Mary Gillgannon (16 page)

“Marguerite!” Astra gasped. “This is not a tavern, it’s a bawdy house. We must leave at once!”

Marguerite glanced at the half-naked girl and set her jaw. “We came to eat and so we shall. I won’t be driven off by a pack of ruffians who don’t have the decency to find a bedchamber in which to indulge their crude entertainments.”

“Lady Astra is right,” de Saer interjected angrily. “This is no place for highborn females. If there should be trouble...” His jaw clenched. “There are only two of us, demoiselle. We would not have a chance against a group like that.”

“Aye,” his older companion muttered. “If you were not paying us so well, Lady Marguerite—above and beyond what your father offers us—we would not have given in to this mad folly of yours at all. This place is a cesspool. No decent woman should allow herself to be seen here.”

“Are you implying that Lady Astra and I are not decent women?”

Weland flushed, and Astra guessed that Marguerite’s clever tongue was too much for these simple fighting men. By the time they finished arguing, the food would have arrived, and Marguerite would see that they stayed to finish it.

She stood. “Marguerite, I insist we leave. If you don’t allow these men to escort us home immediately, I will no longer call you my friend.”

Marguerite gave a hurt little sigh. “I must say, you can be a tyrant at times.” She rose and leaned to whisper in Astra’s ear. “We can’t leave yet. I promised someone I would meet them here. You wouldn’t want me to go back on my word—would you?”

Astra made a strangled sound. It was all clear to her now. Marguerite had an assignation with a man, a man she dare not meet at the palace. “Dear Lord, Marguerite,” she whispered back, “Who is he? What have you done?”

Marguerite gave her a sly smile. “There’s no harm in it. He’s a nobleman, a very respectable man. He’ll see to it that we are safe.”

Astra opened her mouth to express her exasperation but had no chance. The tall soldier from the other table walked towards them. “Leaving so soon?” he leered.

Weland stood and grabbed Marguerite’s arm, steering her urgently toward the door. De Saer was on his feet a second later. He put his hand on Astra’s sleeve and guided her after their companions.

The tall knight moved directly into their path. His face twisted into an evil grin. “I was addressing the lady.”

Without answering, Weland drew his sword. The sound of other weapons being drawn hissed through the room.

The tall knight jerked his head. “We only want the dells, mate. Leave them here, and you can be on your way.” He smiled genially, displaying an assortment of black and broken teeth.

Astra held her breath as she sensed their escort’s hesitation.
Mary, Mother of God!
Please don’t leave us to these brutes!

A bare heartbeat passed before the Fitz Hugh knights lunged forward and the tavern erupted with flashing knives and thrashing bodies.

The dark-haired girl at the other table screamed, the sound echoing horribly in the low-ceilinged room. Astra and Marguerite clutched each other, watching hopelessly as their defenders groped and struggled directly in their pathway.

“The back way!” Marguerite gasped. Astra nodded and joined her friend’s frantic race across the slippery, sawdust-strewn floor. The red-rouged serving wench loomed in front of them, gaping at the confusion. Astra shoved her aside.

They sped through the narrow, smoke-filled kitchen. As the back door came in sight, a tall form appeared in their pathway.

“A
stra! Marguerite! What’s happened?”

Astra threw herself into Richard’s arms. “Help us, Richard! Help us! Those horrible men are after us, and they’re killing the Fitz Hugh knights!”

“What? Where are they?”

Astra and Marguerite pointed breathlessly. Richard drew his dagger and tore through the kitchen.

The two women hugged each other in relief. Then, after a moment, Marguerite announced: “I’m going back. Those are my father’s men. I’m responsible for them.”

Astra nodded. “I’ll... I’ll go with you.”

The two women crept cautiously back to the main room of the tavern. The sounds of fighting had abated, but they could hear angry shouting. They peeked around the doorway. The serving wench blocked their way, but Richard’s smooth, taunting voice came to them clearly.

“Even your cowardly lord, Faucomberg, won’t be able to get you out of this blunder, Fitz Warren. Those women aren’t cheap doxies you can abuse for your pleasure. They’re gentlewomen, the Queen’s own ladies.”

“A likely story, Reivers,” Richard’s opponent sneered. “I hardly think any of the Queen’s ladies would be wandering around Southwark after dark.”

“It’s true.” One of the Fitz Hugh knights spoke. Astra wasn’t sure if it was de Saer or Weland, but she recognized his slight northern accent. “Lady Marguerite is the daughter of Lord Reginald Fitz Hugh. He won’t take kindly to having his daughter frightened and mistreated.”

“Lady Marguerite, is it?” the man named Fitz Warren gloated. “The word is that Fitz Hugh’s daughter is a light skirt. That she’ll lift her linen for any man who wields a shaft big enough for her tastes. And the little pudding-pie doll with her—she looks like a fine piece as well.”

“Shut your filthy mouth!” The rage in Richard’s voice made Astra tremble. She pushed forward, trying to see past the serving woman. She caught a glimpse of Richard’s back, but still could not see his antagonist.”

“What’s it to you, Reivers?” the man named Fitz Warren snickered. “You’re only a low-born bastard. But then, it’s rather appropriate for you to defend these whores. After all your mother was one herself.”

Astra could see Richard tense and raise his knife to attack. She gasped in terror and forced her way into the room. Richard’s opponent’s sword glittered in the dim light.

The sword flashed. Richard jumped back, then a moment later, sprang to meet his enemy. There was a terrible anguished cry. Richard’s opponent collapsed to the floor, moaning and clutching his face.

“No!” Astra called out.

Richard turned. “Get away, Astra. Don’t look!”

It was too late. Her gaze was compulsively drawn to the wounded man who thrashed and moaned on the floor. The man held his hands to his face, helpless to remove the dagger that protruded from his bloody, ruined eye.

Astra swallowed convulsively. The room began to sway.

Her legs turned to water beneath her, and she crumpled to the ground.

* * *

Richard was halfway across the room when Astra collapsed. Two steps more, and he knelt beside her. He reached out to touch her pale face and then hesitated. Astra despised violence and bloodshed. Would she ever forgive him for what he had done today?

“My God, is she all right?”

Richard looked up to see Marguerite’s shocked, drained countenance. His fury broke loose again. “Why did you bring her here? What madness possessed you to subject Astra to the scum of Southwark?”

“I...” Marguerite stammered. She glanced uneasily at the tall, blond-haired knight who had just entered the tavern.

Richard’s eyes flickered to the man, then back to Marguerite. “You were meeting Baldwin, weren’t you?” he accused. “You brought Astra here to disguise the fact you were meeting your lover.”

Marguerite’s fine features darkened with resentment. “We were guarded by my father’s men the entire time. I never imagined anything would happen to Astra. Indeed, nothing did. I’m sure she only fainted because she was so appalled by your savagery.”

“My savagery! Would you rather I hadn’t come to your aid? Would you rather I let that sick bastard ravish you and Astra?”

“It wouldn’t have come to that,” Marguerite said coldly. “De Saer and Weland could have dealt with him.”

Richard frowned in disgust and then glanced again at Astra. She stirred slightly. He gave her a stricken look, then stood and addressed Marguerite’s companion. “Get Astra back to Westminster, Baldwin. Make sure nothing else happens to her.”

The knight nodded. “Of course, Richard. I’m happy to do whatever I can. I only wish I’d arrived sooner. Perhaps then you wouldn’t have been forced to take on Fitz Warren by yourself.” He cast an apprehensive look at the wounded man, who was now surrounded by his rough companions. “I hate to think what Faucomberg’s going to make of this. He’ll likely go to the King and denounce you.”

Richard shrugged. “It was worth it.” He gave Astra one last look, then began to push through the crowd of knights and ruffians. On the way out the door, Ruby caught his arm.

“You were magnificent, love, simply magnificent.”

He shrugged her hand away. “Not now, Ruby.”

* * *

“Which green do you prefer, Astra?” the Queen asked thoughtfully. “This one seems too bright, the other too drab.”

“It would depend upon where you are going to hang it.” Astra fingered the lush velvet cloth spread out across the table. “If it’s a dark room, the brighter shade would not seem so vivid. The light you view it in will make a great deal of difference.”

Queen Eleanor nodded. “I’ll have to take both bolts to Woodstock and examine them in the bedchamber there. Then I must also consider the paint and the design for the wainscoting.” She sighed. “There is so much to do. I am glad you are coming along to help me, Astra. I truly value your opinion. For all that you were raised in a nunnery, you have reliably good taste.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. I’m pleased I can be of assistance.”

“Your Highness, there is a Lord de Lacy outside asking to see Lady Astra,” a servant interrupted.

“De Lacy?” Eleanor cocked her head in surprise. “Isn’t he keeping Lady Marguerite’s company these days?”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Astra answered. “Perhaps he seeks my advice in some matter regarding her.”

“Go then.” Eleanor waved her hand in dismissal. “I’ve bored you long enough with my plans for the manor at Woodstock. I don’t mean to keep you from indulging in the little intrigues the young men and ladies of the court are wont to pursue.”

Astra bowed and hurried from the room. By the time she reached the gilded-ceilinged antechamber, she was breathless with worry. Why did Will want to see her? Was it to warn her? Had the news of the disastrous events at the Black Swan begun circulating among the palace gossips already?

She clasped her sweaty palms together and approached Will. “Lord de Lacy.” She curtsied.

“He’s gone,” Will announced, not even bothering to bow or kiss her hand. “Richard’s gone to Wales. The King sent him there. Henry all but banished him from the court.”

Astra said nothing. A sick ache started in her belly.

“I cannot help blaming you and Marguerite for your part in this. If you hadn’t been wandering around Southwark like a pair of brainless infants, Richard wouldn’t have been forced to defend you. The man Richard maimed is in the employ of one of Richard’s worst enemies, Guy Faucomberg, the Earl of Rathstowe. Rathstowe went immediately to the King and told Henry about Richard Reivers’s uncontrollable temper and brutal fighting methods. The King was very aggrieved. He ordered Richard off to Wales and threatened to do even worse.”

Astra swallowed. She had caused trouble for Richard, grave trouble. Somehow she must remedy it.

“I will go to the Queen,” she announced. “I will explain my part in Richard’s downfall. I will make her understand he was only doing his duty in defending me.”

Will’s eyes widened. “What of your own reputation, demoiselle? The Queen will be extremely angered to learn of your adventure in Southwark. She might even send you away.”

“I... I must risk it,” Astra answered in a shaky voice. “I cannot allow Richard to suffer for my mistake.”

“And what of Marguerite? You will damage her reputation as well. A reputation that, I might add, is already in tatters. No, Astra, bringing disgrace upon yourself will not improve things for Richard. He is already worried you won’t forgive him for again shedding blood in your presence. If he learns your prospects at court have been damaged because of his actions, he will be even more distraught.”

Astra clenched her hands in frustration. “What am I to do? I can’t let Richard pay for what was Marguerite’s and my mistake.”

Will’s face softened, and he touched Astra’s arm reassuringly. “I am sorry, demoiselle. It was wrong of me to come to you in anger. I know you did not mean to hurt Richard, and you likely went to Southwark in all innocence of the possible consequences. It is Marguerite who should bear the blame for Richard’s misfortune. Of course, she will have a thousand excuses if she has one.” He sighed. “I think it would be best if you did nothing, Astra. Continue to be dutiful and to cultivate the Queen. In all likelihood, Henry will get over his anger. If Richard serves him well in Wales, we can hope the King will forget the incident.”

* * *

If Richard died in Wales, it would be her fault.
A tear trickled down Astra’s face, but she did not release her hold on her rosary to wipe it away. More tears blurred her vision, making the chapel candles merge into a glittering tapestry of light. She closed her eyes and imagined Richard dead on some lonely battlefield, his beautiful body maimed and ruined, his dazzling dark eyes closed forever. A new wave of grief washed over her. What if Richard died and she had never had a chance to tell him she loved him, that even though she had tried, she could not forget him? How would she live with herself then?

For a moment, Astra allowed herself to sink deep into the mire of her misery. Then she impatiently brushed her tears away. She must stop this foolish crying and concentrate on praying. It was the one thing she could do to help Richard. The one way to make up for the pain she had inflicted upon him. She would pray for him, with all her heart she would pray.

* * *

She had to be somewhere, Marguerite thought irritably. Astra wouldn’t run off to Wales by herself. She had more sense than that. More sense than most people. Certainly more than that fool Will. Why had he told Astra about Richard’s troubles in the hallway outside the Queen’s private chambers? He should have broken the news more gently and certainly chosen a more private setting.

Now she had to find Astra and allay her fears about Richard’s situation. After all, Henry lost his temper all the time—and then got over it by the next day. Why should it be any different with Richard? Especially if he fought well for the King in Wales. If Richard could make a difference there, the King would forgive anything.

Marguerite wondered if Astra would listen to her reassurances. She’d likely think she’d ruined Richard’s life and be beside herself with worry. Marguerite quickened her pace, thinking furiously. If she were Astra, where would she go? The thought of the chapel suddenly sprang to mind.

Candles glowed along the walls, filling the small nave with an unearthly, flickering light. Marguerite stepped forward slowly and saw Astra near the altar. She was praying so intently she did not hear Marguerite’s approach.

Marguerite paused a few paces away from her friend’s kneeling form. Astra was so pale, her delicate features might have been carved out of ivory. Her eyes were closed, the long lashes perfectly still. A tendril of golden hair had escaped from her blue veil and curled against her cheek. It seemed as if a nimbus of light surrounded her. Marguerite caught her breath. Astra looked like a vision—a blessed angel or the incarnation of the Holy Mother herself.

Astra’s lips began to move, breaking the spell. Marguerite stepped forward and called her friend’s name.

Astra rose stiffly. “You’ve heard?”

Marguerite nodded.

“Oh, Marguerite, I don’t know what to do. I’ve very nearly destroyed Richard’s life! If the King doesn’t forgive him or any harm befalls him in Wales...”

“It’s not your fault! Don’t even listen to Will. He can be such a dolt sometimes. It was Richard’s own temper that got him into this predicament. He was defending us, aye, but he didn’t need to put out a man’s eye to do it. There were plenty of other knights in the tavern that night who could have come to our aid. No, Richard simply lost control. He has a violent temper, and when Fitz Warren taunted him about his mother, he turned into an animal.”

Astra shuddered. There was truth in Marguerite’s words. Sometimes Richard terrified her. There was a side of him that was untamed and wholly wild. He reminded her of the deadly beasts imprisoned in King Henry’s menagerie. “Surely Richard has been taunted before,” she remarked in a troubled voice. “I’ve heard it’s a common ploy in battle to use insults to distract your opponent into letting down his guard.”

Marguerite’s face was thoughtful. “The difference is, with Richard, the scurrilous remark has validity. Baldwin told me himself—Richard’s mother really was a whore.”

Astra’s eyes went wide. “His mother was... was one of those women?”

Marguerite nodded. “I don’t know the details, but Baldwin says it’s true. Fitz Warren obviously knew about it as well and deliberately goaded Richard. In truth, I cannot feel sorry for Fitz Warren, despite the pain he must have suffered. Taunting a man like Richard was a stupid thing to do.”

Astra groped her way to the rail at the altar and leaned heavily against it. “Dear God. Poor Richard. No wonder he is so bitter about women.”

“Well, now you know,” Marguerite said casually. “Richard has obviously known a lifetime of adversity. A short campaign in Wales isn’t likely to do him in. Come along, Astra. You must have something to eat. The Queen said you had not yet broken your fast today.”

“As if I could eat!” Astra moaned. “My stomach is rolling around like butter in a churn. No matter what you say, I cannot help worrying about Richard. It’s untrue that I am not to blame for his problems. I asked him to help us. He would not have fought Fitz Warren if I had not requested his aid.”