Malia Martin (16 page)

H
e watched Aleene stride away, her back straight, her head up. Shame battled with duty as he forced himself to turn around and go back to the harbor where William and his fleet were landing.

There were battles to be fought and won, a crown to be returned to its rightful owner. Robert knew that he had to focus his strength and mind on those all-important goals. He could not allow any part of himself to worry about Aleene. She would take care of herself, God knew she had done so before he came into her life.

Robert, forcing himself to place one foot in front of the other, put distance between himself and the proud beauty who had come to hold a special place in his heart these last few weeks. Even as he left her, he could feel her anger, her defenses being rebuilt, higher, stronger.

“Damn!” He stopped and turned to watch her. If William was successful in his conquest, Robert would lay claim to his passionate wife’s castle. They would have to live as man and wife until their death. Running his hands savagely through his hair, Robert turned purposefully toward the harbor. He had a feeling that if Aleene had her way, his death would be terribly soon and most probably at her hands. He couldn’t help but let out a half-hearted chuckle at that thought.

“Robert!”

Robert’s attention was caught by the thundering yell.

“Robert!” A large, barrel-chested man came running up the hill from the harbor. “You’ve done yourself proud, man. William sings your praises as if you were God himself.”

Robert grimaced, knowing full well that no God would have done anything to warrant the shame and guilt that ran rampant in Robert’s heart. “Believe me, Duncan, I shan’t be sainted anytime soon.”

Robert’s best friend reached him, and they embraced heartily. “Aw, but it’s good to see you, Robert.” Duncan hugged him tightly. “When we sent you away in that tiny boat with nothing but birds for friends, I can tell you now, I didn’t think to see you again.”

“Thanks for believing in me, Dunc.” Robert started walking toward the ships that now lined the harbor and Duncan fell into step beside him.

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re indestructible or anything,” Duncan said as he playfully punched Robert in the arm.

“Well, it’s not over yet, Dune.” Robert’s comment sobered Duncan.

“Aye,” he said softly. They walked in silence a few steps. “But now, Robert, we’re not to face death with frowns now, are we?” Duncan laughed, then flipped a thumb over his shoulder. “So tell me about the fair maid you’ve wed! William nearly keeled over in shock when that message came in.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” They had reached the harbor, and Robert had to shout his last remark to be heard over the hubbub. Horses were being taken ashore, knights in battle gear splashed through the water with their pages in tow, and foot soldiers milled about. Despite the clamor, the atmosphere was light. There was no one to oppose the Normans’ landing, and due to Robert’s reports, they were fully aware of that fact.

“Well now,” Duncan sounded a bit hurt. “You’re not sounding like the Robert I
remember.”

With a sigh Robert turned to look at his longtime friend. “I don’t believe I am, Dunc.” Resting a hand on Duncan’s shoulder, Robert scanned the crowd. He spotted William, standing up the beach a bit surrounded by men. “Shall we meet with our leader?” Robert squeezed Duncan’s shoulder, wanting to bring back the easy friendship they had enjoyed most of their lives.

“Sure and he is excited to see you, Robert de Guise!”

“De Guise?” Robert frowned.

Duncan laughed heartily. “William named you! Said if you’re going to be a great man with a castle you should have a name.”

Robert felt a bit sick. “And de Guise seems appropriate.”

“Aw, yes, you’ve proven yourself a great master of disguise! William is proud, man. He keeps telling everyone of how he took you as a fresh-faced boy and turned you into the knight you are now.”

Robert nodded, his thoughts turning inward for a moment.
Was he not better as a fresh-faced boy?
Quickly he shook his head, he owed much to William. “Yes, well, Robert de Guise it is, then.” He slapped Duncan on the back. “Shall we brave the crowd?” He gestured toward the mass of humanity surrounding William.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Duncan smiled hugely, his craggy face softened for an instant and then he turned and pushed his way through the people huddled around their leader, making a hole large enough for Robert to follow.

As the heavy wooden gate closed behind Aleene, so did her heart. The door banged shut, the bar dropped with a thud, and Aleene tucked every shred of feeling inside her heart, closed it, and locked it up tight. She kept her chin high as she crossed the yard, covering her impenetrable heart with a protective layer of ice.

Berthilde came running to her side. “What of Cyne, milady? Did you not find him?”

“Do not say that name to me again.”

Berthilde blinked in surprise, her jaw dropping, mouth agape.

“Go into the hall; keep the women and children inside. I shall head the defense.” Her words came out with a hollow sound. She turned away from Berthilde, cutting off anything the woman may want to say.

“Stay at your posts!” she yelled to the few men left to guard Seabreeze. “We shall not allow the Bastard Duke entry into this castle!” Stating her intent gave her a tiny surge of strength. She strode quickly to the large watch-tower at the gate and climbed the stairs. She could not allow herself to care for anyone but herself and her castle. They were the only two constants in her life, and she would have to remember that. From the top step, she scanned the harbor, dread weighing her limbs as she saw the boats that choked the passage to the the sea. There were thousands of men, and hundreds of horses. How did she think to defend herself?

Fear caused her to tremble as a cool wind lifted her veil and whipped it around her body. And what did she do this for? She wondered suddenly. For herself, for her castle. What were they, why were they important?

A few weeks ago she had known. A few short weeks ago, she had been driven to do anything for those two things. And now, when she needed that drive more than ever, she couldn’t remember why she did this. Why she did anything.

“No!” She yelled into the wind. “No!” Gripping the edge of the spiked wall before her, Aleene pushed away her discouraging thoughts and dredged up new, fortifying ones. She would do this now to revenge herself against the awful, lying man who had taken away her meaning, taken away any small scrap of self-confidence she had once harbored. She peered down toward the sea again, trying to see a flash of gold anywhere, trying to distinguish the person who had infused her with hate like no other.

She could not, of course, see him. Only a mass of movement: men, horses, supplies. She turned and eyed the men who lined the wall of her castle. They were a pitiful few. Most of them were so old she wondered how they had climbed to their posts. There were javelins to throw, mounds of rocks and some spears. Would her secondhand army even be able to pick them up? She didn’t want to dwell on the question.

Aleene took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a brief moment, and opened them again, ready to watch and wait.

They waited for what seemed days. But as Aleene checked the sun again, she realized it had only been a few hours. The enemy army, assembled in the town, had ransacked homes and shops to lay out a huge meal for the men. Aleene had watched it all, her anger becoming a potent, tangible thing. The few people of Pevensey that had not made it to the
castle had scattered, probably taking news of the invasion to other villages.

A tiny hope sparked to life in Aleene’s mind that perhaps someone would come. But in reality she knew that hope was futile. No one would come. She would have to do what she had boasted all summer she could do. She would have to defend Seabreeze by herself.

When a column of men started up the hill toward the castle, Aleene turned quickly, calling for her men to be ready. A few of them had dozed off, and they jumped, nearly falling from their perches.

“They come!” she cried again, taking up one of the long spears that sat beside her. Her hand shook with such intensity she could barely keep hold of the wooden handle. How would she throw it? How would she throw it with enough strength to pierce chain mail?

Aleene gripped the handle, clenched her teeth together, and focused on the army making their way up the hill toward her fortress. She yelled again, invoking God to help them. She, herself, didn’t believe He would, but perhaps it would help her men. She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself, focus herself on what she must do.

As the army came closer, she had to work harder at concentrating. Her mind whirled with questions, memories, thoughts, anything but the great task she had before her. She thought of Cyne, the love she had imagined, and she hurt. She remembered her mother, her fall into complete depression after Aleene’s father had died. She wondered how her life would be different if her father had lived?

Panic. She was in the throes of complete panic. Aleene bit the inside of her lip so hard she tasted blood. At least she realized her panic, that was good. She could control it! With every ounce of her being, Aleene focused on the standard bearers at the head of the advancing army. William, the Bastard Duke of Normandy, had come. He wanted to take away the only thing left that belonged to her.

And then she focused on the standards held aloft and felt her stomach churn with shock. William carried the colors of the pope. This terrible thing he did was being supported by the church. Trembling, Aleene blinked and stared hard at the standard. Yes, it was the pope’s. If she defended her home, she would be fighting against God.

How could that be?

How could God wish the women in her hall to be raped, the men murdered? With an anguished cry, Aleene threw down her spear and whirled around. Behind her she saw the confused faces of the old men, the fear written in the expressions of the women who peeked through the door of the hall.

She could not let this castle fall to William, even for the love of God.

Turning back, Aleene took her weapon once more and faced her enemy. Whoever came against her was her enemy, even her husband, even her God.

Aleene clutched the spear in her hand harder and watched the oncoming men. She could do this. She had desperation on her side.

As the men came within range of her missiles, Aleene took a deep breath and readied herself for the command to strike. And then, the army coming upon her did the unthinkable.

They turned away.

Aleene blinked, sure that the sun played tricks with her eyes. Were they going to surround the castle? Fear sliced through her, and she checked to make sure that her men still stood their posts. They watched William’s men, puzzlement written clearly on their
faces.

They were being tricked. Aleene was sure. William would confuse her and her men, then somehow come back at them and destroy them. She yelled at her men again, “Stay ready!” With the median age of her small army being so high, she probably should have yelled stay awake. Aleene allowed herself a reproachful grimace as she watched the Normans turn away from her castle and head for the cliffs that dropped off into the gray English Channel.

Waiting for the inevitable trick, Aleene sat tensely. A large man with reddish-brown hair walked in the middle of the group, the men around him seemed to vie for his attention. Aleene knew it was William. There was an air about him. He commanded without even speaking.

His face turned as he followed the foot soldiers, his gaze on her castle, and then on her. He was too far away for her to see clearly, but she knew he watched her. She trembled slightly, wondering what he was about.

And then the army was gone. She frowned as she watched the last of the men. She noticed now that many of them carried wood. Long, cleanly cut pieces of wood.

“They shall not harm you, Lady Aleene.” It was a deep voice tinged with a French accent.

Aleene dropped her spear and staggered backward, her heart nearly bursting through her breast. She looked to the source of the voice and saw Cyne standing just in front of the gate. Beside him stood a huge man with masses of flaming red hair. And behind them both were about forty or fifty men, all of them carrying swords and wearing armor.