Winterbourne (48 page)

Jaufre nodded, brushing past the man. "Get me my horse." He was more than ready to leave Winterbourne, lands that once had been beyond price. Now the castle, too, had betrayed him, surrendering all that he loved to the savagery of a tyrant's army. He wished to set eyes upon this desolation no more. Too many ghosts trod these grounds, threatening him with the return of memory, and with memory would come… pain.

Despite his resolve, his steps faltered, forcing him to linger outside the charred remains of the garden. Instead of the scorched tree trunk, he saw the old apple tree blossoming white as jenny scrambled into its shade, her deep brown eyes alight with joy as he pursued her, giggling when he caught her up in his arms; he saw Lyssa watching them from a distance, her sea-green eyes going all misty. A piece farther back had stood the tent. He remembered the soft sheen of Lyssa's hair brushing against his skin as her hands trailed through the water… the day Melyssan had bathed him, the last time they had made love.

No! He crushed the memories. Let them lie forever amongst the ruins of Winterbourne. To remember brought such searing pain as would bring him to his knees, such agony as he could not survive.

But why cling to this wretchedness? whispered a voice inside him. What purpose was there to existence without her?

He became aware that Sir Eldred had retrieved his horse and was leading it forward. "My lord, from what the peasant said, I believe it most likely His Majesty's army headed north. If you would still follow King John, we should also head in that direction."

King John
! Jaufre's slumped shoulders snapped back, the name acting upon him like some evil talisman. "Aye, the king," he whispered. "I had almost forgot."

"Mayhap now that you know your lady…" Sir Eldred's voice faded. He stared fixedly at the ground. "There seems no longer any need to confront the king thus unprepared. We would stand little chance against his army."

"Aye, little chance." Jaufre would have to find another way. "I believe you are right, Sir Eldred. You and the rest of the men may ride out. I no longer have any need of you."

"My lord?" The knight's eyes widened with incomprehension.

"You may return to your own manors, back to London, wherever you choose. I care not." Jaufre swung into the saddle. He could scarce bend his swollen hands to grip the reins, but he forced his fingers to do so, heedless of the pain that seemed so unimportant. He had a purpose again, something to fill the emptiness inside him, the cold venom of hatred, vengeance.

Still Eldred hesitated. "You would ride alone, my lord?"

"Are you hard of hearing or merely stupid? Have I not told you twice to be gone?"

"Aye, my lord. I—I shall tell the others of your command." He backed away. "But what of the priest, my lord? That half-witted peasant has run off, and the good father yet lives."

"I shall see to him. Be off with you."

Sir Eldred nodded, then scurried for his own horse.

Jaufre could see that the knight and the other men-at-arms spent some time discussing the situation, with many glances in his direction. One by one, they gradually dissolved into the twilight, the echoes of their coursers' hooves fading to silence, leaving him alone amongst the ruins of his castle. He turned his horse in the opposite direction, coming to a standstill beside Father Andrew where he lay beside the partially dug grave.

The old man would be dead before morning. Jaufre stared down through the gathering gloom at the black-robed figure, his heart twisting with bitterness. How had this miserable creature survived, whilst Lyssa and Jenny…

The earl prepared to urge his horse forward when a low moan escaped from the old man. So let him die here alone in the darkness where the devil might chance upon his soul. Had he or his God lifted one finger to save Melyssan? To save the woman he loved? Yet try as he would to suppress it, he could not forget the glow in Lyssa's face when she had asked if Father Andrew could marry them. Father Andrew, her comforter, her spiritual adviser, her friend… If Lyssa could see him now, dumped upon the hard ground, dying… Jaufre clenched his jaw as if somehow he carried Melyssan inside himself, could feel the overwhelming intensity of her grief.

"Damn you, you old fool!" he cried. He dismounted and hoisted the priest's inert body over his saddle. "There, Lyssa. Let that satisfy you. I'll take him to where he can die with a roof over his head.

"But then," he muttered, leading his horse forward down the road, "then, my love, I have more important matters to attend." Aye, more important than life itself…

The death of a king.

Melyssan followed Gunnor down the curving stone stairs, clutching Jenny in her arms as if she would never let her go, clutching her as she had from the first moment King John had restored the child to her, a mocking smile upon his lips.

The lower they descended, the darker it became, until Melyssan lost her footing. She would have tumbled forward but for Sir Hugh's restraining arm. He eased her down the last step, and her eyes gradually accustomed themselves to the darkness. Jenny whimpered, tunneling her face against Melyssan’s shoulder. "Let's go home, milady. Dark. Don't like this place."

Melyssan patted her back reassuringly, her throat too constricted for words. Gunnor paused before a stout oak door, stepping back to allow Sir Hugh to move aside the heavy bar before swinging it wide.

"In here, my lady," said Gunnor. "I have tried to make all as comfortable as possible for you during your—your stay with us."

As Melyssan stepped inside the small dank chamber, Gunnor averted her head. The room was empty except for a straw pallet and some plates of food arranged before a hearth that was devoid of any fire. The sole light came from a narrow slit set high above their heads.

"At least I am relieved you have not seen fit to put us in chains," Melyssan said. She tried to ease Jenny down from her aching arms, but the child clung to her neck.

Gunnor broke at last. "Oh, milady…" As she looked up at Melyssan, tears coursed down her face. "We cannot help it. If there were aught else we could do…"

"Gunnor!" Sir Hugh said sharply. "That's enough. Return upstairs at once."

With one final beseeching look at her grim-visaged husband, Gunnor covered her face and fled the room. Melyssan could hear her deep-throated sobs receding up the steps.

Left alone with Melyssan, Sir Hugh shifted from foot to foot, his gangly arms dangling awkwardly before him. He cleared his throat. "There's food. Wine. You and the child should eat." He made as if to go, then paused in the doorway, a perceptible softening in his stern eyes. "I am sorry, my lady. About your brother. My men tried to wave him off, warn him to go back. But he would keep coming."

" 'Twas because he thought he rode to the castle of a friend."

The red flushed from Sir Hugh's thin neck up to his brow. Glancing over his shoulder, he said loudly, "Then he was mistaken. I told you all long ago I was no rebel. I am the king's man."

"Well said, Sir Hugh," purred a voice from the shadows behind the knight.

Melyssan felt Jenny's grip tighten as King John glided into the small chamber. One dark brown eye peered at him from the safety of her shoulder. The king's thin lips twisted into a complacent smile. "Methought I should like to see what arrangements you have made for Lady Melyssan and her daughter. 'Tis well she should be accorded the respect owed the wife of such a redoubtable warrior as the Dark Knight."

John gave a mock sigh. "Ah, by St. Michael, I didst quake with terror while my army besieged Winterbourne, fearing Lord Jaufre would swoop down from the hills at any moment to wreak his vengeance." He paused a moment, twisting the great sapphire on his fourth finger, admiring the setting. "But then I suppose His Lordship could not tear himself away from the pleasures of London. They say our bawds there are more skilled than any in the world, even Paris. Do you not agree, Sir Hugh?" He poked the knight in the ribs, laughing raucously. Sir Hugh joined him weakly.

Although she knew it unwise, Melyssan could not restrain her anger. "How dare you mock my lord! No one has ever said of Lord Jaufre that he lay abed when there was fighting to be done." The king's dark eyes flashed dangerously, but she could not seem to stop herself. All the tension, the grief for those she had lost, poured out of her.

"Take care, madam," John growled. "Remember 'tis your king you address."

"My king. You are fit to be no one's king. You are even a poor excuse for a man."

"Lady Melyssan!" Sir Hugh admonished, his face going white with fear. Even Jenny raised her head, her brown eyes widening at the unaccustomed sharpness in her mother's tone.

But Melyssan rushed on, ignoring the knight's attempts to intervene. "You attacked our castle deliberately while my husband was away. Cravenly, making war on women and children because you have not the stomach to fight a man like Jaufre."

"Take care! Take care," John repeated, purple veins beginning to stand out along his neck. "You are my prisoner, I will—"

"Will what? Hide behind my skirts when Jaufre comes after you?"

"Nay, I need neither you nor your brattling as hostages. I will crush the earl when the time comes." He seized Melyssan by the throat, gouging it painfully. "Crush him and all the rebels just like this."

Before Melyssan could make a move to free herself, she felt Jenny stiffen. "Don't touch my muvver. I'll kill you." The child lunged forward, sinking her teeth into John's wrist.

"Owww!" The king snatched his hand back. "You little she-wolf." His eyes glazed over. Melyssan staggered back, half dropping her daughter in an attempt to shield her as the king drew back his fist.

"Nay, wait!" Although his knees shook, Sir Hugh stepped between them. "Please, Your Majesty. When we undertook to keep these prisoners for you, you pledged your word no harm should come to them."

For a moment Melyssan thought the king would strike Sir Hugh aside. She glanced wildly about for a weapon, anything to defend her daughter. If only she still had her cane… But then John took a steadying breath and drew back, turning away to compose himself. When he faced them again, it was with his customary expression of sly good humor.

"Why, so I did. You do well to remind me, Sir Hugh." He clapped the knight roughly on the back. "I would not wish to be guilty of breaking my word."

John's gaze settled on Melyssan and Jenny, his eyes narrowed to gleaming slits as he rubbed his hands together. "Aye, we shall not harm them, but we will not help them, either." He waved Sir Hugh out of the room, the sudden mirth he struggled to contain exploding on the other side of the door. Melyssan heard the heavy bar slam into place.

As she lowered Jenny onto the pallet, rubbing her exhausted arms, she tried to tell herself she was relieved the men had gone. She and Jenny were safe for the present. Yet it was as if the king had left behind some lingering trace of evil that swirled like a deadly mist around herself and Jenny.

That deep laughter, his strange parting words, triggered a memory. Suddenly she was back at Winterbourne, listening to the fat Father Hubert recount a jest to the company.
King said wouldn't harm… but wouldn't help, either
. She could still see
Le Gros
holding his shaking sides, guffawing at something only he found amusing. He'd been speaking of Matilda de Briouse and her son—starving to death in the king's dungeon!

A wave of horror assailed her, the calm that had sustained her throughout the siege of Winterbourne deserting her. She hurled herself at the heavy oak door, pounding it with her fists. "No, Sir Hugh—I beg you. Come back! Don't let him do this to us!"

Her cries were answered with silence. She sank down sobbing by the door. "Ah, sweet Mother in heaven. Nay, not that. Not that."

She rocked herself back and forth, giving way to the tears that had been penned up inside her for so long, tears over her longing for Jaufre and anxiety on his behalf, tears for the horrors of Winterbourne, tears for Whitney…

She'd almost forgotten she was not alone when she felt the small hand patting her hair. "Don't cry, Muvver. I taked care of you. I made that bad man go away." Through the haze of her tears, she looked up to see Jenny peering at her, her small chest swelled out with pride.

She reached out to envelop the child in a large hug. "Oh, aye, so you did, sweetheart. So you did. My lord would be so proud of you."

She held her daughter close, drawing strength from her, burying kisses along the top of her head as long as the little girl would permit it. Finally Jenny squirmed free. "I'm hundry. Let's eat now."

She scooted over to where Gunnor had left the plates, and Melyssan followed, wiping the last of her tears upon her sleeve. She watched her daughter stuffing a chunk of wheat bread into her mouth and felt the panic rise in her again. She fought the urge to stop Jenny. They should ration the food, try to make it last as long as possible. Yet most of the things Gunnor had left—the bread, the stew, the roast pigeons—would spoil if not eaten soon. How could she deprive Jenny if this were to be the child's last meal?

Melyssan gave herself a shake. Nay, she could not think that way. Even if the king gave such a command, Sir Hugh and Lady Gunnor could not be so cruel as to carry it out for him. News of the downfall of Winterbourne was bound to reach London. Then Jaufre would come. She had to believe that. This time Jaufre would come.

But it was difficult to keep her optimism, especially when it had to endure Jenny's repeated questionings. Her appetite replete, the child snuggled down beside her mother on the pallet. She refused to be lulled to sleep by any of the tunes Melyssan hummed, and she felt far too drained to regale Jenny with the usual tales of Camelot.

Suddenly Jenny sat bolt upright beside her. "Why doesn't Uncle Whitney come let us out?"

"He—he cannot, my love." Melyssan struggled to keep her voice steady. She did not want to think of Whitney now. Later, when she was safe in Jaufre's arms, she would deal with the grief of losing her brother.

But Jenny persisted. "Can't he get out of that rope those bad men put on him?"