Juliana Garnett (35 page)

Luc exchanged an amused glance with Ceara. “No, Remy has never exhibited a tendency to deplore the loss of an honest wager. Rest now. On the morrow, we shall seek answers to your concerns.”

Laying his head back, Robert closed his eyes, but a faint smile touched the corners of his mouth and he muttered, “You will be heartened to know you are right on occasion, Luc.”

“About what?”

Robert did not reply, but turned his head toward the wall and expelled a long sigh of weariness. In a moment he was snoring softly.

Shoving a hand through his hair, Luc looked at Ceara with a frown. “Do you think him addled by the fall?”

“No. I think someone must have hit him.”

“Good God, not you as well.” Irritation lined his brow, and he gave an impatient gesture. “Danger in every shadow, Ceara?”

“It is a possibility, my lord. You have taken a castle that many have coveted. Do you not think others may resent your achievement?”

“It was not I who fell into a hole.”

“Nay, but Robert is your loyal companion. Perhaps he saw something he was not meant to see.”

Luc muttered a curse, but there was a speculative gleam in his eyes.

The gleam sharpened when Jean-Paul appeared at the door to ask after Robert’s health. Shrugging at Luc’s lifted brow, he answered his brother’s unspoken question. “I was dicing with your captain in his quarters when one of the men-at-arms told us of it. How was he harmed?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Luc regarded Jean-Paul as if waiting for him to make an expected announcement.

“We are not certain how he came by his injury, Jean-Paul. He was found in the hole at the end of the corridor.”

“A hole?” Jean-Paul’s blue eyes narrowed a bit. “You have a hole in the floor big enough for a man to fall through?”

“There is a chamber beneath. An old chamber, sealed but for this hole made by the workmen.”

Ceara studied Jean-Paul. He did not seem disturbed, more curious than concerned. Many times she had searched for traces of resemblance to his half-brother, but found little, save for the way his eyes narrowed when he was irritated, or his mouth thinned into a taut line that formed deep grooves on his cheeks.
Where Luc’s hair was a gleaming black, thick and shining and almost blue in the sunlight, Jean-Paul had fair hair, dark blond with streaks of brown. He was tall, but not as tall as Luc, and the strong determination that marked his brother’s face was absent from his. Same father, different mother, Norman and Saxon combined. Was this what Luc wanted? What the king wanted? A Norman and Saxon alliance that would be ever-conflicted?

She sighed, and moved to the table to pour wine. Holding out a goblet to Jean-Paul, she saw surprise reflected in his face at her offer. He accepted the wine with a swift glance at Luc, as if expecting to be rebuked.

“Jean-Paul,” she said, diverting his attention, “a long time ago, Romans built on this site. Most of the buildings are gone now, but traces remain. The tile designs in the great hall were done by the Romans, and according to my father, there were stoke holes built beneath the original building to provide heat through vents in the floor. On occasion, animals managed to get in, crawling in to die until Balfour ordered it sealed. No doubt, the hole the workmen uncovered was one of those.”

“ ’tis a deep pit for a stoke hole,” Luc observed. “It is twice my height or more.”

“Time has eroded much of what was once here, as you are discovering, my lord.”

Luc nodded. “My dwindling purse tells me that swiftly enough. But when I am done, Wulfridge will be able to withstand siege and assault.”

“Do you expect such?” Jean-Paul stared at Luc over the rim of his goblet. “Do you expect assault here?”

“Mayhaps.” Luc bent an assessing glance on him. “There are those barons who have yet to swear, as you know, and there is still Malcolm to the north.”

Jean-Paul looked down. “Earls Edgar and Cospatric seek to stir rebellion there and gain aid from Malcolm. You are wise to prepare.”

“I would be a fool not to know traitors can lurk in any corner,”
Luc said softly, and his brother’s hands shook as he lifted the wine to his mouth.

He drank, and clenching the goblet tightly, gave Luc a searing look. “It was long ago, Luc. I was overyoung and overproud.”

“Not that long ago. And you are still young, though youth is no excuse for treachery.” Luc spoke in French now, a soft snarl of accusation.

“No.” Jean-Paul sucked in a deep breath and answered in that language. “It is no excuse. I thought myself strong enough and wise enough to seize that which I wanted, to keep that which was mine. I wanted vengeance when our father offered you half of Montfort. I vowed never to let another usurp my rights, whatever it cost me. I did not want to lose what I held dear.”

“Yet it is I who has the most to lose now, so do not think to betray me again.”

Jean–Paul gave him a bitter glance. “You have the most to lose, perhaps, but it is because you
have
the most.”

Ceara stared at him. Like an echo of the past, she heard her own cries of defiance to her father, heard her vow not to allow any to take what was hers. And she heard her father’s reply, his weary admonition that there were ofttimes difficult choices to be made, and vengeance had no place in a wise decision. Balfour had been right, and there were times she wished she could tell him his daughter had finally come to that realization.

Before Luc, she had harbored so much hatred in her heart that is was near impossible to see past it. But since their return to Wulfridge, as she had watched him building not just new structures but allegiance in the people her father had tried so desperately to protect, those emotions had faded. There were depths to this Norman lord that she had never considered, facets of his character that were as noble as any Saxon she had ever known.

It had begun the night of their return, when he had vowed to keep safe that which was his—to keep
her
safe. It had been
years since she had felt safe, years since she had felt hope for the morrow. Luc had given her that security, not just with words, but with his strength. When he had gone out in search of Sheba, and brought her back as he had promised, she’d known then that this man would do whatever he swore to do. Her faith grew every day, with every stone that was laid in the walls, with every strategy he provided for the defense of Wulfridge.

But until now, when Jean-Paul had echoed her words with such clarity, she had not really understood the reasons she had changed.

Luc was still staring harshly at his brother, his eyes flinty and cold as he told him this discussion could wait.

Bitterly, Jean-Paul set down his wine goblet and faced him. “You will never accept my repentance, will you, Luc? It is easier to hate me than it is to forgive me.”

“I do not hate you, Jean-Paul. Neither do I trust you. If you want forgiveness, see a priest. I allow you to stay here only to govern your movements. Not for any other reason. It should not surprise you.”

“It does not surprise me.” Jean-Paul gave him a dark look. “You are truly more like our father than I had ever remembered.”

A snarl like that of the wolf’s lifted Luc’s Lips, and his hand lashed out to strike his brother across the face, sending him reeling. As Jean-Paul stumbled to his knees, Sheba leaped to her feet, crouched and wary. Ceara called to her, and knelt beside the animal to hold her, looking up at Luc with alarm.

“Luc, do not do this. It will solve nothing.”

But his gaze remained on his brother, his words curt: “Go to the solar, Ceara. This is not for your eyes or ears. And take that cursed wolf with you.”

“Do you forget your friend lies wounded on that pallet? Would you have all in an uproar for a quarrel with your brother? Let it be, Luc. Whatever is between you tonight will be there on the morrow.”

Jean-Paul wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, his voice quiet. “With your leave, Luc, I will take myself from your protection.”

“This is not sanctuary, Jean-Paul. This is your prison. You will go nowhere I do not allow you to go.”

Ceara stared at her husband helplessly. There was no softness in him now, no mercy, just a hard, ruthless intent that was as frightening as it was sorrowful. Yet she understood it. Had felt it herself after Wulfric died, when all that was left to her was danger and betrayal. And she could not say Luc was wrong, for had she not been suspicious of Jean-Paul herself?

Silently, Ceara rose to her feet and coaxed Sheba with her, moving to the solar she shared with Luc and shutting the door behind her. Always, there were two sides to a matter, and decisions must be carefully weighed.

At times, she did not know who to trust.

T
ENSION STILL SEPARATED
Luc and his brother when Robert and Amélie prepared to leave for Scotland a sennight before the calends of March. The weather had let up, with snow melting but cold winds still prevailing.

Ceara went out to bid Robert farewell, sad that he was leaving, as he had provided much merriment in the time he had been at Wulfridge. She smiled at him as he stood waiting by his caparisoned horse.

“You will come again, Sir Robert?”

Grinning, Robert flicked a glance toward Luc. “If your fierce lord husband will allow it. I fear I have overstayed my welcome.”

“You always do, Robert.” Luc returned his grin. “But I will kill the fatted calf when I see your approach, so be assured that in your absence, I will no doubt forget how annoying you can be.”

“For which, I am grateful. In your dotage, you have become almost even-tempered. Take care of your lovely lady, Luc.”

“Do not doubt it for a moment.” Luc’s gaze shifted to Lady Amélie, who sat her horse swathed in rich furs and robes, gazing at them with uncomprehending hauteur, as she understood not a word of English. In French, he bid her a cordial farewell, and she beckoned him close.

Ceara stiffened slightly, but did not otherwise betray that she detested Amélie’s overtures. He moved to the lady, his height so great that Amélie had only to bend a little to reach him from atop her mount. She caressed his face, her dainty, gloved hand lingering on his jaw, and her soft whisper carried even to Ceara.

“You have made the best of a bad business, Luc, and I admire you for it. Your pledge to honor your vows is worthy of the greatest knight, but I will not give up all hope that one day it will be possible for us to be together.”

Luc clasped Amélie’s hand with his, his voice flat. “You harbor a hope that is vain, my lady. I am wed, and my lady wife is not like to be put aside.”

Sighing, Amélie’s beautiful mouth curved into a pensive smile. “Honorable knight, I hold you in such esteem, and know that but for my foolish play, you might be happy with me. Words cannot express my regret for how I cast you aside, and I can only plead now that you know it was not for lack of affection, but for excess that I endeavored to inspire you to deeds worthy of great gain. It grieves me to see you caught in a loveless marriage, when you might have had happiness with me.”

Ceara stood frozen, as if she did not see or hear, but was aware of Robert’s quick, frowning glance toward her. If he knew that she understood their conversation, he did not betray her, and she was grateful.

“You dream the impossible, Amélie.” Luc’s voice was rough, but whether with emotion or irritation Ceara could not tell. He deliberately removed her hand from his face, and took a backward step. “I wish you well on your journey, and pray that your
marriage will be agreeable to you. It is not likely that we will meet again.”

A slight smile curved Amélie’s mouth. “You may see me before you think, handsome knight, so do not be forlorn.”

As Luc stepped back and turned to Robert, Amélie glanced at Ceara with an expression of triumph that was as unmistakable as it was perplexing. Ceara did not look away, but held the lady’s gaze with a matched arrogance, until it was Amélie who looked away, frowning a little now as she gathered up the reins to her palfrey and turned the animal toward the gate.

Luc moved to Robert’s side, glancing up with a wry smile. “Deliver the lady safely to Malcolm’s court, Robert.”

“I will guard her well. My honor rests upon the success of completing my obligation.” Robert’s mouth twisted. “Nor do I wish to endure her wrath should obstacles delay our purpose much longer. Already, she has berated me most heartily for being foolish enough to crack my head in your hallway.”

Luc frowned. “The workmen swear it was well covered, Robert. I still do not know how it came about that you were injured.”

Shrugging, Robert looked back at Ceara. “It is behind me, and I am hale now. Farewell, beautiful countess. Do you resist your husband with zealous vigor when he attempts to tyrannize you. He is a dreadful overlord when he is in a temper.”

“I know well how to bear his temper, Sir Robert.” She managed a smile. “If I go far from him, it does not bother me.”

Robert laughed at that, and took up the reins to his horse. Chain mail clicked softly, and his sword clattered against the saddle as he mounted. He gave them a salute of farewell, and turned the caravan through the open gates.

It was a bittersweet moment for Ceara, for though she would truly miss Robert, she was glad to see the last of Lady Amélie. She had refused to give Amélie the satisfaction of being the cause of a quarrel between her and Luc, though several times
she had come close to losing her temper with them both. Could Luc not see how the lady maneuvered him?

He certainly gave no indication that he did, but neither did he betray any feelings for her. It was a situation that left Ceara uneasy with too many questions and no answers.

Thankfully, other pressing matters distracted her. Soon Lenten season would end, and fields would be planted. It was her duty as chatelaine to bring the castle to its full potential as a working manor.

Luc came to her as Robert and Amélie disappeared from sight into the forest, smiling slightly. “I thought they would never leave.”

She lifted her brows. “Nor I, my lord, but not for the same reason, I think.”

“No doubt.” He caught her by the hand. “Now come. With all their retinue quit of my hall, there should be peaceful corners wherever we look.”