For Love And Honor (8 page)

“I haven’t deserted you, you know,” Crispin
said. “My marriage won’t change our friendship.”

“Nor will it change the fact that we are
cousins,” said Piers before Alain could speak. “But having a wife
does change a man.”

“For the better, I think,” Crispin said with
great seriousness. “Joanna is lovely, sweet and affectionate and
not as shy as I feared she would be. I’m a happy man this
morning.”

“Now, those are words I am glad to hear.”
Radulf had come up behind them. “Good day to you, lads. Crispin, if
you have a moment, I would speak with you. It occurs to me that
while you are in Normandy there may be something I can do in your
name at Haughston. Now, I wonder -” He drew Crispin away, leaving
Alain and Piers standing alone by the breakfast table.

“If there is one thing that is going to
change our close friendship with Crispin,” Piers observed, looking
after them, “it’s Crispin’s father-in-law.”

“He does seem oddly reconciled to Crispin and
Joanna going abroad,” said Alain. “Yesterday he was still angry
about it.”

They watched Crispin and Radulf walk across
the hall, saw Joanna hurry to Crispin’s side and take his arm and
gaze up at him.

“I can’t stay at Banningford.” Alain set his
wine cup down hard on the bare table. “It’s killing me.”

“You can’t leave right now,” Piers said.
“Crispin will want to know why you’ve changed your plans, when you
are promised to remain here until he and Joanna leave.”

“What do you advise, dear old Sir Piers?”
There was no humor in the familiar joking title. Alain sounded
infinitely weary, and Piers understood that he was close to the
breaking point. Alain could not long tolerate the sight of Joanna
hanging on Crispin’s arm and mooning over him with the eyes of a
lovesick calf. Something would have to be done.

“Stay just today and tomorrow,” Piers
suggested. “That will satisfy Crispin and won’t insult Radulf, as
our early departure would do. It will be easy enough to avoid those
you don’t want to see during the hunt, and hunting will consume the
better part of each day. We’ll think of something to keep us out of
the great hall in the evenings. Tomorrow night, I’ll say I want to
begin my duties at Haughston at once, that I’m bored with feasting
and drinking. Crispin knows me well enough to believe that story.
You can tell him you want to keep me company and that you’ll spend
the first night of your homeward journey at Haughston with me.
Crispin will easily accept such an excuse.”

“
Two more
days?” Alain shook his h
ead. “I
don’t want to stay so long. I’m not sure I can.”

“Do it for friendship’s sake,” said Piers.
“It’s the best way to handle this situation.”

“All right.” Alain gave in. “Once again I’ll
take your advice. But I have an uneasy feeling. I’ve had a
premonition of misfortune ever since I came to Banningford. Piers,
if you see me drinking too much, stop me. I want all my wits about
me for the next two days.”

In later years, Alain was to wish many times
that he had left Banningford Castle on the day after Crispin’s
marriage. So many lives would have been different if he had
followed his own inclinations. But stay he did, and thus condemned
himself to play out the long tragedy that was even then beginning
to unfold.

He took
deliberate care to stay away from Crispin and Joanna when they were
together. With Crispin, alone, he had no problem. He loved Crispin
as he loved Piers, and the three of them had their own memories and
jokes and ways of doing things stemming from the time when they had
first met as lonely pages and discovered that they were related.
Crispin’s mild and thoughtfully measured responses to life made a
good foil for the clever intensity of Piers and for Alain’s own
more volatile spirits. They had never quarreled, and Alain would
see to it that they did not quarrel now. For this reason he kept
his tongue in check, drank little, and was scrupulously polite to
everyone, including Radulf and his henchman Baird, neither of whom
Alain liked. He did his honest best not to think about Joanna.
A
nd he counted the hours until he could leave Banningford
Cas
tle.

*
* * * *

While Alain drank his wine with caution,
Radulf was not so abstemious. Enormously pleased that Joanna’s
marriage had been consummated and hopeful that she would soon
produce the grandchild he wanted so badly, Radulf drank a bit too
heartily.

“
Weddings
are lusty celebrations,” he said to Rohaise, who sat on his left
side for the feas
t. “I
feel like a bridegroom myself.” As if to prove the truth of
this statement, he grabbed her hand, pressing it hard against his
bulging groin.

“My lord, please,” Rohaise exclaimed. “What
will your guests think?”

“The men will think that I will make my own
heir before Joanna and Crispin give me one,” Radulf replied,
leering at her. “Don’t be so damned prudish, woman. No one can see
what happens beneath the tablecloth.”

Rohaise
kept tugging at her hand until Radulf released it, but almost
immedia
tely he began to
grope at her breast. She sat stiffly, staring straight
ahead, wishing she had the courage to strike his hand away and
demand that he treat her with respect, in public at least.
Crispin’s friend Sir Piers was sitting on her left side, and she
knew he must have noticed how Radulf was pinching and rubbing her.
How could anyone avoid seeing what Radulf was doing? When Baird
came to stand across the table from Radulf and ask him a question
about the night watchmen Radulf finally took his hand away. Rohaise
knew her face was flaming. She thought she would die of shame,
especially after she noticed a few ladies at the lower tables
casting sympathetic glances in her direction.

“My lady,” Piers said, “this sauce is
delicious. Did you devise the recipe yourself?”

“I learned it from my mother,” Rohaise
replied, understanding what he was trying to do. She risked looking
at him, fearing to find pity in his eyes, but he only gave her a
friendly smile.

“Then, Lady Rohaise, your mother is to be
complimented, and her daughter as well.”

“I leave most of the cooking to the kitchen
staff and only supervise them,” she told him, greatly relieved to
be discussing a neutral subject, “but this sauce I always prepare
myself. When you marry, Sir Piers, you have only to send to me, and
I will see to it that your wife has the instructions so she can
make it for you.”

“You are charitable as well as gracious,” he
replied, letting his hand rest on her elbow for just a moment, in a
way that Radulf could not see. The kind gesture almost made Rohaise
cry.

“Piers, do you remember?” Crispin called
along the table, and launched into a story about their boyhood days
as pages, to which Piers supplied the humorous details.

Rohaise sat back in her chair so Piers could
lean forward and see Crispin while they talked. On Crispin’s other
side, Joanna smiled and laughed at the amusing tale. Being careful
not to let Radulf see her observing Piers, Rohaise took the
opportunity to look more closely at him. She liked what she saw.
His face was long and narrow, and though it was obvious that he had
shaved that very day, still, he looked as if he ought to do so
again. His beard would be thick and black, like his hair, and his
eyes were so deep a brown they were almost black.

She knew his behavior toward her meant
nothing. Piers was only being polite to her because he was a
gentleman, but she savored the pleasure of being treated like the
lady she had been raised to be, when Radulf was always so coarse
and crude with her, even before guests. Sir Piers of Stokesbrough
would never be rude to a woman; he would always be kind, even if he
cared nothing at all for her. Still, his gentlemanly treatment of
her lit a tender glow in her heart that lasted until the feasting
was done and it was time for the daily hunt to begin.

*
* * * *

That
afternoon Crispin was thrown from his horse while hunting. Laughing
at his own clumsiness, he got up and remounted, assuring his
companions that he was unhurt. But by the time he returned to the
castle that evening he was feeling the effects of the tumble. Piers
and Alain went with him to his chamber, where they quickly divested
him of his clothing to see h
ow
much damage had been done.

“It’s a nasty bruise,” Piers said, touching
the blue spot that had formed across Crispin’s chest. He pressed a
little harder, testing the bones. “I don’t think you’ve broken any
ribs, but you ought to have hot compresses on it, and perhaps an
herbal poultice. And on your knee and elbow, too, if you intend to
hunt tomorrow. Where’s your squire? I’ll send him to the kitchen
for a basin of hot water.”

“He’s helping to bring in the game,” Crispin
said. He tried to stretch the muscles in his shoulders. “Ow, that
hurts. I can feel the results of my lack of real exercise in the
past few days. I need to get back to the practice yard.”

“
You’ve
had other matters on your mind,” said Piers, picking up a shawl and
draping it over Cr
ispin’s bare shoulders.

It was Joanna’s shawl, a deep blue that
matched her eyes. Alain had seen her wearing it one cool evening.
He turned away from the sight of it wrapped about Crispin’s
skin.

“I’ll get the water,” Alain offered, wanting
to remove himself from the chamber Crispin shared with Joanna. The
very air was fragrant with the rosewater scent she wore, and a pair
of her shoes sat beside a clothing chest that must be hers.

Alain had almost reached the kitchen when he
met Joanna, who was carrying a basin and a pitcher from which steam
was rising in curly wisps. Steeling himself to reveal no emotion,
he met her worried look.

“You’ve heard,” he said, taking the heavy
pitcher out of her hand and retracing his steps beside her.

“
I wish I
h
ad been there to help him, but my
father told me not to ride. He fears,” she
stopped, swallowed hard and then went on, not looking at him. “My
father fears that if I ride in the hunt, I may
miscarry.”

“Shouldn’t your riding, or not riding, be
Crispin’s decision?” Alain tried hard not to think about Joanna
bearing Crispin’s child.

“My father overruled Crispin,” she said.

“And you obeyed Radulf?” Alain immediately
answered his own question. “Of course you did. You always have,
haven’t you?” The sarcasm was not lost on her. She would have
protested, no doubt pointing out to him that women had little
opportunity to decide anything for themselves, but Alain went on,
venting a small part of the rage he felt at their predicament. “Who
in the name of all the saints does Radulf think he is,
countermanding a husband’s wishes? Whose rule are you under,
Joanna, your father’s or your husband’s?”

“
I wish
to heaven I were under my own rule,” she snapped. “Then I could
tell you overbearing men what a woman really th
inks,
and
how she
feels!”

“Overbearing?” Eyebrows raised, he regarded
her with amused surprise. “Aye, we must seem so to you. I’m sorry,
Joanna. I did not mean to scold you, but I’m a bit worried about
Crispin.”

“My father said his injuries were not
serious.”

“It’s not his physical condition I was
thinking about. All day I’ve had the strangest feeling about
Crispin, and when I saw him falling off his horse, I thought that
must be why. But it was only a foolish premonition. He’s not badly
hurt. Here, see him for yourself.” Opening the chamber door, Alain
ushered her inside.

Radulf was there, and Father Ambrose, both of
them examining Crispin’s bruises, while Piers stood to one side,
watching them. Seeing Joanna, Crispin took a step toward her, but
Radulf stopped him in order to bend his elbow up and down a few
times, assuring himself that it was still in working order.

“Oh, Crispin,” Joanna cried, “are you all
right?”

“Leave us, daughter,” Radulf growled over his
shoulder. “We’ll tend to Crispin’s injuries and call you
later.”

Joanna’s face betrayed her disappointment at
this command, but after setting the basin down on the clothes chest
she went to the door. There she stopped, looking toward Crispin
with concern. Seeing her hesitate to remain with her husband
because her father had ordered her to go, Alain lost his
temper.

“
God in
heaven!” he exploded. “Crispin is a man, Radulf, not a prize
stallion for you to mate to your favorite mare. And Joanna is a
human being, too, whatever you may
think.”

“Alain!” Father Ambrose turned a shocked
glance in his direction.

“I think we should go,” said Piers, moving
toward Alain.

“I’m staying,” Alain announced.

“You may please yourself.” Dismissing Alain’s
outburst, Radulf returned his attention to Crispin. “I think we
should bind up your ribs. Joanna, find Rohaise and tell her to give
you some of the linen strips we use for bandages.”

“I know where the bandages are, Father.”

“
Then do
as I tell you, and get them. Crispin, sit down on the bed and take
off your hose and let me see your knee. We can’t have a limping
bridegroom, can we? Joanna, I told you to get the bandages. Don’t
just stand there, girl; do as I say. Never mind; here’s Crispin’s
squire. I’ll send him instead, since you can’t se
em to
follow a simple order, you stupid wench.”

Radulf gave an order to the squire, then
greeted his own man, who had come to the chamber door.

“Baird, you’ve arrived at last. Take Joanna
away, will you?”