The Shattered Rose (43 page)

Chapter 21

She was here? Galeran had counted on the journey to the convent, or to Hugo's house, to sort out his curdled feelings and prepare to meet Jehanne kindly. He had only to follow the page through three rooms and into a fourth, however, before he was with her.

But she was sleeping.

She sprawled somewhat awkwardly on her side, her back toward him. Her clothing had been slit and spread apart, probably so a greenish salve could be applied. He hoped the cream soothed her, but it did little to bide the swelling of abused flesh, crossed red and black by the rod.

Anger fled, except rage at those who had done this to her. He wished he could lay the rod to Flambard himself.

But then anger at Jehanne snapped back, hilt to blade with fierce pride at her courage. The first beating would not have been so bad, nor even the second. But she had continued to accept them knowing, especially when she sent Aline out, that by a word she could put a stop to it.

And all for him.

The small room was plain—-perhaps a place for a senior servant of the king to catch some sleep without leaving Westminster. Aside from the narrow curtained bed, the only furniture was a table with a bowl and ewer.

Galeran leaned against a wall as he worked through his feelings.

She should have trusted him to bring them all home safe.

This was Jehanne, though. Just as she had always been. If he wanted a meek wife who would never try to take a hand in the management of their affairs, then he had been poorly used by fortune.

He had not been poorly used by fortune.

He could imagine no other wife. What other woman was as beautiful, as intelligent, as courageous, as resolute, as generous . . .

He was growing hard with desire, but it looked as if they had a good stretch of chastity ahead of them while she healed. It was as well he'd practiced the discipline.

Quietly, so as not to wake her, he opened another door and found Aline, Winifred, and the baby. He placed a finger on his lips before Aline could cry her surprise.

When he'd closed the door, she asked, "Is everything all right?"

"Yes. Jehanne is safe, the baby remains with us, and Flambard is in the Tower."

"Praise God! But what of Lowick?"

"By heaven's gates!" he exploded. "Why is everyone so concerned with that man's fate? What it is to be handsome!"

"Handsome?" Aline scoffed. "He's as handsome as my father's best bull. It's just that he's at heart an honorable fool. He needs protecting."

Galeran burst out laughing. It had been so long since he'd laughed that way that it felt as if his face were cracking. He collapsed down on a bench, weak with it. "Poor Raymond. A bull!" But then he controlled himself. "What of Raoul, then? Are you going to protect him too?"

Color rushed into her face. "He's no fool. He can protect himself. Like you."

"But Jehanne thought she had to protect me from fighting Raymond."

Aline put her hands on her hips. "Are you going to turn silly over that? She loves you, so she wants to protect you. What choice does she have? What choice does anyone have in these things? We want to protect the ones we love. It's as natural as breathing."

He smiled at her ferocity. "Is it? No one seems to have told men that it works both ways."

"Perhaps it's just that men never listen."

"Perhaps it is. So, Aline, do you want to protect Raoul?"

She stared at him, startled. "I don't know."

"Perhaps," he said, "you just aren't listening to yourself." Galeran went over to the blanket in the corner upon which the baby slept, her tiny body rising and falling with each deep breath. Would she grow up to be like her mother and aunt, fierce as a wolf-mother in protecting her cubs?

Or in protecting her mate.

"How long since she fed?" he asked.

"Since before we left the convent. She'll wake soon."

He felt able, therefore, to gather Donata into his two hands and bring her close to his chest. His nose told him the cloths were wet again, but it didn't bother him. He settled her in the crook of his arm and tested the softness of her skin with a finger, wincing as his roughness brushed against petal smoothness. "You are as my own, little one," he said softly. "I have sworn it."

With a gummy yawn, the baby awoke, opening big blue eyes to look fixedly at him. But her mouth immediately started working.

"Food, food, and nothing but food, eh?" he said with a laugh. "A fine sense of the priorities. Very well. Let your Aunt Aline change you, and I'll take you to your mother."

Then I'll have an excuse to wake her.

I need her awake.

I need her.

The child made no complaint as she was unwrapped, cleaned, and changed, but continued to stare toward Galeran as if she knew how central he was to her world.

Would she ever know the mayhem her existence had caused?

He would do his best to make sure she never did.

When Donata was fresh, he carried her in to Jehanne. Sitting gently on the end of the bed with the baby in one arm, he shook one of Jehanne's stocking feet. "Wake up, sleepyhead."

She stirred slowly, almost reluctantly. Then pain and reality hit her, and she hissed. Fixed in an awkward position, she stared at him, blinking. "Galeran? Where . . . ? What. . . ? Oh, Donata."

"Yes, she needs feeding." He put the baby down, then helped Jehanne move to sit on the edge of the bed. Surely any movement must hurt, but she showed no sign of pain except a sharp out breath when it was over.

Clearly feeling abandoned, Donata squawked.

"Patience, little one." Galeran gave her a finger to hold on to as he asked, "How will you manage?"

"I'll be all right. Just give her to me."

But as he picked up the baby and placed her carefully in Jehanne's lap, Jehanne eyed him anxiously, almost fearfully. He knew she had many questions, but the baby would not wait, and was already beginning to cry in genuine distress, nuzzling at the cloth over the breast.

Jehanne murmured to her as she raised her tunic. In moments the only sound was the contented suckling of the babe. Jehanne looked at him in a direct way that was close to her usual manner. "Is everything all right, then?"

"Why do you assume that?"

"You look . . . relaxed. Happy?"

It wasn't fair to tease her. He let himself smile. "Everything's all right. And yes, I feel relaxed, and close to being happy."

She closed her eyes briefly. "Thank heavens!" But then she asked, "Raymond?"

Galeran burst out laughing. "The honorable bull? He's hale and hearty and off to gore the Infidel."

"Bull?" she queried, but then smiled. "That was well done. He'll like that."

"He seems content now that he's sure I wont knock you into walls when I'm in a bad mood, or raise Donata in the kitchens."

At that, she looked down and changed her hold on the baby slightly, but he guessed it was mostly to take time to think. When she looked up again, she asked, "So, what problem remains?"

"None."

"Yes, there is something."

Now didn't seem the time. He'd thought perhaps it need never be spoken of, that they could just go home and finally pretend that none of it had happened.

Except for a child who wasn't his, and the grave of a child who was.

One could never go back. One could only ever make today good.

But there was one problem he could talk of. "Do you think me an honorable fool? To be protected?"

She understood immediately. "Oh, Galeran, in these matters men and women are not much different. Could you stand by and see me walk into a bog without trying to prevent it?"

"No. But I have always let you walk your own path, trusting you to watch where your feet step. You might do as much for me."

"And I misstepped, and fell into the bog! What's worse, I dragged both you and Raymond in with me. It was for me to get us all out."

"Not this way!"

At his sharp voice, Donata startled and came off the breast. Jehanne's milk kept flowing and there was a moment of chaos as she caught the stream on her gown while settling the baby again.

More quietly, he said, "I was handling everything. I could have stopped your beating if you'd sent me word."

"But I did sin, Galeran. In the adultery, but more so in defying God." She looked up. "I needed to be punished."

"So be it," he said bitterly. "We’ll send you back for more."

"No, thank you." She didn't react to his anger. In fact, she was smiling, and looking into her eyes, he realized a startling truth.

"You are at peace."

""Yes. Bishop Flambard did not intend to do me good, but he did. The time apart, time and peace to pray, cleansed me, even of my grief for Gallot and the bitterness I still felt about that. I learned about myself, and the punishment helped in some way. I found I couldn't control my body's weak reaction to pain, but I could control my mind. It made me stronger. Cleaner. I am at peace with myself and God, and ready to start again without wounds or shadows. Can we?"

"I would feel blessed to have it so." He moved closer, resting against her, frustrated that he couldn't crush her to him as he wished. For this was a new Jehanne. Not the resentful girl, or the exciting young woman. Not the desperate would-be mother, or the wounded sinner.

Out of the crucible had emerged the best of all of them, and a woman he loved even more than before.

He could not hold her but, as she switched the baby to the new, full breast, he told her about his own trials and self-knowledge. About Jerusalem. About the massacre and the blood flowing through the streets. And about his attempt to save the children, even though he knew it was suicidal.

"Raoul stopped me, but I fought him, even though I knew I was abandoning you and Gallot. It was a wrong decision, but even now I know I would do it again. He had to knock me out to save me, and for days I wandered in my mind. I think in that wandering I learned more of myself. It gave me time to come to terms with my place in God's world, with God's purpose for me."

He smiled at her. "I know for a while Raoul was afraid I really had gone mad, but I was just growing accustomed to what was new about me."

"I wondered. You were always a good man, a strong man, but it runs deeper now. It frightened me because I didn't think such goodness could still love me. I feared the strength would be turned against me. I understand better now. The stronger, the better, the better we can love."

She reached out her hand and he wove his dark, callused fingers through her smoother, paler ones. They meshed perfectly.

"Thanks be to God," he said.

* * * * *

Aline watched Galeran carry Donata to Jehanne, and knew it was over. The adventure was over.

That meant other things might be over too.

Like an assault on her castle.

She searched the warren of anterooms until she found Raoul, chatting to FitzRoger and some other men. They looked at her strangely—a woman invading men's affairs— but Raoul just spoke briefly to FitzRoger and stepped apart with her.

"What's happened?" she asked him.

He looked around and steered her behind a curtain. She expected a room, but it was hardly that. More a space with a small window looking out into the crowd of hawkers, gawkers, and entertainers. The king had clearly started another day of receiving his people.

"I suppose I shouldn't have interrupted you," she said.

"Why not? I presume Galeran is too absorbed in Jehanne to give long, coherent explanations." So he related the whole affair, and Aline took it in. But for some reason a large part of her unruly mind was more interested in his height, his breadth, his golden skin, and his very special smiles.

Perhaps it was obvious. When he'd finished, he said, "But you didn't really want to hear all that."

Aline snapped her wits out of heating longings. "Didn’t I?"

"I hope not." He stepped forward. She retreated.

In such a tiny space, a two-step retreat had her up against a wall with nowhere else to go.

"I think you were as desperate to see me as I was to see you." He reached to coil a hand around the side of her neck. "As desperate to touch." He leaned forward, his other arm braced on the wall. "As desperate to kiss."

She didn't admit it, but she didn't resist, either.

His kiss was as sweet as her dreams remembered, but it wasn't just a matter of lips on lips. Though he didn't press against her as he had that time in Waltham, it was as if the spirit of him, or his essence, pulsed out to surround her, engulf her, melt her into a need so strong that she wrapped her arms around him and enthusiastically kissed him back.

Slowly, with tiny parting kisses, he pulled out of her arms.

"Until a while ago," Aline complained, "I'd never kissed anyone. And now I can't seem to do without!"

He gently smoothed her brows. "Don't frown so. I promise to keep you well supplied."

"Only if I'm with you."

"I think that would be a requirement, yes."

"But you don't want to live in Northumbria. . . ." She wished she didn't have to say these things, but there was a problem here, and it wouldn't melt under kisses, not even those of Raoul de Jouray.

He stopped teasing and turned serious. "Aline, it's a wife's place to live in her husband's house."

"But yours is so far away!"

He considered her soberly, but then smiled. A mild smile,

but still enough that she was glad she had the wall at her back to support her. "It has all come upon you suddenly," he said. "It's less than a month since we met. Perhaps you aren't even sure yet that you don't want the religious life."

There was a question there, and she answered it. "No, I'm not entirely sure."

But it was a lie. She knew now that she could never settle peacefully to the chaste and tranquil religious life.

"Go back home with Galeran, then, and consider these things. I'll come again next summer to hear your decision."

"Next year! You addict me to kisses, you wretch, then tell me to wait a year?"

He raised his brows in astonishment. "What else?" But a glint of humor in his eyes suggested that he understood her all too well. As he always had. Perhaps that was what irritated her most about him.