Roselynde (61 page)

"Lady Alinor Devaux?"

Again Alinor was startled at the beauty of the voice, so rich and sweet.
"Yes," she whispered.

"Lovely, lovely," John purred. "I had word of your
coming sent to me. I wished to speak to you. My wife remembers
you—er—most—er—vividly."

"How kind of her," Alinor faltered. "Will you not
sit down, my lord, and tell my why I am thus honored?"

He took the chair at one side of the hearth quite readily, and
Alinor's breath came a little more easily. Somehow, quickly, she had to find a
way and a reason to tell him of her marriage. She rose from her curtsy, found
John's eyes on her, and swallowed convulsively. The rapaciousness in them had
not been sated by the huge wealth and properties his brother had given into his
hands. And just now that rapaciousness was not general; it was directed at her.
Alinor tried to speak, tried to tell him about Simon before he could say
anything that would make him look foolish, but her tongue clove to the roof of
her mouth.

"Sit, sit," John said, waving her toward the other chair
graciously.

Alinor was glad to obey. Her knees were trembling and she wished
to hide her nervousness. To conceal her body further, she drew toward her the
heavy embroidery frame that Lady Grisel had been working at. Then, desperate to
avoid those eyes, which fascinated even while they repelled, drew even while
they terrified, she lifted the needle and bent her head over the work.

"My wife told me," John said smoothly, "that you
are a lady wise beyond your years and sex, most interested in great
events."

Will he ask me to swear to him, Alinor wondered. That was not so
bad. She could say she no longer had the right and that would introduce the
subject of her marriage to Simon in an unexceptional way. He might not be best
pleased that he could not take fealty of her, but the excuse was reasonable.

"You will understand, therefore," John continued,
"that personal choice must often be subordinated to the needs of the
realm. I know also that you have said to my wife that you do not choose to
marry, but that is a womanish nonsense unworthy of so wise a person."

The flattery, Alinor thought, is being laid on with a trowel. I
must have given Isobel of Gloucester a most unfortunate opinion of me. How
stupid she must have told Lord John I am.

"No," she began, "I have changed—" It was a
good opening to explain her new situation, but John held up a hand for silence
and out of respect Alinor had to allow him to speak.

"I am glad to hear you have thought better of such nonsense.
To be well married is the only comfortable situation for decent people. Now you
have been too long alone. Moreover, as soon as Philip of France is free of his
vow, he will send forces against England. Your lands need a master that can
ensure that Philip's men can find no foothold on that coast. Therefore—"

"My lord," Alinor exclaimed.

"Hold your tongue for the nonce," John said, but with a
smile. "Hear me out."

"But my lord—"

"I know you are the Queen's ward," John snapped.
"Be sure I have her agreement for what I do."

So that was why the Queen was displeased with Simon's news, Alinor
thought. How unfortunate that her message had not reached her son before he
arrived at Kingsclere. Her second sensation was of shock and disappointment.
She had not thought the Queen would allow her to fall into Lord John's hands.

"Between us," John continued, "we have chosen a
fine man of good estate for you. Lord William of Wenneval."

"Oh," Alinor said. Reaction from her initial feeling of
anger against the Queen stopped her tongue for a moment. Obviously the Queen
had meant her no harm. William of Wenneval was a worthy man whom Alinor knew
from her time at Court. He was not the equal of Simon or William Marshal and
perhaps he was not overclever because he had long been a supporter of Lord
John, but he was no monster. "You do me great honor, my lord, but—"

"There can be no buts in this matter," John interrupted
firmly but still kindly. "All is settled. I am sorry, but you have no
choice. I have sent William word, and he will be here to marry you within the
week."

"My lord, you do not understand," Alinor cried. "I
am married already."

"Now that is a stupid thing to say." There was a really
nasty snarl now in the silky voice. "You are the Queen's ward. You could
not marry without her permission."

"It was by the King's will," Alinor explained.
"King Richard gave me to Sir Simon Lemagne as a reward for his great
services. We were married in the presence of the King, Queen Berengaria, Lady
Joanna, the Bishop of Beauvais, and many other lords."

"Married? Married?" John snarled. "It was my
plan—"

Above all Alinor did not want to hear anything about John's plans.
"Yes, yes," she cried aloud. "I am married already."

"To Sir Simon Lemagne?" John hissed, his eyes narrowed.

"Yes, my lord."

"Where is he?"

The rage that Alinor had feared would burst into violence had gone
from John's face, but something worse was there now. "I do not know, my
lord," Alinor got out. "He went to tell the Queen of our marriage and
he wrote to me that he would stay a while with her."

It seemed the safest thing to say. John would do her no harm, but
Alinor was not so sure he would not make some attempt against Simon. However,
he would do nothing while Simon was with the Queen; he knew how well she loved
her old servant. There was no harm in agreeing to Alinor's marriage to a decent
man like William of Wenneval to pacify her youngest son, but she would never
allow John to hurt Simon.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Then John said in an entirely
different tone of voice, "So you are a wife already?" His eyes raked
over her. "Sir Simon is not young. I suppose you were not much pleased with
the King's choice."

"I was very well pleased, indeed," Alinor said
indignantly. "I have known and loved Sir Simon long. The King did but
fulfill the dearest wish of my heart."

John laughed aloud. "So much the better. I could never stand
that honorable idiot. So much the more will I enjoy cuckolding him and so much
the less will be the danger that you, loving wife that you are, will ever speak
of it."

Alinor's throat closed. Her lips parted, but she could force no
sound past them. Her hands gripped the embroidery frame so hard that the
knuckles showed white, but John was not looking at her hands.

"I would not have plucked William's bud," he said
softly, "but since it is plucked already and the flower open, there is no
reason not to sip of the nectar. And it will be all the sweeter for having been
stolen from that righteous prig Simon."

He held Alinor's eyes as he approached. They were so wide open
that the white showed all around the iris. He saw, but he did not understand
the cold fire in them. The flickers of green and gold, which increased their
beauty, he put down to the reflection of the torchlight. Neither did he notice
the strong white teeth come together with a snap or the jut of the small round
jaw.

"Poor frightened little bird," John murmured, and leaned
forward across the embroidery frame with a hand held out to lift Alinor's chin.

Alinor braced herself against the heavy chair and rammed the
embroidery frame forward with all the strength of her sturdy arms. It caught
John in the lower abdomen, knocked the wind from him, and sent him staggering
back to crash against the wall. He screamed with rage and pain, but was
helpless for just long enough for Alinor to leap to her feet and seize a torch
in her left hand. Her knife was already bare in her right.

"Bitch!" John shrieked and started for her.

Alinor lowered the torch suggestively. It hissed and roared as the
angle let the flame come in contact with more pitch than usual. John's eyes
flicked from the flame to the knife, which was not held in any dainty, feminine
grip but as a knife fighter holds his weapon. Simon had taught her that hold
and how to thrust to do the most damage after the kidnap attempt. John might
have chanced the knife anyway, trusting to his longer reach, but not the torch.
Burning pitch takes the flesh with it when it is removed.

"Foul, fool bitch," he snarled. "I might have let
your husband live if you had yielded. Now he will die, and after you have
looked well upon his bloody corpse, you will howl for me like the foul bitch
you are. Yes, you will howl at my pleasure."

Simon was sitting in the solar of William Marshal's London house,
fuming. "Why does she want me here?" he growled.

William looked at his wife who did not speak but raised her brows
expressively. Poor William had answered that question three times already. He
had suggested that the Queen was seriously worried because nothing had been
heard from Richard and she desired Simon's company for comfort. Simon was
worried about Richard, too. He knew the King had intended to set out only a few
days after their ship. There had been news from other returned Crusaders that
the King had, indeed, set sail ten days later, but after that, no one had seen
King or ship.

Nonetheless Simon knew the Queen did not want his company. Instead
she seemed markedly uneasy in his presence, uneasy and very unusually
affectionate. William had suggested one or two other reasons why the Queen
would not give Simon leave to return home, but they had all been pooh-poohed.
Now Isobel tried another tack.

"Simon, instead of complaining to William, why do you not
open Alinor's house and send for Alinor to come here?" Her face was grave,
but her eyes twinkled. "Then the tedium of Court life would not be so very
dreadful."

Simon could not help smiling. Isobel had changed immeasurably for
the better since her marriage. She was no longer a slender slip of a girl; she
had already borne William one child and was swelling with another. More
important, the haunted look was gone from her eyes and she was developing a
pleasant sense of humor. She had not the fire that made Alinor irresistible to
Simon, but there could be no doubt that William was a most contented husband.

"I do not know," Simon replied. "It is not
only
that
I miss Alinor," he continued, then laughed openly at the expressions of
long-suffering disbelief on his friends' faces. "No, really. I have not
yet been into Sussex to oversee what my deputy has done, and it is most needful
that Alinor go with me to her holdings so that I may take fealty of the men.
Some I have never met at all because the Queen summoned us to court before we
could complete the circuit of Alinor's lands."

William had begun to grin as soon as Simon said, "It is most
needful that Alinor go with me," but now his face sobered. "This is
really needful. Did you speak of it to the Queen? What said she?"

"She said the keeps would not run away."

"What?"

"You heard me. I tell you there is some reason I am being
kept here."

"It must be something to do with the King," Isobel said.
"She is frantic with worry over him."

"But what can I do?" Simon groaned. "Why should I
be here? If there is bad news and men are needed to fight, I must summon them.
I would be quicker about it if I were on my own lands and knew my men."

"You should indeed get to know our men. You know who we will
fight against and if we fight
for
the King. I was able to keep clear
between the Chancellor and Lord John, and your Sir Andre told me your thoughts
were one with mine on that subject, but if Richard does not come soon, and I
mean within a week or two, we will need to take sides."

"I know," Simon remarked briefly.

"Is there
no
hope the King will breed an heir?"

Simon turned his head, as if he would not answer, but that was
silly. He looked back at William. "None," he said bleakly.

"Lord John is no Richard," William commented with
twisted lips. "If we fight him, he will never forgive or forget. There is
no chivalry in him."

"I pray every night he will die of a bloody flux."

William grinned. "There we differ. I pray he will die of a
festering pox." Then he shook his head. "Sometimes I feel so, but in
truth I do not pray for John's death. If I were sure Richard was alive and
would stay alive, that would be different. But I would rather have John than
Arthur. You know what will befall us if a child should be seated on the throne.
I pray for Richard's well doing, but if Richard dies my choice will be
John."

At first Simon was puzzled. Finally, however, he nodded his head.
"Yes, I see. He will make himself so hateful that the barons will combine
against him. William, there is sense in that. All together we could curb him.
He has not Richard's recklessness. I think—"

A page came scurrying in to say there was a messenger for Simon.
He began to rise, but Lady Isobel said, "Let him come up, Simon, unless
you wish to be private." And Simon sank back into his chair.

To their surprise the messenger was not a page from the Queen but
a man-at-arms none of them knew. Yet he knew Simon, for it was to him that the
letter was tendered. Simon looked at the seal, looked up at the messenger.