Juliana Garnett (37 page)

Though appreciative of his comfort, and grateful that he did not hold her responsible for the king’s refusal, Annice’s dark mood remained with her. It wasn’t until they were finally within sight of Dragonwyck that her spirits began to lift. It would be so good to get home and have her own things around her again, her own garments and brushes, and familiar surroundings. It would be a pleasure to see Belle, and pet Bordet, since he had been sent back to Dragonwyck with Rolf’s men-at-arms. And Sir Guy—she had missed him also, his pleasant countenance and quick humor always uplifting. Even the sight of the tall, crenellated battlements stark against the sky, with Rolf’s banner flying from the highest tower of the keep, gave her a great deal of pleasure.

With a slight shock she realized that Dragonwyck had truly become her home.

May 1215

A
re you going?” Annice asked anxiously. Rolf looked up from his cup of wine and nodded. Night shadows filled Dragonwyck’s great hall, and the fire had burned low. Bordet lay asleep on the floor between master and mistress, nose almost touching the feet of Sir Guy, who sat across from them. In the four months since they had left the king, much had happened.

“Yea,” Rolf said. “The king has called for a muster of those loyal to him, and some are already in Gloucester. They have been commanded to proceed with horses and arms, taking all men who will answer his call. The fortifications of London, Oxford, Salisbury, and others are being strengthened and manned, and help has been summoned from Flanders and Poitou. The king is returning to London and is now at Windsor. I am to meet him.”

Annice sank slowly to the hard comfort of a stool, staring at Rolf’s grave expression. War. Utter civil war had
come, when she had hoped to avoid it. Already a huge body of men-at-arms were in Dragonwyck’s bailey, waiting for word from their liege to go to John.

“What shall we do?” she whispered, and Rolf smiled faintly.

“War may yet be avoided,” he soothed. “If John signs the charter, mayhap—”

“If John
keeps
the charter,” Sir Guy interrupted bitterly. They both turned to look at him, and he shrugged. “Even if he signs it, he has a bad habit of refusing to honor his oaths.”

“But surely the pope will intervene—” Annice began, and this time it was Rolf who interrupted.

“The pope is furious with Langton. Do you not recall his actions of a few months past? When he ordered the bishops to quash all the barons’ ‘conspiracies,’ he admonished the king to treat his nobles graciously. It had little effect,” Rolf said bitterly.

“I cannot blame the king for his reaction,” Guy replied. “He was given the choice between signing the charter willingly or being compelled by force. ’Tis said that John wondered scornfully why the barons did not ask for his kingdom at once.”

“ ‘Their demands are idle dreams, without a shadow of reason,’ ” Rolf quoted heavily. “Yea, John told Langton outright that he would never grant the barons liberties which would make himself a slave. The past months since the barons presented the charter to John and renounced their homage have been most crucial. I know the king will not swallow the insults they propose to feed him in a revised charter, either.”

“I thought the proposed charter was to limit the king’s power, not insult him,” Annice said miserably.

“And do you think John wants his power limited?” Rolf shook his head. “Nay. Guy is right. Even if he signs the new charter being negotiated, ’tis doubtful that he will keep it.”

“Not since he has the pope on his side,” Guy muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “Innocent has suggested that an impartial legate arbitrate the differences between king and barons.”

“Matters have gone too far,” Rolf said. “Many barons
have refused to mediate, proposing harsh new demands that no king would honor. If they can take enough of the king’s castles, the barons can force him to come to terms.”

Annice swallowed her pleas that Rolf not join the king. The entire country was in a state of unrest, with barons raging over Lincolnshire like wolves. So many neighboring keeps had fallen to them—or been gladly yielded—that Dragonwyck was almost surrounded by the rebels. Even Lincoln Cathedral was said to be occupied by the rebels, though it was a sanctuary. She was afraid, yet did not dare admit it.

Only recently had Rolf returned from defending one of their own beleaguered keeps, eyes alight with pleasure as he’d described to her how they had stormed the small donjon and taken it back.

“The castellan I set there—Sir Robert of Houghton—is a good man. He held it even though outnumbered, yet I could see he would not be able to hold it much longer,” Rolf had said, then gone on to tell how he and his men-at-arms had managed to come upon the besiegers in the night and overrun them. The fighting had been fierce and bloody, and he had sustained an injury to his thigh from a lance.

Though she had listened quietly while tending his wound, his account had struck fear deep into Annice’s heart. He could so easily have been slain. Must he speak as if battle were a pleasure?

Now, when Rolf and Guy began to discuss weapons, and troops, and plans for the coming struggle almost with eagerness, Annice’s fear began to turn into anger as she listened to them.

Finally she exploded, “You sound as if you look forward to this! Are you so filled with blood lust and joy of battle that you don’t mind the death that goes with it?” Surging to her feet, she stared down at their surprised faces for a moment before fleeing from the hall.

Racing up the stairs, she heard Rolf call to her but ignored him. She would lose him. The fear pricked her into almost mindless terror, and she ran blindly, as if she could escape it. Dragons leered at her from doorways and window ledges, carved into stone and wood and ranging fiercely
through Dragonwyck’s torch-lit corridors and chambers. Holy Mary and Joseph, if only those stone dragons could be depended upon to keep them all safe.…

Breathless, she reached her chamber and flung herself inside, startling Belle, who was kneeling before a chest. “Milady!” Belle struggled to her feet. “Art thou unwell?”

Annice knew she must look as if hellhounds were after her, and paused to lean against the high back of a chair for support. Her fingers curved into the carved wood, and she managed a smile.

“Sick of war talk, ’tis all,” she said with a little catch in her breath. “Rolf and Sir Guy speak as if eager for it. Do they not realize—?”

She broke off, seeing Belle’s eyes widen with alarm. There was no point in terrorizing the girl. The fear would come soon enough, and for good reason. Drawing in a deep breath to calm her turmoil, she said easily, “Wouldst thou fetch some spiced wine, Belle? I have need of something to clear these cobwebs from my brain.”

Belle scurried to obey. Annice went to the window to stare out over the surrounding countryside. Far into the distance, beyond the security of Dragonwyck’s thick walls, ranged men who would take the castle apart stone by stone if they could. The rebel barons would show no mercy to any man who supported the hated king. Only Rolf stood between her and disaster, and though she knew that he was more than capable of keeping them safe, she feared for him. It was more than fear for herself, which she had felt when married to Luc. This was a quivering, helpless emotion that threatened to consume her at times. If Rolf was killed, she would die also. Life without him would be pointless. Unendurable.

She buried her face in her hands. There were moments she resented feeling this deeply for a man. Men were prone to dying in war, or in a useless quarrel with one another.
Men!
Quick-tempered, proud creatures with little thought of how their deaths might affect those who loved them … yet she would not regret one instant of the days she had spent with Rolf, even knowing that they might all be snatched away in the blink of an eye.

When she heard the door opening, she turned away
from the window, knowing instinctively whom she would see. Rolf stood framed in the opening, a faint frown marking his handsome face. Her heart leaped, and she thought herself foolish for still reacting that way after a year of marriage. Yea, her pulses still raced, her heart lurched, and all her senses came alive when he was near. She had thought time would ease those reactions, but it had only increased them.

Striding toward her, Rolf said, “It seems that you are not as resigned to the inevitable as I had thought.”

She smiled slightly. “Nay, lord. I am not.”

He took her into his arms and held her, one hand pressing against the back of her head, his fingers drawing down the length of her heavy hair in a casually affectionate gesture. “Do not worry unduly,
chérie
. P’raps John will sign the charter and keep it, and all this conjecture is for naught.”

“But you don’t really think so,” she said into his tunic, her words muffled by velvet and fear. His embrace tightened. That was answer enough, and she slid her arms around his waist and gripped him tightly. “Can you not stay?” she asked, the words tumbling from her though she knew ’twas useless to ask. He would not stay, and in truth, she would not want him to go against his oath. ’Twas that loyalty of heart and mind that had made her fall in love with him, knowing that here was a man who would always keep his sworn oaths.

After a moment, during which Rolf still stroked her hair with gentle caresses, he said, “I finally managed to wring an agreement from the king that he would review my claims to retrieve Justin from Thurston. Of course, ’twas only after Seabrook foolishly ordered the castellan of one of his larger keeps to resist the king’s troops. John will have to choose one of us soon and cease playing his barons one against the other.”

She drew back a little and looked up at him. During the long winter months, almost an entire troop of small wooden horses and men-at-arms had been carved, each lovingly detailed. She had watched silently, knowing his heart must ache with longing for his son. Yea, he was right. The king would have to choose which of his barons to alienate soon, and she did not think it would be Thurston.

“Soon,” she said tremulously, unable to stop the slight shaking of her voice, “all will be well. Justin will be with us here at Dragonwyck, and the king will allow peace to settle upon the land.”

Amused, Rolf flicked her under the chin with an affectionate gesture. “Are you a sorceress, that you have cast a spell upon the king and all the barons?” he teased. “ ’Twill take magic to set all aright in England.”

Fiercely, she said, “Nay, not magic, milord, but an appeal to God.”

Rolf’s expression grew solemn. “God must be wearied of hearing all the prayers that have been sent heavenward these last fifteen years,” he muttered. Raking a hand through his hair so that the thick gold strands bore darker streaks, he turned away from her and went to the open window. A brisk breeze that smelled of rain and fresh-turned earth filtered into the chamber. The raspy serenade of frogs below in the moat could be heard, familiar sounds that carried no hint of disaster.

Coming up behind him, Annice slid her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his back. She wanted to hold him close, cling to him as if her love would protect him from all harm.

Rolf put his hands atop hers where they met at his belt buckle and, holding them, loosened her embrace and turned around to face her. There was a gleam in his green eyes that she recognized, a heated glow that brightened the green to almost gold, and her heart fluttered. He glanced toward the bed, then back to her, and grinned.

“The nights will be long without you, and cold,” he murmured.

“Even in June?” she asked with a laugh.

“Yea, ’tis always cold when you are not near to warm me,
chérie
.”

Most willingly, Annice allowed Rolf to draw her with him to the wide shadows of the bed. Parting the hanging silk curtains, he lifted her to the high mattress and followed. He lay down beside her, one hand leisurely exploring the length of her leg, then stroking upward to the flat mound of her belly. Annice put her hand atop his.

“Once I was glad to be barren,” she murmured regretfully. “Now I pray for your child.”

He stared down at her stomach, then looked up into her eyes. “Let us recover the child already here before we think about praying for another to be pawn to John’s whims,” he said slowly. “I cannot share your desire for a babe. I miss Justin too greatly to risk another child. Times are too uncertain, and it pains me to know that I cannot keep what is mine because my king is dishonorable.”

Annice put up a hand to stroke his bearded jaw, throat tight with painful emotion. Though she saw his reason, it still grieved her that he did not want a child from her. Long had she yearned for a babe, then resigned herself to being barren. Only since coming to love this fierce warrior had she again desired a child of her own to nurture. If she had a child … if she had Rolf’s child, she would always have part of him with her. There would be the reminder of her love for him in a child with golden hair and green eyes, created of their love.

But now she clung to Rolf with an aching heart, fearing to lose him, fearing to hold too tightly. Rolf’s caresses grew bolder, the hunger always in him growing hot and urgent. His mouth moved to take hers. The familiar surge of pleasure blossomed between her thighs when his hand moved lower, seeking her through the silk and linen of her garments. She tingled in delicious agonies, ached to feel his bare skin against hers.