LordoftheKeep (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Gilles watched Nicholas from Norfolk’s doorway. He
hesitated. His task was an onerous one at best.

“I am here to see my father, your Grace.” Nicholas d’Argent
stood at stiff attention before the duke. He still wore his mail and had not
taken time to wash off the dust of travel.

Gilles was pleased that, as ever, Nicholas had not wasted
even an hour before riding out to his filial duty. Gilles already knew from
Roland that Nicholas’ wife, Catherine, had accompanied his son.

Gilles froze in mid-stride as the duke spoke. “Your father
has been waiting most anxiously for your arrival, my boy. Mayhap you can
dissuade him from his madness.” The Duke thumped his fist to the armrest of his
chair.

“Madness?” Nicholas arched a brow in question. Gilles moved
forward. He did not want Nicholas’ opinions tainted by the Duke’s.

“Aye,” the Duke continued, “your father is about to marry…
Here he is. You dissuade him.” The Duke rose and left father and son alone.

They did not embrace. Nicholas shoved his gauntlets into his
belt and straightened his shoulders. “Father, Norfolk says that you are going
to wed.”

“Have wed. Just now.” Gilles locked his fist about Nicholas’
arm and practically dragged him from the chamber, down the steep stone steps to
the terraced gardens. When they were as far from the hulking stone edifice as
possible, Gilles released his son. He paced back and forth, stroking his beard,
trying to think of how to explain. “You must hear this from me. There is no way
to soften this, make it less…ugly. I summoned you because I didn’t want you to
hear this tale from any lips but mine.”

“Father, I’ve just arrived. What tale?” Nicholas shoved his
hands through his thick hair in exasperation, causing it to stand on end like a
rooster’s comb.

His appearance reminded Gilles of the way his son had looked
as a child, when his hair defied his nurse’s best efforts. The feeling that
accompanied the thought was bleak. “When your mother was full with child—you—I
took a mistress,” he said.

Gilles waited, but Nicholas didn’t interrupt. He stared as
if stunned.

“‘Twas despicable. Oh, I know ‘tis accepted practice, to
take mistresses, but still ‘twas dishonorable. Your birth was followed six
months later by another. God forgive me, I had another son, by name of William
Belfour.”

“Belfour!” Nicholas spat the name. He marched away. He
turned his back on his father. The stiff posture, the long strides, bespoke an
angry man. Nicholas made it as far as a crushed stone border of the gardens
before he wheeled and came charging back. He attacked, pummeling his father
with his fists. Gilles did not defend himself.

“Why?” Nicholas wiped the blood from his knuckles, then
extended his hand to his father, hauling him back to his feet when madness
settled to a simmering anger.

Gilles pressed the back of his hand to his split lip, then
bent and spit blood to stain the purity of the white stones on the path. “Why?
For the same reason all men give. My marriage to your mother was arranged. She
had little affection for me, or I for her. Surely,
that
is not a
complete shock.” He was glad that Nicholas seemed to have calmed. There was so
much more to say, and little enough time in which to say it.

“Nay.” Nicholas rubbed his grazed knuckles and stared at
them as if amazed he’d raised his hand to his father.

“I never meant to hurt your mother or you. I don’t think she
ever knew of William, or William’s mother. William’s mother was not exactly
constant to me, so I have oft doubted that William was mine, but the fact
remains that I’d bedded the wench and she gave birth. I found her a husband and
have paid them dearly for their promise to keep William’s fathering a secret.”

“Why are you telling me this? Am I supposed to accept this
bastard son now? I despise Belfour.” Nicholas’ face suffused to a deep red.

“William is dead. You’ve no need to accept him.” The words
did not make William’s death any easier to bear.

“Dead?” Nicholas studied his father’s ravaged face. “Had you
love for William?”

“Love? Did I love William?
Jesu
, I can’t possibly
tell you how I felt about William.” Gilles sank to a stone bench and breathed
deeply of the harsh, cold air. He could not bare his soul too much. He could
not let his pain show in this cold, cold light of day, could never admit that
William was more rival than son, more enemy than ally. “Suffice it to say, he
was my son. I paid for his keep, had him raised to be a fine warrior, just as I
did for you. I took him into my own household when I sent you to be fostered at
King Henry’s court, and made him a valuable knight.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Nicholas’ words were
hard-edged with temper.

“‘Tis a long tale, and I would ask your forbearance to hear
it through.” Gilles waited in impatient anticipation. Nicholas gave a curt nod
and Gilles began.

“When your grandfather died, whilst I was on the continent,
I sent a contingent of my men to Hawkwatch Keep to see to its management until
I could come myself. Do you remember?”

Nicholas thought on the events, the passing of a grandfather
he barely knew. “Aye. I remember.”

“One of the knights I sent was William Belfour.” Gilles
waited for the explosion.

“Sweet Mother of God. You had your bastard by your side in
France, whilst I was at Seaswept?” Nicholas raised a fist, then let it hang at
his side. “Go on, the tale grows ever more interesting.” He arranged his face
into an impassive mask, and Gilles realized there was more hurt here than he’d
expected. And how suddenly, for the first time, he saw his own harsh face
reflected in his son’s.

“As I said, William Belfour was in that company, and during
those early days, William met a young woman by name of Emma.” Gilles looked
down at his hand, at the ruby winking in the sunlight. Just the thought of William
lying in Emma’s arms was terrible; to say it aloud was to flay his soul. “They
said vows together, though William denied it.”

“Hardly a surprise with Belfour,” Nicholas interjected.

Gilles nodded. “It seems he made many promises and kept
few.” He sighed. “William got Emma with child, then abandoned her.”

“Like father, like son,” Nicholas sneered.

“Aye. Your contempt is well placed, but I again ask your
patience to hear me out.”

“Continue,” Nicholas snapped.

“William scorned Emma, relinquished his…claim. She had the
child, Angelique, to support—a child William would not claim. Don’t say it.
‘Tis the same.” Gilles forced himself to be calm. He looked over the bare canes
of the Duke’s rose bushes and thought that surely his life would be like those
thorny branches if Nicholas did not believe him. “I was drawn to the child. I
fell in love with the mother first, but I love the child, too.”

“
Mon Dieu.
A grandchild?” Nicholas strode away, paced
back, wheeled, and turned in exasperation. “What of William? Did he accept your
attentions to this—this—this leman?”

“She went to him with love, not as a leman. They said vows,
though William denied it.” Gilles realized he was getting sidetracked with
William. “I will not bandy words with you; it wastes time. William didn’t care
for her love or the child. No matter, it was over between them ere I came on
the scene.”

“How convenient for you. From son’s bed to father’s.”
Nicholas leaned on a stone wall and crossed his arms on his chest in a
belligerent posture. “I suppose ‘tis the woman I saw on her knees before you
that night? Moving up was she? From simple knight to baron.”

Gilles bit back a bitter retort. “I have married her,
Nicholas. She is my wife now, have some shred of respect.”

Nicholas said nothing.

Gilles sighed. “There’s more.” Gilles knew Nicholas was in
some ways a guileless soul, and he watched as Nicholas’ every thought flitted
across his no longer impassive features.

“More?” Nicholas raised his hands heavenward. “How could
there be more? You had another son, one you kept at your side, trained
yourself, and now you’ve married that son’s whore—excuse me, wife. There’s
nothing more to say, for I’ll hear no more.” Nicholas pushed off the wall and
strode away.

“Wait. Please.” Gilles hated the pleading note in his voice.
Nicholas stopped in his tracks. He turned back and stood in silence, arms loose
at his sides as his father approached him.

“I told you William was dead. William was murdered and Emma
suspected. They have tried her, Nicholas, found her guilty. She’s to hang in
four days.”

“Did she do it?” The question caused Gilles more pain than
any other, for each word was imbued with the certainty she had.

“Nay. Emma is…I can’t explain it. She gives life. She is
honorable, kindly. She didn’t kill William. Although I have done all I can, I
haven’t been able to postpone…haven’t been able to influence—” Gilles could not
finish.

“How may I help?” Gilles head came up. He searched his son’s
face. Nicholas spoke harshly. “It is why you sent for me, isn’t it? To help
you? Not just to confess the sins of your youth?”

“Nay. I don’t need any help. I just needed to tell you what
I intend to do. Had to tell you to your face. It is not something you should
learn from a messenger.”

“What are you going to do? Bury her next to my mother?”

The sarcasm was back. Gilles took a deep breath. “Nay, son.
I am going to confess to William’s murder. I’m going to say I killed him in a
rage after he attacked Emma.”

“Nay!” Nicholas’ face blanched as white as new milk. He
clutched his father’s arm.

“Aye. I’ve lived my life. What may I truly expect? Another
five years? I can’t let them take her life. Angelique needs her. She must have
a chance to live.”

“You can’t do this for some leman.” Nicholas’ fear was as
stark on his face as his anger.

“She’s my
wife
. I would die for her, aye, willingly.”

Nicholas stared in horrified dismay as Gilles’ determination
became evident to him. “I will stop you!”

Gilles gripped Nicholas’ arm and led him back to the stone
path. “I won’t have it. My mind is made up, and tonight I will see the Duke to
confess. I ask but one thing—”

“What?”

“Take care of Emma for all her days and Angelique as well. I
must know she’s under your care, will reap the protection of being my wife. I
ask this and only this.”

Nicholas’ look was mutinous.

“I love her, Nicholas. Would you ask less of me for your
beloved Catherine?”

They stood a moment in heavy silence, then Nicholas spoke,
“Of course not.”

“Then do this for me. Make me a promise you’ll look after
Emma and Angelique.”

“You can’t hang for this woman!” Nicholas cried.

“She is my wife! Would you not give your life to save
Catherine? Answer me!” Gilles waited in tense anticipation knowing that if
Nicholas’ love of Catherine was not the all-encompassing passion he felt for
Emma, he would never understand—or help.

Nicholas locked eyes with Gilles. His throat worked. “What
you propose is monstrous…but aye. I would give my life for Catherine.”

* * * * *

That night, in a bedchamber in Gilles’ rented townhouse,
accompanied by the sounds of merriment from a nearby alehouse, Catherine
d’Argent drew her husband down into her arms. She was a small woman,
dark-haired, bright-eyed. Something lay coiled tightly in her husband. His body
did not lay at ease; he stared at the ceiling.

She would wait until he was ready to speak. She was a
healer. When the cause of his discomfort became clear, she would heal him.

Nicholas stroked his hands over Catherine’s silky skin. “You
are so beautiful. Sometimes I feel unworthy.”

Catherine sat up and let her thick brown hair fall forward
to cover her breasts as she leaned over him and studied his face. “I sense
pain, Nicholas. What has happened? Why were we summoned by your father?”

“Not now.” Nicholas slid his hand into her hair and drew her
mouth down to his. “Not now,” he whispered against her lips.

* * * * *

Later, Catherine lay awake waiting. A candle guttered in a
dish, and she rose to light another. She wrinkled her nose at the rank stink of
tallow and wished she had brought her scented beeswax candles with her.

She pulled her bedrobe tightly about her against the cold.
There’d been an edge to her husband’s lovemaking, a near violence that had
never been there before. If he didn’t speak soon, she would have to badger him
to it. Nicholas was an introspective young man, and it oft annoyed her that he
held his troubles to himself. She curled at his side. They both stared at the
ceiling.

“My father intends to be hanged in four days.” Nicholas’
voice cracked on the words, and a sheen in his eyes told Catherine he was not
jesting.

“Hanged? I think you need to explain.” The cool air had no
part in the shiver that coursed down Catherine’s spine. She lit more candles
and put them by the bed. She sat at Nicholas’ side and picked up his clenched
fist.

“My father has fallen in love with a woman accused of
murdering a man named William Belfour.” Nicholas lifted her hand to his mouth
and kissed each of her fingers. Catherine could not see Nicholas’ face, could
only hear the anguish in his voice. “My father swears she did not commit the crime.
He loves her, has married her, and now he intends to confess to her crime to
save her from the hangman.”

“Oh, Nicholas.” Catherine drew him in. It was like finding
out a loved one was mortally wounded. “Is there no way to dissuade him? Surely,
the courts will not allow this?”

“Allow it? My father is a powerful baron. He is respected.
Who will doubt his word?”

“Had he any reason to kill this William Belfour?”

“Oh, a wonderful reason. The man is Father’s bastard son,
the former lover of this Emma, and father of her child.”