Juliana Garnett (17 page)

Robert grinned, and for a moment Luc could not be irritated with him. It was always this way with Brionne, the sly wit and supreme self-confidence. It was those qualities that had first appealed to Luc so long ago. He should not curse him for them now. But Robert had a way of pricking him that could be much too close for comfort.

“Say it then, Robert. I am in need of food and clean garments before I meet with William.”

Clapping a friendly arm around Luc’s shoulders, Robert turned him down the corridor. “We shall talk along the way. I
find myself quite curious as to your interest in this chained lady, and would hear why it is necessary for you to so bind your female conquests.”

Luc shook his head. “She is not my conquest. It is her lands that I conquered, not the lady. The lady is—not yet conquered.”

“Even more intriguing. Come to my chambers, and I will give you good wine and meat, and share my meager wardrobe.”

Luc eyed him dubiously. Robert was almost as tall as he, but slim as a birch rod. “It has been a long time since we were able to share clothing.”

“Yes, but a loose tunic can cover a multitude of sins with the right belt. Have you increased your girth that much, old friend?”

Luc grinned. “If you want answers to the questions you are so determined to ask, you had best be courteous.”

“Ah, did I offend? I most humbly beg your pardon.” Robert steered him into a small chamber with one window high on the opposite wall over a narrow bed. It was empty of furniture save for a table and some stools. Several chests stood against one wall. Robert waved an expansive arm. “My spacious quarters. I share them with four others, so do not think me too far above my station. Here. Try the black tunic first.”

Luc caught the tossed garment, but draped it over the table near the door. “I brought suitable garments with me. I just wanted to talk to you where we would not be overheard. Tell me what has happened in my absence. I need to know William’s mood.”

Robert shrugged, and hooking a stool with one foot, pulled it to him and straddled it. “The Danes have gone back to their ships in the Humber River, and Earls Edgar and Cospatric are with King Malcolm and the Scots. William is intent on harrying and destroying all he can so that there will be few uprisings in the future. St. Peter was plundered and destroyed, but William has focused all his energies on rebuilding castles instead of churches. His mood is—most determined.”

“When has William ever been less?” Luc rubbed a hand over his jaw. “How fares the situation with Sweyn?”

“The king sent Count Robert de Mortain and Count Robert de Eu to the Humber to guard the river and the land around it. If the Danes form another assault, we will know.”

“There is no way to get at Sweyn’s forces?”

Robert shook his head. “No. Their fleet lies in the river, but they are bound by winter as we will be.”

“And Stafford?”

“Is secure and held in William’s name. I do not think it will be overrun again.” Robert placed both hands on his knees and leaned forward, his spurs clinking slightly against the wooden rungs of the stool. “Now tell me of this Saxon woman, and how she has come to be with you. Is she hostage?”

“She is the old lord’s daughter.”

“And the old lord?” Robert prompted. “Where is he?”

“Dead.”

“Ah. Killed in battle. Too bad. William wished to deal with him as a lesson for any other upstart rebels.”

Luc grimaced. “Lord Balfour has been dead near four months.”

Silence fell. Robert stared at him. “Then who—? No. Not the maid! That fair damsel is the rebel leader?”

“You are much more clever than you have a right to be. How did you guess?”

Robert’s dark eyes danced with suppressed mirth, which was just as irritating as his unctuous manner. “I am not so clever as you must be, my lord, to have defeated such a dread warrior in battle. And then to bring the hostage draped in chains—a dangerous feat which will be well rewarded, I am certain.”

“Damn you, Robert.” It was said without rancor.

Sympathetic now, Robert sighed. “The king will not be pleased.”

“That was my thought as well.” Luc’s mouth twisted in a
wry grimace. “It will not sit well with him at all that Sir Simon was slain at the behest of a young maid.”

“She could not do it alone. What of her housecarls? Her captains?”

“Those who were not slain have sworn fealty to me and to William. The lady took full responsibility for the rebellion, so it is her that I brought to William.” He paused, frowning. “One of Sir Simon’s own men told me that she tried to negotiate, but was refused. Her messenger’s ears were returned as a reply from Sir Simon.”

“Ah.”

Luc glanced up, annoyed. “That information should earn a more appropriate reaction.”

“Such as?”

“Outrage.”

“I am properly incensed. Look you, Luc,” Robert said, rising from the stool, “it is not to me you need tell this tale, but the king.”

“I know that, Robert. I wanted to see how it sounded spoken aloud. It is not very believable.”

“And you fear for the maid.”

Luc hesitated. “In her place,” he said slowly, “I might very well have done the same. She was assailed on all sides by Danes, Scots, and even Saxon earls. There was no one she could trust. Sir Simon betrayed his intentions by slaying her messenger, a boy of only fifteen years, so what was she to think?”

“The worst,” Robert said succinctly. “In her place, I would have given control to the first capable man and then retreated to a safe corner.”

“There are no safe corners in England. Surely you have learned that by now.” Luc’s mouth tightened. “There have never been safe corners in England, not as long as I have lived here.”

Robert made no reply to that, but remarked instead on his intention to call for meat and wine. “And your baggage. You stink of horse and mud. Did you bring your squire?”

“No. He is left to tend Wulfridge in my absence.”

“Then I will lend you mine.” Robert paused at the door and turned back to look at Luc. “What of Lady Amélie?”

“What of her?”

“She thinks to bind you to her now that you are titled. But I suppose you are aware of that.”

Luc grinned. “Her greeting left me in little doubt of her intentions. But it was not too long ago that she told me she could not waste herself on a man with no future, so I am not overly impressed by her sudden change of heart.”

“Perhaps I should not worry about you unduly, after all. There was a time …”

His grin faded. “Yes, there was a time when I might have been fooled. But that was long ago, Robert, when I had more trust in words spoken by those who professed affection. I have learned better.”

Robert leaned against the door frame, his gaze dark and searching. “Will you go home again?”

“Wulfridge will be my home.”

“Once I would never have thought you would call England home again. Not after—”

“No, not after being disowned. There are times Fate must laugh at us all, Robert.”

A sudden noise outside snared their attention, and Robert observed that the king must have returned from his hunt. “He will be advised of your arrival, so you had best make haste.”

Luc rose and began to unbuckle his sword belt. “Send hot water first. You’re right. I smell of horse and mud.”

“It is not you who should worry about impressing the king, but the Saxon lady. I will assure that she has what is needed.”

Luc wasn’t at all certain it would help her with the king, but it could not hurt to be presentable. Perhaps her youth and gender would do more than anything else to earn mercy.

Robert’s squire arrived shortly, bringing scented water and thick cloths. Stripped down to just his linen hose, Luc splashed hot water on his hair and face and scrubbed vigorously. There was need for haste, for he must retrieve the documents he had prepared for the king as well, then find the right words to tell him about Sir Simon. The squire held out a pot of soap for him, and Luc used it liberally. The water was soon brown with dislodged mud.

Soap lather stung his eyes, and he fumbled for a cloth to dry his face. It was thrust into his hand, and he mumbled appreciation to the squire.

Soft laughter greeted his thanks, and he opened one eye to peer at the source.

Lady Amélie de Vescy stood beside him, wreathed in smiles. Aggravated, he stared at her. Her green eyes were glowing and her lovely oval face lit with a welcome that fairly dripped honey. What a calculating little tart she had become. His sudden and fortuitous rise from mere knight to baron charmed her when he had not.

Amélie slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, her long, pale fingers squeezing gently. “You rogue, to leave me like you did, without even a farewell! You have no shame, to treat me that way after all we have meant to one another.”

He removed her hand with controlled precision, lifting a brow. “Your memory serves you better than mine does me, my lady. What did we mean to one another?”

Her voice lowered, and her smile deepened. “Do you not recall that night in Winchester? When you spoke of longing for me?”

“I recall it very well. Longing was not the word I used, however.”

She shrugged daintily. “Longing, desire, they both mean the same thing, Luc.”

“And you rejected both the word and my attentions, if I
recall correctly.” He dragged the cloth over his face and throat, then his chest, eyeing her with cynical amusement. “Am I to believe that you did not mean it when you informed me I was unworthy of you?”

“That was then. Now, you are more than worthy.” She affected a sighing lisp. “You must know that I only intended to inspire you, to rouse you to action on your own behalf.”

“I was already roused to action, but you did not choose to bestow your favors on me that night.” Luc tossed the cloth to the table beside the bowl of water. Ignoring Amélie’s pout, he moved to where the squire had laid out his clean clothing, and she followed.

“Ah, Luc, if I were to fall into your arms every time you asked, you would soon tire of me. I want to keep your interest.” She ran a hand up his bare back, fingers stroking softly as she whispered in a sultry murmur, “But my heart still races when I remember our first night together, and how you swept me away with your passion.”

He pulled a fine linen sherte over his head and laced it at the throat, then reached for the elegant black tunic trimmed in red braid and emblazoned with the image of a wolf. Young wolf—Louvat. It was a name he would bear with pride now, instead of the jest it had first been. Fitting, as William had said, that he won the lands of Wulfridge. A mental image of the white wolf flickered in his mind for a moment, quickly followed by the more vivid image of Ceara. Two she-wolves.

“Luc?”

Reaching for his belt, he frowned at Amélie when she demanded to know if he was listening to her. “No, I am not. I have an audience with the king. I do not have time to listen to a woman’s prattle.”

Amélie gasped with outrage, but quickly stifled it. She may be the queen’s cousin and the widow of a Norman baron, but the lady put far too much worth on her rank, and even more on
her beauty. It wasn’t her fault, for men oft told her how lovely she was, and she had heard it so long, she believed her beauty could make up for a fickle heart. To him she had been only a casual conquest, and her refusal of his further advances had caused him no great concern. There were many willing women of equal fairness, with softer tongues and less vanity.

“I came to you at the wrong time, I see,” Amélie said stiffly. “Later, we will have time for more talk, and …” She smiled. “Other things.”

There was no advantage to being deliberately cruel when it was not required. He shrugged. “I do not have long in York. I must return swiftly to Wulfridge to hold my new lands.”

“Of course. I understand.” She moved to the door and turned, one hand smoothing the green folds of her gown in a restless motion. “I count it fortunate that the king saw fit to introduce us last year, Luc. Do you think he had ulterior motives in doing so?”

“No. You are his wife’s cousin, and William is too courteous to ignore either of us. Attach no importance to that, Amélie, for it was naught but pure chance.”

She laughed throatily. “Nothing is pure chance, Luc. There will be a banquet tonight. I will seek you there.”

Luc did not reply, and after a moment, she eased out the door. Her perfume lingered, smelling of strong spice. But it only reminded him of the gentle, arousing scent of lavender on soft flesh, and he shook his head. He was becoming too engrossed with Ceara.

Hefting his sword, he buckled it around his waist and finished dressing. William would be waiting for his report. By nightfall, he would officially be the new lord of Wulfridge. It would be his by law as well as deed, a Norman holding instead of Saxon.

Ceara’s image swam before his eyes again, and he swore softly as he quit the chamber and strode down the corridor
toward the great hall where William waited. Why should he feel responsible for what another had done? His sense of honor demanded that he present her defense to William, but if she chose not to accept his aid or to be foolishly obstinate, he could do nothing else for her. She would have to save herself.