Gentle Warrior (22 page)

He kissed her temple after his speech, saw that his words had affected her, for her eyes were filled with tears, and felt most content. He was finding it easier and easier to tell her what was inside him, and admitted that he felt no foolishness with his confessions.

"This lion grows hungry," he yelled with mock fierceness, slapping her soundly on her hip.

"This lion is always hungry," Elizabeth laughed, rubbing her hip. She stood when he did and only had to hug him twice while they dressed.

"It is most difficult for you to keep your hands off me," Geoffrey said with extreme smugness in his voice. "Do not pretend such outrage," he added with a chuckle when she tried to glare at him. "I will have to get used to this clinging nature of yours, I imagine," he added with a feigned sigh.

"And is that so terrible, husband?" Elizabeth asked. She picked up the rabbits and turned away from him, looking for a spot to set the fire.

"No, only foreign, that is all," Geoffrey answered. "I will skin the game while you gather twigs for the fire," he announced.

Elizabeth nodded and threw the rabbits to him.

"Why is it so foreign?" she asked. She made a basket out of the hem of her skirt and began to fill it with bits of branches as she talked.

"What?" Geoffrey asked. He was squatting on the ground, a small hunting knife in his hand, and glanced up to look at her. He smiled when he saw that she was barefoot still and thought that she looked like an enchanting wood nymph.

"This showing of affection, Geoffrey… there was none between your parents?"

Geoffrey was surprised by her question, but lost his train of thought as he appreciated the enticing curve of her ankles. "Put your shoes on before you hurt yourself."

"After you answer my question," she replied in a saucy voice. She saw that he continued to stare at her legs and smiled. "I like to go barefoot."

"They died before I had much memory of them," Geoffrey answered. "Now put your shoes on or I will do it for you."

Elizabeth dropped the hem of her dress and the twigs fell beside Geoffrey. She spotted one shoe by the base of the tree but couldn't locate the other. "Then who saw you raised?" she asked as she knelt and burrowed under a thorny bush. The tip of her dark boot was visible and she had to flatten herself on the ground to wiggle close enough to reach it. It wasn't a very dignified position, but necessary. And Geoffrey observed the whole scene.

"You were overly zealous in removing your clothes," he remarked with a chuckle. "Always in such a hurry," he chided. The sparkle in his eyes matched his voice and Elizabeth found herself agreeing.

"I hate to wait for anything," she answered with complete honesty. She sat on the ground and shook her boots free of any surprises before slipping her feet into them. "And I especially hate having the subject changed all the time. Now answer me, please."

"Answer what?" Geoffrey asked. "Who raised you?" She couldn't keep the exasperation out of her voice.

"The king himself," Geoffrey answered. "Throw me your dagger," he ordered, "mine is too large for this task." He was still squatting in the middle of the small clearing, looking at the arrows he had just removed from the game, studying how they were fashioned. "Did your grandfather design these?" he asked when he saw that she was watching him.

Elizabeth stood up and began to brush the dirt from her skirt. "I made those," she boasted,

"once my grandfather showed me the way. They are most effective, are they not?"

"That they are, though too puny for a knight to carry," Geoffrey said.

Elizabeth handed Geoffrey her dagger and then knelt down beside him. She began to arrange the twigs in a circular stack and then asked, "How old were you when you went to the king? Did you become his page?"

"One of many," Geoffrey answered. "I was six, maybe seven years old."

"Six! But that is too young. You must be at least eight years old to become a page, is that not so?" She sat back on her heels and frowned.

"Aye, that is usually the way," Geoffrey acknowledged, "though some leave their homes by the age of seven. In my case, there was no one else, save the king, and he was a close friend of my father's."

"Tell me about your parents. Do you remember what they looked like?" she asked. "No I do not remember," Geoffrey answered in a gruff voice. He seemed irritated by her question and Elizabeth wondered at his reasoning. "Now quit your chatter and see to my food," he ordered.

They did not say another word until the meat was cooked and eaten. Geoffrey ate most of the game and Elizabeth was content to nibble on one of the roasted legs.

Geoffrey removed a small sheep's skin from his saddle and offered Elizabeth a drink.

Thinking it filled with water, Elizabeth took a large swallow and promptly choked. Geoffrey grabbed her by the shoulders and began to whack her on her shoulders and she didn't know which was worse, to die from lack of clean air, or from being beaten to death.

"Always in a hurry," Geoffrey snapped when she had stopped coughing and could hear him.

"It is amazing that you have lasted this long." He shook his head and then decided to shake her too.

"I thought it was water," Elizabeth said in her defense. "And I was thirsty. And you have probably made my shoulders black and blue with your help."

"Your face is still bright red," Geoffrey said, ignoring her sarcasm. Why, he had barely tapped her between her shoulder blades, but then he had come to realize that his wife tended to exaggerate. It was a fault he would have to tolerate. "Come and sit down," he said, hauling her up into his arms.

He lifted her high into the air and then pretended that he was about to drop her to the ground, but his wife was not amused by his play, only glared at him and held on tighter.

He sat down and leaned against the tree, holding her in his arms. Elizabeth rested her head against his shoulder with a sigh. For long minutes they were content to keep their silence, each thinking his own thoughts.

Now is the time for me to bring up the subject of

Belwain, Elizabeth thought. His mood is light and perhaps he will be more receptive to telling me his plans.

"Your brother will go to the king to be his page. I have not decided on the time yet. Perhaps in the fall." His statement jarred Elizabeth and she spoke before thinking, "You would not! He is still a baby. And I have heard terrible stones about the king. I will not allow it." She knew as soon as she said the rash words that her husband was not pleased. She felt him tense beneath her. His arms tightened around her.

Before he could answer her, Elizabeth said, "I know I cannot allow or disallow, but I cannot believe that you would do such a cruel thing. Surely you jest?" Her voice was soft and hopefully sincere. She lifted her head and looked at him, tracing a finger along the wrinkle on his brow his frown caused. "Being his guardian now, I feel this responsibility, and since he is so much younger than I-"

" Elizabeth," Geoffrey said her name as a sigh, "
I
am the boy's guardian now that I am your husband, and I am also his overlord in future. Now what nonsense is this about the king? You should be proud that your brother will join his court. Don't you know the honor I bestow upon him?" He removed her hand from his brow and held it against his chest. Her touch had an unsettling effect on his senses and he needed to be clearheaded when dealing with his argumentative wife. Elizabeth nodded while her mind sought a way to make him understand her position.

"What stories have you heard about William?" he asked with mild interest. He pulled her back against him and began to rub the goosebumps from her arms.

"He has a terrible temper and is not of a forgiving nature," Elizabeth said. "I do not want my little brother placed in such harsh conditions. He has been through too much already."

"There are those who say I have a terrible temper,

Elizabeth, and yet you do not seem afraid." He chuckled with his statement, secretly pleased that she had never shown fear of him.

"But they do not know you as I do," Elizabeth stammered, "and you are reasonable. You said so yourself. But King William-"

"Yes?" Geoffrey encouraged when she did not finish her sentence. "King William what?"

"Have you not heard of the town of Alencon?" Elizabeth whispered. She closed her eyes and waited for his answer.

"Ah, Alencon. But that was a long time ago, when William was young and rash and intent on gaining his rightful tide," Geoffrey explained.

"Then it is true? He actually became crazed when some fool called him bastard and truly cut off the feet and the hands of sixty men? It is really true?"

"No, it is not true," Geoffrey corrected, and Elizabeth felt a wave of relief. "There were but thirty-two of them, not sixty."

"What! He really did such a terrible thing?" She was so aghast that she almost fell off his lap, as much from the knowledge that the story was indeed true as from the blase way her husband confirmed it. Why, he acted as if they were discussing chickens or rabbits instead of men.

"It was a long time ago," Geoffrey replied with a shrug. "He holds his temper better now."

"God be praised," Elizabeth muttered. "And you would send little Thomas into his care?"

"Do not upset yourself. We will wait until the boy is older and then I will decide what is to be done. How old is he now?"

"Four." Elizabeth blurted out the lie, thinking he might believe her, as her little brother was on the short side.

"More like seven," Geoffrey stated. "Do not lie to me. Ever."

"I did not lie, only exaggerated," Elizabeth replied.

She leaned back against him, the top of her head just under his chin, and had a sudden thought. "He could live with us. There is so much you could teach him, Geoffrey," she said, hoping to stroke his ego into seeing her reasoning. "That would be an honor for him to become your page, as you are a-"

"Enough," Geoffrey groaned. "Your praise has a purpose, wife. I am not so simpleminded that I do not see what you are about. I have promised to wait to make my decision. That will have to satisfy you for the moment."

"As you wish," Elizabeth answered in a demure voice. He couldn't see her face, so he missed the smile of victory. Oh, how easy it was to deal with him, she concluded. He really is a reasonable man. "And now perhaps you feel inclined to talk with me about Belwain?" she asked in a soft voice.

"I do not wish to ruin our pleasant morning," Geoffrey said with a sigh.

"But you promised to tell me what you planned, and I gave you my trust. I did not try to kill my uncle. I held my word," Elizabeth reminded her husband.

"Still, having you so docile and affectionate… Very well, I will tell you and you will become angry. It is your right to know-"

"You are stalling, Geoffrey," Elizabeth said. She turned in his arms and placed her hands against the sides of his face. "I will continue to be affectionate, for I can be no other way with you. And I will always have faith in you," she whispered. It was true, she admitted with a nod, she did have faith in her husband. He
was
a righteous man.

Geoffrey read the trust in her eyes and made a gruff sound in his throat. He pulled her hands away, hoping his action would stop the heat building between them. "There were three possibilities I could act on," he said.

"The first was, of course, the most simple and perhaps the one you would approve of: I could kill Belwain and be done with it. But," he said in a louder voice when he saw she was about to interrupt, "then I would not know if he acted alone. We both agree he does not have the intelligence to plan such a well-designed attack and therefore know that there is at least one other just as responsible. Therefore, I ruled out the first possibility."

"Why didn't you just force Belwain to tell you what you wanted to know?" Elizabeth asked.

"If you knew that admitting to a crime would mean your death, would you not keep your silence?" Geoffrey asked. He didn't wait for her answer but continued in a patient voice, "He knows my reputation. No, he would never have admitted his part, even if tortured."

"And the second possibility?" Elizabeth asked, frowning.

"To place the matter before William, challenge Belwain for the truth in court."

Elizabeth was already shaking her head before Geoffrey could explain. He stopped her with his hands and said, "I did not choose that possibility for two reasons. One, I do not wish to bring my petty problems to my overlord. It is my duty to deal with my vassals. William has much on his mind these days," he said, "trying to keep peace in his kingdom and his household too. It is a melancholy time for him," he added. "And two," he continued, "there is the chance that Belwain and his friends, his witnesses, just might convince the king that he had nothing to do with the murders of your family. Then the boy would have to go into his guardianship. It is a risk I do not wish to take."

"But the king would listen to you," Elizabeth argued. "Though I admire your decision not to place the problem before him," she hurried to add, in case she irritated him. He was being most informative and she did not wish to stop his train of thought. "Belwain deserves death, but not at the king's hands," she couldn't help but add.

" Elizabeth," Geoffrey said her name with a weary sigh. "You have but a single purpose and do not know what you are talking about. It is not the king's way to kill anyone these days."

"I do not understand, I admit it," Elizabeth answered, frowning. "What does he do when one is found guilty of some terrible crime if he does not kill them?" she asked with simple logic.

"He does not believe in such harsh action and has not put a man to death since Earl Waltheof."

"Then what does he do?" Elizabeth asked. "Pat them on the back and send them on their way to do more harm?"

"Hardly that," Geoffrey answered. "His methods are just as harsh as death, to my way of thinking. It is the usual custom to cut off their limbs or put their eyes out. Sometimes the punishment kills the guilty, other times not, but I imagine they wish themselves dead."

Elizabeth trembled. She guided the talk back to what she wanted to know. "And the third choice?"