Lady of Fire (16 page)

It seemed that she stood a long time waiting. None of the men spoke at all, and most eyed her warily. When it began to appear that Belesme would not see her, she turned to go back to Fuld's tower, but a man moved to block her way.

"Nay, Demoiselle," one man spoke while keeping his eyes respectfully on the ground. "You wait for my lord."

"I tire of waiting—I would seek my brother."

"The Bastard?" The fellow seemed to spit out the words. "Nay…" His mouth curved scornfully. "He is not here. He has not the stomach to watch."

He spoke so matter-of-factly about Fuld's fate that Eleanor shivered involuntarily. And his placid acceptance of the horror made her wish she'd never ventured down. She'd no real wish to see Belesme—it was Roger she sought.

The trapdoor creaked, then slammed, and booted footsteps could be heard crunching on loose cobblestones. And then he emerged from the shadows. He walked to the cistern and washed his hands before coming to her.

Even in the torchlight she could see his fancy tunic was blood-spattered, but the usually fastidious Belesme seemed unconcerned. His mouth curved into a slight smile as he faced her.

"Demoiselle," he acknowledged. "How may I serve you?"

One look at the tunic was enough for Eleanor—she knew she had no business there. She twisted her hands in the folds of her gown and looked away.

"You sent for me," he prompted impatiently. "Surely you must want something."

"I… I wanted to see my brother."

He frowned. "My man said 'twas me you asked for."

"I did," she admitted uncomfortably under that strange green-eyed gaze. "My lord, what have you down with my brother?"

"FitzGilbert?" He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "I supposed him fast asleep at your feet, guarding you like the faithful hound." He could see she was unconvinced. "All I can tell you, Eleanor, is that he was with me for a while, but his stomach betrayed his disgust of the task. I thought he left to go to bed."

"You are certain?"

"Demoiselle"—his voice grew deadly soft—"I do not lie to you."

"Your pardon, my lord, I should not have come," she managed finally.

"Nay, you should not. In the future, you will not go about unescorted, Lady Eleanor, for I've far too many in my service who would take first and repent later."

"Like yourself?"

"Nay, I never have to repent."

A captain emerged from the shadows, carrying a bloody towel with something fairly small wrapped in it. Belesme frowned at the intrusion before ordering curtly, "Burn it."

"What is it?" she asked before she thought. Instantly she regretted the question.

"Nothing of importance," Belesme answered. "Suffice it to say that Fuld Nevers will never again curse me." He took in her bare feet and her loose shift. " 'Tis no place for you. Demoiselle—you'd best seek your bed. You and FitzGilbert leave at first light." He motioned to the guard nearest her. "Take the lady to her quarters and remain outside until either I or the Bastard comes up."

It was with a sense of relief that she followed the Belesme man back up the tower stairs. Behind her she could hear Robert of Belesme tell someone, "We are not done—I would bring him around again." She mumbled a prayer for Fuld Nevers' soul.

Once back in her cot, she lay awake waiting for Roger. He finally came up and pulled his pallet across her doorway. She rose and padded to where he unrolled his blanket.

"Roger, where have you been?" she demanded. "I could not sleep for the sound of Belesme's vengeance, and I feared for you."

"Well, as you can see, I am all right." His voice sounded strange to her.

"Are you sure, brother?" She peered anxiously in the semidarkness.

"Aye. Leave me be, Lea, and let me sleep. Tomorrow we leave this accursed place."

Aubery and Jean Merville came up dragging their pallets with them. Jean saw her and explained cheerfully, " 'Tis crowded in the hall below, and I doubt many will want to sleep here." He glanced at Roger and added, "Though Belesme did offer to share the bed with him."

"I'd sooner sleep with a viper."

"By the looks of it, Count Robert will be up most of the night," Aubery observed. "I think I'd take the bed."

"I thought Fuld was dead," Eleanor spoke. "He cries out no more."

"Nay," Roger answered grimly. "If he is silent now, 'tis because he has no tongue." He struck his palm angrily. "Robert's blood lust is too great—he promised to wait until we left."

"Fuld has no tongue, Roger?" she echoed foolishly. "Sweet Jesu!"

"Nay, nor eyes either, Lea. And Robert means to skin him like an animal before he is dead." Roger's face was grayish and waxy in the faint light.

"He said you weren't there."

"Who?"

"Belesme."

"Mother of God! Lea, you did not go down there? 'Tis no fit place for a lady—nor for anyone else."

She nodded. "I couldn't find you," she answered simply.

"Well, I was there for a while, but Belesme's means sickened me. I dispatch mine enemies in battle, or I hang them." He looked away. "I walked the curtain wall until I was sick no more, Lea." He bent to turn back the blanket. "Get you to bed so that we may undress and get some sleep."

"Aye." She moved back into the cut-out chamber and lay down. In the outer room she could hear the rustling of clothes being discarded. One by one, the men crawled into their pallets. "God guard you, Roger," she whispered softly into the darkness.

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Ahead lay Rouen, Normandy's capital, the Romanesque spires of the Conqueror's cathedral dominating its city walls. Roger reined in his horse and signaled a halt to the armed escort behind him. Before Aubery could assist him, he dismounted and made his way to Eleanor.

His blond hair gleamed in the sunlight as he spoke up to her, "We stop here." He reached up to help her down while explaining, "It grows late, and I would not deprive Curthose of his welcome. We can ride into the city in the morning with his full escort, and play to his love of ceremony."

"Aye," she agreed as his strong hands grasped her waist and set her on the ground. Her legs were tired and aching from hours in the saddle. She took an unsteady step and caught at Roger's arm for balance. "Jesu, but I am weary."

"Walk a pace—'twill ease the stiffness, I promise." In a low undervoice he reminded her, " 'Tis best to get used to it, Lea, for by the end of the week we'll have to ride for our lives."

"So soon?"

"Aye." He squinted into the sun. "Once betrothed, you are his."

She sighed and nodded. "Oh, Roger, sometimes I allow myself to forget why I am here. I have so enjoyed your company since Mayenne that I willed the journey not to end. I would we could always be like this, laughing, jesting, with no thought of Belesme."

"We can."

She shook her head. "Nay, he will always be behind us, seeking vengeance for the insult we offer."

"He has to find us first, Lea, and I doubt he can know where I mean to take you."

"England is not unknown to him, brother. You would forget he holds lands there also." They were away from the rest and she felt free to speak her mind. She traced aimless circles in soft dirt with the toe of her shoe. "What I would say is that he will come for us—England is no proof against discovery."

"I know that. But by the time he finds us, I hope to have secured a powerful ally of mine own." He frowned thoughtfully into the sun. "and if I have not, we will flee to Byzantium like I told you."

"And then you would give up forever any hope of reclaiming your lands! Nay, I cannot let you do it!"

"Lea—" Over her head he could see the interested glances of his men-at-arms. He put an arm about her shoulder and turned her away from them, lowering his voice again as he did so. "Lea, let me worry about my lands. I trust Henry to hold them for me. Come," he coaxed, "let us talk no more of Robert of Belesme tonight."

"But I fear for us!" She would have turned into his arms, but he moved away.

"Do you doubt my ability to protect you?"

"Nay… yea… I don't know…'tis no light thing we do to defy Church, state, and family, Roger. 'Twill not be just Belesme—the world will be against us."

"And that frightens you."

"Aye."

He put both hands on her shoulders and studied her face. "Tell me, and tell me true, Lea—is it for me or for you that you fear?"

She looked away. "For both of us."

"Nay, Lea, 'tis not so. Look at me and answer."

"All right," she answered low, "I fear for you."

"You think me no match for Belesme." His blue eyes were intent and serious. "And you are wrong. Besides, now there is no other way."

"Nay, I could wed with Belesme," she half-whispered.

"Did I hear you aright, Lea? You did not say that."

"Aye." She nodded. "Now that we are here, I see no other course. 'Tis folly to think we can escape him."

"Lea." He touched her nearly healed bruises lightly with a fingertip. "Remember the beatings you took of Fuld? Well, Robert can be ten times worse—I have served with him in William's train and I know the man. The first time he is displeased with dinner or with your gown, he is like to beat you to death."

"If I give him sons …" Her voice trailed off in uncertainty.

"What if you do not? Your mother bore no sons," he reminded her gently. "Robert is no Gilbert…he might kill you to wed another."

"But there is naught else for me!" she cried out. "I can take my vows as a nun and rot at Fontainebleau or I can wed with Robert Talvas and rot at Belesme!"

"Nay. I can promise you a better life in England, if you will but trust me. Lea—you do trust me, do you not?"

"Aye."

"Then let me hear no more of these foolish fears. We leave from Rouen as soon as my riders report all is ready." He turned and yelled back at the milling men, "Put up the tents! We camp here until my sister enters Rouen under Curthose's escort!"

The Duke of Normandy, resplendent in crimson satin and cloth of gold, rode out in person to greet her. As he dismounted and walked over for the presentation, Eleanor found it easy to understand why he was called Curthose. He had little of Prince Henry's good looks, and certainly none of his height. She remembered the Conqueror telling her how small the Duchess Mathilde had been and she surmised that their eldest son favored his mother. Moreover, his legs were disproportionately short. But his manner was bluff and friendly to a fault.

"Demoiselle," he called out before he reached her. "Art even comelier than Henry said—if such is possible."

She sank to her knees in obeisance, murmuring, "Your Grace is most kind."

"We bid you welcome to Normandy's court," he announced as he raised her himself, then turned to a lord at his side, saying openly, " 'Tis no wonder Robert would have her and none other."

"Demoiselle." Eleanor spun around at the sound of Prince Henry's voice, and found her hands clasped warmly in both of his. "You gave us a fright when we heard that Fuld Nevers held you."

"Aye, Lady Eleanor," Curthose agreed, "but when we knew FitzGilbert and Robert came to your aid, we were sure you would be all right."

"I never thought so," Henry reminded him.

"Aye, you would have called up an army and marched yourself—if you but had an army to call. As it was, you badgered me to release some from Bec to you. Praise God, it proved unnecessary." He motioned some well-dressed courtiers forward, saying, "Allow me, dear child, to present the counts of Blois, Artois, Champagne, and also Rannulf of Coutances, William de Egremont, Henry of Avranches, and Geoffrey de Monthermer." Each man acknowledged her with a deferential bow. "My duchess and the ladies of her court would have come also, but she nears her time, and the physicians advise against riding." He glanced up at an imperious woman who still sat astride her horse and nodded. "My sister Adela comes in her stead to bid you welcome." Adela inclined her head slightly.

Eleanor could not help but remember Henry telling her long ago that his sister Adela had the temper of a viper. One look at the haughty lady who sat above her made Eleanor think he'd not exaggerated. Nonetheless, she was the Conqueror's daughter, and Eleanor sank in a curtsy next to her horse.

"Rise you, Demoiselle, that we may ride back in. The sun grows high and hot." Adela leaned across her pommel. "Ah, FitzGilbert, your return to my brother's court is a most welcome diversion. Marie already pastes and powders her face in anticipation of your arrival."

Roger reddened. "The lady of Coutances has little need of artifice," he answered smoothly in spite of his blush.

"Aye." Adela cast a significant look at Rannulf de Coutances. "But her brother would have for her a higher-born lover."

Henry leaned closer to whisper to Eleanor. "They speak of Marie de Coutances, Demoiselle, for 'twas well known she cast sheep's eyes at your brother."

"Is she very beautiful?" Eleanor asked without even thinking.

"Very." Henry flashed his winning smile at Eleanor. "But not nearly so much so as you. I'll warrant you'll set Normandy's court on its ears. Long have I wanted to bring you here to show its conceited ladies a rarer beauty. I just wish you had come under different circumstances."

But Eleanor was barely attending. She had conceived a real desire to meet and know Lady Marie, for she had to determine if Marie were Roger's unnamed love.

"Demoiselle"—Henry still smiled—"I pay you lavish praise, and you do not attend me. Had I less conceit, you would destroy me."

"Oh… your pardon—I was thinking of why I am here, I suppose."

"Enough to make any maid absentminded, I'll warrant. Here, let me put you up." He indicated the palfrey that Aubrey had brought forward. "My gift to you, Demoiselle, for your betrothal—a fast-paced goer," he added significantly. His brown eyes met her darker ones and his gaze was warm with the intimacy of conspiracy. He cupped his hand and bent to allow her to step into it.

"How left you the Count of Belesme?" Curthose asked Roger behind her. "When can we expect him in Rouen?"

"I left him well enough, and I expect him within the next day or two—however long it took Fuld Nevers to die will be the length of his delay."

Robert of Normandy hastily signed the cross over his breast. "God aid his troubled soul," he murmured.

"Robert's or Fuld's?" asked his brother-in-law, the Count of Blois. "If you speak of Belesme's, you waste your breath, for I doubt he has one."

"You forget why we are here." Robert Curthose frowned with a furtive nod toward Eleanor. "No doubt the maid's skittish enough as it is."

Stephen I of Blois shook his head. "The girl's a beauty and I pity her for what you and her father would do to her."

"We make her a countess."

"Queen of Hell, you mean." Stephen's gaze rested on Eleanor as she sat talking down to Prince Henry. "The girl will stir men, and Belesme in his jealousy will either kill her or them."

"My sister watches you," Curthose warned.

"Let her." Stephen shrugged. "I grow tired of her coldness in my bed, and I have my heir in my namesake."

"Well, I would not look to Belesme's betrothed."

"Nay, I am no fool." He leaned in front of the duke and addressed Roger. "Speaking of the fair Marie, FitzGilbert, what interest have you in that quarter?" He spoke low enough that neither Eleanor or Henry could hear.

"None at all, my lord."

Stephen appeared relieved. "I thought not, but I was not sure. I would hate to lose you to Rannulf's fury. He guards her well."

"Then take care yourself, my lord count," Roger retorted.

"FitzGilbert gives wise counsel." Curthose nodded. "And Adela will brook no dalliance with a lady of the court." He looked around and noted that both Fitz-Gilbert's and his own escort were mounted and ready for Eleanor of Nantes' official entry into Rouen. He motioned to his herald, who blew the approach signal, and the columns fell in, moving slowly and sedately toward the open city gates.

Built by the Romans some seven centuries earlier, Rouen was a large and ancient city. Even Eleanor was caught in the excitement of being in the provincial capital as their retinue wended its way through narrow streets lined with tall row houses. In honor of her arrival, Curthose had ordered bunting hung from windows, and great banners combining the gold of Nantes with the green of Belesme waved from specially raised flagpoles. The curious citizenry leaned from windows and balconies to view the girl chosen to be Robert of Belesme's bride. Earlier, festivities had been planned for the week of June 1, but Fuld Nevers had caused a postponement that necessitated a paring down of plans—food that could not be kept had been consumed at the time. Now Curthose had to content himself with more show and less substance.

Eleanor waved until her shoulder ached from the effort, and the town seemed to take her to its heart. The sight of the beautiful girl so soon to be condemned to a life with Robert Talvas of Belesme touched them and they made up for what they could not do by cheering hoarsely as she passed. About halfway through the city, someone noted the blond-headed knight, resplendent in polished mail and flowing surcoat of blue and gray, who rode at her side. Cries of "Demoiselle! Demoiselle!" were joined by the chant "FitzGilbert! FitzGilbert!"

Henry, who rode on her other side, yelled above the crowd to tell her, "They remember your brother for his defense of my father at Mantes."

Ahead of them, Curthose frowned and ceased waving. It was one thing for the town to open its heart to a girl on her way to Belesme, but it was another to watch his people cheering the baseborn Roger FitzGilbert. He spurred his horse and moved faster toward the ducal palace. The entire entourage picked up speed until it raced the last quarter-mile.

Once inside the palace yard, Duke Robert threw down his reins and dismounted quickly. Brushing Henry and Roger aside, he reached to help Eleanor down. As he set her on the ground, he smiled, tight-lipped, and told her, "You cannot say all of Normandy does not love you, Demoiselle."

I wish you would not pace like a chained animal, Demoiselle," the Duchess of Normandy reproved mildly, "for the bridegroom will come whether you will it or not." She jabbed at a hanging she was working and pulled the silken thread through, expertly knotting it and breaking it off. " 'Tis the lot of a woman to take what her father gives her."

Eleanor moved back from the open casement and sighed. Less than an hour before, the duchess' page had scurried in with the news that Robert of Belesme approached the city and would be there before nightfall. The duchess' ladies viewed her with a mixture of pity and amusement. Marie de Coutances moved to her side and laid a timid hand on her arm.

"We could play at chess, or we could walk the garden if you like."

"I care not which," Eleanor sighed.

Marie went to get the pieces from a low chest in a corner of the duchess' bower. She returned and set up the game on a small table, positioned silk cushions on the well-swept floor, and motioned the restless Eleanor over. Both girls took their places and began their play.

Usually a decent player, Eleanor let her attention stray too often and her game suffered. Finally Marie pushed the board away. "Lady Eleanor, 'twould be unfair to continue. Come—let us go to the garden."

Try as she would, Eleanor found it impossible to dislike the fair Marie. Younger than herself by at least three years, the girl possessed a good mind and a gentle disposition. Her main folly seemed to be her open admiration of Roger FitzGilbert, a passion that made her the object of gibes and jests from some of the other ladies. It was obvious that she was not alone in her affection for him, but she was less able to conceal her feelings than the others were. And, Eleanor suspected, some of the barbs reflected jealousy of the girl's beauty. With long silky hair of pale gold, large blue eyes, delicately translucent skin, and almost regal carriage, Marie de Coutances was much admired by the men of the court. Eleanor nodded at the taller girl. "Aye, I could use the walk."