Hot Summer's Knight (27 page)

At her knock, his command to enter came.  She opened the door, surprised to realize she was shaking, and her stomach had become a tight ball of tension.

When he realized who it was, he stood, and bowed.

“Good day, my Lady.”

He was like a stranger, she thought, not the man she loved.

“Good day, my Lord.”  She curtsied.  Now she was in his presence, words failed her.  The silence stretched out, as he waited for her to announce the purpose of visit.

“The accounts are in good order?” she asked.

“Excellent order, thank you,” he responded formally.

“I’ve been told I’m good with numbers.”

“It appears you are.”

“I wondered if I might resume keeping the books of account.”

“Ladies do not usually do such work.”

“I am not, I mean, I want to do something, to help, to do something
useful
.”

“You are my wife.  That is your function.”

“Then why don’t you treat me like a wife, then?” she burst out.

“Treat you like a wife?”

“You never come to me, you never touch me, you act as though you hate me.  In all these weeks, you’ve never told me why!  I don’t know what I’ve done, Gareth, no Huon.  I don’t know why you hate me so.”

Exhausted by her outburst and the weeks of confusion and longing, she collapsed into a chair, and burst into tears.

“You are my wife.  We are bound together by the church and by the contracts negotiated by our fathers.”

“That’s it?” she cried, “But I thought, I believed…”

“You took me to your bed when you thought I was nothing more than a troubadour.”

“You hold that against me!  I believed myself a widow.  I gave myself to a man I loved, whom I believed loved me.”

He continued as though he hadn’t heard her.

“And you gave yourself to another man.”  He came around the table to stand in front of her.  “Tell, me, my Lady, did you give yourself to Fulk before or after we were wed?”

“To Fulk?  What has Fulk to do with this?”

“Did Count Fulk have your maidenhead?”

“Yes, but…”

“Did you meet him in the forest?”

“Yes, but Huon…”

“Was he the reason you rejected me on the night of our wedding?”

“Yes, Huon, let me explain!”

“There can be no explanation.  You’ve admitted everything.  Listen, my Lady,” he grasped the arms of her chair, and leaned over her, his steel colored eyes boring into hers, “You have my word that I will never come to your room.  We will never make love again.  And I will never touch you, as long as we both shall live.”

He walked to the door, and held it open for her.

“And now, my Lady, good day to you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

Gilbert decided he could call himself a happy man. 

He’d found a small, local war in the north where his sword and bow were welcome, and the pay had been good.  As a bonus, in the course of the fighting, an enemy nobleman had fallen virtually into his lap.  The ransom he’d been paid for him had been most lucrative, and now he had a good warhorse again, and a palfrey, and a better class of weapon than he’d owned for some time.  Spare coin made sweet music in the pouch at his belt as he rode.

The weather in the north was closing in for the winter, and he’d decided to head south again.  He had enough put by to last him until the weather improved.  If the next season of fighting proved to be as good as this one, he’d be able to think about returning to England.  Perhaps he’d even buy a free holding, and take up farming.

The thought brought a smile to his face.  Him, a farmer!  A farmer needed a wife, strong sons to help on the land, and daughters to bring him joy.  He was getting on, well into his thirties now, and it would be good to settle down.

Settling down made his thoughts turn, as always, to Jessamine.  Even though she wasn’t the sort of women he imagined as a farmer’s wife, he wondered how she fared. 

She’d been unusually docile when they’d arrived at the convent three months ago, and the nuns had been happy to take her in.  Would the instability of her mind have healed, under the nuns’ tender care?  He had no idea how long these things took.

A need to see her again took hold of him.  He’d loved her once, and lost her.  When he’d found her again, it had only meant losing her a second time, but at least, this time, he knew where she was.

He had no-one to consider but himself; no Lord governed his actions, no woman dictated his needs.  At the next town, he stopped for a meal, and the tavern keeper gave him directions to St.  Bernadette’s.  Within two days of making up his mind, he was knocking at the convent door.

An ancient nun looked up at him through the grill in the door.

“What is your business here?” she asked.

“I’ve come to see the woman, Jessamine Carpenter.”

The door on the inside of the grill slammed shut.  He waited.  Should he leave?  Was Jessamine behaving so badly, they’d have nothing to do with anyone her knew her?

He paced the small flagged area in front of the convent door.  He took a loaf from his saddlebag, and munched on that, following it with a swig from a wineskin.  He hobbled the horses so they could graze, made himself as comfortable as he could on the flagstones, and dozed.

The door to the grill banged open.

“You there,” called the nun, “You asked to see the woman.”

One leg had gone numb while he waited.  He struggled to his feet, and limped to the door.

“Yes?” he answered.

“She’s gone.”  The little door slammed again.

This time, he wasn’t going to hang around and wait for them to answer him.  He thumped on the door with his mailed fist, and kept on thumping until the grill opened again.

“Where’s she gone?  When?  You were supposed to be looking after her!  Didn’t the Lord of Freycinet send you a gift for the purpose?”

“I can’t tell you.  I can’t tell you anything.”  The nun went to close the little door.

This time, his fist was in the way.

“Let go!” said the nun, “You rude man!”

“No,” answered Gilbert, “I want an explanation, and I want it now, otherwise I’m going to break this door down.”

“Wait there,” she said.  His vision through the grill was restricted, but he heard footsteps receding into the distance, and returning.

The door opened.

“Come with me.”

“What about my horses?”

“They’ll be safe there.  Come.”

The nun led the way down a tiled passage, and showed him into a cold, sparsely furnished room.  He sat on a wooden bench, and waited.  He didn’t like leaving the horses outside, but his curiosity about Jessamine overrode his anxiety about his beasts.

A tall, heavily robed woman stepped into the room.  Her habits were made of cloth of excellent quality, and a gold cross on a thick gold chain rested on her chest.  She could have been any age from thirty to fifty, but regardless of that, she had an air of authority about her.

She didn’t introduce herself.

Gilbert stood, feeling awkward, and uncouth.  Lord Huon had handled all this when they’d brought the girl here.

The nun sat on a bench on the opposite side of the room.  He remained standing, and she gave him no sign to sit.

“The girl you seek is no longer with us,” she stated.

“Is she dead?” he asked.

“I don’t believe so.  She decided to leave our care.  She took some things with her when she left.”

Gilbert groaned inwardly.  Jessamine would not think twice about stealing from a convent.

“What sort of things?”

“Some gold plate from the chapel.  Some garments belonging to some of the other women who live here.”

“I brought her here, but I’m not responsible for her, you understand.”

“I understand,” answered the nun, “however, if you could make a contribution towards the plate, it would be appreciated.”

He thought of his small store of money.  Jessamine had the capacity to make him drain his purse even when she wasn’t present.  He brought out his pouch, counted out some coins, and gave them to her.

“Thank you, my son,” the nun responded, noting the amount, “your generosity will be noted in heaven.”

“The woman, Jessamine,” he asked, “Do you have any idea where she’s gone?  She could be dangerous, to herself or to others.”

“No, I can’t help you, she rarely spoke to the others, except to complain, and gave no indication she was thinking of leaving.”  The nun fell silent, as though considering how best to phrase her next comment.

“Something a little strange happened not long before she left.  Perhaps you should know.

“There’s another young woman living with us at the moment.  Her name’s Eunice.  She has long, brown hair, and because she’s still a girl, she doesn’t yet wear it covered.  Jessamine attacked her one day, not long before she left.  She screamed at her, using terrible words.  Most of what she said was difficult to understand, but she called Eunice by a name which was not her own.  It sounded similar – Clarice, perhaps?”

“Berenice?” asked Gilbert.

“Yes, that was it – Berenice.  Jessamine must despise this Berenice.  Do you know her?”

“Not well,” he answered, contemplating his boots, “but I do know she would have done nothing to deserve Jessamine’s hatred.  I’ve been told, by people who do know her, she’s a great Lady, well-loved by her people.”

“Then this Lady should be warned of Jessamine’s departure, should she not?”  The nun rose, and guided Gilbert to the door.

“I have one more question,” said Gilbert, “when did Jessamine leave?”

“The day before yesterday,” answered the nun, and closed the door behind him.

The day before yesterday, he thought, how strange.  While he’d been planning his visit, she’d been making her escape.

There was something else he needed to know.  He hammered on the door again.  The ancient nun opened the grill, and glared at him.

“What clothing did she take?” he demanded.  “I need to know.”

“Two dresses, a few shifts, some stockings, a pair of shoes.”

“What color were the dresses?”

“Red,” answered the nun, “they were both red.”  She slammed the little door in his face.

Of course, he thought, she’d never be happy with the plain, brown dress they’d found for her.  Jessamine had always worn a red dress.

She had two days’ start on him, but she was walking, and he had a good fresh horse to ride.

His conscience had always troubled him about his role in the abduction of Lady Berenice.  It was time he atoned for that sin, at least.

When he’d arrived at the convent, he’d had no idea where he was going next.  Now he knew.  He was going back to Freycinet, to warn a Lady.

A demon was on the loose.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

This wasn’t the best place to build a castle, Lord Huon thought.  The river protected it on two sides, but the other walls were too exposed.  A good company of archers up on the knoll would take it in a few days.

The top of the knoll would be a better place.  From there the whole valley could be controlled, and the height would make it impregnable.  He’d have to see if there was a spring up there though, because water could be a problem.

It was his habit to climb to the top of the Lord’s tower each morning, and survey his domain.  From this vantage point, he could see the mill and the monastery in one direction, and the fields and meadows and forests, all the way to Pontville and the far towers of Betizac.

Through the vista wound the river, lead-colored and heavy from recent rains.  The sky above was the same hue.  They matched his mood.

Everywhere he looked, he was reminded of Berenice.

There, on her way to the monastery, she’d surprised him bathing, and received a soaking herself.  He’d dried her clothes, and combed her hair, and spun her a story.

There, on a ledge on the rocky knoll, they’d fought a mock battle with grass swords, and she’d surrendered to his kisses.

There, in the forest, they’d come close to making love, and she’d fled like an untamed creature.

There, in her tower, she’d welcomed him into her bed and her body, loving him with overwhelming passion.

And here, a few floors below him, he’d heard himself say those terrible words.  In a few moments, he’d destroyed her love for him.  His jealousy and his desperate need to possess her, to know she was his and only his, had wiped away the glorious summer they’d spent together, and slashed the fragile tendrils of the bond between them.

She rarely came down to dinner these days.  Each night he sat with William on the dais, next to her empty seat.  At first he’d insisted she come to meals with him, but her humble obedience had only made him feel worse when he compared it to the Berenice he used to know.

One night she’d sent a message with Esme saying she was ill.  He’d given permission for her to stay in her chamber, and hadn’t made her return.

In his need for a glimpse of her, he’d taken to coming up here.  He’d found out she walked every day.  From here he could watch her when she took the path to the monastery or one of the villages.  One of William’s men always followed at a discrete distance.  She would not be harmed again.

Only he had that right.

Today was no different to any other day in the preceding weeks.  She wore a deep blue cape over her blue dress.  Where would she go today?

She took the path to the monastery, and then left it, turning away from the river.  She’d go to the knoll, he decided.  She’d been going there more and more often recently.  She’d stand so close to the edge of the cliff, he wondered if she would throw herself from it.  Each time he’d hold his breath until she’d step back a few feet to safety.  Was she contemplating suicide?  Her great faith prohibited it, he knew, but the pallor of her features told another story.  Was she ill?  Her sadness was like the cape around her, hiding her from him.

His life was governed by the oaths he’d sworn, to his Lord, to the king, to his men, and to Berenice on their wedding day.  What use was a man, if you couldn’t trust his word?

He’d sworn he’d never touch Berenice again.  It was one oath he wanted to break.