Lady of Fire (40 page)

"Mother of God," she whispered aloud into the darkness, "deliver me."

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The gray mists of dawn still hung over into morning, shrouding everything with a chill, damp haze. Eleanor shifted her weight uncomfortably against the saddle pommel and tried to ease the stiffness she felt. Belesme's steel-clad arm held her so tightly that she could feel the links of his mail through the heavy green cloak. She stole a glance upward but could see little of his face that was not obscured by the nasal of his helmet. She leaned back to fight another wave of nausea, but her breakfast was resisting all her efforts to keep it down. Her stomach churned and her food seemed to be rising to her throat. She barely had time to grit out between clenched teeth, "My lord, I am unwell."

He let out a string of oaths and reined in viciously. "Piers!" he shouted. "Halt and tend my lady!" With the hand that held her he pushed her head down over the horse's shoulder as she retched.

A stout fellow dismounted and rushed forward to pull her down as Belesme lifted her hurriedly over the pommel and then dismounted himself. Piers caught her and helped her stand, but her legs were weak from riding and she stumbled. Belesme circled her waist with his arm and pushed her head forward. "Try not to soil my cloak if you can," he ordered brusquely above her. "Piers!"

"Aye, my lord!" Piers dropped to his knees beside her and pulled her braids out of the way while she vomited. "Jesu, lady, but you are sick," he muttered in a soft underbreath. "Here—let me get you cleaned up."

When she finally stopped retching, Belesme pulled her back from the mess she'd made and forced her to sit on the damp grass. Piers began washing her face with water from one of the skins.

"Nay—I am better," she protested weakly when Belesme would have made her lie down. " 'Tis over."

"You are certain? I would not have this happen again whilst we ride." His eyes narrowed while he studied her damp face. "You do not travel well."

"Nay."

"Well," he encouraged her as he pulled her up then, " 'Tis not much further to Belesme—you could see it now were it not for the mists." He supported her with his arm and walked her slowly back to the horse.

His men were bemused by his kindness to her. Hardened soldiers all, used to their lord's violent temper, they watched and gave her a wide berth, uncertain of how to treat her. They waited silently until he put her up in front of his saddle and ordered everyone to remount.

Belesme swung up behind her and unstrapped his helmet, pulling it off with an effort and tying it behind his saddle. Deep creases lined his face like hideous scars where the nasal had rested and his hair bore the imprint of the padded shelf. He ran his fingers through his thick black hair before taking the reins from her.

"I do not believe you are riding bareheaded, my lord," she gibed. "Indeed, I had supposed you slept helmeted."

"I am nearly home," he told her as he flicked the reins against his horse's shoulder and nudged it forward. "Aye—I wear it more than most, I suppose, but if I learned naught else from the Conqueror, 'twas to look for mine enemies everywhere."

"And with good reason, I'll warrant."

"I have more than my share," he admitted almost cheerfully before he raised a mailed hand to indicate the road ahead. "Look up there—you can see Belesme if you try."

She strained to follow his direction and made out the hazy outline of a great gray mound in the distance. "Is that it?"

"Aye—'tis not a pretty place, but it serves me well. There's not an army anywhere that could take it in less than a year." The pride in his voice was unmistakable.

They picked their way up a rocky path that zigzagged steeply until the grim, stone-walled stronghold emerged from the fog and haze like a giant rock above them. Unlike Harlowe, there was no beauty to the fortress with its ugly and asymmetrical towers positioned at odd angles in its curtain walls.

They crossed finally beneath the barbican through the curtain and between inner gates so narrow that no more than two columns could pass at a time. People scurried to make way for them, and ostlers ran forward to take reins.

Almost immediately, Eleanor's attention was caught by a woman ascending the stairs of the nearest tower, a slender redheaded woman who started to run toward them. She stopped still when she saw Eleanor, and her face twisted from joy to hatred.

Robert swung down and lifted Eleanor after him, resting his hand proprietarily on her shoulder as the woman came closer. Eleanor recoiled at the woman's expression. Robert's fingers tightened on Eleanor's shoulders while he leaned forward to murmur succinctly, "Mabille."

"Your mother? Nay, she cannot be old enough!"

"You fool!" Mabille's green eyes flashed and her fingers curled like talons as she faced her son. "You bring death to this house when you would bring her here! You stupid fool!"

"Eleanor"—Robert ignored his mother's diatribe and moved closer—"behold my mother, jealous woman that she is."

Out of courtesy to Mabille's rank, Eleanor would have dropped low in obeisance, but his fingers on her shoulder stayed her. Instead, he reached with his free hand to brush back his green cloak from her face. The whole yard lapsed into silence at the gesture.

"Look on her and look well, Mabille," he taunted his mother. "Aye—you said there was none to compare with you. Look on her and weep."

The color left Mabille's face. "Robert—"

"Nay. Belesme has a new mistress now, Mabille," he continued cruelly, "and you'll not gainsay her if you would stay."

" 'Tis another man's wife you make your whore and set above me! Nay—you shall not! You inherited this place through me!"

"I make her my countess!"

"She is Lord Roger's wife!"

"And she will be his widow! Have done, Mother, and accept it!"

"Nay!"

Eleanor shrank from the suppressed violence between them, but everyone else seemed to take it in course. Robert had loosed his hold on her and stepped forward to where he and Mabille stood yelling in each other's face.

"Sweet Mary!"

"Aye—'tis always so between them," Piers whispered behind her. "Do not mind it."

"Until the house is finished, she will need your solar." Robert had suddenly lowered his voice to end the confrontation.

"You would put your whore in my bed? Nay, you will not!"

His temper flared anew and he slapped her open-handed, a blow that sent her reeling. She wiped her stinging mouth with the back of her hand and looked for blood. He stood over her, his fist clenched, his jaw tight. "Whore?" His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Call that to your mirror, Mother. She is convent-bred and I have not lain with her."

Mabille's green eyes flashed venom. "Nay!" she spat. "You'll not keep her! When she knows how it is with you, how you—" Her words were cut off with another slap. She sank her teeth into his hand and drew blood, enraging him. This time, he struck with clenched fist, and she rolled away in a heap. He raised his boot to kick, but Eleanor could stand it no longer.

"Nay!" she cried as she caught his arm. "She is your mother, my lord—she gave you life!" She held on tightly and tried to pull him back. "Stop it!"

The heat seemed to fade as he stood there. "Aye." He nodded slowly.

Someone leaned down to help Mabille up, but she struggled to her feet on her own and faced Eleanor. "Welcome to Belesme, Lady Eleanor—I wish you misery here," she told her bitterly.

"And so you have met Mabille." Belesme took Eleanor's arm and pushed her past his mother. "Stay away from her—her evil would taint you."

"You'll not keep her!" Mabille spat after them.

Bathed and dressed in the bride clothes that had been sent to Belesme the previous summer, Eleanor felt better. Her refusal to take Mabille's chamber had been met with a shrug, and another, smaller room had been found for her. Not that it was lacking in comfort, she mused, for the place was sumptuously furnished, the bed hung with embroidered silk curtains, the walls covered with thick tapestries depicting a stag hunt, and the floors swept clean except for thick woven mats of wool laid by bed and brazier.

Piers carried in another box of her bridethings and opened a cupboard. Idly Eleanor wondered if what Roger had told her were true—that there were no other women in Belesme's fortress save Mabille. She shuddered as she recalled the strange scene between mother and son. Jesu, but they were a hostile pair to be of the same blood. She wandered to look out the tall, narrow window into the yard below, and discovered much of that portion of the yard was taken up with new construction. "Piers"—she motioned the boy over to point—"what is it?"

"A manor house, I think, patterned after some he saw of the English thanes. But my lord is not such a fool as to put it outside of the fortress. This way he has his safety and his comfort both."

"You serve him…" She hesitated, uncertain as to how to phrase the question, and then plunged on, "I mean, how can you serve such a one as he?"

The boy appeared to consider for a moment and then shrugged. "He teaches me to be a man—and he saved me from Mabille."

What had Henry said of Mabille once—that she lay indiscriminately with young boys? Surely not Piers—the boy did not look depraved or evil. "You were her lover?" she asked incredulously.

"Aye—and so was everyone else here at one time or the other—some still are."

"Jesu!"

"But as for Count Robert, he is many men," Piers continued, "and some are vile and others are not. Nay—he is but what she made him."

"Mabille?"

"Aye—he should have killed her long ago," he answered dispassionately. "But he will not. I think that in spite of all, he loves her." He caught himself and feared he had said too much. He bent to pick up a painted box and placed it in a cupboard behind him. " 'Tis done," he announced as he backed toward the door.

"Wait—am I to have a maid?"

"There is none, but we have sent to the village for a girl." He met her eyes and grinned. "The difficult thing is getting one to come here—most are terrified of us."

Realizing that his confidences were at an end, she let him go. Pacing the room, she pondered her situation and looked for comfort in what she had heard. Belesme had told Mabille that he did not intend to make her his whore, so there was hope there. If only the Church could bring enough pressure on him through Curthose, mayhap he would have to release her. Nay, she knew better—he wanted Roger to come for her so that he could kill him and be done. Then he would take her. Well, she would survive Belesme—she had to. She would survive for the sake of the child she carried.

Absently she opened the cupboard and stepped back as though burned. Piled next to her things was Count Robert's clothing. She strode over to the nearest trunk and jerked it open to find folded linens. But inspection of the one next to it revealed a neat pile of embroidered tunics that could only be his. Jesu, but she had been a fool to think he might treat her honorably. There was no means of escape, and no help could come soon enough to save her from him. Yet she could not dishonor Roger by lying with another. "Sweet Mary," she whispered to herself, "what am I to do? I have to save my son."

It did not come to her at once, but rather evolved slowly in her brain—she would tell Belesme of the child. He was far too proud to accept another man's child, she was certain. It would be a risk telling him—he might kill her in anger—but she did not think so. Nay, maybe he would not even care and would take her for his pleasure anyway.

Her tumbled thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his boots on the stairs. She had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Resolutely she prepared for face him.

"You are looking better."

She spun around at the sound of his voice and her mouth suddenly seemed too dry for words. "Aye." She licked her lips nervously. "My lord, may I speak freely?"

"You have a tongue."

She eyed him cautiously. He appeared calm and reasonable and perhaps it would be best to tell him now and get it over with. "My lord," she began, "I would not be dishonored." To her horror, her words brought that strange smile to his face, and he moved closer. "Nay—hear me out!"

"I did not bring you here to hear you tell me nay." His hand reached to stroke the nearest braid that hung over her shoulder. "I would see your hair unbound again." There was a soft, hypnotic quality in his voice that made her shiver.

"Listen to me! Jesu, are you mad?" she cried out as his fingers began unworking her braids. "You told your mother that I would not be your leman!"

"I would wed with you."

"I am not free!"

"But you will be." He combed out the hair as it unwound and then moved to the other side. She tried to shake her head free, only to have him twine his fingers in her hair and pull her head back. The green eyes were warmed with fire as he bent his head to hers. She twisted in spite of the pain and turned her face away.

"Nay."

"Say not nay to me, Eleanor," he half-whispered, "for I would have you."

"Do not do this to me!" She pushed at his chest even as he caught her to him. "For my sake—for the sake of the child I bear—do not do this!" Abruptly he dropped his hands and she stumbled away.

"Liar! You would cheat me with your lies! You carry no child!"

"Aye." She grabbed at the bedpost for support and faced him. "I have my husband's seed within me, my lord, and I will bear his child." Her face whitened as he advanced on her with raised hand, but she stood her ground. "The sickness I have had—'tis from the babe."

To her horror, his hand stayed suspended in midair as though he meant to strike her, and then he reached roughly for the shoulder of her gown. With a swift rending jerk he tore it down to expose breasts that already were showing signs of change. He stared at their fullness a moment and then forcibly stripped both the gown and undershift to her knees. She stood stock-still while his eyes traveled to her already thickening waist and then to the gentle curve of her abdomen in dawning belief.

"I'll kill him." His voice was flat and toneless as he looked away. "Would that I could tear the babe from your body and still keep you." He ran his fingers through his black hair and shook his head. "I ought to kill you for this."