Lady of Fire (17 page)

"The FitzGilbert will not be there." The much older Adela spoke from a seat by the duchess. "He rode out with my brother Henry somewhere this morning."

"Pay her no heed," Eleanor whispered as she followed Marie from the bower. "He will be back before supper."

"Nay, I do not care what she says. She enjoys making people uncomfortable, and even her brothers do not like her. I can scarce wait until she and Count Stephen return to Blois and take their pack of brats with them."

"Stephen is a handsome man to be wed to such a sharp face," Eleanor commented.

"Aye, but he thinks himself far handsomer than he is. Myself, I do not like dark men."

"I own I do not like him much either, but I barely know the man."

They traversed a long rock-walled corridor to a door that opened out into the spacious garden where flowers and bushes formed geometric patterns between flagstone walks, and where the castle's herbs grew in a brick-marked bed in the center. The July air was hot and heavy with the intermingled fragrances of flowers.

"Would you walk, or would you sit?" Marie asked.

"Let us sit for a while." Eleanor found a stone bench and sat down, spreading her skirts while making room for the other girl. "Jesu, but 'tis hot."

Neither girl spoke of Belesme's arrival for some time. Marie valiantly tried to cany the conversation everywhere but there, but Eleanor's mind was troubled by a decision she struggled to make. She turned impulsively to Marie.

"Do you know Count Robert?"

Startled by the directness, Marie hesitated. "Only by sight and reputation," she answered slowly. "When he comes to court, most of the ladies avoid him. My eyes tell me he is an exceedingly handsome man, but my mind tells me he is exceedingly vain. He dresses in only the finest jewels and clothing, and he is very careful of his appearance. Unlike others, his hair is always trimmed, his face always shaven, his nails always pared, and he is always clean. But"—she frowned thoughtfully—"I think him harsh and cruel. It says something of a man when he has no friends." She looked up and her blue eyes were grave. "Your pardon, Lady Eleanor, I should not speak so freely of the man you are to wed."

"Nay, I can see all of the things you tell me, anyway. But—you have been long at court—does he not have any interest in the ladies?"

"If you would ask does he lie with any of the bolder ones, the answer would be no. Most would not lie with him because of what is said of him."

"What?" Eleanor asked bluntly.

" 'Tis just rumor," Marie evaded.

"What is just rumor?" Eleanor persisted. "I would know what is said of him."

"Mayhap you should ask Lord Roger," the younger girl answered uncomfortably.

"Nay—Roger hates him and Belesme hates Roger. I would ask you."

"Lady Eleanor, I would just be repeating malicious gossip," Marie protested. "I know not the man."

"But you know what is said of him. What have you heard?"

"Little." Marie sighed. "Countess Adela says often enough that the reason Belesme does not flirt with the ladies is that he has strange appetites. She says that he finds Mabille such a woman that any other pales in comparison."

"I heard something like that from Prince Henry long ago, but I find it hard to credit. Mabille is his mother, and she must be fairly old."

"Have you seen her?"

"Nay. You forget, I have spent years in confinement at Fontainebleau."

"Well"—Marie gestured expansively—"I have seen her once within the past two years. She may be old enough to have borne him, but Mabille of Belesme is still beautiful. She has the face and form of a twenty-year-old woman. Men say she is a witch because she does not seem to grow older."

"I thought they called her witch for other things."

"Aye, they say she murdered William Talvas to secure her son's inheritance. By all accounts, he was an evil man, but I'll warrant he died of bad food rather than poison."

"Sweet Jesu!" Eleanor breathed. "And this is the family my father would give me." Abruptly she changed the subject to Marie herself. "Tell me, Demoiselle, do you love my brother?"

The girl was taken aback by the direct question. She seemed to fix her gaze on the flagstones beneath her feet. "Aye," she finally answered low. "I would be given to him if I had the choice."

"Why?" Eleanor leaned closer. "Why do you think you love him?"

Marie colored, the rosiness that spread across her face diffused through her cheeks, enhancing her beauty.

It was Eleanor's turn to look away. "I would know."

"Because he is kind and good, because he can laugh and tease without hurting, because he is a most puissant lord."

It spoke well of the girl that she tied her affection to qualities in the man rather than to appearances. Surprised, Eleanor asked, "But do you not think him handsome?"

"Oh, aye. Roger FitzGilbert is the most handsome man I have ever seen, and most of the other ladies here think so also. In truth, you were made most welcome, Demoiselle, because your brother is so admired at court." She smiled ingeniously and added, "In truth, most would know you in hopes of knowing your brother better."

"And you, Marie?"

"I am like all the rest, Lady Eleanor."

The girl's beauty and candor won Eleanor's admiration. If this were the love that Roger denied, she would not be the one to stand in his way. She swallowed her jealousy and nodded. "I would welcome you as a sister, Lady Marie."

Eleanor did not have to wait until supper to see Robert of Belesme. Soon after she and Marie returned to the duchess' bower, a ducal page appeared to announce his arrival and seek permission for him to speak with Eleanor. The women around her recoiled at the thought he might actually appear in the duchess' apartment. The young Countess of Evreux went so far as to protest, "Madam, to allow him up could mark your unborn child."

"Nonsense." Adela, Countess of Blois, dismissed the idea with a word. "Let him come. I for one am not afraid of the Count of Belesme. What harm can he do surrounded by all of us?"

The duchess crossed herself before venturing timidly, "Perhaps I should rather send the Demoiselle down to him."

"Alone?" Adela scoffed. "Nay—and who is to go down with her?" She turned imperiously to the page and ordered, "You may tell my lord of Belesme that she awaits him here."

It was actually some time before he made his appearance. Apparently he'd chosen to bathe and shave before coming to the ladies' bower, for when he arrived, he was clean and smelled faintly of rosewater. Once he made his obeisance to the Duchess of Normandy, the duchess withdrew tactfully to a corner of the room and took her ladies with her.

Even without battle dress, he was forbidding, from the tip of his soft leather shoes to the top of his green-and-gold tunic. Eleanor met his eyes squarely with thudding heart and wondered if she could ever face him unafraid.

"Demoiselle," he acknowledged. "You had a pleasant journey, I trust?"

"Aye." She wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. "And you, my lord?"

" 'Twas hot. I stewed in my own sweat most of the way."

"Oh." If she were going to live with him, Eleanor supposed she would have to learn to talk to him. "You look well," she ventured lamely.

He favored her with that strange half-smile. "I am never ill, Demoiselle."

"Nay, I suppose you are not. Well, my lord," she tried again, "how left you Mayenne?"

"It still stands."

"Jesu!" Eleanor threw up her hands in disgust. "How are we to live together, my lord, if we cannot even speak to one another?"

"What would you have me say?"

"Anything, my lord, but I would have some speech with you."

The green eyes warmed slightly. "You will have years at Belesme in which to talk with me, Eleanor. For now, I have little time and there is much to do. We pledge ourselves before the archbishop tomorrow so that Curthose may witness. His quarrel with Philip goes ill again and he is for the Vexin as soon as may be." He watched her startled expression and his eyes narrowed. "Aye, tomorrow. We wed on Monday…even the Church agrees there is no need to wait."

"But…"

"Your father arrives sometime today, Demoiselle, so all is ready."

"When do we go to Belesme, my lord?" she asked hopelessly.

"Tuesday." Again, that half-smile. "We deplete Curthose's larder. You will be pleased to know that once I have taken you to Belesme, I go to join Curthose."

"So soon?"

He raised a black eyebrow. "Does it matter to you?"

"Nay." She twisted her hands nervously in the folds of her gown. " 'Tis only that I shall know no one in a strange place. I have never been to Belesme before."

"Belesme is a fortress, Eleanor, a great stone keep well-constructed against siege and ill-suited to comfort. As soon as I negotiated for you, I began the building of a hall and larger living quarters, but it will not be finished until late autumn. Until then, you will have to make your home in one of the towers."

She closed her eyes briefly to hide her panic. "But I will know no one there."

"Gilbert sends an old woman and some maids. He offered your sister Margaret for company, but I had enough of her weeping when Fuld sent her to me. If there is another you would bring, do so." His eyes swept the women at the other end of the bower. "Though I doubt you can find any eager to come."

Herleva, Eleanor thought to herself. I ought to have known she would come with me. Aloud she managed, "Nay, there is no one I would take."

He seemed relieved. " 'Tis as well—my men are unused to women." he reached for her hands and possessed them. "Let us hope your body is warmer than your fingers, Demoiselle." She thought he meant to draw a hand to his lips, but instead he leaned forward and brushed her cheek, murmuring low by her ear, "But I remember fire, Eleanor, and would know it again." He straightened up before she could reply. "Until the morrow, Demoiselle."

He left abruptly without so much as a nod to the duchess or any of the ladies. Marie hurried over to Eleanor and took her hand.

"Sweet Mary! What did he want?"

"I am betrothed tomorrow and wed Monday."

"Mother of God! Does your brother know?" Eleanor drew in a deep breath and shook her head.

"Nay, but I will tell him."

At Hugh's direction, Eleanor found Roger in the palace chapel. This time, he prayed silently if at all. She slipped down beside him at the altar rail, thinking it a fit place for her to sunder his vow to her. Timidly she reached out to touch his shoulder. When he turned around, she stared silently for a moment to stamp him on her memory.

"Roger, I love you," she whispered softly. When he would reach for her, she shook her head. "Nay, 'tis because of that that I would speak to you, brother." She took a deep breath and looked away. "As a lord to his vassal, I release you from your childhood vow to me, Roger."

"Lea, what in God's name are you talking about?"

"I have decided to wed with Belesme."

"Nay!"

"Aye. Roger, do not look at me like that! I have thought and thought and I have decided. 'Twas folly to think it could be any other way."

"Lea, listen to me—you know not what you would say! You know not what manner of man you would wed!"

"I know," she whispered, "but perhaps he will be different to me if I am his own."

"Lea, listen! I am no maid…I am a soldier used to the battlefield. I have seen men broken open, their entrails spilling out onto the ground, and I have listened to their dying cries. But I saw what he intended with Fuld Nevers and it sickened me so that I vomited. Lea, before he killed him, Robert blinded and castrated Fuld, cut out his tongue, and skinned him like a rabbit. Aye—well you can look like that! And the thing that repelled me the most, Lea, was that 'twas not for vengeance that he did those things. He enjoyed it!"

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "I know these things, Roger, but it can make no difference."

Roger reached out and shook her hard. "Do you want to wed with Belesme?" he asked harshly.

"N-nay."

"Jesu! Then why…?"

"Think you I want to see your life ended like Fuld's?" she cried out. "Nay, I will not let you die in my cause, brother." She searched his face for some hint of understanding. "Roger, wed with your lady and take what happiness you can…there is little enough in this life."

"You are my happiness!"

"Nay, 'tis not the same. What we have will always be—in spite of Belesme, in spite of your lady—but we just will not see each other."

"Lea," he reasoned patiently, " 'tis a noble sacrifice you would make, but it will not happen. We are leaving Rouen. We are going to England. Think you I could live knowing that you were at Robert of Belesme's mercy night and day?"

"Roger, you yourself said I must wed someday."

"Not to Belesme!"

"Roger, don't go on with this," she pleaded desperately. "My father gives me to Count Robert, the Church blesses the union, and the Duke of Normandy orders it. We cannot stand against that. You have lands now, you can win your lady and get your heirs of her—you can found a great family, brother. Do not lose it all for me."

Roger could feel his world collapsing. Obviously Eleanor did not believe he had the strength to carry out his plans, and she expected him to lose in the ultimate struggle with Robert of Belesme. Well, he would not—his whole future was tied up in Eleanor of Nantes and he could not let her go. "We'll talk more of this later, Lea," he managed finally.

"Nay—let us take what time we have and be happy."

"Mayhap Henry can speak more sense to you."

There was no sign of Count Robert at supper. Several of the ladies remarked his absence to her, but Eleanor neither knew where he was nor did she care. She was thankful for one last night without him. But Roger's anger marred whatever pleasure she could take in Belesme's absence. He sat several seats below her and seemed to pay no attention to her at all. Marie and her brother Rannulf sat across from him, and from time to time Eleanor could hear Marie's soft laugh. It pained her deeply to part from him like this.

She picked at her food until even her father showed concern. He cut a piece of meat from his end of the trencher and moved it down to hers.