By Possession (11 page)

“Saints, we certainly would not want you displeased, my lord.” She spoke flippantly to hide her worry about his safety and her annoyance about Brian. And her dismay that she hadn't even considered the chance for escape that his absence would create.

The Lord of Barrowburgh did not find his bond-woman's sarcasm amusing. Rough fingers cupped her chin and tilted her head up. “Nay, you would not. I indulge you much, but do not misthink my will on this. A part of your lord's soul no longer lives by Christian chivalry or embraces the customs of this realm. He knows full well how to enforce obedience if it is necessary. You are smart enough to know that this day of all days is not the time to challenge me. Pray that he kills me if you want, but be waiting here if he does not.”

He kicked the palfrey and disappeared into the woods.

She watched the forest swallow him. With a horrible intensity she experienced anew that severing certainty of loss that she had felt when he and Brian rode away from Darwendon. Was it talk of the boy that did this to her?

She busied herself packing the remaining items on the cart, seeking distraction from the strange mood. She
should
pray that he died. Hadn't she left Darwendon deliberately intending to end one life and begin another? One sign from Simon during the next few hours and she would be free.

She suddenly pictured it happening with an eerie clarity. She saw in her mind Simon greeting Addis like a brother, offering him wine, subtly making the signal that brought a sword down. A silent, visceral scream shook her while the weapon fell. She saw his eyes, placid and accepting, and something like relief pass in them while the lights were extinguished.

She blinked away the image and whirled to stare at the spot where he had disappeared.

Suddenly she recognized the emotion darkly edging his aura all morning. A small part of him hoped it would happen that way. She just knew it, even if he did not. She had felt it in him once before, like a force urging him toward a despair that made the abyss alluring. It might gain succor from what he would find at his home, and spread until it weakened his vigilance and dulled his instincts. She should have known it sooner for what it was, and said or done something to thwart its insidious power.

Cursing her stupidity, she fished for a knife in one of her baskets. Kneeling, she cut the thongs tying her coin purse beneath the cart's planks. Then she pulled out her sewing basket, stuck the little sack inside, and walked into the trees. Finding a thick patch of undergrowth, she buried it.

He had ordered her to remain here and threatened
punishment if she did not, but she could not sit and watch the sun move until time's passage announced the worst. She had to be there. She could not help him if something went wrong, but she could bear witness. Let at least one person in Barrowburgh be willing to speak the truth.

She quickly plucked a variety of baskets from her cart, stacking them inside others with handles that she slung over her arm. She looked down at her blue gown, suitably frayed and a bit dirty from the last two days. Anonymous in her craftswoman identity, she hurried down the path after him.

The town gatekeeper stepped aside without a word of challenge, mouth agape with astonishment. No one raised a cry, no runners preceded him, but almost immediately people began edging the main lane to ogle while he passed. Simon might already know that he still lived, but the townspeople of Barrowburgh gawked at the resurrected Addis de Valence.

He took his time, knowing that word would reach the castle long before him. He wanted to give Simon time to decide what to do. The lane grew thick with onlookers as the houses and shops emptied. Some in the crowd began to follow. By the time he passed the manor's ovens and dovecote, a large retinue of townspeople had joined him.

The castle gate stood open. Carts jammed its outer yard, where merchants and craftsmen sold their wares. Scarlet and white flew from the battlements and colored the livery of the guards and knights mingling with the sellers. The din of bargaining lowered while he pushed through to the inner wall.

This gate remained closed. He brought his horse up close and waited. A guard scanned his animal and body for weapons, and then gave the signal to permit his entry.

The townspeople had followed behind him and they choked the yard. When the gate rose and he passed beneath, they surged along, making it impossible for the portcullis to be lowered again.

He rode to the keep's stairs. His eyes immediately lit upon the burly dark-haired man waiting at their summit in a rich red robe decorated with gold thread and yellow jewels. Beside him stood a pinch-faced woman of middle years and a handsome red-haired young knight.

Simon's florid, bearded face broke into a broad smile when Addis neared. Lifting his arms in greeting, he descended the stairs. “A great day, brother, and one blessed by God! I wept with hope at the rumor that you still lived, but now that I see the evidence of its truth, I am overcome with joy!”

So that was how it would be. Addis dismounted and accepted his stepbrother's embrace. “It is good to walk English soil and breathe English air again,” he said, picking up the pretense.

“By the saints, you look well! Thinner, but none the worse for your ordeal.”

“As do you, brother. Thicker, but content and happy. It brings me great pleasure to find you thus.”

“Aye, a tad too thick, I fear.” Simon laughed, smacking his barrel chest. “But come, come.” He gestured to the stairs. “Our mother has been anxious for news and nagging me for days now. See, she grows impatient.”

Addis looked up at the forced smile on the woman swathed in rose silk. His heart held nothing but distaste for Lady Mary, the manipulative widow who had played on Patrick de Valence's grief after the death of Addis's mother. By the time Patrick had emerged from mourning, Mary had already established herself and her son at Barrowburgh. Within a year Patrick had comprehended the error which could not be undone. Lady Mary must
have grown too old for effective dissembling, because her own stiff greeting carried none of Simon's effusiveness.

“And you remember Owen,” Simon added, presenting the red-haired man. “He was Sir Theo's squire back then.”

Addis studied the young knight. Sir Theo's squire back then, and Simon's favorite now. Sir Theo had been one of the other knights on the Baltic crusade.

Simon draped an arm around Addis's shoulders, turning him toward the doorway. “We have much to speak of, brother. Some of it very sad, I'm afraid, and I am sure that you have many questions. Our mother has given instructions for a feast fitting to celebrate your return, but let us go up to the solar, where we can talk freely.”

Addis allowed himself to be guided into the large hall, a space that he knew so well that he could walk from one end to the other blindfolded and not trip over a stool or loose stone. Its lighting and cool scent assaulted him like a suddenly remembered dream full of ghosts and nuanced emotions. Snippets of memories flashed while he moved through it, obscuring the flow of pleasantries poured into his ear by the man beside him.

The sensation grew stronger in the solar. He gazed around the chamber that had been his father's. Finally standing here again contained the eerie quality of being both unreal and acutely real at the same time. Only when Simon sat in the lord's chair did his perceptions partly right themselves.

Owen settled himself against the hearth wall opposite Simon, behind an empty chair. Addis noted the vulnerability of the position being allotted to him. He glanced at his stepbrother lounging comfortably, smiling peaceably, calling for wine.
He is well content sitting in my father's chair. In my chair.

He calmly took the one facing and proceeded to ignore
Owen's presence. “I did not see your wife. How fares Lady Blanche?”

“Died last year in birth. A mercy perhaps. She had been a sickly girl, and too weak to carry a child to term. Lost four babes over the years. Well, such is the will of God. I am negotiating a new marriage contract right now. A kinswoman of Hugh Despenser. You must attend the betrothal.”

Addis nodded as if Simon had not just inserted an unsubtle reminder of the power behind his hold on Barrowburgh. Raymond had not known of this convenient death of Lady Blanche.

“Tell me of my father's passing.”

Simon had the decency to look mournful this time. “There was a bad fever in the land that year. It carried away many. He did not suffer overmuch, and your wife tended him, but I fear, in the end, her long hours weakened her and may have led to her own sickness after she left. My heart broke when he died, but I must be honest with you, Addis, and say that perhaps that was a mercy too.”

So many merciful deaths. God was very compassionate while he cleared Simon's paths for him. “How so?”

Simon's lips folded in thoughtfully. He became the image of a man uncomfortable with discussing unpleasant truths. “Do not be angry when I tell you this, and know that I do not say it to dishonor that good man. But Lancaster's rebellion was the devil's doing, and when our king suppressed it he knew no mercy. There was hardly a crossroad in the realm without a body hanging on its gibbet. Your father had been too generous toward the traitors in his advice on how to deal with the uprising, and suspicion fell on him. If Patrick had lived … As it was, the king spoke of confiscating the lands because of treason. It
was only because of my friendship with some of his councillors that I was able to keep it in the family.”

“But you are not de Valence, Simon, nor Patrick's son. But for your mother's marriage, you are in no way family.”

“Which is why the king was amenable. If it had not been me, it would have been some distant baron of no relation, to whom he owed a favor. At least this way his wife has been cared for, and his retainers maintained. The lands remain whole, and not broken apart and dispersed.”

“What was the evidence against my father?”

“His friendship with Lancaster. Some meetings during the year before the rebellion broke. I heard there was more, but since no trial was held …”

“I have heard that no trials were held for any of them. That men close to the king used it as an excuse to rid themselves of enemies and grab rich estates.”

“The king's councillors are honorable men, who offer him much-needed guidance,” Simon said testily. “You know how it is with Edward. He needs strong men beside him. He has little interest in matters of governance.”

“All kings need strong men beside them, and good council. But I have heard that Hugh Despenser is more than that, and that his influence over the king is of a more personal nature. It is said that he is another Piers Gaveston.”

Simon's face flushed at the mention of the young Gascon knight reported to have been Edward's lover when the king was a young man. “Those are scurrilous lies, and always have been.”

“If you say so. I only met Edward once and wouldn't know. Are you saying that Barrowburgh was given to you without any formalities? A family is not disseised of its rights so easily.”

For the first time Simon looked less than wholly confident. “The realm was in an uproar. You were dead. …”

“I was on crusade, and a knight's rights and property are protected while he fights for God.”

“You were seen cut down. There was no reason to believe …”

“And the boy? What of the boy?”

Simon's expression froze. “What of the boy?”

“Without my body, who could be sure that I died? Under the circumstances, until fact or time proved my death, I would think that the lands would have been held for Brian. You might have been named guardian until he came of age, but it is peculiar that the son of a crusader was so easily disinherited. Do the customs of the realm mean nothing to our king?”

Simon had never been a stupid man, and he knew that Addis was laying out the ambiguities that threatened his hold on Barrowburgh. “Our king faces treason at every turn, and his rights supersede all custom. As for the boy, I looked for Brian, to give him a home and care.”

Addis smiled. “That was very generous of you. But my wife's brother saw to his care. You will be relieved to know that he is safe and well, hidden where only I know, and secure from any strife that may develop.”

He let his words hang there, and watched Simon absorb their implication. A sharp, speculative stare met his and a palpable tension flowed in the air between their chairs. The silence stretched with Simon examining him, taking his measure. The silent presence of Owen suddenly loomed large, alert and waiting.

Just how confident are you of the king's favor, Simon? Enough to have me slain here in your solar?
Addis felt the dangerous contemplation of the man facing him and the tense preparation of the one behind. He glanced around the chamber, at the table and bed and tapestry, each in the
place it had held for generations. The sense of unreality swelled again, and with it a numbing indifference for the peril surrounding him.

“Where is the Barrowburgh sword?” he asked, noting the empty wall where the heavy weapon used to hang. When the last king had insisted that all his tenants in chief document their charters to their lands back to the time of King William, Addis's grandfather had pulled that ancient sword from the wall and presented it as his evidence.

“Lost. Stolen.”

Interesting. How does one lose a sword? He still felt Owen behind him like a hovering angel of death. Prudence dictated that he appease Simon's suspicions for the time being as he had planned, but he suddenly didn't care much about such things. Instead he felt a profound urge to provoke him.

“You must know that I cannot accept this.”

Simon's eyes flickered with surprise that the pretense would be so boldly dropped. Then they narrowed in the shrewd, cold way Addis knew well from their youth. “You will gain naught unless you do.”

“I will gain naught
if
I do. Or is it your intention to step aside now that you see I am alive?”

“When the king gave me these lands, the issue of your death was barely considered. The fact of your life will not matter either. Your father's treason lost Barrowburgh.”