Wild Wind (24 page)

Alex was right; Gaspar had changed. She’d tried to ignore it, to deny it, but now that Alex had voiced his apprehensions, her own rose inexorably to the surface.

Pausing, Alex called for a volunteer to help him, and Gaspar instantly stepped forth. A young page with a pile of weapons—both real and wooden—retrieved a broadsword, but Gaspar waved it aside and pointed to a long-handled mallet with a spiked head forged of lead. He hefted the awful thing in his beefy hands, laughing at Alex’s nonplussed expression.

It had been a weapon like this, Nicki knew, that had torn the flesh from Alex’s hip. Gaspar knew this, too. Several nights ago, Milo had coaxed Alex into telling the story of the Cambridgeshire ambush during dinner. Gaspar had listened intently. The next morning, he was seen practicing with a mallet, and he’d even taken to carrying one around in lieu of the club he’d favored for so many years.

“This is a demonstration of swordplay,” Alex said as Gaspar swaggered toward him, the mallet resting on a gigantic shoulder. “Not a tavern brawl.”

Gaspar, alone among his men, did not laugh. “Might one’s enemy not attack with something other than a sword? Come on—prove your stuff. Defend yourself with a sword against this, if you can.”

Alex eyed the evil thing grimly. Nicki felt his dread as he regarded the instrument of his mutilation—not to mention the length of Gaspar’s arms and his brutish strength—and wished desperately that she could say something that would put a stop to this encounter. But it was, after all, merely a demonstration, with the parties presumably intending no harm to each other. And for her to come to Alex’s aid would subject him to the men’s scorn. She had no desire to reawaken his hatred for her, when things between them had been fairly amicable lately.

Seven days had passed since their first lesson together in the woods. Alex, having a sharp mind, had made remarkable progress in reading and writing. His desire to learn was obvious.

Just as evident was his desire for her. He hadn’t attempted any more liberties—not overtly—but often she caught him looking at her when he should have had his mind on his studies. He’d seize on any little excuse to touch her—brushing a leaf off her sleeve, hair off her cheek...

Perhaps it wasn’t wise spending so much time alone with Alex, but she was loath to put an end to their afternoons together. If nothing else, it got her out of that dismal castle. And, in truth, she relished his little attentions, evidence of the attraction that quivered between them. She felt it every waking hour. It droned in her veins, infusing all her thoughts and actions with a kind of heady awareness.

In her case, the attraction had its basis in a hopelessly incorrigible love that she’d be just as happy to be rid of. Alex’s attraction to her, on the other hand, was no more lofty or meaningful than what he had felt for hundreds of other women over the years. Although she yearned for him with every breath she took, she’d be damned if she’d add her name to the long list of women who’d spread their legs for Alex the Conqueror. Adultery was far too grievous a sin to waste on a man who didn’t care for her.

Gaspar gripped the mallet in both fists and leapt at Alex, swinging it hard. Alex leapt back. A collective murmur rose from the men watching. Nicki knew what they were saying—that it would take a miracle for a lone swordsman to best a giant wielding such a barbarous weapon so enthusiastically.

Gaspar advanced, slashing the mallet through the air with quick, powerful strokes. Alex lunged and parried, sweat pouring into his eyes as he searched for an opening, a weak spot. Sometimes he’d use his sword to deflect a blow, steel clanking against lead; sometimes he’d jump aside, or duck. Gaspar did not appear to be holding back. That the men noticed this as well became clear when some of them began urging Gaspar to back off the beleaguered Alex, lest he do some damage. Nicki bit her lip so hard it hurt. Might it not be worth Alex’s wrath to order an end to this brutal spectacle?

Alex blocked a blow, slamming his sword against the upraised shaft of the mallet. At that moment, Gaspar looked toward Nicki, still on horseback, nodding as if he had only just now noticed her. Smiling in a way that struck her as almost sly, he called out, “Good morning, milady.”

Alex turned to look at her. Nicki screamed along with the others as Gaspar swung his mallet sharply downward, ramming it into Alex’s hip.

Alex dropped his sword and crumpled, roaring in pain. It was his left hip, she saw as he grabbed it, his body curling in the dirt. Gaspar had deliberately attacked the hip already mangled years before by the same weapon.

She dismounted and ran to him, yanking aside the men gathering around him. “Let me through!”

Just as she made her way to Alex, he bellowed a blistering oath, something she’d never think to hear in her presence. The men looked from Alex to her, wide-eyed.

“Shit,” Alex rasped when he saw her. “Oh, damn. Forgive me, Nick— my lady.” He struggled to sit up.

“Stay where you are,” she told him, kneeling at his side. She wanted so much to touch him—to take him in her arms and comfort him—but everyone was watching; it would be scandalous.

“Where is he?” Alex managed through clenched teeth. “Gaspar, you son of a bitch. Sorry, my lady.” He groaned as he clambered unsteadily to his feet, heedless of her advice to stay put.

“Here I am,” Gaspar said mildly, stepping out of the crowd with the mallet balanced on his shoulder.

Nicki leapt to her feet. “What were you thinking?” she demanded, wheeling on Gaspar. “How could you—”

“I’ll handle this,” Alex said quietly as he eased her aside.

“But he—”

“I said I’ll handle it.” He leaned over his hip, rubbing it, but his gaze connected sharply with hers. His fleeting, almost imperceptible glance toward the men made it clear: he needed to fight this battle himself, or risk losing their respect.

Conscious of the many pairs of eyes trained on her, Nicki returned to her mare and saddled back up, but walked her close to the cluster of men, so that she could hear what was said.

Gaspar clicked his tongue. “You should know better than to let your attention wander in a fight, Sir Alex—especially one you’re losing. If you’d like,” he added, his eyes sparking with malicious humor as he glanced toward Nicki, “I’ll teach you some proper fighting skills, help you out a bit.” Vicq and Leone laughed uproariously.

So that was it. Gaspar was trying to take Alex down a notch, belittle him in front of her. Why should he care what she thought of her husband’s cousin?

As Alex bent over to retrieve his sword, he looked toward Nicki, and her heart ached for him. She could see it in his eyes—the disgrace of having been defeated, and so soundly, in her presence. “Curious,” he said. “I don’t seem to have had any trouble defending myself in the past. Of course, my opponents have generally been men of honor. Such men don’t tend to stoop to your tactics.”

Gaspar glared at the handful of men who had the temerity to laugh at that. “I don’t see anything dishonorable in taking advantage of your opponent’s weaknesses,” he protested. “My only difficulty in fighting with you is deciding which of your many shortcomings to exploit.” His two brutish underlings guffawed. “I did use the blunt end,” he said, displaying the mallet’s head, strong enough to crush armor. “My point was merely to demonstrate the risks of inattention. If I were the shameless cur you make me out to be, I’d have used the spike.”

“Next time,” Alex said softly as he sheathed the sword on his belt, “perhaps you should. Aim for my head, though, and make damn sure you kill me. Because” —he closed his hand over the relic in the hilt of his sword, a gesture lost on no one, and nodded toward the mallet— “if you ever take that thing to me again, I swear to Almighty God you’ll pay with your life.”

Silence settled over the throng. Everyone looked to Gaspar for his reaction to this extraordinary vow.

Gaspar’s returned Alex’s fixed stare, his eyes dull and flat and black. They looked like the eyes of a dead man Nicki had come upon once in the woods. She remembered standing over the poor fellow, who had been mauled by a boar from the looks of him, and wondering how eyes that had reflected light during life could absorb it so utterly upon the soul’s departure.

Presently Gaspar executed one of those little bows of his; had they always set her teeth on edge this way? “I regret that the difference in our fighting styles has caused you distress...young sir.”

Alex stiffened at the condescending term of address, but made no response.

“In the future,” Gaspar continued, “perhaps we’d do better to practice our skills with other partners.”

“I should bloody well think so.” Turning away from Gaspar, Alex announced to the men that he was going to rest his hip for a short while, then demonstrate some finer points of strategy. The men drifted away to await the next stage in the morning’s lessons, and Gaspar tossed his mallet back onto the heap of weapons.

Nicki walked her mount a few steps closer to Alex. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll limp for a bit,” he said, taking a few halting steps toward her to rub Marjolaina on the nose. “Won’t be the first time.” His sodden hair hung over his forehead. Nicki quelled an absurd urge to lean over in her saddle and tidy it.

“Perhaps you should have Maître Guyot look at that hip,” she suggested. “Or at least lie down in your chamber for a while.”

“There’s no need for that,” he said, sliding a quick glance toward Gaspar as he walked toward them. “Nothing’s broken. And I’d much rather be out here in this sunshine than in that tomb of a castle.”

Knowing he was trying to minimize the injury in order to salvage his pride, Nicki dropped the subject. They lapsed into silence, exchanging a look when Gaspar joined them. Why he thought he’d be welcome after his display of savagery was quite beyond Nicki.

“Where are you off to this fine morn, milady?” Gaspar asked.

Nicki bought a moment by fiddling with her reins. Seeing as she couldn’t very well disclose the true purpose of her trip, she’d best keep mum about her destination—especially since Gaspar’s watchfulness was gradually giving way to out-and-out prying. “I’m on my way to St. Clair,” she said, keeping her gaze trained on Gaspar lest Alex look into her eyes and know her lie for what it was. “To do some marketing,” she elaborated, pleased to have thought up such credible subterfuge on such short notice.

“You’re riding all the way to St. Clair unescorted?” Alex asked.

“Aye.” In point of fact, she was riding well beyond St. Clair unescorted. She just hoped she’d get back in time for the noon meal, so as not to raise suspicions. And, blast it, she’d have to stop in St. Clair and buy something, so she’d have it to show for the trip. Lying got everything all tangled up in knots. Alex had always said so, back in Périgeaux, and it was true.

“I’ll go with you,” Alex said.

“Nay. It’s...it’s not necessary.”

“But I don’t mind. I’d like to. I’ll cancel the rest of the lesson—”

“Nay! I’ll be perfectly all right. And my marketing will bore you.”

“I don’t mind marketing,” Gaspar said. “You shouldn’t be alone, and I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“I want to be alone,” she said resolutely. “I...I like being alone. If either of you insists on accompanying me, then I simply won’t go.”

Alex sighed. “Very well, my lady.”

Gaspar fixed his dead eyes on her in a way that made her shiver. “Your lord husband must be better today, for you to travel so far from the castle.”

“He is, thank the saints. He’s still dreadfully weak, of course, and I don’t know when he’ll get out of bed, but he’s sitting up for longer stretches. And yesterday I got him to eat a few bites of sausage.” She raised her hand to her mouth to cover a yawn.

“You look tired,” Alex said, studying her in that all-seeing way.

“Aye. That pallet is lumpy, and I keep waking up, thinking Milo needs me. He doesn’t anymore, of course. After the first couple of nights, he’s slept quite soundly. But I wake up anyway, and then I can’t get back to sleep.”

Alex frowned. “Has it been like that all week?”

“Aye.” She yawned again. “Pardon me.”

“You should have asked me to take over for you,” Alex scolded.

“He’s my—”

“He’s your husband.” Alex smiled wearily. “Yes, I know.”

“Well,” Gaspar said, “there’s no need for you to be putting up with all that anymore. His lordship’s resting well—you said so yourself. If you don’t mind my advice, you should go back to sleeping in your solar. ‘Tis nice and quiet up there, and you’ve got your own bed with a feather mattress on it.”

Alex cast a wry look in Gaspar’s direction. “I hate to say it, but he’s right.”

Nicki nodded. “Milo’s been saying the same thing. I suppose you have a point. There’s nothing to be gained from lying awake all night if Milo doesn’t need me. I’ll return to the solar tonight.”

“Good,” the two men said simultaneously.

Nicki arched her brows. “How very novel to find you two so agreeable.”

Alex and Gaspar moved away from each other. Nicki chuckled. “Good day, gentlemen,” she said as she guided her mount toward the drawbridge.

“Good day, milady,” they called after her.

GASPAR REINED IN
his mount at the edge of the woods and watched Lady Nicolette ride up the dusty road toward the Abbey of St. Clair. She waved to someone as she approached the entrance in the stone wall surrounding the neat cluster of low buildings.

So. Her ladyship was doing some marketing, eh? Gaspar had followed her—at a discreet distance—all the way from Peverell, and she hadn’t so much as ridden through St. Clair. She’d taken the road that led around the town, not even slowing down.

The funny thing was, she visited the monastery frequently, to see that half-mad old prior, Brother Matthew. No one had ever tried to stop her. Why the deception now?

No one had tried to stop her, but she’d always been given an escort—and she’d never objected to it, that Gaspar could recall. Whatever her purpose for coming here was innocent or not, she was going to some pains to keep it a secret.

A secret it might be well to unearth. If he was clever, Gaspar thought, turning his horse around and retracing his route through the woods, he could get his answer tonight, while Nicolette was under the influence of the valerian. She’d be bereft of her senses, of course, but that might make her all the more malleable. He could wheedle the truth out of her if he did it right.