Lady of Fire (13 page)

"Demoiselle!"

She could recognize Robert of Belesme's voice. Fuld hesitated momentarily, his face paling with fear. Eleanor used the distraction to push the cot at him and to run toward the door. Fuld grasped for her and came up empty-handed.

Belesme pushed his body between her and Fuld, forcing her into another knight's arms. Her protector drew her back a pace and sheltered her with his body.

"Take her to safety," commanded Robert of Belesme as he faced Fuld. With deadly deliberation he raised his broadsword and moved into the tiny cut-out chamber.

Eleanor stood transfixed watching the most feared man in Normandy and Maine advance on Nevers.

Fuld lunged for better position, hoping to force Belesme back out into the larger chamber, where he would at least have room to maneuver against Belesme's greater height and longer reach. From the moment that he'd realized whom he faced, Fuld knew it would be no match, but he was intent now on fighting for the means of his dying. If he could not win, he had no wish to be taken alive into Belesme's terrible hands.

Surprisingly, Count Robert yielded enough room for Fuld to pass into the larger chamber, but his strange half-smile dispelled any thoughts of weakness. Fuld himself knew it was a game now—that Robert meant to toy with him, to terrorize him, and to take him slowly. Fuld swung wildly, moving forward as his sword arced wide of its mark. Belesme's blade touched him lightly on the chest before it was drawn back.

"You would skewer yourself like a fat pig," Belesme murmured as he yielded yet more room. He caught another blow with the side of his blade and broke contact. The smile seemed graven on his face now.

Terror and a night of excesses rendered Fuld clumsy and inept. Gone was the swaggering savage Eleanor knew and despised. The man who faced Belesme seemed to have shrunk measurably. He made so many mistakes and defended himself so poorly that it was obvious even to her that Robert could finish him at will. The fight for Fuld Nevers' life amounted to little more than the clanging of his sword against the count's green-and-white buckler.

It seemed that the encounter went on forever, when in fact it lasted but a few minutes. Belesme teased, taunted, and flaunted his superior skill with the broadsword until Fuld could stand it no longer. As Belesme moved back yet again, Fuld lunged wildly, taking a wide cut with his blade. He caught only air, but the effort staggered him and cost him his balance. The count decided he'd played enough—he swung a heavy-booted foot to kick Fuld's legs out from under him. Then he threw his own weapon away and stepped on Fuld's sword arm, releasing Fuld's grip. With another kick he sent the blade sliding across the floor.

"Jesu!" Roger breathed to break the spell that held everyone in the room. Only then was Eleanor even aware that she stood within her half-brother's arms. Freed finally from Fuld, she could give vent to her emotions, and she began to cry and talk at the same time.

"Oh, Roger… I was so afraid I'd never see you again," she choked. "I thought I'd come here to die." Tears streamed down her bruised face. "I feared you would not understand my message."

He closed protectively around her and murmured soothingly while stroking her hair. "Lea… Lea, you are safe enough now," he reassured her over and over again through his own tears.

Convulsively she clutched the blue material of his surcoat, burying her head in it. Metal links pressed into her skin. Somewhere above her head he spoke softly. "I thought I'd lost you, Lea—I thought my foolishness at Nantes had lost you… Sweet Jesu, but I could have killed him with my hands, Lea!" His gloves dug into her shoulders. "I have been out of my mind, Lea."

The sickening sound of Belesme's boot repeatedly coming down on Fuld's now inert body brought them back to a realization of their surroundings. The count seemed intent on kicking his vassal to death. When it became apparent even to him that Fuld had lapsed into unconsciousness, he gave one last blow. Eleanor winced and let out an audible "Oh."

Robert of Belesme turned to her as though suddenly reminded of her presence. Pulling off his conical helmet with its telltale green plumes, he smoothed back his sweat-damped hair. His high cheekbones bore the imprint of the helmet nasal and his face seemed tired. Walking over to where she stood in the safety of Roger's arms, he removed his glove and touched a bruise that discolored her jaw. His touch was light.

"He will pay for every mark he has placed on you, Demoiselle, I swear. I intend to show everyone what happens to those who would interfere with what is mine." His voice was harsh with anger. His green eyes narrowed as they rested on her scratches and bruises. "He did you no other harm?"

"Nay."

"Your face will heal and men will again remark your beauty, but I am thankful that it will take FitzGilbert several days to get you to Rouen." He watched her eyes widen. "Aye, we still go there. Curthose will yet witness our betrothal."

"But…'tis July," she protested lamely.

"Still so eager, I see," he gibed. "Make the best of it, Eleanor of Nantes, for I have not marched to your aid for nothing."

She could feel Roger tense against her, and she instinctively sought to protect him. "Nay, my lord, you mistake the matter," she told Belesme. "I am but surprised, that is all."

"I take her to Rouen, Robert," Roger spoke coldly, "and after that, I return to my own lands."

"Aye." Belesme's green eyes flickered over both of them. "I think it best if you leave at first light on the morrow." He turned to leave, and then stopped. "What made you write such a letter, Demoiselle?"

"Fuld said he meant to take me as far as Dieppe before he released me," she answered simply, "and I was sure he intended to kill me as an act of defiance to you."

"Probably so. Still, what made you think to direct us to the garderobe pit?"

"I could see daylight at the bottom, and by the smell of it, the pit was but newly dug. Also, 'twould put you within quick reach of Fuld's chamber," she explained.

"Well, 'tis the first time I ever took a castle by climbing through the privy"—Roger grinned happily—"but I am most glad it worked."

Even Belesme was forced to smile. "Aye. Strange that a man of Fuld's filth should be betrayed by a clean garderobe."

Belesme walked to an arrow slit and checked the courtyard below. In the rosy light of dawn, he could see men in Belesme green and Condes blue rounding up prisoners. Roger's squire and Jean Merville were counting and listing them according to rank. In the grassy area between the bailey and curtain walls, others added a few bodies to the open pits. Directly beneath him, Hugh and his captain argued over several prisoners' arms. He leaned forward to order that mail and weapons were to be divided equally between the camps.

Behind him, Fuld Nevers stirred undetected, and bided his time. Hatred and terror commingled—he would not lie tamely waiting for the revenge Belesme would take. Now conscious, he watched his lord from beneath half-closed lids. His fingers inched toward the dagger he wore in his belt.

Eleanor was the first to see him move when he used his strength to rise to a crouch. Even as she screamed out, "My lord, watch him!" Fuld lunged at Belesme's back, his dagger raised and targeted for the unprotected neck. Both Eleanor and Roger acted instinctively. She grabbed at a bed hanging and threw it over Fuld. Enraged, he struck at her wildly. Roger caught his wrist as the dagger cut through her sleeve, and twisted it painfully until Fuld released his grip on the weapon. It slid harmlessly to the floor. Roger delivered a heavy blow to Fuld's stomach, doubling him over. Belesme stepped on his hand and ground the bones into the stone floor.

"Mother of God!" Fuld cried out. "Kill me and be done."

"In due time," Belesme answered as he stood over him, tall and cold, his face set in arrogant cruelty. "You pay, Fuld Nevers, for what you would do to me and mine." Without looking at Eleanor, he murmured, "My thanks, Demoiselle. Are you hurt?"

"Nay, he cut my sleeve, but he drew no blood."

"Demoiselle…" Fuld spoke hoarsely through swollen lips. "Your mercy."

Her hand crept unconsciously to her own battered face and she turned away. "Nay," she half-whispered, "I will pray for your soul, but I can do no more."

"FitzGilbert…" Fuld's eyes moved with effort to Roger.

Roger shook his head. "I gave my word—you are his to do with as he will."

"Roger." Eleanor laid her hand on his shoulder. "By the looks of it, someone has opened your old wound. Blood seeps through your mail and stains your tunic."

" 'Tis nothing."

"Nay," she persisted, "it must be tended to, brother. Let me find Blanche and get something for it." When he did not move, she pushed him toward the stairs. "Come, let us find a place where I may bathe you and tend your shoulder. 'Twill fester, otherwise."

Roger was torn between a desire to be alone with her and a fear that he might somehow betray himself to her. The thought of her hands on his bare skin was tantalizing. Finally he compromised with himself.

"All right, Lea, but I bathe myself—I am better at it. You can salve whatever wounds I have taken."

As they left Fuld's chamber, they could hear Fuld pleading with Robert of Belesme. "My lord, I served you well," he cried, "and answered every call. I am your liegeman."

"In this you served me ill," Belesme answered coldly, "and for that you pay."

"Roger, sit you still whilst I get these last few scrapes."

He winced under her touch as she applied ointment to his back. She dipped her fingers again into the container and then resalved his old shoulder wound.

"I was mistaken," she murmured. "Whoever gave you this blow did not open the other one. It at least is healing well."

He ducked his head and turned to look at the container of ointment. "What is this stuff, anyway?"

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "I had it of Fuld's steward, who said 'twas good for healing horses. Blanche said they had nothing else."

"Are you sure you had it right?" He sniffed it and made a face at her. "Mayhap he said it was made of horse dung. God's teeth, but it smells bad enough. Lea, I cannot go down to eat like this."

She had to smile in spite of the soreness of her face. "It does smell rather strong, doesn't it? But it does not smell like manure to me—'tis more like some kind of grease that has sat overlong." She wiped her hands on a piece of linen and stepped back to survey her handiwork. "Aye—I got them all."

He stood and flexed his bare arms, rippling the muscles in his shoulders. "There were not many this time—I am more sore than cut." He reached for a clean tunic from his roll and pulled it over his head. "At least I have had a bath, though I doubt any will be able to tell."

"They can tell—you no longer smell like Fuld's privy."

"Aye. Lea, I would that you could have seen Belesme scaling the inside of the walls with his sword strapped to his back and his hands bare to hold the scaling hooks. He is ever so careful of his appearance that I had to force myself not to laugh." He sobered, frowning. "But I give him one thing, Lea—he was first up. Jesu, but the man knows no fear."

She came to stand in front of him and reached to place her hands against the sides of his face. "And you were right behind him." She grew serious as she stared up into the brilliant blue eyes. "You cannot know how proud you make me, brother, to know we share the same blood. Sometimes I could die of shame for my father, but you more than make up for his cowardice." She dropped her hands and looked away. "But sometimes I fear I have the taint."

"You, Lea? Nay, you have as much courage as any man. Remember what the Conqueror said of you? That you were the only man amongst us that day?" He spoke lightly until he could see that something really troubled her. "Lea, what ails you?"

"Oh, Roger, all my life I have been afraid of things—that you would leave me, that I would grow old and die at Fontainebleau, that I would be forced to wed with Belesme—I have feared so many things." She swallowed hard for composure. "But these last weeks were the worst of all. I was so frightened that I would not live to see you again."

"Lea… Lea…" he murmured as he enveloped her in strong arms.

"But what if I am like my father?"

" 'Tis no cowardice, Lea, to know fear. I have gone into battle many times, and each and every time, I have faced my enemy with my heart pounding and my stomach in my throat," he told her gently. "Yet no man calls me coward. It is right to fear, but wrong to run." He stepped back slightly while still holding her with one arm. He ran a fingertip along her discolored jaw and shook his head. "And it would seem you had much reason to fear." He became aware as he studied her face that she had many small bruises on her neck and larger ones on her face. She also had several small cuts around her mouth and a swollen upper lip. Abruptly he released her and reached for the salve. "Sit you down, Lea, and let me take care of you."

"Nay, I am all right now," she protested even as he pushed her gently down on the bench. Her hands touched where he had already begun applying the ointment. "I must look awful to you."

He stopped dabbing and shook his head. "On my honor, Lea, you never looked more beautiful to me than when Belesme shoved you into my arms this morning." His hands were gentle as he smoothed the balm over cuts and bruises. "We should have tended you first, I think. I did not realize that he'd cut you."

"He spoke only with his hand, brother. He was too stupid to do otherwise." She sighed heavily. "What will Belesme do to him?"

"Kill him."

"Then I pray he does it quickly."

"He won't." He stepped back and placed the salve container on a low table. "Tell me," he asked casually, "why did you warn Robert today?"

"Belesme fought for me."

"Nay, Lea. He fought for himself and for his wounded pride." He turned away and shook his head. "Fuld could have killed Robert."

"You stopped him also."

"Aye. I could not see him struck from behind." He struck his palm in disgust. "We could have been rid of him, Lea."

"With a stain on our honor."

"In my heart, I know you are right, but my mind tells me that we should have let Fuld take him."