Defy Not the Heart (2 page)

T
he meow woke him, Lady Ella letting him know she did not like to be kept waiting for her morning viands. Ranulf Fitz Hugh stretched a long arm out without opening his eyes and picked up the bundle of scraggly fur to plop it down in the center of his wide chest.

“I suppose it is time to get up?” he grumbled sleepily to the cat, and got more answer than he wanted.

“My lord?”

Ranulf cringed, having forgotten he had taken more to bed yestereve than his pet cat. The light-skirt, one of a half-dozen camp followers who serviced his men, moved closer to rub a bare leg over his. Ranulf was not interested. The whore might have come in handy last night when he felt the need, but this was morning, and he did not like to be bothered when he had work to do.

He sat up and gave her backside a sharp whack, then caressed the smarting area to make his rejection more palatable. “Begone, wench.”

She made a moue of her lips that did not impress him. She might be the prettiest of the current lot, but beauties came easily to him. He could not even remember this one’s name, though this was not the first time she had warmed his pallet.

Her name was Mae, and as soon as a coin was
found and tossed to her, she knew she was forgotten. He was not. It was impossible not to think of him at least a hundred times a day, for Mae had made the mistake of letting her emotions get involved with her livelihood, something she knew better than to do, though it was too late. She was already in love—along with every other woman who had ever set eyes on him, including her fellow camp followers, who despised Mae because she was the only one of them he ever called for. If they knew he sent his squires for “the blonde,” that she meant so little to him that he could not even remember her name, they would not be so envious of her. To him, she was what she was, a whore, a convenience, no more.

She sighed as she watched him leave the tent bareassed naked to relieve himself. Like most men, he thought nothing of his nudity as long as there were no ladies around to be embarrassed by it. Whores did not count. But Mae imagined a lady would not be so very embarrassed to get an eyeful of Ranulf Fitz Hugh. Few men had such presence of height as well as magnificence of form. That Sir Ranulf avoided ladies as he would a shit-clogged privy was their misfortune.

Mae gasped to realize she was wasting time with her musing. Sir Ranulf might have woken with his usual morning grouch, but if he returned to find her still in his tent, his grouchiness could turn much uglier.

Ranulf was actually in what was for him a pleasant mood this morning, a miracle as far as Lanzo Shepherd was concerned. Instead of the usual foot to his backside to wake him, he got his red hair tousled and Lady Ella dropped in his lap for feeding.

“Think you Mae gave him a better ride than usual?” Lanzo asked his fellow squire, Kenric, who was already busy rolling up his blanket.

The older squire shook his head as he watched Ranulf saunter off into the bushes. “Nay, she always gives him better than the rest of us are like to get,” Kenric said without rancor.

They, like the other men, were used to being invisible to women whenever Ranulf was around. And Lanzo, only four years and ten, had not got much yet to speak of, so it made no difference to him.

“He is just glad to have this particular job near done,” Kenric continued, turning turquoise eyes back to Lanzo. “Old Brun, who recommended us for this one, said there would be little challenge to it, but you know how Ranulf hates dealing with ladies.”

“Aye, Searle said he would not accept the job at all.”

“Well, and so he has not, not really. At least he did not take Lord Rothwell’s money yet, even if he did allow Rothwell’s men to come along with us.”

“Slowed us up is all they did. But I do not understand why—”

“Gossiping like little girls again, are you?”

Lanzo blushed and scampered to his feet, but Kenric only grinned as Searle and Eric joined them. Both men were newly knighted, Ranulf having arranged it with the last lord they had hired out to, in lieu of payment.

He could have knighted them himself, but wanted them to have the sense of ceremony involved, as well as witnesses other than his own men. They were both eighteen, Searle of Tomes taller, blond, with light, merry gray eyes, and Eric Fitzstephen with hair as
black as Kenric’s and hooded hazel eyes that always gave him a sleepy appearance. They had been with Ranulf and Sir Walter de Breaute much longer than Lanzo and Kenric, and yet the four of them had much in common. They were all bastards, born in the village or castle kitchen and denied by their lordly fathers, so lost the hope of ever bettering their lot. Half villein, half nobleman, shunned by both classes. If Ranulf had not recognized them for who they were and bought their freedom, they would still be serfs tied to the land owned by the very men who had sired them. But like recognized like, for Ranulf was a bastard himself.

“We were wondering why Ranulf refused to take the first half of the money for this job from Lord Rothwell,” Lanzo said in reply to Searle’s teasing.

“If you think about it, little Lanzo, the answer will come to you.”

“But the only answer is that he might not complete the job.”

“Exactly,” Eric replied.

“But why?”

Eric chuckled. “Now, that answer is not so clear. What think you, Searle? Did Ranulf just take a dislike to Rothwell, or was it that he did not believe Rothwell’s story about a broken betrothal?”

Searle shrugged. “He has worked for other men he had no liking for. And others have lied and it made little difference. Money is money.”

“Then it can only be the nature of this job, that it involves a lady.”

“Mayhap that and the other reasons combined. But whether he has made up his mind yet—”

“But we have come so far and have arrived,”
Lanzo pointed out. “He must have decided by now. And he would not really turn down five hundred marks. Would he?”

No one answered, and Lanzo turned to see what they saw: Ranulf was approaching. Only then did the boy realize he still held Lady Ella in his arms, for only then did she let out a meow as if to wake the dead, or to let Ranulf think she was starving. Pampered bitch. Sometimes he wanted to wring her scrawny neck, but Ranulf would flay alive anyone who plucked so much as one of her short brown hairs. Ugly thing. How could a man love such an ugly thing?

“You have not fed my lady yet?”

“Ah, no, sir,” Lanzo was forced to admit.

“Mayhap I did not wake you properly?”

“I was just going,” Lanzo squeaked, holding one hand to cover his threatened backside until he was out of Ranulf’s reach.

Ranulf chuckled as Lanzo scampered away, then went on to his tent. Searle’s eyes met Eric’s and they both grinned.

Searle voiced both their thoughts after hearing that chuckle. “He has decided. We will escort the lady to her new husband. Lanzo was right. Five hundred marks is too much to turn down when it will make the difference of owning land or not. And land is all he thinks about.”

“Then mayhap he was never undecided. Mayhap he did not commit himself only to make Rothwell nervous.”

“Aye, that is possible. He well and truly disliked that old lord. We should have asked Sir Walter—”

“Asked Sir Walter what?” Walter inquired quietly from behind them.

The three young men turned about to face Ranulf’s foster brother, shamefaced until they noted the dark brown eyes twinkling.

There were no two men so different than Ranulf Fitz Hugh and Walter de Breaute, in temperament as well as in looks, and yet they had taken to each other like true brothers from the first day they met. At an impressive six feet in height, Walter was taller than most men. Ranulf stood a half foot taller, a giant among his peers. Walter was night with his olive skin and dark brown hair. Ranulf was sunshine, golden-skinned, golden-haired. Ranulf bellowed even in a good mood. Walter spoke so softly, sometimes you had to strain to hear him. Walter would laugh at the poorest jest. Ranulf rarely laughed at all.

Walter’s was a carefree spirit. The third son of a minor baron, he was as landless as Ranulf, the difference being he did not care. He would be as happy attached to the household of a great lord as to a minor one, or to none at all. It made little difference to him. He had no ambitions, no driving need to make a name for himself or acquire wealth and power. His older brothers loved him, so there would always be a home for him if he was ever in need.

Ranulf did not have that security. His father might be a great lord, might have taken him out of the village where his stepfather had raised him for the first nine years of his life, might have arranged for his fostering and training to become a knight, but Ranulf hated the man, would never ask him for aught, even did his life depend on it.

Ranulf had no home, but it was his burning ambition to correct that lack. It was his only goal, yet it was an all-consuming one. It was all he worked to
ward, hiring out to any man no matter the task, no matter the difficulty, no matter his own feelings in the matter. His ambition did not allow for scruples. He had wrested keeps for other lords, fought wars for them, routed thieves from their towns and outlaws from their forests. Whatever he did, he never failed. He had built up a reputation to that effect, which was why he could no longer be hired cheaply, which was why Lord Rothwell was willing to pay the exorbitant fee of five hundred marks to assure the wife he wanted was delivered to him.

“Well?” Walter grinned when no one spoke up to his question. “Did Lady Ella steal all your tongues?”

It was Kenric who answered. The curiosity of a fifteen-year-old does not allow for much subtlety. “Sir Ranulf talks to you. You know his thoughts and feelings better than any man. Was it only because he felt such strong aversion to Lord Rothwell that he would not take his money to commit us to this task?”

“He did not tell the man he would not do it.”

“Nor did he tell him he would,” Eric replied.

Walter laughed at that. “Aye, I thought that ‘we shall see’ was most eloquent coming from someone of Ranulf’s surly disposition.”

“Think you that is why Rothwell insisted we take fifty of his men?”

“Certainly. Men like him are not given to trust, especially when something is this important to them. The man cannot even trust his own vassals, or he would not have needed to hire us, would he? If that gout had not laid him up, he would be here himself. He no doubt thinks his men, in greater number than our own, will be incentive enough to see the task done.”

“Then he does not know Ranulf,” Searle said with a laugh.

“Nay, he does not,” Walter agreed, smiling himself.

“But what did Ranulf object to in the man?” Eric wanted to know. “He seemed harmless enough, if somewhat crafty.”

“Harmless?” Walter snorted. “You should have talked to his men to learn what manner of man he is.”

“Did you?”

“Nay, I saw what Ranulf saw, that he was another like the Lord of Montfort, with whom we both were fostered. Montfort took us both as his own squires, rather than giving us to one of his knights, and if you think Ranulf has been a difficult master, you do not know what hell is truly like. Pure meanness was what Ranulf sensed and reacted to in Rothwell.”

“But what of this task?” Kenric asked. “’Tis not by any means unusual, though
we
have never been hired before to bring a reluctant bride to her betrothed. Was Sir Ranulf truly reluctant to do it, or simply unwilling to assure Lord Rothwell that we
would
do it?”

Laughter sparkled in his brown eyes as Walter smiled at each of them. “Now if I told you that, children, what would I leave you to gossip about?”

Searle and Eric both glowered to be called children when Walter was only twenty years and four himself. But Kenric’s groan drew their attention to see Ranulf leaving his tent, fully armored.

“God help us, Lanzo is too quick this morn,” Walter said, his humor flown. “Fie on you, Kenric, letting me stand here in my underwear gabbing like a
woman. Move, lackwit, or he will ride off without us!”

Which was a very real likelihood and would have happened if Lady Ella had not scorned Lanzo’s offering and gone off to stalk her own meal. Ranulf would not trust the cat to find him, even though their destination was less than an hour away. They had to wait until the feline returned with her field mouse and was set in the supply cart to enjoy her meal.

R
eina caught the wounded man before he fell, but his weight was too much for her and they both went down to the floor. He had pulled the arrow out of his shoulder before she could stop him, and now there was a gaping wound there, and she had nothing at hand to stop the flow of blood. She did not even know who he was, he was so covered with ash and smoke from tending the fire, but he did not take well to pain, promptly fainting to avoid it, and she could not leave him there to bleed to death.

“Aubert, I need a scrap of cloth, something…”

Aubert was not listening, or else he could not hear her over the continued pounding of the battering ram. The closed drawbridge had been smashed through, as well as the first of the two portcullises inside the gatehouse. The men working the ram were inside the gatehouse now and could no longer be reached with boiling water or sand, though the fires needed to be kept burning, the water dumped again when the army finally advanced.

It was time to retreat into the keep. The others who had attended the fires were slumped against the walls in exhaustion. The men-at-arms were still firing arrows when a target moved out from behind cover. The rest of the army were patiently waiting for the ram to do its work, though they too sent an occasional arrow over the battlements.

“Aubert!”

He stood right next to her, looking out over the bailey, but still he did not hear her. When this was over, whether she was taken or not, she was going to get even with Aubert Malfed for causing her nigh as much exasperation as the army below. She finally hit his leg to get his attention.

“Give me your knife—or sword.”

She had no weapons of her own, for there was no point in adding them to her armor when she had no skill for their use, and the mailed tunic she wore was heavy enough without adding the weight of a sword to it, though it weighed only fifteen pounds. William’s idea had not been to have her actually fight, but only to disguise her and protect her enough to parley from the walls if she ever had to.

This idea had come about just days ago, when he had panicked, realizing she had sent her other two household knights off on duties, leaving only him to see to the defenses. And although Reina had gone along with the idea grudgingly just to humor him, she had never thought the need would actually arise. But it had, and her disguise, much as she hated it, had worked well enough this morn. She had addressed the men below as a knight, speaking for his lady, not as the lady herself. And with her head coiffed and helmeted, they had not guessed she was a woman, the very woman they demanded be handed over to them.

Aubert’s green eyes widened now that he saw her position half under the fallen man. “My lady!”

“A knife, lackwit!” was all she shouted at him.

He handed over the dagger in his belt without thought, but Reina’s hands were so slippery with blood from holding the wound that she dropped it.

Aubert collected his scattered wits enough to retrieve the knife and hack away at the man’s tunic until he had a strip of cloth to hand her, which she stuffed inside the hole in his tunic over the wound. Aubert then had sense enough to rouse one of the other servants to help the wounded one below, but not sense enough to help her out from under him first; and annoyingly, she found she could not get out without help. Only Aubert was distracted before he accomplished anything, and Reina heard his gasp, followed by a groan, followed by another bang of the accursed ram.

“What?”

“
Jesú!
Sweet
Jesú!
”

“What?!”

Aubert crossed himself before stammering, “They—they are reinforced, my lady. More men are coming through the outer gate—mounted.
Jesú
, more than thirty mounted and more still coming on foot—and—and knights…they have knights leading them.”

Reina’s blood turned cold.
Now
what was she to do? Sir William was mad to think that she could handle such a crisis when she was so frightened she could barely think. If only she had not lost the outer walls, or if the enemy had done the
normal
thing and settled down to a long siege, there would be no problem. But de Rochefort, that bastard, that lecherous swine, he
knew
she was undermanned. That was probably him there now, thinking the battle would be over. And it would not last much longer, not with knights come to lead the attack. A few ladders, which could be found in the barn if they bothered to look, and the walls would be scaled in as few minutes.

And here she was stuck, pinned to the floor, her arms so tired from supporting the long mailed sleeves she wore that she could not budge the weighty back that pressed her down, could not even order retreat.

“Aubert!” She tried again. “Help me up!”

But he was still mesmerized by the scene below, still telling her what she did
not
want to hear. “They are still coming, seventy—eighty—doubling the number and more—Wait!
Jesú!
”

“What?” And when he did not answer at once: “Curse you, rot you, Aubert!
What?!
”

He looked down to give her a smile to outshine any other. “My lady,
we
are reinforced. We are saved!” She could hear it herself then, the clash of swords, screams aplenty, cheers from her own people spread out along the wall. Aubert continued, laughing. “They did not hear the newcomers approach, and now ’tis too late. They are scattered. Look at them run, the cowards!”

“How can I look, you dolt?” she said, though she was grinning now.

His face turned nearly as orange as his hair when he realized she was stuck. Immediately he rolled the unconscious man off her and helped her to rise. And when she saw the battle taking place below, the knights cutting down a man with each swipe of their swords, the new men-at-arms chasing the attackers across the bailey on foot, she laughed, too. There was no contest. The newcomers were routing the enemy with such ease, and so swiftly, ’twas nearly over already. Reina was so relieved she could even forgive Aubert for all his “help” this morn.

“Do you let them in as soon as it is safe, Aubert.
Jesú!
, I must change. I cannot receive them like this!”
She made a face as she looked down at her masculine attire, a face that then pinkened with shame at the thought of being seen like this by someone other than her own castlefolk. “Make them welcome, Aubert!” she added, already heading for the ladder.

“But who are they, my lady?”

“What matters that when they have saved Clydon for me?”