Lady of Fire (20 page)

And when he finally did manage to sleep, it seemed not to last long. Sometime, in the stillness of night, she cried out with several piercing, terrified shrieks. Both he and Jean Merville sat bolt upright and reached for weapons. Roger gained his dagger first and lunged to where Eleanor lay. Her eyes were closed and her hands held out as though to fend off someone. Otherwise, the three of them were alone.

"Lea! Lea!" He shook her awake with his free hand. "What is it?"

Her eyes flew open and she began to shake uncontrollably before covering her face with her hands. Heedless of his nakedness, he dropped his knife and knelt beside her. She clutched at him convulsively and began to sob. Roger began to croon softly. "Shhhhh… hush, Lea… shhhh…'tis all right."

"What ails her, my lord?" Merville asked anxiously behind him.

"A dream, I think."

Jean crossed himself superstitiously and bent closer. "Demoiselle, are you all right?"

"Aye," Roger answered for her, "but she is frightened. Lea… Lea, what is it you fear?"

Eleanor swallowed and caught her breath without releasing her grip on him. " 'Twas Belesme, Roger—I saw him as clearly as if he stood in this very room. He came at me."

"Well, he is not here, as you can see. 'Twas but a dream. I am here and I have you safe."

"Roger…" She clutched him even more tightly and swallowed hard. "I saw you lying in blood at his feet."

"Jesu! God's teeth, Lea, but you are a comfort to a man! Listen, it was but a dream. Here…"He turned to Merville and ordered, "Give me my tunic—I am as naked as I was born."

Slowly Eleanor mastered herself, and the terror of a dream too real began to fade. Though the sun was not yet rising, the loft was fairly light and she could see there were only the three of them. She released Roger self-consciously and hung her head in embarrassment.

"I am sorry, brother—I did not mean to wake either of you."

"Nay, Lea, 'tis all right." He looked to his bare shoulders, where her fingernails had dug in and left ugly red marks. "Jesu, but you are strong for such a little maid." He pulled on his tunic and lay back down beside her.

Below, the footsteps of men running could be heard. Someone stood on a lower rung of the ladder and called up, "Is it your lady's time? Should we call Gundrade?"

"Nay, 'twas a bad dream," Roger called back down. "She is all right now."

One by one, the curious left and the stable settled again into silence. The three of them lay without speaking, each uncertain as to the significance of her dream. It seemed that it was still enough to hear time slipping by like the sands in a glass. Finally Eleanor could stand it no longer and sat up.

"What is it this time?" Roger asked quietly.

"Nothing—I cannot sleep."

Reluctantly he sat up also. "Jean, are you awake?"

"I could scarce be anything else, my lord."

"Aye." Roger rose and went to the window at the end of the room. "Well, I think the sun comes up soon…'twill be light by the time we break our fast. You have a long ride to the Condes and we can reach Saint Valéry early."

Merville heaved his stocky body up heavily and reached for his brown chausses. Eleanor reddened and turned her back while both men dressed. When it came her turn, Roger assured her they had no intention of watching. Reluctantly she got up and fastened the thick bundle at her waist before straightening her shift and pulling the dull blue gown over it.

"Jesu, but she looks small to be with child, Roger," Merville noticed.

"Sweet Mary, if I hear one more time how little I am, Jean, I shall box your ears myself."

"Nay, Demoiselle," Merville apologized, "that was not my meaning. God knows our Duchess Mathilde made you look like a warhorse."

"Did you ever see her?"

"Aye—I was seven or eight at the time, and I came eye-to-eye with her. Now, there was a tiny woman." He sat to pull on his boots. "She had the bones of a child herself, yet she was safely delivered nine or more times, by all counts."

"Was she very pretty?"

"Not then, but I think she once was. Nay—she must have been, for 'twas said the Old Conqueror never strayed once from her bed."

"Aye," Roger joined in soberly, "we bastards are loath to get bastards."

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"Jesu!" Eleanor clutched at Roger's arm as they made their way to the pier. "Brother, turn round and walk across the grass toward the steps. Nay, do not look up."

"Joan, what ails thee?" Roger asked aloud before whispering in an undervoice, "Where do you think you are going, Lea?"

"Belesme!" she hissed back.

"God's teeth, but you imagine him everywhere."

"Nay, he is here—I just saw him on the pier."

Roger stopped in his tracks and barely turned back for a quick look. There, boarding the deck of the
Sea Wolf
, was indeed Robert of Belesme, his tall frame unmistakable in its telltale green clothing. At dock-side, several men wearing his colors waited.

"We are betrayed, brother," Eleanor whispered as she walked slowly across the steep hillside that sloped down to the harbor.

"Nay—Henry would not, and only he knew which ship we took. 'Tis but ill luck that brings Belesme here." He put an arm easily about Eleanor's shoulders and cautioned. "Do not do anything rash, Lea, for we are not yet noted. We are but a poor knight and his lady come to look at the ships. Walk leisurely over to watch the one coming in, but keep you face away from view."

"Aye." She kept her face on his as though intent on conversation. "But what do we do now?"

"First, we leave Saint Valéry and seek another port. If that proves unfeasible, we take to the woods and wait for the soldiers to leave. Once he is satisfied we are not in the area, Robert will move on to another place."

To Eleanor it seemed the casual stroll up the hill was the longest walk of her life. Her legs ached as though from walking a league or more, and her neck hurt from the tension of holding her head studiously away from Belesme's line of vision.

No sooner had they reached their horses than a new contingent of green-shirted soldiers arrived and dismounted. The leader hailed Roger, "Halt, sir—where go you and your lady?"

Eleanor's heart thumped painfully in her chest as she tightened her grip on Roger. Had they come this far to be taken? Roger turned cheerfully to the captain and saluted his greeting. The man walked over to talk and Eleanor held her breath.

"What goes here?" Roger asked with the air of the most casual observer. "Joan and I are wont to watch the ships, but the place is overrun with men-at-arms."

"Aye." The captain squinted into the full sun at them and nodded. "We seek two runaways, a man and a woman, for my lord of Belesme."

Roger crossed himself as though struck by the dreaded name. Eleanor saw and did the same, a gesture not unnoticed by the man. "Nay, 'tis only those two we want—Count Robert has no need of a woman in her condition." He laughed at his own humor. "But you, sir—you bear the look of a mercenary."

"Aye. I serve in Alan of Brittany's train, but am released to take Joan, my wife, to her relatives before she is brought to bed with the child."

The captain squinted again in Eleanor's direction and shook his head. "Well, were she mine, she'd not be in camp anyway. 'Tis a fine-looking lady you have."

"These two you seek—what have they done?" Eleanor asked innocently.

"Think you Belesme tells the likes of us? Nay, we are but told to find Roger FitzGilbert and Eleanor of Nantes. A fool's chase, if you ask me, for I doubt the FitzGilbert would seek a port. From all I've heard of the man, he's as shrewd as Count Robert. Nay—by now, I'd say he and the lady were safe in France." He turned again to Roger. "Sir, if you should mark a wealthy lord and an heiress on the road, seek out the authority in any village…'tis worth five hundred silver marks to you."

"Five hundred marks! Jesu, but he must want them," Roger breathed as though he contemplated a fortune.

"Aye…'tis a lifetime of fighting for you and me to see a quarter of that, isn't it?" The captain nodded to the wharf and pointed out Robert of Belesme. "There's my lord himself—he awaits us. Well, I suppose we'll have to go down and tell him the search is fruitless."

"What then?"

The man shrugged. " 'Tis a thankless task, what with merchants and townsmen protesting, but I suppose we'll close some more ports and not let any board without a pass from Normandy's officials."

"Well, I wish you good fortune in your search, but I have to get Joan back on the road else the babe will be born ere we get there."

"Where are you bound?"

"Humphrey de Granville's keep—he is my wife's kinsman."

"Well, I am not from the area, so I have no knowledge of the man, but I wish you a safe journey, sir. And to you, lady, a safe lying-in."

"My thanks," Eleanor murmured, grateful that the man gave signs of moving away at last.

When the men had passed and were making their way down the steep wooden steps to the quay, Eleanor turned to Roger, asking, "What now, brother?"

"We take to the woods and pray I can feed us," he answered with a new grimness. "Nay, we are not done yet, Lea—let him close the ports. There is still a way out if we can but last until he moves to another place." He patted the hand that clutched his arm. "Come, we've got to get out of here before we are recognized."

He led her leisurely to the horses and put her up before checking the packs on the sumpter horse. Then, mounting his own big bay, he clicked the reins and set a slow, easy pace out of town. It wasn't until the city gates were far behind them that he spurred into a gallop.

"Where are we bound?" Eleanor shouted after him as she applied the whip to her own horse.

"You'll see soon enough!" he yelled back. " Tis not far."

Eleanor surveyed the pallets she'd laid within the walls of an abandoned church and sighed. It was not Nantes or Rouen, to be sure—it was not even Fontainebleau—but it was well off the main road. In fact, the old road that had led to the church had been abandoned and allowed to grow up with weeds. She walked around the broken-shell walls and inspected the place. A field mouse scampered from a pile of unsalvageable wood in one corner and ran to hide again beneath rubble where the apse had stood. The place was roofless now, but in July it mattered little. Tonight they would sleep under a starry sky, anyway. She moved to where Christ's altar had stood and imagined how the place must have been once. It could not have been demolished too long ago—the wind and rain and sun had not managed to destroy the marks on the floor where altar and statues had been.

She did not hear Roger return until his boots sounded on the stone-paved floor and he startled her. Grasping the jewel-hilted dagger he'd left her, she spun around. He stood there grinning, holding a dead rabbit and a scarf full of weeds.

"You frightened me!"

"So I see." He held up his catch for inspection. "I robbed some poor poacher's trap, Lea, but 'twas the best I could do. A knight's arms are of little use when hunting small game, I can tell you."

She had to giggle in spite of herself. "Aye, I'll warrant that is so." She eyed the rabbit curiously. "How do we cook it?"

"Well, my lady, do you favor it boiled or roasted? There are these to boil also."

"Weeds?"

"Aye, but they can be eaten with a little salt, Lea, and will help fill our stomachs." He turned to leave, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Nay—I go but to clean them—unless you want the task."

"Oh. If that be the case, go with my blessing, brother," she laughed.

"See if you can manage a fire while I am gone." She gathered dry grass and small, broken twigs from the churchyard and piled them in the middle of a bare place she cleared on the ground. Using Roger's fire stones from his saddlebags, she struck them again and again until they sparked and a small red spot glowed on the dried grass. She bent closer and blew gently until it caught and then flamed. Satisfied, she piled some larger sticks over the grass and twigs and waited until they too caught.

Roger returned and set up a crude spit, speared the skinned and cleaned rabbit with a green stick, and set it to roast. Removing the leather strapping from Richard of Clemence's old-fashioned pot-helmet, he filled it with water from a skin bag and dumped the leaves into it. "Put this on the fire while I get the salt, Lea," he ordered.

"Aye."

He went to the packs and searched for his chunk of salt and a small knife. Returning, he pared some into the pot-helmet and set the block aside. "Now, Lea, all we have to do is wait."

"How did you learn to do this, Roger?" she asked in fascination.

"I told you—a soldier's life is not all you think, Lea. An army travels on its stomach, and all too often, supply carts are lost. I learned much of it from Old William's knights." He stretched out on a grassy spot and pillowed his head. "Turn it when it gets brown and crusted, will you? 'Twill need to be turned at least four times to make sure it is done."

She gave the spitted rabbit a dubious look, but nodded. "If your supper burns, 'tis not my fault—I have little knowledge of such things."

"Then 'tis time you learned, Lady Joan."

She moved to drop down beside him. "Ah, Roger, you've no notion how much cooler it is without that thing tied to my middle. Here—you cannot be comfortable like that—I am softer than the ground." She scooted behind his head and lifted it into her lap. "There…'tis better, is it not?"

"Aye."

"Roger…" She picked bits of grass from the blond hair. "How is it that they destroyed this beautiful church?"

"Old William's orders. 'Twas done to make a hunting forest for him."

"I thought he built churches like the one at Caen."

"Aye—and he replaced this one, too, but he wanted to reserve large pieces of forest for his own use. Any who poach here stand to lose a hand if caught. Nay, do not start, Lea. If we are taken, poaching is the least of our concerns." He settled his head more comfortably against the fullness of her skirt and closed his eyes.

He looked tired—blue hollows formed beneath his eyes and fatigue lines were set at the corners of his mouth. She began massaging his forehead and temples to ease him, and then let her fingers wander to the thick blond waves that lay tousled above. He relaxed and the lines seemed to soften until his breathing slipped into the deep, even pattern of sleep. Sweet Jesu, she thought as she traced the profile of his face, but he is twice the man Belesme is.

"Sweet Mary!" She jumped up with a start and let him roll off her lap. "The food!"

"What? Huh?" He came awake groping for his knife.

" 'Tis nothing, brother," she told him. "I did but nearly burn the rabbit." She moved to turn the spit and to inspect the damage. "Little enough harm done," she decided aloud.

"If you do not consider my poor head. God's teeth, Lea, but you gave me another fright!"

"Your pardon, brother, but would you rather be rudely awakened or would you prefer burnt meat?"

"Burnt meat."

"You would not!"

"Well, come back and let me have your lap again, Lea, so that I may better decide."

"Nay, I will spoil you, Roger, and Marie may not want to indulge your lazy habits."

He rolled to his side and propped his head on an elbow. "What makes you think of Marie?"

"I don't know—I was watching you sleep, brother, and I just thought of how much you give up for me. You should have stayed in Rouen and worked to win your love."

"You seem to have an uncommon interest in the state of my heart, Lea," he told her quietly. "What would you say if I told you that I expect to be wed soon—mayhap before the leaves turn again?"

"I… I'd be pleased, Roger." She flushed under his unwavering stare and looked away. "Nay, I lie, brother—I am sorry…'tis just I fear she will come between you and me. You see, I have no one else to turn to." She looked up and met his sober gaze. " 'Tis wrong of me, I know, and I will try to be happy for your sake."

"I hope you will." He rose and came to stand behind her. "God knows, Lea, I will try to please you."

"Nay! Not in this!" She drew away and turned to face him. "Nay, you must not—you cannot—give up your dreams because of my foolish fears, Roger. Take your lady, and let me be content to hold your children when they come."

"I expect you will." He would have stepped closer, but she whirled suddenly and sniffed the air. "Sweet Mary, I've done it again! If I forget one more time, you'll have to steal us another rabbit!"

"Here, let me turn it. You stir the potage."

Roger cursed himself for a fool and bent to the task of watching the meat cook. He'd almost revealed himself, and it was not yet time—he needed more days and a safe distance from Belesme before he dared to tell her. She'd just admitted jealousy of the fair Marie, but that did not mean she cared for him like a lover. Nay, to her he was but a brother, a trusted friend.

"I think 'tis done."

"Huh? Oh… the leaves? Aye, they probably are."

"Do we eat them like this?" she asked dubiously. "I mean, they are but a soggy mess."

"They always are, Lea, but we eat them anyway." He turned the rabbit one last time. "You can get the plates from the bags."

It wasn't until he'd divided the rabbit into pieces and placed it on the plates beside the stringy green potage that she realized just how hungry she really was. She took hers to a nearby wall and made herself comfortable against it. He picked his up and followed.

"Mmmm—I had not tasted it prepared like this, brother, but 'tis not as bad as I expected," she managed as she chewed the meat.

"Do not be sure until you have tried the other"—he grinned—"for it has almost nothing to recommend it except it takes room in the stomach."

They finished eating and she set about to clear away the mess, rinsing the plates with water from the skin, and then stamping out the fire. It was, after all, July, and there was no need of any extra heat. When she finished and turned her attention back to Roger, he was asleep propped up against the wall, his head resting on his knees. She thought about trying to ease him to a more comfortable position but decided against it. If he were tired enough to sleep sitting up, he did not need to be moved.

The sky above was bright and cloudless and the heat was oppressive. She fanned her skirts to cool her legs and mopped her sweaty face with the sleeve of her gown. How Roger could sleep in the heat was beyond her comprehension. She stopped and dropped her skirt, listening now for the sound of distant hoofbeats.