Stuart, Elizabeth (11 page)

"And
can I trust you not to conjure some weapon from thin air and put an end to me
once and for all? I'll be quite defenseless while I sleep."

Anyone
less defenseless than Robert de Langley— awake or asleep—Jocelyn had yet to
find. She smiled. "Go to sleep then, my lord, and see. We'll find out just
how well I handle temptation."

Weary
amusement lit his eyes. He held her gaze a few seconds more, then turned,
calling to one of his men. He issued a string of orders, then set several
guards to watch over the hall. Lying down on the empty pallet, he curled his
right arm under his head for a pillow.

"Wake
me if there's any change in Aymer," he ordered, closing his eyes.
"He's a good man. I don't want him to die..." He gave one last tired
sigh, "...alone."

Jocelyn
watched for several minutes, then drew a blanket over Belavoir's sleeping lord.
He didn't stir. She wondered how many battles Robert de Langley had fought, how
many friends, how many children he'd had to watch die.

She
thought of that moment up on the battlements, the sight of his fingers
clenching the stone. Three boys, he had said. Just three boys who won't become
men. And then he had gone out to fight.

A
thin, raggedy form crept out of the shadows, stationed himself for a protective
vigil not three yards from where de Langley slept. One of the kitchen boys,
Jocelyn realized. The one who'd railed at her so vehemently that long ago night
in the chapel.

She
searched for a name, remembered vaguely that the boy was called Adam. She'd
wager he was the one the servants were all gossiping about, the one who had
held the keep door during the battle for Belavoir. And she'd wager something
else as well, that he was one of the three Robert de Langley had risked
everything for this afternoon.

As
she watched she saw other shadowy figures moving about the room. Men casually
shifting positions, moving nearer their lord in a subtle but unmistakable ring
of protection.

Jocelyn
stared at the sleeping man. There was a magic in Robert de Langley, Sir
Geoffrey Talmont had said. She was beginning to wonder if he might not be
right. Belavoir's lord might not consider himself a hero, but there were
obviously others who did.

And
she very much feared she was becoming one of them.

"My
lord,
the Montagne herald is at the gate again. He calls for a meeting."

Robert
lifted his ale cup and took a leisurely drink. "Give him the same message
as before, Raoul. I'm otherwise occupied this morning. I'll send for him when
I'm ready to talk."

The
man grinned and turned away.

Geoffrey
reached for the pitcher of ale and poured himself a cup. "How long do you
plan to keep Montagne guessing?"

Robert
smiled. "I want him to worry and guess and fret a while longer. He won't
believe it's me, you know he won't. Perhaps he'll think it's Chester changing
his coat yet again, taking his keep—my keep—when his back was turned. Let
Montagne learn how it feels to be betrayed by his own ally. God knows I've
owned that joy oft enough."

"If
he gets angry enough he might do something foolish."

"Not
for a while, at least. The man has too much to lose." Robert took another
sip of ale, his gaze shifting to where Jocelyn was changing Aymer's bandages.
His friend had survived the night—a miracle in itself—but this morning he had
been delirious, his skin like live coals to the touch.

It
was only to be expected with such an injury. Still, the knowledge of what would
most likely happen was like a knife shifting in Robert's gut. Aymer was a good
man, one of the best. He didn't deserve to waste away like this from a fever's
burning fire. One thing more, he thought darkly. One debt more to add to Montagne's
account.

As
if feeling the draw of his gaze, Montagne's daughter glanced up. Their eyes met
and Robert felt that strange quickening sensation again.

It
was a sudden acceleration of his pulse, a stirring of his blood, a heightened
awareness of the woman in every inch of his body. Taking Alys to bed had
provided only a momentary relief. Now he ached with the hunger for a woman
again, but by some strange perversity of his body and soul, it was Montagne's
youngest daughter that stirred him.

"Unusual,
isn't she?" Geoffrey asked.

"What?"

"I
said she's unusual. A bit too bold for my taste, but there are men who like
that in a woman." Geoffrey grinned. "A pity she's Montagne's
daughter. I've not seen you so intrigued by a woman in a very long time."

"Don't
be a fool!" Robert snapped. "I've not the slightest interest
in—"

Geoffrey's
grin widened, and Robert broke off. It would be pointless to deny his interest.
Geoffrey knew him too well to be fooled.

Robert
allowed himself a self-conscious smile. "All right, so I'd like to take
her off upstairs and bar the door for a couple of hours. She is unusual and
we've lived like monks too damned long. That's all."

"Is
it? Well, perhaps you'll get your wish. If Montagne can't be frightened into
coming to terms, I suppose you can do what you damn well please with the girl,
with both of them as a matter of fact. That is the plan, isn't it?"

Of
course that was the plan. Geoffrey knew it as well as he and liked it even
less. Montagne was said to be a doting father. Robert doubted it would require
much bullying and threatening on his part to bring the man to some kind of
agreement.

But
that was the problem. He didn't want just any agreement. He wanted it all,
every part and parcel of de Langley land the man had stolen. And to pull that
off might require more than empty threats.

Robert
glanced back at Jocelyn Montagne. While he'd slept, she'd been up nursing
Aymer, seeking her own bed just before dawn, he'd been told.

He
was beginning to wonder as to the wisdom of his plan, beginning to wonder just
what he would do if Montagne called his bluff and refused to turn over his
castles. It wasn't as if he held the man's son and heir hostage. All he had
were the women, and if a man had a healthy son, daughters weren't particularly
important in the scheme of things.

"My
lord. Montagne is at the gate himself. He's demanding entrance."

"How
many with him, Raoul?"

"No
one. He rides alone."

Robert's
eyes met Geoffrey's. He shrugged. "Well, I never said the man was a
coward, just dishonorable." He emptied his ale cup and pushed back from
the table. "I suppose this deserves some kind of an answer at least. Tell
him to wait. I'll see him. He may have a safe-conduct inside the gate."

Geoffrey
rose to his feet. "I suppose things are bound to get interesting
now."

"When
have you known them not to be?"

"Since
taking service with you? Never." Geoffrey grinned. "'Tis only the
matter of degree I wonder about. Sometimes things get a bit hotter than at
others."

Robert
smiled at the oblique reference to that burning church. He and Geoffrey and
Aymer. They had survived the worst of it together, the worst until Adam's
death.

His
smile faded. For a moment his defenses crumbled and the vast expanse of
emptiness and hurt that lurked round the edges of his consciousness surged out
to engulf him.

Adam.

His
blond and blue-eyed joy. His grubby fallen-angel child with the wide eager eyes
and four-year-old fascination with every aspect of life from why a man couldn't
reach the sky to how worms crawled and why they could see in the dark.

His
throat closed up. His whole being ached.
Once more... merciful Christ, just
once more to hold Adam in his arms!

He
swallowed desperately, convulsively, fighting the wave of pain that almost got
the better of him at times. He didn't plan ever to love—ever to need—anyone
like that again. He didn't ever want to leave himself open to this kind of
hurt.

God...
oh, my God, why did you have to take my son?

"Robert?"

He
glanced up, met the worried eyes of his friend and drew a deep, steadying breath.
"I was thinking. About Aymer. He's burning up with fever." Robert
hesitated, drew another deep breath. "In times like these, I suppose we're
fools ever to learn to care about anyone... anything."

"Only
think how barren life would be if we didn't," Geoffrey said softly.

"You're
right, I suppose, though sometimes I do wonder." Robert managed a smile,
leaned over the table and picked up his heavy helm. "Do me a favor,
Geoffrey," he added, forcing as light a tone as possible from his still
aching throat. "Don't get yourself in the way of a sword-thrust anytime
soon."

Geoffrey
made an overly obsequious bow. "No, my lord de Langley. I know you've no
time to be training another captain just now."

Robert
smiled again. It was easier this time. Friends did make it easier. God grant
that he didn't lose Geoffrey. Or Aymer. "You're right. Come along now, my
captain. Let's find out what Montagne's made of."

As
they crossed the hall Robert found himself hesitating a few paces from Jocelyn
Montagne. He cleared his throat. He had no idea what to say to her but felt an
overwhelming urge to say something. "Your father is outside the gates. Is
there aught you would have me say for you?"

Jocelyn
shook her head. How could she tell Robert de Langley that her father would care
little for any word from her? She studied his face. He looked better this
morning after his sleep. The lines of exhaustion weren't nearly so obvious.

She
thought again of the wild fighting, wondered if it was about to happen again. A
shiver of apprehension slid through her. "I don't suppose it would be
possible for me to come with you?"

"Not
this time," de Langley said. "I expect, however, that it won't be
long until you and your sister are released. I assure you, madam, it's what
I'll be working toward."

He
turned abruptly, and he and Sir Geoffrey headed for the door. Jocelyn bit her
lip, feeling a strange rush of emotion so confusing she didn't even know how to
pray. And then the words of comfort were there.

Holy
Mary, Queen of Heaven, pray for us poor sinners now....

***

Robert
gazed down through the indentation of a wall crenel. Montagne sat on his big
chestnut destrier scarcely a bow shot away. And he was alone, his men were
drawn up and waiting at a distance.

Robert
narrowed his eyes against the surprising brightness of a sun they had scarcely
seen for two weeks. It was a beautiful day, clear and crisp, but warmer than it
had been these last days. In the distant wood, a few trees still clung
stubbornly to their leaves, bits of gold brightening the barren backdrop.

He
drew in a lungful of sweet autumn air. It was a good day for a man to feel his
heart beating, to know his blood ran warm and alive in his veins. Despite the
frequent pain, it was good to be with the living, to work and hope for a better
time to come.

He
leaned down. "Walt, Richard, let down the drawbridge. Open the
gates."

The
drawbridge creaked down. Montagne hesitated, then spurred his horse closer.

Robert
smiled. The man had reined in at the edge of the earthen moat. In these days of
dishonor, of vows taken lightly and broken more so, only a brave man or a fool
would come alone into an enemy-held keep.

"Who
are you?" the man shouted up. "Who has unlawfully seized my
castle?"

Robert
leaned down. "It's rightful owner. Robert of Belavoir."

"Do
you take me for a fool? The man's been dead this year past."

"What
is it, Montagne? Afraid to meet a ghost?"

"I
fear no man living."

"Then
come inside."

"You
come out."

Robert
grinned and shouted down lazily, "I fear I'm not so inclined. You wish to
speak to me? Come inside and we'll talk. Frankly, I admire your courage. I only
wish you'd shown a bit of it seven years ago before the battle of Chretien. You
and your men melted away on its very eve. My father died during that battle,
you know. I've often wondered how things would have gone had you held the
ground you'd pledged to hold that day."

"Things
would have gone just the same!" Montagne snapped. "England couldn't
hold Normandy. I knew that long before I left and came home. All the reasonable
men were doing so. The de Langleys would have fared far better if they had done
so as well."

Montagne
hesitated. His horse backed and sidled nervously. He brought the animal under
control. "Half of England knows about that battle," he shouted.
"If you think that bit makes me believe you the ghost of a dead man, you'd
best think again!"

"But
what if it is me?" Robert called. "What if I am who I say I am? How
does it feel to know your daughters are in the hands of the man you cheated and
betrayed."

A
muffled curse rose on the air,

"Come
in, Montagne," Robert taunted. "Come in if you want to talk. I've
given my word you'll be safe, that you can ride out again at your wish. And if
you don't want to talk... well, I'll leave the rest to your imagination."

An
obscene curse rose, then the man spurred angrily onto the drawbridge. Perhaps
the lady Jocelyn had inherited something from her father after all. Robert slid
his helm over his head, moved quickly toward the stairs and started down.

Montagne
rode through the gates, swung his horse about to face the stairs. His sword was
drawn. It lay at the ready across his thigh. He was obviously nervous,
half-believing he'd ridden into a trap.

Robert
slowed. Let the man worry and wonder a little, let him glance at the gate and
gauge whether or not he could make it again.

"Show
yourself, damn you!"

Robert
paused. He was over halfway to the bottom, almost level with the mounted man.
"Do you still not recognize me, Montagne?"

"Of
course not. Take off that damned helm!"

"Certainly."
Robert raised his arms, slipped his helm up and over his head. The wind blew
his hair back.

There
was a moment of strained silence. Then: "God... God in Heaven, it is
you!"

Robert
smiled. "So I've been telling you."

"What..."
Montagne swallowed convulsively. His mount fretted against the strain of the
bit. "Name of God, man,
what
are you?"

"Why,
the lord of Belavoir. Did you ever really doubt it?"

Silence
lay heavily over the bailey. The sunlight slanted off Montagne's armor, gleamed
along the naked blade he carried. Robert thought of how he hated the man, of
how he had ached to put a blade through him yesterday. With one word the man
could be his prisoner. From his face he knew that Montagne was thinking it,
too.

"Don't
fret, Montagne. I keep my word," he said softly. "You're free to ride
out when you choose."

"What
do you want, de Langley?"

"That
should be obvious. Even to a wit such as yourself."

"Enlighten
me."

"Think
about it. I'm sure it'll come to you."

"Damn
you to hell!" Montagne growled.