A Love For All Seasons (28 page)

Rob sat in the bed, his back braced against its head. His fur-lined mantle was drawn tightly about him, his legs were covered by the blankets. So too, were the yellow woolen draperies tightly shut around the mattress. Despite all this the interior of the bed was only endurable, not truly warm. Then again, it was summer in here compared to the frigid, hearth-less room beyond this fabric shield.

With a yawn, he rubbed at his burning eyes. It had been a long night. Plagued as he was by his fear for Johanna, sleep had been impossible. Instead, his mind busied itself in playing out every possible scenario that could lead to her death at Katel's hands.

"Turn back! You'll not enter here! Hie all of you, keep them from coming!" The single shout rose from beyond the keep's wooden perimeter walls to float through the narrow slit of this chamber's wall. "Go back!"

In the next moment every one of the souls who kept vigil before the tower took up the chant, and it rose to a thundering roar. Rob sighed as their venom reminded him of the fate that he wasn't convinced he could escape. To distract himself from his morbid thoughts, he tried to deduce who it was that came.

It couldn't be the sheriff. The crowd wouldn't have bid him away. It wasn't a council member, for there were no calls for his or her family's death. Who, then?

Staring up at the yellow cloth stretched from pole to pole overhead to make a ceiling, he waited to see just how brave this visitor of his was. The chanting erupted into screams of fear. This was followed by a wary quiet, punctuated by a few moans.

"What sorts of idiots stand unarmed between bowmen and where they wish to be? You'll let me and mine pass or, by God, I'll command them to aim at you rather than over your heads the next time." Given in English, there was no doubting that this man meant to fulfill his threat, were the crowd to offer further resistance.

Rob's brows raised at this. Not brave then, but strong. Who came to see him with enough bowmen to frighten the mob? Again he considered the sheriff, only to reject him once more. The shire's lawman wasn't English, and the one who'd issued that warning used the tongue like a native speaker.

Outside, the gates opened and shut. Sailing up to Rob's tower room on the day's chilly breath came the rattling of harness rings, the stomp and blow of tired horses along with snippets of conversation from men even more tired than their beasts. His confusion deepened. This had the sound of an army, not just a few bowmen. Ah well, there was not much longer to wait before his curiosity was satisfied.

Bad enough that he had to meet men in his shirt and chausses, but he'd not do it so whilst lying abed like some invalid, or a king. Pushing aside the bed curtains, Rob sat at the edge of the mattress and donned his boots. When they were again cross-gartered to his legs, he stood and straightened his mantle around his shoulders. It was native vanity that made him use his fingers to comb his hair as best he could. Earlier this day, Otto, son of Otfried, had brought him water and cloth for washing, no knife for shaving of course, but a comb was another matter. That was a private possession, rarely shared.

It was a few moments before the key squealed into its slot. When the door opened, Otto entered, followed by Mistress Alwyna. Beneath her mantle the old woman yet wore yesterday's green gowns, now sadly rumpled. Framed in a sturdier wimple than what she'd earlier worn, her face was drawn in exhaustion. Dark rings that matched his own hung beneath her brown eyes

Rob's surprise at seeing her here died beneath his overwhelming need for news of Johanna, but with Otto in the room he dared speak no word of her. The best he could do was to eye a silent plea to the old woman, begging for some sign to put him at his ease. Mistress Alwyna offered him a nod and a reassuring smile. If it wasn't enough to satisfy him, it did allow him to draw a deep breath, the first one he'd taken since parting from Johanna last night.

On Mistress Alwyna's heels came a knight. Beneath a brown fur-lined cloak the man wore both tunic and chausses of knitted metal rings. Atop his armor there was a brown surcoat trimmed in golden embroidery. Like the needlework, the jeweled hilt of the sword belted to his side proclaimed that he was no simple bachelor knight, but a man of some consequence.

Not a handsome man, this stranger's visage was raw¬boned, his nose slightly crooked, saying he'd once broken it. His hair, flattened from wearing his head gear, was brown as were his eyes. In facial hair, he affected the same fashion Rob did, wearing his beard trimmed closely to the line of his bold jaw.

As Rob watched him in some bemusement, wondering who he was and what brought him to this tower, the knight came to an abrupt halt. His gaze locked onto Rob's face, his eyes widening. "Jesu Christus!" It was a cry of astonishment.

Mistress Alwyna gave a tired laugh then clutched her hand into the crook of the warrior's metal clad arm. Rob's brows shot up when she nigh on leaned against the knight's shoulder. To see a merchant's mother behave so familiarly with one who was obviously classes above her was strange, indeed.

"Did I not tell you?" the old woman said, speaking in fluid French. The knight made her no response; he but rudely stared.

Fed by his tiredness and the stress of contemplating a seriously shortened lifespan, Rob's irritation rose from simmering to claim a new and potent life. Caged he might be, but he was no animal to be ogled. He narrowed his eyes to glare at his better.

"I beg your pardon, but what business have you with me?" he asked in French. "If you came only to stare, I suggest you leave."

The knight caught his breath then looked at Mistress Alwyna. "Even his voice is the same, Mama. I did not believe what you wrote, but here he stands!"

Mama? Startled, Rob looked to the old woman, then back to the knight. "What is this?" he asked, his voice lowering in confusion.

His visitor stripped off his gloves. As Mistress Alwyna released him, he stepped forward to offer his hand in greeting. "My pardon, but I have forgotten all courtesy in my shock. I am Richard, Lord Meynell." He paused, a small smile bringing golden lights to the brown of his eyes. "And you, Robert of Lynn, are my brother, son to Henry, Lord Graistan, just as I am."

Rob drew an outraged breath, spurning this nobleman's hand as his chin jerked upward in arrogant refusal of that estate. No man, no matter his station, had the right to call him bastard. Once again, the insult this did his mother's memory rushed through him, anger tumbling along behind it. It was the hurt child in him who screamed that she had been no rich man's whore.

"Richard, have a care," Mistress Alwyna said gently, "he has no more liking for being called bastard than do you."

That shocked the arrogance right out of Rob. He stared at the smaller man, only now seeing the knight's subtle resemblance to Mistress Alwyna. Yet, he'd called himself Lord Meynell. That could not be. What sort of Norman would offer his common by-blow lands and title?

This Lord Meynell again smiled at the one he had named his kin. "I see you wondering," he said in English. Having learned it at his mother's knee, it was without accent. "To date, all of our father's family, save one, remains as mystified as you that Henry of Graistan should have so loved his bastard son. Did you ever meet your sire?"

Rob's mouth opened to protest that his father had been Ralph Attegreen but the adult in him would not let the words pass his lips. It was time to acknowledge that his sire had been Lord Graistan, just as the villagers had proclaimed all those years ago, just as his mother had insisted on her deathbed. Just as he'd always known. He sighed in acceptance.

"Nay," he said with a breath of resignation. "My mother never told him she bore his child. She felt he had compensated her well enough by providing her a rich dowry.”

"A pity that," Lord Richard replied. "Our sire was a good man, and he would have liked to have known of you. Did Mama tell you that you are his image? She says she thought it was his shade she saw when she first met you." He stopped himself with a shake of his head. "Enough of that. There will be time for conversation later. Just now, we must attend to the matter at hand."

Turning, the nobleman looked back into the tiny hall, then glanced at Otto. "Go see what is taking that Lynnsman so long." It was a command, to which Otto responded with a brisk nod. The soldier turned on his heel, leaving the room without either shutting or locking the door behind him.

Already amazed at finding family where before he'd had none, Rob's astonishment grew as he understood. "You are the one Mistress Alwyna called to see that my evidence came unmolested from Lynn to Stanrudde?"

Only as the words left his mouth did he comprehend what this meant. His heart took flight. With his book here, Katel was finished!

Lord Richard offered him a wry, if tired smile. "I am an obedient son, who always does as his sweet mama requests. I live to ride like a madman from Upwood to Lynn to Stanrudde, all in less than a day's, or rather, a night's time." His dam swatted at his shoulder for his cheekiness, and her son laughed.

"If this is what you did, then I cannot offer you thanks enough," Rob said, marveling that a lord, albeit only half Norman, would have so inconvenienced himself to assist a commoner and a man unknown to him.

"It was my pleasure," his brother replied. "We who are baseborn must aid each other, no? Glad I am I was nearby, so I could do so."

Still stunned by all this, Rob looked at Mistress Alwyna. She, too, had been a Norman's leman, but she'd done right well for her son then wed herself a rich merchant afterward. He wondered what his mother would have won had she also pressed Henry of Graistan to acknowledge her child as his. Rob's lips twisted in refusal. Nay, he liked his life and what he did, wanting nothing more from it save Johanna.

As her name rang in him he realized that Otto was gone, leaving him free to ask the question that ached in him. "Tell me," he demanded of the knight's mother, "what do you know of Mistress Johanna?"

A tiny frown settled between Mistress Alwyna's brows. "Her servant came to me last even with directions on where the wheat was laid—"

"You've found it, then?" Rob interrupted in a rush of hope. Better and better!

"Aye. We carted it to the abbey for safekeeping. You did not tell me he had taken so much. We were the whole night moving it." However stern her words, her tone made it a toothless rebuke.

"What of Johanna?" So deep was his need to know she was safe, he forgot to use her title.

The old woman's face softened, pity filling her gaze. "She is gone, Master Robert. The night gatekeeper says that Master Katel departed with her and his household guard late last even. I fear that he discovered what she'd done and has run to avoid being here when we expose him."

As his heart tore in his chest Rob turned his back on those who watched him. Bowing his head, he pressed his palm to his forehead and closed his eyes. For a second time in his life, Katel stole from him the woman he loved, the one who was by all rights his own wife.

"Does the gatekeeper know where they have gone?" he asked without turning. His words were hoarse with the unfairness of this fate.

"Nay, he stated no destination," she said sadly.

Rob drew a deep breath, trying to restore control. Instead despair ate at him. No matter Johanna's assurances, he could not believe Katel would leave her unharmed if he knew what she'd done. The thought of her hurt or dead because she'd protected him turned his heart to stone. If she was gone then he had no further wish to live.

His newfound half brother came to stand silently at his side. Too deep in grief, Rob did not look up. There was not even strength enough in him to tell the man to leave him be.

"I think me our sire gave you more than just his image when he made you,” Lord Meynell said after a moment. His voice was soft. "It is a terrible thing to be plagued with a constant heart." He stopped and sighed. "Or, to find that one loves another man's wife."

In his fellow bastard's voice rang an intimate knowledge of Rob's own estate. Against it, Rob's shoulders relaxed, and he managed a shallow breath. Raising his head, he looked toward his new kin. Lord Meynell had his gaze focused on the bed.

"Take heart and tell yourself that there is nowhere they can go where they cannot be discovered. All it takes is time." He paused to glance at Rob. There was an odd gleam in his eyes, as if saying these words reminded him of something else. When he saw Rob watched him, he offered a small smile. "But before you can begin your searching, you must first be cleared of these charges."

His calm tone and sensible words were just what Rob needed to help him draw the shattered pieces of himself back into a whole. As the grief receded, hope returned, bringing with it the strength to continue. He knew good men from one end of this world to the other. There was nowhere Katel could take Johanna where Rob could not ferret him out. And, once he had found them, Rob vowed to himself he'd see Katel's marriage to Johanna annulled for bigamy. This time, he did have the money and connections to challenge their joining.

"My thanks," he offered the shorter man, meaning it wholeheartedly.

"Do not be so quick to thank me." A spark of amusement came to life in Lord Meynell's eyes. "Mama tells me you have made yourself into a wealthy man. You may one day find me knocking on your door, complaining against the money lenders' high rates and asking you to return my many favors."

Rob gave the breath of a laugh. While he knew his new kinsman was yet working to steady him, there was something in the man's voice to suggest he truly meant to pursue that sort of private business arrangement. If this should come to pass, Rob would eagerly offer what he could. No matter how much it was, it would not be enough to repay Richard of Meynell for what he'd just done.

"By God, Rob," the panted words echoed into the room from the hall beyond it, "what has happened to Stanrudde that its folks should so threaten one raised in its bosom?"

Rob turned, dumbfounded, as Master Arthur, Cordwainer of Lynn, staggered into the room, huffing as if the box in his arms weighed four stone instead of less than one. If Rob's dearest friend was not as tall as he, Arthur was yet by far the broader. Just now, his face was reddened from the cold where his golden hair and beard did not cover it. Both the shoemaker's capuchin and the gown beneath his brown mantle were bright green, which made Arthur's eyes seem all the greener.