The Shattered Rose (14 page)

Raoul's eyes were sharp with interest, but he was wise enough to keep silent.

Chapter 8

Though he was plagued by disquieting thoughts, Galeran found the journey gave him a chance to settle into his new reality. The loss of his son was a wound, but one that had begun to heal. The situation with Jehanne, however, still festered and would do so until it was handled. It ate away at him, and he knew it was a raw wound in the community.

No man liked the thought of adultery. Even less would he tolerate the idea of another man's child in his wife's arms, stealing a share of his property.

So every man expected adultery to be sternly dealt with. Galeran didn't fear the opinion of other men, for if they made an issue of it, he'd kill them, but he feared official action against Jehanne. He couldn't kill Church or Crown.

He knew the way to avoid official interference was to take firm action himself. Yet he couldn't do it. He couldn't send Jehanne to live a penitent's life behind walls. He couldn't send the child away. He couldn't even give her a simple beating to clear the air. That one blow had shown him that.

Wending his way back to Heywood, he went over and over the problem in his mind. As Lowick had found, Church and Crown were unlikely to concern themselves in such a domestic matter unless they saw advantage in it. Unfortunately, there were a number of ways the Church and the king might see advantage in meddling in Galeran's affairs.

Or, rather, in his family's affairs.

Spurred on by this thought, Galeran stopped at Brome on the way home.

Brome and Heywood were the two castles in this area with stone curtain walls. The difference between them was that Heywood commanded a natural rise, whereas Brome sat on a high motte near a river, using the river to form a moat around the walls. The site had been chosen because it overlooked an important ford.

It gave the Lord of Brome power in the norm, but also made him and his family the subject of political interest.

Galeran's father came out of the mews to greet him, hawk on wrist. "You're looking more yourself, lad! What do you think of this beauty, then?" He stroked the hooded bird lovingly.

Galeran slid off his horse with his own hawk on his wrist. "A fine peregrine. Have you flown her yet?"

"Any day. Any day." Lord William led the way to the hall. "So, any problems with the estate?"

"No. It's in good heart. Doubtless you've been keeping an eye on things."

"Here and there, lad, here and there." Lord William placed his bird on a hawk stand and fed it a tidbit before calling for ale. "Wasn't sure I could trust a woman with such matters, and I didn't like having Lowick running things. Never did trust that one. Too slippery-handsome. Was sniffing after both your sisters at one point, you know."

"Yes, I remember." Galeran settled his own hawk on another stand. "But he'd probably be no worse than the next man if he once gained the land he yearns for."

"Then he can go seek it elsewhere."

It was Raoul, taking the ale offered by a servant, who said, "We're wondering if Lowick
will
go elsewhere."

Galeran flashed him an irritated glance. He hadn't wanted these matters raised, or not yet, at least.

"What choice does he have?"

"He has a child here," said Raoul.

"What can he make of that?"

"Very little. As long as Galeran's alive."

"Raoul," said Galeran. "Enough of this."

Lord William took a deep drink of ale. "What basis would Lowick have for a duel?"

"A duel?" Galeran laughed dryly. "I'd have to be mad enough to challenge him. Raoul is worrying about more sneaky ways."

"No man would. ... I'd gut him," his father snarled, "and strangle him with his own entrails!"

""You'd have to prove it first. When a man's already in the grave, sometimes it's simpler not to rake the coals."

"I'd rake them, never fear!"

"I'm glad to hear it, but I'd still be dead. All I want at the moment is a few men of Brome to add to the garrison at Heywood."

Lord William thumped down in his great chair, still frowning. "Why?"

"Most of the Heywood garrison has been there for years," said Galeran, wandering over to soothe his restless hawk. "Many of the men are Heywood born and bred. Their allegiance should be to me, but it could be to Jehanne and even to Lowick, whom they knew as a lad. He has his charm. If anything happens to me, I want to be sure that he doesn't claim the castle. I want a few men there whose task it would be to bring Jehanne and the babe to you."

"So I can strangle her?"

Galeran just raised a brow and his father shook his head. "I know, I know. It's a weakness in me, this softness I have toward women. I was a stronger man before I married your mother. Now I can just see the look in Mabelle's eyes if ever I even think of it. . . ." He glared at the two younger men. "Be wary with women. They'll tie you in knots."

"Not Raoul," said Galeran. "He just ties them in pretty love knots and leaves them cooing."

Lord William's glance was scathing. "You'll have no luck with that game here, sir. Our northern women are too sensible for your Frankish games."

Raoul put down his tankard. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll test your theory." With that, he sauntered over to one of the maids.

"What?" said Lord William, gaping after him. "What in the name of heaven . . . ?"

Galeran laughed as he took a seat opposite his father. "He's just tactfully leaving us to discuss family business, Father. I don't think even Raoul can seduce a sensible northern woman in the time we have here."

Lord William harrumphed, but was willing to return to his main point. "Why did you hit Jehanne? Did you think I would, and harder?"

Galeran stared into his ale. "I suspect I hit her because I wanted to. My excuse was to turn you soft toward her. I didn't think you'd beat her, no, but ... She needed someone, and I wasn't sure then that it would be me."

"And now? She has you?"

"Yes," said Galeran simply. "To death and beyond."

Lord William relaxed back. "She's explained it all, then. Rape. Was it—"

"She's explained nothing, but I very much doubt it was rape."

"Explained nothing!" exclaimed Lord William, surging to his feet. "Hell's cinders, Galeran,
make
her explain!"

"How?"

"But ..."

Galeran rose more slowly. "I'd better ride on if we're to reach Heywood before dark. Just promise me, Father, that you will care for her if need be." Galeran kept his voice calm as he brought the hawk back onto his wrist. "A pretty beauty, isn't she? And sharp-eyed. It would be a shame to feed her to the dogs."

William spluttered for a moment longer, then said, "Of course I'll care for her. And I'll make sure Lowick never profits from his deeds."

"And promise me that she will keep her child."

"Who else would want it?" snorted William. "A bastard girl."

Galeran looked up from the hawk. "Lowick would want a crippled monster if he thought it could give him a toehold in Heywood."

Lord William worried his lip with his knuckle. "In that case, I've some news you'd best listen to carefully."

* * * * *

A short time later, as Galeran mounted his horse, he wondered whether there had been a true purpose in visiting Brome, or whether he had just been putting off his return to his troubled home. Certainly now he was reluctant to continue the journey. He pulled himself together and gave the command to ride out. Two of his men had been left at Brome, and four of his father's most trusted men were now riding behind him.

"Why the glum face?" asked Raoul. "Did your father have bad news?"

"Not particularly. But it is sure now that Lowick is in Durham with Bishop Flambard and being received warmly. I can't imagine even Flambard trying a crude assault on a castle connected to Brome, but it's always dangerous to become tangled with the Church."

"If he won't attack Heywood, what can the bishop do?"

"Claim to have jurisdiction over the matter of Lowick and Jehanne. It is a matter of sin, and even connected to the crusade—thus a Church matter."

Raoul whistled. "Dangerous."

"Indeed. The time for drifting is over. I'm going to have to take action."

"I don't know. This bishop won't lightly take on your family. Perhaps time will heal."

"Will it? Look at that woman in the village."

"Peasants," said Raoul dismissively.

"We're not so different. When there's a wound, it must be treated. If left unattended, it will likely get worse rather than better. And a festering wound will certainly draw the attention of the local guardian of moral right."

They rode toward Heywood at a steady pace, stopping at three more hamlets. Sometimes they halted to speak to laborers in the fields or those traveling along the road. Galeran thought whimsically that he was like a dog marking his territory, making sure that everyone knew he was back, alive, well, and in charge. He was hoping by his relaxed manner also to convince his people that all was right in the world and that they need fear no unrest.

His people, however, were shrewd enough in their own way, and he could read doubt in their manner. At the last village, Hey Hamlet, which sat at a crossroads scarcely out of view of Heywood, he sensed a distinctly uneasy atmosphere. Galeran chatted of the weather and the harvest, waiting for the people to voice their concern.

Eventually the headman said, "Were you thinking to find the Lady Jehanne in the castle, Lord?"

Galeran's heart missed a beat. For a frantic moment he couldn't think what to say, but knew he couldn't avoid the truth. "Yes. Why? Has she left?"

"Aye, Lord," said the man in the blank manner the simple people always used to mask uneasiness. "Rode by not long since with a small party, including some women and a babe. Heading toward Burstock, I'd say."

One track through Hey Hamlet led toward Brome and another toward Burstock, a half day's ride away. Burstock Castle belonged to Jehanne's uncle, Aline's father.

"I see," he said, as nonchalantly as he could. "I had best follow her, then. It is late for her to be on the road."

It took almost more willpower than he possessed, but he did not race to his horse. He even took time to accept a handful of bilberries from one shy woman and thank her. Then he led his troop at a trot along the wooded Burstock road, passing his hawk to one of his men as they rode.

Once out of sight of the village, he kicked the horse into a flat-out gallop. Jehanne was running off to her lover.

He'd kill her.

No.

But this time he
would
beat her, and keep her in close confinement.

He'd kill Lowick, though. He'd spit him before her eyes. But even that might not quench the rage in him.

He charged around a bend in the road to see the party far ahead, out of the trees and onto the open moor. They, too, were riding flat out, doubtless having heard the beat of pursuing horses.

Galeran drew his sword.

Raoul raced up beside him. "Think, my friend!"

But Galeran just kicked his steaming horse into greater speed.

The crossbow bolt clipped his helmet, twisting his head back, jerking his rein hand so his horse reared, almost unseating him. The next thunked into his shield, passing a finger-length through the iron-reinforced wood.

His men immediately swung into a circle around him, shields high, but the assault stopped as abruptly as it had begun. An eerie stillness settled. No other projectile flew. No armed men charged out of the suddenly silent woods.

Galeran looked once at his distant, rapidly disappearing quarry, then broke the shield wall to drive through the scrub into the woodland.

Crashing noises marked his assailant, ahead and running for his life. Galeran chased after, being careful only not to ride his horse into a bog or crevice. His hounds gave voice and flew with him. He bellowed for his party to fan out, to stop the man from sneaking off to one side.

The next bolt might have found its mark had not his horse tossed up its head. The quarrel pierced it in the eye, killing
it
instantly.

Galeran kicked clear, but landed sprawling in fallen leaves, almost slashing himself on his drawn sword. He scrambled to his feet, discarded his shield, and ran straight at the bowman, who was fending off snarling dogs with his two bows.

A swing of Galeran's sword took off the man's hands. Before the bowman had time to scream, Galeran ran him through. Then he dragged the corpse up by the hair and hacked off the head.

Blood poured from it onto blood-soaked ground . . .

... as it had in Jerusalem, where the streets had flowed blood and the same metallic stench had risen to sicken him. Where his sword had killed because it was kill or be killed. Where he 'd killed women and children because they, too, had fought. Where he'd charged a group of German knights.

Raoul had dragged him back
...

Raoul was dragging him back from the bloody mess, seizing his sword hand and twisting viciously.

Galeran dropped the sword, wondering why Raoul was doing such a thing. He blinked to clear misty vision. His friend looked angry, as he had in Jerusalem. . . .

Were they in Jerusalem again?

He'd thought he was back in England, which was nice, but for some reason there was pleasure in the thought that he might be still overseas. . . .

Raoul had knocked him out in Jerusalem, knocked him out of his mind. Was he still out of his mind . . . ?

"Galeran, give it up. You don't want it."

Raoul seemed to be trying to pull something from his left hand. But he'd dropped his shield. . . .

Galeran focused and saw he was holding a grimacing head by the hair, blood still trickling from the severed throat.

With a shudder he dropped it.

Raoul kicked it toward the corpse around which the hounds hovered uncertainly, drawn by blood, repelled by the human scent.

Taking in the mess that had been a man brief moments before, Galeran turned to retch. It was as if he spewed out madness, for when he straightened, he was sane. He knew he was in England, he knew about Jehanne, and he knew what he had just done.