Anita Mills (17 page)

The mesnie drew nearer, collecting into an orderly formation, and this time the trumpeter rode ahead, coming almost into arrow range. Below her, Elizabeth could hear an archer fit the nock of his quarrel and tighten the spring of his arbalest in readiness should he be ordered to take the rider down. She waited, prepared to give that order.

Black silk points decorated the horn, blowing in the wind, as the herald gained their attention with another shrill blast. Then he rose in his stirrups, shouting, “ ’Tis the lord of Dunashie come in peace to the Countess Eleanor!” And as he looked upward Elizabeth could scarce believe her eyes, for the richly clad fellow was Hob.

Her eyes turned once again to the riders, and as she watched, Giles of Moray removed his helmet and smoothed his hair just as she’d seen him do those months before. She told herself that she ought to have known him anyway, for who else could sit that tall? ’Twas the fineness of his mesnie that had misled her. As though he knew she watched, he reined in and raised a gloved hand in Salute. She drew back, hiding her agitation from her seneschal.

“What would you have me do, lady?” Walter asked.

Emotions warred in her breast, for part of her wanted to see him again, and part of her still feared what his presence could do to her. She stood transfixed, her green wool mantle whipping about her, staring unseeing at the bright sky. Nay, he could not come back, not now. Surely ’twas God’s jest that he came, for she’d only lately banished him from her mind, and it had taken her far too long to do it.

“Lady?”

If she gave the word, Harlowe’s archers would cut Hob down. She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping she could still the pounding that threatened her composure. ’Twas not right or fair that the Scot should come back to plague her. Knowing that Walter waited, she turned to him.

“He says he is come to see my grandmother,” she said finally. “ ’Tis her right to decide.”

“Aye. Send to the countess,” he ordered a guard on the wall. “Tell her that the lord of Dunashie is returned, and we know not why.”

Elizabeth clasped her cloak about her more tightly, telling herself ’twas the wind that made her shiver, and waited for Eleanor’s reply. It still did not seem possible, not even since she’d seen him with her own eyes, for the man who led the mesnie came dressed as fine as a great Norman lord—nay, finer than many. Yet Giles of Moray himself was naught but a borderer, lord to some stinking pile of border stone. He must have beggared himself to come back like this, she decided, and she wondered if ’twas because she’d touched his pride, if he’d wanted to show her he could. Or if he was merely on his way again to King Stephen.

They did not have long to wait. Eleanor sent a page down into the courtyard below with the order to admit him. The water gate creaked upward, drawn by the heavy pulleys, and the barge that had carried him in before bounced on the choppy water again. Elizabeth watched him give his arms to the red-shirted Harlowe man who went ashore first, much as he’d done when she’d taken him prisoner by ruse. Leaving all but a squire and Wee Willie behind, he stepped onto the bobbing barge. The polemen dipped their long poles to push off from the bank, bringing the barge directly beneath where she stood. As she looked down, the canopy flipped over in the wind, affording her a clear view of his ruffling black hair. His finely embroidered black surcoat flapped about him as he stood, ready to come ashore. Blazoned on the front a gold bear stood, its teeth bared in menace.

“Do you go to greet him?” Walter asked.

“Nay.” She hugged her arms still more closely and shook her head. “He is come to see Eleanor of Nantes.” Despite the cold that reddened her cheeks and gave her sniffles, she added, “I’d walk longer upon the wall. But ’tis your duty to greet him, and I’d not keep you.”

She turned to look again to the glittering mesnie gathered across the river that waited to be ferried inside. Aye, she was a coward, and he’d know why she did not come, but she’d not let him cut up her peace again. Even now, when she closed her eyes she could see again the intensity of those black eyes, and she could feel again the way she’d felt when he held her. To put him from her mind at night, she had to force herself to remember how it had been with Ivo. And that she could not stand. Ridding herself of his mocking memory had been too painful.

The barge landed scarce fifty feet below her, and she was drawn to look down again. Jesu, but he was a fine-looking man in the flesh. A fine-looking Butcher, she reminded herself fiercely—aye, that was what he was. She forced her thoughts away from the man himself to wonder why he’d come. Pride did not seem to be enough to make a man ride for days amongst his enemies. She drew deeply of the chill spring air, then exhaled slowly. Nay, it mattered not to her why he had come. Turning away, she walked deliberately along the twenty-foot-wide wall toward the guard tower.

He’d expected the dowager to receive him in the hall, but Walter of Meulan escorted him to the solar. Pretty maids, including the girl he’d danced with before, looked up from their needlework curiously as he entered the well-appointed room. Eleanor stood when she saw him and nodded dismissal to the maids. They passed him, their eyes lowered demurely, then he could hear them whispering and giggling on the stairs.

He approached her, dropping down on bended knee in front of her. “Gracious lady,” he murmured. “Your pardon for coming into your presence thus.”

“Nay, sit you down that we may speak, my lord. I own I’d thought Dunashie far from here, but perhaps you journey once again to Stephen’s court?”

“Nay.” He rose awkwardly, encumbered by the heavy mail, and took the cushioned bench she indicated. “I am come for Elizabeth,” he admitted baldly. “I’d wed her.”

For a moment Eleanor stared, then she recovered. “For revenge?” she asked quietly. “Or is it that you’d have her for herself?”

“Because I’d have no other.” He’d half expected the old woman to laugh in his face, but her expression was quite sober. “You must think me a fool,” he added when she said nothing.

“Nay. She is very comely, my lord.”

“Like none other.”

“I have not the giving of her.”

“Her father is not here.”

Despite everything she knew of him, Eleanor felt drawn to Giles of Moray. While she doubted not he was a hard man, she now sensed a surprising vulnerability behind those black eyes. Despite his fearsome reputation, there was a determination about him that somehow reminded her of Roger. But he’d come for naught, she knew. Aye, both Elizabeth and her father would be certain to refuse him.

“Guy would not force her to take another husband even if he could be brought to favor your suit, my lord. He leaves the choice to her.”

“ ’Tis why I am come. I’d know if she’d have me also.”

She hesitated, wondering whether frankness would serve both of them best. Choosing her words carefully, she tried to explain Elizabeth to him. “She has a distaste of marriage. While she does not speak of him, I am certain you know her lord displeased her greatly. There was not that between them that she expected, I suppose.” Her dark eyes met his again. “Unless they sing not on the border, you must know my husband loved me greatly, and for me there was no other.”

“Aye, who has not heard that he fought Belesme for you?” he answered, smiling.

“And so it is between Guy of Rivaux and my Cat, my lord.” She hesitated again, sighing softly. “Thus Elizabeth had reason to expect to be valued, and I think she was not. I doubt she can be persuaded to take another husband, not even one who could match her in birth. I fault Ivo of Eury for many things, I think, but most of all for Elizabeth’s high temper. Ere she wed with him, she was a pleasant girl, one any lord should have counted himself content to have had.” She stared unseeing, her eyes distant, remembering the young girl who’d departed for Eury with such hope, then she looked back to Giles. “Nay, neither Guy nor Cat—nor I—would see her harmed further, my lord.”

Despite her words he sensed a certain sympathy in her dark eyes, and he decided to speak frankly, gambling for her support. “Lady Eleanor, I know not what you know of me, but ’tis true I have been twice wed, once to a girl who died ere she was bedded, and I mourned her for what she could have been to me.” He exhaled slowly, heavily, before going on. “The second time I wed Aveline de Guelle for the dowry her father offered. Between the night I took Dunashie and the day we were wed, I saw her but once, but I was pleased enough. She was small and comely—I could span her waist with mine hands.” His mouth twisted into a bitter smile as he shook his head. “Alas, but she was afraid of me. ’Twas her father that would have her wed me.”

“I am sorry.”

“Nay, the fault was mine. The deed was done, and there was no help for it. I tried to discover blood between us within the forbidden degree, that we might be freed from each other, but her sire would not hear of it. Like me, he saw naught but the land between us.” Drawing another deep breath, he went on. “Any heirs I would have, I had to get of her or my house would die ere ’twas founded. ’Twas that or that I live as a monk, which I would not do.”

“Lord Giles …”

“Nay, you may hear the tale anyway, and I would that you heard it of me,” he interrupted her, his voice flat and toneless. “She died shortly after she conceived, and there were those who said ’twas by my hand, Lady Eleanor.”

“Sweet Mary.”

“God forgive me, but I did not grieve for her. In the end she gave me no sons, and I gave her no kindness. The fault was mine,” he repeated low. “But I swear to you that I did not kill her.” He held out his hands, the scarred palms open for her to see. “I was tried by ordeal, my lady, and judged innocent of her death.” Looking down at the ugly marks, he shook his head. “They did not fester until after I left David’s court.”

“Did you tell Elizabeth?” she asked, knowing he hadn’t.

“A man does not tell a woman that his last wife quaked and wept at the sight of him—or that if he did not kill her, he was at least guilty of wishing her dead. In penance, I have taken no other since, and I will lie with none unwilling.”

“Nay, I suppose you could not.” Eleanor sighed. “But why do you tell me this, my lord?”

“This time I would have more than that.”

“From Elizabeth? Nay, but—”

“It is not in Elizabeth of Rivaux to fear, and she is not small.” His black eyes were intent, his voice earnest as he leaned forward. “I am not a poor man, Lady Eleanor—I hold five castles and eight manors of Scotland and England.”

“Still . . .”

“I cannot match her in birth, ’tis true, but I can give her that which she lacks. I can give her sons and daughters of her blood.” He searched her face, hoping she understood what he asked. “I’d have your support with Guy of Rivaux.”

“Sweet Mary, but I cannot answer you, my lord. She—”

“As you have said, her temper is not the best,” he added in understatement. “But I am willing to take her as she is.”

“She bore no children to Ivo, and—”

He raised a hand to still her. “I am not Ivo. Aye, I expect her to deny me. I did but want you to know why I offer.” The corners of his mouth drew up into a rare smile. “If ’tis nay she says, I’ll not accept it. I mean to have her, Lady Eleanor.”

His words, though courteously said, reminded her of Belesme. But there was no madness in his eyes. “Guy will not allow it,” she said flatly. “He’ll not see her wed where she does not wish.”

“I’d ask her—I’d see her, and have her tell me herself.” He rose, facing her. An earnest, almost boyishly confident smile lightened the harshness of his face and warmed his eyes. “I mean to win her by whatever means it takes me.”

She knew not how or why, but suddenly there was that again which reminded her of Roger. ’Twas the determination, or mayhap ’twas that he said he wished to win Elizabeth, but for whatever reason, in that moment, she liked him. It was time that Elizabeth learned there was more to a man than his supposed lineage. Aye, and if he even suspected the blood that flowed in her veins . . . She dared not think it.

He took her silence for denial and dropped his hands at his side. “I’d still see her,” he repeated heavily.

“Aye,” she answered finally. But it would be a rough wooing, and for once she was glad that Guy was far away. “I will send for her, my lord.”

To Elizabeth it seemed as though she had walked for hours, her arms tightly clasped before her, wishing he’d go away and knowing he meant to stay. Finally, when she could stand the cold spring wind no longer, she started down the outside stairs of one of the rear towers.

“My lady?”

She looked up, seeing one of Eleanor’s pages come upon the wall to find her. She waited for him to catch up. He hurried down the steps as fast as he dared, blurting out breathlessly, “You are bid by your grandmother to come.”

“Jesu! I’d not see the whore’s son, I’d not!”

He hung back, unsure of himself. “Would you have me say you do not come?” he asked nervously, afraid she meant to shout at him. “She did but say—”

The thought crossed her mind that she had no reason to fear him, that she was in truth in her father’s keep, surrounded by Harlowe’s men-at-arms. And she had no right to be a coward—she was Guy of Rivaux’s daughter.

“Nay. I come.”

And yet as she crossed the courtyard she could not help thinking she looked little better than one of the tiring women, for she wore none of her finery. Climbing the winding stairs to Eleanor’s solar, she paused to comb her tangled hair back from her face with her nearly numb fingers. To make matters worse, her nose ran from the cold. Sweet Mary, but she’d not have him see her like this.

Giles turned around as she entered the long room, stopping his conversation in mid-sentence. Her long black hair streamed in wild disorder over her shoulders, and her eyes were even greener than he remembered. And despite the wildness of her appearance, she was more beautiful than the memory his mind had carried of her.

Ignoring him, she walked to Eleanor and made her obeisance gracefully. “You bade my attendance, Grandmere?” she asked politely.

“Aye,” she answered. “Lord Giles desires speech with you.”