The Shattered Rose (11 page)

"I didn't think you were so bloodthirsty."

"There are times when violence is called for, as with Christ in the Temple." With that she walked off in her typical brisk manner.

"Aline."

She stopped and turned.

"Is the child a girl or boy?"

"A girl. She's called Donata." Suddenly her lips quivered. "Don't hate her, Galeran."

Then she swung on her heel and went on her way.

Was it hate to wish a creature did not exist?

Galeran continued around the screen into the main part of the hall. He found his father in a chair, feet on a stool, nursing a cup of ale. Galeran took the other chair, gesturing for a servant to bring him food and drink.

"Rather late to be breaking your fast," said his father.

"I'd been three days without proper sleep."

"Ah." Lord William rubbed his bristly chin, and his dark eyes picked over Galeran like a starving gleaner. "You're thinner."

"Did anyone expect taking Jerusalem to be easy?"

"You've been months coming home with nothing to do but eat."

"Shipboard rations."

"I hear you lingered in Constantinople and Sicily."

"Foreign food," Galeran countered, rather enjoying bandying words with his father once again.

"Bruges is a fine city, and they eat honestly there."

"I wanted to be home." Galeran took ale, bread, and cheese and gave the serving wench a smile. It was the pretty, plump one. She smiled back, but a touch of pity in the grin turned it sour.

He turned back to his father. "So, tell me how England goes these days."

His father opened his mouth to object to the change of subject, but then clearly thought better of it. "Badly. Runts wants money, money, and more money, all to waste on his unnatural Mends. And now he's sent Ranulph Flambard up here to squeeze us dry."

"Raoul said he was Bishop of Durham. Does he still run England for the king?"

"Aye, the weasel" Lord William spat into the rushes. "I tell you, it doesn't sit easily to have him at my backside. He and I have had a run in or two already. It was Flambard's clever idea, or so they say, that the king leave bishoprics vacant and pocket the rents and tithes. Wish he'd kept to it. Now he’s milking Northumbria dry with double and triple taxes on laymen and churchmen alike."

"At least you can't accuse him of favoritism." Galeran bit into the warm, crunchy bread, filled with a sudden gratitude for simple pleasures. Surrounded as he was by the comforts of home—good bread, strong ale, and cluster of fine dogs—Rufus and Flambard could wait.

His father leaned forward to poke him. "It's a bad situation and getting worse, lad. No man's safe from the king's favorites. We've done well up here, being far from their activities, but now ..."

Galeran dragged his mind back to the practical. "Will anyone oppose Rufus and Flambard?"

"There's talk."

Galeran sighed. The last thing he needed was involvement with a rebellion. "Talk won't stir anything."

"Probably as well," said Lord William, slouching back in his chair. "If anything happens to Rufus, the country'll be thrown to the wolves again, with his two brothers snarling over the Crown. God's breath, why couldn't he get some sons?"

Galeran raised a brow. Everyone knew why Rufus had no sons, had not even married.

"It’s a simple enough matter," grumbled his father into his pot, "to sire a few male brats . . ."

Which wiped away amusement.

Lord William looked up and groaned. "I'm sorry, lad. But at least . . ." Then he thought better of what he had been about to say. "What are you going to do?"

They were no longer talking politics.

Galeran lounged back in the chair and Grua put her nose on his knee. He stroked her warm head. "What do you think I should do?"

"Hell's flames! Do you want to keep her?"

"Yes, if she wants to be kept."

"If she wants . . . ?" his father spluttered. "If you keep her, she should thank you on her knees daily!"

Galeran looked at him. "Can you imagine a decade or two of such bitter gratitude?"

His father fell silent. It was not so long since Galeran's mother had died, and all the world knew she and Lord William had been devoted. Mabelle of Brome had been steady as a rock and warm as a hearthstone, the loving heart of a rambunctious family. Galeran wished she were still alive.

Mabelle might have been able to see a way through this tangle.

Lord William eyed his son. "Perhaps it would be better, then, for you to put Jehanne aside. We'll find you a steadier wife. If Jehanne goes to a convent, we might be able to hold on to Heywood. . . ."

"If I break the marriage, I assume Jehanne will marry Lowick."

"Marry Lowick!" his father exploded, then hastily lowered his voice. "If you have her put to death, she'll not marry anyone."

"I couldn't do that. And neither could you."

"I could put her in a convent so tight, she'd never so much as set eyes on a man again."

"True, but Lowick could still petition to marry her on the basis of their true attachment, which resulted in a child. He might even be able to fabricate a case of prior betrothal that would satisfy a Church court. I couldn't swear old Fulk never thought about it before his sons died. And in that case, Lowick would get Heywood, at least as guardian for his daughter."

"The sun's fried your brains if you think I want that scoundrel sitting on my borders!" Red anger tinged Lord William's face. "Even in this last year he's been disputing rents, interfering with my tenants. . . ."

"Has he? Then perhaps you'd better help me restore my marriage.''

Lord William stared at him, caught mouth agape. "You cunning fox!" Then a glint entered his eyes. "Right, then. But she can't get off unscathed. You'd better start by disciplining her. A daily whipping for a month should tame her."

"By all means. Why don't you order it?"

His father growled at that. "Don't think I don't know why you hit her, boy." He worked his jaw anxiously. "Well, what in the name of St. John are you going to do, then?"

"Try to understand."

His father shook his head. "There's nothing to understand. She always panted after Lowick. Half the girls in the shire did, including two of your sisters. With you gone and her needs untended, she grew weak, as women will. You know I thought it unnatural for all you men to be going away for years. It’s surprising the whole of Europe isn't littered with bastards! If I'd realized earlier—"

"No matter how sex starved," Galeran interrupted, "do you really think Jehanne would slide into Lowick's bed the day of her child's burial?"

William looked at him steadily. "She did, though, didn't she?"

It was like a shower of ice. For she had, hadn't she?

"So," repeated his father, "what are you going to do?"

Galeran hadn't the slightest idea. "For the moment I'm going to let her out of custody so she can resume her work. Unless you object. It was for attacking you she was confined."

William shook his head. "A gnat to an ox. And she had a point. I should have told you."

"Yes, you should."

"Mary's womb, but she's a difficult woman sometimes! She came to me when there was news of your death, you know. Cool as water from deep in the well, but for all of that, I'd swear she was distressed at the possibility."

"I'm sure she was. Did you see her after the child's death?"

William shook his head. "Not soon after. It was a full week before we had word, and when I came here, it was as if nothing—no," he said abruptly, "it was not as if nothing had happened. She was like a walking statue. But she was taking care of business as if nothing had happened, and apparently had been doing so since the day after the death. Looks funny, that."

"And talk had already started."

"Aye, though at that time none spoke to me of her liaison with Lowick."

Galeran fought the urge to get up and walk away. He was going to have to get used to talking about these things. "When did you find out about that?"

"That's a good question." His father worked his jaw again. "It's been a busy year, lad, what with one thing and another. The Scots have been bothersome. The weather's been chancy. And then there's Flambard. . .. When we had word of your death, I sent messages abroad, to the Pope and to Constantinople, hoping to hear better news. Lacking good news to share, I didn't seek out Jehanne."

He reached for his ale and took a deep draft. "Turns out Will's wife heard rumors, but didn't want to stir up trouble, the silly besom. But it was too late by then, anyway. First I heard for sure was when Lowick petitioned the king that you be declared dead so he could many your widow, who was expecting his child. I came here only to be refused admission or explanation! I was much of a mind to take the place then, but it makes no sense to put a castle through a siege if it can be avoided. Especially one that's in the family. So I went south to oppose the petition."

"What happened?"

"It was tangled up in courts and chanceries. After a while I left them to it, for I could see nothing would happen soon. What's more, I'd spoken to one sailor, who swore he'd seen you alive in Constantinople. So I sent off more messages to seek the truth."

"Did Lowick get any support from Rufus?"

Lord William's smile was grim. "There was nothing in the case worth the cost of offending me, though Flambard tried to sway the king. The bishop's had some long-nosed cleric hereabouts asking questions, but since I had that sailor tell his tale, no one wanted to be hasty. I fear the bishop's man will be back now, though, at the least looking to fine somebody for something."

"Money is the least of my problems."

"Hah! With Rufus and Flambard picking over England like crows in a cornfield, money'll soon be a problem nobody has!" William pushed up out of the chair. "Which reminds me. I'd best get back to Brome and take care of my own affairs. Unless you need me here."

Galeran rose. "No, of course not."

"You'll have a care ..."

Galeran met his father's worried look with a bland one. "I don't feel particularly violent, and if that changes, Raoul's bigger than I am. He seems to have appointed himself my watchdog, and he's as tender toward women as you are."

Lord William just harrumphed and went on his way. The army had already broken camp, and it didn't take long for the orderly file of men and wagons to disappear over the hill. Galeran looked out from the walls as if for the first time. Heywood certainly seemed more like home without an army encircling it.

The enemy, of course, was within.

He sent an order to remove the guards he'd placed on Jehanne and to tell her she was free to take up her duties but was not to leave the castle. Though he hated to do it, he also spoke to Walter of Matlock, making it clear that Jehanne was to be prevented, with any necessary force, from leaving.

Next, he summoned the carpenter and commanded a new bed, ordering a new mattress as well. He hoped it symbolized a fresh start.

Then he ordered out his best palfreys, gathered his hounds, two promising hawks, and four men-at-arms, and set out to show Raoul his estate and a bit of hunting. The trip could take days if he stopped to talk to his larger tenants and the village headmen. Of course, if he traveled to visit the other smaller estates that belonged to Heywood, the trip could last weeks, but that would be taking cowardice too far.

Chapter 7

When Aline heard that Galeran had left, she hurried in search of her cousin, silently berating people who ran away from situations that needed to be faced. She was sure that Raoul de Jouray had something to do with it. He was just the sort of slippery, smiling fellow who would rather go hunting than tackle a thorny problem.

And thorny it certainly was. She'd never forget the clash of joy and raw terror she'd experienced when Galeran had appeared two days before. She was only just beginning to believe that it wouldn't be instant disaster. She wasn't at all sure disaster could be avoided entirely.

Eventually she found Jehanne on the walls, staring after the riders. Aline stopped at a distance, reluctant to intrude on a moment she scarce understood at all.

She knew her cousin well and loved her deeply. Some might think that stony face showed indifference, but Aline knew it was a mask to cover Jehanne's deepest pain. It was unfortunate, though. The mask was too easily misinterpreted.

As it had been when Gallot died.

Aline still felt guilt over that. She'd adored the child, and had been so distraught herself that she'd given little thought to the mother's pain. Instead, she'd fled to the chapel to seek solace in prayer. Perhaps if she'd stayed to comfort Jehanne, her cousin would not have ended up in Lowick's arms, would not have ended up trapped by Donata.

If that night had been different, then Galeran's safe return could have been a time of wondrous delight. Instead, she remembered with a shudder the time between Galeran's appearance at the gates and the morning after, when he'd entered the castle.

When a guard had burst into the hall with the news of Lord Galeran's approach, Aline had thought Jehanne might finally faint, though even she wasn't sure how much of the pallor had been fear, how much shock.

Lowick was simply furious. It didn't take him long, however, to realize that staying was certain disaster. Certain death.

Right there in the hall, Jehanne calmly urged him to leave. Aline wanted to shake her cousin, to tell her to say something warm about her husband's return. Instead, she was sounding like a woman urging her beloved into safety.

At least Jehanne was publicly refusing to go with him, stating before all that she would not flee her legal husband.

It hardly sounded loving, though.

"Jehanne. My lady!" Lowick protested, and he at least sounded genuinely moved. "How can I leave you here to face him? You must come with me, or I fear for your safety, and for the safety of our child."

"Donata is too young for a wild journey, Raymond."

"Then leave her. Aline can hide her."

"She's at the breast."

"A wet nurse ..."

"I will not give my child a stranger's milk, especially not to save my skin."