Stuart, Elizabeth (36 page)

"I
know. That is what makes it all so amazing." Leicester smiled and reached
across and squeezed her hand gently. "Take heart, madam. The duke knows
it, too. And that will be your husband's salvation."

Robert
was allowed to see his men briefly the next day, even the ones Henry had taken
prisoner at Tutbury. Then Sir Geoffrey and the three knights Jocelyn had
brought were sent back to Stephen under the duke's own safe conduct. Robert
tried to send his wife as well, but Henry wouldn't hear of it. Lady de Langley
had begged his protection, the duke said, and by God's passion, how could he
protect a woman if she wasn't within sight?

Robert
bowed to the inevitable. He had no choice. But he watched his wife with worried
eyes, made love to her at night with a passion made more intense by the
fragility of the narrow strand of rope they walked, a rope that might unravel
without notice, sending them tumbling into places he shuddered even to think.

He
wasn't afraid for himself. He had made his peace with God and was ready for
whatever was required of him. It was Jocelyn he feared for, his wife's future
that woke him sweating and trembling in the dark. For with all Henry's charm
and fat promises, Robert knew the unpredictable young duke could be a vindictive
enemy.

The
days dragged into high summer, and it was hot and increasingly dusty in the
camps. The Angevin army settled in for siege work which was tedious at best.
Jocelyn learned then, that if there was one thing Henry of Anjou hated, it was
boredom. She suspected he kept Robert with him so often merely to tease and
torment, to push and provoke and see what her husband would do.

She
suffered more from the heat and tension than she ever had in her life, even
succumbing to an occasional bout of uncontrollable weeping when Robert rode off
with the duke. She had witnessed the incredible Angevin temper
by now and was
terrified her very outspoken husband would inflame it, that one day Robert
might ride out and not come back.

The
talk about the camps was that the entire army was to go to Wallingford. The
city, which had long been loyal to the Angevin cause, had been under siege
almost continually by Stephen's forces. The king had even built a rival siege
castle across the river at Crowmarsh and the two garrisons had been alternately
bludgeoning and starving each other.

Now
Bedford had been sacked and burned, and Henry had consolidated his control over
the south and west and most of the midlands. It was said by many that they were
set for Wallingford, and it was almost certain if they went that the decisive
battle with Stephen would be joined at last.

"So
are we going, my lord duke? Are we going to Wallingford?" Robert asked.

Henry
looked up from the game of chess he was setting up with Jocelyn. "Why?
Will you fight for me if we do?"

"Of
course not! I do wonder. That is all."

Henry
went back to his chess. "Use your head, de Langley. What would you do if
you were me?"

"Go
to Wallingford."

Henry
only grinned.

Robert
got up and prowled the tent. He was almost screaming with boredom. He had never
been a man who handled inactivity well, and these weeks of sitting and talking
and playing at chess and dice, waiting for Henry to ride back from whatever
amusement or fight he had been engaged in, playing at words with the duke and
then waiting some more, were beginning to drive him mad.

He
glanced at his wife, sitting so calmly across from Henry. If it hadn't been for
Jocelyn he'd have been mad long before this. She had a way of keeping him sane
and calm, had a wry humor that could make him laugh even in his darkest hours.

Merciful
Father God, keep her safe. Punish me for my sins and hers, too, if you must,
but keep her safe.

As
if feeling the intensity of his gaze, Jocelyn looked up, sent him a smile so
dazzling it rocked his world. Would
he forswear himself if it meant her
life? Would he cringe and crawl before this man he had hated for years if it
came to that?

In
an instant!

He
and Henry had danced about the issue for weeks, had dared each other with looks
and innuendo. But did Henry know? Would the duke dare call such a hideous
bluff?

"My
lord duke, there's a man out here begging an audience," a sentry called.
"He says he is Lord Montagne. Shall I send him away?"

Henry
looked up with a scowl. "Sir Brian Montagne?"

"No,
my lord. William, so he says."

Henry
tugged at his short beard. "Send him in."

Jocelyn
steadied herself. Had he received her letter? Might it be possible her father
had come here to help?

"My
lord duke," Montagne said, in that same gruff voice Jocelyn remembered
from her childhood. "I do thank you for your—" He stopped mid-stride,
eyes riveted on his youngest daughter sitting calmly across a chessboard from
Henry Plantagenet. He broke off. "Jocelyn! For the love of God!"

He
caught himself up with an effort, strode forward and went down on one knee.
"Forgive me, my lord, but I didn't expect to see my daughter here. I am
just come from Bedford where all has gone forward as you ordered."

Henry
nodded and Montagne rose to his feet. "And why are you here, sir?"

Montagne
glanced uncertainly toward Jocelyn. "At Bedford I received a much-delayed
letter from my daughter, asking me to come before you, my lord, to plead her
cause. And so I am come."

Henry
smiled and motioned for a page to pour Montagne wine. He glanced toward
Jocelyn. "Your daughter has a passion for letter writing, it seems. You
aren't the first who has come. Indeed, my lady de Langley has stirred up a
veritable hornet's nest about my head with the power of her pen.

"Oddly
enough, the earl of Colwick and his son, Pelham, have been besieging me. Even
my noble lord of Leicester has felt the bite of her pen and entered the lists
as her
champion. The great princes of the Church have dared to hint at excommunication
if I proceed—how did they put it? recklessly was the word, I believe."

Jocelyn
stared at the duke with sharp interest. This was the first she had heard about
her letters at all.

"Naturally
I am not a reckless man, so I've no cause to fear the Church," Henry added
smoothly. "And I'm happy to listen to any loyal supporter, especially one
so stalwart as yourself, my lord Montagne.

"However,
just now I'm feeling restless and I can see by his pacing that your
son-by-marriage must be feeling the same. My lord de Langley, you've not felt a
sword in your hand for some weeks. What say you to a bit of practice so you
don't forget the art? I should like to watch."

Montagne
whirled toward the corner of the tent, staring at Robert as if he dared not
believe his eyes.

Robert
met Montagne's gaze with a burning one of his own. "I would like that, my
lord duke, but not just now, if you please. Now, I think, we should stay
here."

"Nonsense!
We will go. Your lady and her father will have much to speak of in private.
Besides what place could be better?" Henry reached over and caught
Jocelyn's hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed it. "Lady, my men are
here to serve you. You are free to command anything at all in my name." He
grinned. "Anything within reason I should say, for I've learned to my cost
you dare much."

Jocelyn
held Henry's eyes. The duke so loved these games of power, of threat and
protection, ambush and surprise. "I thank you, my lord," she said
coolly.
"And
when you return, I shall beat you at chess."

Henry
grinned again and released her hand. "You may try, madam, but you will not
win." He turned abruptly. "Come, Robert of Belavoir, I shall find you
a partner on which to practice."

Robert
had crossed the floor to his wife. Bending, he kissed her swiftly. "Take
care, love," he murmured. "We won't be far." And then he
straightened, meeting Henry's amused gaze. "I am eager to work my arm.
Dare I hope you might partner me with my lord of Chester?"

Henry
laughed again. "Not just yet. Ranulf is still
at Bedford, you
know. Though I might think on adding that as inducement if it would help change
your mind."

Robert's
mouth twitched once. Then he passed Montagne, nodding coldly, "My lord.
I'll see you again, I suppose."

Montagne
nodded in bewilderment. "I suppose."

Then
the two men were gone and Jocelyn was staring at her father across the space of
a few feet. He was dusty and dirty and had obviously ridden hard. She hadn't
risen and he made no move to sit down.

"Good
Christ, girl, are you his mistress?" he blurted out.

Jocelyn
held his gaze. "No, his wife. I would think you would have remembered, my
lord, the day you did give me away."

He
stared at her, taken aback for a moment. "You know what I mean, I
think," he said, more mildly than she expected.

She
lifted her eyebrows. "And do you think Robert would be here if I were? He
would either have killed the duke or be dead himself in the attempt."

"Of
course." Montagne frowned. "It's just surprising to find you here
like this, on such intimate terms with such a prince." He drew in his
breath and came forward awkwardly, obviously uncertain how to address her.
"May I sit down?"

She
motioned for him to sit, then rose and refilled his wine cup herself. All the
while, he was looking at her as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "You look
well," he said at last. "I haven't seen you since your wedding, you
know."

"Yes.
To my cost, I've seen only your son."

He
shook his head. "I've heard tales of all that has happened, have heard
Brian's side of it as well."

"No
doubt, then, you've heard lies."

He
met her eyes. "Some, yes. Others not, I think. As it is Brian has brought
much shame to our family. All know he is in disfavor with the duke." He
scowled. "I seem to be in disfavor as well. Henry made it obvious he
doesn't trust me with my own flesh and blood."

"Should
he?"

Montagne
stared at her, then lowered his eyes and drank deliberately. "From that
letter you wrote it's easy to see you believe I've fallen far short as a
father. Whatever else you may think of me, girl, I would never raise my hand
against my own child."

Jocelyn
gripped her hands together beneath the table, managed to hold her voice steady.
"And am I your child? Am I blood of your blood, flesh of your flesh, or am
I sprung from some other seed?"

He
put his cup down sharply. "Where did you hear such filth?"

"From
your son, a man who claims he is not my relation, who has twice ambushed my
husband and twice sought to kill me. A man who would now have me burned alive
for a witch."

"Blood
of Christ!" Montagne swore. "The boy has run mad!"

"Has
he? Has he truly run mad, or am I only now learning bits of the truth, the
truth about why you despised me, why you couldn't stand to look on me from the
day I was born?"

Montagne
flushed and glanced away. "It's a lie. You are flesh of my flesh. Your
mother knew no man before me. Since you were born some nine months to the week
after that, it would be odd, girl, had I not had the siring of you."

Jocelyn
didn't know whether to be saddened or relieved. "Brian said she had a
lover. Rhys of Powis."

He
nodded. "In later years, that was true. Gwendyth loved him before we were
wed, told me of it the first day we met. She no more wanted that marriage than
I. Christ, I'd scarce buried Brian and Adelise's mother, felt then that I'd
buried my heart and soul with Madelaine!"

He
twisted his cup restlessly between his hands. "But her father—your
grandfather—wanted peace, and I needed peace desperately. We were about to be
overrun by the Welsh from the west and the empress Matilda's faction was
looking threatening from the east. Besides, I wanted another son."

He
looked up at her, his blue eyes moving over her dispassionately. "You put
an end to that, you know. Gwendyth near died having you. The midwives said it
would be a miracle of God if she ever conceived again." He hesitated.
"So I was tied to a woman I didn't particularly like who made no secret of
the fact that she didn't like me. A woman who could bear me no sons."

He
shrugged and drank. "Was it any surprise we separated? That I didn't mind
about Rhys so long as they were discreet? Besides, I had women enough for my
needs. I had never liked those short, dark women of your mother's race."

Jocelyn
restrained herself with difficulty. "I'm glad, then, that she had Rhys.
He
was a wonderful
man."

Montagne's
eyes narrowed at her emphasis. And then he grinned. "You should have been
a son, you know. You had the spirit. It was always out of place, I thought, for
a girl."

Jocelyn
met his eyes. She would never like this man, nor he her, most probably. But it
was good to know he was her father at least, that he had come to defend her
because they shared the same blood. "Some men like me very well just as I
am," she said coolly.