Lady At Arms (26 page)

What her eyes offered? Her indignation flared but honesty quickly doused it. She truly did not want him to leave. “I do not wish to be alone,” she said softly. “Will you not stay?”

His eyebrows gathered. “Where would you have me sleep, Lizanne?”

Feeling heat rise to her face, she said, “Here, beside me.”

He smiled. “You think it safe?”

“You could just hold me.”

“Ah, torture.” His dark eyes twinkled. “Is that what you have in mind?”

“’Tis not my intention,” she said. “Would it really be so bad?”

“It would, but so long as you do not plan on chaining me to a wall, I am willing.”

Hiding her smile, Lizanne folded back the covers and invited her husband to share her bed.

“Chesne,” Ranulf said as he looked out across the land spread before him. The three days’ ride from London had seemed like a dozen, not only because he longed to be home, but because he had yet to exercise his husband’s rights over Lizanne. At Chesne they would finally know one another and their life together would begin.

“What do you see, Lizanne?”

“Land,” she said where she sat before him. “Fertile land.” She peered over her shoulder at him.

“And?”

She looked again. “What would you have me see, my lord?”

He caught her chin and brought her face back around. “’Tis not Penforke. It is Chesne, and it is your home now. That is what I would have you see. And accept.”

Her gaze momentarily lowered to his mouth. “I have accepted it, Husband.”

He studied her face. Finding no lie there, he murmured, “That pleases me,” and pressed a kiss to her lips.

When he started to draw back, Lizanne followed, sliding an arm around his neck and bending his head back to hers.

He lingered over her mouth, then reluctantly ended the kiss, leaving her staring disappointedly up at him. “Your heart knows the truth,” he said, then settled her back against his chest, took up his destrier’s reins, and led the descent toward Chesne.

The sun was nearing its zenith when one of the men from the small party Ranulf had sent ahead broke from the trees and rode wildly toward them.

Ranulf and his men halted their horses, and the ring of swords being drawn from scabbards echoed all around.

“My lord!” the man gasped when he reached them.

“What has happened?” Ranulf demanded. “You have seen my mother?”

“Nay, my lord.” He drew a deep breath. “Chesne has been taken and all within held prisoner.”

Feeling Lizanne stiffen, Ranulf forced himself to think calmly and rationally as called for in all situations where blood was to be spilled. “What of the rest of your party?” he asked.

“We were set upon, my lord, and taken within the walls. I was sent back to deliver a message.”

Ranulf nodded for the man to continue.

“I was told to inform you ’tis Baron Balmaine who holds Chesne—“

“Gilbert!” Lizanne once more turned her face up to Ranulf.

He narrowed his eyes on her. “It changes naught,” he growled, then commanded the messenger to continue.

“He said if you wish to see your mother alive again, you will return his sister to him and hand yourself over forthwith.”

The man fell silent, but Ranulf knew there was more. “And?”

The messenger pulled a cloth pouch from beneath his tunic and extended it. “He said this would convince you of his intent should you think to refuse his demands.”

Ranulf took it. Feeling heat move through his every vein, he stared at the object, tested its weight. It was light. Something small. He met his wife’s gaze. “What kind of man is your brother?”

Fear scampering through her on clawed feet, Lizanne turned over and again what the messenger had told. She had heard of sending body parts of an adversary’s loved ones to mark the seriousness of the captor’s threat, but she could not believe Gilbert capable of such a terrible thing. It was preposterous.

“He is not an animal,” she said and reached to take the pouch from Ranulf.

He closed his hand around it. “If he is, Lizanne, I will have to kill him like one.”

His words slashed at her and, without thought, she flung at him, “He will not give you a second chance to do so.”

“I do not ask for a second chance,” he ground out, muscles bunching every place they touched, “only a first.”

Either way, I shall lose.
And that thought finally made her admit what she had refused to acknowledge for days.
I love Ranulf Wardieu.

Pure madness, but what she felt for him could have no other name. Never before had she felt such depth for another. And it hurt. She closed her eyes, felt the moisture of tears gather behind her lids, but when she returned her gaze to Ranulf, he stared as if unmoved.

“Open it,” she whispered.

The world seemed to stand still as he peeled back the folded cloth and unveiled what Gilbert had taken from Ranulf’s mother.

It was Walter who first came to life amid the tense silence. “Almighty!” he exclaimed.

Lizanne released her breath. It was hair. Only hair. A long, pale lock against dark cloth. She looked up at Ranulf, but her smile of relief that she had expected to be matched by his own quickly retreated.

Eyes once again that terrible black, he said, “How dare he lay a hand to her. I will kill him for this.”

“’Tis but hair!” Lizanne gripped his arm. “He is my brother.”

“And she is my mother!” He lifted her hand from him, beckoned to his squire. “Take my lady wife up before you,” he commanded.

“What do you intend?” Lizanne demanded as she was lifted from her place before Ranulf and settled on Geoff’s mount.

Ranulf pinned her with his steely gaze. “You are my wife, Lizanne, and you will remain so.”

“What of your mother?”

“I will have her back shortly. And Chesne.”

She shook her head. “Pray, let me speak to my brother. Blood need not be shed over this. I can make him see reason.”

“Aye, but whose?” He turned his mount aside.

“Ranulf!” she cried, but she had lost him.

Tears unchecked, she watched as the men donned chain mail in preparation for battle. They were efficient, remounting minutes later and following Ranulf who, wearing his great hauberk, set the course for the short ride to the castle.

Squire Geoff said not a word as he held Lizanne before him and brought up the rear.

Shortly, the fortress that was Chesne came into sight. It was made entirely of stone, the gray rectangular donjon rising high above walls that bordered on a wide expanse of wet moat. Although the drawbridge was lowered, the gatehouse’s portcullis was firmly in place.

At such a distance and from behind the ranks of Ranulf’s men, Lizanne could only just make out those who dotted the crenellated walls. For certain, Gilbert was among them, likely atop the gatehouse. Which one?

Out of range of fire, Ranulf and his men gathered at the far end of the glade surrounding the stronghold. With a pervasive restlessness, each man readied himself for that for which he had been trained.

Lizanne experienced her own restlessness, knowing it was only a matter of time before many of these men, and her brother’s, lay bloodied upon the ground.

She had to speak to Gilbert, to show him she was well and convince him she was with Ranulf of her own free will. Surely, it would make a difference once he learned she was wed.

“Geoff…” She shifted around. “Take me to my husband. I must needs speak with him.”

“Nay, my lady, he would not want you any closer. You are safe here.”

“They are going to kill each other,” she said as levelly as she could manage. “Can you not see that?”

Regret grooving his mouth, he said. “’Tis my lord’s decision, this. Your brother has done great offense in taking his home and threatening his family. He has a right to defend both.”

She clenched her hands. “And what of the offense done my brother?”
 

Geoff’s face hardened. “I know not the details, my lady, but ’twas you who began this. You dealt the first offense.”

She longed to refute his claim, to explain why she had done it, but she knew it would be futile. Geoff seemed fond of her, but it was nothing compared to his loyalty toward Ranulf.

Lizanne turned back to survey the scene. Through the ranks, she glimpsed Ranulf and Walter whose heads were bent toward each other as they conversed. Shortly, the messenger of earlier spurred his horse toward the castle.

“What is happening?” Lizanne asked.

“I know not, my lady,” Geoff answered tightly, clearly frustrated at being relegated to the outskirts.

The messenger was not allowed within the walls, though he was permitted to cross the drawbridge to deliver the message through the portcullis. Minutes later, he turned and started back across the glade.

As the man drew near, Geoff urged his horse forward until he was as near the rear of the ranks as he could draw.

“He will meet you, my lord,” the messenger’s voice carried to Lizanne. “He has agreed upon swords.”

“Nay!” Lizanne cried and gave Geoff the trouble he surely feared, pleading and crying as he prudently turned his mount aside and, finally, attacking him with every available part of her such that it was questionable whether or not they would remain astride.

When an arm came around her and dragged her from atop Geoff’s horse, she hardly noticed she had changed hands, but when she saw it was Ranulf, she stilled.

“Do not do this,” she pleaded as he lowered her to her feet. “Do not fight Gilbert. He is an excellent swordsman—”

“You are worried for me?” His face softened slightly.

She reached up and laid a palm to his cheek. “I am worried for both of you.”

“’Tis your chance to free yourself of me,” he said, “and gain that which you intended all along—without soiling your own hands.”

She gripped his chain mail. “I do not wish your death anymore. I do not think I ever did.”

His eyebrows drew together.

“Don’t you see?” she pressed. “Gilbert does this only in retaliation for you taking me from Penforke.”

Ranulf released her, took a step back, and thrust a hand through his hair. “The insult has been given and the challenge issued, Lizanne. I have done naught against your family without provocation but have borne another’s punishment. Now ’tis time your brother paid for the wrong he has done me.”

“Let me talk to him first. I am your wife now. There is nothing he can do to change that. I will make him understand.”

“Nay, ’tis done.” He reached for her, pulled her to him and, with his back to his men, lowered his head and captured her lips. The kiss was breathtaking in its intensity, as if it might be their last, and then it was over. As he set her from him, their eyes clashed. A moment later, he was walking away.

Lizanne watched as he remounted his great destrier and nosed it through the ranks, Geoff following. When she could no longer see him, she became aware of another nearby and turned to find Roland to her left. He beckoned her forward.

Forcing down panic that would only hinder her, Lizanne walked slowly toward him, setting in motion the workings of her mind in hopes of solving this deadly dilemma. As Roland offered a hand to her, she hit upon an idea. It was not a good one, but she had so few options and no time to search out another. Still, she was grateful it was not Geoff she must take advantage of this time.

Sitting before Roland, she searched out Ranulf and found him at the outermost margin of his men.

’Tis all in the timing,
she told herself as she measured the distance to the castle. “Roland, can we not move closer?”

“Lord Ranulf would not wish it.”

“Then just to the outer edge so I might better view the duel. I would see for myself ’tis fairly fought.”

Roland shook his head. “You can see well enough from here, my lady.”

“I cannot.” She threw a hand out to encompass the wall of men. “They move about too much and block my line of sight.” She looked around and saw the squire’s lips compress as his gaze moved from the men to the castle, then to the middle ground where Ranulf would meet her brother.

He was wavering, Lizanne realized, and she pressed the advantage. “Pray, Roland, grant me this.”

“Very well.” Slowly, he guided his mount to the far left edge and positioned them diagonally across from the castle and just in back of the men.

Craning her neck to look down the forward rank, Lizanne saw that both Walter and Geoff had moved back and left Ranulf alone before the gathering. He faced outward, staring ahead, helmet in place, chain mail hood drawn beneath his chin and buckled.

It was exactly how she remembered him from the day he had returned to Penforke for her. He was perfectly matched for Gilbert. Or perhaps not. Although her brother had learned to adjust for his lameness, it was a certain disadvantage that could mean his downfall when faced with a man like Ranulf.

Still, she was surprised by a sudden inner calm, the unexpected emotion fueled by certainty that she would be able to put an end to this senseless duel.

Then the portcullis raised, and a single horse and rider rode out onto the drawbridge. Behind him, the portcullis fell back into place.

Gilbert. Did he see her? In her green dress that blended with the greenery behind, it seemed unlikely. Turning her head, she looked to where Ranulf guided his own horse forward at a slow canter.

Do it now!

She gasped loudly and fell forward, draping herself over the horse’s neck in as close to a dead faint as she could manage.

“Lady Lizanne!” Roland pulled her limp form back against him.

Inclining her body to the side, she allowed herself to begin a downward descent. As expected, the squire focused on keeping her astride, shifting her back over the midline of the horse’s neck.

Wondering if any of the others had yet noticed his predicament, she gave a low moan and shifted her weight opposite.

Roland muttered as he steadied her with one hand, then he carefully swung out of the saddle, surely that he might pull her safely down beside him.

Lizanne shot upright, brought her leg up, and thrust it against his chest. As the force of her kick sent him backward into the grass, she called, “Forgive me,” and grabbed the reins. Digging her heels in, she spurred the horse past the ranks of men and heard their surprised utterances as she shot forward.