Anita Mills (40 page)

As much as it pained Giles to do it, he shook his head. “Nay, but as long as we can see her, we know where she is. When she is inside, she is in his hands.” He drew a deep breath, then exhaled heavily. “I’d have him keep her there.”

“For every man to see? Jesu, but she carries your heir—if you have not a care for her, think of that!” Richard reminded him angrily. “You let him shame her!”

Giles’ jaw worked as he sought to control his own anger, not at Richard, but rather at Reyner of Eury. “Aye,” he said tersely, “but at least I can see she lives.”

“If you attack, he promises to drop her over the side,” Bevis remembered. “He’ll drown her ere he is taken.”

“Nay, he will not.” Unable to look up at her anymore, Giles started toward his small camp. “I mean to tell him I will flay him if she dies.”

Furious that her husband could turn his back on Elizabeth, Richard strode after him, catching him by the shoulder. “If you will not treat for my sister, afore God, I will! What manner of man are you, Butcher?”

Giles shook him off and continued walking, his own anger almost too great to bear. Behind him Richard muttered a curse on the house of Eury. It was not until he reached the small circle of logs of his encampment that Giles spoke at all, and then it was to call for his ink and parchment.

As Richard watched, he sank into his low makeshift wall of timber, sharpened his quill, and began to write a message to Elizabeth’s captor.

Reading over his shoulder, Richard was impressed, but he shook his head. “Reyner cannot read. ’Twas the archbishop of Rouen as had to recount the marriage settlements to him.”

“If there is none other in his service to do the task, then Elizabeth can read it to him.”

Throughout what seemed an overlong night they kept a watch of the wall, but Reyner did not move Elizabeth, nor did he answer Giles’ message. His only concession appeared to be a blanket, which he took back at dawn after waiting to be certain they saw. In his madness he taunted them, thinking they would not dare attack, that they would wait for Guy of Rivaux. And when he came Reyner would make him an offer for her freedom, an offer that Guy would take, for did he not love his proud daughter?

Shortly after midday he appeared again on the wall, this time to toss a torn loaf of bread at her, calling out for those who camped across the clearing to hear, “See that I do not starve her! ’Tis a crust for the Devil’s bitch!”

Had Giles not physically held Richard, her brother would have been ready to climb the wall himself. But Giles held on, muttering, “Nay, but you give him that which he wishes.”

“God’s bones, but how can you stomach what he does? Have you no pride in her?” Richard demanded furiously. “I’d teach him a lesson he does not forget!”

“Aye.” His arms still holding the other man, Giles dared not look up again, for his own anger was such that he feared to commit folly himself. “I’d not have her spend another night like this last. Nay, but if the pitch vats arrive, I mean to go after her. I dare not wait for Guy of Rivaux to come.” Staring instead to the road, he asked abruptly, “Do you bring sulfur and naptha also?”

“Aye.”

“And it arrives in time, tonight ’twill rain Greek fire on Reyner.”

“If we mount an assault, he’ll kill her.”

“I pray he will not have the time,” Giles answered tersely. “When I go, I do not mean to leave him time to think.”

“By the Virgin, I think ’tis he!” Lang Gib cried out,- and there was no need to ask who he believed came. “ ’Tis more Rivaux red!”

“Does the hawk stand or fly?” Richard wanted to know. “If the wings are spread ’tis my sire, and if not ’tis but more from Harlowe.” He forced a smile, then explained. “ ’Tis more fitting that mine guards and waits, for is that not the lot of sons?”

“I canna tell—’tis too far. But there are not many.”

“No wagons? No machines of war?”

“Nay.”

“Then ’tis he.”

Word that Guy of Rivaux came spread quickly amongst the borderers, and despite their fatigue many made haste to make themselves more presentable. There was a sudden air of apprehensive expectancy among them, an excitement born of the chance to see the great man, coupled with a fear for their lord.

“Papa must have arrived at Harlowe soon after I left,” Richard decided. “I left word for him there.”

“And he comes with no rest? Nay, but he could not,” Giles muttered, unwilling to betray the tautness he felt within him. “He is but mortal, after all.”

Despite the struggle there had always been between them, Richard could not deny the pride he felt in his sire. “Nay, but you do not know him. He can be a hard man, unsparing even to himself, when he has cause.”

Scarce words of comfort to one whose own anger and fear and fatigue had strained his nerves until he felt his. mind would shatter. Giles stood like stone, his face closed against the emotions warring in his breast. If Guy of Rivaux came, could Reyner doubt that he had lost? To Giles, the only other thought he held was that he himself would pay a terrible price. That at best Guy would take his daughter back; at worst, he would take Giles’ life.

Richard thought he knew what ailed him. His earlier anger forgotten, he bent low that others could not hear, speaking to Elizabeth’s husband alone. “If you love her, he will forgive.”

Giles’ gaze dropped to his scarred hands, and he shook his head. “If God cannot, why should he?”

“Because she loves you.”

“He will fault me that I did not protect her.”

“Nay, he will fault himself that he could not,” Richard countered. “Jesu, but you worry for naught. She and I both wrote to him from Harlowe, telling him of the child.”

The wait was an eternity, a purgatory that held Giles suspended above hell. Finally unable to stand it any longer, he bathed with a rag and a bowl of water, then donned a clean tunic. Nay, but he’d not have her father think him any more unworthy than he was.

The first outrider rode into their midst, and the standard in his stirrup unfurled in the wind, spreading the soaring black hawk above them. With a flourish he raised his horn and blew, shattering the air, then called out loudly: “Make way for Guy, Count of Rivaux, Earl of Harlowe, Lord of the Condes and lesser possessions! He is come amongst you!”

Lang Gib pulled the leather cap off and waited, his head bowed respectfully in honor of the man who’d taken Robert of Belesme. That Belesme had never raided so far as the Scots border mattered not, for there was still not a man amongst them as did not know by heart the story the jongleurs sang. Hastily, the other borderers followed suit. Giles sucked in his breath, savoring it, then exhaled slowly. Without thinking, he murmured a prayer under his breath.

“Mary, Mother of God, deliver me from his anger and grant peace between us.”

“Amen,” Lang Gib whispered beside him.

The small but well-equipped mesnie emerged into the clearing from the road beyond. As though he were in a trance Giles moved forward to greet the man who led it, daring to look up into his face. His flesh pebbled and the hair on his neck stood on end as he stared. This then was Guy of Rivaux.

Gold-flecked green eyes glittered above the polished nasal of Count Guy’s helm. For a long moment they met Giles’ and held.

“Art thou the lord of Dunashie? Art Giles, born at Moray?”

The voice was rich and resonant rather than cold, giving Giles hope despite the choice of words. He nodded. “Aye.”

“The same as took my daughter from Harlowe?”

“Aye.”

“Papa, did you not receive letters of us?” Richard asked, drawing his attention.

“Nay, but I have spoken with your grandmother,” Guy answered shortly. “And I have seen the letter he sent to me at Harlowe. Now I would have speech with him.” So saying, he swung heavily out of the saddle and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder for balance. “I am horse-weary.” He leaned forward and reached to remove his helmet, twisting it slightly to dislodge it.

Below straight black hair flecked with silver, a thin white scar dropped from his forehead to his cheek, dividing one eyebrow, surprising all who saw it that he’d kept the eye. His high, wide cheekbones, coupled with his straight nose, gave him the same arrogant appearance as his son and his daughter. Oddly, as Giles stared at him, he could not help wondering what Richard and Elizabeth had gotten of their mother. Those gold and green eyes rested on him again.

“So you think yourself worthy of Rivaux’s daughter?” Guy asked almost softly. “You think yourself her equal?”

The spell was broken, for there was no way to answer that would not be an insult to the man before him. And yet Giles would not give Rivaux a greater contempt of him. Meeting the older man’s gaze with a steadiness he did not feel, he replied, “If she were not your daughter, my lord, I should have taken her still. That she is gives me pride in the blood she brings my sons. ’Tis an honor to share a bond of blood with you, whether I am worthy of it or not.”

“Aye, the blood.” The divided eyebrow rose. “And that she is born of great wealth counted not, I suppose?”

“In my first letter to you, I accepted her dowerless; in my second, in answer to your demands, I asked for what she ought to bring to me.”

The green seemed to recede from the flecked eyes, making them almost gold, and one corner of Rivaux’s mouth quirked into a faint smile. “Which is it?”

“I want Elizabeth only.” When Count Guy said nothing Giles felt compelled to add, “She wed willingly with me, my lord.”

“Aye, so Eleanor says.” The eyes narrowed. “She tells me you would fight for Stephen—that you stand with the usurper.”

“Papa…”

“Nay, Richard, but I would hear it of him.”

“I swore to Stephen for mine English lands and to David for my Scottish ones. It was not until David demanded I give up my wife that I rode to Stephen,” Giles responded evenly. “As I have reason to believe that the English king conspired with Reyner to take her, you behold a man who now serves only himself.”

“ ’Tis a matter for later,” Guy decided. “For now, I’d hear of my daughter. How is it that Reyner holds her?”

“He holds her that you will come, Papa,” Richard answered. Then, his expression sober, he added, “He says he has proof that will dispossess you of Rivaux.”

It was as though a cloud passed over Guy’s face for a moment, then he recovered. “Walk apart with me, both of you,” he ordered tiredly. “I’d see this keep we are to take.” It was as though, in the space of a moment, every one of his fifty-one years had come to weigh on him. “I’d consider how to get her back unharmed.”

Giles looked up to where Elizabeth sat chained to the wall, and he could scarce speak. “He holds her like a dog,” he managed through clenched teeth. “And tonight I mean to make him pay for it.”

Guy lifted his eyes and saw her also. His hands clenched as he sought to-control the temper that had plagued him all of his life. It was not until he’d mastered it that he dared to speak. “ ’Tis not right to punish her for the sins of my sire,” he said finally. “She cannot help the blood we are given any more than I.” Turning to Giles he said harshly, “ ’Tis a burden you would give your son, this blood you would have him share.”

“Papa—nay.”

Richard spoke quietly, but his father shook his head. “Nay. Ere he fights for her, I’d tell him. If Reyner knows, so will others.” It was as though every line of his face deepened, giving him an almost frightening aspect. “Do you know what blood you would give your son, Butcher? Do you know what blood he will have of me?”

“Papa, it matters not.”

“Aye, it matters,” he retorted grimly, “it does. Aye, but ’tis curst blood I give him, for he will be born of the line of Robert of Belesme.” He waited for Giles to flinch, but the younger man did not. “The Devil of Belesme was my sire.”

Reyner’s taunts suddenly took on a new meaning for Giles—the Devil’s bitch, he’d called Elizabeth from the wall. He looked up at her again, seeing her sitting behind the short ledge that rimmed the wall, her pale body covered by naught but her long black hair. Then he faced her father, aware not of the arrogance but rather the pain in those green and gold eyes.

“If God sends me a son, I pray he will be much like Guy of Rivaux. Nay, but there’s no other blood I’d rather have him bear,” he said quietly. “He will have pride in you.”

“Even if ’tis known?”

“Aye.” Giles’ mouth twisted wryly. “Devil and Butcher—’tis a fierce legacy for one small babe, is it not? Ere he is done, he ought to own the border.”

Unable to acknowledge the other man’s admiration, Guy again looked to the wall, asking suddenly, “If you are possessed of better, why did you bring her here? God’s bones, but a ram and a catapult are all that is needed to take it. Jesu, but you have risked your wife and your heir needlessly, when she would have been safe at Harlowe.”

Stung by the perceived rebuff, Giles retorted, “Aye, but I knew not that Guy of Rivaux would give her back to me. Had you not appealed to King David, she’d have been safe enough at Dunashie.”

There was a distant rumble, much like thunder, but the sky above was clear. The three of them listened briefly, then Richard smiled. “Your pitch carts are arrived. I pray you know what it is that you do.”

“So he is come,” Reyner murmured with satisfaction as he came up on the wall behind Elizabeth.

“Art a fool,” she scoffed. “Aye, you’d best count what days you have, for they are numbered.”

“My man has gone to Stephen, and when the king comes ’tis Guy of Rivaux who is done.” He leaned over to taunt the men below. “You are come too late!” Jerking the chain until her neck nearly snapped, he forced her to rise. “Behold the one you seek! See that she is whole!” As though he would prove it he lifted her hair, baring her shoulder and breast. “See your daughter, Guy? Storm these walls, and I will throw her down! I have but to wait!”