Shadows and Strongholds (37 page)

He tore his mouth from hers and shoved her away. 'Go,' he gasped. 'Get out of here before I do harm to you and my honour beyond hope of repair!'

Her eyes were huge with shock; her breath sobbed into her deprived lungs.

Shaking, Brunin turned back to his horse and set his hands to the saddle. He clenched his fingers against the wood and leather, willing her to have the sense to flee while she still could. One more push was all it would take. He was already over the edge and finding little purchase to maintain his grip on sanity.

'Just go!' he almost sobbed.

He heard her breathing and it was like the sound of his own inside a helm during battle, and then there was a deeper, harsher breath, the rustle of her gown on straw, and she was gone.

Brunin slumped against Jester's flank, feeling sick to the core. His legs were as weak as string and suddenly Joscelin's spare hauberk was a leaden weight that threatened to bring him down. Bending over, he shrugged and struggled out of the garment with trembling hands. The mail slithered on to the stable floor in a jingling thud. The gambeson followed and the air was suddenly pungent with the stink of released sweat. Brunin swallowed a retch. He was becoming aware of the pain of strained muscles. Few blows had landed on his body, but the effort of wielding the Dane axe had taken its toll. He raised his hand to rub his face and encountered two stinging stripes of pain where Hawise had clawed him in her panic. He felt a fresh wave of hostility, and then of despair.

Gutting off his thoughts, he saw grimly to the remainder of Jester's harness, rubbed the gelding down and fetched water and fodder. The hay dust made him sneeze and clung in a seedy film to his skin. He needed a bath, but had no intention of returning to the domestic quarters. That moment would have to come, but he couldn't face it yet. Hawise was right. He was a coward. And with that thought, he was back on the treadmill like a doomed ox.

Cursing at himself, he left Jester to his hay and his water and abandoned the stables, but still he did not return to the domestic chamber. He knew that Joscelin would want to speak to him, but not immediately, not while the women were tending his hurts and making a fuss of the fact that he was still alive.

Head down he made purposefully for the alehouse by the castle gates. As well as ale there was dark wine from Gascony and the lands of the Rhine. There were women too, who would judge him only by his ability to pay in silver and give him the release he needed.

Hawise hid in her mother's garden until the fit of weeping had run its course. She was shivering with shock and fear from the encounter in the stables and, with the added ingredient of remorse in the brew, was in a complete turmoil. She was deeply ashamed of the words she had cast at Brunin when he had wandered into the chamber, unknowing, unsuspecting, still as sleepy as a half-awakened cat. They were words that should never have been uttered and God alone knew the damage she had wrought. Something vital between her and Brunin had been broken; she had tried to mend it. but it had all gone terrifyingly wrong. She thought that he did not know how to mend it either. When he had grabbed her, he had been no different to Ernalt de Lysle at Shrewsbury Fair. She shuddered and had to wipe her forefinger knuckle beneath her eyes to remove a fresh welling of tears. It was only two months until she and Brunin were to wed… God help them both. They couldn't marry like this, and yet it was expected of them—their duty. Her mother was always saying that there was no such word as 'cannot'. But there were many others in its place and they filled Hawise with dread. 'Duty' and 'obligation', 'loveless', 'forsaken', 'despised'.

Joscelin's wounds were several, but superficial. The reflexes that had served him as a young mercenary had slowed but a little with age, and the slight edge he lacked had been more than compensated for by the weight of experience. He had made the right decisions when turning axe and blade and mace. He knew that in the morning he would be as stiff as a rusty sword blade, that muscles which were fluid now would not be so accommodating once they had cooled.

He bore with Sybilla's fussing, allowing her to bind and bathe while he recovered his equilibrium. The act of tending him appeared to have restored her balance too, for she had ceased to tremble and some of her colour had returned. Around them, in the bower, the other women were succouring the wounded. The dead had been removed to the chapel.

'What will you do with my cousin?' Sybilla asked. Her voice had recovered its usual low pitch, but it was breathless, as if she were struggling with tears or deep anger. She handed the bowl of bloody water to her maid and bade her dispose of it.

'I do not know yet,' he answered cautiously.

'I would set his head on a spear and proclaim it from the bridge.'

'I had thought about it.'

'There is nothing to think about.'

Definitely anger, he decided, as he saw the darkness in her eyes. He knew how she felt, but his own fury had been channelled into battle and he was too tired to add fuel to the fire and let it burn up. 'If I give him the just deserts you suggest, then I am risking dire consequences to myself. Gilbert de Lacy may have acted like a common criminal, but he has more influence than a petty outlaw'

'You do not mean to let him go?' Her voice seethed.

When Joscelin had first contracted to wed her, he had been warned by well-meaning friends that he would need every filament of his iron will, that Sybilla Talbot was a headstrong, stubborn shrew who would run rings around him if he yielded but an inch. But Joscelin had preferred to find a balance between the clenched fist and the open hand, and they had dealt well enough together. Sometimes it was diverting to watch her running those rings, to let her have her way—but not on this occasion. 'No,' he said. 'I do not mean to let him go… or at least not without a considerable amount of compensation.' He pushed to his feet and felt searing pain from his cuts, duller ones from his bruises.

'You think he will pay a ransom?'

'He will have no choice… or his family will not.' He took her hand. 'It's a bridge to be crossed later, when both of us are not thinking through a fog—yes?'

She conceded a short nod, but her mouth remained tight, revealing that she could only be cozened so far.

He looked around the chamber. 'Where's Brunin?'

Sybilla looked too and shook her head. 'I don't know.'

'Hawise is not here either.' Joscelin frowned. Given the swamp of emotions engendered by the violence of battle, he had an idea where his daughter would be, and that it was dangerous.

Sybilla squeezed his hand. 'There are worse things in the world,' she murmured, 'and neither of them are fools.' Joscelin grimaced. 'Aye, you're right,' he sighed. 'I owe the lad my life and more.' A look of wonderment crossed his face. 'I have never seen anyone so young and untried fight like he did… as if he were possessed.'

Sybilla's expression became pensive. 'If I did not already love him before, I would love Brunin now for saving your life… but I worry that his act was rash.'

'Certainly it was rash,' Joscelin replied, 'but not the worst I have seen in my years of soldiering.'

'My first husband took foolish risks in battle when the fighting madness was upon him. In his youth, he had good fortune and the swiftness to stay alive, but one day his youth and his luck deserted him. I fear for Hawise if she is to wed such a one.'

Joscelin shook his head. 'Brunin's was not the battle madness that remembers nothing,' he said softly. 'Whatever had hold of him, it was cold. I saw his eyes and he was in full command of his wits. I—' He looked towards the door as his youngest daughter entered the room. Her face was flushed and her eyes puffy as if she had been weeping. Stalks of straw clung to the woollen hem of her gown. There was no sign of Brunin.

Full of paternal turmoil, Joscelin went to her. Brunin might just have saved his life, but if he had damaged one hair of his daughter's head…

'What is wrong, sweetheart? Where is Brunin?'

Hawise gave him a watery look. 'In the stables,' she said with dimpling chin.

'Has he harmed you?'

'No.' Pushing vigorously past her father, Hawise went to help one of the maids with the wounded men.

Joscelin started to follow her, intent on asking some hard questions, but Sybilla caught his arm. 'No,' she said. 'Leave her to me. If it is a matter of the heart, she will talk more easily to another woman… and women have more understanding of each other than a man will ever do.' She smiled to take the sting from her words. 'If you ask her now, you will only go blundering like a drunk across a flowerbed. You have less delicate interrogations to conduct, have you not?'

Joscelin cleared his throat. 'Yes,' he said, 'you are right.' With a final anxious look in his daughter's direction, he beckoned to a couple of knights. 'If you see Brunin before I do, then send him to me. I need to speak with him.'

Joscelin squared his shoulders, raised his head, and gestured to the guards. They unbolted the stout oak door and went before him into the chamber where Gilbert de Lacy and Ernalt de Lysle had been thrown. Both men were still in their battle sweat, their wounds untended, and with not so much as the succour of a cup of water between them. They had been standing by the window arch like a pair of hounds on a wet day, but now they turned to face the room with badly hidden trepidation in their faces.

'You are wondering if I am here to make an end of you.' Joscelin sauntered deliberately into the middle of the room. 'Well, so am I.' Heavy with embroidery and seed pearls, his woollen tunic swished as he walked. He had deliberately chosen his best garments, laden his fingers with rings and pinned his gold cloak clasp at his shoulder. He was still lord of Ludlow and was going to take great pleasure in rubbing Gilbert de Lacy's nose in the fact.

'If you were going to kill me, you would have given the command on the battlefield.' De Lacy's voice was hoarse and Joscelin knew that thirst must be burning his throat. 'You know that I am a far greater danger to you dead than alive.'

Joscelin breathed out hard. 'And just now perhaps I would rather have the greater satisfaction of seeing your corpse than dealing with your living flesh.'

De Lacy opened his arms and bared his breast. The movement caused pain to flicker across his sweat-greased features, from which Joscelin surmised that he probably had broken ribs. 'Then do it,' he said.

'But then I tell myself that easy satisfaction is no substitute for lasting gain. It's like the difference between futtering a whore and lying with the woman of your heart.'

'So it is your earnest desire to keep me alive?' Joscelin's smile was arid. 'It is my earnest desire to make you pay for the privilege… and for the privilege of leaving Ludlow.' His eyes flicked to the wheat-haired knight at de Lacy's side. The young man was swaying where he stood. He had a bloody wound to his right wrist that needed stitching and, judging by the swollen discolouration of his hand, several small broken bones. His eyes were hazy, the lids flickering as he strove to remain aware.

'Bring water,' Joscelin commanded a hovering attendant. 'And ask Lady Sybilla to send her women when they have finished tending our own wounded. There has been enough blood spilled this day'

'My lord.' The man departed.

'I would have killed you if I had reached you,' de Lacy said, giving him a look filled with equal measures of bafflement, loathing and respect.

'But you did not. My future son-by-marriage made certain of that. Cut me down and you will find able deputies standing behind me.'

'The FitzWarin brat is a mere boy!' de Lacy scoffed.

'It was no "mere boy" who led those men out of Ludlow and struck down your knights,' Joscelin retorted with an edge to his voice. 'He has fully come into his manhood, and you ignore both him and Hugh de Plugenet at your peril.' He raised his hands, palm outwards. 'Peace. I will not bandy words with you. I know what you think of me and I could live up to your worst expectations by casting you into my dungeon in shackles. However, since I know what I think of myself, I will give you the courtesy of this chamber and tending and clean raiment while you are my prisoners.' He lowered his hands and wrapped them either side of his belt buckle. 'My lady wife believes that I should set your head on a spike on the bridge. For the moment, it's an image I cherish in my imagination. Let us hope that your relatives think you worth the ransom. Since you are such a preux chevalier, I dare ask no less than a hundred marks lest I smirch your high reputation.'

De Lacy choked. 'A hundred marks! By Our Lady's veil, you are naught but a thief!'

'No, Lord Gilbert, I am a common mercenary,' Joscelin retorted. 'And as such I know the worth of everything down to the last coin—including honour.'

De Lysle's eyes rolled up in their sockets and he collapsed like a corpse slashed down from a gibbet. Joscelin left the room, his stride hard, his breathing heavy. The women arriving to tend the prisoners squeezed into a corner of the stairs to let him past. Joscelin flicked them a look and saw that Sybilla had set Marion in charge of them.

'De Lacy's companion needs stitches in his arm.' he said brusquely. 'Do what you must and then leave.'

'Yes, my lord.' Marion inclined her head over the pile of linen bandages she carried in her arms.

With a grunt of acknowledgement, Joscelin continued on his way. Now to find Brunin.

The stables were empty of all save grooms and stable boys. Jester had been rubbed down, fed and watered. Joscelin slapped his rump and asked a hovering lad if he had seen Brunin.

'Gone to the alehouse, my lord,' the boy replied, pointing towards the bailey. 'He and the lady Hawise… they had a quarrel.'

'About what?' Joscelin asked, remembering Hawise's distressed and dishevelled appearance when she entered the bower.

'I do not know, my lord, I could not hear all of it. She was trying to make amends for something, but he wouldn't let her, and then I heard the sound of a struggle.'

Joscelin narrowed his eyes. 'And then?' The snarl in his voice made the youth gulp.