By Right of Arms (22 page)

“He is my husband. He is the lord of this place now.”

“Aurélie? Have you given up?”

“Given up?” She laughed again, but it was a bitter sound. “I have never seen the place better than it is now, only two short months after he has come. Even under the old Sire there was not such order. For once the priest does not run the town and is properly placed at prayers rather than counting his money. There is more broken ground for crops than ever before and while my villeins wear sour faces, they are plump with his food. Given up? Are you truly such a fool?”

“But you cannot abide his presence in your bed? In Giles’s place?”

“Giles never used that place,” she said hastily and angrily, wishing immediately that she could withdraw the statement after it was issued. Instead, she rambled on, hoping he would forget. “If you do not see what has happened, there is nothing I can do to change your mind about it. So you carry a hoe or shovel rather than a lance, but it comes to me that Hyatt is not the fool to ignore good fighting skills, and if you would but show your talents and that you could be trusted, he would use you better than Giles did. If you try to flee or plot against him, he is within his rights to slay you. It would be a pitiful waste, Verel. You are too good to die.”

“You return none of my affection, do you?”

She bit her lip in indecision. It was in her mind to tell him that had he pleaded his case of passion before, when she hungered for love, for a touch, she was not certain that she would have had the strength of conviction to deny him. But now his admission did not tempt her.

“Would you have some useless prattle of love and longing and make me witness to the rivers of blood that would spurt from your neck? I would be forced to pass daily the place where your head would ride a pike on the wall. Nay, I return none of your affection and I bid you remember ’tis for your own good.”

“You no longer mourn your husband?”

“Mourn him? He rides toward De la Noye now and will arrive anon! My husband, Verel, is Sir Hyatt. It is written in the vows of the Church, of property, and of my body as well. There is no one in all Christendom who will argue that he has wed me, albeit by right of arms. Do you know the penalty of an adulterous wife? The peasant’s woman may be tied in the courtyard or stoned. The lord’s wife is guilty of high treason. If I loved death so well, I’d have taken my life by my own hand. To speak of love is to speak of death. Nay, I return none of your affection.”

“You love him.”

“I speak naught of love. I speak of reason and life. Your choices are as simple as mine, if you will but see them. No French force will travel here; Hyatt has sent the marriage papers to both kings—De la Noye is a married estate, no matter the victor in war. If you flee, you will either be hunted down and killed, or spared only to starve along the road as you search for a sympathetic army. Do not be a fool. Hyatt has use for good men; you could prove yourself to—”

She was cut short as Verel spat in the dust. “I will never seek to win favor from the bastard. I would rather die first.”

She backed away from him, conscious for the first time of the few eggs that had spilled from her basket and lay crushed on the stable floor beneath her feet. “And so you shall, Verel. I’m sorry I cannot help you.”

“Will you betray me?”

“Nay. ’Twould only serve to quicken your death. I think perhaps it is better if you go. You will not return.”

She turned to leave the stable, noticing that the sun was sinking as she reached the door.

“My lady,” he called, “if I do return, for whom will you fight?”

“As I always have, Sir Verel. For De la Noye and the man who owns her.”

* * *

The noise in the common room was louder than usual. There seemed a great deal of laughter and jesting and at first Aurélie thought that it was because word had been delivered of Hyatt’s return. She passed what remained of the collected eggs to a servant, listening closely to the men. She soon realized that it was another matter that caused such riotous glee from the knights.

“Had she but ridden a bit farther into the copse, she might have worn the horse into exhaustion and been forced to ride him all the way to Brittany.”

“Or better still, straight into Hyatt’s camp … in which case her privy arse would’ve been injured by other than a fall.”

“I only lament that she didn’t break her bloody neck. ’Twould make for less bickering among the women.”

Aurélie listened to the laughter, slowly approaching Girvin. He occupied a stool near the spitted fowl on the hearth and pounded dents out of his shield.

“What amusement so pleases these men?” she asked him.

“Faon,” he grumbled. “She took a good stallion to mount, like the hellion she is, without permission or escort.” He shrugged. “The beast threw her and left her to limp home alone.”

“You do not share their jesting.”

Girvin looked up at her, his eyes narrowed to slits. “It was a good horse,” he said slowly, with much irritation in his voice.

“You truly hate her, don’t you, Sir Girvin?” she asked.

Girvin looked directly into her eyes, a thing he rarely did. “There are women, madame, who are stupid enough to think that to disable their man will give them power. Faon is one of them. No act is too low. She is the fool to cut off Hyatt’s arms to have his dependence on her, and then bemoan the fact that he can no longer embrace her.”

“You are partly wrong about Faon. She wants Hyatt. She loves him.”

Girvin grunted. “If so, she portrays her love in ignorance. I know nothing of women’s love, nor do I wish to know more. But I have seen the likes of Faon before, under many a swinging skirt.”

“Aye,” Aurélie said. “You need not fear for Hyatt. He is more than aware of women’s shortcomings.”

Girvin looked at her long and hard. “I hope so, madame.”

“Sir Girvin, I …” Aurélie stopped herself. “Never mind. You guard him well, from men and women alike, and he is the better for it. I will not try to convince you that I am any better than Mistress Faon.”

She rose to leave him and heard his voice come softly from behind. “You need not.” She wondered only briefly what was meant, before dismissing his words from her mind.

Aurélie listened to the banter, Faon absent because of her injuries, and realized very quickly what had happened. She suspected she was alone in knowing the truth, but wondered how many had seen Faon talking with Verel on that afternoon a fortnight past.

When the meal was done and Aurélie went upstairs, she paused before her door and then, upon further consideration, walked down the long, dark gallery toward the rooms allotted to Faon. She did not knock, but the portal was not latched. She pushed the door open very slowly and Faon, whose posterior was not too bruised to sit on a hard stool, turned in surprise.

“When does he go?” Aurélie asked simply.

“Who?” Faon asked with a toss of her curls.

“You know who I mean. I do not go with him, mistress. But if it is not too late, perhaps you should. I don’t think Hyatt would search for you.”

Faon shot to her feet, staring at Aurélie with icy daggers in her eyes.

“I know what you have done.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Faon insisted, lifting her chin.

“I could go to Girvin now. He would relish a chance to throw up your skirts and see for himself how worn are your poor hips.”

Faon stiffened and her mouth curled in a sneer. “Then go, bitch. I shall show that black devil my rosy butt and let him kill your young knight. We both know what will happen; Girvin may wish me dead, but he wouldn’t dare harm me.”

Aurélie slowly smiled. “I think I shall let it be. Verel can get to safety better without you, and I wish him no harm. Given enough time, you will slay yourself. You are too foolish to last long.”

“Do you think to betray me to Hyatt? Hah! Do not try it or you will find that Hyatt does not—”

Aurélie slowly shook her head. “Does not trust women? I pitied him for that once, but I see now the reason and think him wise to distrust women. Nay, I will not betray you. You will betray yourself soon enough.”

She turned away and closed the door, standing there for a moment. A chill in the corridor caused the hairs at the back of her neck to prickle in uneasiness. Faon did not follow to challenge her and she shrugged off the strange feeling. She walked back down the gallery toward her chamber. The hall turned and as she came around the corner she gasped in sudden fright as she came up against Girvin’s solid chest. “Oh, Girvin, you frightened me half to death.”

“Is aught amiss, madame?” he asked evenly.

“All is well, Girvin. I only wanted to assure myself that Mistress Faon did not need anything for her injuries.”

“And how does she?”

“She is remarkably well, for someone who suffered a nasty fall.”

“Do you suggest that I look in on her myself? Hyatt did ask me to watch her.”

Aurélie laid a hand on his forearm. “Perhaps you should, Girvin,” she said, smiling slyly. “If you leave her to her own ends, she may get herself in a good deal more trouble. She may even flee.”

Girvin smiled down at Aurélie and then whirled about, presenting his back to walk down the stairs, making it quite clear that he could look the other way should Faon decide to leave De la Noye. Aurélie had no doubt that Girvin would watch, as he always did, to be assured that Hyatt’s son was not taken away. She could not resist the urge to chuckle, though she kept her voice quiet. “Good eventide, Sir Girvin,” she said softly. But the hulking knight did not turn or answer.

* * *

There was no second messenger for Hyatt, and Aurélie had set out more food each night than was needed, yet she went to bed each night alone, for he did not come in the two or three days promised. Seven days passed before she warily approached Girvin.

“My lord is delayed somehow, Sir Girvin,” she said softly.

Girvin looked at her for a long moment. His voice was nearly a whisper. “Do not be afraid for him, my lady. Bad news travels very swiftly and we would have heard something if he were in trouble.”

“Sir Girvin … ?” She stopped herself. He looked at her with a puzzled frown and she touched him, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “ ’Tis nothing,” she said. “Thank you.”

She turned to go and he called her back. “My lady, each night for four nights there has been more roasted meat than necessary and …”

“ ’Tis my fault, Sir Girvin. I do not disregard your hard efforts in hunting, and I appreciate your talents better than anyone. I have only thought there would be a hearty and hungry troop, and perhaps I should wait until Hyatt is here in fact before ordering the roasting done.”

Girvin smiled at her. “I do not criticize you, my lady. It is to your credit that you do right by the messenger’s warning. I need an extra bowman on the hunt and I would ask for Sir Guillaume, if you think he can manage a spear and bow well, and if you can spare him from trailing at your skirts.”

She was surprised and delighted by the request. It was also the second time that Girvin had used Guillaume’s title with his name, as if the time of Guillaume’s restoration came closer each day. “He is among the best huntsmen, Girvin, and is ill disposed to play nursemaid to me. Take him with my blessing.”

“Do you carry a dagger, madame?”

She laughed good-naturedly, a soft ripple of amusement that caused Girvin’s stony features to relax into a complacent pose. “Only Faon would dare threaten me, and if she does I shall simply offer her one of our best horses for her amusement, and my vengeance would be served.”

“Be careful,” he warned before their conversation ended.

In the days since Hyatt had left, Girvin had stirred her curiosity a great deal. Of course, he was closest at hand to protect what Hyatt had claimed, for there seemed to be a bond between the two men that ran deeper than blood relation. And in Girvin’s eyes Aurélie had begun to see that softness of love and devotion, much like what passed between brothers or fathers and sons.

She had almost asked him about Giles’s death, for although Girvin was a terrifying, ruthless knight, there was something about him that was like a snag in her understanding of him. He seemed anxious to kill, yet he also regarded useless death as a waste, as did Hyatt. He struck terror in hearts when he loomed in his threatening position, yet she had never seen him act unfairly or cruelly. Upon her first sight of him, with his admission that his sword had dealt the final blow to Giles, she had decided never to forgive him. But she doubted, now, that Girvin had killed without cause. And, even more, she doubted Giles could possibly have possessed the courage to attack one such as Girvin.

Aurélie was cautious in her pursuit of information about Verel and was limited to glancing about the area of the stables and corrals whenever she was within the village or outer bailey. She did not see him, but neither did she hear anyone in the hall remark on his absence. These knights of Hyatt’s were extremely attentive to details, and she doubted he had slipped away unnoticed. But she dared not betray her own knowledge of his plan and if she saw Faon, she skittered away like a frightened rabbit, not willing to exchange words or glances with the woman.

It was more than a week since the messenger had come when she stood at her bedchamber window and stared pensively at the stars in the clear black sky.
Hyatt, do you live?

She doffed her chemise and crawled under the down quilt. She wondered briefly what would become of her if Hyatt were killed in some skirmish between Limoges and De la Noye. Would she be passed to a new owner, be executed, or be left as a dowager? Perhaps she would be dependent upon Girvin, who, she assumed, would act as a protector to Derek until the boy grew up.

But these questions quickly passed, since the real cause for distress lay in how she would grieve for the loss of this man’s body’s warmth beside her. And his strength would be gone … a strength she felt certain no one could match. She now truly belonged to a man, and she knew she could never belong to another. Yet he did not love her, so where was her purpose?

He has conquered me,
she thought.
I am his, and it is as if I had no life before him. But he is not mine; I know nothing of this well-reared, well-lettered man who chooses to be known as a bastard. ’Tis plain he was highly born and has somehow learned the wisdom and justice of the highest nobles, yet he attacks and fights under the shield of a base-born knight and will not confide one moment of his past to me. I lie in this bed that was ours, missing him, wanting him, and for what? He goes to great lengths to make love to me tenderly, and still greater lengths to remind me that all I mean to his existence is what I can bring in service to his cause. Oh love, if you are my love, will I ever be cherished by you? Will you ever let me cherish you, or would my spoken word only make you fearful that I am cut of the same cloth as Faon?