Lords of the White Castle (69 page)

'Injured!' Maude shot to her feet and the messenger took several hasty steps backwards. 'How badly?'

'I do not know, my lady. Sir Jean said to tell you that Lord Fulke is in no danger, that he is being well tended.'

'I am sure he is.' Maude ground her teeth. There was a horrible space where her stomach had been and it was rapidly filling with terror and rage. If Fulke had not ridden home, then his wounds were more than superficial. Either that or they were an excuse. The latter thought was so unworthy that she quashed it with shame. 'Did you see his injuries yourself?'

The soldier gnawed his lip and looked at the wall as if it was of great interest.

'Did you? Answer me!'

'I saw them bearing him to the lady's chamber,' me messenger said uncomfortably.

'And?'

'Forgive me, my lady, he could not walk and there was more blood than I have ever
seen—
although it could not all have been his. Sir Jean asks that you come, and bring a strong escort with you.'

Maude nodded. Somehow she rallied herself, managed to thank the man for delivering tidings that were none of his fault and dismissed him.

Within the hour, she was on the road to Docionell, her heart thundering in tune to the pounding of her mare's hooves. When one of the soldiers cautioned her about riding so fast, she rounded on him like a she-wolf and snarled that she could outride any man.

'I do not doubt that, my lady, but your horse cannot sustain the pace,' the knight said neutrally.

Swallowing her rage and anxiety, she eased the mare to a gentler pace and murmured an apology. A part of her was terrified that Fulke was dying. She kept reliving the messenger's words about blood. She kept thinking of him in Oonagh O'Donnel's chamber. Holy Virgin Mary, let him be safe, she prayed. Let him come to no harm. And as they passed the weathered grey boundary marker, the mare's hooves began to drum again in a hard, fast rhythm.

They came to Docionell, descending the ridge as Fulke and his men had done, and at an almost similar pace. Dusk was falling, but it was still sufficiently light to see the shored-up damage to the keep gates, and it would take days for the stink of charred wood to dissipate. Half a dozen men were occupied in digging a large hole—a grave, she realised, as she saw the corpses of three horses lying beside the mound of new earth, their legs stiff, bellies swelling at the sky. One of them was a liver chestnut with white markings. After a single glance, she turned her head away, unable to look.

The guards on duty saluted and passed her through. She recognised one of them and leaned from the saddle to ask him about Fulke.

'I could not say, my lady,' he replied. 'We have not seen him today, but Sir Jean says that he will make a good recovery'

Her anxiety eased, but only a little. It was like a violent toothache that had subsided to a throb. She would not be comforted until she had seen for herself. She rode on into the courtyard and swung down from the saddle without waiting for one of her escort to dismount her. Travelling satchel over one shoulder, bow and quiver over the other, she headed straight towards the low timber building of the main hall.

Men looked at her askance as she stalked into the room. Flushed from the exertion of her journey, wisps of hair escaping her wimple and her bow in her hand, she was the image of the goddess Artemis. Fulke's men bowed in deference; the Irish, looking startled, followed suit.

'Maude?' Jean de Rampaigne pushed his way forward, his expression full of concern. 'You must have ridden like the wind.'

She embraced him and stepped briskly away, knowing that if she did not, she would cling to him and weep floods of tears. She searched his face, seeking clues and finding none. 'Where is he, Jean? What happened? I saw….' She bit her lip. 'I saw them digging the graves to bury dead horses, and Blaze was one of them.'

Jean drew her arm through his and spoke in a reassuring tone. . 'Blaze was killed by a single blow from a Dane axe. Fulke took a spear in the side—it's a nasty wound but unlikely to kill him. He suffered some broken ribs too when the horse fell.'

'Take me to him, for God's love, Jean, before I go mad. I knew that there was danger in his coming here. I could feel it like a great dark hole.' She caught back a sob. Much good it would do her to play the hysterical wife. It was not as if she was unaccustomed to tending injuries and Fulke, by the very life he led, was frequently exposed to danger.

Jean brought her to an oak door at the end of the hall, set his hand to the latch and ushered her within a handsome solar. There was an embroidery frame by the window with a basket of bright silks nearby. A brazier smoked softly, giving off a dry scent of peat and herbs, and candles of heavy yellow wax burned on wrought-iron prickets. A maid sat in one corner, industriously preparing retted flax to be spun into linen thread, the fibres spread out in a white-gold fan of angel hair in her lap.

'Where's your mistress?' Jean demanded.

The woman nodded towards the closed off curtain between the rooms. 'Tending my lord, sir.'

Maude saw Jean's jaw tighten. Her stomach fluttered with anger and resentment. 'That is my place now,' she said and started towards the heavy woollen hanging. She reached to rattle it aside, but before she could lay her hand to the fabric, it was drawn back on a soft clacking of rings and she came face to face with Oonagh O'Donnel.

The woman was clad in her undergown of bleached linen. Her surcoat, of the latest fashion, Maude noticed out of the corner of a jaundiced eye, was draped over a curule chair near the brazier. She wore no wimple either, and her hair shone with the gloss of rare ebony wood. A large silver wolfhound rose from the foot of the bed and padded to the woman's side.

Maude met Oonagh's clear blue stare, frigid as a pale spring sky. 'I am Lady FitzWarin,' she said, 'and I have come to care for my husband.'

The other woman smiled almost mockingly. 'I know who you are and why you are here, my lady' She gestured to the bed. 'He is a strong man, your husband.' Her voice was smoky and imbued with languid double entendre. She looked as if she had just risen from the bed of a lover rather than the tending of a sick man.

'And I am a strong woman,' Maude answered coldly, 'so that makes myself and Fulke two halves of one whole.'

Oonagh O'Donnel raised one eyebrow, the smile remaining, as if she doubted the veracity of Maude's words but was too polite to say so.

'He is mine now,' Maude said and thrust past the other woman to the bedside. 'Fulke?'

He was lying on his back and a little to one side. His dark hair was damp on his brow, but from the bathing of a herb-infused cloth rather than the sweat of fever. The scent from the bedclothes wafted across her nostrils. Musky, perfumed, as if Oonagh O'Donnel had wrapped her body in the sheets. Perhaps she had. His eyes were open and lucid.

'Maude? Thank Christ.' His hand went out to her and she gripped it possessively, meshing her fingers through his and feeling the pressure of bone on bone. Behind her, she felt the draught of the curtain settling into place as Oonagh drew it across.

'Was she worth it then?' Maude leaned over to kiss him and then recoiled, for the smell of the Irish woman was on his skin. She could taste the perfume on his lips. What had Oonagh O'Donnel said about him being strong?

'What's wrong?' He looked at her with puzzled eyes, the pupils large and dark in the deepening shadows of dusk.

No, Maude thought, angry with herself. Oonagh was wrong. Fulke would have to be very weak to succumb. She had never known his eyes fix on another woman except in the heat of a young man's lust in the days when he was unwed and she belonged to Theobald. 'You smell of her,' she said with a grimace. 'You taste of her. I cannot bear it…"

'You don't think….' He looked so alarmed that she was both amused and chagrined.

'Only for a moment, then I put it from my mind. It was what she wanted me to think.'

'She said that she would shave me.' He darted her a glance then looked away.

Maude was not such a fool as to believe he had not been tempted. Likely he had and most sorely. She could imagine Oonagh discarding her fine tunic to avoid getting it splashed or soapy. Could imagine her kneeling in the bed and provoking him. Wounded he might be, but that did not mean his entire "body was incapacitated. 'Providing that is all she did, I will let her live,' Maude murmured, lightly patting her bow and quiver.

'Maude!'

She lifted her brows. 'I mean it. If I am not a jealous wife, it is because you do not give me cause. But if you ever did….' She left the rest of the sentence to his imagination and rolled the bedclothes down. 'Now, let me have a look at your injuries.'

Despite her feelings of antipathy towards Oonagh O'Donnel, she had to admit grudgingly that the woman had made a fine job of cleaning and binding his wounds. But then she was attracted to Fulke and he had, after all, saved her life and her livelihood.

'How long before you can travel?' she asked as she replaced the bandages. 'Another two days—three?'

'Depends on Padraig O'Donnel.' He looked thoughtful. 'I cannot leave Docionell without a strong garrison. The moment I ride out, I know he will be back.'

'You are not intending to stay here!' She was unable to keep the revulsion from her voice.

'Of course not.' He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. A tired smile creased his eye corners, i have a thoroughly able deputy whom I know will relish the task—although he doesn't realise it at the moment.'

Jean stared contemptuously at Oonagh. 'You're a bitch,' he said softly so that his voice would not carry beyond the thickness of the curtain she had just dropped. 'A conniving, jealous bitch, and it will avail you nothing. Go back in that room in quarter of a candle notch and you will indeed find them two halves of one whole. It will take more than your petty scheming to split them asunder.'

'I do not know what you mean.' She tossed her head, making her black plait ripple like a newly tugged bell rope.

'You do,' he retorted. 'God's love, my lady, but you do. You must have heard the horses arriving; you must have known she was here. But instead of coming to make a formal greeting, you arrange to meet her on the edge of the bedchamber with your hair exposed and your surcoat removed. I am neither blind nor stupid, so do not treat me as if I am.'

Anger flashed in her eyes and he saw the slap coming even before she launched it. He caught it halfway to its mark and forced her wrist round and down until she gasped, tears of pain glittering. The maid at her flax-spinning made a soft sound of distress.

'Out!' Jean commanded, and turned such a glare in her direction that the woman gasped and fled.

'All men are blind and stupid!' Oonagh tried to wrench free, but Jean tightened his grip, feeling her flesh grow hot and bruised beneath his fingers.

'Not me,' he panted.

Her free hand dived towards the knife in his belt. His other got to her first and he swung her round and against the wall, pinning her there with the weight of his body. His breath matched harshly with hers. Lust and violence crackled between them like the air around a split of lightning. The dog made a bored sound and padded off to flop down across the outer door.

She arched towards him, sinuous and supple. 'Are you going to beat me?'

He imagined her white flesh with the reddening sting of a horsewhip or the hard imprint of his fingers. He knew of men—and women—who played such games. You did not cross the Bosporus and see Constantinople, nor dwell at the royal court and remain ignorant. He supposed it had its appeal, but not for him.

'No,' he said grimly,' I'm not. But I am going to put the notion of bedding with Fulke FitzWarin out of your mind for ever.'

'And just how are you going to do that?' she mocked. 'Men brag of their prowess between the sheets, but their deeds never match their boasting.'

'Mine do,' Jean said, and lowered his mouth to hers.

It hurt to sit up, but propped on a backrest of several down-stuffed pillows, Fulke could manage. Maude had disappeared to inspect the kitchen arrangements and find him a bowl of stew. The lady of the settlement was momentarily absent about her duties too. Jean de Rampaigne, looking somewhat the worse for wear and at the same time full of himself, was sitting on the edge of Fulke's bed.

'Well, what do you think to my proposition?' Fulke enquired with a straight face. 'Do you want to stay and tame the Irish?' Certainly, Jean looked as if he had made a start, and if the muffled sounds in the antechamber had been any indication, it had been a hard-fought battle.

Jean did not rise to the bait. 'You are offering me the fief of Docionell as your tenant vassal, and the supervisory care of Glencavern?'

'Subject to Marshal's confirmation but I cannot see that he will object!' Fulke permitted himself to smile. 'I understand that to a man considering marriage, the lady has some fine dower estates with good grazing and an excellent harbour. And, of course, until the youngest son comes of age, he will need a warden to oversee his interests.'

Jean nodded. 'I suppose it comes to us all,' he said.

'What does?'

'Settling down. Governing land. Raising children.'

'If it's not to your taste…'

Jean showed a flash of white teeth. 'Oh, it's very much to my taste. That's how I know I'm growing old.'

'Well, if that is the case, then I must be in my dotage.'

'You are,' Jean laughed, but almost immediately sobered. 'No, it has been different for you. Since birth, you have had an obligation to your family, to Whittington. I was raised without expectation of land. I pledged my faith to the Walters in return for food and shelter and a daily wage. The same for you until now and in return I have given my services, whether they be of sword or diplomacy. When I was younger I had my duty to my lord, but no deeper responsibility and it suited me well.' His smile flashed again. 'Girls were for tumbling and adventure was my lifeblood. I am not saying that I have lost either of those interests, but time does not stand still. I am almost two score years old. The only knights over that age who go adventuring are desperate ones.' He gestured around the room. 'No, I think I will have adventure enough keeping hold of Docionell and its chatelaine.'