woman," he hissed. "And I doubt Lord Robert will thank you for protecting him fromthat! The man stared, chuckled, letting the sword fall back to his side. Jocelyn picked her way across the floor in the squire's wake, screening the candle flame with the terrible letter. Others were stirring, sitting up, but she doubted they would recognize her in the darkness. The boy hesitated at the door to the inner chamber. "Harry? God's death... what is it?" Jocelyn recognized the voice and a tight, fluttering sensation began in her midsection. "Awhat?" And then, "Certainly. Let her in." The squire peered out, grinned knowingly at Jocelyn and motioned for her to enter. She stepped through the doorway, still screening the candle. The room was dark save for a soft orange glow cast by the burning brazier. It was warm, intimate. Her whole body quickened; her heartbeat picked up its pace. She turned toward the bed, but a blur of movement caught her eye, drawing her attention to the floor. Robert de Langley lay on a pallet beside the burning brazier. He had pushed up on one elbow, was shoving the heavy, sleep-tousled hair from his eyes. She stared, then swallowed hard, a rush of heat spiraling up from her midsection, heating her chest, flaming across her throat and face. The man slept naked, a blanket tangled about the lower half of his body, but his chest and shoulders and long, muscular arms were bare. Her eyes slid over him, looking her fill in the shadowy light before she could stop herself. He was so beautiful it made her ache.Oh, Adelise, how could you be such a fool! "Well, madam...?" Jocelyn jerked her eyes back to his, trying desperately to steady herself and to find words to say. In the silence, she could hear the soft, shushing sound of the rain, the thundering of her own heart. Sweet Lady Mary, how was she ever to tell him this? "I would like to believe, as that boy did, that you were so eager for my company you couldn't resist coming here." De Langley's smile was obviously forced. "However, since it's you, Lady Jocelyn, I assume the lad erred, and you've come on urgent business instead." "Yes." Even the pretense of a smile faded. "Come, madam, it can't be so bad as this." Jocelyn swallowed again. "I'm afraid my sister has done something incredibly foolish." "Tell me." "Adelise has... has run away. With Edward of Pelham." At first, he didn't speak. His chest rose and fell with his breathing. She saw his fingers flex once against the blanket, then curl tightly into a fist.
For a moment longer his eyes held hers, then they dropped to the parchment she held. "I assume that is a communication from that fool of a girl." His hand shot out. "Give it to me." Jocelyn stepped forward and bent to hand him the note, her candle bathing him in a circle of golden light. He glanced at the paper and frowned. "But this is to your father," he said, looking up, "from Pelham." She nodded. "I found it in the chapel when I went in search of my sister. I thought she was only keeping a vigil." She watched him read, watched the heavy downward sweep of his lashes, the jutting angle of his cheekbone, his firm and angry mouth. He shifted forward, frowning over the page. She saw the muscles flex and tighten across his shoulders, watched them ripple down the long, graceful curve of his back. And despite the urgency of the situation, despite her own fears, something shifted and tightened and throbbed deep inside her. He was sleek and athletic and beautiful, just as she'd imagined. If she touched him, she knew, his skin would be smooth and warm beneath her hand. "If Pelham fights as poorly as he writes, I'm in luck," de Langley said grimly. "I'll send a squire to the camp to ready my men. I don't suppose this will take long." "The man's a fool, but that doesn't mean you have to be." Jocelyn gasped and almost dropped her candle as a pair of long, naked legs swung from behind the bed hangings. She averted her eyes as a figure that was obviously male grabbed up his hose, drawing them on beneath the heavy linen shirt he had slept in. She glanced back as Richard de Lucy dragged on his boots. She recognized the man, though they had never been introduced. She had tried to stay out of his way after learning it was the king's powerful justiciar she had rebuked that day at Belavoir. "I heard everything," he said shortly. "We must think, now, on how best to salvage this mess." "Thank you, Richard, but I knowexactly what's to be done." "Do you? Then you're ahead of me. You can't go after Pelham, even if it is your right. If you kill him, his father will come after you. Stephen will want to stand by you, but he can't afford to have the earl of Colwick go over to Henry's supporters. Things have been quiet these last few years, but that doesn't mean the sentiment for Henry has died out." De Langley had rolled up the parchment. Now he tapped it thoughtfully against his bare chest. "Pelham's no fool, of course. I suppose he was counting on that to protect him." He hesitated, smiled sardonically. "What a pity to have to disappoint him... and Stephen." De Lucy frowned. "If Colwick goes over to Henry, a huge section of the east will go with him. Much of the coast will be vulnerable to a landing by Henry's Angevins. Don't tell me you want to restart these damned wars over a hen-witted female who doesn't have the sense to stay out of the rain? We can do better than that, I believe." Unexpectedly, de Lucy turned, pinning Jocelyn with a glare. "Just what does your father have to say about this, madam?"
Jocelyn felt a sudden warmth spread over her face. "My father doesn't know." De Lucy's gray eyes narrowed. "I see," he said, and Jocelyn very much feared that he might. She forced herself to hold his gaze, to enlarge hastily upon her answer. "I thought Lord de Langley should be the first to learn what had happened," she said. That much was true. "I thought, perhaps, he could give me an escort of men. If I can catch up to Adelise, perhaps I can convince her to come back. Then none but those involved need be the wiser." Jocelyn didn't dare glance at Robert de Langley. The plan sounded foolish, even to her, though she had actually thought of it in those first panicked moments in the chapel. "A worthy thought, madam, but I doubt it is practical," de Lucy said. "Since Pelham has a head start, it would be odd indeed if you should catch up to them, or persuade anyone to a change of plan if you did." Jocelyn nodded. If she said more, she would make it worse. "I thank you, Lady Jocelyn, for your efforts," Robert de Langley murmured. "You have stood my friend in this. I won't forget it." "Then I would beg you to forgive my sister," she said. "She has done the unforgivable, I know, but not from malice. She feared you so, I did wonder for a moment tonight if she might not have taken her life." De Langley lifted mocking eyebrows. "Naturally. An eternity of damnation was preferable to a few years spent with me." "Of course not! But Adelise isn't always... always..." Jocelyn floundered for a word that wouldn't be damning. "Sensible." To her amazement, Robert de Langley began to laugh. She stared at him, feeling an immense rush of relief. She had expected anger, the white-hot, blistering rage she had seen following his fight with her father. She had certainly never expected to hear him laugh. "Sensible.Aye, madam, a good way to put it. I believe I've told you before you would do well at court." He held out the parchment, smile fading. "You'd best go now. It'll be dawn in another hour. Take this to your father, no need to tell him you came here first. I can assure you no man in these rooms will speak of it. I'd not have you suffer his wrath on my account." Jocelyn reached out and took the letter. He caught her wrist. "And you need not fear for your sister. Despite what some people are saying, I don't makea practice of murdering my wives." She stood very still, overwhelmingly aware of the feel of his hand on her, of the way his gaze made her body begin to heat. "I would never have thought you did," she said simply. His eyes narrowed, his grip on her wrist tightened. For a moment they studied each other, and the very stillness surrounding them seemed charged. Then he abruptly released her and turned. "Harry!" The squire materialized in the doorway.
"See this lady to the end of the hall. Take care, boy, that none sees you." "Aye, my lord." De Langley glanced back. "Go now, madam. Before anyone learns what's afoot." Jocelyn nodded and turned to go. At the door she glanced back. Her pulse was racing, her heart hammering unaccountably in her chest. "I'm sorry," she said, "for all the trouble my family has brought you." And then she hurried through the door before she was fool enough to say more. For a moment, the men remained silent. Richard de Lucy walked to the brazier, reaching out his hands to its warmth. "Tell me, Robert, would you say that the lady Jocelyn Montagne is a sensible girl?" Robert stared at the man's back, allowing himself only the briefest of triumphant smiles. "Sensible? Ah, most certainly. But why on earth do you ask?" *** In less than an hour, the whole of Castle Montagne was agog with the news. The lady Adelise Montagne had fled her own wedding, leaving Robert de Langley for Edward of Pelham. The king was outraged, the bride's family stunned and disbelieving. Stephen was furious about the dilemma he now faced. To regain the bride by force and punish Pelham would alienate one of his most important supporters in the east. To sit idly by and do nothing, however, while his friend and favorite and best battle commander had his bride and a small fortune snatched from beneath his nose would send the wrong kind of message entirely. The barons were clamoring for actionfor redress for Robert de Langley but Stephen couldn't determine what action to take. A council was called, and a handful of the most important men met with the king in Montagne's solar. Jocelyn remained in the hall seeing to the needs of the other men, trying to ignore the scowls, the ugly talk about her sister. At last, in a rage herself, Jocelyn fled to the kitchens. For a certainty she didn't approve of her sister's actions, but if she heard one more self-righteous comment about Adelise's immoral, unseemly behavior, her unbecoming, unfilial conduct, she was going to upend a flagon of ale over some smug male head! It was just before midday when her father came in search of her. Jocelyn glanced up in surprise as he entered the kitchen buildings. She had been trying to disguise the meal so that it wasn't so obviously and embarrassingly a grand wedding feast. "Come here, girl, I would speak with you." Jocelyn approached him warily. She had felt the back of his hand already this morning when she'd told him the news. If things had gone badly at council, she didn't want to get within reach. But he seemed quiet now, oddly subdued. A thoughtful, assessing look had replaced the frustration and rage of the morning. "You'll need to get upstairs, girl, and clean yourself up. If I didn't know better, I'd think you a slattern." They were on familiar ground now, at least. "I'll go and change shortly. There was much to do here and I
didn't want to soil my good clothes." "You'll go now," he growled. "Wear that gold tunic... and do something with your hair. Adelise wore a wimple. Get that fool of a woman of hers to see if she can pull herself together enough to put one on you." "Is there some reason, my lord, that I do need to look my best?" "Aye. The king wants to see you. Before the council." Jocelyn stared at him in dismay. "But I've already told him I knew naught of Adelise's plans. Why on earth does he want to see me again?" "Because de Langley's agreed to take you. He's taking half my western lands as well. I'd tell him to rot in hell if I didn't know Adelise would be the one to suffer for it." Jocelyn held herself very still. "What did you say?" "I said de Langley will take you. You're to marry this afternoon in your sister's stead. The man is willing to settle if I give him what he wants." He shook his head bitterly. "Only your castle of Warford and all the lands of mine that stand between it and Belavoir. "His holdings will stand together now. It'll make him the greatest power here in the west save for Chester." Montagne scowled. "I tried to whittle him down, but he's got me over a barrel and won't budge an inch. He'll have all the land or nothing and Stephen's given me no choice. And of course every man here backs him after this ridiculous business with Adelise." He shook his head in frustration. "Christ, who'd have thought my own daughter would be our ruin? Still, Adelise won't be punished. Some say we're getting off cheaply, considering what the man's giving up." Jocelyn hadn't moved. The words swirled and pounded and echoed through her head. A rush of heat poured over her, followed by a shivering chill. "You mean I'm to... tomarry Lord de Langley?" she managed to get out."Today? " "Now isn't that what I've been telling you? Good Christ, girl, you do need to listen!" "But..." She swallowed hard. "He can't possibly wantme." "It's the land girl, theland! Our agreement today will make him an extremely powerful man." "Congratulations, Jocelyn. I didn't think to see both my sisters making such brilliant marriages today." Jocelyn looked up to see Brian coming toward them, an angry smile curving his hard mouth. "Of course, by the look on your face, you weren't expecting it, either," he added. "But then who would have?" Jocelyn struggled to compose herself. She was reeling from the news, still unable to take it in, but she knew enough to be wary. Her brother's eyes held a cold, glittering look that told her he was in a rage. "What are you doing here?" Montagne snapped. "I told you to wait with the others. You've already said
enough today to put us beyond forgiveness so far as Stephen is concerned." "I'm sorry, Father, but seeing half my inheritance signed away just doesn't sit easily for some reason. But as you said, there's nothing to be done now." Brian shrugged his shoulders in apparent resignation. "I just came to tell you there's been a change in plan. One of Stephen's men rode in from the south. The king's younger son is taken with some trifling illness and Stephen is beside himself to get to his bedside. Everyone is running and shouting and packing. I thought I'd best come and tell you. A rider's already been sent to the army with orders to break camp." Montagne looked grim. "You mean after all this threatening and haggling there's not even to be a wedding?" "Imean thereis to be a wedding, in a matter of minutes. Richard de Lucy has sent for the priest. Stephen is hell-bent on seeing this done before he leaves." "Now?Christ on the Cross! Your sister deserves a bit of time to prepare herself at least. I'll insist that it be put off. No Montagne will be wed in such a fashion!" "Certainly you may try, though the king near had my head for even suggesting it." Brian sent a derisive smile toward Jocelyn. "I did assure him that de Langley was safe this time, that no eager swains were waiting to snatch this bride away." Jocelyn met the mockery in her brother's eyes squarely. She was being married for land, as her father had none-too-gently reminded her. For land and for peace, just like her mother had been. But Robert de Langley was no Montagne. It didn't matter that she wasn't his choice. It didn't matter if he didn't want her at all. He was a fair man, a husband beyond her wildest hopes and dreams. She would thank God on her knees for such good fortune. Because anything would be better than this! "What is it Jocelyn? Too surprised to speak?" Brian's smile was cold. "Believe me, everyone else was as well when de Lucy came up with this preposterous idea. Damn me, if we didn't all think he was making a joke." "Brian, that's enough. Your sister isn't to blame for this not this sister anyway. Don't take out your spite on Jocelyn." "Who shall I take it out on, Father? On Stephen? On Robert de Langley? Well, taking possession of the land and keeping it aren't always one and the same. Perhaps someone should remind de Langley of that." "Get yourself in hand, boy," Montagne snapped. "We're in enough trouble as it is." "My lord... my lord Montagne?" a page called from the doorway. "His Grace the king is calling for you." Montagne nodded and turned back to Jocelyn. "Well, girl, it appears there's to be little time." Jocelyn forced a smile. "Don't trouble yourself, Father. I can make myself ready in a trice. As you know, I've little enough to pack."
But when Jocelyn followed her father into the hall, her courage almost deserted her. Men were arming themselves and shouting orders, squires and servants were running about packing. All was noise and confusion and arguing and then an unnatural, spreading hush as they began to notice her. Jocelyn's step faltered. In her rough woolen tunic and stained bliaut, she knew she must look more like a serving woman than a daughter of the house, certainly no one fit to wed with a man of Robert de Langley's stature. She cursed the impulse that had led her to help out in the kitchens, but there wasn't any help for that now. Besides, even at her best, she would never look anything remotely like Adelise, and that was the comparison everyone would be making. "Ah, Montagne, your son will have told you what's happened," Stephen called, stepping out of a circle of men and hurrying toward them. "I regret this haste, but there's no time to linger. William is taken with a fever, and I would reach him as soon as possible. My priest is already making ready in the chapel. Lord de Langley and the earls of Leicester and York await us there now." Montagne nodded stiffly. "Certainly, Your Grace. We understand your concern." He indicated Jocelyn with a wave of his hand. "My daughter is willing, of course." Stephen's gaze shifted to Jocelyn. She saw his mouth tighten, he barely managed a smile. "Congratulations, lady. You will get yourself a good husband this day." Jocelyn dropped into a curtsey. "I'm aware of that, Your Grace. But now I must beg a moment to make myself presentable. The entire house was upset this morning. I've been trying to salvage something in the kitchens. It will take only a minute to fix my hair, to change my" "There's no time," Stephen interrupted. "Besides, everyone here knows the truth of this lamentable situation. No one is expecting anything from you, madam, save your presence." The king's voice was loud with impatience, carrying to every ear in the room. And as Stephen strode away, it was all Jocelyn could do to hold her face expressionless and stare straight ahead. This was her wedding day. She would remember it only as one of the most humiliating days of her life.
Sixteen Therain of the morning had stopped but the day was gray and sullen with a damp biting wind blowing from the north. Jocelyn shivered as she hurried across the bailey after her father, pushing through the crowd already gathering at the chapel steps. Weddings were traditionally performed outside the church door, for witnesses were vital and the more to view the transaction the better. Jocelyn felt a fleeting sense of relief that the rain had stopped. She didn't need more bad omens to add to the weight of this day. The door swung open and Robert de Langley walked out onto the steps with the priest. His face was rigid, eyes filled with anger ashe turned to speak to the king. Jocelyn's heart sank. He looked magnificent, more regal than Stephen, in a tunic of fine brown wool with a heavily embroidered surcoat of tawny velvet that matched the shade of his hair. A new woolen cloak
swung back from his shoulders and supple cowhide boots encased the lower half of his legs. He had obviously gone to the great trouble and expense of getting new clothes for his wedding. But then he had been expecting to wed the beautiful heiress Adelise Montagne, not her Welsh half-sister everyone took for a serving wench, a woman with dark hair and slanted witch's eyes and a sharp, shrewish tongue he had laughed at more than once. Jocelyn's insides knotted at the realization of how ridiculous she would look paired with this man. And he was angry, obviously disappointed. Well, fool, and what did you expect? Were you hoping the man would be pleased? It was bitter to admit, but in the deepest recesses of her heart, perhaps she had. She had wanted this, had dreamed of it, had stopped just short of praying for it. Be careful what you ask for, Jocelyn, you might just getit. Her heart was racing, her legs felt shaky and weak. But she held her head up, walked stiffly up the chapel steps. Then somehow she was standing beside Robert de Langley before the church door, and he was reading aloud in a clear, carrying voice all the lands he would grant her to hold in dower. The words were a blur, impossible to take in, but the list was so lengthy she knew he was being generous. Then the priest was beginning the ceremony. With a strange sense of detachment, Jocelyn heard de Langley repeating his vows. Then it was her turn. She heard the priest, heard her own voice, amazingly steady, as she followed the words, as she promised to take Robert de Langley to husband "till death us do part." The priest blessed the ring and the ceremony was almost over. De Langley took her hand, and for the first time, Jocelyn found the courage to look up at him. His face was drawn, eyes dark with concern, but he caught her staring and forced a tight smile. She looked swiftly away, shivering anew with the cold, with the fear and shame sweeping over her. A joke... everyone thought he was making a joke. De Langley took the ring from the priest, sliding it onto each of her fingers in turn. "In the name of the Father... the Son... the Holy Ghost..." It was all Jocelyn could do to hold her hand steady. De Langley's agreed to settle... considering what the man's giving up... The ring came to rest on her third finger. "With this ring, I do thee wed," he finished, and then he lifted her hand to his lips for a swift kiss. It was a gracious and graceful gesture, and Jocelyn felt the tears, hot and humiliating, behind her eyes. She blinked them back. She was actually married. To Robert de Langley. The man who was to have been her sister's husband. The man who had kissed her once and hadn't cared to repeat the experience. The priest turned to open the chapel doors so that as many of the party as could squeeze inside could attend the nuptial mass. But de Langley was holding tight to her hand, drawing her to one side of the
doorway. "What, madam? You could face me alone and unflinching over a dagger, yet a wedding ring reduces you to tears?" Jocelyn lifted her chin, fighting for the pride that was all she had left. "I'm not crying. 'Tis only this bitter wind." "I see." He searched her face, then frowned and stared down at her hand. "This has all been handled damnably, Jocelyn. I'm sorry we've had no time to talk." "I'm sorry as well. You must be excessively displeased by this turn of events." He glanced up quickly atthat. "Displeased? Is that what you think?" Amusement flickered across his face, easing the distant look he had worn. "On the contrary, madam. I am most excessively pleased by what has happened. Most of it anyway. For the rest, well... we shall just have to make do." He gave her hand a squeeze, and then he was unclasping his cloak and draping it about her shoulders. "You'll need this. Save for the wind,it 's as cold inside that chapel as out." "No, I'm fine, truly, I" But he was already drawing the edges together beneathher chin, clasping them with the circular bronze clasp she had used as a weapon that night at Belavoir. "I shall have to remember how dangerous you can be with one of these." A faint smile played about his mouth, setting his eyes alight. "I do know what I shall get you for a bride gift. It seems the only way I shall get to wear my own." Then the king was calling impatiently and they were hurrying into the chapel for the mass. Jocelyn sat stiffly, eyes downcast, fidgeting with her wedding ring, reaching up to touch the familiar circular broach beneath her chin. The metal was cold, reassuringly solid beneath her fingers. It reminded her of those moments she had shared with Robert de Langley on Belavoir's stairs, reminded her that there was a beginning of friendship between them at least. Her husband. She cast a sidelong glance at him now, a flustered, fidgety feeling skittering along the edges of her nerves. He looked imposing... remote... incredibly handsome in his fine new clothes. But she couldn't help remembering how he had looked this morning in the warm intimacy of his bedchamber without them, couldn't help thinking that she would be sharing that chamber tonight. She drew his cloak tighter, taking an inordinate amount of comfort from that simple piece of cloth, from the look in his eyes as he had wrapped it about her. Her husband had said he was pleased. And while she was a sensible girl and realized his pleasure stemmed from the return of his lands, she was thankful at least that she had brought him what he desired. With the thought her spirits lifted a bit. Robert de Langley was a fair man; she had seen enough of him to realize that. He might be hot-tempered, but she was certain he would never be cruel. And what woman could hope for any greater blessing than that?
The mass ended and the bridal couple were swept from the chapel and into Montagne's great hall. Musicians had already begun to play, and servants had wrestled great kegs of ale and casks of wine into place along the walls. Stephen shared a hurried round of drinks, then handed out his giftsa silver wine cup, heavily chased and jeweled for Robert, a rosary of coral and pearl for Jocelyn. Such costly gifts were signs of great royal favor, and Jocelyn forced herself to smile and say something she hoped was appropriate. Beside her, Robert did the same, smiling easily, laughing, sharing a bawdy jest with some of the men. Stephen sent for the horses to be brought around, then called for one last toast to the bridal couple. Robert forced another smile as the shouts rang out from all over the hall. Most of these men would be leaving with Stephen. Only a handful were pledged to remain for the wedding festivities, and most of those were allies or vassals of Montagnenot a situation that made him feel like celebrating. He had argued with de Lucy about it, but not even that wily old fox had been able to change the king's mind. Stephen of Blois was a rarity in these timesan honorable man. He believed Montagne's pledge of peace because it would never have occurred to him to break his own word, and also because it was expedient to believe it. He had recently lost his wife and any illness in his family, no matter how trifling, was enough to terrify him. The best de Lucy had been able to do was to arrange for good men like the earls of Leicester and York to drop out of the king's escort and remain here so that Robert would have allies as well as potential enemies at Montagne. Robert took a slow sip of wine. It was good of de Lucy, of course, and Leicester and York. Both men had been friends of his father, and it was a relief to discover he still had allies in this viper's nest of traitors and fair-weather friends that seethed about the aging king. He hadn't bothered to inform them, however, that they would be celebrating his marriage without him. *** "My lady... beg pardon, but they do be asking for you in the kitchens." Jocelyn turned to the nervous maidservant. "What is it, Elen?" The woman shook her head. "I don't know. Someone at the door there just bade me fetch you quick." Jocelyn nodded and excused herself from the kindly earl of Leicester, thanking God for whatever disaster must have occurred in the kitchens. She was used to working in the background, not making polite conversation in such exalted company as this. She pushed open the keep door, stepping out into the cold and damp of the outer stairs. It was good to be away from all those watching, speculative eyes, from Brian's derisive smile and her father's angry frown. For with Stephen's leave-taking, her husband had disappeared as well, leaving her to move alone among their guests enduring the odd looks, the overly hearty congratulations of men uncomfortable with an awkward situation. The excited whinny of a horse, the rattle of steel caught her ear, and Jocelyn glanced toward the stables. A half- dozen mounted men were moving toward the gate, and at their head, rode Robert de Langley.
Jocelyn sucked in her breath. He was leaving. So he hadn't been pleased, had gone through with that farce of a wedding only to satisfy the king. She felt frozen, unable to believe what she was seeing. She would have wagered her life Robert de Langley wasn't the man to slink away like this, to leave her withouta word. She thought of Stephen's obvious contempt, Brian's laughter, the host of pitying eyes she would be facing in the hall. A surge of anger swept her, strengthening her. Suddenly she was in motion down the stairs, was striding out into the center of the bailey where the men would have to ride past. If her husband were leaving, he could damned well look her in the face and tell her so! She watched the men advance, stepped deliberately into the path of de Langley's huge warhorse. The gray brute slid to a halt, and she moved closer, staring up at the man who was now her husband. "You are leaving," she announced, ina clear, carrying voice. "Just what would you have me tell my father and all our guests?" "You may tell them anything you like... later, from the safety of Belavoir." Robert held down one hand. "Come, madam,we are leaving." Jocelyn stared at his hand, confounded, unable to reverse all her rage and her anguish so quickly as this. "Leaving...?" "Yes. Now, while we still can." His gaze narrowed, shifted warily toward the door. "With Stephen gone and most of my men shut outside these walls, I can't be sure of our safety." His eyes swept back to hers. "My men took the gate just now by surprise. For the moment they hold it, but they can't for long without loss of life. So come, madam, while our way is still clear unless..." He lifted his eyebrows, smiled that slow, mocking smile she had hated so in the beginning. "...unless you've a taste for abduction. If so I'll be glad to oblige." That forced her into motion. "Of course not," she said coolly, reaching up for the hand he held out, allowing him to swing her up before him for all the world as if she had done it scores of times. She settled awkwardly into the crook of his shoulder, felt his arms slide about her in a way no man had ever held her before. He spurred his mount into a gallop, and she watched the open gates flash by. Scarcely two minutes ago, she had been inside the keep. She had so nearly missed this, had so nearly been left behind. "How convenient I happened to be on my way to the kitchens," she murmured. Robert's arms tightened around her. "Convenience had nothing to do with it, madam. I sent that message. As I told you, I do leave little to chance." *** They rode through that long, dreary afternoon and well into the night. Beyond the feeble, sputtering efforts of the torches, darkness ruled the land. From somewhere off in the distance, the weird, unholy music of a hunting wolfpack rent the night, and Jocelyn shivered, huddling deeper into the old fur-lined mantle her husband had found for her.
She had never been fearful of the dark nor of traveling through wild back country, but now she glanced uncomfortably over her shoulder. She hadn't seen her husband since the first half-hour of the ride. He had placed her with trusted men near the front of his army while he rode with the rear guard. "In case of pursuit," he had told her. A muffled figure was riding down the column of men toward her. Jocelyn felt a brief stir of excitement, squinted against the wavering flare of the torches, but the man wasn't the one she sought, and her excitement died. She was surprised when the rider swung in beside her. "My lady... I may call you that now in truth, I suppose." He flashed a familiar smile. "May I offer my congratulations. My lord's luck was with him this day, I believe." "Sir Geoffrey!" Jocelyn was surprised at the reassurance a familiar face offered, was surprised even more at how much she had needed it. And his words were kind, easing the awkwardness of the situation. "Ithank you," she said. "It's true, we did have some excitement this morning. I fear your lord got an unlooked-for bride. But it's good to see you. I'd begun to think your lord had left you in the wilds of Cheshire." "No indeed. At Montagne I remained in camp, holding the men steady. They'd no liking for being on the other side of a high wall from their lord, not even at the order of the king." There was little Jocelyn could say. It was her family those men hadn't trusted. Still she wanted to know the truth, hadn't dared ask her husband. "Sir Geoffrey, I would ask you to tell me the truth if you will. Your lord sits high with the king. My own father has given him the kiss of peace. Is the danger really so great that we must flee secretly like this through the night? Would anyone dare seek to harm him now? The truth," she repeated. "I assure you I'll take no offense." "Very well. You do know Robert is the last of his name. Should anything befall him now, accidental or otherwise, you become his only heir. Without the saving grace of a child, you and all you own will simply return to the control of your family. Forgive my plain speaking, madam, but would it not be a simple way to more than double the holdings of Montagne?" Jocelyn had thought she was cold before, but now even her insides felt like ice. "I see," she said. "I'd not thought of that." "Your lord father may well plan to keep the peace," Geoffrey offered. "However, there are others who might seek advantage, who might lie in ambush were our route known and timed in advance. There are those sworn to Stephen who have leanings toward the Angevins. What a simple way to alter the distribution of power here in the west, to return it to what it was before Robert came back from Normandy." "So we leave unexpectedly and ride through the night," Jocelyn said. "I understand." "It's Robert's way to do the unexpected. It's kept him alive these last years." Jocelyn nodded. "I thank you for telling me. And there's no need to ask forgiveness. Not for speaking
the truth. Not ever." He smiled. "That should stand you in good stead, lady. My lord was ever a man for plain speaking." They rode on in silence until Jocelyn caught the flicker of firelight ahead through the trees. She tensed, her mind running to thoughts of ambush. "What's that?" "It should be our camp. Robert sent men ahead to ready a resting place for you. They should have food prepared by now, his tent will be set up to get you in from the cold." Geoffrey hesitated, grinned. "I would tell you, lady, in the spirit of plain speaking, that we didn't think to get nearly so far tonight. Some of the men even took wagers on how long you would last ere we were forced to call a halt." Jocelyn didn't know whether to be angry or to laugh. "Who won? I should like to reward the man." "I did. I told them you would ride to the end. You've made me a rich man this night." At that Jocelyn did laugh, the first time she had laughed in many a long and miserable day. Geoffrey joined in and, to the obvious surprise and admiration of the men around them, they were both still laughing when the weary column stumbled into camp. It was one of the first things Robert was told when he rode in nearly an hour later, that his lady had made all that terrible ride without complaint, that she had been laughing, even, at the last. He smiled as he handed Belisaire over to his man and headed toward the campfires. His wife had impressed his men, and he knew well enough that wasn't easy to do. He'd been right that first night. Jocelyn Montagne was an unusual woman. He ate a quick, cold meal beside the fire. Geoffrey had anticipated most of his orders so there was really little to do. In fact, many of his men were already asleep, rolled tight in the oiled cloth groundsheets and blankets they carried. He should be seeking his own rest, but blood of Christ, this was his wedding night! He glanced toward the cluster of trees where his tent was set up, thinking of Jocelyn, of the scalding images he'd been wrestling with all day. He wanted the girl, had wanted her since that night he'd taken Belavoir. But Jocelyn had endured enough for one day. She would be exhausted, most likely shy of him as well. He didn't want to give her a distaste for the marriage bed... a distaste for him. He reached for his wineskin, picked it up and drank thoughtfully. He'd never had any complaints from women before. He knew well enough how to pleasure a partner. Judas, even that bitch Marguerite had liked him in bed! Marguerite had used that, used him. He'd been a fool for her at first, a green youth in the threes of a first and very painful love. He'd been forced to learn the hard way to take what he wanted, even as she had taken from him, and Christ, had she taken! But Jocelyn was as different from Marguerite as sunlight from shadow. Besides, he wasn't sure he had the patience just now, the self-control needed to seduce a skittish, virgin wife properly, not with an interested audience encamped not a dozen yards from his tent. And for all that he wanted the girl, he'd
come to respect her as well, an emotion he hadn't felt for a woman in a very long time. Jocelyn deserved better from him than a quick tumble in a flimsy tent in the midst of a rough camp. He owed her better. She'd begged for patience and care for her sister, though she'd asked nothing for herself. Well, he would grant her the same. He reached for a blanket, grinning, wrapping himself in its warmth. This certainly wasn't the way he'd planned to spend his wedding night. Marguerite would have called him a sentimental fool. He closed his eyes, still smiling. The bitch would have been wrong, of course, as she'd so often been about him. He was acting in pure self-interest. He wasn't a green boy ever to fancy himself in love again, but he did want a peaceful home, an eager bedmate, a woman he could respect for his wife. And for all of that he was willing to wait, to give his new bride whatever time she needed. He suspected that Jocelyn de Langley would be a woman well worth the wait. *** Jocelyn leaned over and blew out her candle, frowning as the icy, smothering darkness engulfed the tent. He wasn't going to come. She shoved the loose, heavy mass of hair back over her shoulder, embarrassed that she had gone to such lengths to try to wash herself, to scrape the mud from her stained skirts and beg a comb from Sir Geoffrey to make herself presentable. She'd not seen her husband in hours. She had no hint what he wanted, whether he would even be joining her tonight. Still, the man who'd brought food and wine had left two cups. She had thought her husband would come to talk to her at least, that he might... She flushed in the darkness, embarrassed by what she had thought. There could be any number of reasons her husband hadn't come, why he'd avoided her all afternoon. However, she could think only of one, could think only that Adelise would never have slept alone on this night, no matter whom she had wed. Jocelyn wrapped herself in her blankets and curled up, chilled and shivering on the fragrant pallet of pine boughs. An aching sense of loneliness welled up, swallowing all her courage and even her pride. Tears burned behind her eyelids, slid warm and wet across her cheeks and into her hair. Be careful what you ask for, Jocelyn... *** They reached Belavoir at midday. Robert slid from his horse, turning to help his wife from her mount. Already the cheers of his men and the scores of servants gathered to welcome them home were dying out. People were glancing at one another, surprised and uncomfortable, as they realized he had brought home the wrong bride. Robert grinned but one glance at Jocelyn's carefully expressionless face told him she found nothing whatever amusing in the situation. He reached up and lifted her down, sliding one arm about her waist as he drew her against his side.
She stiffened at the intimacy but didn'tpull away. He turned to his people, met the host of speculative looks with a candor he had always found effective. "You are thinking I've brought home the wrong wife, but you are wrong," he said loudly. He lifted his eyebrows, sent his slow, lazy grin through the crowd. "I do assure you I'm well able to tell one woman from another. Ask any of my men. All will vouch for that fact." A surge of laughter followed his words, a few choice comments were even shouted by the more daring. Robert waited a moment for the noise to die down. His people were smiling now, listening attentively. "I tell you, by God's grace, that I've actually brought home the right wifethe wife of my choice instead of the king's decree. The lady Jocelyn of Warford has agreed with me that we are well suited. She has done me the very great honor of becoming my wife. It is she who will be your new lady. You will give her your respect and prompt service, orI will know the reason why. In all things, save the ordering of my men for war or defense, her word will be as mine and if any offense is offered to her it will be the same as an offense to me." Jocelyn was listening in disbelief, amazed by the power her husband was giving her, amazed even more by the flattering, but not-entirely-truthful way he was describing how she had come to be his wife. The people of Belavoir were smiling, some even nodding at her in approval. She was awed by the effortless way Robert de Langley controlled the crowd, by the easy way he swayed people to his side. Her father had never been able to threaten or coerce even one small portion of such loyalty or acceptance as this. "I would ask you to join with my lady and myself on the morrow for a day of feasting and celebration," Robert continued. "We left Montagne rather suddenly. I did feel a most pressing need to be elsewhere," he added, as the crowd laughed again and began to cheer. Then his arm tightened around Jocelyn, shifting her so suddenly she was taken by surprise. She had no chance to stiffen, no chance even to think as he drew her against him and covered her mouth with his own as the crowd and her heart thundered in concert through all that swift and unsettling kiss.
Seventeen "Madam, your bath is ready." Jocelyn stepped forward and lifted her arms, allowing the maidservant to untie the side lacings of her bliaut, to lift it over her head along with her tunic and chemise. "I'll brush and clean these as best I can. The mud'll be easy, but the stains may well be set." "Thank you, Alison. Just do what you can." The girl left with the clothing and Jocelyn moved toward the tub, shivering. She had gone instinctively to the bedchamber she and Adelise had once shared, not daring to trespass in the lord's chambers. The room had been closed and icy, but it hadn't taken long to get a fire blazing in the hearth, to have a bed made up and colorful hangings back on the walls. Jocelyn eased into the steaming water and sank down, relishing the soothing liquid warmth that rose up
about her. Thank God for hot water and the power to order it whenever she chose. This was the first time she'd been warm in the whole of two days. She frowned. That wasn't entirely true. She'd been much too warm outside in the bailey when her husband had kissed her. It had been a quick kiss, a kiss any husband might give his wife in public. Still it had been hot and possessive, branding her senses and shattering her resolutions. She hadn't been expecting it, hadn't had the chance to steel herself against its effects. And it had made her realize just how difficult it would be to live with a man like Robert de Langley and hold onto even the tiniest shreds of her pride. She picked up a cloth and began to wash her body, evaluating her nakedness in a way she'd never done. Just what would her husband think when he decided to take her to bed? Her flesh was creamy white, smooth and supple to the touch. Her waist was appropriately narrow, but her hips and breasts curved out more generously than was desirable for any highborn lady with pretensions to beauty. Jocelyn frowned at the firm, round fullness of her breasts. She'd heard some women bound their chests for the slim silhouette that was so desired and had always laughed at such vanity. She wasn't laughing now. If she had thought she could get away with it, she'd have done it in an instant. However, bindings wouldn't help when she needed help most, when she met Robert de Langley without benefit of any concealing cloth between them. But then the lord of Belavoir didn't seem in any hurry to find out what he'd gotten. She should be thankful, she knew, that she would have time to prepare herself to meet him with all the poise and self-possession a man looked for in his lady. That quick kiss had nearly destroyed her, while he had turned away, laughing with the crowd, forgetting his wife as he was drawn into the affairs awaiting him at Belavoir. She would just have to do the same. She would manage Belavoir and see to her husband's comfort just as she had seen to her father's. And somehow she would find the strength to keep her feelings to herself. It was what she'd always done, after all. She finished her bath, then washed her hair and wrapped herself in a towel before the hearth. Even with the fire, the room was cold: it took hours to heat a stone-walled chamber properly. Picking up the comb she had borrowed, Jocelyn dragged it through her hair. She had left Montagne with nothing but the clothes she was wearing. Her husband had sent back a messenger saying he had been called away suddenly on a matter of urgency, that he would send for his wife's things. Still, she didn't have much hope of getting anything soon. Her father would be furious at the way they had left. She would probably be wearing that same stained gown and bliaut for a long time to come. Rising dispiritedly, she moved to the bed, picking up the cloak she had worn and wrapping herself in its warmth. She was giving in to self-pity, she realized, something she disliked in others and hated even more in herself. She should be thanking all the saints that she was out of Montagne, that she had the exalted, unexpected position as the lady of Belavoir. What she needed was sleep, Jocelyn told herself. All would look brighter after a rest. And since she had nothing to do until Alison came back with her clothing, she might as well see if she could get some. With the thought she curled up on the bed, drawing the cloak about her. In a matter of minutes, she was asleep.
*** "Well, madam, are you going to sleep away the whole afternoon?" Jocelyn awoke with a start. She started to sit up and discovered, too late, that she wore nothing at all but a cloaka cloak that had dipped dangerously low on one bare shoulder. She grabbed the edges together, feeling her face flame as she raised her eyes to the unsettling golden ones of Robert de Langley. For a moment she couldn't think why he was here. Or even wherehere was. She felt as if she had been swimming far beneath the surface of the sea and was still struggling to reach the top. "I-I am sorry, my lord. Is there something you would have me do?" Robert smiled, letting his gaze wander from his wife's flushed, disoriented face, to her glorious hair, to that bit of white shoulder clearly visible through it all. He had begun this visit in innocence, but he didn't think now that he would be able to end it that way. His heartbeat had accelerated alarmingly, his groin was heavy and tight with the need for release. His gaze shifted from hers, dropped to her wide mouth. It had tasted sweet this afternoon, so soft and seductive it was all he'd been able to do to drag himself away. "Yes, Jocelyn, there is," he said. "We've been married two days now and I've yet to hear you call me by name. I believe I did give you leave to do so within a few minutes of our first laying eyes on each other." He glanced about the chamber, letting his gaze linger on the door his men had rebuilt. "In this very room, as I recall. Do you remember?" "Certainly I remember." Her face flushed at the memory, then she added self-consciously, "Very well... Robert, though your name doesn't come easily to my tongue." "It will." He couldn't resist a smile as he added, "All things do ease with practice." He stepped away to a chest where a flagon of wine stood with several cups. It seemed a lifetime ago that he had dealt with innocence. The women he'd sought out most of his life had been sexually confident, sure of themselves and of what they could offer a man. Yet he found himself pleased that his wife knew little of coupling. She was obviously shy of him in this new married state, but he'd known from the first that she didn't dislike him. And if he was any judge of women, he doubted her shyness was going to last long. He filled his cup and moved back, lifting it for a drink and then holding it down to her. "Here, madam, drink. I believe you are still two-parts asleep." Jocelyn shifted further up against the bolster, fighting to recover the poise she had lost so completely. It wasn't easy with her husband studying her in that odd way he had that made her whole body heat and her flesh begin to tingle. She clutched the cloak with one hand and reached for the cup. She was at a decided disadvantage dressed as she was, but she couldn't ask him to leave. And she was thirsty. The wine tasted good. "I'm sorry... Robert," she said, trying for a normal tone. "I meant only to sleep for a short time. Have I truly slept all afternoon?"
"No. Just over an hour. And you did earn that sleep, I believe." Then, to her horror, he was easing down onto the bed beside her, leaning forward to take the cup and drink from it himself She studied his lean brown fingers curled around the cup, couldn't help remembering the feel of them against her bare throat. Her eyes rose to his mouth. That same sensual mouth had been warm and hard against hers this afternoon, had kissed her senseless a few weeks ago. She swallowed and looked away. Her whole body was responding, tensing, tightening in a way she couldn't control. How would she ever be able to hide her feelings when she reacted this strongly and the man hadn't even touched her? How would she respond when he finally did take her to bed? She knew a sudden, instinctive fear that she was in waters far over her head, that she could lose everything of importance and end with nothing of herself left at all. The bed shifted slightly as he reached to put down his cup. "We do need to talk, Jocelyn," he was saying. "About all that has happened. I greatly regret you were denied the joys of a real wedding dayall the attention and fuss and new clothing all women set store by. I'll do my best to make it up to you. If your father refuses to give up your things, you may have as much money as you like for clothes and whatever else you've lost." Jocelyn shook her head. Her husband had land but little money, and he would need what he had to pay troops. "There was nothing of any real value," she murmured. "A few of my mother's things I held dear for sentimental reasons alone." She glanced up and met his eyes bravely. "In truth, I've no regrets of these last two days save that I came to you like a pauper. That I shamed you before your friends." There, she'd said it, had gotten it out between them at last. She held her breath, watched his face to see what it would reveal, then wondered if she truly wanted to know. "Good Christ, madam, whatever gave you that idea?" "My brother said the match was all Richard de Lucy's idea. That at first everyone thought it a joke. My father even mentioned your being 'forced to settle.'" Jocelyn lifted her chin, held her voice steady with an effort. "You had thought to marry an heiress, my lord, an uncommonly beautiful heiress. Despite what you told me outside that chapel, you couldn't possibly have been pleased by the change. I'm sorry. You could have done much better, I expect." "What your family said is untrue," he said slowly. "There was talk occasioned by the disparity of the dowry you and your sister would have. Your mother held nothing in her own right save the castle and lands of Warford, while Adelise's mother was a de Valence and held a very great deal indeed. And I won't lie to you, I did bargain for all I could get. Your sister's action made it possible to push for everything I wanted and more." He hesitated. His voice became softer. "But I never meant that bargaining as disparagement of you, Jocelyn." He reached out, ran his knuckles gently along her cheek. "I wasn't forced to any unwanted settlement. Judas, madam, what man wouldn't be pleased to have you for a wife?"
Jocelyn stiffened and drew away. She couldn't think when he touched her like that, and she needed to think. They needed to talk. She wanted a marriage based on friendship and trust if nothing more. She didn't want to begin with lies between them, even if he did mean them for the best. "You do not have to say that," she managed to say. "Sir Geoffrey told me you were a man who favored plain speaking, and I would rather by far have you do me the honor of speaking the truth than offering me flattery as a misplaced kindness." She stared at him, trying to make him understand. "I want to be able to trust you, Robert. Don't you see? To believe what you say without question. I'm not some mindless fool and have no wish to be treated as one. Don't give me false and pretty words, not even if they are offered with the best of intent. I want to be able to respect you, to respect myself. We can have that, at least, I believe." "What I see, madam, is that I shall have to buy you a mirror," he said dryly. "You cannot have looked at yourself, if you think I'm offering mere flattery." "I don't need to look at myself. I've had only to look at my sister all my life, was told to look at her, emulate her." Robert sat back and stared at his wife in amazement. Jocelyn obviously believed what she was saying, and for a moment he was wholly at a loss. While her beauty wasn't the boyishly slim, blond fairness so favored by his countrymen, he'd never seriously considered that she might not be aware of it herself, that she might feel discomfort or shame in the intimate setting of a marriage bed. He'd always taken his own physical attractiveness for granted. He had never had to wonder if women found him desirable. Beckoning eyes and eager female bodies had been plentiful since he was barely fifteen. His first wife, too, had been hailed as one of the greatest beauties in all of Normandy, and she had traded on her looks as a shrewd merchant would rarest gold. In fact, he'd never lain with a woman who wasn't sure of herself and her effect on a man. Now he frowned as he fumbled for words to make up for what years of neglect had obviously done to this woman, to compensate for the humiliation his own schemes had put her through yesterday. "I wasn't ashamed to marry you, Jocelyn. I didn't 'settle,' as you so wrongly believe. The idea to match the two of us was hatched between de Lucy and myself within minutes after you left us yesterday morning. Believe me, madam, I did push for it as much as I dared without letting your father know I wanted you. To do so would have been to lose most of the those lands he did so hate to offer up." He hesitated, but Jocelyn said nothing. She was huddled against the pillows, clutching that ridiculous cloak to her chest. He couldn't help thinking of the way she had come to him yesterday morning to save him from shame, the way she had offered herself up weeks ago to spare her sister. And of a sudden he found himself thinking that Jocelyn de Langley deserved a great deal more than life had dealt her thus far. "Adelise is uncommonly fair," he said softly. "Hers is a beauty that steals all eyesat first. But you've beauty of a different sort, Jocelyn, a darker, quieter beauty that is just as compelling and far more desirable, to me at least. Adelise has the fair, fragile loveliness of a lily. Something I might admire from a distance with little desire to touch. "But you, madam..." He leaned forward and caught her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "You do have the earthy, exquisite loveliness of a rose. All dark and velvety and begging to be enjoyed. I want so badly to reach out and stroke its petals, lift it to my nose and sample its fragrance for myself."
He lifted a handful of her hair and inhaled deeply, then brushed its silkiness against his mouth. "You do have the most exquisite hair," he murmured. Jocelyn stared at her husband, as mesmerized by his sensual movements as those beautiful, unbelievable words. "But it is... dark," she said, as if her coloring were a fact that had somehow escaped his notice. He was toying with the strand, running his fingers through it, wrapping it about his hands. The gentle tugging sent a host of pleasant, shivery feelings spiraling downward from her scalp. "Aye." Robert said. "Dark and rich and sweet as sin. Enough to send a man to hell for his thoughts alone." "My brother did liken it once to a horse's tail," she murmured. Robert let his grin widen. "And I would liken your brother to that part of a horse where the tail is attached." Her face lit with her smile. Robert swallowed hard, felt desire rushing up through his body, a tormenting, physical ache. How could this woman not know how desirable she was? "Oh, aye, your sister is beautiful, Jocelyn," he said again, "but you are the woman I've wanted in my arms and in my bed since that first instant we met, the woman I want right now. That is the truth upon the surety of my soul, and the very plainest way I do know how to speak." Jocelyn was staring at him, eyes wide and wondering, brilliant and shimmering as stars. Unable to contain himself any longer, Robert bent and touched his mouth to hers. The kiss was brief and chaste but amazingly tender. Jocelyn had never known such tenderness. She was overwhelmingly aware of the soft bed beneath them, of the fact that she was suddenly warm and breathless, that every part of her seemed to be aching for this man's touch. His mouth left hers, brushing gently across her cheek, nuzzling beneath her ear. He shifted her down against the pillows, began kissing the sensitive flesh at the base of her throat. "What say you, madam?" he whispered. "Would you be so terribly wroth if we did have a wedding afternoon instead of a wedding night?" Jocelyn caught her breath at the incredible sensations he was arousing, sensations that were wreaking havoc on every one of her disordered senses. "I would say, my lord, that I do like your plain speaking, but I think, perhaps, that I've sorely underrated the power of pretty words." He hesitated, obviously listening. "No one has ever compared me to a rose before," she said slowly. "A weed, once, but never a rose. And even if you didn't mean it, it's by far the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. I only hope you're not disappointed. I'm not so sure I know how to be a rose." Robert lifted his head and stared down at his wife, a rare feeling of tenderness stealing over him. Jocelyn was a totally disarming combination of boldness and vulnerability, strength and utter defenselessness. He gathered up her hair, swept it back over the pillows away from her face. "Just follow your feelings," he murmured. "They won't lead you astray."
With that he bent and kissed her again, beginning slowly, opening his mouth over hers, teasing her lips with his tongue and encouraging her to open to him. Her lips parted and he deepened the kiss, exploring the warm softness of her mouth, delighted when her tongue met his in her own tentative exploration. Jocelyn opened her mouth wider and took him in, letting go all of her restraints, giving herself up completely to the heady, drugging power of his kisses. This was what she remembered, this feeling of heat and arousal, of wanting his mouth against hers so badly that nothing else mattered at all. She was swept away by sensation, her whole body fluid and aching and weightless, as if all her bones had melted suddenly, as if nothing held her anchored to the bed. Her hands rose to his shoulders and clung there. He was wonderful to touch, all hard and muscular and male. Her hands slid upward, stroking his throat, reaching into his hair. It felt better than she had imagined. Cooler. Thicker. Silkier textured. She curled her fingers through it. He did have such glorious hair. He lifted his head at last and Jocelyn was surprised at the intense degree of disappointment she felt. "Ah, sweetheart," he said, grinning down. "You have quite a talent for this. It makes me wonder just what other surprises you've kept hidden." And before she realized his intent, he had caught the edges of his cloak and pulled them back. The sudden rush of air chilled her, brought her to her senses. She had forgotten she was naked. All her insecurities came rushing back. No doubt a man like her husband had stared at scores of beautiful women. Hadn't he told her himself that women were different, that there were dozens of intriguing types to explore? She longed to grab for the cloak, but pride kept her motionless. She made no move to cover herself as he looked his fill, as he trailed one finger slowly along her collar bone and down across the curve of her breast. His eyes came back to hers, all narrowed and smoky and burning with some inner fire. "You're perfect, Jocelyn. Do you know that? Do you have any idea the incredible pleasure I find just in looking at you, in being able to touch you like this at last?" She reached up and touched his mouth, quickly, before she could lose her nerve. "Just kiss me again," she whispered. "I forget all else when you do that." He gave an odd little laugh that ended on a groan. "Ah, sweetheart, it is my pleasure!" He shifted over her then, pressing her down into the mattress, opening her mouth with one sliding, sensual thrust of his tongue. It was even better being kissed by him like this, Jocelyn decided, and she gave herself over to the incredible pleasure of carrying him, flowing into him, being completely possessed by him. His hands slid up her ribcage, settling warmly over her breasts. Instinctively, Jocelyn arched against him. She felt his palms, flat and hard against the sensitive crests of her breasts, felt his fingers curl possessively around her fullness. And somehow it was the best, the most natural feeling she had ever known. He held her, explored her, as their kisses continued to deepen. Then he caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and began to rub gently.
Jocelyn sucked in her breath, dragging her mouth from his to get air. He had just evoked the most incredible throbbing sensation between her thighs. Her eyes flew to his in amazement only to discover that he was obviously well aware of what he'd done. His gaze was hot and knowing, and his smile might well have seduced any woman of flesh and blood. "That, my sweet, is the way it all begins," he said softly. Jocelyn took a steadying breath. "Then it's good we are wed for I do know by now that I am well and truly lost." He said nothing, but she knew she had pleased him. He held her eyes for a moment, then bent and pressed his mouth to a place he seemed to favor that lay just beneath her ear. "You aren't lost, Jocelyn," he whispered, "andI do assure you that where we are going will soon become a right familiar place." With that he began kissing her throat, her chest, the valley between her breasts. Jocelyn lay back and closed her eyes, fighting to hold herself steady, to find a balance between feeling and thought. But it was a losing battle, for it was becoming impossible to think. She shivered as his mouth trailed a dizzying wake of sensation down across her body and back. She could feel the need building, could feel it rising over her like a swift-running tide. She'd been a fool ever to think she might pretend indifference to him... to this. And then he stunned her by opening his mouth over the tip of her breast, sucking it, teasing it in a way that made her gasp and cry out. She squirmed up against him, gasping and breathless, as she clutched at his shoulders. She wasn't prepared for anything remotely like this, this hot wet feel of his lips and tongue, this exquisite feeling in her breasts, this melting and throbbing and wanting in the deepest, most secret part of her. His mouth continued its magic while his hands ranged over her, stroking her breasts, her hips, tracing slow, sensual patterns against the insides of her thighs, against the bare, quivering flesh of her abdomen. Her blood heated and pulsed to a yearning, unbearable tension centered deep between her thighs. He didn't touch her there but she wanted it. God, how she wanted it! She heard soft whimpering sounds, realized vaguely that they were coming from her own throat, that she didn't seem to be able to stop them. She twisted back into the pillows, curling her legs around his, wanting him against every part of her body. He caught his hands in her hair, trapping her face beneath his, catching her mouth for more of the deep, soul-wrenching kisses that made her groan. He shifted between her thighs, rocking his hips against hers and Jocelyn lifted herself to meet him. It was a prelude of what was to come and she welcomed it, wanted it with a fierceness that was frightening in its intensity. But then he lifted himself off her suddenly, rising to slide from the bed. She rose, too, a cry of frustration slipping out before she could bite it back. "Easy, love, this will only take a moment," Robert muttered, already dragging off his tunic. He jerked his shirt over his head, turning back to stare at his wife. He was breathless, shaking, almost out of control. He had waited too long, hadn't counted on getting this carried away this quickly. But Jocelyn was exquisite, her body so incredibly responsive she was like a harp that could be played with the merest
breath. He dragged at his chausses, ripping at the cords that bound them, cursing savagely as they knotted in his haste. "Robert... is something wrong?" He sucked in his breath. Jocelyn's eyes were cloudy with passion, her face flushed, her mouth swollen from his kisses. She was ready for him. Sweet Lord, they were both ready! And he couldn't even get out of his clothes! The sudden humor of the situation saved him unexpectedly. He bit down hard on his lip. His wife was looking worried. She might not understand if he laughed. "Yes, something's wrong, sweetheart, but with me, not you. Never doubt your effect on me, Jocelyn. I'm so eager, so clumsy, I've tied my own clothing in knots." She looked doubtful, but her naked, half-reclining pose was so provocative that a new wave of urgency hit him. He muttered another oath, fumbled across the coffer for his dagger. Grabbing it up, he sliced through chords and good linen, let his ruined garments drop to the floor along with his dagger. And then he was naked beside his wife on the bed, reaching for her shoulders, groaning as her hands slid the length of him in a manner that was anything but shy. He dragged her against him, wanting the naked, silken feel of her body against his, craving the sweet, wild kisses she was showering across his face and throat. With one practiced movement, he had her flat on her back, her body beneath his as he captured her mouth with his own. He had wanted to go slow for her sake, but now who was seducing whom? Jocelyn opened her mouth for him, welcoming the thrusting of his tongue, his painful, urgent grip on her shoulders. She ran her hands up his smooth, hairless chest, down his back. He was heaven to touch. She couldn't get enough of him, couldn't get close enough to him. He kissed his way across her chest, down to her belly, then lifted and spread her thighs with hands that knew her body far better than she did herself. She felt the hot rasp of his breath against her, went mindless, suddenly, as his fingers parted her sensitive flesh and stroked inside. She twisted and cried out, arching up helplessly against his hand. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. The sum of her being seemed centered between her thighs. He shifted again, stretching himself over her, matching his body to hers as she curled around and into him. Her breasts ached, the lower half of her body was heavy and aching and tight with the need for more. And then with one sharp, tearing thrust of his body, she had more. He was buried inside her, rigid and swollen, a forced and painful intimacy that was suddenly overwhelming. This wasn't at all what she had expected, wasn't the exquisite thing his body had promised at all. She whimpered and shifted against him, easing the pain, tightening her arms around his neck, instinctively seeking reassurance. She had never felt so vulnerable in all her life as she did stretched out here beneath
him like this. "That's all the pain, love," he whispered shakily, kissing her mouth, her throat, holding himself back with an effort. "The rest, I do promise you'll like." He waited a few seconds, kissing her, stroking her, letting her body adjust to his. Then he shifted deeper, fitting himself tighter, and Jocelyn forgot to be uncomfortable. He drew out of her and began to thrust, a deep internal stroking that reawakened the need, that sent every other awareness spinning into blackness. Jocelyn groaned and grasped his shoulders, burying her face against his throat, digging her fingernails into his back as some incredible explosive force began to gather. All pride and poise and dignity disappeared. She arched into him, clung to him, as their bodies strained and slid together, as sensation built on sensation until she thought she would surely die. Awareness blurred, reality spun away. She was barely aware that he was groaning, shuddering, gasping out her name. She hung mindless, quiveringthe essence of eternity somehow distilled. And then her whole being shattered, convulsed. Anguish. Wave upon wave of unendurable pleasure that swept over her and away. She was gasping, almost sobbing for breath as the convulsions began to ebb, as the wild throbbing pleasure began to fade. For several moments she lay still, eyes closed, every last vestige of control and self-protection crumbled and torn away. Reality began to return but it was difficult to reorient herself. Then her husband was rolling off of her, and the emptiness between her thighs was unbearable. A long, shuddering breath slipped from her. She couldn't believe what she had done, the shameless way she had behaved. God, dear God in heaven, why didn't he say something? Robert shifted to one side, drawing her into the curve of his shoulder. "Judas, love... I do believe we owe Edward of Pelham far more even that I had first thought."
Eighteen Jocelyn lay perfectly still, afraid to believe she had heard correctly. "What do you mean?" she managed in a small voice. Robert gave a low, throaty laugh, his arms tightening around her, drawing her even closer. "If I'm not badly mistaken, I think you must know." She drew in a shaky breath. "Were you... pleased?" "Judas, madam, if I'd been any more pleased, I'd not be breathing now!"
She said nothing further and Robert pushed up on one elbow, staring down at his wife. She looked incredibly beautiful lying here beside him, but she also seemed terribly unsure. How could any woman be so responsive, so wildly uninhibited in her lovemaking, and then look so guarded and uncertain now that it was done? But then Jocelyn didn't like being vulnerablethat much he'd learned. And this did make a person vulnerable in the most intimate and personal of ways. He'd learned early in life that sex was a pleasure. He hadn't known until marriage that it could be a weapon more vicious than any blade. Marguerite had been a master at using it to tease and torment, to humiliate and cripple and maim. He'd given her that power because he had worshiped her. She had tried to use it to bend him to her purpose. And when she hadn't been successful at that, she'd done her best to destroy him. She hadn't even stopped at using her own son. He frowned and drew in his breath. There was no place for Marguerite in this bed. "I'm thinking, love, on how best to tell you how very much you did please me," he said. "And realizing there's no good way to put what just happened between us into words." "Is it always... like that?" she asked softly, raising wide, wondering eyes to his. "For the man there is always some pleasure. But seldom, I assure you, quite like that. For the woman it depends on the man, I think." He hesitated. "And on how the woman feels about him." He drew her closer, let one hand range up her body to stroke and fondle her breast. Her skin was rose-petal softness. He couldn't get enough of touching it, was already wanting the feel of her against him again. "Did I please you?" he asked, wanting her answer while knowing full well that he had. Her eyes lifted to his. They were soft and liquid and just now they looked very green. "Very much. But then, I imagine you know that." He smiled. "I wanted to be able to talk to you before our marriage but there wasn't time. I didn't want you forced unwilling into this." "I was many things that day, Robert. Unwilling wasn't one of them." He bent and kissed her then, long and slow, bending her head back over his arm, making her arch her breasts against his bare chest. "Just think," he whispered, nuzzling the curve of her throat, "if we are this good without practice, what it will be like when we finally do get it right." To his utter delight, Jocelyn began to laughdeep and throaty and sensual. He lifted his head and stared. He had never heard his wife laugh before. "You've a mouth made for that," he said. "Laughter and kisses. Don't be stingy with them, sweet. I crave them already as a starving man does food." "I've never done much of either, but I hope to do a great deal more now." She gave him a teasing smile as she lifted one hand to his chest, trailed it slowly, experimentally down his body. "For the woman it depends on the man, you know. At least someone did tell me that once." He groaned as her hand slid lower, couldn't suppress hislaughter at the look of awed satisfaction that lit her face as the thrill of her power began to dawn.
"Judas, madam, and to think I did keep myself from you last night, worrying you might be shy of me." His teasing, confident temptress vanished. "Am I supposed to be shy?" "I was done with shy women when I was barely fifteen." He caught her hand, guiding it lower. "But whatever you are, Jocelyn, whatever you choose to be... that is exactly what I want you to be." *** When Jocelyn came to her senses the second time that day, she could tell it was late. She had obviously slept, for the fire in the hearth had burned low and the room was growing dim. She glanced around and discovered she was alone. For a moment she lay unmoving, wondering if she had dreamed all that had taken place. But then she shifted her body, felt her muscles protest in several exceedingly odd places. It hadn't been a dream. Robert had lain with her, called her his sweetheart and love, done exquisite, unbelievable things to her body and taught her to do the same to his. And the wonder of it was that he had wanted her. He had left no doubt about that. He had told her she was beautiful and somehow made her believe it herself. He had responded to her and with her and in return she had held nothing back, had flown with him as high and as far as he had wanted to fly. She pushed herself up against the pillows. A cup of wine sat on the nearby coffer and she reached for it, smiling. Robert had obviously poured it for her before he left. She lay back, sipping the wine, aware of a warm, languorous feeling, a sense of security unlike any she had ever known. Did other people feel like this all the time? Was this how it was to be wanted, cherished, confident of who and what you were? Could any contentment ever match such a thing? She thought of her sister, of the incredible gift Adelise had given her without even realizing it. "Oh, Adelise, wherever you are, be happy," she whispered. "For I do intend to be." She heard the outer door open. There were footsteps, muted whispers. Then the bedchamber door opened, and Robert stepped in. She was struck with renewed wonder by the sheer improbability of all that had occurred. She, Jocelyn Montagne, was married to the Lion of Normandy, had just spent the most unbelievable afternoon of all her life in his bed. "Good, you're awake," he said. "I've something to show you." She wasn't sure where the words came from, was surprised to hear them sounding in her own voice. "You've shown me quite enough for one afternoon, my lord. Not that I'm complaining, mind." His smile was incendiary. He crossed the room quickly, bent to take her mouth for a swift kiss. "I've not shown you nearly enough, madam. But good things do come to those who wait." He lifted his head then, calling for someone to enter. And at once there was a crowd of milling, chattering people in the room, women with trim and shears and lengths of cloth: exquisite velvets, finest woolens, the sheerest, softest linen Jocelyn had ever seen. All were held for her inspection or came tumbling across the bed in a riotous spill of peacock hues.
Robert sat down, reaching swiftly for her unsteady wine cup as she clutched the blanket to her chest and stared. It was too much, too fast. A small fortune in precious cloth lay here before her eyes. She said as much. "Aye, I suppose. But since it came along with those supplies and salt I took from Shrewsbury, which, madam, do you prefer?" She reached out almost reverently, stroking a sumptuous velvet of forest green. Velvet was a rare and incredibly expensive cloth. While Adelise had several pieces, she had never owned so much as one scrap. "I... I don't know," she said, awed. "They're all so beautiful." He caught up the green, holding it near her face. "Aye, your instincts are right." He sent her a swift grin. "In this as in other important matters." He handed the material back to the servant. "Start with this... and that saffron wool there. And the scarlet. They please me. Use the pattern you cut from her gown. Your mistress can choose from among the rest tomorrow. Go now." Jocelyn watched in amazement as the women collected their burdens and left. The door closed, quiet descended. She stared at her husband. "I keep expecting you to vanish on a puff of smoke." "I'm no spirit, madam, evil or otherwise." "I don't think it would matter to me even if you were." They stared at each other, then he reached out and caught her chin. "If you keep looking at me like that, my lady de Langley, we are never going to get out of this room." "I believe I might like that." He grinned, his beautiful eyes narrowing as he bent and took her mouth for a slow kiss. "I hope you like my bedchamber equally as much. I have many desires, madam, but they donot include sleeping alone. Most especially not with you under the same roof. I hope you won't mind moving." Jocelyn smiled. She had been hoping he would ask her to share his bedchamber but hadn't dared ask. "I didn't want to presume. How was I to know you were interested? You didn't even come to talk with me last night." "So that's all the thanks I get for being a gentleman." Robert sat back and shook his head. "I couldn't help thinking you might not appreciate losing your maidenhead in the midst of a camp of avidly listening men-at-arms. You were not exactly quiet this afternoon, you know." He grinned as Jocelyn's eyes widened, as a quick flush stained her throat and flamed across her cheek bones. It was delightful to tease her. "Don't worry," he added, doing his best not to laugh. "I doubt anyone much past the great hall heard us here this afternoon." "Robert, you... you are joking?" "Yes." Her eyes flashed once, and then she twisted, grabbing up her pillow and thrashing him across the face
and chest with it once, twice, and then a third time before he could stop laughing and collect himself. With the third hit, he was reaching for her, but she was already backing across the bed, holding that ridiculous blanket to her chest, her expression hovering between laughter and horror, as if she couldn't quite believe what she'd done. He made a swift, sprawling grab across the bed, but his wife was cat-quick. He found only air. He caught a glimpse of her bare body as she slid from the bed, jerking up the cloak they had discarded during their earlier lovemaking and wrapping it around herself. He watched, amused, beginning to feel something besides amusement as well, as she glanced uncertainly toward the door. This was a side of his wife he'd not seen before, this playful, spontaneous creature who was far more entrancing than she would ever suspect. "That's not going to save you, you know," he drawled. "I wonder what punishment I should exact for the crime of striking your husband. I've severalextremely creative ideas." "You don't... fight fair," she said breathlessly, her huge eyes gone even wider. "I fight to win, Jocelyn. Always. Remember it." He watched her inch toward the door, waited until she had almost reached it. Then in a flash, he was off the bed and around it, catching her as she got the door open and was halfway through. She shrieked once and began to laugh as he caught her about the waist, swinging her easily off her feet and dragging her back through the doorway. He grinned and winked at the wide-eyed maidservant just entering the outer chamber, kicking the door shut, shoving his wife, struggling and laughing, against the panel. He held her there with the weight of his body, sliding his hands up her narrow ribcage to capture and caress her soft breasts. He felt her shudder against him, saw desire flame to life in those slanting, green-gold eyes. His body quickened in response and he studied his wife with a strange kind of awe. Had he searched the world over, been able to pick from all the women in the land, this would have been the one, the woman who most nearly pleased him, who matched him in all things. He kissed the bare expanse of her shoulder, bent his head and began to nuzzle her breasts. How had he gotten so lucky after all these years of hell? Jocelyn tried to squirm out from under him, still laughing, though her laughter had gone a bit breathless. "Robert... stop!" She pushed at his shoulders. "We're going to be late getting downstairs." She pushed at him again, and he caught her hands, trapping them against the door. "Robert, I-I...oh!" Her breathing was becoming unsteady, her chest rising and falling unevenly against his face. Her hands strained against his and he released them, cupping her satiny hips against him instead. Her fingers settled against his shoulders, began to knead the back of his neck, to feather restlessly, helplessly, through his hair. "Robert... we do need to get dressed and go down. There'll be... talk."
That stopped him. He lifted his head with a wide, incredulous grin. "Jocelyn, my sweet, if you don't know it, we are already moving into the area of legend in the talk below stairs. The least we can do is make it truth." She was staring at him in such dismay, it was impossible not to laugh. He scooped her up over his shoulder, one hand riding her bare backside as he crossed the floor. "You did call me a legend once in this very room, though I doubt you hadthis in mind. As I distinctly recall, however, Idid!" He dropped her onto the center of the bed, still grinning. "We can send for something to eat later... when we get around to it. I, for one, don't mind being a legend. At least not in this regard." Her sudden attack of shyness had passed. She was smiling, her eyes wide and luminous, back-lit by stars. "You are legend and dreams, my lord de Langley," she quoted, letting him know she recalled their first meeting as clearly as he. Then she reached up and looped her arms about his neck. "Just don't let me wake up. Please, Robert, don't let me wake up."
Nineteen "Mylord, are you certain you'll not stay the night? The wind has come up and it'll be dark in a matter of hours. The cold will be biting." Robert pushed back from the table and rose to his feet. "Thank you, Walter, no. The people of Belavoir are expecting me." Beside him Aymer Briavel rose to his feet as well. "He means thelady of Belavoir is expecting him. He's been married now well over a fortnight, but you'd think it just yesterday from the way he behaves." Aymer grinned across the table at Walter le Foret, the new castellan for the castle of Steadford. "I've never seen so eager a husband in all my life. Jesu, Walter, the man is bewitched!" Robert laughed with his men. He didn't bother denying the charges because they were true. He did want to get home to Jocelyn. He'd been gone for a week, seeing to his lands, checking with the knights he'd set up as castellans as the Montagne forces departed, men who would eventually become his vassals. He'd split his army, sending roughly a third with Geoffrey on a similar mission to the south and west while he took a third and went north. He couldn't cover every castle and manor personally, though God knew it needed to be done that way. As was inevitable in this kind of exchange, the departing Montagne forces would strip the estates bare of animals, food, every scrap of value if they got half a chance. Jocelyn had begged to come along, but he had refused. Not only was the weather getting worse, but he would be riding close to Ranulf of Chester's borders. No matter how much he selfishly enjoyed the delights of having his new wife with him, he wouldn't risk taking her where the danger was great. Thus far the warlike earl had been quiet, but Robert didn't believe that peace would last long. As a matter of fact, he didn't intend to let it last. Come spring, he would be making a bid to recover the rest of the de Langley lands from Chester. He smiled, anticipating his reunion with Jocelyn. Perhaps he was bewitched as Aymer had said, but he had never found a woman who pleased him so much. His wife was a witty conversationalist, a bold and
intelligent partner, and she had a passionate nature very nearly matching his own. And to top it all off, she could give him a damned good game of chess. For a woman like Jocelyn, he would ride through dark and cold and, God forbid, howling blizzards if he had to. If she hadn't already been his wife, he would have made her his mistress without a qualm. His men were already mounting up in the bailey, grumbling a little among themselves at the cold. Robert swung onto his horse, watching as Aymer lifted himself gingerly into the saddle. His friend's injury was a good month old, his strength obviously returning, but he still tended to favor his side. Robert glanced out over his men. It would be a hard, cold ride back this afternoonand all because he wanted to sleep with his wife. If he had any sense he would stay here at Steadford with Sir Walter. But then he thought of Jocelyn, of skin like warm alabaster and hair like dark, fire-shot silk, of the cozy, firelit chamber where he'd spent far more time than he ought these last weeks. "An extra shilling's pay and a double portion of ale for every man if we make it to Belavoir before the castle's abed," he called out. A cheer went up and Aymer grinned at Steadford's new castellan. "What did I tell you, Walter? Bewitched!" *** "M'lady, Cook wants to know how much longer till supper. The stew'll keep nicely but the pasty'll ruin if it be put back over the fire." Jocelyn frowned and gave in, her eyes going longingly toward the keep door. "My lord said he'd be back but he must have been detained. We'll serve now, Margaret." The woman nodded and Jocelyn moved disconsolately toward the table. She was being ridiculous. Still, she had so looked forward to tonight. "It's early yet," a small voice piped up. "My lord'll be back. He said he would." Jocelyn glanced up, forcing a smile for the boy who had become her shadow these last weeks. "I'm sure he will, Adam. He would have sent word if he were going to be detained overnight." The boy nodded vigorously, then moved to her place at the table. "May I pour you wine, my lady?" he asked, in his most carefully correct voice. "Yes, please." She watched as the boy deftly poured her wine without spilling so much as one drop. He was acting as her page, eager to learn the manners and behavior any other boy of his breeding would have taken for granted by this age. She was teaching those lessons as best she knew, while Robert worked with the lad at arms practice. But she had begun teaching him something else as well. Adam Carrick wanted to learn to read and write because he had heard his lord set great store by such things. The boy was uncommonly bright, unfailingly eager, and he had a vocabulary that might have put any hardened man-at-arms to the blush. And he very clearly worshiped her husband. Well, that did make two of them, Jocelyn thought with a smile.
The outer door swung open on a bitingly cold rush of air. "M'lady, there's riders sighted," a man called out. "They're comin' up the hill. Jocelyn's heart began to race. "You were right, Adam," she said, grinning. "He did say he'd be back." But within a very few minutes Jocelyn's excitement was changed to dismay. It was Brian Montagne who sought admission to Belavoir for himself and his men. Jocelyn stepped out into the bailey hugging her arms about herself in the cold. Sir Edmund Hervey, the knight responsible for the castle garrison, came toward her out of the darkness. "Your brother says he has brought your things from Montagne, my lady." The man hesitated, glanced at Jocelyn, then quickly away. "They are a small enough force, but I don't know that my lord would wish them inside while he is away." Drat Brian! Why did he have to come now? "Are your men armed and ready, sir?" Sir Edmund nodded. She drew in a deep breath. It would be a terrible affront to her family if she refused to let her brother inside the gates. And if he did have her things it meant her father was at least trying to put a good face on this treaty. "Let them in then. But tell your men to be on their guard." Within minutes, Brian was dismounting and moving toward her. "Well, sister, I was beginning to think we were to be left outside to freeze." She forced a smile. "I'm sorry, Brian, but we weren't expecting you. Come inside where you can get warm. Sir Edmund will see to your men and horses." Brian glanced around. "What, is de Langley not here?" "He's expected back any time." "Ah... I see, then, what took so long. Thank you for letting us in. I'd have been well served if you hadn't after the way I behaved at your wedding. I was angry. With good cause, as you know. Still I hope we can put it behind us." "That was a difficult day for us all," she said guardedly. He shrugged, smiled. "As it happens,I really do come in peace. Despite the way de Langley behaved, slipping off like he did, I convinced Father it was only fair to let me bring you your things. A peace offering, if you will. Besides I've seen Adelise. She begged me to bring you a letter for her, to find out how you fared." Jocelyn was suddenly glad her brother had come. "Is she well? Happy?" "Well and deliriously happy. And married, as if there were ever any doubt. Father has forgiven her, and she and Pelham have been at Montagne. They left just yesterday morning." "I'm so very happy for her then." Jocelyn sent him a smile that was genuine this time. "But come inside. We can talk and be warm at the same time." She led Brian into the hall, had wine poured and gave orders for the meal to be served. Between
mouthfuls, Brian told her about Adelise's visit, had her laughing with his description of the lord of Pelham as an overly doting husband. "I must assume your marriage agrees with you as well," he said. His eyes moved slowly over her. "You do look well. Very... different." Jocelyn had washed earlier and dressed for her husband's homecoming in her new tunic of green velvet. Robert had claimed it was his favorite and she had wanted to impress him tonight. Still, she couldn't help being pleased that her very exacting brother seemed impressed as well. "Yes, my marriage does agree with me." She picked up her wine cup and smiled at him over the rim. "But as you see, a bit of good cloth does work wonders for a woman." "It's far more than the cloth, Jocelyn. The difference is in you. Adelise has it, too, you know. That look of a woman who knows well enough that she pleasures a man." He met her eyes with a knowing grin. "Congratulations. I'll tell Father there's no chance de Langley hasn't made the marriage contracts binding." Jocelyn was suddenly embarrassed, angered though she couldn't have said why. She and Robert had been subjected to a great deal of teasing about the pleasure they found in each other. The comments hadn't bothered her before, but something about the way Brian said the words, the way he was looking at her, did. She wanted to tell him her relationship with her husband was no business of his, but that wasn't true. If her marriage hadn't been consummated the contracts could have been declared invalid and the lands in dispute. "No, Brian, there's no fear the contracts aren't binding," she said dryly. Moments later they were interrupted as the dogs in the hall began barking. Within seconds, dozens of shivering, stamping men were crowding together through the entrance. Jocelyn rose to her feet, caught a glimpse of a tall, golden haired figure moving toward her through the crush. And then she was in his arms. Lips, hands, bodies cold everywhere at first, and then hot where they joined. She pulled away after a moment, flushed and laughing. "Robert, we do have guests!" "I know, sweet, but I've no desire whatsoever to kiss your brother." Robert turned, smiling, still holding her trapped against his side. "You'll understand, Montagne. I've just half-killed my men and our horses getting home to my wife." Brian had risen to his feet. He was smiling as well, not missing a single detail. "Of course. I've come straight from just such another besotted bridegroom. My sister Adelise and her new husband have been visiting at Montagne." Jocelyn stiffened. How could Brian be so tactless? But her husband didn't rise to the bait. "So Pelham did marry her. He would have been a fool not to. Adelise's lands did march far better with his than with mine." Brian's eyes narrowed, but he managed to keep his smile. "I believe my sister was married for reasons other than land. Adelise, that is." Jocelyn sucked in her breath. This time she had felt the tiniest stiffening in her husband's body.
"Certainly, but then one never knows what really motivates a man. I've learned over the years that at least half the time it's not what it seems." Robert bent and kissed Jocelyn's forehead, releasing her as he dragged off his cloak. "But my man outside tells me you've brought home my wife's things. I thank you for that. Jocelyn told me she had things of her mother's that were dear." Jocelyn took her husband's cloak, poured wine, then hurried to have food brought, to see that his men were being cared for as well. She was relieved to hear Robert's laugh ring out moments later, to hear her brother join in as they sat together at the high table. She might not trust or even like her brother, but the last thing she wanted was open hostility between her husband and the rest of her family. She moved to the table where the knights who'd come in were drinking and waiting for food. She frowned as she stopped beside Sir Aymer. The man was obviously spent. "I told you it was too soon to make a ride. You do push yourself too fast." He straightened, sending her his ready smile. "Not at all. I'm weak still, yes, but how will I regain my strength if I don't push? Never fear, lady, I won't push too far. I've no intention of letting all your hard work go for naught." Jocelyn smiled back. It was impossible not to like the outgoing, gregarious Aymer. Besides, her husband had a special fondness for the man. She would have been determined to like him even if he hadn't so enthusiastically declared himself her life-long servant after she had arrived back at Belavoir. "Just see that I'm not put to the trouble of stitching you together again. Once is enough," she added with mock severity. Aymer grinned, but Jocelyn noticed his eyes flicker to her brother and back. "You'll get no argument on that from me." The meal ended, and Robert excused himself to speak to his garrison commander. Jocelyn led her brother up the stairs. She had readied the room he had always used thinking to make him more comfortable. She realized her mistake as he glanced around, said softly, "It seems strange to be a guest in a keep that was once my own." "Belavoir was never Montagne. It was always de Langley," she said sharply. "If you didn't realize that, I, for one, certainly did." He smiled. "I'm sorry, Jocelyn. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. It just does seem... odd." He walked to the saddle pouches his squire had carried up. He drew out Adelise's letter, but instead of handing it over, stood staring at her instead. "We do need to talk, Jocelyn. I hadn't meant to say this tonight, but this is too good a chance to pass up." She frowned. "Whatever is on your mind, you may speak." He hesitated, rubbed the letter absently between his fingers. "You and I have never been close. I suppose it's no secret I haven't always behaved as I ought. There are reasons for that, but this isn't the time or place to discuss them." He hesitated again and glanced up. "But we're both Montagne, both of the same blood. That's a tie that is thicker, more binding to me than any childhood misunderstandings. I don't want you to think yourself alone and friendless should you ever find yourself needing aid."
Jocelyn didn't know what to make of his statement."I have a husband," she reminded him. "I don't see myself as being alone and friendless now. Quite the contrary." "Yes, you've a husband.A man who murdered his wife." Jocelyn's eyes narrowed. "That isn't true." "Why? Because de Langley says it isn't?" Brian held her eyes, his own very blue, very cold. "I've just spent the last few days talking with Pelham. He heard a number of unsavory things about your husband... from one of de Langley's own men. Adelise is almost beside herself with worry. We all are. She had no idea her running away would put you into this mess. Of course, noneof us had any notion the man would settle for you." Jocelyn studied her brother narrowly. She had always wondered if the barbs he let fly were the resultof deliberation or mere thoughtlessness. But then it didn't matter. He couldn't hurt her any more. "Adelise feared Robert from the first," she said calmly. "She never knew him." "And you think you do?" "Enough that I need not fear him. Robert de Langley is the most honorable man I've ever known." Brian ignored the insult. "There's no need to fear now, of course. Somehow you've managed to please him, and the man is obviously hot for you. But merciful Christ, Jocelyn, that doesn't last! As a man I can tell you, the heat may burn for a time, but it doesn't last. Why, de Langley has had mistresses by the score. Anyone can tell you that." Jocelyn held herself steady with an effort. "But I am his wife." "So, too, was Marguerite de Granson. She was held to be one of the greatest beauties in all of Christendom as well, yet even she couldn't hold him. Their fights became legend in Normandy. And even if you discount those ugly rumors about her death, Jocelyn, the woman did spend the last few months of her life locked up in one of his keeps!" Jocelyn didn't want to hear any more. Besides, her brother was lying. He had to be. "Stop it, Brian! I'll hear no more of this." She held out her hand, adding coldly, "You've a letter for me, I believe." Brian surrendered the parchment. "I don't blame you for being angry, Jocelyn. And before God I do hope I'm wrong. But if I'm not, you know that you've only to send for help. You're Montagne and that does mean a very great deal." "You're wrong, Brian. I'm de Langley now." And with that Jocelyn took the letter, putting the door between them as quickly as possible. But as she walked down the passageway, she realized she had been lying to herself. Brian could still hurt her. She wasn't afraid of Robert. That talk of his wife's death she discounted without a thought. No, it was that other that had left her so shaken. Her husband was a man who quite obviously enjoyed women. He made no secret of the fact that he enjoyed her. She had begun to take that fact for granted, to think of their mutual passion as some miraculous gift. Now she found herself considering the possibility that Robert's desire might be a
temporary thing, his pleasure in her companyin bed and outjust a matter that would run its course with time. And that left her shaken. She opened her bedchamber door, frowning at Adelise's letter as if it had suddenly become a serpent. "I was about to come fetch you, madam." Jocelyn jerked up her head. She hadn't expected Robert here yet, had thought he would still be downstairs. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Nothing." She forced a smile. "How very glad I am that you're home, Robert." He held out his arms and she walked into them. He drew her against him, kissed her in a way that made her whole world begin to spin. He might have held many women like this, kissed them all like this, but she was his wife. Surely that did mean something. He broke off the kiss, nodding toward the letter she held. "If you want to read it, I don't mind waiting a few minutes." He grinned. "You'd best make it quick, though. I didn't ride all that way through the cold to fall asleep here beside the fire like a man in my dotage." Jocelyn pitched Adelise's letter onto a nearby table. She didn't want to read it. Not now anyway. "It can wait until morning. Right now I just want to be with you." He grinned and drew her with him through the doorway and into their inner chamber. "Would that every one of your wishes could be granted so easily, madam." He stripped off his tunic and shirt while Jocelyn stared pensively into the fire, slowly unlacing her bliaut. He stepped up behind her, catching her shoulders and drawing her back against him. "What is it, sweet? Just what is it your brother said? That is it, isn't itsomething he's said?" She turned in his arms, pressing her cheek against his bare shoulder. "It's nothing that even deserves to be repeated." "It does if it is troubling to you." She shook her head, still reveling in the feeling that came over her whenever Robert took her in his arms. If the day ever came that he no longer wanted her, she wasn't sure she would still want to live. She thought of the unknown Marguerite, wondering now what the woman had been like. She had thought Robert had loved his wife, but had he? Brian didn't seem to think so. She frowned. The woman had been a reputed beauty. Had Robert wanted her, been hot for her, too, at first? Had the woman gone through her own private hell when the heat between them began to cool? Robert had unpinned her hair, sifting it through his fingers in a way that was often a prelude to their lovemaking. "Did you love her, Robert?" she asked suddenly. "Your first wife?" As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. She didn't want to know.
A jangling, unnerving silence stretched between them. "I did," he said at last. "I didn't know any better at the time." She drew in her breath. "Was it a love-match then?" she asked, unable to let it lie. "I suppose so." He shrugged. "A lust-match more aptly. I was a very green eighteen, she a stunning and worldly widow of twenty-two when we met. She knew more of the world of pleasure than I'd ever dared dream existed, and as a student I was most extraordinarily apt. I thought the sun did rise and set in her, and yes... for a time, I did fancy myself very much in love." He was quiet for several moments, and Jocelyn didn't utter a sound. She was listening to the accelerating, unsteady cadence of his heart, damning herself for asking a question so certain to hurt them both. "But she was heartless, shallow..." He gave a low, bitter laugh. "Never let anyone tell you your sex is the weaker one, Jocelyn. My wife had a will of iron and a vicious, vindictive nature that would make the Angevins seem saints by comparison. My heaven quickly turned to hell, and what I called love became something else entirely. We tore at each other, punished each other for years." Jocelyn tightened her arms around him, but he released her and pulled away, moving toward the coffer and pouring himself a cupful of wine. She wanted to follow, to put her arms around him again but didn't dare. He took a long drink. "By the mercy of Christ, we were both put out of our misery," he said at last. "And I didn't kill her, just in case my dear brother-in-law has thrown that up to you tonight. Marguerite went to the devil where she belonged. I may have wished her there, but I didn't send her." He took another drink, staring darkly down into the cup. "Not that I didn't think about it once Or twice if we're being strictly honest. I don't mourn my first wife if that's what you fear, Jocelyn." He glanced back, said sharply, "Is that what he's said? Is that what Brian has told you?" She shook her head. "Just that she was very beautiful. That she wasn't able to hold your interest for long." His eyes narrowed, held far more understanding than Jocelyn could have wished. "I begin to think your brother and Marguerite might have been a good match. That's the kind of thing she'd have thought of." Jocelyn forced a smile. "No. Brian does claim only concern for me." She turned away then, forced herself to continue undressing with what she hoped were calm and measured movements. "Perhaps it's even true in a twisted kind of way. He's obsessed with the Montagne name, with the importance of blood ties." "Your brother is obsessed with lands," Robert responded wryly. "My lands, in case you haven't noticed. I hope you are wise enough to bear that in mind, to weigh it alongside whatever else he may have said. He may well be trying to drive a wedge between us." "I know that," Jocelyn said. She slipped into bed, shivering, watching her husband drinking moodily across the room. And of a sudden she wanted to know if Brian had lied, sensed somehow he had not. "Did you really have her locked up?" He didn't pretend not to know what she meant. "I did."
"Why." "Because I caught her trying to turn Geis Castle over to the Angevins." "Merciful God!" Robert tossed off the last of his wine and turned, eyebrows lifting sardonically. "So much for love and honor and loyalty among your sex, sweetheart." He was staring at her so angrily, so bitterly, that for a moment Jocelyn was almost afraid of him. "We're not all like that, Robert." "No?" "No!" He drew in a deep breath. "No, of course not I'm sorry, Jocelyn, but you've called up old demons tonight." He stared at her, then turned away. "Yes, I locked her up, and I'd have kept her caged forever if she hadn't died so soon after. And I fear, I do sometimes fear that I might have killed her myself... if she'd lived." Jocelyn didn't say anything. In the face of such overwhelming bitterness she didn't dare. He lifted his cup in a cynical salute. "So much for love, and I've known it in all of its twisted, treacherous forms. Even when it's good, it's not worth the having, it is usually only a prelude to betrayal or pain. You can believe me when I tell you, Jocelyn, I'd rather by far have what we have together." She held herself very still. "What do we have, Robert?" "Desire. Respect. Genuine liking one of the other. Qualities a good marriage, a good partnership, are based onqualities far more important, more lasting than that twisted, treacherous thing those ridiculous troubadours do sing of as love. Love... sweet merciful Christ! What do those fools know of it, anyway?" He blew out the oil lamp, stripped off the rest of his clothing and slid into bed. Jocelyn lay beside him in the darkness, holding her breath. He was tense, angry. She could hear his unsteady breathing, could feel the tension in the lean, powerful body she knew now more intimately than she knew her own. She ached to reach out and hold him, but she was afraid even to try. He didn't love her. He had made that quite clear. Gathering up her courage, she reached for him anyway. "I'm sorry, Robert. What's past is past.I should never have asked about it." To her surprise, his arms went around her, drawing her tightly against him. He might not love her but he did seem to need her, at least for tonight. But as he held her, kissed her, as the passion between them surged and burned and was sated, Jocelyn ached with a knowledge that was difficult to bear. A few weeks ago she would have been overjoyed to hear that Robert de Langley liked and respected her, that he desired her as a man desires a woman. A
few weeks ago she would have been thrilled with even the tiniest crumb of his affection. But the serpent had entered Eden and she had eaten of the forbidden fruit. Now liking and desire and respect weren't enough. Not nearly enough!
Twenty Jocelyn awoke to the sound and smell of a new fire blazing on the hearth, of her husband dressing hurriedly in the icy chill of their bedchamber. She pushed up on one elbow, sleepily offering her aid. Robert was already drawing his tunic over his shirt. "No, sweet, I'm dressed already. There's no need for you to get up till the room warms a bit." She snuggled gratefully back under the furs that warmed their bed. It had been four days since Brian had arrived, watching and prying into the happenings at Belavoir, pretending a sudden amiability she didn't trust He had left just yesterday morning, taking his smooth smiles, his unsettling brotherly concerns with him. She was glad he was gone for even here at Belavoir he made her uncomfortable, made her feel more like the outsider she'd been than the woman she'd become. Robert must have sensed her feelings, for he'd gone out of his way these last days to make her feel cherished and desirable. She thought of the passionate night they'd just spent and grinned, stretching lazily, like a contented cat. If her husband's interest was waning as Brian had predicted, he certainly had an odd way of showing it. "I'll be with Geoffrey at Leaworth Castle for most of the day," Robert was saying as he moved back across the room with his boots. He sat down on the bed to pull them on. "We're taking those new men we've trained for the garrison. I need to see to the condition of the walls as well. I want them reworked as soon as possible. They're crumbling in places and I want all our defenses repaired by spring if possible." He glanced down at her. "What do you plan on doing while I'm away?" Jocelyn stretched again and sat up. "It's only three days till Christmas, my lord. Do you really need to ask?" "I suppose not." Robert reached out, absently brushing a tendril of hair behind her ear. For a moment he looked thoughtful, sad almost. "The season is important to you?" "Certainly." Jocelyn smiled, wanting him to smile with her, aware of an odd pensiveness that came over him whenever the season was mentioned. "It will be our first Christmas together. And I do assure you, my lord, you'll never guess what your New Year's gifts will be." He did smile at that, ready to play the game. "What? A new destrier?" Jocelyn shook her head. "Alas, I fear I've not the seventy-odd pounds for so fine a creature as my lord of Belavoir requires." "Seventy pounds!" Robert whistled and lifted his eyebrows. "That would be an elegant animal, indeed, and a good waste of coins. You can get them more cheaply if you use your wits." He grinned. "I stole mine. If Henry of Anjou wears my ring, I do for certain ride his horse, madam. And
for all his faults and pretensions, the man is a right good judge of horseflesh." Jocelyn's happiness paled suddenly, at this reminder of her husband's enemy. She'd never had much interest in the wars that had raged through her childhood, yet now she was considering them in an entirely new light. Henry was busy for now with a war with the French king and his own brother, but if he ever came back to England, Robert would be pitted against him again. He had been beaten twice before, but Henry of Anjou or Henry Plantagenet, as he had taken to calling himself, was no longer a green boy. For all his youth, he was a battle-hardened commander, the recognized duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, count of Anjou and Maine. He was also the man who had disdained the sanctity of the Church, who had ordered her husband and several of his men burned alive. Jocelyn shivered as a chill passed over her. "What is it, sweet?" Robert slid his arms aroundher. "Are you cold?" She shivered again, pressing herself against him. "Yes." He chuckled. "I know a way to heat a room faster than any fire. What a pity I have to leave." Jocelyn met his eyes. Of a sudden she wanted to be in his arms, wanted to feel a part of him again. "Do you have to ride out this instant?" she murmured. "Could you not put the trip off for a bit? You might even consider it, oh, say an early New Year's gift." Robert caught his hands in her hair, tilting her face up for a kiss that became hotter, more demanding as the seconds slid by. "You are a brazen wench, madam. I do wonder if that's not why I like you so much." He pressed her back into the pillows, grinning. "Now, whose gift is this to be? Yours or mine?" Jocelyn reached up and traced his mouth with the tips of her fingers. "Both, my dear lord. That's the only way gifts should be given." *** "Well, my lord, what think you? Should we turn back?" Robert scowled and ducked his head against the slanting sting of the sleet. "Tell the men to fall out and find what shelter they can. We'll wait a bit. Perhaps this will stop." Ice peppered the ground, rattled eerily off naked tree trunks and branches as Geoffrey rode down the column of men. Robert waited, shivering despite his padded gambeson, armor, and heavy cloak. This autumn had been unusually cold, boding ill for a long, difficult winter to come. He was glad he would be spending it with Jocelyn in the warmth and comfort of Belavoir, could only wish he'd had such a place to take Adam last year. He had dreamed of his son again last night. Now the boy's image rose, beckoning, haunting as always. If he'd had a warm, dry place to take Adam last winter, perhaps his son might still be alive. Robert sucked in his breath as the familiar guilt swept through him. He tried not to think of Adam, tried
to keep from second guessing that past terrible year of his life. But it was harder to keep his mind from the boy as the days raced toward Christmas. This time last year he'd been hard at work carving a crude wooden horse for his son's New Year's gift. Adam had been thrilled with the toy, had slept with it, eaten with it, refused ever to be parted from it. Robert closed his eyes against the memories, fighting his last bitter recollection of the toy. He had buried it with his son. It was all in the world he'd had to leave him. Dear merciful Father God, you who did give up your only son for love of us... help me to understand, to accept... But the familiar prayer brought no comfort and Robert opened his eyes, staring bitterly out at the falling sleet. It was a weakness, he knew, this caring so muchone he tried not to reveal to others. Other men suffered losses, sired and buried sons with scarcely the blink of an eye. Children died every day, it was a fact of life. That's why so many were born. Yet he had sired only one. Marguerite had seen to that. And even that one... He willed his mind to end the memories, fought off the choking, galling bitterness they evoked. Instead he conjured a picture of Jocelyn as he'd left her this morning warm and contented and drowsy with their lovemaking. Being with her, sharing the happiness she found so easily these days, eased the aching emptiness his son's death had left. And of a sudden he wanted to be back at Belavoir with his wife, wanted to be celebrating instead of dreading this season of holiness and joy. Besides, the weather was bad and growing worse and there was no pressing reason for him to be riding into a storm and away from sure comfort. He swung Belisaire around, forcing the reluctant stallion out of the shelter of trees. "Judas, only fools would be about in this weather!" he called, earning a relieved laugh from a huddle of foot soldiers close enough to hear, "Let's get ourselves back to a roof and warm fire." A cheer went up, and the men began to scramble back onto the trail, relieved to put the biting wind at their backs and head home. But when they reached Belavoir, Jocelyn wasn't there to greet them. "Oh, my lady did ride out to Harclay this afternoon. To make sure all was gathered for the Yule season," a passing servant told Robert. "She said she'd be back before nightfall, my lord." Robert was hard-pressed to keep from swearing as he sought out Sir Edmund Hervey to find out the particulars of his wife's trip. For once he wished Jocelyn wasn't so mindful of her duties. A treacherous mix of sleet and snow was falling, and the night would come early because of the heavy sky. But what Sir Edmund had to say didn't make him feel any easier. "The lady Jocelyn did ride out after dinner with a half-dozen men, my lord." Robert stared at his man, incredulous. "You let your lady ride out with no more than six men?" "She was only riding to Harclay, my lord," the man said, faltering at Robert's black look. "The woods hereabouts are safe enough. Besides, Sir Aymer did go with her." But Robert was already shouting for fresh horses and men. Harclay was only a few leagues away and the home woods were probably safe. Still he felt a rising fear, a sensation of panic that swept all common sense aside. It was bitterly cold and the woods would soon be dark. There were a great many things that
could happen to a poorly-protected woman out there, and he was a man with bitter enemies. He swung onto his mount and spurred toward the gate, not even bothering to see if his men were ready to follow. Nothing would happen to Jocelyn, of course. She was probably on her way back right now. He was being a fool and he knew it. But he had lost Adam. He couldn't lose Jocelyn. Not Jocelyn. Please, God, not Jocelyn! *** "Is this what you had in mind, my lady?" Jocelyn sat in the workshop of Edwin the leather worker, a freeholder working a small piece of land near the manor of Harclay. The man was well known for his skill in ornamental work, had even done some pieces for the church in Shrewsbury. She ran her fingers along the elaborate tracery work of a sword belt and scabbard she had commissioned. The piece was a work of artwell worth the length of velvet cloth she had bartered in exchange. She handed it back across the table. "It's magnificent," she said. "It does look fit for a king." The man gave her a wide, gap-toothed grin. "I'm glad it pleases, lady. I've worked day and night to get it right. But I did leave these spaces here at the top for working the lions as you mentioned." He showed her the blank space on the scabbard facings, pointed to another across the back of the belt. Jocelyn nodded, handing him the pattern she had drawn from memorytwo rearing, scuffling lions she had seen once in an illustrated manuscript. She had worked the device in gold thread on a new tunic of crimson velvet she was making for Robert. Men were beginning to wear such devices, to claim them for their house. Her father had a boar painted upon his shield, her brother wore them embroidered on his surcoats. "I'm sorry to be so slow in bringing the drawing, but my lord has been ever about the keep these last days. It's a surprise," she added, smiling. "His New Year's gift. Are you certain the piece can be finished in time?" The man studied the pattern. "I'll have it done and back to you the day after tomorrow. 'Tis an honor to do this for my lord. You can be certain I'll finish it all with my own hand." Jocelyn's eyes went a little anxiously to Aymer Briavel. She had never felt such a mix of joy and anxiety in planning anything in all her life. "Will he like it, do you think? Perhaps I should have waited, let Robert choose the design." "He will like it, madam." Aymer grinned. "Is that the eighth or ninth time now I've told you that?" Jocelyn laughed a little with pleasure, with the excitement of her surprise. "The tenth, I think, but who's counting?" Aymer began to laugh, too, but his laughter was abruptly cut off as the heavy curtain separating Edwin's workshop from the rest of the cottage was abruptly jerked back.
Jocelyn swung around, stunned to see her husband standing behind her, ashen-faced, sword gripped tightly in one hand. "Robert!" Aymer pushed back from the table, upending his bench with a crash, as he sought to find his tongue. "Robert... good Christ, man, where did you" "Just what the bloody hell are you doing here?" Robert snarled, cutting him off. "We've been scouring the countryside fearing you both dead or worse! Is this the way you protect my wife, Briavel? You leave that pitiful escort at Harclay and slip off here alone where anything could happen. I should have you beaten. By the Mass, I think I'll do it myself!" Aymer's face flushed dull red. "Robert, I can" "Don't try!" Robert bit out. "Don't even try." He was furious, he realized, so out of control he was shaking. He had reached Harclay trying to convince himself that he was being ridiculous, that his worry about his wife was for naught. But then no one could find Jocelyn, and Aymer was missing as well. By the time a serf had reported seeing the horses, Robert had been in a cold and deadly rage. And for a moment, for just a moment when he'd heard that low, husky laughter coming from behind the drawn curtain he hadn't been sure just what he would find. "Robert, listen!" Jocelyn reached for his arm, but he shook her off. "I'll have something to say to you later, madam," he ground out. "Don't tempt me now. Not now, or you'll regret it." "Robert, it's a present. Your New Year's gift," she blurted out. "Robert, it's my fault.Mine! I asked Sir Aymer to bring me, to help judge the work. I wanted it to be a secret, didn't want anyone else to know. We were so close to the keep, I didn't think it unsafe." Robert drew in a long steadying breath. For the first time, he noticed the beautifully wrought scabbard and sword belt lying on the table, the obviously terrified stranger a few steps away. It was innocent, all entirely innocent. And he had just relived some of the worst moments of his life. "Robert, it's my fault," Jocelyn said again. "I did ask Sir Aymer to bring me. I didn't think you would ever even know." His eyes narrowed sharply. "And that makes it all right, I suppose." "No! No, of course not." Jocelyn was staring at him in bewilderment. "I just wanted it to be a surprise." He was beginning to feel a little sick with the rush and churn of emotions: fear, rage, jealousy, and overwhelming relief. He frowned at his wife, tried to speak in a calmer voice. "Do you know that the weather is growing worse by the minute? The road is already icy, and it'll be dark before you can get back." "I've ridden in worse weather than this, and it isn't far. Truly Robert, I'd never have had you worry."
Robert glanced toward Aymer. The man was grim-faced and silent, staring back with dark, disbelieving eyes. A surge of blood heated Robert's face. Aymer knew. Aymer knew what he'd suspected! And suddenly it was all too much. He felt overwhelmed and bewildered by the very intensity of his emotions, by all his rage and shame and relief. And for one of the few times he could ever remember, he had absolutely no idea what to do. He spun on his heel, began walking toward the door. "I'll leave the rest of my escort. Get her home in one piece, Briavel." "Robert, wait!" Jocelyn started to follow, but Aymer caught her arm. "Wait, madam. Give him time." "But I still don't think he understands!" "He understands, madam, but his temper is a hot one. Just give it time to cool." Jocelyn was still stunned by the swift and unexpected turn of events. "But why? Why was he so angry?" "It was concern for you, lady. In truth, I shouldn't have brought you here alone. I didn't think." "That's ridiculous! We're scarcely a stone's throw away from Harclay." Jocelyn's eyes narrowed, she hesitated, caught her breath. "He didn't think... he couldn't possibly think we... we" She broke off as Aymer flushed again and glanced away. She started to say something and stopped, realizing just in time that Edwin the leather worker was watching in fascination. She turned to the man, managed to smile and apologize for the misunderstanding and make arrangements for the delivery of the scabbard. But as she made the cold, miserable ride back to Belavoir, Jocelyn's hurt and disbelief were beginning to give way to anger. How could Robert be so foolish as to think she could lie with him half the night then ride off on a secret tryst with one of his men, if that was, indeed, what he had suspected. And how dare he think so little of her! She reached Belavoir and went swiftly into the hall, shaking the snow from her hair and cloak, searching the room for her husband. The servants were moving about the trestle tables, serving a hasty, belated supper to all who had assembled. An unnatural hush lay over the room. Robert wasn't there, but it was obvious he had been, that he still must be in a tearing rage. Jocelyn frowned and headed directly toward the stairs. She knew she was a magnet for all eyes, knew and didn't care. Sir Geoffrey rose, intercepting her as she walked by. "He's gone upstairs. I would wait a bit were I you." "He's being ridiculous!" she snapped. "I'm going to tell him so." "Lady, it's Obvious you've quarreled about something. I know it's not my place to speak... still, I've known him many a year. I would tell you to let him cool for a bit." "He's been 'cooling' as you say, all the way back from Harclay in the snow," Jocelyn retorted sharply.
"I'm going to tell him some things he needs to hear." Geoffrey said no more and Jocelyn made her way between the tables, unaware of the grins among her husband's men as she swept through the hall. She shoved open the door to the solar and stalked inside. Robert was standing across the room by the fire. His surcoat was wet and rumpled, he hadn't even dried his wet hair. "You're angry still," she announced without preamble. "Well, so am I!" He turned, lifting one tawny eyebrow."You are angry, madam?" "Yes! Did you really think I might be off on a tryst with Sir Aymer?" He wasn't prepared for a frontal attack. "Is that what Briavel told you?" "No. He wouldn't speak of it. But it is the only thing I could think of that might account for the unbelievable way you behaved." "You behaved in a rather singular fashion yourself, madam. Leaving your escort at Harclay, slipping off alone with a man without telling a soul you were going. What was I supposed to think?" "Obviously the very worst thing possible!" she snapped. "Did it never occur to you that I might be off about some legitimate business? That I might have sought Sir Aymer's help? Did it never occur to you that I might actually honor my husband and the vows I did swear before God?" Robert turned silently back to the fire and Jocelyn frowned at his back, adding acidly, "I suppose I should have chosen the destrier for you after all. But then there would have been the horse dealers, the grooms, any number of men I might have spoken to, men you would have imagined me lying with!" "It's possible. You do seem to like it well enough, madam." Jocelyn sucked in her breath. The thrust was bitter, unexpected. It cut to her soul as he had obviously meant it to. She reached out and steadied herself against the table. This couldn't be the man she knew, the man she had lain with and laughed with and loved so very much only this morning. "With you, yes, Robert. But only with you. Though never again quite so much as before, I suspect." She turned and took two steps, reaching blindly for the door. Geoffrey was right. She should have waited. Her father had only beaten her; he had never mastered this lethal way to strike where she was most vulnerable. "Jocelyn... wait!" The doorlatch was a blur. She found it, lifted it. But Robert was already pinning the door with his shoulder. "Jocelyn, wait. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that." She drew in her breath, blinking rapidly to bring the door into focus. "They told me not to come up here, but I was so foolish I wasn't even afraid. I doubted you could hit any harder than my father. I was wrong." "Jocelyn, I'm sorry. Sweet Christ, I am sorry!" Robert caught her rigid shoulders, pulling her into his arms. Whatever had possessed him to say such a thing? He hadn't meant it, not any of it. But he'd been
so angry. He'd had no idea how much he cared for this woman until today, until he'd thought he might lose her. "Jocelyn, forgive me. I wasn't thinking, sought only to hurt. It's the way I'm used to striking, sweetheart. Fast and hard, seeking only to win. Marguerite and I used to go many a vicious round." "I amnot Marguerite!" she bit out. "I know." Robert swallowed hard, holding her stiff body against his, pressing her head into his shoulder. It was easy to strike out in his anger and fear, to wound his wife because he was angry with himself. And he was suddenly, overwhelmingly ashamed. "By the Mass, I do know that, Jocelyn. And I thank God every day." "How could you... even think such a thing?" "I didn't. Honestly I didn't." She lifted her chin, eyes flashing furiously from beneath thick wet lashes. "Then before God, Robert de Langley, why on earth did you say it?" He hesitated, stared down at her. Because I do care for you too much. "Because I was so terribly worried when I learned you'd gone out with only a handful of men," he admitted instead. "Because I was imagining you dead at every turn in the road. Because I was recalling every appalling atrocity committed against every woman I've seen in my twenty-odd years of fighting. Because I was thinking of enemies like Chester who would give a great deal to have my wife in their hands." He hesitated, held her tightly. "Because I was so very angry with you for making me so afraid." Jocelyn was staring at him thoughtfully, her eyes still swimming with unshed tears. "You were that worried about me?" "Yes. Don't ever go out with less than a score of my men as an escort. And from now on when I'm away, let no one inside Belavoir save the king or one of my own castellans. You can pretend to be away. Let Sir Edmund deny the gate. You could hold out indefinitely here with only a handful of men, but if anyone ever got inside the keep..." Robert tightened his arms around her, burying his face against her hair. The thought of all that could happen to her made him physically sick to his stomach. "In truth, madam, I was worried, and that is verily the only excuse I have for my unpardonable behavior both this afternoon and tonight." Jocelyn drew in a long, shuddering breath, relaxing a little against him. "I suppose we've just had our first fight. I don't like it. Let's not do it again, Robert." He kissed her forehead, her closed eyelids. "No." "I'll go down now and get you something to eat." She opened her eyes, gave him a wry smile. "And let them all know I've survived the ordeal." He kissed his way to the corner of her mouth, feeling a wave of desire sweep through him that was so
urgent, so unexpected, it washed away all his anger and fear. He wanted,needed, the reassuring feel of his wife in his arms, against him, beneath him. "I'm not hungry just now. Later perhaps," he murmured, covering her mouth with his own. Jocelyn's lips parted beneath the pressure of his, but she stiffened, as if she were afraid to let herself go. Robert broke off, cursing himself for ever showing his wife that this beautiful thing between them might be used as a weapon. He was no better than Marguerite after all. "I'm sorry, Jocelyn. Before God, I am. What I said was unforgivable, meant only to hurt. There is nothing that pleases me more than being with you, the pleasure we find in each other. It's a gift. An exceedingly rare gift. But I will understand if you don't wish to... to be with me now." She stared at him, then smiled and reached up, slid her fingers gently through his damp hair. "The amazing thing is that I do, Robert. I want very much to be with you." He kissed her again, slowly, with all the tenderness he knew how to put into a kiss. It was amazing she could still want him, that she could forgive him so easily as this. But that night as Jocelyn slept in his arms, Robert lay staring, wide-eyed, at the dying fire. Since he'd been forced to take a wife, he had wanted a woman who stirred him, an eager bedmate, a woman of strength and courage, one he could trust and respect. He'd found that and more in Jocelyn Montagne. He had found a woman who was beginning to touch his heart. Now he lay awake wondering if he hadn't been a fool, if he wouldn't have been a great deal better off had he settled for her sister instead.
Twenty-One "Are you really going to Leaworth tomorrow?" "I am." Jocelyn frowned as she watched her husband undressing before the fire. He removed his beautiful new swordbelt, laying it carefully aside. "But Epiphany is in two days. Can you not wait until after that?" Robert smiled, a little distantly. "I'll hear mass with my castellan and his household. You need not fear for my soul, madam." Jocelyn turned away. It was her marriage she feared for, not his soul. "How long will you be gone?" "I don't know. It will depend on the weather, on how the work on the wall progresses. One week... two." He shrugged. "I'll send word." He drew off the new crimson tunic she had given him, folding it carefully, laying it away in his coffer. He had been lavish in his praise of her gifts, chuckling over her idea of the lions while quite obviously touched by the tribute. His gift to her had been carefully chosen as well: an exquisitely beautiful ring of looped and beaten gold. The unusual Celtic design framed a large oval stone of a clear fiery amber. She had laughed when she saw it, had told him the stone reminded her of his eyes.
They had shared a peaceful and happy Yuletide, had attended mass together twice a day, yet ever since that night of their fight, she had experienced the uncomfortable, nagging sensation that something was wrong, that her husband was drawing away. There was nothing Jocelyn could put her finger on, no grievance of which she could complain. Robert was as thoughtful a husband as ever, as tender and ardent a lover. Yet their relationship was definitely changing, and she was beginning to be afraid. And never more so than today, when he had announced in an offhand way that he might be away several weeks. She drew in a deep breath, daring to venture where she most feared to tread. "I wish you wouldn't leave without first telling me what I've done wrong." Robert glanced up. "What?" "Things are different between us. They have been since that night we fought. Surely you don't still think I went out with Sir Aymer to betray you." His eyes narrowed darkly. "He would be dead by now ifI did." "Then why do you treat me as if I've sinned some great sin against you?" "I wasn't aware that I did." "It's in your eyes when you look at me, in your hands when you touch me." Jocelyn hesitated, tried to put the indescribable into words. "It's as if you aren't really there. As if you do purposely hold me at arm's length." Robert forced a smile. "Now I know you're only having an attack of low spirits. It would be exceedingly difficult to do many of the things we do at arm's length, sweetheart." Jocelyn shook her head, refusing to be diverted. "It is even between us in bed, Robert. I've sensed it there most of all. Is that why you wish to go away? Are you..." She steadied herself, fought the sudden tightness in her throat. "Are you growing weary of me?" Robert stared at his wife, hating the strained, anxious look in her eyes, the look he had put there. He was hoping she hadn't noticed any change, but Jocelyn seemed sensitive to his slightest mood. It would make things difficult, for he cared for his wife, he didn't want to hurt her. But he wasn't about to let himself repeat the mistake of caring for her too much. "Jocelyn, love, no man lies with his wife most every nightsometimes more than once in a nightif he is weary of her. That's a fact that seems to have escaped your notice. I do lust after you every bit as much as I did that first night we met." He grinned. "I'm only thankful we have an outlet sanctioned by Holy Church. I would be ever in confession otherwise." She was still staring at him, those huge green-gold eyes searching, as if she could read all the secrets of his soul. And for the first time since their marriage, he felt a momentary flicker of doubt, wondered if she might not have gifts beyond mere mortals. "Things have been different this last week, Robert, you cannot convince me they've not," she returned. "I would prefer to hear the truth, even if it causes hurt. You've given me more than I ever dared dream
existed. If you're about to take it away again, I would really rather know." Robert hesitated. What could he say? The season had been painful. He ached for his dead son, had been purposely holding a part of himself back from Jocelyn. And he did wish to be away from her, to sort out his needs, get himself more in hand. But he didn't want to leave her wondering, torturing herself with doubts and fears, blaming herself for things beyond her control. "You say I've been different," he began cautiously. "Well, perhaps it's true. This Yule season has been a difficult one." "Because of me?" "No, madam. You have been the good part." Robert squatted down and poked at the fire, choosing his words cautiously. Perhaps she would understand, if he told her some part, at least. "I lost my only son months ago, and it is a wound that still bleeds, Jocelyn. Because of that unnatural bitch of a mother he had, I had kept the boy with me as much as possible since he was a babe." He glanced up. "You might say, as some did, that I doted on the boy to an unnatural extent, more than most fathers, certainly. But Adam was my joy and laughter, my reason for living through a long and difficult period of my life. I keep remembering his excitement last Christmastide, wondering what he would be doing if he were here with me now. He would have been five by now, and he did always wish to see Belavoir." He hesitated, drew in a deep breath. "It is... difficult," he said, breaking off. Jocelyn sat for a moment, watching the play of firelight across her husband's handsome, high-cheekboned face. He was a man who cared deeply and passionately for many things; it was one of the traits she had so admired from the first. But she had never understood that so well as now, had never really realized how much she loved him. "It would be wrong to say I understand your grief," she said softly. "I pray God I never be called on to face the loss of a child. But when I lost my mother, I know that I wished to die for a while. I railed so at God, the priest claimed it was a miracle I wasn't struck dead." She frowned at the ring Robert had given her, twisted it on her finger as she sent her thoughts ranging back through the years. "It was all so very sudden, you see, and at ten I was so unprepared for the shattering turns life can take in an instant. For months I would hear a voice or a laugh and look up, expecting to see her coming toward me. It was so very difficult to accept that God could have taken her, that He could have left me behind at Warford with... with nothing, with only my own miserable existence to drag out. "For years it was difficult," she continued. "I was forced to accept the loss, but the hurt didn't fade. There was no one who really cared if I lived or died, and that is a hard truth for a child to understand." She hesitated, looked up and said simply, "But then you came to Belavoir, Robert, and the waiting, the existence were all well worth it. And I was glad, so very glad I didn't die when I was ten." Robert stared at his wife. That was as close to a declaration of love as Jocelyn had ever come. He had thought he didn't want to hear such a thing, but he found himself grateful, comforted in some unexpected way. "Thank you for not just saying there will be other children. Others have said as much, meaning well."
"God willing there will be," she responded. "But there will never be another Adam de Langley just as there will never be another Gwendyth Montagne. We're different people because of them, and who's to say that isn't the very purpose for which they were made? We must go on with our own lives, in any case, try to find what happiness we can for the time we have. I'll pray for your son, though, as I do pray for my mother every day." Robert moved toward the bed and sat down, pulling his wife into his arms. For a long time he held her, saying nothing, and they stared together at the shivering flames across the room. "I'm glad, too, that you didn't die when you were ten," he said at last, very softly. There was no distance between them that night as they lay together. Jocelyn had never realized before how very deeply one person could love another, and she gave all of herself, everything she knew how to give, to her husband that night. Robert was tender, loving, exquisitely gentle in return. And to Jocelyn, her husband's words and the tenderness that went with them were enough to allow her to bid him a satisfied good-bye on the morrow, to spend the next week in contentment, waiting for him to return to Belavoir. Robert might not realize he loved her, but she was certain he was beginning to. No man could behave with a woman like that for the sake of mere liking and desire. She had only to be patient. He would realize it himself in good time. But her contentment was about to be shattered, the news coming toward her on the swift feet of a reeling, half-frozen messenger from the south. The man carried the insignia of a lung's marshal and Jocelyn ordered the gates opened at once. The man was spent, his mount stumbling, almost foundered. He slid from the saddle, almost sinking to his knees as Sir Edmund Hervey caught him. "Lady, I bear an urgent message for Robert of Belavoir from His Grace, King Stephen," he called out. "My husband is away, but I'll send for him at once," Jocelyn returned. "Come inside and warm yourself." The man shook his head. "I must ride on to reach him. We've no time to waste. Henry of Anjou landed at Wareham on Epiphany with some thirty or more ships full of men. He's made it already as far as Devizes. It's of the utmost importance that your lord march at once!" Jocelyn stared at the man in disbelief."Henry?But that's impossible! He is... he is still fighting a war with France!" The man turned, reaching up to drag himself into thesaddle. "Not that son of the devil. He is here, madam, here in England! They do say demons transported him across the Channel on the very wings of one of the worst gales in ten years." Jocelyn drew in her breath, forcing herself to think coherently. "Wait, sir, your mount is spent. You'll not make two leagues. If I leave now I can reach my husband before dark, and we can return by tomorrow. You must eat, catch your breath and then my man here will find you a fresh mount. You may ride on with your news to the other lords here in the west." The man glanced at his horse, then nodded, stepping forward to hand Jocelyn the parchment bearing Stephen's seal. "You're right, lady. I'll never make Montagne on this animal."
And in scarcely a quarter-hour, Jocelyn found herself dressed in her warmest gown and a heavy, fur-lined cloak Robert had given her, riding out at the head of some two dozen mounted men. Sir Edmund had tried hard to dissuade her from going, so too had Aymer Briavel. But Jocelyn was adamant. She couldn't sit idly by, waiting and worrying. She was determined to reach Robert, to spend every second they had left together before he rode south. It was impossible and terrifying that the Angevin devil could have landed in England. Everyone had thought him safely embroiled in his affairs on the Continent, that there would be a few more years peace, at least. As she rode, Jocelyn tried to focus her mind on familiar thoughts of workthe clothing, weapons and food that would have to be collected and packed, the enormous effort required to get her husband and his men off to war. But as the long cold miles stretched behind her, she found she could think of only two things. Henry of Anjou claimed he would be king of England. And he wanted her husband dead! They rode hard for Leaworth Castle, but the thick, clinging mud slowed their pace to a crawl in places and every rain-swollen stream caused a major delay. Darkness caught them still a long way from the castle with a gray, wind-torn afternoon giving way to rain and a bitingly cold January night. Jocelyn huddled in her cloak, gritting her teeth against her misery. Her hands were so numb she could scarcely cling to the reins and she had long since ceased to feel her feet. "My lady!" Jocelyn turned. Sir Aymer headed up her escort. He was riding toward her out of the dark. "My lady, it's still too far to Leaworth, but the manor of Littlefield is only a few minutes away beyond this hill. It's a small place, will be but meager shelter, but we'll be able to get both the men and horses out of this wet." The disappointment was bitter, but Jocelyn agreed. If they pushed on, they would only be courting disaster. Still, it was difficult to curl up alone behind the blanket screening her corner pallet in Littlefield's hall, to know that she was wasting one of the last few nights she and Robert might have together. One of the last nights they might ever have. She closed her eyes against the darkness, fought the dangerous, sweeping panic that rose over her in waves. Robert would be ashamed of her if ever he learned her fears. She was a warrior's wife. She was stronger than this, wiser, too. She would have to do better. But it was so dark tonight, so cold here on the floor alone with only one blanket. Jocelyn bit her lip with her shivering, pressed the ring Robert had given her against her cheek. And for the first time she understood what a truly terrible thing it could be to love. *** Night shadows still cloaked the land when the Belavoir party was back on the road the next morning. The bitter cold had frozen the mud and they went swiftly, the hooves of their horses making noisy crackling sounds in the ice-rimmed puddles between the ruts. Sir Aymer recognized the men on watch in Leaworth's gatehouse, and they were passed inside the walls
without fanfare. Jocelyn slipped from her mount, not waiting for the others, and ran swiftly up the stairs and into the hall. Only a handful of men were awake when she entered. Most were still sleeping in the side aisles of the hall or ranged around the raised central hearth. A few sleepyservants were setting out pitchers of ale and watered wine on one table with some leftover bread from the night before. She recognized several of the men from Belavoir, but Robert wasn't there. She swept past the table, saw one of the men gasp and blink as if she were an apparition. "Lady! Christ's mercy, where did you spring from?" he gasped. "Belavoir, by way of Littleton," she called over one shoulder, already heading for the lord's solar in back of the hall. "We are weary and frozen and so very glad to have reached you here." "Lady, wait! I'll fetch my lord." But Jocelyn had already reached the door. There were no private upstairs apartments at Leaworth, only the usual first floor storerooms below and the vast open hall with the lord's chamber partitioned off at the back. Jocelyn opened the door. She was surprised Robert was still abed for even on the bitterest days he rose early. "Robert," she called. "Robert..." She heard a rustle of bedding, the sound of a shifting mattress as someone abruptly sat up; She reached for the bed curtain and drew it back, found herself staring into the terrified eyes of a stranger. Jocelyn jerked back her hand as if she'd been bitten. There was a woman here. Some strange woman in Robert's bed! "What do you do here?" she snapped, unable for a moment to take in what she saw. And then the truth hit her, the very stupidity of the question making her reel. Awave of disbelief took her, sweeping her up and over a dizzying, sickening crest, flinging her down, far down, into a whirlpool of pain. Her eyes swept the woman. She was young, about the same age as Jocelyn herself, with honey-gold hair, blue eyes, and a shapely body hinted at beneath the bed coverings, a body Robert would have been enjoying while she'd lain awake last night worrying for him. Jocelyn stared for a moment, overwhelmed by a bitterness, a hatred so powerful she had never even dreamed such a feeling existed. "How dare you? How dare you come here to my husband's bed?" The woman clutched the blanket to her chest, far too terrified to speak. The polished hilt of a dagger shone dimly on the nearby coffer. Jocelyn snatched it up, had the point against the woman's throat before she knew what she was doing. "I asked a question," she hissed. "How came you to be here?" The woman was either too stupid or too frightened to speak. Jocelyn flicked the knife point. "I... I did but do as my master bade me. I fetched the lord wine, s-stayed as he asked. Have mercy, mistress! Oh, for the love of God, have mercy," the woman gasped, beginning to weep. "I but did as I was bade. That is all, lady. Oh, my lady, before God, I do swear. Have mercy!"
Aymer's voice came softly from behind them. Jocelyn hadn't even noticed the sound of the door. "Lady, you can't kill her. You know you can't." It was only then that Jocelyn became aware of the sound of excited male voices coming to her from the hall, of the noise and commotion in the doorway. She didn't turn around. "I'll do exactly as I wish," she countered coldly. "Get out and close the door." "Madam... lady, we did arrive unexpectedly. In truth we" "Get out, I said! Close the door and wait for me outside." Jocelyn drew in a steadying breath. She was growing sick to her stomach, sick with an ungovernable rage, an incredible disbelief, a certainty that she had strayed somehow into a nightmare. No, she couldn't kill this woman. But she wanted to. Sweet Mary intercede for her soul, for she did most assuredly want to! Aymer still hadn't moved. Jocelyn swallowed hard, willing her voice not to tremble, her hand not to shake. She lowered the knife. "I don't intend to kill her," she said. "The fault lies elsewhere, not with this pretty fool. Now go outside and tell our men to ready themselves. I'll not be staying here after all." For a moment more there was silence. Then the door closed softly as he left. Jocelyn stared at the woman. "What's your name?" "Edith," the woman said, still eyeing the knife. "Well, Edith, and where is my lord?" Edith had managed to stop her sobbing. "I... I don't know. He was gone when I waked." "And have you lain with him before?" Edith's eyes widened with horror. "Oh, no, mistress, never! Never before. I do swear on my soul!" Jocelyn nodded, then reached deliberately for the blanket, flinging it back to reveal the exquisitely-shaped female body she had expected, a body Robert would have caressed, enjoyed, used in the same way he used hers. She forced herself to imagine every sickening image she could call up. It was so very difficult to believe her husband had grown weary of her already, but she had to believe it. The evidence was here in living flesh. Men weren't expected to be faithful. She knew that. It was God's truth and man's defense, and any woman who thought differently was in for a great deal of hurt. Still, she hadn't expected the hurt to be so painful, hadn't expected to have to deal with it quite so soon. They had been married a month. Merciful Christ, only a month! And Robert had been within a half-day's ride of her. Her eyes moved over the woman again, noting the vivid blue eyes, the torrent of golden hair. Had
Robert played with it, run his fingers through it as he did hers? At the thought, something gave way inside her. Robert had lied. He had lied even in this small thing. He had said he favoreddark hair! And with that, Jocelyn caught up a fistful of the woman's hair, began hacking it off with the dagger. It was all over in an instant. A mass of hair littered the bed like a sea of shorn wheat, the bed where Robert had lain last night, where he had pleasured himself with this woman. Jocelyn stared at the sobbing, terrified creature on the bed, at the carpet of severed hair. All at once she was ashamed. She had never so abused her own power, had never taken out her anger on someone who couldn't fight back. Besides, the woman wasn't to blame. She was a servant; she would have had no choice if Robert had wanted her. Jocelyn fumbled for the costly ring her husband had given her. She owned little of any value herself, but this was certainly appropriate. She twisted the ring from her finger, pitched it down beside the woman on the bed. "For your loss," she said stiffly. "For the loss of your hair." The woman picked up the ring, stared at it and then at Jocelyn as if her mistress had truly gone mad. "I... I may keep this?" she asked, incredulous. Jocelyn was already moving toward the door. "Yes," she responded without looking back. She wanted to get out, had to get out quickly. But outside the door the men were all awake now, waiting for her to emerge. Jocelyn lifted her chin, moved directly toward Aymer Briavel as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "My lord is obviously still out... with Sir Geoffrey, I take it, since I've seen neither of them." He nodded, murmured cautiously, "One of the servants said they rode out with Sir William, the castellan here, and a half dozen men just at daybreak." Jocelyn lifted the king's letter from inside her bodice. She had hung it about her neck as protection from the weather. "Find your lord then and give him this. I've urgent work back at Belavoir and cannot wait. We must begin making preparations for war." Aymer was staring at her oddly. "I ride with you, madam. My lord would have my head if any ill did befall you." Jocelyn held his eyes, wondering now if that were really true. "I've two dozen armed men outside and am perfectly capable of getting back to Belavoir without you." "But any man here can deliver this, madam." She narrowed her eyes, remembering how outraged Robert had been when he had come upon her and Aymer together. Now she understood both his suspicions and his rage. She suspected that Robert would understand this as well. "Youdeliver it!" she said acidly. "I think it far more appropriate that way. In fact, I do order you to stay here, to deliver this letter personally to your lord."
Then she turned without waiting for his answer, crossing the room as men scrambled to get out of her path. She stepped outside, grateful for the rush of cold air against her flushed cheeks, her burning eyes. She had made fool enough of herself without this. She couldn't,wouldn't, cry! Aymer hurried to catch up with her as she went down the stairs. Her escort from Belavoir was already mounted and waiting in the bailey. The news must have spread like lightning for all were staring, either at her or too pointedly away. A groom held Jocelyn's mare as Aymer boosted her into the saddle. "Lady, if you'd but wait a bit. My lord will wish" "No!" It was difficult to retain her composure before all these curious eyes. This morning's scene would be remembered. It would be talked of, she knew, for a long time to come. She was only glad Robert had been away. If she'd found him with that woman... She lifted her head, gathered her reins and swung her mount toward the gate. The saving rage was gone. She was beginning to feel only hurt. "Lady, wait!" Aymer called. "Is there any message, anything you'd have me tell Lord Robert?" But Jocelyn didn't answer, didn't dare even look back. She kicked her mare into a canter as the gates swept past in a hot blur of tears. *** It was late afternoon when they came within sight of Belavoir. The day had warmed just enough to make the roads nearly impassible again, not enough to provide ease to the travelers. Jocelyn rode with her head down, her hands curled within the warm fur of her cloak. She was cold and miserable and the worst of it was that she knew she had none to blame for her disappointment this morning but herself. Robert had told her he liked and respected her, that he desired her. He had never said he loved her. In fact he'd made it painfully clear he did not. She was the one who had loved him too much, who had foolishly broken her heart for a simple infidelity no man would think twice over. But she was still reeling from the hurt, wondering how she would ever reconcile herself to the knowledge that her husband lay with other women when he chose, that he would probably have mistresses at all his castles as a great many lords did. Brian had warned her of what was coming and for once her brother had been right. Robert de Langley wasn't the man to be satisfied with any one woman for long. "My lady, there's a man riding toward us from the castle," one of the men called out. "I don't recognize him." Jocelyn was instantly surrounded by a host of grim-faced soldiers, hands riding sword hilts as they drew their mounts to a halt. She stared up the hill toward Belavoir. There was something familiar about both the man and the blooded bay stallion he sat. "It's all right," she said wearily, wondering just how much more she was going to be called on to endure
in one day. "You may be at ease. It is only my brother. He does mean us no harm."
Twenty-Two "Do you know what you're going to say?" Robert squinted up the hill toward the dark, forbidding bulk of Belavoir Castle. This was the first time in all his life he had ever dreaded reaching home. "No," he said baldly. "What can a man say when he's in the wrong?" Geoffrey didn't respond and they rode on through the darkness. "Is Aymer still in a pet?" Robert asked at last. "Aye, he wouldn't talk much even to me. He'll apologize for his outburst later, I'm sure." Geoffrey hesitateda moment, then added carefully, "Your men do like your lady wife, you know, Robert. They've taken to calling her the Lioness among themselves." Robert twisted in the saddle, and looked at his friend in astonishment. "Thewhat?" "The Lioness. It's a term of much admiration and respect, I believe." Despite all the grim happenings of the day, the heaviness and worry in his heart, Robert chuckled. "It fits her," he said. "By the Mass, it does fit. I only wish she might believe it when I tell her." He hesitated, wondering if Jocelyn would believe him about anything ever again. He had caused her a great deal of hurtand all for nothing. For a fruitless effort to distance himself with a woman he couldn't even bed until it was Jocelyn herself he had imagined in his arms. And the worst of it was that with Henry rampaging in England, he would have so little time to make this up, to ease a hurt he had never even meant his wife to know. He thought of his enemy, of the dangers he would be facing within a few days. This would be a personal war, both for him and for Henry. The Angevins had been trying to rid the world of him for years. He didn't believe they'd succeed, still he didn't want to ride off and leave his wife with only that last ugly scene at Leaworth for a memory. "You'd best hope she lets you get close enough to tell her anything at all," Geoffrey was saying, amusement in his voice for the first time all night. "Aymer did say in all seriousness that he feared for that poor woman's life this morning. You may have your lionesses, Robert. I'd not want a woman like that wroth with me!" They were nearing the great curtain wall and the outer gates of the castle. The drawbridge was already down in expectation of his arrival, but across the bridge the gates and portcullis were still shut. One of his men hailed the gatehouse and Robert stared thoughtfully up at the towering blackness of the walls. "I'd be well served, you know, if she kept me locked outside here to freeze." But the portcullis was lifting, the gates already swinging open. Robert nudged his mount forward onto the drawbridge. It was a measure of how deeply he cared for his wife that it was Jocelyn he'd been thinking about all day, Jocelyn he'd worried about instead of this latest astounding move by Henry of Anjou. The Angevin had done the one thing no one had expected, the one thing for which no one was prepared.
In the middle of a winter truce in one war, he had plunged into another across the sea. It was a brilliant stroke, and one he should have been expecting. Robert frowned as he rode into the bailey, thinking of the difficulties involved in fighting a protracted winter campaign, the difficulties for him especially since he had just retaken his lands. Since word of his resurrection had leaked out, men had been pouring into Belavoir seeking service. He had been expecting it, had counted on it to swell the thinning ranks of his veterans, and he had hoarded the coins won in those last raids across the Channel for the sole purpose of buying men. Still he didn't have nearly so many men as he would need and, despite Geoffrey's tireless efforts, they weren't as well trained as he would have liked. He glanced up from his musing, some inner sense calling a warning. The bailey was darker than usual. Only a few torches burned in the gatehouse. He lifted his head, narrowed his eyes, listening to survival instincts well honed through the years. "Ware, Geoffrey," he murmured, swinging Belisaire around, easing back toward the gate where his men were still filing in. A soldier stood back from the gate, holding a blazing torch well away from his face. This wasn't the usual practice at all. His men usually crowded close, seeking a word, a smile, some bit of notice, when he rode in. "Well, Piers, how goes the night?" he called. The man coughed, muttered thickly, "All's well, milord." All's well... but he had no man named Piers! With a sharp jab of his spurs, Robert crashed his stallion into the man, making a swift and bloody end to the imposter. "We are ambushed!" he shouted. "Ware, hold the gate!" It was only an instant of warning, but it was enough. Cold-numbed hands grappled clumsily for swords and shields, but his men were able to withstand that first rush of attackers swarming out from midnight shadows along the walls. Robert sent Belisaire careening into the thickest of the group, laying about with sword and shield, trusting his men to hold the gates as he'd ordered. They couldn't retreat for they'd lose Belavoir, leaving Jocelyn a helpless hostage. Still he knew better than to let his only escape route be cut off. The fighting surged and swirled and raged all around him. Swords clanged and screeched together, thudded against leather armor and clanged off chain mail. Men shouted and horses squealed with rage and pain. Robert hacked off a hand grasping at Belisaire's bridle, dismembered a sword arm thrusting for his stallion's belly. It was difficult to make out anything in this confusion of darkness and blood, still it sounded as if... as if He squinted into the writhing, whirling darkness and sucked in his breath. Sweet Christ, they were killing the horses! These men were killing the horses, putting his knights on foot, then overwhelming them with greater numbers. His knights had little room to maneuver anyway, while his infantry were spent from a
long, exhausting march in the cold and the mud. He glanced up at the grim black outline of the keep in a rage. His men didn't stand a chance hemmed up here like this, but sweet God in heaven, Jocelyn was in there somewhere! Belisaire trumpted with pain, lashed out as a sword point clipped his flank, as another laid open his shoulder. Robert loped off another arm, kicked free of his stirrup and sent a man reeling with a vicious, smashing boot to the face. Only a few yards away another horse went down, squealing and thrashing. Robert fought his way to the knight's rescue. "Fall back," he shouted, grabbing up his man and carrying him toward the gate. "Fall back. Out... get out if you can!" Just ahead he could see a handful of his men furiously defending the gate. The enemy were trying desperately to close off his retreat."De Langley," Robert shouted, plunging through toward the gate."To me! Out... out!" His men were hacking their way toward him, streaming through the gate and on to the safety outside. The fighting narrowed, intensified, as the entire struggle funneled down to this one narrow hole in the wall. Robert swung from the saddle, sending his stallion galloping through the gateway and out. He deliberately took up a position in the worst of the fighting near a hacking, slashing demon he recognized as his second-in-command. "Robert, get out!" Geoffrey shouted. "It's you they want. Get out! Now, before you go down!" Robert beat back a man with his shield, hacked at three others who were trying to catch him about the waist. Geoffrey was right. There were far too many men here, and they were focusing their efforts on him. "Fall back!" he shouted. "Back!" Gradually Robert and the handfulof men still with him inched their way from the deathtrap the bailey had become. Only the most desperate and vicious of fighting gotthem safely through the gate and back across the drawbridge. "Robert... God be praised!" It was Aymer who grabbed him first as he came off the bridge. Then more of his men were crowding close, reaching out to touch him, to speak a word, as if they wanted reassurance he was still flesh, as if they couldn't quite discount the legends. They stood together in the darkness staring grimly across the moat at Belavoir's walls. "Robert, she wouldn't..." Aymer hesitated. "In truth the lady Jocelyn was angry this morning, but I swear she'd never" "No," Robert said abruptly, forestalling a defense that was completely unnecessary. "She wouldn't." *** They made camp outside in the cold as best they could, treating their own cuts and bruises, sending the more seriously injured by wagon to Harclay. Robert slept for a time, but at first light he was up and staring at the shadowy walls of Belavoir in a bleak and silent rage. One of his worst fears had come to pass, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
Geoffrey brought him watered wine and some bread to break his fast. "Have you thought any more on whom it might be?" "Have I thought on anything else?" Robert countered. "It could be anyone who supports Henry. Chester, I suppose, he's treacherous enough to murder me in the dark. Though if I were a betting man, Geoffrey, I'd put money on my own dear family by marriage." Geoffrey didn't respond and Robert took a long drink. "Judas, I do pray it's Montagne! I'll not have to fear so for Jocelyn if that be the case. Besides being his own flesh and blood, she's worth more alive to the man than she is dead. He has only to wait for my death to regain all he's lost and more." "Wait for your death, or arrange it?" Geoffrey asked quietly. Robert took another long drink, thought of that frantic letter from Stephen, of a grim-faced young man withreddish hair and eyes like flint, a man he had almost killed once with his bare hands. "Either," he responded grimly. "My lord, they're opening the gate!" Robert swung to his feet, hastily following his man to the edge of the camp. A wave of relief swept him. It was Brian Montagne riding out onto the drawbridge. "Well, brother mine," he shouted, "is this the way you mind a treaty?" "That treaty is no longer binding," Brian called back. "Your liege lord and mine are now at war." So the Montagnes had declared for Henry. Robert wasn't all that surprised. "You turn your back on your rightful king and support the Angevin? I wish you joy of this moment then, for you'll never live to see Henry crowned." "I think I will. It's you, de Langley, you who may not live to do so." "That's in God's hands, of course." Robert couldn't quite resist a taunt. "However, you did fumble your murder attempt last night. What a shame. I'm sure you'd have won the Angevin's everlasting gratitude and favor." "Oh, I think Henry will be grateful enough when he hears I hold Belavoir for him." Brian laughed. "And all because you can't manage your women. What a joke it will be about the camps. The key to the west handed over by a raging, jealous wife. The vital fortress of Belavoir lost because Robert de Langley couldn't keep his cock between his legs." Geoffrey stiffened, but Robert ignored the remark. "And just where is your father in all this. Does Montagne leave a boy to hold Belavoir?" "You'll find out whether I be man or boy soon enough. But as for my father, he is gone with the earls of Chester, Hereford, and Cornwall, with Colwick and Pelham and a host of others to support Henry." Robert frowned. Here was grim news indeed. Men of weight were going over to the Angevin. "Stephen is king, Brian. Henry will be beaten as he was twice before. And ifI find at the end of all this that you've hurt my wife in any way at all there'll be no place on God's earth for you to hide from me!" Brian laughed again and swung his horse toward the gate. "Look to yourself, de Langley! You're the one
most apt to be doing the hiding." Robert stood, clenching his fists, watching the cocky young man disappear inside Belavoir. "He's lying!" Aymer spat from behind him. "You don't believe a word of it, do you?" Robert turned. "You know my lady, Aymer. Do you really think if Jocelyn had turned over Belavoir for hatred of me, she wouldn't be up there right now, flinging her defiance in my teeth for all to hear? God's truth, she might have come at me with a dagger herself yesterday, but she would never do such a thing behind my back!" He swung around, staring grimly at Belavoir's thick walls. "The hell of it is that I can do nothing to help her. We couldn't get inside there by force were we numbered a thousand times greater than we are. And Montagne will be watching for tricks." Geoffrey frowned. "What are we going to do?" "Break camp," Robert returned. "Gather up what men and supplies we can from my other manors and head south to meet Stephen, get ready to face the fight of our lives." Aymer stared at him incredulously. "You mean we're just going to turn our backs and ride out?" Robert shook his head. "No. I'm riding south as my king has commanded. You, Aymer, are staying here, you and a dozen men we'll handpick. You'll remain here and keep watch, send me word if there's any change, if you chance to see Jocelyn. You'll do nothing to engage Montagne in any case. A fight would be too dangerous for so small a force." Aymer nodded. Robert turned, stared bleakly across the moat one last time. "My treacherous brother-by-marriage did speak the truth in one thing. Henry will be overjoyed to find he has been in England scarcely a week and has already deprived me of my home. Again." *** The man crossed Belavoir's torchlit hall, moving quickly up the steps to the high table. "My lord, the wench Alyssent me to tell you your lady sister is waking up. What would you have her do?" Brian Montagne didn't even look up from his supper. It had been a satisfying day and he felt better than he had in a long time. By a rare stroke of good luck plus some fast thinking and hard fighting, he had managed to capture one of the most important fortresses in the west. It was a pity he hadn't finished de Langley. Still, his new liege lord would surely be pleased with him. But he wasn't ready to deal with Jocelyn yet. It could be a ticklish situation, and he'd have to think how best to handle it. "Give her more of that wine mixed with poppy." He chewed for a moment, glanced up and added sharply, "Just a few sips at a time whenever she starts to wake. Enough to make her sleep. Not too much, mind. I don't want her dead." The man nodded and turned away, and Brian returned to his dinner, his thoughts on the respect he would soon command, the vast tracts of land he would one day control. Some day he might be
mentioned in the same breath with men like Cornwall and Gloucester, maybe Leicester or even Ranulf of Chester. He smiled a little at his grand dreams, dreams he was determined to make reality. By one method or another, his father had more than doubled the size of the original Montagne holdings. Brian planned to double them again. No, he didn't want Jocelyn dead. He wanted her alive and well and quiet. For now anyway.
Twenty-Three She had been sick, sick unto death. She must have been. Jocelyn lay perfectly still, trying to capture and organize the speeding, whirling images into thoughts, to endure this terrible pounding that was about to take off the top of her head. She hadn't opened her eyes. She wasn't quite certain she could yet and besides, she was afraid. Afraid the room would start to spin and that horrible, wrenching nausea would return. That it might truly kill her this time. Memories spun and tumbled with dreams, and she was regaining enough comprehension to realize she had no idea what was real and what was not. Wonderful, euphoric images of Robert and her mother clashed with dark, unsettling ones of Brian. Brian and that insolent tanner's daughter, Alys. Nothing seemed to fit. "Is she awake yet?" Brian's voice. And this was no dream. "Not yet, m'lord." "By the Mass, girl, if you've given her more of that drugged wine, you'll be sorry! I told you to stop it yesterday." "She's had none since your order. Slept easy last night... took a few sips of water. No retching today, m'lord." Jocelyn held herself very still.Alys's voice! Brian and Alys? It didn't make sense. "Well..." Her brother sounded oddly uncertain. "Let her sleep the rest of the morning. I'll be back by afternoon. Weil try to wake her then." He hesitated, added almost angrily, "This is the third day now she's had nothing to eat. Jesus, she'll die of starvation if we don't get something to stay down!" Three days? Three days she'd been like this? Dear God, where was Robert? And where was she? "Aye, m'lord," the girl returned sulkily. Jocelyn heard footsteps cross the floor, then the sound of the door closing. She needed to think, to remember what had happened. But it was difficult when her head hurt so much.
She remembered all the way back before Christmas. She could see that clearly enough. Then the time before Robert had ridden to Leaworth. And then... and then... That woman at Leaworth! She could certainly remember that. All the pain, the betrayal. But there was something else, something she couldn't quite grasp. Henry! Henry of Anjou was in England! Robert had probably already gone to war. But why had he left her with Brian? She lifted her eyelids, staring out through thin slits beneath her lashes. This was her bedchamber at Belavoir, but what was Brian doing here? And why was that sly wench Alys sitting with her? Jocelyn closed her eyes, fighting the pain, ignoring her dry mouth and the thirst that was becoming unbearable. She didn't want them to know she was awake. Not until she could think clearly, recall all that had occurred. She remembered leaving Leaworth and riding for Belavoir. Brian had been here. Yes, that was it! Brian and his men had been waiting. He'd come to ride with her husband against Henry, had been in a rage because Sir Edmund wouldn't open the gates. They had ridden in together, she and Brian, her escort and her brother's men. She had ordered a hasty supper prepared, then excused herself upstairs. She was exhausted from that long ride in the cold and the extremes of emotion she had dealt with all day. But surprisingly, Brian had followed. He had talked endlessly of the men he feared were going over to Henry, of the dangers of a winter campaign, of things he would never have spoken of with her before. Then he had poured them both wine. Jocelyn drew in a slow, shuddering breath. He haddrugged her! He must have managed to take Belavoir as well. And that had been three days ago. "Lady, be you awake?" Jocelyn opened her eyes. Alys sat near the bed, watching with dark, speculative eyes. Why Alys? Why a woman the whole keep knew she didn't like? Because she was the only one Brian could trust not to aid her. Jocelyn opened her mouth, managed to force one word. "Water." Alys rose and poured a brimming cup, holding it so that Jocelyn could take a sip. But after only two swallows, Alys drew it away. "Not too much. You'd best wait a bit." "But..." Jocelyn's mouth was still so dry it was difficult to speak. "I thirst." "You'd best wait a bit. It's not good t'be drinkin' so much as t'make yourself sick." Jocelyn knew that. She had told it to countless patients herself. Still it was bitter to watch as Alys turned the cup up and drained it, as she wiped her wet mouth with the back of one hand. "Don't fret now. I'll be gettin' you more later. My lady." Alys smiled thinly, managed to make the words insulting.
Jocelyn stared back. It was difficult to think, too draining even to hate. She closed her eyes, turning inward in the way she had learned as a child, fashioning for herself the magnificent image of a tall, tawny-haired man in a sunlit scarlet surcoat. A man with beautiful golden eyes and two rearing lions upon one shoulder. Then the man and the lions seemed to merge, and Jocelyn smiled, let herself drift and swirl and become one with the images. And she was no longer afraid. *** Brian returned that afternoon, but by then Jocelyn had slept several hours and had even consumed some broth Alys had grudgingly sent for. She was better prepared to face him, had even washed her face and made Alys brush out her hair. "Well, sister, you've given us quite a scare," Brianremarked as he crossed the room. "You've slept so much I feared you might never wake." "I'm sorry I frightened you, Brian. But then I've never been drugged before," she said bitingly. "If I'd known, I'd have warned you that only a little might prove too much." "You're too outspoken, Jocelyn. You'd be better served to mind your tongue and listen to what I have to say. You may not like it, but you'll be much better off for what I've done." Jocelyn held her voice steady with an effort. "And what have you done?" "We've declared for Henry, Father and I, along with Pelham and his father, the earls of Chester, Hereford, Salisbury, and Cornwall, a host of other barons and their vassals by now. They rode south to meet Henry at Devizes by a secret agreement days ago, but I stayed back here to spy out what de Langley was doing, to discover the number of men he could put on the field." He grinned, obviously gloating. "But then I did manage a bit more than We'd planned. With your husband and his men away, it wasn't too difficult to take the castle, once you'd so obligingly given us the run of the place." Jocelyn put as much contempt as she could into her voice. "You asked for food and lodging for yourself and your men. I was so foolish as to overrule Sir Edmund and let you have it. I'll never forgive myself for that." "Nor will Sir Edmund. He and his men are cooling their heels in the dungeon at present." Brian grinned. "Nor will your husband either, madam. I did tell him when he arrived that you handed the castle over to me in a jealous rage." Jocelyn felt all the blood drain from her face. "You didn't! Brian, tell me you did not!" "Don't distress yourself. You'll soon see all has happened for the best. I've heard the story of how you found his mistress. Believe me, I did throw that in his face on your behalf. By the way, it makes a wonderful story to pass on to the Angevins. First Adelise runs away taking a considerable fortune with her, then you hand Belavoir over to his enemies." He chuckled. "The man should never have tangled with the Montagnes. The great Lion of Normandy can't even manage the women of our family!"
Jocelyn thought of her husband's bitterness as he had told her of Marguerite and of that memorable scene she had made at Leaworth. Sweet Mother of God, what had she done? What would he think? "This is no laughing matter, Brian! Robert might actually believe you. Think of the damage you may have done." "It doesn't matter," he returned with a casualness that was truly chilling. "You were forced into this marriage. You'll be much better, much safer, out of it. We all will. A blood bond with de Langley might prove disastrous in times to come." "What are you saying?" "The young duke of Normandy does hate your husband, madam. Do you think when he's king he'll leave any stone unturned to find de Langley and destroy him, if your lord does even survive the fighting, that is. No, I've done you a favor. I've brought you, willing or not, onto the winning side." Jocelyn lay back against the pillow. She was too weak to rage at her brother. Besides it wouldn't do any good. Brian studied her thoughtfully. "Good, you're ready to listen. I'll give you another matter to think on then. Your husband leaves no heirs, Jocelyn. Unless you're breeding yet, you inherit all when he dies. You'll need someone to manage things for you, to protect you from men who would seize you for your inheritance." "And, of course, you'll be my protector," she said dryly. "Of course." He smiled. "You may have your dower lands. You'll be a woman of substance with those alone. You did always wish to live quietly at Warford, and I can arrange for you to do just that." Jocelyn held his eyes. But for how long? If she died childless, Brian would inherit those lands as well. "And what if Henry doesn't win, if Stephen is victorious?" she asked. "Have you thought about that?" "Stephen is strong still, yes. He does hold most of England. But Henry will win. I've met the man, Jocelyn, and I tell you, sooner or later, he'll win." "You don't know that," she said in as calma voiceas she could manage. Brian shrugged. "Very well.A calculated risk. OneFa ther and I are willing to take, one a growing number of others seem willing to take as well. Besides, even if Stephen wins, he has never been known to wreak vengeance on his enemies, has always been ready and eager to take the strayed lambs back into the fold." So much, too, had Robert always said. It was Stephen's main failing, he was too good-hearted to be a king. "But my husband is not so forgiving," Jocelyn returned. "What do you think he'll do to you for this?" "I doubt I'll have to worry about that. If you're not already a widow, you soon will be, madam. Your husband is one for lost causes. I doubt he'll survive the fighting in the south." The words made Jocelyn's blood run cold. But her brother was still speaking, and she forced herself to
listen. "You need to rest here and regain your strength. There's really nothing else you can do. My force is small, but I've plenty of men to hold Belavoir and keep you closely guarded." He hesitated, smiled. "I can be generous if you cooperate. It's what I would prefer. Adelise is fond of you, and I'd hate to distress her. However there's far too much at stake here for sentiment to play any part. If you cause me trouble, I can make your life hell." He held her eyes. "I can and I will, Jocelyn." "I've no doubt of it, Brian," she said. "You've always been good at that." A commotion sounded at the outer door. Brian turned his head, listening. "But I was told to bring the lady food," a shrill voice whined. "There's soup here, some bread and weak ale. Maude the herb woman said it was needful. That the lady would need it for strength." Adam!Jocelyn sat forward at once. "I do feel I could eat, Brian. If Maude sent something, it's bound to do me good." Brian nodded and called toa guard who opened the door to escort the boy in. Jocelyn eyed the guard and her heart began to pump wildly. The man was tall and broad-shouldered and just beneath his ear, an ugly, puckering scar disfigured the flesh. She swallowed hard, looked swiftly away. This was the man, the man who had tried to kill Robert that night in the bailey. And he was wearing her brother's livery! "Maude said to commend the soup, lady," Adam was muttering in a surly, uneducated voice. He placed the tray on the bed beside her. "Said it'd do you good." Jocelyn fought to pull her scattered wits together. She glanced up at Adam, was surprised to find he had dirtied his hair and was wearing a threadbare tunic. He was obviously masquerading as a kitchen lackey. "Thank her for me," she managed. "Tell her I'll eat what I can." Brian jerked his head toward the door. "Out, boy." Adam directed his eyes significantly toward the soup. Then he bowed toward Brian and was gone. Jocelyn stared at her brother. Her head was still reeling. So Brian had been behind that ambush attempt. And now he'd done this. She swallowed hard, forced a smile for his benefit. "I would eat now and rest, Brian. Perhaps there's something in what you say, but I'm too exhausted even to think on it. Give me time. Let me think on all you've said." He nodded. "There's one thing more you should know. I sent Duke Henry a message commending your aid in the taking of Belavoir. Actually, I sent two couriers, only one had orders to stumble into Stephen's patrols by design." Jocelyn merely stared at him. What was there to say when her whole world was being destroyed? Brian smiled back at her. "You see, there really isn't much to think on, Jocelyn. Even if he lives, your husband will never forgive you. You've no choice but to come in with me."
He turned to go, but Jocelyn stopped him. "Was our father a party to this? Does he know what you've done to me?" Brian hesitated. "No." She nodded, swallowing back all her anguish and rage. "Thank you. That's all I wanted to know." And as her brother disappeared through the door, Jocelyn was already lifting her bowl of soup. Underneath was a scrap of parchment with a crudely lettered message in Adam's cramped hand. Lord Robert did escape the ambush in the bailey three nights ago. We are all with you, lady. Do not fear. Do not fear! Jocelyn squeezed her eyes shut in an agony. Do not fear! That dear fool of a boy would get himself killed! She crumpled the note, shoved it under the covers just as Alys returned to the room. She made a pretense of sipping her soup. So Brian had tried another ambush in the dark. No doubt he'd hoped to make her a wealthy widow before she had even awakened. She offered up a short, fervent prayer of thanks for his failure. Twice now Brian had tried to murder her husband and twice he had failed. He would fail in this scheme to hold her as well. No matter what happened, she'd make certain of that, even if it took her last breath! She stared down into her soup, already beginning to plan. Her brother was wrong. She had a great deal to think on just now. *** The days slid into a week, the weeks into a month and then two. Brian rode south to join Henry, but Jocelyn continued to be closely held in her apartments at Belavoir. She was kept hidden away from the rest of the castlefolk, saw only the sullen Alys and a few of her brother's men, occasionally the man with the scar, sometimes Adam as he brought up her food or water for washing. It was impossible to plot an escape. She smuggled a message to Adam, ordering the boy to get himself out of Belavoir. Still, she wasn't surprised when he ignored her note, was even a little selfishly relieved though she prayed she wouldn't regret it. It did her good to see a friendly face. She had always hated inactivity and now boredom became her worst enemy. The days were tortured and endless, the nights even worse as she lay in the darkness andthought of Robert, wondering what he must be thinking of her. The news of a great battle that should have been fought at Malmesbury and hadn't been, trickled back. Henry laid waste the town, but the castle had held for Stephen. The king arrived to relieve the siege and thousands of men of both sides had drawn up facing each other across the flooding river Avon. A terrible ice storm had begun to rage and it was impossible to fight, impossible even to cross the swollen river. A temporary truce was worked out, but then Henry had been handed Stephen's castle by a traitorous castellan who had changed sides at the last moment.
Jocelyn cringed at the news. So too must the whole country be thinking of her. And that night, for the first time since she had entered this nightmare, she wept in fear and frustration, lying awake and frightened all night in the dark. She was closer to giving up, nearer to total despair than she had ever been in her life. She prayed earnestly for wisdom, for the strength and grace to endure; prayed daily and hourly for Robert, that he would live, that he might one day forgive her for what she hadn't even done. And then her brother came back to Belavoir. *** "Lady, your lord brother sends word to dress yourself warmly this morning. The sun is out, and he'll take you for a ride." Jocelyn stared at Alys as if the woman were speaking Saracen. "Aride?" Alys shrugged. "That's what his man said. Said to let him know when you're ready. He'll take you downstairs." Jocelyn spun toward her coffer, snatching out a heavy woolen tunic and bliaut. She was actually to be allowed outside for a ride! She didn't care that it was with Brian. She would gladly have gone with the devil himself to get outside. She dressed in haste, was escorted downstairs and into the hall. Everywhere, servants stopped their work to stare at her in surprise. Brian met her with a smile, took her arm with a show ofgallantry and led her to the high table where they ate a hurried meal of bread and ale. Then they went outside into the bailey where their mounts were already waiting. Brian helped her into the saddle, then swung up himself and they trotted out the gates with a party of armed men following behind. They rode for nearly an hour, checking several of the fields that would soon be plowed, stopping to water the horses where a shallow stream flowed down from the nearby hills. Brian dismounted and handed his reins to a squire. "Take care of the horses. My sister and I will walk." Jocelyn slid from her horse. She hadn't the slightest idea what Brian was up to, but she scarcely cared. She was too thankful to be outside again in the sun and the wind. They strolled a few paces upstream and Brian stopped. His men were well within summoning distance but far enough not to overhear their words. "You seem to be enjoying your ride," he said, watching her. "Yes." "These last weeks have been difficult, I suppose. As I recall, you always did hate being shut up." Jocelyn bit her lip. Brian knew she hated confinement. He knew and had done it on purpose. "It isn't what I'd have chosen," she said. "I hope the need for that is past, that it's given you time to think. This could be a long war. Stephen is strong, but Henry is determined." His eyes met hers, his next words chilling. "You wouldn't like being
confined like this to the end of it... and beyond." Jocelyn held his eyes. "No, I wouldn't like that at all." He glanced away, kicked at a tuft of dead grass. "You do know that the story of how you turned over Belavoir has spread throughout England. It was too rich a tale for men to keep to themselves. Your husband is a laughingstock, madam." May God in his mercy forgive her, but if she ever had the chance she was going to cut Brian's throat. "I'd supposed it had by now," she said evenly. He glanced back, held her eyes. "You cannot hope to go back to him. Even if by some miracle he survives this war, he'll never take you backnot unless it's to cage you as he did his first wife." Jocelyn held her face expressionless. "I know." Brian nodded in satisfaction. "Are you ready to listen, then, to strike a bargain with me in good faith?" An old Welsh saying spun through her head.A lie toan enemy is no lie at all. She lifted her chin, held his eyes. "Of course. I would know what you want of me." He hesitated, frowned. "It's become a bit more complicated than I'd first planned. The duke wants to meet you. In fact he insists that I bring you to him at Gloucester." Jocelyn stared at him in amazement. Whatever she had expected it wasn't this. But then it all made sense. Henry of Anjou hated her husband. He wanted his enemy's wife in his handseven a traitorous wife. "No, Brian, only think," she said swiftly. "If I fall to Henry he can make whatever disposal of my person and lands he sees fit. If aught happens to Robert, he can marry me off to whichever of his supporters he wants to reward. You and Father will lose control of the de Langley lands. You'll have schemed in all this for naught." "Do you take me for a fool? I've thought of that. Henry assures me that won't be the case." "And you believe him?" she cried. "Yes." Brian frowned, shrugged. "You've not met the man, Jocelyn. He's different from any other, impossible to sway once his mind is made up. Once the bit's in his teeth, there's no holding him. He wishes to see you, and see you he will. I've already given orders. We'll be leaving in the morning." Brian squatted down beside the stream, picked up a twig and began breaking it into bits. "There's something else you must know first, though. I hadn't planned on telling you this, at least not yet. However, I need your cooperation, need to know you'll go along with whatever story I tell the duke. I know you hate me, but you're going to have to cooperate now or lose all." He glanced up, smiling thinly at her. "I've never thought you stupid, you know, Jocelyn. I think you'll go along." When the gates of hell froze shut!
"What is it, Brian?" He rose slowly to his feet. "Your father and mine weren't the same," he said bluntly. "Your mother had a lover. Several if the gossipIheard was true." "Liar!" Jocelyn's hands clenched against her skirt. "How dare you say such a thing? You're lying! I can read it in your face!" "It's truth, Jocelyn, truth after all these years of lies. You're not Montagne but the bastard byblow of some petty Welsh border chieftain. Father suspected, I think, though none knew the truth. I made it my business to know, learned a man by the name of Rhys was Gwendyth's lover both before her marriage and after." Rhys! Jocelyn caught her breath at the name, at the memories it evoked. A dark laughing face. Black hair and eyes the color of green gemstones. Rhys. He had been often at Warford with her mother's kin, had always made Gwendyth laugh. He had been like another uncle, had taught Jocelyn to ride, to play chess and to use a dagger. She was shivering now. "You're lying! Our father would never have countenanced such a thing." "Father didn't look too closely; he didn't want to know. But he always suspected," Brian added, watching narrowly, gauging her reaction. "Can you tell me you never wondered why he treated you so differently from Adelise and myself? Why you were never truly a part of our family?" Jocelyn didn't answer, could only stare into his eyes, eyes so similar to Adelise's, yet so vastly different. "Bastards can't inherit," he was saying softly. "If this story comes to light, you'll have nothing, you'll be turned out to starve. Even your marriage can be declared invalid. You'll be landless, dowerless, with no family to lend you support. You'll have nothing, Jocelyn. Nothing! And I suspect you're smart enough to know what happens to a woman in that predicament." Jocelyn steadied herself, managed to ignore the thundering beat of her heart, to say in a voice near as even as his own, "And the Montagnes will be the center of scandal. Ourfather will look a fool or worse. Cuckolded all those years, bringing up a daughter who wasn't even his own." Brian nodded, smiling a little as she matched him and bid higher. "Aye, I knew you weren't stupid. You've put your finger on the problem. Obviously, I wouldn't have the story come to light any more than you." He hesitated, lifted his eyebrows and smiled sardonically. "I doubt I need tell you, though, who'll suffer most if it does." So this was what Brian had come up with, this ugly tale to keep her under his thumb. "And what is it you want of me?" she asked. Brian didn't hesitate. "You'll go willingly with me to Gloucester, say and do all I tell you there. You'll make no effort to reconcile with de Langley, not that it would do any good. Your husband is a marked man, madam." "And if I agree? What then?"
"Then you remain my sister, of course, the rich widow of Robert de Langley. I'll see you to Watford in peace, make certain you lack for nothing. You may visit Adelise, do what you want within reason. You'll be your own mistress, can order all as you choose." Jocelyn stared at her brother. Or was he her brother? She almost hoped not, hoped she wouldn't be damned for eternity for lifting her hand against her own flesh and blood. But she no longer cared what happened to her, what his men might do, or even the peril to her soul. Brian had ambushed her husband and twice tried to kill him. He had betrayed her, would no doubt kill her as well if she stood in his way. "No one will know?" she asked. "No one," he repeated. She held his eyes. Brian was smiling again, certain of victory. She had no legal recourse, no one to appeal to save her own kinsmenher father and Brian himself. He had her cornered and knew it, knew she had little choice. But there was always a choice. Without warning, Jocelyn made a lightning grab for his dagger, jerking it free of his belt and slashing upward for his throat. He rocked back, his soldier's sharp reflexes sending his right arm out to block, though he wasn't fast enough to stop the blade. Jocelyn struck, then backed away, knife lifted, knowing she had missed her target, that she was a dead woman. Brian would exact a terrible and lingering revenge. Brian held his hand to his face. Blood gushed through his fingers from an ugly gash along his cheekbone. His eyes met hers in amazement."Bitch!"he said. "You stupid Welsh bitch!" And then he added in a voice that was thoroughly chilling, unnaturally soft, "You'll pay dearly for that, I swear, Jocelyn. You'll wish long and hard for death, months before I let you have it." "Rot in hell!"she threw back as she caught up her skirts and began to run for the thickest part of the nearby woods, to run as she had never run before in her life. Yes, she would pay. But she wouldn't make it easy. Behind her Brian was screaming for his men, his horse. There was a confusion of noise and shouting, the thundering sound of her own blood rushing in her ears. Jocelyn fought for speed. If she could just make that thicket, the men would have to dismount. Then she might have the slimmest chance. Hoofbeats thudded against the earth. She heard the high pitched cries of men eager for blood... for sport. The dead winter grass was entangling, the ground uneven. It was difficult to run, impossible to makeanyspeed. Over the explosive pounding of her heart, she could hear closing hoofbeats, the snorting breath of a horse just behind her. She wasn't going to make it. They would catch her here in the open. She would never see Robert, would never get the chance to tell him she hadn't done what he thought. Merciful God help me... forgive me... be with Robert wherever he is. She spun about, dagger lifting to slash at whatever came within reach. But a riderless horse galloped past, another just behind him.
Jocelyn stared back across the field. Two men lay on the ground, arrows embedded deep through their leather armor. Brian and the rest of his troop had drawn rein in confusion. Horses reared and snorted as arrows continuedto fly, striking man and beast, thudding quivering into the ground. Jocelyn didn't wait to see more. Whirling, she raced for the thicket, tearing her clothes, raking her flesh as she shoved her way through the undergrowth. "Hissst, lady! Over here!" She fought her way toward the sound, passed four bowmen busily notching arrows against bowstrings, letting fly in a rapid and deadly rain. "Here! I have you a mount." Aymer!Jocelyn was sobbing for breath as she flung herself against the knight."Robert... where's Robert?" "Not here," he said, steadying her with both hands. "We're but a dozen men left to watch. The Carrick boy sent word you'd be out and so we followed, hoping for just such a chance. But come, your brother's men will cut us to pieces if we don't outrun them now." And as she hesitated, still fighting for breath, he said, "Come, lady, we must gonow!"
Twenty-Four "Can you tell me where my lord is? Robert de Langley of Belavoir?" The man frowned at Aymer, then shrugged. "Don't know. I just came on duty. The great lords have been riding in and out all the day." Aymer tried again. "It is urgent I find him. I have his lady here and my lord will want to know. Can you tell me who might give us his direction?" The soldier turned and stared rudely at Jocelyn. "So that's her," he muttered. Then he spat at her feet, just catching the hem of her gown. Aymer stared in disbelief, the blood in his face surged hotly. "By our Lord Christ!" he snarled, reaching for his sword. "By our Lord, if I don't lesson you in the way to treat a lady, you cur!" But Jocelyn grabbed his arm. "No, Aymer, let it lie," she said swiftly. "Come, let's see if we can't find Robert on our own." Aymer's hand was still gripping his sword hilt. He was weary and frustrated and in a rage. It had been difficult bringing his lady to safety, traveling through country gone over to Henry, pursuing his lord and his king across half the midsection of England. Now he had reached Stephen's camp but he couldn't find Robert. "I would teach this knave a thing or two on respect for his betters!" he growled. "No!" Jocelyn said. "Let it lie." Aymer drew in his breath and turned away. The hurt in his lady's eyes made him want to rage and snarl
and tear that insolent fool into bits. "Come then, madam, we'll find him. Never fear." "Yes, I know. That's not what I'm beginning to fear." Aymer cursed under his breath as he led the way back to the little band of dirty and disheveled men waiting at the edge of the bustling camp. "I've told you Robert didn't believe your brother, madam," he snapped. "He did deny Montagne's words, did set me to watch for any sign of you." Jocelyn didn't respond. Aymer had believed her. Miraculously all his men believed her. But it had become increasingly apparent these last few days that her name had become a byword among Stephen's adherents, probably Henry's as well. And she very much feared what Robert might be thinking now. She mounted wearily with Aymer's help. She had thought all her worries were over once she stumbled into her husband's men. Now she knew they were only beginning. Robert had been made a fool of twice over by the women of her family. Because of her he had lost his chief castle, a fortress vital for the defense of the west. And now she was going to have to tell him she might be baseborn, that she might not hold legal claim to those western lands for which she'd been married. Aymer stopped several times to ask questions, but Jocelyn didn't dismount again. It would go better for them if she didn't reveal her identity. They finally reached the de Langley tents. Robert's camp was set in a place of honor near the king's silver-and-azure pavilion. Jocelyn felt her throat knot with emotion as she caught sight of the familiar rearing lions fluttering from a crimson standard before his tent. He had kept themher lions. Aymer came back after a hurried conference with the first familiar, welcoming face they had seen. "My lord has ridden out along the river hunting for herons with the king. Rest you here, lady. I'll go fetch him myself." Jocelyn shook her head, sent her long suffering champion a small, forced smile. "No, I'll go with you. Surprise is ever an important part of good battle tactics. I would see the truth for myself in his face." They left the rest of the men and rode out. Here along the river, spring was already turning the grasses soft green,shading the woodlands with the tantalizing silver shadows that would soon become color. Though the afternoon warmth still lingered, the air was soft, cooling as evening approached. Jocelyn let her cloak billow behind her as they cantered along the river's edge. Robert was ahead somewhere. She would soon be talking to him. This was the day she had both longed for and dreaded since she had first learned what Brian had done. "There they are, madam!" Aymer drew rein, rising in his stirrups and pointing toward a distant bend in the river and a cluster of horsemen. "There's the king. I can see his colors from here... and there is my lord!" Jocelyn sucked in her breath, felt her insides knot with tension. She saw him, too, straight and commanding, taller than Stephen as he sat his horse. Please God, let him see me. Let him at leasthear what I have to say. She kicked her mount into a trot. Tears threatened, making her throat ache, her eyes burn. At least he was alive. Whether or not he ever believed her, she would thank God on her knees that Robert still lived.
The king's guard had seen them. Robert must have recognized them for he disengaged himself from the group and spurred out across the meadow alone. Jocelyn urged her mount to a gallop, all her well-rehearsed explanations flying from her head. Tears clogged her throat, blurred her vision. How stupid of her to be overcome now when she most needed eloquence. She pulled her horse to a stop, slid from the saddle and ran the last few paces to meet him. She couldn't see his eyes but his mouth was grim, his face ashen. She flung herself to her knees. Her heart was pounding so violently she could scarcely breathe. "Brian lied!" she cried out. "I do swear on the soul of my mother, he lied! Hear me, Robert. I never betrayed you, would never have handed Belavoir over for any cause on earth. Brian lied to shame you... to ruin me! I swear it. I swear it before God!" He said nothing, only stared at her as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "Robert..." She faltered, tried again. "Robert, I will understand if you can't take me back only say you believe me. After all these weeks of hell, I need to hear that!" "Do you remember what you said that morning Adelise ran away?" he asked unexpectedly. "That morning when I told youIdidn't make a practice of murdering my wives?" She shook her head. Why was he reminding her of that? "You told me you would never have believedIdid." Jocelyn could hear the unsteady, violent beat of her heart, the sound of the wind in the marsh grasses nearby. From further away came the rattle and chink of mail and harness as the men of the king's party shifted restlessly. She stood staring, fighting back tears, unable to believe she had understood correctly. Robert kicked his foot free of his stirrup and held down one hand. "Come and ride with me, sweetheart. I think I must hold you now to believe you are real." She reached blindly for his hand, caught her toe in his stirrup and let him swing her up into the saddle. His arms closed around her and she twisted and leaned into his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. "I-I'm sorry, Robert. Now that I've begun, I... I can't seem to stop!" He held her tightly. She felt his lips brush her hair. "Cry if you want, love. I've a man who can clean my mail, keep it from rusting." She choked on a laugh, buried her face in his scarlet surcoat and wrapped her arms around him, mail and all. "Oh, Robert, I did sometimes fear I'd never see you again." "I would have come, sweetheart. Somehow, believe me, I'd have come." "Sir Aymer... he saved my life." An involuntary shudder caught her, drowned her in the memory that could wake her, trembling still, in the night. "Aymer and his men were there when I needed them. Brian would have killed me. I know he would."
Robert squeezed her shoulder, stroked her hair, held her as if he couldn't get enough of her. She heard him call out something to Aymer and then the big stallion beneaththem was in motion. "Weil talk, love. Weil talk it all out when we get back." She wept until the need eased, then rode with her face still buried in his shoulder. They would make a strange sight to any passing here along the river, but she didn't care. She had just escaped hell and hadn't the slightest thought for anything else. Robert's men were already gathering when they reached the de Langley encampment. They cheered as Robert swung her from the saddle. Geoffrey stepped forward, smiling as he went down on one knee. "It's good to see you again, my lady. The men have been out scouring the river banks for this small token of welcome." He brought his hand from behind his back, offering up a bouquet of violets. "It isn't much I fear, lady, but it is offered with a right glad heart." Jocelyn bit her lip, fought for a steady voice as she took the flowers. "A man did spit on me today when he learned my name. Thank you..." She glanced around at the rough, familiar faces. "All of you. You've taken the ugliness of that away, given me a memory of joy to replace it." Geoffrey rose to his feet. His smile still held, but there was a grimness about his mouth. "You've but to point him out, madam. I assure you by tomorrow the knave will have nothing left to spit with!" Jocelyn lifted the violets, inhaled their sweet scent. "It doesn't matter," she said, and then she smiled. "He was obviously quite lacking in judgement. Sir Aymer was armed, you know." Geoffrey returned her smile. "Just so, madam." And then he reached to lift the tent flap, standing aside so that Robert could usher her inside. The flap closed behind them, creating a world of intimacy and quiet. Jocelyn glanced around. A small table was set up with a flagon of wine and two pewter goblets, fresh manchet bread and a platter of cheese. And everywhere earthenware cups held clusters of violets. Jocelyn clutched her flowers. She was going to cry. Again. "They did this for you, Robert. To... to please you," she said haltingly. Robert caught her shoulder, turning her gently to face him. He was smiling, the most beautiful smile she had seen in all her life. "No, madam. They did do it for their lady. I can assure you my men have never brought me a flower in all my days." He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. For a moment they simply stared, drinking in the sight of each other. "I'm almost afraid to touch you," he said softly. "Afraid you will disappear... afraid I'll simply wake and find I'm dreaming again." "Oh, Robert, I missed you. I missed you so much at times I did think I would surely die!" He reached for her, drawing her into his arms and kissing her deeply, so hungrily, Jocelyn thought she would come apart. She rose on tiptoe, pulling his head down against her, opening her mouth eagerly against the slanting onslaught of his. He crushed her to him as if he would be a part of her through clothing and steel. Then with a low groan,
he swung her up, carried her the few feet to the curtained area at the rear of the tent. Jocelyn dragged off her tunic as he was ridding himself of his surcoat. She turned to help with his mail as he bent and let the heavy hauberk slide from his shoulders to a shimmering heap on the floor. Wordlessly, he caught her gown, lifting it up and over her head, kissing her passionately as his hands slid beneath her chemise, grasping her, holding her, as if still doubting she could be flesh and blood. Then that garment, too, was gone and he was reaching for her, making her tremble and ache and strain against him. Jocelyn could never remember wanting to be a part of him so desperately as she did now. She reached to help him untie the points of his hose, was relieved to find he was every bit as ready as she. He was kissing her again, not even bothering to remove his shirt as he pressed her down into the bedding, as he shifted her beneath him with urgent hands. She spread her legs, bent her knees. And with no further readying he was entering her, filling the terrible, achingemptiness she had carried inside, joining herbodyand soul in the most primitive and perfect of ways. She arched against him, convulsing immediately with need and pleasure. He buried his face in her hair, holding her shoulders as he rode her, shuddering and emptying himself deep within her. At last all was silent save for the sound of their labored breathing, the wild, unsteady beating of heart against heart. Robert pressed his face against her throat, groaned and shifted deeper, as if he would possess her more fully somehow. "Why is it that nothing else in all the world seems to matter when I have you like this?" Jocelyn closed her eyes, drew a deep, steadying breath against the stunning pleasure of his words. "Because it doesn't. Not for a few moments at least." She tightened her arms around his neck. "Don't let it be over," she whispered. "Not yet." He groaned again and rolled onto his back, pulling her atop him, holding her against him. "When I saw you out there today, I almost thought you a vision I'd conjured. I've been wanting you, wondering about you, cursing all the fates for what had happened between us. But by heaven, I never thought I needed to fear for you, not with your own brother! What did you mean when you said Aymer saved your life?" Jocelyn sighed and stretched against him. Then she told him all that had happened since she had awakened to find Brian in possession of Belavoir, everything save that damning tale about Rhys. She would tell him that, too, but not now. She hadn't the courage to risk that yet. Robert lay quietly, holding her. Only when the telling was complete and she lay silent and still in his arms did he curse and sit up. "Never once did I think you in danger, Jocelyn. Never once!" He frowned and stared down at her. "Judas, I'd never have left you to face Brian alone, would have found some way inside if I'd had to sprout wings and fly over those damned walls myself!" Jocelyn shook her head. "Despite what Brian might have meant to do, I wasn't harmed. I'm only sorry my trust in him lost you Belavoir." She reached out to touchhis face. "My ignorance made you a figure of scorn and lost Stephen a vital fortress. I'm sorry, Robert. So very sorry." He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. "The loss of Belavoir is serious but can be mended. I'll get it
back, believe me." He smiled. "As for becoming a figure for scorn, it's of little concern. My father taught that a man has two masters, God and himself. To be able to face both with a clear heart is to fear little in this life or the next certainly not a few petty scandals. He was a man who lived his beliefs, Jocelyn, and I've tried to live them as well. They've stood me in good stead all these years." His smile widened. "Besides men might be laughing behind my back, but I do assure you, none has dared laugh in my face. There's nothing like good steel and a strong arm in helping along a sober countenance." Jocelyn smiled and closed her eyes, rolling closer to rest her cheek on his hard thigh. She couldn't get enough of touching him, of being close. It was difficult to believe he had forgiven her, believed her, that despite all the evidence to the contrary, he had never even doubted her. "Jocelyn, there is something we need to speak of." His tone was serious and she opened her eyes. He was staring at his hands, scowling fiercely. "Judas, madam, I don't even remember her name! That woman at Leaworth. I am sorry you had to" "Robert!" Someone cleared his throat loudly from the front of the tent. The voice came againGeoffrey's voice. "My lord, I do hate to call you, but the king is asking for you. He has already sent once and now a second time." "Damnation!" Robert scowled again, but he was already reaching for his hose. "Damn Stephen! He must know I'd have come to him in good time." Jocelyn sat up, reaching for her crumpled shift and pulling it over her head. They did need to talk. There was so much that had to be said. "Do you have to go now? Couldn't you just send word you'll come later?" Robert was already pulling on his boots, seeking in vain to straighten his rumpled shirt. "No, sweet, I dare not. Stephen is not the same man since Malmesbury. He's suspicious, much given to strange tempers and oddimaginings. He's quick to anger, quicker yet to despair. He did take Leicester's defection very much to heart." Jocelyn stopped, stared."What?" Robert swung around at her tone. "You didn't know?" And when she shook her head he said grimly, "Leicester went over to Henry some weeks ago. That is thirty major castles, madam, a great number of men and supplies, not to mention the fact that my old friend Robin de Beaumont is one of the most influential men in the kingdom. Others may well follow." "But... but he has been Stephen's friend from of old!" Robert nodded, moving to the table to pour out two goblets of wine. He brought her one, turned the other up and drank deeply. "Yes, he's long been Stephen's friend, one of his staunchest allies. But he has grown sick of war or so he said in trying to excuse himself in the letter he sent mesaid he dreaded what would come to pass when Eustace came to the throne." Robert tore off a hunk of bread, gulped down a piece of cheese. "I tell you truth, madambut for your ears alone. Stephen's eldest son is the greatest asset Henry of Anjou has. Eustace is vicious and
undisciplinedcourageous, yes, but totally unfit as he stands now to be king. Stephen alone seems able to rein him in, and even loyal men are beginning to curse themselves and wonder and dread what will happen when Stephen is no more." Robert finished off his wine and stared at her a moment, then he bent and brushed a kiss against her mouth. "Don't fret, madam, all will yet be well." And then he was gone. Jocelyn stared at the rumpled bedding where she had just lain with her husband, at the crushed violets strewn about. And of a sudden her world, which had seemed safe and secure such a short time ago, was an uncertain place again. *** It was full dark by the time Robert came back from the king's pavilion. Jocelyn had found needle and thread and was mending a rent in one of his shirts by the light of an oil lamp. She smiled as he entered. It was difficult tobelieve they could be together again like this. "Have you eaten?" "Aye, I ate with the king." She put her sewing away and went to him, forcing a smile and a light tone. "Well, and what did he say? Does he wish me hanged as a traitor?" "No. Richard de Lucy has ever been on our side, hinting to Stephen that all wasn't as it seemed. Now, he's boasting to all that the king knew the truth from the first. Stephen, of course, half-believes it himself." He grinned. "The king's justiciar is a right crafty and influential man to have on your side, madam. Of course, it hasn't hurt your cause that Aymer and his men have been singing your praises all afternoon. It's all over camp that you faced down your brother and his men with a dagger. That you slashed Brian's face and hacked his sword arm near to bits." Jocelyn's eyes widened. "But Robert, that's a lie! I did but cut him once and run for my life." He was still grinning. "Of such things are legends made. Do you think all the tales told of me are true?" "Certainly," she returned so promptly that he laughed and took her in his arms. "They do all call you the Lioness now, did you know that? They say that is why I have two lions on my banner instead of one. And they do say, madam wife, that the lions are well mated." He grinned again, drawing her close against the lower half of his body. "On that, madam, I find I agree." Jocelyn leaned into him and put her arms around his neck. "If I please you, that is all I care for, Robert. The king and his lords and all the rest of the world may go hang." He kissed her lips, her closed eyelids, then returned to take her mouth. "I find myself with the overwhelming need to try out my men's sayings again," he murmured. "I wouldn't have you think, madam, that I didn't miss you while we were apart." They undressed each other, leisurely this time, making love with a slow tenderness that was almost more than Jocelyn could bear. And when it was over and she lay in her husband's arms, she knew she had to tell him thetruthall the truthbefore she lost the courage to tell him any at all.
"I do love you, Robert," she said softly. "I'm sorry if it is a burden to you, but I do love you, have loved you, almost since that first day you came to Belavoir. You need not pretend to the same. I've not forgotten what you said to me about that before." "Jocelyn" "Wait." She reached to put her fingers against his lips. "Don't say anything yet. I've more to tell you, more about what happened between Brian and me. I just wanted you to know that first. This last is... is even more terrible than all the rest." She drew in a deep breath and he lay still, listening, watching her with those beautiful, passionate eyes. It made it all so much harder to say. "I may not be Montagne," she began, feeling her way. "I may be the baseborn daughter of a Welshman who came often to Warford with my uncles. Rhys was a good man, a friend of my mother'sher lover, Brian said. I didn't believe him at first, but now... now I don't know." She hesitated, bit her lip. "I wouldn't care, would almost rather Rhys did turn out to be my father but for what it means to us. I may have no legal claim to Warford, to all those lands you thought I brought. Brian threatened to make the tale public. Now, no doubt, he will do so just for spite." "I love you, Jocelyn." She lay very still, watching him. That wasn't what she'd expected to hear. "You don't have to say that. Just because..." His arms tightened around her. "I love you, madam. I don't care if you are Montagne or the daughter of a charcoal burner. You're my wife, and that is what matters. Let any who dare to say differently do so at their peril. I do love you, Jocelyn, have waited far too long to tell you that, I think." Tears clogged her throat. She pulled away from him and buried her face in his pillow.Why now? Merciful God, why did he have to say it now? "Oh, Robert, if I'm baseborn you'll need to marry someone else! I understand that, honestly I do. Only let me be your mistress. I know you have other women, will reconcile myself to being one of them somehow. Only don't bring the others where I will have to see them. I..." She faltered. "I'm so horribly jealous, you know." Robert turned her over to face him. To her amazement and hurt he looked as if he were fighting a laugh. "After what you did to that poor creature at Leaford do you think there've been women foolish enough to frequentmybed?" Jocelyn blinked, stared up into his handsome face, his golden eyes. Once again he had surprised her. "I think, did you but smile at them, my lord, that you could have any woman on earth in your bed." His eyes narrowed, darkened. "But I haven't... because none of them is even remotely like you." She was silent. What was a woman to saytosuch as that? "I need to tell you something, Jocelyn," he murmured. "I had meant to tell you that night I came back
from Leaford. I didn't take that woman for wanting her. I took her because she was there, available and attractive, but I didn't want her. I wanted only you." "I... I don't understand." He frowned. "I didn't want to care so much,toneed any woman so much as I was coming to fear I needed you." "That time before Christmas," she said, thinking back. "That's when it all began to change." He nodded. "You did give me a scare, madam, set me to thinking thoughts I didn't want to have." He drew in his breath, sent her a wry, self-conscious smile. "My experiences at loving have none of them been very good. My first wifewell, you know already about Marguerite. Suffice it to say that she was a spiteful, vindictive bitch, that she hurt a great many in this life before she quitted it, and even after that." "But I'm not like Marguerite. Did you really fear I would turn out like her?" "No, of course not. But I loved my father and he died, Jocelyn. It was hard, but to be expected. Fathers usuallyquit this life before their grown sons. He was past his prime, died in battle as he would have wished. I mourned but let it pass." His voice went lower, then softer. "Adam... ah, now my son was another matter. Adam I loved too well. I did fight and rail against his sickness, but in the end not all my ranting and fighting did any good. He died, andIcouldn't stop it. Not all the love and rage and fear in the world are proof against a fever of that kind, madam." The silence stretched out between them. She was beginning to understand him at last. "I can promise I won't betray you, Robert," she said gently. "I cannot promise I won't die." "I know." His voice was strained. "And that is why I chose to like you, enjoy you, respect you even, which for me is no very small thing." He hesitated again. "But I didn't want to love you, madam. Before God, I did not." Jocelyn sat up, putting her arms around her husband, fighting the terrible ache in her throat that made it difficult to speak. It was almost overwhelming, this knowledge of how vulnerable a strong man could be. "I believe you've done it, Robert," she said, in a strained, choking attempt at lightness. "You've come up with the only possible excuse a man could make for taking a mistress, the only excuse a wife would not only accept but be flattered to hear." He crushed her against him, gave a low, strangled laugh. "If only one thing in my life could go right, love, only one amid all the mistakes and defeats and wrong turns, I'm glad it was you, Jocelyn. I do thank God it was you!"
Twenty-Five Throughout that spring Jocelyn traveled with Stephen's army, staying with her husband when they rested, waiting anxiously in nearby towns or castles with the other women when their men went out to fight. It was a time of overly intense emotions, of love and fear and joy so violent Jocelyn sometimes wondered if
her spirits would ever achieve equilibrium again. When Robert was with her, nothing else mattered. For the first time in her life she knew what it was to love and be loved, and she lived and ate and breathed that love, drawing her strength and courage from him. But when they were apart all her serenity and courage was naught but pretense, for she lived in terror of the moment a messenger might come, singling her out after siege or skirmish to inform her some sharp sword-thrust or well-aimed arrow had ended all that made her life worth the living. She had seen it happen, had helped to comfort sobbing widows and fainting mistresses. And every night she went down on her knees, thanking God and the Blessed Virgin that it hadn't been her man they'd brought in, mute and bloodied, to be cleaned up and readied for burial. Still, her terror was a secret one. She forced herself to be cheerful in her husband's presence, never speaking a word of her fears. Robert carried burdens enough already, for as one of the king's last trusted friends, he was relied on more heavily each day. Both armies pillaged and raged across England, but the two main forces never engaged, contenting themselves with swooping down and taking castles from each other's adherents instead. The Angevin army was the smaller, andsome said Henry feared to risk all on one pitched battle. For a certainty Stephen was afraid. Many of his barons were openly murmuring among themselves, sending secret envoys to Henry and trying to decide whom to back. Spies abounded and men everywhere looked askance at each other and kept their own counsel. Stephen raged and despaired and dared not risk the one crushing blow that would end it all, the blow he had hoped for at Malmesbury. If he went into pitched battle against Henry, he might see half of his force melt away. And as the soft, glorious days of late spring drifted in, Jocelyn hoarded up a miser's wealth of memories and tried not to think of the future. And everywhere men crossed themselves and prayed for a miracle... and prepared for still more war. *** "Madam. Lady Jocelyn!" Jocelyn turned away from the little group of women. It was a day of rare beauty and several of the ladies following the camp had brought their maids and come together here to sew and gossip and enjoy themselves along the river. She rose and went quickly to meet Sir Aymer. "What is it? Does my lord have need of me?" "Yes." Aymer took her arm, adding in a grim undervoice, "He asks you to come to the king's pavilion. A courier just rode in with news. It is bad news, madam, very bad. The countess Gundreda of Warwick has just surrendered that fortress. She tricked the loyal garrison and turned over Warwick Castle to Henry's men by stealth." "Dear God!" "Earl Roger was with Stephen. He collapsed in some odd, jerking fit as they were speaking. They cannot wake him, madam. My lord has stayed to calm the king, but he does hope there is something you
might do for Warwick." Jocelyn nodded. She liked Warwick. He was well past his prime, half-crippled now in the service of his king, but he had insisted on following Stephen so long as he could still sit a horse. She arrived at the king's opulent tents just in time to hear the royal rage. "By the splendor of God, are there nomen left?" Stephen was shouting. "Will this kingdom be won by women and traitors only? What have we come to here? Do men no longer fight in honorable ways? Is all done by quiet and stealth, some black, rotting sickness seeping out from a blacker heart?" Jocelyn stood for a moment, wondering if she, of all people, should be standing there now. Then Robert glanced toward her and said with obvious relief, "Thank God you are come, madam! Lord Roger is here in the king's own chamber." She curtsied swiftly in the king's direction then went toward her husband. "Aymer told me. I'm sorry, Robert." "Aye, it's grim news," he muttered, leading her into the silk-curtained bedchamber where the earl had been laid. Jocelyn knelt beside the bed. Warwick's face was chalk-white, his breathing shallow. She felt his hands and face as Robert described what had happened. "I've seen this but few times before," she said. "Sometimes the person recovers and sometimes not, and sometimes when they wake they cannot speak or move parts of the body. It's a strange thing, Robert. There is little to be done, I fear." Her husband was kneeling beside her, but at those words he rose to his feet. "They've killed him then," he said sharply. "Gundreda and Leicester. It's Robin's hand I see in this." And with that he turned away. "Do what you can, madam. Stephen is near beside himself. I must go back." Jocelyn sat all afternoon with the earl, but he didn't wake. His squires and men finally removed him to his own tents, and she went with them to see the man settled. When all was finally done, Warwick's youngest squire, Thomas, escorted her back through the gathering dusk. Robert was waiting inside their tent with wine and a cold supper laid out. Jocelyn glanced wearily at the table and smiled. This was much better than the usual camp fare. "You do work miracles, my love." "No." He poured a cup of wine and handed it across to her. "My men do. How is Roger?" Jocelyn sipped her wine and sat down. "The earl is no better, nor yet any worse. He's in God's hands." "As are we all." Jocelyn studied her husband's face. In the soft light of the candles, he looked worn. "Is Stephen still raging?" "No, he's moved on to despair." Robert frowned and shook his head. "I almost prefer the rage. It's near impossible to hold him to any purpose when he despairs. He begins to speak of his dead queen, to lament that the Church has refused to anoint Eustace his heir, to go on and on in a litany of betrayal and defeats. It's bad enough that I hear it, but sometimes there are others listening as well. Such talk does
spread despair, madam. Something no army needs." Jocelyn took a steadying drink. "How bad are things, Robert? I would hear the truth." He thought for a moment. "We're stronger still than the Angevin forces. We hold most of England save for the southwest and Chester and Leicester's lands... and Bigod's. There are yet more loyal lords than rebel, and even if there are more defections, we've a strong core of mercenaries who will fight so long as they're paid. They are ill men without a strong hand, but William of Ypres is a good general. No, you needn't fear." Jocelyn reached across the table and took his hand. "Then why do I hear that in your voice which speaks of worry?" She forced a smile. "Come, Robert, I would share your burdens if I might." He squeezed her hand and then released it. "It's more the direction we're sliding, I fear," he said slowly. "So many have turned openly against Stephen. They don't know Henry's true nature, don't dream where he will take us if he gains the upper hand. For all that he's only twenty, he's a man who won't be bridled, who will ignore the council of his magnates. I've seen what he did in Anjou and Normandy and I fear it, madam. He rules with an iron hand." "But why do so many turn to him in support, even men of wisdom like Leicester?" Robert frowned. "The land is torn and tired, madam. Stephen is growing old and uncertain and Eustace has made himself the bane of many. The Church begins to eye Henry as the rightful heir, and men do hesitate to take uparms against a man they think might become king. As for Leicester..." He hesitated. "He did but say that he was sick of war, that he wanted to see it ended once and for all. He didn't think Stephen the man to keep this land safenor Eustace. Not with a young and hungry wolf like Henry tearing at the door." Jocelyn nodded, fighting to keep her voice calm. "Men fear for themselves and their families. I understand that." She drank more of the wine, forced herself to eat some cold meat. "Robert, what did you mean when you said Leicester was responsible for Warwick?" He glanced up. "Gundreda is Leicester's half-sister. I've no doubt he talked her into that. After all, Roger is old, they have children. It is said Henry is confirming lands and privileges to those who come to him now of their own free will." He sipped his wine, added softly, "I'm almost thankful now, that I don't have a son." Jocelyn put down her knife. She might still be able to sit calmly enough, but she couldn't eat. Before God she couldn't eat! "Robert, do you think if the worst came to pass, if this Henry did gain the upper hand..." She paused, began again carefully. "Do you think he might value you for your skills, for" "No, madam, he will not. There is much between us, and Henry is a man with a very long memory. As am I." Jocelyn sat frozen for several moments. Robert was studying her but she didn't speak, didn't even try to keep up the pretense. He rose and came around the table, putting his hands on her shoulders, squeezing, working away the sudden tension with the same unerring knowledge of her body that he always brought to their bed. "I've
frightened you and I hadn't meant to," he said softly. "Haven'tIjust told you our armies are stronger than Henry's, that we do hold most of England? It won't come to that, lovenot to what you fear." Jocelyn nodded, blinking rapidly, glad her husband stood behind her, that he couldn't see her face. If only Henry would die, she thought wildly. If only that cursed Angevin would die! Robert drew her to her feet, began kissing the nape of her neck, the sensitive flesh of her throat. She wrapped her arms about him and clung tightly. "Come to bed now," he whispered. "I've no wish to think on Henry or Leicester or even my king. I do wish for tonight to think of us. Only of us." *** The earl of Warwick lingered nearly a week. All in camp went about grim-faced and silent as they waited, for Warwick's illness was a grave omen. Jocelyn was at the earl's bedside as he breathed his last. She had been fetched by a terrified young page who hoped she might yet do what even the royal physicians could not, something to save his lord. Warwick was beyond her help, but she did what she could to comfort the sobbing child and Warwick's despairing squires. Stephen came running at the news, grieving bitterly for his friend. One thing Jocelyn could say for Stephen of Blois: Where he loved, he loved freely and with his whole heart. She could understand Robert's loyalty to this man could understand as well why men such as Chester and her father could so easily take advantage of him. She slipped out of the tent as the magnates began to arrive, feeling self-conscious in such a gathering without Robert beside her. He had ridden out at the first of the week, gone with some of his men and a host of Stephen's mercenaries to seize a supply train bound for the rebel armies laying siege to Tutbury. She hugged herself as she made her way back to the de Langley encampment, praying for her husband's health and safety. She hated this time of waiting and wondering, this helplessness of not knowing. When she came within sight of her tent she saw a crowd of men gathering before the crimson standard. She hurried.News... Robert must have sent news of some sort!But then she checked, steeling herself. Even from this distance she could tell something was amiss. One of the men saw her and the crowd fell back, revealing a single dirty and bloodstained man at the center a man she scarcely recognized so stooped and unfamiliar he seemed. "Geoffrey..." Her mouth was dry, so dry the word was a whisper. She dug her nails into her palms and forced herself to keep walking, to hold Geoffrey's dark and despairing eyes. "What news have you of my lord?" The tall knight sank to his knees in the dust before her, so weary he could scarce hold up his head. "It was a trap, lady, the supply train was a trap. We were set upon by rebel forces, overwhelmed by a far greater number striking out unexpectedly." He hesitated, closed his eyes and drew a long, shuddering breath. "They were... like jackals circling round him, led by that hellspawn Chester. I saw my lord go down. He was struck, how badly I don't
know. I was knocked unconscious, left for dead, I suppose. When I came to, it was growing dark. They" He choked, swallowed convulsively, then opened his eyes to meet hers. "They were robbing the dead, madam. I crawled away into the bushes, managed to catch a horse and make my way here. In truth, lady, I don't even know if my lord be living or dead!" Jocelyn held herself very still. Her ears were roaring, her heart crowding high and choking in her throat. Everyone was looking to her for guidancethese great rough men, many with tears running down their faces. She tried to swallow and couldn't. "We will assume, then, that he is living. That he can be ransomed. They would not dare" She tried to finish and couldn't. "They wouldnot!" She searched blindly through the crowd for a face that had been her savior in that darkest moment in Belavoir's woodland when she thought she was going to die. She saw him, steadied herself. "Sir Aymer, fetch Geoffrey to his tent. Get him wine, food, see to aught else he needs. I will be there" Despite all her efforts, her voice broke. She fumbled for words, for the courage she knew Robert would expect. "I will be there to see to his wounds myself... after a bit." She moved through the crowd, praying to make it inside without fragmenting before these menmen who so desperately needed to hope. One of the men knelt, whispered"Lady!"as she passed, as if the word were both adulation and prayer. Another sank to his knees with the same word and then another. And then all Robert's men were kneeling around her while golden lions fluttered crimson against the brilliant sky overhead. Jocelyn fought a suffocating rush of tears. It was an effort to breathe, almost impossible to speak. "I thank you for your loyalty. We will get him back, I swear. Someone send to Stephen. And find de Lucy. Tell Richard de Lucy all that has passed." Then she turned and stumbled into the dark and quiet of the tent, into a rushing, drowning swirl of memories. Outside in the sunlight, Aymer put his arm around Sir Geoffrey. "Here, lean on me. She's right, you know. Chester will know he can seek a king's ransom for Robert. They won't be fool enough to kill him. He's far too rich a prize." Geoffrey groaned and shook his head. "I didn't tell her the worst, Aymer. I... I could not!" He leaned heavily against his friend and stared back toward the tent. "Before God, Aymer, I know not whether to pray that Robert be living or dead. Henry of Anjou was on that field. I did see his blue and gold myself." Aymer stared at the fluttering lions, the hope dying out of his eyes. "An ill day for us, then," he said softly. "An ill day."
Twenty-Six Somehow Jocelyn got through that terrible afternoon. She managed to gather herself together enough to clean and treat Geoffrey's wounds and to take in what he had to say about the Angevins. Though Robert had always refused to discuss the matter, she knew the enmity between her husband and Henry of Anjou was of a personal nature. And from the despair in Geoffrey's voice, she realized he knew as well.
Richard de Lucy came at once, assuring her everything possible was being done, that the king stood ready to offer almost anything to see his friend released. Then a courier was dispatched to Ranulf of Chester to inquire after Robert and begin the delicate matter of arranging a ransom. Those next days of waiting and wondering were terrible for Jocelyn, worse even than those darkest hours when Brian had held her in Belavoir. She went on as before, mending her husband's clothing, sewing with her maid, smiling at anxious lord and worried man-at-arms alike lying awake half the night, beseeching all the saints in heaven for Robert's life. Then the messenger arrived from Chester with a curtly-worded message. Yes, Robert de Langley was alive. No, he would not be ransomed. There was nothing beyond that. Jocelyn's spirits surged. At least Robert was alive. But alive for what? To be held prisoner, caged at his enemy's pleasure? She knew a bit of that now herself, knew such a life would be worse than death for a man like Robert. Doubtless his enemies knew it as well. She'd heard stories of terrible cruelties on both sides in these wars. Was that why they kept Robert alive? And then de Lucy came, bringing hope yetagain. "Ranulf does but toy with us, swine that he is, seeking to raise the price. Tutbury has fallen and they are all to go to Warwick. We will send to him there." Again the couriers rode forth and again returned with a message. Only this time de Lucy came, grim-faced, to Jocelyn's tent. He held out a roll of parchment and she took it, staring at the unfamiliar seal with a sense of dread. "It is for you, madam. From Anjou," he said softly. "That is the devil seal of Anjou." Jocelyn moved instinctively to the table and sat down, staring at the seal as if it possessed some dread power of its own. Then she broke it, spread the page with trembling fingers. The words dipped and swam, bold slashing letters that writhed like blackened snakes across the page: My Lady de Langley, I do commend myself to you. I write to tell you that your lord husband was sore wounded as you must know by now. I have taken him from the earl of Chester and placed him under my protection. My personal physician is in attendance. Your lord is a man of much determination, as you must know by now as well. He is recovering. I write to tell you this so that you will not grieve unduly,so that you may send clothing, letters, any personal items you wish with this messenger. You may trust me to see them safely to your lord without interference. It is my very great regret to inform you, however, that your lord is my prisoner and will remain so... for so long as this land is torn. You may say to that Stephen who does call himself king of England that the only ransom I will accept for Robert de Langley is a crown. Jocelyn lifted her head, staring blindly as the words swam together. "He does say," she said bitterly, "that he will never let Robert go." De Lucy stepped forward and snatched up the letter. Jocelyn reached for her wine cup and swallowed without tasting, without even realizing what she did. Henry of Anjou held her husbandthat same Henry who had ordered Robert and a half-dozen men
burned alive. And there would be no ransom... no ransom that could ever be paid! She would send Robert's things as Henry hadsuggested, but she would send something else with that messenger tomorrow. "I'm going myself," she said rising to her feet. "I'll plead for Robert. I won't let the duke deny me. De Lucy was frowning. "That might not be wise. This Angevin's mind is difficult to fathom. If he does, indeed, hate your husband, it might be best not to put yourself in his power as well." Jocelyn shook her head. "He won't dare hurt me. I'll travel with his courier under a flag of truce. If he dares touch me he'll be condemned by the Church and by every honest lord in this land." "I wonder," de Lucy said, "if he would even care." *** Jocelyn readied herself quickly for the trip to Warwick. She would take only Geoffrey and three other knights. She thought of taking her maid but discarded the idea. She had no idea what they would be riding into, didn't want a creature who would be weeping and complaining at every turn. She spent the evening writing letters at a furious pace, letters she would have de Lucy dispatch for her on the morrow. She might say with confidence that Henry wouldn't touch her, but in her heart she wasn't sure. She wanted everyone to know of her mission, to know that she went to plead for her husband, to beg them to intercede for him as well. She wrote first to Adelise, asking her to entreat Pelham to speak for Robert. That was the easy letter. She and Adelise had continued to correspond and even Robert and Edward had sent a few cautious and carefully worded messages back and forth. Next she wrote to every prince of the Church, even the archbishop of Canterbury, begging his personal intervention on behalf of so ardent a man of faith as her husband. Then came the princes of the realm, every lord she had ever heard Robert speak of with a kindly word. She even wrote to the earl of Leicester, a short, carefully worded missive designed to prick both his conscience and his pride. She steeled herself for this last one, a letter to herfathertheman shedid still think of asher father despite all Brian had said. She had never asked William Montagne for much, not even a trinket. Now she asked, begged, that he would do what he could for Robert, for the sake of a daughter he had ignored all his life, for the sake of the blood bond they shared. Last of all, she went through her husband'sthings, forcing herself to keep her wits about her, to think what Robert would most wish to have. And deep in the bottom of hiscoffer, she found something she hadn't expected. The topaz ring he had given her. The ring she had flung at that woman at Leaford in a rage of jealousy and hurt. She sank back on her heels, gripping the ring so tightly the edging about the stone cut her hand. Then she kissed it and slippeditback onto her finger where it belonged. "He will not keep you," she murmured. "That devil of Anjou will not keep you, Robert. Not if I must move heaven and earth and all that does lie in between!"
*** Theyleft at dawn the following morningwith Henry's messenger, a proud, curt man dressed in the new style from across the Channel. "I cannot stop you from coming," the man said in his heavily-accented French, "but I tell you I will not slow my pace for a woman. My lord prince does require his couriers to travel as swiftly as he does himself." He grinned, looked her up and down rudely. "You may find that too quick for your taste, lady, though if you drop behind you'll be left to fend for yourself. Without a safe conduct from my lord, you might find it difficult to travel in the places we'll be." Jocelyn swung her fretting mountina tight circle about the man, thankful Geoffrey wasn't near enough to have heard such insolence. If this was the behavior to be expected from the Angevins, England might soon be a sad place. "Look to yourself," she said sharply. "We will see which of usit is who falls behind." They traveled as swiftly as the man had boasted, and by virtue of the dry roads and fine June weather reached Warwick by late afternoon. Jocelyn stared at the tents of the army spread like a vast undulating sea along theriver Avon, at the great wall and towers of the castle rising just above the town. It was a lovely place, Warwick, but she couldn't help thinking of its treacherous countess, of the shamed death of the proud old earl. She scanned the town and the castle eagerly. Robert was held here somewhere, at least she prayed to God he was. She hoped she would soon see that for herself. They rode along the river and into the huge city of tents. The courier had told her the duke kept a fine pavilion in the center of his men as well as a bedchamber awaiting him up at the castle. He was often back and forth between them at all hours of the day and night. With all his lord's restless energy one never knew exactly where he might be found, the man bragged. Jocelyn dismounted with Geoffrey's help, watched with misgivings as their weary, lathered mounts were led away. She was gambling their freedompossibly even their lives on Henry's honor. But she hadn't a choice. Robert's life was worth that and more. The messenger grunted and motioned for Geoffrey to follow him. "We must find the duke, see what he wants done with you. The rest of you wait here." "I'll ask for Leicester," Geoffrey whispered as he left. "I saw some of his men as we rode in." Jocelyn nodded and watched the men stride away, longing for a drink to wash the dust from her throat. But no one had offered even so much as a stool to sit down on. Idle soldiers were beginning to gather around her little group, to stare and murmur, though there were none of any standing to take charge. One man did drag out a bench and Jocelyn thanked him with a smile. "I'm here to speak to Duke Henry," she said. "His man has gone to see where he can be found." "He's out hunting," a familiar voice said from behind her. "You'll not find him tonight." Jocelyn jerked to her feet, spinning about so quickly the bench was upended. "I'm glad I see you well, sister," Brian said with a wide false smile. "You must come with me now. We
have much to discuss." "No!" It was only one word but Jocelyn said it sosharply her men sprang instantly into readiness, swords drawn. The loitering soldiers began to shout and draw weapons, and Brian stepped forward into the confusion, a sure and confident authority backed by his status of birth and knighthood. "This lady is my sister and I will take her under my care. As for these men, hold them. They are knights of Stephen seeking to spy out our camp." Jocelyn didn't wait to hear any more. Kicking the bench against her brother's legs, she turned and fled between the tents. If Brian took her, she might not live to see Henry. She heard Brian's favorite curse quickly bitten off, the sharp clatter of swords coming together, more men shouting.Someone was trying to slow her brother at least. She only hoped Robert's men didn't give their lives in vain. She raced past two other tents, saw a rough soldier look up from the cooking fires he tended. "Leicester?" she called desperately, speaking the one name she dared claim. "Where is the earl's camp? Please, it is urgent!" "There to the right. Across the pasture." The man gestured. "But I doubt he is..." Jocelyn turned and raced on. She could hear men behind her, shouting. Brian must have more men in pursuit. God, she hadn't even thought of her brother, hadn't dreamed he would be here in the Angevin camp. All her thoughts had been focused on Henry, on what she would say, how best to approach so mercurial and powerful a lord. Across a wide grassy space, hobbled horses were grazing.She could see the earl of Leicester's standard fluttering over a cluster of tents. "There she is. Stop that woman!" someone shouted behind her. "She's a spy... Stephen's spy!" Jocelyn caught her skirts higher, racing between the startled, nervous horses, sending them milling and plunging between herself and the men. How dare he say that! How dare Brian set these men on her with such a tale! "Spy! Stop that spy!" Some of Leicester's men were trying to intercept her. If only someone might recognize her, speak for her. If only Leicester were here! She ran gasping, feinted once as a man grabbed at her,then ducked round two horses.God, please God let Leicester be here! One of the men caught her, jerked her roughly toward him and gave her a sharp slap. She struck back. "Robert... Robert of Leicester! she screamed. "I demand to see Leicester." "Let her go! You have a lady, fool, can you not tell?" The man obeyed, releasing her so quickly Jocelyn stumbled and almost fell. She spun toward the voice,
was surprised to see a man standing just to one side of Leicester's tenta short man flanked by several others. She took in his short cloak, his close-cropped hair and trim, reddish beard, his arrogant air of command. An odd chill lifted the hairs along the back of her neck, and she knew as sure as if someone had whispered the name in her ear. "You are Anjou," she said breathlessly, and then she sank to a deep, instinctive curtsey in the grass. "I ask your protection, my lord." The duke smiled and stroked his beard, eyes riveted on something just past her shoulder. She didn't dare turn to see what it was, didn't dare take her eyes from his face for an instant. "And you," he said softly at last, "you must be my lady de Langley. Despite this odd reception, madam, you are indeed most welcome to my camp." Jocelyn was overwhelmingly aware of how disheveled she must appear. Her dress was torn where that man had grabbed her. She was dusty and sweating and her hair was a dark, tangled mass across her shoulders. And Henry was staring at her, his smile of satisfaction sending her stomach sliding to her feet. This was the man who held Robert's life in his hands, the man she so desperately needed to impress! "You've all heard her," Henry announced loudly. "Lady de Langley asks my protection. And how can any true knight fail to heed so lovely a lady... and in such obvious distress? You have it, of course, madam. You may rise." Jocelyn hesitated. The duke was obviously enjoying himself for any number of reasons she couldn't even beginto guess at right now. But she was trembling, knew if she stood she would likely fall flat in the grass before all. "I'm afraid I cannot, my lord," she said boldly. "I've been in the saddle since dawn chasing the fleetest courier I ever beheld, and now I've been coursed through your camp like a hare. I fear if I stand, my knees will buckle." Henry threw back his head with a laugh. Then he was striding swiftly across the grass toward her. "Ah, how can such a small slip of a woman create such an uproar?" He held out one hand. "Come, lady, I'll help you to your feet." She reached for his hand, almost winced at his power as he grabbed it and swung her up. She was close enough now to see his eyes. Flint-gray they were, and just as sharp, the eyes of a man who knew power well and enjoyed the knowledge. "I'll help you," he said again. "I've some sympathy with your plight, madam. Brothers can be difficult as I know well. My own has made war on me, and I shall have to cage him sooner or later, I expect. No doubt you would like to do the same." At such an obvious hint, Jocelyn glanced around. Brian was standing just a few yards away, his long scar standing like a fresh wound against the sudden chalk-white of his face. "Yes," she said loudly. "I should like that very much." The Angevin grinned, the boyish look suddenly reminding her that he was only some two years her senior. "Ah, family love. We shall have to drink to that, I expect."
He shouted for wine and the brief impression of boyishness vanished, for there were a half-dozen grown men stumbling over themselves in haste to obey. He turned back to her. "Come, lady, you were calling for Leicester. He's off on an errand for me just now, but I doubt he'll grudge us the use of his tent." His eyes moved over her slowly, with such obvious interest Jocelyn felt it to the ends of her toes. She had seen that look in Robert's eyes oft enough. It was a look of excitement and attraction... and in this man's eyes it made her blood run cold. Something of what she was thinking must have shown. "You are right, madam," he murmured, giving her an odd sideways smile, "but I've learned not to meddle, at least with some men's wives." And then he was dragging her with him to Leicester's tent, and Jocelyn had the oddest sensation that she was being swept along on a whirlwind, that she had lost all control. They entered the tent as pages and servants scrambled before him. The duke would have a stool for the lady de Langley, food of some sort, water and towels for washing the dust of travel. "Ah, and here is our wine," he said, as yet another man hastened into the tent. "It's from Aquitainesome of my wife's best vineyards. I had it brought over for myself and my friends. You'll like it, I think." Jocelyn had seated herself, washed her hands and her face with the water the hurrying servants brought. She longed to put her clothing to rights, to brush and redo her hair, but she took the wine goblet the duke held instead. He was looking her up and down, and that same sensation of danger quivered along Jocelyn's nerves. "I've heard much of you," he said abruptly. "And I you," she returned. He grinned and drank. Jocelyn drank as well, studying him, not knowing what else to do. "There were four loyal men who came with me," she began at last. "We were set upon by your men, and I would know if mine are living or dead. We did travel under a flag of truce," she added sharply. Henry shouted another order and a servant rushed off to find Robert's men. Jocelyn drank wine and waited. The silence became intense. She longed to ask after Robert, to launch into the plea she had rehearsed for so many miles. But something about this man held her back. Henry paced before her like a restless cat. He prowled Leicester's tent picking up items and rearranging things, unable to hold himself still. At last he halted and stared at her. "You've not asked after your husband," he snapped. Jocelyn matched his stare. "I suspected you did know why I came." He grinned at that, padded back to her stool on his sweep about the room. "To beg me to let him go perhaps? Do you think me that foolish?" Despite her thundering heart, Jocelyn forced herself to smile at this man who hated her husband, who had tried to kill him for years. "You're the last man in the land I would call foolish, my lord. I'm here to see Robert myself, to make sure he is recovering as you wrote." She hesitated, held his gaze. "And, yes,
my lord, I've come to ask for his life." He took her up quickly on that. "His life is in no danger from me, madam." Jocelyn didn't say a word, only sipped her wine and thought of a burned-out abbey and stared. Did he mean that? Or did he just mean that Robert was already dead? Suddenly Henry was laughing. "You do have the strangest eyes, madam. I'd been told that, you know, think I would have recognized you even if I hadn't seen your brother snarling behind your skirts. I hear from Leicester that you are no mean chess player. I should like to play with you..." he said, lifting his eyebrows archly. "Chess, that is." Jocelyn didn't blink. She was beyond being shocked, beyond exhaustion almost. "Certainly, my lord. I look forward to it." To her amazement, Henry turned and pulled a chessboard and pieces from one of Leicester's coffers, shoving bread and cheese from the table a servant was just setting up. "You meannow?" "Certainly. Why wait?" And then he caught himself, stared back at her, frowning. "But of course you're hungry. You need to eat. We could wait a bit, I suppose." Jocelyn rose to her feet. This man was insane, he had to be. "Yes, I would like to eat, but first I must see after my husband's men. We will play after that if you wish." Henry waved a hand dismissively. "Anyone can see to them. I'll send my own physician if you like." Jocelyn shook her head. "That is kind of you, my lord, but I need to see them myself." Henry's eyes narrowed, chilled. Jocelyn saw one of the servants pale and begin edging away. "But I wish to playnow,"the duke said softly... warningly. Jocelyn held his gaze. If she bent this time he would only bend and push bend her again. And too much bending, she sensed, would be disaster. "Just a short while ago, three men were ready to give their lives for mine. They are good menor wereand have served my husband faithfully for years. I owe them and him the courtesy of at least seeing if they are living or dead." She lifted her chin, added with just a hint of defiance, "I do have little enough, my lord, but what I have I will fight to protect. You, of all men, understand that, I would think." Henry was still staring, eyes still narrowed, but he was beginning to smile again. "Come then, madam. I'll go with you myself so that none dare molest you. We will find these men you so wish to see." She held his eyes. "The man I most wish to see is my husband." She had caught him completely off guard, something that happened rarely, she suspected. "So you shall, lady... eventually."
The disappointment was bitter. She bit her lip to keep from begging. Henry lifted the tent flap and she passed before him and out into the gathering dusk. "I understand now much I have heard of you, madam," he muttered. "And you are of much finer stuff than that other, that Marguerite." Jocelyn glanced up sharply, but it was too dark to see the duke's face. And then he was striding off at so rapid a pace she had almost to run to keep up.
Twenty-Seven "It is your move, madam." Jocelyn glanced at the man across from her, then returned her attention to the chessboard. She and Henry had been at this game well over an hour and she was almost screaming with the strain. They were in Leicester's tent, a host of servants and squires and lords ringed about them for propriety, Henry had remarked with that odd sideways smile. She frowned and moved her bishop. Henry moved a piece swiftly in return, for he played chess as aggressively as he did all else. "Do you know your brother is wanting you burned alive for a witch?" he inquired. Jocelyn didn't look up. She had learned already that Henry tracked fear like a hound. "My brother wants many things," she said, studying the board. "We have yet to see if he'll get any of them, my lord." "He wasn't particularly adroit in his choice of attack. My own Angevin ancestress was reportedly the daughter of Satan," Henry said. "Being of the devil's brood myself, I do not fear witches, madam." At that she did look up. "I'm no witch, sir. If I were my brother would have far more serious maladies to contend with than a single cut to his face!" Henry grinned appreciatively. "I have ears, madam, many ears in many places. It is said in Stephen's camp that Sir Brian did trick you, drug you, that he ambushed your lord in the dark within the walls of his own keep. Is it true?" "Yes." Henry leaned back, all his overwhelming energy at rest for an instant "I will tell you a secret. I do not like yourbrother, madam. I do not like liars and cowards who plot and connive and rumble about in the dark." "We have much in common then, my lord." Something flickered behind his eyes, changed in the set of his mouth, but Jocelyn couldn't read it. "I think so," he said. "More than you know, madam." Jocelyn stared at him for a moment, then turned her attention back to the board. They had found Robert's men and, miraculously, none had been hurt. The three had been quickly overwhelmed and taken alive for spies. Henry had ordered them set free at once. Freewith a half-dozen men set to watch. She and Henry had been cautiously testing and circling each other since then, and she was now nearing
exhaustion. She was rapidly losing the ability to match wits with this man, beginning to think she'd been foolish ever to think she might. Besides it was late and she hadn't seen Robert. She was beginning to wonder if she ever would. She reached for a knight, changed her mind and picked up her bishop again. There were few pieces left still in play. The duke had captured her counselor and all of her pawns. He had her nearly hemmed in, but there was one obscure move that might gain her freedom, that might even put his own king in danger. She saw the move, ignored it, moved her piece in a more conventional way. This was a man who wouldn't like to lose. Her king was quickly under attack and quickly taken, and Henry was exclaiming in pleasure over his win like a boy. "You lose, madam! You lose! I wonder what you owe me? I'll think on it." Jocelyn glanced up. "I wasn't aware we were playing for stakes." "Oh, I always play for stakes. Someone should have warned you of that." He grinned. "Where is the excitement in playing if there's no risk, no prize to be won? Ah, yes! I have it, I think." He shoved back abruptly and stood, all resemblance to a boy vanished. "Out! Everyone out... now!" The room cleared as if by magic. Jocelyn held herself very still. There was no one savethe two of them. Not even a page stood within sight or hearing. Her heart thudded unsteadily and began to race. She'd been a fool to let herself be trapped like this, but what else could she have done? She rose carefully to her feet, keeping the table between them. Henry was watching, obviously aware of her thoughts, just as obviously amused. And in that moment Jocelyn hated him with a violence that was almost overwhelming. For his power and his pleasure in using it, for all he had done to Robert. For this farce he had put her through tonight. He smiled, murmured wryly, "Your brother was a fool to let you get anywhere near him with a knife. I would never make that mistake, madam." Then he turned his back deliberately, moving to a side table and pouring two goblets of wine. "I do like you, Lady de Langley, only do not tell your husband that. He might take it amiss." He moved toward her, put both goblets on the table beside Leicester's empty chessboard. "I've not been very kind to you today, have I?" He sent her a swift, sudden smile. "But you are about to forgive me, I expect, about to give me what I want. This is what I ask of you, madam. All I ask. Make him want to live. Make him want to live more than anything else on this earth!" Jocelyn blinked in surprise, wondering if she were more weary or he more drunk than she had supposed. But Henry had already turned in that abrupt way he had toward the tent entrance. "Ah, yes, here you are. My lord de Langley, I've a surprise for you tonight." Robert ducked inside the tent looking just as stunned and disoriented as Jocelyn felt. She cried his name and started forward, but Robert was already turning to confront the duke. "What's the meaning of this? What's my wife doing here?" Henry was smiling, obviously enjoying what he had done. "Your lady will tell you everything, I expect. Now if you'll excuse me, I believe in these moments that two is far better than three. I need not tell you
that your guards will all be stationed outside. Discreetly, of course." The duke nodded toward Jocelyn. "Lady, you do lookweary. Don't let him keep you up." He grinned again. "At least not all night." And then he was gone. "Robert..." Jocelyn moved forward, reaching for her husband, sobbing his name yet again as he dragged her into his arms. "Christ! Oh, sweet Christ, I've longed for you, Jocelyn. I've longed for you though I'd rather by far be dead than to have you here now. This is my nightmare and my sweetest dream. Judas, madam, how did he take you? How do you come to be here?" Jocelyn leaned into him, content to be in his arms, to see that he was alive and so obviously well. "I came with the courier the duke sent to Stephen's camp. He wrote to tell me you lived, that you'd been sorely wounded but were" "Sorely wounded!" Robert pushed back and gripped her shoulders, staring at her in amazement. "Scratches, that's all. They killed Belisaire. That cur Chester did have them slay my horse, and I will kill him for it if I can! That's how they took me. I wasn't wounded." "But the duke said" Robert's face paled with sudden understanding. "Bait," he interrupted softly, his fingers tightening against her arms. "That son of Satan did but bait a trap. And God help us both, for you took it!" Jocelyn shook her head in bewilderment. "But why? Why would the duke want me? I'm of little value. He already holds you." Robert's hands dropped away from her shoulders. He spun away in a bitter rage. "He holds me, yes, but he cannot make me dance to his tune." He paused, added softly, "At least he wasn't able to... before." Jocelyn closed her eyes. She was beginning to feel quite sick. "And what is it he wants you to do?" "Forswear myself. Betray Stephen and ride out openly with him for all to see. He has come to believe that I could be of more use to him alive than dead. And I will not do it, madam, will not ride with that son of a whore and thedevil! I'll not betray the king nor the vows I did swear before God!" Jocelyn remembered the duke's smile of satisfaction as she had knelt to him in the grass. He had been expecting her. "I'm sorry, Robert," she managed to get out. "I'm always saying that to you, it seems. God help the man who is cursed with a fool for a wife!" And suddenly Robert was behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him. "It doesn't matter," he murmured. "Weil think of something. At least we'll have some time together this way, and I'm glad of that." He traced his knuckles along her cheek, almost as if he couldn't believe he was
touching her. "Besides, I can't fault you. Had our circumstances been reversed, I would most certainly have come to you." Jocelyn turned and kissed his fingers, closing her eyes with the intensity of the pleasure as his hands dropped, cupped her breasts, slid possessively about her waist.If she died tomorrow, she didn't care. At least she was with him now. He bent his head, found her mouth, and the magic flared between them again. It was urgent, irresistible, and Jocelyn leaned into him, opening her mouth wider, taking him deeper, wanting to be a part of him always, not caring beyond this minute so long as he loved her now. The kisses were long, deep, drugging. Somehow Robert had snuffed the lamps and Jocelyn was out of her tunic and shift, was helping him off with his hose. And then they were naked together in the soft summer darkness on Leicester's cool sheets. Was it sin to want so badly, love so deeply? Was it wrong to need one man so desperately that nothing else mattered at all? Robert moved over her, kissing her, worshiping her body, whispering her name. She wrapped her legs around him, aching for him to take her in that incredible way he had, a way that left no doubt at all as to who possessed her, body and soul. Then he was inside her, hot and rigid and tight, making her cry out with pleasure, straining and shuddering and emptying himself deep inside her. Then came the hush as the world whirled and reeled andsettled around them. "Before God, I do love you, Jocelyn," he whispered against her bare shoulder. "I never knew it was possible to love a woman like this." Jocelyn smiled. She had him now, knew she had all of himbody and heart. "Even a woman who loses your castles and runs headlong into traps?" She felt the low rumble of his chuckle against her belly, against her insides. "Especially a woman like that." He reached to stroke her cheek, to angle her face so that he could kiss her again. Jocelyn kissed him, tightened herself around him. There was nothing better than this. *** They slept for a time, still tangled together as if they feared, even in sleep, that someone might drag them apart. And sometime deep in the night Jocelyn awakened, tense and listening. It came again. A word so soft she couldn't make it out, laughter, the hushed tread of footsteps. Robert rested his chin against her shoulder, drawing her back against his chest. "The guards are changing, love. There's no danger." She lay for a moment, listening to the sounds of the night, orienting herself. And despite the dangers they faced, it seemed little short of a miracle that she lay in Robert's arms now. "I've become so accustomed to that, I almost missed the sound these last two days they've held me up at the castle."
"Are you always so carefully guarded?" "Always. And always with Henry's own Angevin guard." Robert chuckled, and the sound curled soft and seductive against her ear. "The duke was a bit disconcerted when all his own English troops cheered me as Chester was dragging me down the road from Tutbury. Thank God for Leicester. Ranulf wants my lands so badly, I think he'd have killed me and called it an accident if Robin hadn't stayed within sight. EvenafterHenry made it plain he wanted me alive." Jocelyn shivered and pulled his arms tighter around her. "But enough of me, love. I'm well, as you see. Henry has provided the best of food, wine..." He chuckledagain. "Now women. But tell me what happened, how you came here." He kissed her neck, nuzzled her ear. "I meant to ask earlier but was distracted, as I recall." Jocelyn leaned back in his arms and told him about her brother, the duke's rescue, even that hellish game of chess. But she didn't mention the bit about witchcraft, or the hungry look in Henry's gray eyes. Oddly enough Robert raised the subject himself. "I've no idea what will happen. Henry is treading warily for now. He still hopes to sway me with bribes and sweet words. Just beware of him, love. The duke is a man with large appetites for riches, power, women, all things men crave. Don't be alone with him if you can help it, and don't trust him... no matter what he says." He hesitated, continued carefully. "And don't let him touch you, even if he hints it would influence my treatment. It wouldn't. I know him and know that it wouldn't. I say this not because I doubt your honor, sweetheart, only because I fear you do love me too much." Jocelyn twisted around and touched his face. "Robert, do you really not understand I would count it nothing if half the rebel army used me if only it won your life?" "No, Jocelyn,no!Icouldn't stand to think he had touched you, been with you like this. Not him. Not Henry!" The words rang with such bitterness, Jocelyn wrapped her arms about him and held him close. You are of finer stuff than that otherthat Marguerite. And suddenly she knew without asking, cursed herself for a fool for never having guessed it before. "Henry slept with her, didn't he? With Marguerite." There was a long, pained silence. "Yes," Robert admitted. "Yes, he did. And she set it up, my dear wife. Set it up so carefully that I walked in on them in the final throes of their lust." Jocelyn closed her eyes. What a bitter blow for any man, but especially a man like this. "It was at Mantes," Robert muttered. "The abbot of Clairvaux had arranged a truce in hopes of ending the fighting. The AngevinsGeoffrey of Anjou, Henry and some othersmyself and my allies were to talk peace withthe help of the Church. Henry was just sixteen but large and strong and forward even then, already a lord in his own right, already ruling his lands himself." Robert hesitated. "I shouldn't have taken Marguerite, but she begged to go, was no doubt plotting even
then. We had already come to hate each other, but even with that she could still make me want her as I had wanted no woman before. "I don't know how to explain it to you, Jocelyn. I don't even understand it myself. My relationship with Marguerite was sick, twisted, so much so that it sickens me even to think on it now. It was nothing like what you and I have together. You make me feel... I don't know... whole, right with myself and with you. Marguerite had a way of making a man feel less, making everything she touched into filth." He lay silent so long Jocelyn thought he was done. And she needed to know what had happened with Henry, knew it might hold the key to his life. "What happened after you found them? What did you do?" He laughed bitterly. "What would you expect? I dragged Henry naked from my bed and began beating the life from his body. Geoffrey was with me. He dragged me off the boy and screamed that I couldn't commit murder, that I couldn't slay an unarmed sixteen-year-old who had come to Mantes under a truce of God." Jocelyn thought of the meeting she had witnessed between Geoffrey and the duke just a short while ago, of the odd way they had stared at each other, then looked away. Geoffrey had known. He had known Robert's danger all along. "But that wasn't what stopped me. At that moment I'd no reverence even for God. It was Marguerite. She sat there naked in our bed, the whole room a shambles and the three of us screaming and pummeling each other about on the floor. And she was laughing, the bitch was laughing as if she watched a farce! And I knew then that she had planned the whole thing, planned it to ruin me." Robert sucked in his breath, as if even the speaking of it ripped open a wound. "So I let Henry scramble into his clothing and run. Marguerite was still laughing, excited ifyou can believe it, by the havoc she'd wrought. She informed me that Henry was one of many, that I was so poor an excuse for a husband, she needed a legion of lovers to make it up. "She threw out names, dozens of names, but I scarcely listened. Most of the men she named were trusted friends. I told her I was done with her, that she could couple with the devil every midnight, and I wouldn't care. And then I rode out, thankful I already had a son, that I wouldn't have to touch her again." Jocelyn lay with her eyes tight shut, her arms around him. His words made her insides twist and churn. "So you and Henry became worse enemies than before," "Yes. The Angevins hunted me then with a vengeance, and I fought back with all the hatred and cunning I could drag up from my bitter soul. I expected Henry to boast of what he'd done, but there was never a whisper. It reflected on him so badly, he didn't want it known, I suppose." Jocelyn held him, stroked him, and Robert clung like a boy needing solace. "There is more," he muttered. "If you claim you love me, you'd best hear the whole sick end to it all. "Marguerite had learned she couldn't get my attention any other way, so she set about trying to surrender Geis Castle to the Angevins. I learned of it and raced to end the plot. There was nothing to do but cage her there and set a watch. She was furious, couldn't believe she had lost all her power to sway me. "There is no excuse for what I did then," he added slowly, "but I did pay for it, madam. Christ, I did pay for my sins! Hating her as I did, knowing how she hated me, I let her seduce me. I used herwe used each otherover and over and over until even we were sick of it. And then I rode out, left her screaming
that I would be back. That I would always come back." He drew in his breath. "And I did, nearly four months later. My steward wrote that Marguerite was dying. I didn't believe it, thought it only more of her plotting. But I went, found her very near death from a fever, from some putrid, rotting sickness inside her." Jocelyn cringed, tasted blood and realized that she hadtorn her own lip with her teeth. She knew what was coming, sensed the terrible thing he was about to say. "Marguerite had conceived a child. An innocent child.My childfrom that day of sickness and lust. She had tried to rid herself of it in the usual way, as she told me then she'd rid herself of others. Only this time the draught hadn't worked. She was forced to try other, cruder methods. My childchildrendied because of my lust, because I was too stupidly naive to realize the kind of creature I was tied to." He hesitated. His breathing was rapid. Jocelyn could feel his heart racing, thundering violently against hers. "Marguerite was cunning even at the last, though not cunning enough as she found. She pretended to a fit of terrible remorse, told me that Adam wasn't my son, that he was the get of some stable groom, the result of a few minutes lust in a hayrick. She would make all right, confess all here at the last so no serf's child would be my heir." He paused again, shuddered as if remembering, as if hearing it all again. "I almost think she wanted me to kill her and have that sin to burden my soul, but I held my rage and outplotted her. I pretended anguish, told her I was going for her priest and my steward to stand as witnesses. Instead I sent everyone from that floor of the keep and put trusted men to guard the stairways. "Then I returned and sat with her in that stinking room. I listened to her raging and cursing and screaming insults at me for days while she died. The priest, her women, even my own men thought me insane, but I let no one near for fear she might ruin my son. I did let her priest in at the last. She was unconscious by then, couldn't spew out her poisons. Not into earthly ears at least." He drew a long shuddering breath but Jocelyn sensed he wasn't finished. "And then I went and found the hag who had helped her destroy my children," he added softly. "An old woman of Geis who had long practiced witchcraft. I'd never paid her any mind, but I killed her then, Jocelyn, killed her without a qualm. My own priest knows of it. Now you. I've confessed and done penance, but I don't regret it, madam. I've tried, but cannot!" Jocelyn was shivering. She tried to say something andcouldn't, realized the tears were running down her face, slipping warm and salty into her mouth. "You've no idea how it is to look at a child you love more than your own salvation and wonder if he is yours," Robert said raggedly. "To watch him die and then sob and cry out in the night and to wonder still if it is some other man's flesh you mourn. I know she was lying, I know it! But all the same, I will never know for sure. And that bitch is in hell somewhere, laughing, laughing even now. I might have kept her from hurting Adam, but she did most assuredly come close to destroying me!" Jocelyn fought to steady herself, to speak through the tears that choked her. "Does it really matter, my darling, whose flesh Adam was? Would you have loved him any less had you known for sure he was sprung from some other? I think not. Iknow not! You loved the boy, and he you, and that is what matters. All the flesh and bone and blood in God's kingdom cannot bind one person to another if there isn't love to hold them first.
"Look at Marguerite! She was obviously the child's blood mother. Yet you were the one who loved and cherished and protected the boy. You were the one who gave him four, almost five years of happiness and love. "That is what makes the tie, Robert. Love is what binds one person to another despite all the hellish plots the devils both here and below can dream up! It doesn't matter whose seed Adam was. You were his father, you and none other. Love him and mourn him for he deserves that. But don't tear yourself apart for the vile mouthings of some foul and evil bitch!" She lay still then, struggling to breathe around the tears that ran unchecked.Sweet merciful God, grant this prayer if nothing else all my days. Let Robert have some time of happiness at least, for he does deserve it. Robert was still clinging to her, but his breathing had slowed to a more normal cadence. "You're right," he said softly. "It doesn't matter whence Adam came. Only that he was mine to enjoy for a time... that he is safe now with God." He rolled over, drawing her close against the curve of his body as if he would make her part of him again. "If only I had known you were out there waiting for me, Jocelyn, I wouldn't have been nearly so desolate," he whispered. And then he smiled. Somehow Jocelyn could tell he was smiling even in the dark, even through her tears. "I'm so thankful, my love," he said, "that you waited for me, that you did not die when you were ten."
Twenty-Eight "Wake up, sweetheart, someone's coming." Jocelyn blinked and opened her eyes, becoming aware of loud voices as someone entered the tent. It would be the duke, of course. No one else could get through the guards. "Stop whatever it is you are doing," Henry called. "You've company. Leicester is returned, and we've brought something to break your fast." Robert grabbed up the coverlet and jerked it over his wife just as Henry caught back the silken curtain screening the private area of the tent. The duke's eyes traveled from Jocelyn's flushed face and tangled hair to Robert's arm curled possessively around her. "Ah," he said softly. "I see all is well. You've been testy of late, my lord de Langley. I did almost hate to throw the lady into the lion's den." "The lady knew she had nothing to fear," Robert muttered. "The lady does not appear to fear much," Henry returned. Jocelyn glanced from one pair of tense and watchful eyes to the other. "The lady would like to get dressed," she said crossly. Henry glanced at her and grinned. "I stand rebuked, madam. Hurry then, for we are waiting." With a flutter of the curtain he was gone, and Jocelyn could hear him talking to the earl of Leicester a few steps away.
She glanced at Robert. He was biting his lip to keep from laughing. He bent swiftly and kissed her. "I do love you, madam," he whispered. "Whatever happens, I would have you remember that. You've brought me joy and laughter and peaceeven now. Always remember that." Jocelyn traced his mouth with one finger. "And you, my love, have brought me far more even than that." He caught her hand, stared at the ring she was wearing. "I see you found this. I didn't know if you'd ever want to wear it again, but I bought it back from that woman, thought it might be good to remind myself of my own folly on occasion." "Of course I'll wear it. To remind me of what we had and what we've passed through. To remind me that things can become even better after trials." She glanced sideways at him and smiled. "To remind my lord husband that his wife has a temper, that she isn't slow to wield a knife." Robert tried to hold it back, but the laughter burst from him. It was odd and wonderful to hear him laugh after what they'd been through last night, with what they were facing now. "It is good to hear you so full of mirth, my lord, but I would remind you that Leicester and I are waiting," Henry called dryly from just beyond the curtain. They dressed hastily and stepped around the curtain. Both men were sitting, but Leicester rose to his feet. He was a tall man, graying and deliberate, the calm center of the storm that so often raged around Henry. "Robert... my lady." He nodded gravely. "I'm sorry, madam, that I wasn't here for you yesterday. I understand there was some trouble with your brother." Jocelyn nodded, forcing herself to smile at Henry. "Yes, but the duke came to my rescue in the most amazing way. Almost as if he'd been expecting me," she added with only the slightest widening of her eyes. Henry met her gaze, amusement lurking round the corners of his mouth. "The providence of God, madam. He does provide for those who work his will. It's a lesson we all should remember. Now come and eat. I'm hungry." A page had spread the table with a cloth and laid out cheese and good white bread from the castle, honey, and two pitchers of ale. Jocelyn lifted her brimming cup and drank. It was good. The duke would demand the best of everything, she expected. "My lord of Leicester returned from Bedford in thenight," Henry was saying. "Imagine his amazement when my guards wouldn't let him near his own tent." Jocelyn smiled at the earl. "I'm sorry if you were inconvenienced, my lord. Robert and I had little choice." Robert had looked up sharply at the name. "Bedford? What were you doing at Bedford, Robin?" Leicester met his eyes briefly, then turned his attention back to his meal without comment. "Bedford is now under siege," Henry answered, biting at a thickly-buttered slab of bread. "We've taken Tutbury and Bedford will fall before long. The earl of Derby did surrender himself finally at Tutbury. He
has repudiated Stephen and sworn himself to me. Now he and his men will take part in the siege. My lord of Leicester did but go with him there to oversee all and report back to me." Robert had paled at the news, but now he glanced contemptuously at Leicester and then back to Henry. "Do you value them then, these men whose honor is like spit in the wind?" Leicester flushed deeply and kept eating, but Henry held Robert's eyes. "I'm no fool, de Langley. I value each of those men exactly as each should be valued. And so I should value you." "I won't swear to you, Henry. I won't. Not toyou!" The room went still. Jocelyn held her breath and even Leicester stopped eating. Henry narrowed his eyes and smiled. "You think not? We shall see then, won't we?" The duke glanced shrewdly at Jocelyn. "But come, my lord de Langley. Your lady is looking alarmed and I'll not have that. Madam, after the difficult day you had yesterday, you deserve this one for rest and pleasure at least." He glanced back toward Robert, took a long, considering drink. "Did your lady tell you her brother is talking about the camp. That he is wanting her burned alive for a witch?" Robert hadn't taken his eyes from Henry's. "Before God, I do swear if you harm my wife for an old grievance between us, I will see you damned for eternity, will come back from the dead myself to be sure it is done!" All pretense of politeness was abruptly stripped away. "That grievance is dead and buried!" Henry snapped. "That'swhat I've been trying to tell you, you fool. I wronged you and you wronged me, and we've both flailed and burned and bloodied each other, killed good men for years for something that wasn't even worth piss! I won, Robert, and I'll win again. I will be king of England and not even you can stop it. And by God's passion, I'll destroy you without remorse if you continue to try!" "I don't fear you... not evenyou!" "I know that! I know it! I've had years of learning it!" the duke shouted. There wasn't a sound in the room. Henry's face was red and mottled. His eyes blazed with a strange inner fire. Jocelyn held her breath, gripped her cup, and prayed. Henry sucked in his breath, fought for control of his temper and steadied himself. "But I would win something here besides a burned-out waste of a kingdom. That's the fate this land is rapidly running to. You could help me stop it if you would, de Langley. We could stop the burning and killing before the rest of the kingdom goes up in a funeral pyre that does stink to heaven! "Stephen is an old and ailing man," he added, "and Eustace but a poor excuse for one. Everyone knows they cannot stop me, even those lords still sworn to Stephen. If I read you a list of men who have secretly approached me for terms I swear it would astound you." "No," Robert said softly, sadly. "No, it wouldn't." "Then for the love of God, man, join us!" Henry cried, leaning forward. "I would welcome you with all honor, confirm your lands and give you more. Leicester is here and Cornwall, Hereford and Salisbury, Gloucester and Derby, some of the foremost men of the kingdom. You've fought a fierce and honorable war. All men know it. No one will think the less of you if you swear to me now!"
"I will think the less of me," Robert said. "Oh, for the love of God!" Henry drew in his breath and leaned back. "Yes, Stephen is growing older. He is ailing, perhaps. Is that any reason to betray my king?" Robert asked. "Does God exempt me from vows sworn on holy relics simply because they aren't convenient? Someday, if you are lucky, you too will be old, my lord. Would you then seeyour friends and vassals drop away? Would you understand and wish them well as they go fawning and cringing to lick the hand of the younger, stronger man who would take your crown?" The two men stared at each other as if they were alone. "You agree then, that I will be king," Henry said, so softly Jocelyn had to strain to hear. Robert drew in his breath. "I think it is probably inevitable." Henry stared for a moment, then slowly began to smile. "Finish your breakfast, my lord de Langley. I'm riding out shortly and would have you accompany me." Robert held the duke's eyes. "And if I won't?" "Then I'll take your lady wife in your stead. I've no doubt she would make a far more agreeable companion." "My wife stays here," Robert snapped. "I'll go." Henry glanced at Jocelyn, still smiling. "Don't look so strained, madam, I will bring him back alive. Your lord may well seem to run after martyrdom, but I don't plan to oblige him. He's had that once, and I found him just as troubling to me dead as alive." He pushed back from the table and stood. "I'm done now. We will ride." Robert rose as well, holding onto his ale cup and a slab of thick bread. "I've no horse, you know. That cur Chester cut open the finest stallion I ever bestrode." "Yes, the big gray." Henry was moving toward the entrance and Robert followed reluctantly. "As you may recall that animal was mine," Henry was saying. "I've spoken to my lord of Chester concerning his mistake in destroying my property. He is going to pay me back, will have the mounting of you now from his own stable." Robert chewed his bread, added dryly, "So that's the punishment you intend, to make me ride one of Chester's mounts. God help me then, for the man is so cow handed there'll be no suffering his horse." The duke burst into laughter and Robert glanced back toward the table. "Robin, for the love you once bore my father, stay by my wife." "Of course." Jocelyn met her husband's eyes, forceda smile witha major effort. "Don't worry, Robert. I'll be fine." Henry was taking in the tableau from his place in the entrance. "Of course she'll be safe. So long as the
lady enjoys my protection, not even her brother would be fool enough to touch her." Robert glanced up sharply. There had been just the right inflection to make it obvious what the duke had intended. The two men eyed each other, one grim-faced, one smiling. And then they turned and disappeared together from the tent. Jocelyn puta hand across her eyes, drew in a long, shuddering breath. She didn't know how much more of this she could stand. Leicester reached across the table and quietly refilled her cup. "He's not in any real danger, you know, madam. At least not at the moment. I assure you the duke wants Robert alive." "But he won't bend," Jocelyn murmured despairingly. "Robert will never bend, and your Henry isn't a patient man. He won't let things run like this forever. The duke must bend Robert or break him. That is his way." She picked up her cup and drank, for the aching in her throat was becoming unbearable. Leicester stared at her consideringly and then sipped his ale. "I don't know what was between them, madam. I don't want to know. But I'll tell you something, something between the two of us, I hope. It's difficult to know this young man, this Henry Plantagenet, but I've learned him as well or better than most. I didn't come to him for gain, but because I saw in him the only way to stop the killing. Because Henry knows I seek nothing from him, he does value me, trust me, at least as much as he does any man." He hesitated, stared at her, then sipped his ale again. "If you'll forgive a crude comparison, lady, I'll tell you this for your comfort. Henry is much like a man who is hot for a woman who denies him. He woos her with heat and urgency and finally wins her. But once he has what he most desired, he does wonder why he set her value so high. Henry has wooed and won many of Stephen's vassals, many of the high men of the land. But secretly Ibelieve he mistrusts and despises them, even myself a little, perhaps." "And you can love such a man?" Jocelyn demanded. "Love doesn't enter into it," Leicester said calmly. "I loved Stephen, but Stephen was soft. He couldn't hold such wolves as Chester and Peverel and Hugh Bigod and the rest of them, couldn't keep them from destroying the land. Henry hasn't a soft bone in his body, and he will make justice. And that is what this land needs." "But what of Robert?" Jocelyn asked. "He won't forswear himself. Not even for me, as Henry obviously believes." "Don't fret, madam. Your husband is playing the game in the best possible way it could be played. The more he denies Henry, the more the duke wants him, the higher his value is set." "But this is no game my lord plays, and the stake that is set is his life!" she exclaimed despairingly. "Robert means every word. He will not swear!" "I know. That is what makes it all so amazing." Leicester smiled and reached across and squeezed her hand gently. "Take heart, madam. The duke knows it, too. And that will be your husband's salvation."
Twenty-Nine Robert was allowed to see his men briefly the next day, even the ones Henry had taken prisoner at
Tutbury. Then Sir Geoffrey and the three knights Jocelyn had brought were sent back to Stephen under the duke's own safe conduct. Robert tried to send his wife as well, but Henry wouldn't hear of it. Lady de Langley had begged his protection, the duke said, and by God's passion, how could he protect a woman if she wasn't within sight? Robert bowed to the inevitable. He had no choice. But he watched his wife with worried eyes, made love to her at night with a passion made more intense by the fragility of the narrow strand of rope they walked, a rope that might unravel without notice, sending them tumbling into places he shuddered even to think. He wasn't afraid for himself. He had made his peace with God and was ready for whatever was required of him. It was Jocelyn he feared for, his wife's future that woke him sweating and trembling in the dark. For with all Henry's charm and fat promises, Robert knew the unpredictable young duke could be a vindictive enemy. The days dragged into high summer, and it was hot and increasingly dusty in the camps. The Angevin army settled in for siege work which was tedious at best. Jocelyn learned then, that if there was one thing Henry of Anjou hated, it was boredom. She suspected he kept Robert with him so often merely to tease and torment, to push and provoke and see what her husband would do. She suffered more from the heat and tension than she ever had in her life, even succumbing to an occasional bout of uncontrollable weeping when Robert rode off with the duke. She had witnessed the incredible Angevin temperby now and was terrified her very outspoken husband would inflame it, that one day Robert might ride out and not come back. The talk about the camps was that the entire army was to go to Wallingford. The city, which had long been loyal to the Angevin cause, had been under siege almost continually by Stephen's forces. The king had even built a rival siege castle across the river at Crowmarsh and the two garrisons had been alternately bludgeoning and starving each other. Now Bedford had been sacked and burned, and Henry had consolidated his control over the south and west and most of the midlands. It was said by many that they were set for Wallingford, and it was almost certain if they went that the decisive battle with Stephen would be joined at last. "So are we going, my lord duke? Are we going to Wallingford?" Robert asked. Henry looked up from the game of chess he was setting up with Jocelyn. "Why? Will you fight for me if we do?" "Of course not! I do wonder. That is all." Henry went back to his chess. "Use your head, de Langley. What would you do if you were me?" "Go to Wallingford." Henry only grinned. Robert got up and prowled the tent. He was almost screaming with boredom. He had never been a man who handled inactivity well, and these weeks of sitting and talking and playing at chess and dice, waiting for Henry to ride back from whatever amusement or fight he had been engaged in, playing at words with the duke and then waiting some more, were beginning to drive him mad.
He glanced at his wife, sitting so calmly across from Henry. If it hadn't been for Jocelyn he'd have been mad long before this. She had a way of keeping him sane and calm, had a wry humor that could make him laugh even in his darkest hours. Merciful Father God, keep her safe. Punish me for my sins and hers, too, if you must, but keep her safe. As if feeling the intensity of his gaze, Jocelyn looked up, sent him a smile so dazzling it rocked his world. Wouldhe forswear himself if it meant her life? Would he cringe and crawl before this man he had hated for years if it came to that? In an instant! He and Henry had danced about the issue for weeks, had dared each other with looks and innuendo. But did Henry know? Would the duke dare call such a hideous bluff? "My lord duke, there's a man out here begging an audience," a sentry called. "He says he is Lord Montagne. Shall I send him away?" Henry looked up with a scowl. "Sir Brian Montagne?" "No, my lord. William, so he says." Henry tugged at his short beard. "Send him in." Jocelyn steadied herself. Had he received her letter? Might it be possible her father had come here to help? "My lord duke," Montagne said, in that same gruff voice Jocelyn remembered from her childhood. "I do thank you for your" He stopped mid-stride, eyes riveted on his youngest daughter sitting calmly across a chessboard from Henry Plantagenet. He broke off. "Jocelyn! For the love of God!" He caught himself up with an effort, strode forward and went down on one knee. "Forgive me, my lord, but I didn't expect to see my daughter here. I am just come from Bedford where all has gone forward as you ordered." Henry nodded and Montagne rose to his feet. "And why are you here, sir?" Montagne glanced uncertainly toward Jocelyn. "At Bedford I received a much-delayed letter from my daughter, asking me to come before you, my lord, to plead her cause. And so I am come." Henry smiled and motioned for a page to pour Montagne wine. He glanced toward Jocelyn. "Your daughter has a passion for letter writing, it seems. You aren't the first who has come. Indeed, my lady de Langley has stirred up a veritable hornet's nest about my head with the power of her pen. "Oddly enough, the earl of Colwick and his son, Pelham, have been besieging me. Even my noble lord of Leicester has felt the bite of her pen and entered the listsas her champion. The great princes of the Church have dared to hint at excommunication if I proceedhow did they put it? recklessly was the word, I believe." Jocelyn stared at the duke with sharp interest. This was the first she had heard about her letters at all.
"Naturally I am not a reckless man, so I've no cause to fear the Church," Henry added smoothly. "And I'm happy to listen to any loyal supporter, especially one so stalwart as yourself, my lord Montagne. "However, just now I'm feeling restless and I can see by his pacing that your son-by-marriage must be feeling the same. My lord de Langley, you've not felt a sword in your hand for some weeks. What say you to a bit of practice so you don't forget the art? I should like to watch." Montagne whirled toward the corner of the tent, staring at Robert as if he dared not believe his eyes. Robert met Montagne's gaze with a burning one of his own. "I would like that, my lord duke, but not just now, if you please. Now, I think, we should stay here." "Nonsense! We will go. Your lady and her father will have much to speak of in private. Besides what place could be better?" Henry reached over and caught Jocelyn's hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed it. "Lady, my men are here to serve you. You are free to command anything at all in my name." He grinned. "Anything within reason I should say, for I've learned to my cost you dare much." Jocelyn held Henry's eyes. The duke so loved these games of power, of threat and protection, ambush and surprise. "I thank you, my lord," she said coolly."Andwhen you return, I shall beat you at chess." Henry grinned again and released her hand. "You may try, madam, but you will not win." He turned abruptly. "Come, Robert of Belavoir, I shall find you a partner on which to practice." Robert had crossed the floor to his wife. Bending, he kissed her swiftly. "Take care, love," he murmured. "We won't be far." And then he straightened, meeting Henry's amused gaze. "I am eager to work my arm. Dare I hope you might partner me with my lord of Chester?" Henry laughed again. "Not just yet. Ranulf is stillat Bedford, you know. Though I might think on adding that as inducement if it would help change your mind." Robert's mouth twitched once. Then he passed Montagne, nodding coldly, "My lord. I'll see you again, I suppose." Montagne nodded in bewilderment. "I suppose." Then the two men were gone and Jocelyn was staring at her father across the space of a few feet. He was dusty and dirty and had obviously ridden hard. She hadn't risen and he made no move to sit down. "Good Christ, girl, are you his mistress?" he blurted out. Jocelyn held his gaze. "No, his wife. I would think you would have remembered, my lord, the day you did give me away." He stared at her, taken aback for a moment. "You know what I mean, I think," he said, more mildly than she expected. She lifted her eyebrows. "And do you think Robert would be here if I were? He would either have killed the duke or be dead himself in the attempt." "Of course." Montagne frowned. "It's just surprising to find you here like this, on such intimate terms with
such a prince." He drew in his breath and came forward awkwardly, obviously uncertain how to address her. "May I sit down?" She motioned for him to sit, then rose and refilled his wine cup herself. All the while, he was looking at her as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "You look well," he said at last. "I haven't seen you since your wedding, you know." "Yes. To my cost, I've seen only your son." He shook his head. "I've heard tales of all that has happened, have heard Brian's side of it as well." "No doubt, then, you've heard lies." He met her eyes. "Some, yes. Others not, I think. As it is Brian has brought much shame to our family. All know he is in disfavor with the duke." He scowled. "I seem to be in disfavor as well. Henry made it obvious he doesn't trust me with my own flesh and blood." "Should he?" Montagne stared at her, then lowered his eyes and drank deliberately. "From that letter you wrote it's easy to see you believe I've fallen far short as a father. Whatever else you may think of me, girl, I would never raise my hand against my own child." Jocelyn gripped her hands together beneath the table, managed to hold her voice steady. "And am I your child? Am I blood of your blood, flesh of your flesh, or am I sprung from some other seed?" He put his cup down sharply. "Where did you hear such filth?" "From your son, a man who claims he is not my relation, who has twice ambushed my husband and twice sought to kill me. A man who would now have me burned alive for a witch." "Blood of Christ!" Montagne swore. "The boy has run mad!" "Has he? Has he truly run mad, or am I only now learning bits of the truth, the truth about why you despised me, why you couldn't stand to look on me from the day I was born?" Montagne flushed and glanced away. "It's a lie. You are flesh of my flesh. Your mother knew no man before me. Since you were born some nine months to the week after that, it would be odd, girl, had I not had the siring of you." Jocelyn didn't know whether to be saddened or relieved. "Brian said she had a lover. Rhys of Powis." He nodded. "In later years, that was true. Gwendyth loved him before we were wed, told me of it the first day we met. She no more wanted that marriage than I. Christ, I'd scarce buried Brian and Adelise's mother, felt then that I'd buried my heart and soul with Madelaine!" He twisted his cup restlessly between his hands. "But her fatheryour grandfatherwanted peace, and I needed peace desperately. We were about to be overrun by the Welsh from the west and the empress Matilda's faction was looking threatening from the east. Besides, I wanted another son." He looked up at her, his blue eyes moving over her dispassionately. "You put an end to that, you know.
Gwendyth near died having you. The midwives said it would be a miracle of God if she ever conceived again." Hehesitated. "So I was tied to a woman I didn't particularly like who made no secret of the fact that she didn't like me. A woman who could bear me no sons." He shrugged and drank. "Was it any surprise we separated? That I didn't mind about Rhys so long as they were discreet? Besides, I had women enough for my needs. I had never liked those short, dark women of your mother's race." Jocelyn restrained herself with difficulty. "I'm glad, then, that she had Rhys.Hewas a wonderful man." Montagne's eyes narrowed at her emphasis. And then he grinned. "You should have been a son, you know. You had the spirit. It was always out of place, I thought, for a girl." Jocelyn met his eyes. She would never like this man, nor he her, most probably. But it was good to know he was her father at least, that he had come to defend her because they shared the same blood. "Some men like me very well just as I am," she said coolly. "So I've seen." Montagne was still smiling. "You've done well for yourself, girl, better by far than I'd expected. Men say you've tamed the Lion of Normandy to your skirts. Now I find you the intimate of earls, of the man who will soon be our king." He drank again. "Perhaps it's you who should speak for me." "If there is ever a cause I will do so," Jocelyn said softly. "Thank you, Father. Thank you for coming." "Your husband I may not like for the long enmity that lies between us," Montagne muttered. "But I swear to you on the peril of my soul that I had nothing to do with those attempts to murder him. We share a blood bond with this marriage, a bond I'd not taint with treachery. I rode here today to speak for him even as you asked. It's obvious, though, that he no longer stands in need of it." He drank again. "When did he swear to Henry?" "He hasn't." He glanced up sharply. "But he seems on good terms with the duke." "Yes. With an ax hanging over both our heads." "How so?" "Henry would make Robert do homage to him. Robertwill not. So far we are both treated well, but have no notion how long that will last." Jocelyn sipped her wine and stared at the table. "In the meantime, Robert and I dance to the tune of Henry's makingand he does so love to call the tune. And I lie awake in the night wondering when my husband might be dragged out to be slain, when your son might succeed in convincing Henry that I am a witch to be burned." "That, at least, I can help you with, daughter. There will be no more talk of witchcraft." Montagne finished his wine and stood. "Brian has taken much on himself these last months, seems to think he has outgrown a father's governance. I'm about to teach him he has not." Jocelyn stared up at him. "Thank you, Father. It may save Robert one sleepless night in two."
Montagne nodded, started to go and then turned back. "It's said you're well thought of both in Stephen's camp and here. There are endless stories making the rounds about you, child, some so wild I dared not believe them." He hesitated, held her eyes. "I never set your value at much, and it's obvious from your letter that fact was no secret. Well, I'm not a man much given to past regrets or future promises, but I'd be a poor one could I not admit I'd been wrong. You've made me proud of you, Jocelyn. Something I can't say for my son." Jocelyn was surprised to find the words meant so much. She had thought it too late to care. "For a time these last months, I was almost hoping Rhy was my father," she murmured. "But you know, my lord, I find I am glad he was not." A slow smile warmed Montagne's dusty, aging face. "Good day to you, Lady de Langley. I will see you again... and your lord."
Thirty Robert was angry. "The guards say we're to start for Wallingford in the morning. I know Stephen will meet the duke there, and God help me, Jocelyn, I'll go mad, I think, if I must sit and twiddle my thumbs while the fate of this land is decided in one bitter battle!" Jocelyn fought the unexpected surge of relief. She was almost thankful the duke held Robert, at least she wouldn't lose him in battle. But she knew her husband well enough to know that if Stephen lost all at Wallingford, he would have difficulty overcoming his bitterness. Robert would never forgive Henry for refusing to ransom him, would never forgive himself for being forced to abandon his king. She longed to put her arms around him, but Robert was pacing the narrow confines of the tent, reminding her a little of the duke as he prowled and frowned and snarled. "To make matters worse, I must now ride off for a day's pleasure at hunting with that devil and some of his traitor lords.Pleasure!" Robert spit out. "Can you imagine? I must hold my tongue and pretend to hunt when I would rather by far see them all flayed alive!" "But if the duke has ordered it, you must go," Jocelyn reminded him softly. Robert drew in his breath. "Aye, so I must. And you'll be left here alone to ready our things for travel. I'm sorry, sweetheart." His eyes moved over her, concerned. "You're looking tired again. Are you certain you're all right?" Jocelyn smiled, going gratefully into the arms he held out. "I'm well, Robert, truly. I've just not slept much these last nights. Don't worry about the packing, though. I'll send for that girl Henry gave me as maid. Ella's dutieshave been light enough. I'll make her earn her keep today." Robert smiled. "Aye, there'll be many earning their pay and more these next few hours. Pity Leicester and Cornwall. They must get everyone scrambling and cursing, riding frantically to set up new sources of supply, making all the men and horses, carts and baggage, ready to travel, all in just one day. Henry certainly doesn't set his plans to suit the convenience of others." Jocelyn reached up and kissed her husband. "No, my love. Few great lords do."
"My lord de Langley, the duke sends for you now," one of the guards called. "You're to come at once." Robert scowled. "With him it is alwaysat once!" Jocelyn smiled and rose up on her toes to kiss him again. "Go, my darling, I'll be fine. Just please, for God's sake and mine, hold your tongue!" Robert grinned then and was gone and Jocelyn set about preparing their little household for the journey. She didn't send for Ella, however, didn't trust the girl's prying eyes. Besides, there wasn't really much to do. There were clothes to be packed, a few games and precious books Robert used to beguile the time, even one of Henry's favorites, a costly book of Abelard her husband had borrowed. She wrapped the valuable book and set it aside. The duke was unusually learned, speaking and even reading a bit in most known tongues, quoting philosophy and law and enjoying the discussing and arguing of it immensely. If only he weren't Robert's enemy, she might have admired such a man. With a weary sigh she rose to her feet, reaching out to catch at a table as the room began to spin. The afternoon heat was becoming oppressive, and she knew she needed to lie down. She was lucky Robert was usually gone at this time. So far, he hadn't become suspicious. She lay down and closed her eyes, spreading her hands across her belly. She was certain now she carried Robert's child, but as much as she longed for a babe, she couldn't bear to tell him. Robert worried enough already. If he knew she carried his child she would be a doubly-effectiveweapon against him, one, she knew, Henry wouldn't hesitate to use. She drowsed for a bit, not sleeping deeply, and was awakened when one of the guards called, "My lady, one of Leicester's squires is here with baskets for you to pack your things. Do you need him?" Jocelyn scrambled to her feet, smoothing her hair and dress, hoping she wasn't unnaturally pale. "Send him in." A familiar figure ducked in with several large panniers for the pack horses, but it was neither of Leicester's squires. Young Thomas Abenai, squire to the dead earl of Warwick, flashed her a warning look as he bowed. "Lady, my lord of Leicester sent me to make myself useful. Is there aught you would have me do?" "Certainly, boy," Jocelyn answered. "You're a Godsend. There is much still to be done." The guard checked through the baskets then turned to the boy. "You may help the lady. Let me know if there's aught else she needs." Thomas nodded, and when they were alone she asked softly, "How do you come here?" Thomas knelt and kissed her hand. "We can speak of that later, only let me tell this in case we are interrupted. Belavoir is back in loyal hands. Your lord's standard flies from the gatehouse, and the duke's own messenger was turned away with arrows and abuse. I overheard the duke and Leicester talking of it, but don't think them likely to tell him." The boy grinned at that, his blue eyes dancing beneath a shock of dark hair. "I thought, lady, that I might set that much to rights at least."
Jocelyn gripped his shoulder. "How did it happen?" "No one knows. It's known only that your husband's men again man the walls." Jocelyn smiled. "Thank you, Thomas. This will give my lord new heart. Now tell me. How are you here?" The boy rose to his feet. "I came behind you under a safe conduct, lady, bringing my lord back to Warwick to be buried. I've been waiting up at the castle since, for my father to send me word where to go. "Then my lord of Leicester drew me aside, and Ilearned why I hadn't been allowed back to camp. My father has come over to Henry, lady. My own father! I wanted to spit in Leicester's face and damn them all when he told me, but I couldn't. The earl has been too kind." Jocelyn squeezed his shoulder in sympathy, and the boy went on, "As one of the earl's own squires broke an arm, he's taken me in until my father finds me service with some new master. An Angevin master no doubt!" Thomas spat. "I've been waiting days for an excuse to come here, to say if there is aught I can do for you or your lord, I would gladly give my life!" Jocelyn studied the boy. He was fourteen, old enough to hold fierce ideals and the loyalties that went with them, too young to piece reason and justice from the tangled mess England had become. "Thank you, Thomas. My lord will value your loyalty, as do I. But don't judge your father too harshly. There's no saying any longer where honor lies in this miserable contest. There are good men and bad on both sides." The boy nodded. "I just wanted Lord de Langley to know. Despite what my father has done, I would gladly serve him in anything." His eyes flashed. "Even if there is danger!" Jocelyn smiled.Especiallyif there were danger. It was just the kind of thing to appeal to a hot blooded lad. "I'll tell him. Now you must help me unpack my things and pack again, else those sentries will wonder what we've been about." The two went to work, had things nearly repacked by the time Robert returned with Leicester and Hereford and the host of guards that followed. Robert didn't blink so much as an eyelash when Jocelyn introduced young Thomas as if the boy were a stranger. We are getting too good at this,Jocelyn thought.We have lived so long with deceit it is second nature. But when everyone was gone she gave her husband the good news of Belavoir. "God in heaven above be praised!" Robert whispered, such a blaze of joy and hope in his eyes she would gladly have sacrificed every scruple she'd ever held if only to be able to put it there again. "My men must have overwhelmed them and escaped,probably with the help of the servants. This will do little to stop Henry. He holds most of the west now." Robert grinned, grabbed her up, and swung her around in his arms. "But it does mean a great deal to me, madam. It does mean a great deal to me!" He set her down then, suddenly thoughtful. "And that boy Thomas. Who knows but that God has sent him. I'll think on it, be watchful tomorrow. These guards are so sure I'll risk nothing with you here, they
grow almost lax in their duties." Jocelyn reached for him. "Oh, Robert, I'm afraid," she whispered before she could stop herself. "Don't do anything foolish, my love." He wrapped his arms around her, kissed her long and lingeringly and Jocelyn thought of the child she carried, of this man she loved more than life itself. Her throat ached. It was an effort to hold the tears back. "Whatever we do, it will be together," he murmured. "I would risk your life for no cause on God's earth. And as it's unlikely anything will come of the boy, I'll tell you not to fret." He hesitated. "It's just so good to feel hope again, to feel hope after living so long without." *** The ride that next day was hot and uncomfortable, and Jocelyn fought to hide the fact that she didn't feel well. And Robert was right: they saw Thomas as he ran errands for Leicesterwatering horses, collecting firewood, and fetching wineskinsbut nothing unusual happened. By the next afternoon the vanguard of Henry's army was nearing the besieged city of Wallingford. Across the winding, blue-gilt ribbon of the river, they occasionally caught sight of Stephen's advance guards. The knights sat their horses on the opposite bank, watching suspiciously, weapons and armor flashing blindingly in the late-afternoon sun. Robert tried to ignore the seductive lure of freedom across the water, but it was impossible. At this season, the Thames was so narrow he could probably have shouted across and been heard. It wouldn't be difficult to cross without a ford, not even for Jocelyn. He toyed with the idea of escape, tantalized himselfwith the vision of himself and Jocelyn galloping up that far bank. If he were alone he would make a run for it, let the duke's archers shoot him down if they dared. He glanced at his wife, found her smiling in that odd way she had that told him she knew his thoughts. She leaned forward, pretending to brush at a fly. "Do what you want, love, and don't fret for me. I'll be behind you," she whispered, A cold and unnerving fear washed over him, settling heavily in the pit of his stomach. What if they tried and failed? What if Jocelyn were hurt? He gripped his reins, held his breath. But what if they didn't try, and he was forced to swear to Henry? He would always wonder and tear at himself and know that he should have tried. A shout came from up the column and word was passed back to rest the horses. He would have time to think, at least. They dismounted and sought refuge from the heat in the shade of a stand of alders. Young Thomas came by distributing wineskins. The boy was a familiar figure now. He passed the line of guards without question, handing Robert a dripping skin. Robert swung it up and pretended to drink, his heart pounding swift and unsteadily. "Do you think once we start to mount up that you might create a diversion, lad?" he whispered. "A loose horse galloping
through camp, perhaps a baggage cart catching fire if you can manage without danger? I would take my lady across that river and have decided it must be today." The boy gave no indication he had heard, merely taking the wineskin and handing it across to Jocelyn. "I've been ordered to water these horses, my lord, and there is hawthorn growing along the path to the river." He grinned. "A few thorns might create a diversion, I'd think. Under the right saddle blankets." "Don't wait to see. Drop behind to the baggage train and get yourself across the river. Find de Lucy or the earl of York. Either will take you in for love of me." The boy bowed and walked away without looking back and Robert struggled to hold his excitement in check. Jocelyn glanced at him once, then leaned back and closed her eyes as if resting. But her face had paled and the pulse in her throat beat wildly. He leaned closer in concern. "There won't be much time, love," he whispered. "We'll have to make a run for it as soon as those horses begin to rage and tear. Can you make it? There'll be no turning back once the thing's begun." She opened her eyes, managed to smile up at him in that confident way she had. "Certainly, my lord. Need you ask?" Robert frowned. Everything depended on those first few seconds of their break, and there wasn't time for much planning. "I don't think they'll shoot us," he muttered, "for Henry does want me alive. However, you must keep going, Jocelyn, even if I should go down. I want you across there, safe on the opposite side of the river from Henry and Brian. No matter what happens, promise you'll keep going. And if anything should happen to me..." He hesitated, drew in a deep breath. "Well... Geoffrey and Aymer know what to do to keep you safe. Do you understand?" She nodded, keeping her wide, luminous eyes trained on his. He had never wanted so badly to kiss her, to take her in his arms and tell her all she'd meant to him. "If" He swallowed hard. "If by some mischance you should be taken, love, I'll still try for the other side. Henry doesn't want me in that fight for Wallingford. I'll be able to barter myself back for your freedom." Jocelyn reached for his hand and squeezed it. "I want you with me on the other side. Why don't we just plan for that." Despite the guards watching, Robert leaned forward and kissed her. It had been so much simpler before, before Jocelyn had come and held his heart in her hand. But he wouldn't trade what they had together, wouldn't trade it for anything on earth. "Yes," he said, lifting his head, forcing a smile around the knot of fear in his chest. "Let's plan for that." *** They restedor what passed as restingfor a good half-hour, and it was one of the worst times Jocelyn hadeverspent in her life. Her mouth was dry, her stomach knotting and churning as she wondered what would happen, what Henry would do if they failed. Then one of the guards was bringing up the horses, and Robert caught her hand, swinging her to her feet. "Now ride for your life, sweetheart," he whispered. "And know that in these last few months, you've
made me the happiest man on earth." He boosted her quickly into the saddle for several of their guards were mounting up. And even though Jocelyn was expecting it, the sudden explosion of horses and riders took her breath. As if on signal the horses of their guards went wild as several hundred pounds of man and mail bore down on Thomas's carefully placed thorns. The animals bucked and plunged, veering wildly into each other and away, tossing their riders and scattering the little knot of surprised guards in all directions. Men everywhere stared, dumbstruck, or dodged maddened horses. More importantly, none were paying the prisoners any heed. Robert landed the distracted guard nearest him a stunning blow to the chin, then grabbed up the reins of his mount and vaulted into the saddle. Then he and Jocelyn were galloping through camp, making straight for the river. Jocelyn bent low in the saddle, urging her horse after the flying figure of her husband. All about them men were running and shouting, but the sounds and sights seemed a strange screaming blur. Then the river was before them, cool and placid as it flowed between high grassy banks. Robert's horse plunged down the embankment, sliding, straining back on his hocks only to gather himself and lunge forward, throwing up a blinding spray of water on both sides. Jocelyn was only a few strides behind. She felt her mount hesitate, bunch powerful muscles as he gathered himself for that plunge down the bank... then changed his mind, too late, and tried to stop. She rocketed forward onto his neck, grabbing wildly forsaddle, reins, coarse tangled mane, to stop her fall. And then the soft, crumbling earth at the edge of the embankment gave way, and they were tumbling headlong into the cold, swirling waters of the river. Jocelyn hit the water, pushing instinctively away from the thrashing hooves of her panicked mount. The water swept up and over her head, blinding, choking, as she fought to hold her face above the surface. Her horse righted himself and began to swim, and she grabbed for his trailing reins, but it was too late. The river had already swept them beyond reach. Just ahead Robert was swinging his swimming mount from the river channel and back toward her, but from even nearer by came the shouts and splashing of two mounted knights as they plunged into the water behind her. "Robert... no! Go on," she screamed. "Go back!" She struggled to find her footing, discovered she could barely stand against the current. She lunged toward him, let the river carry her forward and downstream from the knights. "Go, back!" she shouted again. "Go back!" But Robert didn't turn. He swept past her, launching himself like a madman directly at the armed knight riding down on her. The man swung his sword and Robert managed to dodge back and catch his arm. Then the two were grappling furiously for the weapon, as the horses matched each other stride for stride, in the churning, roiling water. It was all over in seconds. Miraculously Robert had the sword, had shoved the heavily weighted knight into the river and was flinging himself against his next opponent. The man shouted for help, then disengaged hastily and swung away, for a mailed knight unhorsed in deep water drew a death sentence.
Robert seized those precious seconds to turn his horse downriver toward Jocelyn. He reached for her and she caught his arm, was dragged alongside his swimming mount until he could lift her into the saddle before him. The horse lunged out into the current, swimming strongly, just as a hail of deadly arrows began striking the water all around. "No! Sweet Christ, no!" Robert groaned, bending lowover Jocelyn, trying to protect her. This was what he had feared, the one thing he couldn't fight. From behind came the familiar raging voice of the duke. "Stop it! Stop it, you fools! I'll have the eyes of the man who hits them!" Robert lifted his head, risked a quick glance over his shoulder as the rain of arrows abruptly stopped. A half-dozen bowmen wearing the earl of Chester's livery stood along the bank awaiting further orders. Just a few yards back, Henry was swinging down from his stallion, arguing furiously with Chester himself. Robert drew in a long breath, kept his horse swimming hard for the bank. Stephen's knights must have seen them, recognized him, for they were whooping and shouting with excitement as they galloped along the river toward him. Within seconds Robert's horse had found its feet and was scrambling up the muddy bank. Robert squeezed Jocelyn tight in his arms. He didn't think he had ever felt so thankful before in all his life. "We've made it!" he cried triumphantly. "By the mercy of God we've made it!" Jocelyn leaned back against him, wet and disheveled and breathless from the excitement. "By the mercy of God...andHenry of Anjou." Robert drew in another breath. Jocelyn was right. Chester would have killed them if he could. He stared back across the water. The disgruntled earl and his men were walking toward their horses. Nearer by, Henry sat his restive stallion, watching. Across that narrow expanse of water, their eyes connected. Robert raised his sword in a salute of mute thanks. After a moment the duke lifted his hand. *** In the next few days Henry laid a hasty siege to Stephen's castle of Crowmarsh, finally coming to the rescue of the long-beleagured town of Wallingford. The king countered by sending a force of three hundred knights to quarter at Oxford and harry Henry's forces, while he gathered thousands of men and hurried to meet the duke. And just as at Malmesbury, two mighty armies drew upfacing each other across a river, and just as at Malmesbury no battle was joined. It was dusk when Robert returned from the king's council meeting. Jocelyn rose from the table where she had been pretending to sew. "Is it tomorrow, then?" she asked unsteadily. "Will the fighting begin tomorrow?" Robert stood wordlessly a moment and that silence frightened her more than anything else might have done. She took a step forward, her heart surging wildly. "Merciful God, Robert, don't tell me you're to be at the fore!"
"No, Jocelyn, no sweetheart, it's just" He shook his head. "It's all so strange. There isn't to be a battle. Not for some weeks anyway." "What?" "A truce is declared. A fortnight they say, though de Lucy told me in confidence it's to be extended as necessary. Archbishop Theobald and the bishop of Winchester, the king's own brother, have combined to force a truce on both Henry and Stephen." Robert shook his head again, wonderingly. "Leicester is in on this, a few of the most powerful magnates on both sides have agreed. They're refusing to fight, have decided there's been enough killing, that there must be some kind of peaceful settlement between Stephen and the duke. Both the king and Henry are said to be raging, but without a respectable number of fighting-men, neither can make decent war." For a moment it was difficult to believe her ears. Then Jocelyn was across the room with a cry of joy and into her husband's arms. God bless Leicester! God bless every man with a grain of sense who had decided to stop this madness before the Thames was a river of blood! Robert held her, murmured against her hair, "I wonder if he knew. I wonder if Henry knew this was happening. Since Leicester was in on it I suspect he must have. And it would explain so much, Jocelyn, would explain his generosity that day at the river." His words trailed off and Jocelyn leaned her head against his chest, feeling the strong, reassuring throb of his heart against her cheek. Thank God it would continue, thatit wouldn't be stopped in some pointless battle tomorrow. "I don't care why Henry let us go," she murmured. "I only know I'll be thankful to him for so long as I live." Robert nodded. "I may never trust the man, but I cannot hate him longer. Not after that. And I suppose he'll be my king one day. Judas, what a rough ride that's like to be! The rumor is that the treaty will bypass Eustace and make Henry heir to the crown. Eustace won't settle tamely, of course, but he hasn't men enough to fight all England alone." Jocelyn snuggled closer in her husband's arms. She was so relieved Robert wouldn't have to fight, she hardly cared for anything else. But there was one thing more she wanted, one thing yet to make her happiness complete. With a major battle pending, she hadn't wanted to tell Robert about his child, hadn't wanted him to carry that burden as well as all the rest. "They say the duke's wife is expecting their first child," she murmured. "That he looks for word of it from Anjou any day." Robert nodded. "He hopes for a boy, I know." "Our children will be much of an age then, my lord." She felt Robert stiffen, heard his sharp intake of breath. "Are you telling me" He broke off, swallowed hard. "Are you telling me you're carrying my child?" "It is certainly no other man's." "Sweet Christ, Jocelyn, I didn't mean"
Jocelyn was holding tight to her husband, laughing for the overwhelming joy of this gift she could offer. "Oh, Robert, I know you didn't. I'm only so happy I scarce know myself what I'm saying!" She pulled back and gazed up at him, but her husband's face was anything but joyful. "Robert, I..." She faltered, stunned by his obvious distress. "I... I thought you'd be pleased, thought you'd want a child." "Ido. Jocelyn, I do. It's just..." He stared at her worriedly. "When is it to come?" "I'm not sure yet. February perhaps." "The starving time," Robert muttered. "I always heard it a difficult season, both for the mother and the babe." Jocelyn smiled for she knew what this wasabout. "There is plenty of food stored away at Belavoir.Iwon't go hungry, my love." "No, madam, that you will not! Not even if every other soul in the west country must." Jocelyn reached up and cupped his face tenderly. How could so brave a man worry so much for this most natural thing on God's earth? "Listen to me now, Robert, for we will have months of this to get through. I'm not one of these frail, fragile creatures of the court, fainting away for a sneeze. I was born of the land, strong and healthy and well able to bear you sons. My father always despaired for my lack of a fine lady's ways. He told me I should have beenaboy." She smiled again. "All will be well, Robert, truly. I'll not have you tearing yourself apart these next months for no cause." He caught her hand, pressed his mouth against her palm. "I know it, Jocelyn. Before God, I do. And I'll be with you, I swear. Even if Stephen and Henry are raging and tearing and pulling all of heaven down about our ears." He hesitated, met her eyes then with a wry smile of his own. "Sometimes this caring so much isacurse, you know, sweetheart. Before I met you and loved you, I feared little on earth. Now I have peace, happiness, a contentment I've never known. You've given me so much, made me so fear losing it. I find myself starting at shadows, frightened by the very news I've so longed to hear." She drew her fingers gently across his face. "You are pleased, then?" He pulled her against him. "You must know the answer to that. In some ways I fear it, but yes, I do wish for a child with all my heart." Jocelyn closed her eyes as he kissed her. It didn't matter what they'd been through. She didn't even care who ruled England. She was a woman and wanted women's thingsahusband who loved her, children allowed to live and grow up in peace. And perhaps they would have it, perhaps they might yet have it all.
Thirty-One London, England, December 1154
Thegreat hall of Westminster was crowded, hot from the press of bodies and the weight of layers of heavy velvets trimmed with expensive jewels and fur. Everywhere men and women wore their finery, making sure to see and be seen in this first glittering assembly called by England's new king. Jocelyn stood beside the earl of Leicester, wishing she were tall enough to see what was taking place at the front of the room. From somewhere beyond her vision, men's voices droned as each great lord and then the greater and lesser barons were called individually before Henry to kneel and renew their oaths of loyalty and homage. Only Robert hadn't personally sworn yet to Henry. After the treaty of Westminster was signed, and the terms announced last Christmas, Stephen had called all his lords to Oxford in January to swear homage to Henry as England's next king. But Robert hadn't gone. With the king's permission, he had sent Sir Geoffrey to swear for him by proxy. Despite the fact that Jocelyn had urged him to go, he had stayed with her awaiting the birth of their son. Then, just this last October, Stephen had taken a chill and in his weakened state had quickly deteriorated. Robert had gone at once, for the king was a lonely and bitter man. His son, Eustace had died the preceding August, just a few short days after hearing the truce of Wallingford declared. Religious men claimed it the vengeance of God, for Eustace had gone on a killing, plundering spree and had ravaged the lands of the monks at Bury St. Edmunds. More cynical minds wondered of poison, for the mysterious death of his eldest son brought the shattered and ailing Stephen to agree to the major term of the treaty more quickly, namely that Henry of Anjou would be England's next king. In any case, the treaty of Wallingford was signed, and in less than a year Stephen lay dead. Jocelyn strained up on tiptoe now, trying to see around the men. Only a few minor vassals remained to take their vows, for most of the lords had sworn. She glanced nervously up at Leicester. "He has skipped Robert," she whispered. "The king hasn't called Robert yet." Leicester was looking grim. "I know." Jocelyn drew in her breath. Was this wondering and fear and uncertainty never to cease? The voices droned on and then the ceremony was ending. Men everywhere were whispering and muttering and glancing uncertainly toward the place where Robert stood alone and waiting against the far wall. Henry rose to his feet and glanced around. "I thank you, my lords, for coming. I see even Robert of Belavoir has joined us today. I am honored, sir, that you should have found the time for us at last." "My time is yours to command, Your Grace," Robert responded calmly. "Just as every hour of it belonged to Stephen of Blois while he lived." For a moment a tense and disbelieving silence pervaded the room. Then an excited hum of voices began to build. Jocelyn shoved forward, heart pounding, pushing between the men so she could see. Robert stood some distance from the king. He looked magnificent, bareheaded and fearless, in the crimson velvet tunic with the golden lions rearing against one shoulder. Jocelyn held her breath as the two proud men confronted each other.
"Come here, my lord," Henry said. "I would see you kneel to me." Robert walked forward. It was quiet again, so quiet Jocelyn could hear her husband's footsteps echoing across the floor. "You once said you would never swear to me," Henry said loudly. "Would you dare still to refuse me my due?" "I would not swear then for I was already pledged tosupport England's anointed king. But after Wallingford I did swear," Robert reminded him, "at Oxford through my proxy, Sir Geoffrey Talmont. I consider myself your loyal man already, Your Grace." "Well, I do not. You should have come yourself. No proxy is acceptable for an oath such as that!" Henry snapped. Robert had reached the king and halted. "My lady's time was nearing for the birth of our first child. With Stephen's permission, I sent my word I would support you as England's next king." The corners of his mouth curled upward. "Surely we have known each other well enough, fought each other long enough, Your Grace, for you to understand I do mean what I say." Henry was still studying the man before him. "And you will kneel and swear to me now?" "Certainly, if you wish it, though I'll be no more nor yet any less your man than I am already. It isn't the number of oaths that bind a man, but whether or not he'll be bound. I'm your man now and will be for so long as we both draw breath, despite inconvenience or danger of the rantings and urgings of petty, troublesome princelings." The hush in the room was complete. Jocelyn was afraid to move, afraid to breath... afraid Robert had gone too far. Henry's eyes blazed at that last. Jocelyn dug her nails into her palms. "And is that what you thought me, my lord, some petty, troublesome princeling?" Robert held his eyes evenly. "No, that is what Stephen thought. I always knew you to be the greatest danger he faced." The silence stretched tautly between the men. "And you were right, weren't you?" Henry said. Then he was smiling suddenly, in one of his abrupt reversals of mood. "Well, kneel to me now, my lord de Langley. I would have your oath, whether you think it necessary or not." And as Robert dropped to his knees, Henry was shaking his head in amusement. "I would I had a score of men such as you, de Langley. You might well drive me todistraction, but at least I do know where you stand at all times." Jocelyn closed her eyes briefly, began to breathe again. Her son would have a father, for a little while longer, at least. "What did I tell you, madam," Leicester bent to whisper triumphantly. "Robert knows how to play this game!"
Then Robert was reciting his oath of loyalty and homage, and the king was giving him the kiss of peace. Henry turned to go, met Jocelyn's anxious eyes across the room and winked. *** "Here, Judith, give the boy to me." The nurse handed Jocelyn her wailing son, and the boy quieted immediately. "He's been fed, lady, and was well content until just now." The woman smiled. "He heard your voice outside, I think, and did wish to see you before he slept." Jocelyn nodded and snuggled the boy against her. Robert was still at court but she had left after the oaths were finished, hurrying back to the house they had rented to check on her son. The boy laid his head against her shoulder and closed his eyes, sucking mightily on his tiny thumb. Jocelyn studied her son with a mother's fondness. He was quite the most gorgeous child she had ever beheld. He had Robert's beautiful haira little more goldenand looked as if he might be developing her greenish eyes. But oddly enough he didn't seem to have inherited the temper of either of his parents, at least not yet. She carried the boy into her bedchamber, murmuring, even singing a bit, for she did readily admit to being a fool for her son. Then she heard the noise of voices and footsteps sounding distantly from the stairs down the hall. She smiled. Robert must have returned already. She couldn't wait to hear what he had to say about Henry. But she was stunned to recognize a voice raging just past the door. "Out of my way, fool! Who is the king you or I?" Without any more warning, the king threw open thedoor and stalked inside. Sir Aymer Briavel was following, helpless and outraged, on his heels. "Madam, I would see this boy," Henry called, "this boy who did keep me waiting upon your husband's oath." Jocelyn rose up in amazement, holding her son. "I... I'm sorry, lady," Aymer stammered. "I told him my lord wasn't back yet, but I couldn't keep him out." "Of course not!" Henry growled. "I'm the king and shall go where I please, even into your lady's private chamber. By God's passion, do you fear I would rape the lady and her own son looking on?" Aymer flushed. "Of course not, Your Grace, but it isn't right that you are here without" "It's all right, Aymer," Jocelyn interrupted to save the man. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. "I do trust the king and am honored he has come to see my son. You may wait outside." Aymer glanced at her and then at Henry suspiciously. Then he bowed stiffly and withdrew. Henry was grinning. "I swear, madam, I began to think I would have to kill that man before I got up the
stairs." Jocelyn smiled. "My husband's men are loyal, sir, as you've good cause to know. Besides, Sir Aymer is one who was in that church in Normandy." Henry frowned and glanced over his shoulder. He didn't need to ask which church. "But here is my son," Jocelyn said smoothly, holding up the boy. "We named him Roger, after my lord's own father. Come, little one," she crooned, "it's time to meet your king." Roger scowled at the king and the king scowled back. "He looks small, madam." "Certainly not! He's just younger than your William by a good six months. He's fine and lusty for a boy his age." Henry nodded. "My own son was born in Anjou on the day Eustace died. A boy," he crowed, "when the king of France could get Eleanor with nothing but girls! Was that not a sign of God's favor, madam?" Jocelyn smiled. Henry was certainly blessed with the devil's own luck. "Men do say it was, Your Grace." "I say it was, madam!" He glanced about the room. "So your lord is not returned?" "Not yet. He stayed to speak with Leicester and Richard de Lucy." "Ah, de Lucy... a good man despite the fact he served Stephen. Trustworthy, I think. I've decided to keep him as one of my councilors." Henry was prowling the room, as energetic and restless as ever Jocelyn had seen him in camp last year. She went to settle Roger on the floor in one corner. The boy had some small wooden wheels Robert had strung, and he loved to gnaw on them and roll them about. When she straightened, Henry was staring. "Does he truly accept me, madam?" For one insane moment, she thought he was speaking of Roger. "I beg pardon, Your Grace?" Henry scowled. "Can he truly put aside the past? Can he accept me as king? We did fight long and bitterly, and there were grievous wrongs... on both sides." She blinked in amazement. "Robert? Why of course, my lord, he has sworn to you." Henry sucked in his breath. "It seems almost too simple," he muttered, "too tame an ending after all that has gone before. And yet I would have him on my side and not against me. I must be in Normandy soon and would have men here I trust. Christ's blood, and there are few enough of those!" Jocelyn lifted her eyebrows. "You heard him today. What he says, he will do." "So it has always been said of him, madam." Henry frowned again and glanced away. "I've brought back some things that belong to him. His sword I left downstairs with one of his men, but this I meant to return myself. I suppose I can give it to you." He reached into his tunic and drew out something wrapped in blue cloth. Jocelyn stepped forward and
took it. It was a ring. A large square of onyx with a heavy braiding of gold all around. Henry cleared his throat roughly. "I've heard it belonged to his father. Your lord will want it back. To give to his son, I expect." Jocelyn stared at the ring and a chill shivered along her spine. This was the ring Henry had taken from the hand of a dead man, a man he had thought was her husband. "Yes, he will want it back." "As I said, madam, there were grievous wrongson both sides," Henry muttered. And that was as close as anyone was likely to come to an apology from Henry Plantagenet. Jocelyn glanced up, held his eyes. "I thank you for bringing it back. And for what you did after Tutbury and again at Wallingford... for letting my son's father live." Henry smiled. "Well, I did try to kill him before, madam, but didn't have much luck. Besides, I would have men remember something of me besides the fact that in a fit of temper I once burned a church." Quick footsteps sounded outside. Then Robert was throwing open the door, looking suspiciously from Henry to Jocelyn and back again. "You were looking for me, Your Grace?" he asked sharply. For the space of a heartbeat, all three stood frozen. Then to Jocelyn's dismay, the king began to laugh. "We've played this scene before, my lord, only a little differently as I recall. Well, you needn't be looking murder at me this time. I've not seduced your wife, nor she me." The two men stared at each other, and the pulse in Robert's throat began to throb. Jocelyn moved hastily between them. "The king came to look on your son, my lord, and to bring back your things. He returned your father's ring." She held out the ring, and Robert took it, rolling it over in his hand. "I'd always hoped to take this from your dead body, Your Grace," he murmured provocatively. "And I was told I did have it from yours," Henry returned. The two men stared at each other, measured each other. "You know, I am glad I did not," Henry added softly at last. Robert slipped the ring onto his finger. "I was not so easy to kill, was I?" He glanced up, sent the king a wry smile. "But then, neither were you." Henry was grinning. "I much prefer knowing you'll fight on my side in future, de Langley. And to that end, I'vesomething that might draw one thorn, at least, from your side." He glanced at Jocelyn. "Do you fancy becoming a countess, madam? I think a new earldom is necessary there in the west countrya loyal earldom, as you've assured me your husband's will beto keep peace with the Welsh and intimidate a few of those fierce marcher lords." He met Robert's stunned gaze. "I've not yet worked out the particulars. We can discuss it further when you come to the palace tomorrow. But I did think one of your chief vassals might be Sir William Montagne, he of the ambitious son. What say you, Earl Robert? Do you think you might keep young Montagne's ambitions in check?"
Robert had been staring at the king in amazement. Now he turned, met Jocelyn's stunned look and smiled. "Oh, I think you might trust me on that, Your Grace. There are few things I fancy more than keeping that young man in check." Henry was smiling. "So I thought. I'll leave you, then, and we'll speak more tomorrow." He nodded toward the corner where Roger was happily occupied with his toys. "You've a fine boy, there, madam. The breeding does tell in most cases. See that you raise him well and loyally... like his father. I would not fight young lions when I am old." And before Jocelyn could say even a word in return, he had turned back to Robert. "You were far wiser in your choice of wives this second time, my lord. Marguerite and Eustacewho says that the good die young?" And with those cryptic words, the king left. Jocelyn stared at the door as the men departed, listening to the dwindling sounds from the stairs, shaking her head in amazement. The world had gone mad! Or perhaps only she had done so. She scooped up her son and held him tightly. "If I didn't dream all this, my sweet, you've just become heir to an earldom. What think you of that?" But Roger only blinked owlishly and sucked his thumb. She sat down on the bed, rocking the boy gently against her. And that was the way Robert found her when he returned from escorting Henry to the street, grinning fromear to ear as he crossed the floor. "Well, my lady, and do you fancy becoming a countess?" "I don't know. I've never thought much about it. Robert, he cannot be serious, do you think?" "Henry? He seems to be. It even makes sense in a way. The marcher lords have been used to going their own way for years, and Henry means to break them to bridle. Chester was the worst of the lot, but now that William Peverel's poison has taken him, the men will look to a new leader. Henry wants someone established in the west they already respect, someone they might fear to fight in his absence." Robert sat down beside her, reaching automatically for his son. He grinned at the boy and the boy smiled back, crowing with delight at his father's attention. "I see you've already told this young man what an important fellow he's like to become." Jocelyn smiled as Robert leaned back against the bolster, settling his son comfortably against his chest. Roger promptly reached up and caught Robert's nose, and she had to swallow against the sudden tightness in her throat. Robert would never forget Adam, but loving this second son had eased the ache, brought him an ever-increasing joy. And even after almost ten months, the wonder of watching these two together still took her breath. Thank you, God. I do not deserve this, but thank you just the same. "I love you, Robert," she said suddenly. "Whether you are outlaw, prisoner, or earl, I do love you so much, sometimes I think I cannot stand it! Henry said you chose me, but we both know that isn't true. And when I consider how differently things might have gone, how close you came to marrying Adelise" She broke off, trying to hold her emotions in check. "I did come so close to missing all this."
Robert stopped playing with his son and held her eyes. "There's something you should know, Jocelyn. I was never even close to marrying your sister. Judas, love, having had one unhappy marriage, do you think I'd have let any man force me to another? Even the king? "Think on it," he added softly, mischievously. "Pelham just happened to hear I had abused and misused andpossibly even murdered my wife. From one of myownmen?" He raised his eyebrows. "Come, sweetheart, do you know any of my men who would tell such tales of me?" Jocelyn sucked in her breath. "Robert, you... youdidn't!" He chuckled. "Well, of courseI didn't, sweetheart, but Raoul le Bent did. And beautifully, so I heard, with just the right touch of fear and belligerence. Then I took care Pelham should hear me talking of your sister with something less than reverence and respect. That was the night we came to blows." He shook his head, still grinning. "Your sister's husband would have had to be something far less than the man he is, not to have carried her off." Jocelyn was staring at him incredulously. "You mean youknewhe was going to run away with her?" "I certainly pushed him to." "And all that time, it was reallymeyou wanted?" "So I've been telling you, madam, since the day we were wed. Perhaps now, you'll believe me." "But... but why didn't you just tell my father from the start?" she asked, scarcely able to take in what he was saying. "Montagne and I weren't exactly on good terms," Robert reminded her. "Besides, so long as I was the aggrieved party, I could push for the lands and castles of my choice. And one way or another, I did plan to have my lands back. Why not get both? My lands and you, sweetheart?" "I begin to think Leicester is right," Jocelyn muttered. "You do play the game to the best advantage." Robert reached up, trailed his fingers seductively across her throat. "The games I play best, madam, I do play only with you. Now bend down here and kiss me. I've a notion to see how a countess does kiss." Jocelyn smiled, leaned over and kissed him long and sensually. He caught his hands in her hair, dragging the pins free and letting it fall in a riot of darkness about them both. "You do that very well," he murmured. "What else do you do, countess?" He reached up and caught her against him, but wasstopped by a sudden loud and aggrieved wail. "Judas, I'd forgot him!" Robert muttered, scooping up his loudly protesting son. Jocelyn glanced from her husband's sheepish face to the outraged one of her son. "He does take after his father. He is all de Langley, my lord, is not one ever to be forgotten, I think." Robert glanced up and reached for her, kissing her deeply despite the wailing child in his arms. And then they were both breaking off, laughter between them as they met each other's eyes. "I do love my son, madam," Robert said, "but I agree with the king. Sometimes two are better than
three." Jocelyn took the boy and slid from the bed. "I'll find Judith. It's time and past he was abed." Robert leaned back against the bolster, sent her that slow, seductive smile that made her heart begin to pound and her blood race and burn, that made her shiver, still, after all of two years. It had always been like that between them. She suspected it always would be. "Aye, madam," he said softly. "It's time and past the de Langley men were abed. Only this one doesn't plan to go there alone." Jocelyn smiled and staredback,saw the flames spring to life in his beautiful golden eyes. "Take care you don't, my lord. I've loved you as outlaw, prisoner, and lord, but I've yet to learn if an earl be to my taste. And I'm a curious sort, you know." She closed the door on his laughter, swept down the hall toward the nursery on winged feet. Judith took in her loose hair and rosy cheeks and reached for her charge with a grin. Jocelyn kissed her son and handed him over. A beautiful, healthy child and a husband who loved herhad loved her ever since the beginningand now this God-given prospect of peace. She was blessed, so richly, incredibly blessed! She thought of her mother, hoped Gwendyth had shared something like this with Rhys, wished she could know how happy her daughter was now. But then perhaps she did. Jocelyn smiled once more at her son, then hurried back toward his father. There was nothing better than this! Author's Historical Note Though Henry I had numerous illegitimate children sources put the number as high as twentyhe had only one legitimate son. When that son drowned during the tragic wreck of theWhite Ship,it left only one daughter, Matilda, to inherit the crown. The king's nephew, Stephen of Blois, had been raised by the king almost as a second son. On that November evening in 1120 when theWhite Shipsailed from Normandy carrying many of the young people of the court, Stephen was supposed to have been on board. Luckily for him, he was sleeping off the effects of a night of carousing instead. At King Henry's death in December 1135, Hugh Bigod, one of the more unreliable and trouble-making magnates of the times, swore Henry had repudiated the overbearing Matilda on his deathbed and designated Stephen his heir. In a lightning move, Stephen sailed to London and gained control of the treasury. He managed to win the support of the archbishop of Canterbury who promptly crowned Stephen instead of the outraged Matilda. After a few shaky months of peace, Matilda's supporters rebelled, plunging both Normandy and England into a bloody civil war. Many of the events described inBride of the Lionactually occurred, including the changes of allegiance of such magnates as the earls of Chester, Leicester, and others, the betrayal and death of Warwick, and the
incredibly opportune death of Stephen's eldest son, Eustace, during the Truce of Wallingford. The Montagnes and de Langleys are, of course, fictitious, as are their interactions with real characters such as Stephen, Henry, Leicester, Chester, and Richard de Lucy. By the Treaty of Wallingford in 1153, Stephen adopted Henry Plantagenet as his son and heir, bypassing his second son, William, who had apparently never held anyexpectation of becoming king. Stephen died in 1154 and Henry went on to become one of the most powerful kings in British history. Henry II is well known, not only for his power and political acumen, but for his long and tempestuous marriage to Eleanor of Aquitaine and the sons it produced King Richard the Lionheart, Geoffrey (who didn't live to take the throne), and King John of ill fame. These brilliant and hot-tempered Plantagenets who hated and fought and eventually destroyed their own father have come to be termed collectively in history as "the devil's brood." Elizabeth Stuartis an award-winning author,former clinical nutrition specialist and health care management consultant. Her first 3 novels(Heartstorm, Where Love Dwells, andWithout Honor) sold widely in both the US and abroad. Her national writing awards include theRomantic Times' Best New Historical Author of the Year and the Rita Award for Best Historical Romance Novel of the Year(Where Love Dwells). Currently working on her fifth novel, she lives in St. Louis, Missouri with her husband and three children.

Stuart, Elizabeth - Bride of The Lion

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Description:

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Stuart, Elizabeth - Bride of The Lion

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.

Bride of the Lion by Elizabeth Stuart

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html