Stuart, Elizabeth (18 page)

De
Langley rested his chin against the top of her head and chuckled. It was a
curiously intimate gesture, more warmly familiar than a kiss. "I do
apologize for the insult. I must rearrange my thinking, it seems. I've never
gone into battle with a woman to guard my back. However, you will do very well.
If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were one of my veterans."

Jocelyn
smiled again, reveling in the warmth of Robert de Langley's approval. "We
can look for the man tomorrow. I'll tell—"

"You'll
tell no one, Jocelyn. You must not speak of what happened here tonight. I
prefer to pursue it in my own way."

A
chill of apprehension slid through her. "Do you know, then, who the men
were?"

"Who
they were? No. Who sent them? Most probably. However, Stephen wouldn't thank me
even if I could prove it. It would put him in a most difficult position."

Jocelyn
sensed his withdrawal before he released her and stepped away. He could only be
speaking of her father, yet she couldn't see him party to this ambush in the
dark. "You might have enemies besides those of the house of
Montagne," she offered.

"I
might. Certainly someone has either drugged or bought off Stephen's sentries.
This could never have happened if my own men had been allowed to remain on
guard."

He
glanced over his shoulder, searching the shadowy recesses of the walls.
"We'd best get inside now. I'd no notion my enemies would act so swiftly,
but I'll not be caught unawares again. We might not fare so well if those men
find friends and come back."

Jocelyn
nodded, shivering now in the wind. She was amazed at how cold she was suddenly,
how overwhelmingly alone she felt outside Robert de Langley's arms.

Together
they hurried down the stairs, discovering de Langley's cloak and broach pin in
the shadows alongside the wall. He knelt to retrieve them, then escorted
Jocelyn quickly to the chamber she shared with Adelise. The exhilaration was
gone now, along with that unforgettable moment of closeness.

It
hadn't been real. On the morrow, he would be leaving. In future she would see
him only as Adelise's husband.
That
was reality.

Jocelyn
fought for composure, for the familiar icy poise that had always sheltered her
from hurt. "I'll wish you a safe journey then tomorrow, my lord, but I
would ask you to have a care, especially in any encounter with Chester. My
father is loath to fight him, even though Stephen himself has ordered it. In
such a state, anything might happen. Have an extra contingent of men you trust
at your back."

"I
do assure you, madam, I know how to care for myself in battle. But I thank you
for your words... and for your aid tonight. I'll have to think of an
appropriate way to show my gratitude."

She
heard the amusement in his voice and made the mistake of glancing up at him. He
was smiling a smile that caught at her heart and made it turn over, that was
warm and brilliant and devastating as the sun. She felt an extraordinary need
to reach up and touch him, to trace that beautiful mouth with her fingers, to
cup his face with her hand.

She
swallowed hard, besting the urge. "You've no need to show me gratitude.
Only think on what I said tonight about Adelise. I assure you, sir, you'll
never regret patience and care spent early in the game."

"I'm
not known as a patient man, madam, but since you've just risked your life in my
cause, it would be churlish indeed to refuse. I do swear to you, Jocelyn, on
the relationship you and I will soon share, that I will grant the request made
of me tonight. I will do as well by the lady Adelise as I can contrive. I will
value her at her true worth and do my best to give her her heart's
desire."

He
took a step nearer, catching Jocelyn's shoulders. She had never known a man so
overwhelmingly physical, who could shake her so badly with naught but a touch
or a look.

"I
do swear to you now that I'll do my best to make a good husband..." His
smile was gone, but amusement lurked deep in his eyes. "For
your
sake,
madam. For what you did for me tonight."

Jocelyn's
throat closed up. She didn't even try to breathe. She had never felt so close
to losing control to splintering and falling apart.

Robert
de Langley bent and brushed his mouth swiftly against hers. "A kiss of
peace between us. That, at least, after what I have put you through. After what
we have been through tonight. God be with you and keep you safe...
sister."

And
with that he was gone, striding down the corridor without looking back,
disappearing around a darkened corner.

Jocelyn
leaned against the door, pressing her fingers against her mouth, blinking
against the hot blaze of tears in her eyes.

His
sister!

She
was soon to become Robert de Langley's sister. And she was certain she had
never hated any thought so violently in all her life.

M
'lady, Peter be
finished layin' fresh rushes in the hall. Said to tell you he's takin' his cart
down by way of Three Springs Meadow. To see if he can find some bracken to put
down in the stables."

Jocelyn
gave a practiced jerk to one corner of the bed covers, deftly smoothing the
heavy, embroidered coverlet on her father's great bed. Within the next few
days, the king of England would be sleeping here.

Raising
her head, she shoved a wisp of hair from her eyes. "Thank you, Elen. I'm
done here as well." She straightened. "See if you can find Adelise. I
sewed on her wedding tunic last night. It needs one last fitting before I can
finish."

The
maidservant hesitated. "She's still in the chapel. Father Matthew be with
her now."

"Again?"
Jocelyn bit back a sigh. "Very well then, don't disturb her. I'll tell her
myself when I see her."

The
woman left, and Jocelyn moved to the window recess. She had thrown back the
shutter and golden sunlight streamed in along with an abundance of fresh, cold
air. She leaned her forehead against the icy stone. It felt good to her heated
skin.

She
thought of the last week, of the journey back to Montagne and the overwhelming
task that had naturally fallen to her: turning Montagne inside out to prepare
for a visit by England's king and for Adelise's grand wedding.

Even
under the best of circumstances the preparations would have been overwhelming,
but with Adelise distraught and their father and Brian off fighting for
Stephen, the job was nearly impossible. Time was short and servants harried,
tempers frayed, and Jocelyn herself so distracted she could scarcely keep up
with all that must be done.

But
she was secretly thankful for the activity. She worked hard through the days
directing the cooking and cleaning, the gathering together of the mountain of
provisions they would need. Then at night when the castle quieted, she sewed on
her sister's wedding clothes by the light of an extravagant half-dozen candles,
concentrating on the tiny, perfect stitches, the elegant silken embroidery that
was her wedding gift to Adelise. And she kept her thoughts rigidly to the safe,
predictable track she had set— that of making Montagne ready for a royal visit,
of preparing Adelise's clothing for a suitably grand wedding.

If
her mind sometimes wandered to darker thoughts, deeper waters, to a foolish,
impossible yearning for what couldn't be, she drew quickly back. After all, she
knew her place in the world well enough. She'd had eighteen long and painful
years of learning to manage her thoughts, control her feelings. And if her
thoughts were sometimes unruly, her feelings unmanageable, she supposed that
was just her burden to bear.

"Jocelyn,
quick! Where's Adelise?"

Jocelyn
swung around. Her half-brother Brian stood framed in the doorway.

"I
rode on ahead to warn Adelise, but the others are just behind me," he was
saying. He hesitated, trying to catch his breath. "Pelham's coming. He brought
his men to join the king two days ago and couldn't be dissuaded from riding
here for the wedding."

"Pelham?
Oh, Brian, no! He's the last person on earth Adelise needs to see."

Brian
grimaced and stepped into the room. "That isn't the worst of it. He and de
Langley have had words. They even drew steel on each other last night, though
Leicester and de Lucy separated them quick enough, more's the pity. Jesu, why
couldn't de Langley have stayed dead! I'd give five year's rents from Montagne
if only someone would put him away! If only someone could get rid of—"

He
glanced up and caught himself, seemed to realize to whom he was speaking.
"God's love, madam, I wouldn't actually murder the man, not that I wouldn't
welcome a good honest fight between us."

Jocelyn
stared at her brother. But it hadn't been honest —that ambush in the dark—and
she had the oddest feeling that Brian had been involved. "You can't fight
him, Brian. He'll soon be blood kin."

"I
know that! Don't you think I know that?" he snapped. "God, if only
Pelham had spoken sooner, Adelise would be contracted now. Stephen would have
had to find some other heiress and we wouldn't even be in this mess!"

Jocelyn
kept her gaze steady on his. But there are two of us, she wanted to say.
Two
Montagne daughters. Why was it no one ever remembered that fact?

"Adelise
will likely still be in the chapel," she said instead. "She spends
most of her time there, trying to reconcile herself to this." She pushed
past him, leading the way out the door. "We'd best warn her quickly. She
won't take this well, I'm afraid."

They
hurried down the spiraling tower stairs and out into the sunlit bailey. The
gates were open and Jocelyn could see the first of Stephen's men riding up the
long hill.

They
tried the chapel, but Adelise wasn't there. By the time Jocelyn had checked her
bedchamber and the rest of the women's quarters, the men were already entering
the hall. She paused on her way down the stairs. Her eyes swept past the king
and Brian, instinctively searching for Robert de Langley, singling him out
easily enough as he strode across the floor.

The
man moved with an unconscious arrogance, an easy, sensual grace that affected
some place inside her—a place she had never even known existed before. It was
ridiculous, probably sinful as well, but she found pleasure just in watching
him.

She
would never forget their first meeting, when he had won Belavoir and stepped
through her shattered doorway. And no matter how hard she tried, no matter how
diligently she prayed for deliverance, she could neither forget nor regret the
way he had touched her that afternoon in his chamber, the kiss they had shared
that had somehow touched her soul.

Involuntarily,
Jocelyn's whole body quickened and flushed. And despite all her efforts to the
contrary, despite her rigidly practiced self-control, her firm lectures to
herself this last week, a wild and rebellious yearning swept through her.

She
wanted to run down the stairs and be swept up in his arms as she had that night
out on the battlements. She wanted to rest her cheek against his chest, to feel
warm and wanted within the circle of his arms.

As
if feeling the intensity of her gaze, de Langley swung around. Jocelyn was
aware the moment he saw her, felt the heat in her body surge as their eyes
connected, as a smile warmed his face and he walked straight toward her.

She
reached down and clutched the railing. She wasn't ready for this, hadn't
prepared herself well enough for this meeting. Her pulse was racing, her
stomach twisting into knots. She had never felt so helpless, so out of control.

De
Langley reached the foot of the stairs, and Jocelyn realized she must look a
fool. She had dozens of duties to perform, yet here she stood staring down at
one man. She forced herself into motion down the stairs.

"You
see," he said. "Back all in one piece, even without you to guard my
back."

She
tried to smile. "So I see. We had word Chester had lifted the siege, that
the king didn't have to engage him."

"Aye,
all that effort and we didn't so much as see the backside of his men. I could
have told Stephen how it would be, did tell him, as a matter of fact. Ranulf of
Chester will never stay to fight if he thinks the odds even or better that the
fight might go against him."

Jocelyn
halted on the last step where it was easier to see into his fascinating eyes.
"But I'd of thought the king would go after him. Won't Chester just do the
same thing as soon as Stephen's back is turned?"

"Out
of the mouth of babes..." de Langley murmured dryly. "Oh, aye, you
would think so, wouldn't you? That's what I counseled, as did some of the
others. Unfortunately, Stephen decided against it, helped along by your father
and others who didn't want to fight. And yes, we will have to do it again. I'll
probably end up doing it to protect my own borders. And since I doubt I'll be
able to count on my father-in-law, I'll probably have to do it alone."

Jocelyn
frowned. She didn't like the thought of him fighting again. She'd worried
enough this last week. "Perhaps it won't come to that. Perhaps Chester—"

"De
Langley... Robert de Langley!" A tall, blond figure pushed through the
crowd. "I want a word with you, sir."

De
Langley turned. Edward of Pelham was moving toward them, face set into a frown,
blue eyes dark as a thundercloud.

"We
need to talk, sir. Privately... with the king."

"After
last night, Pelham, I've nothing whatsoever to say to you. Besides, the king
ordered us to keep our distance. He fears I'll kill you if you draw steel on me
again. I might at that," de Langley finished coolly.

"Oh,
you'll talk to me!" Pelham snapped. But de Langley had deliberately turned
his back, was already moving away.

Pelham
lifted his voice. "Very well, if you don't want this in private, we'll all
hear it publicly. I've just learned you murdered your first wife. What do you
have to say to that, my noble Lion of Normandy?"

The
whole room hushed. Jocelyn found herself clutching the stair rail so tightly it
hurt. In the stillness, the neighing of a horse came to her clearly from
outside in the bailey.

De
Langley swung around. His face was pale, golden eyes brilliant. "I would
say that you must have some interesting contacts in Normandy. Most likely in
Henry's court. It might behoove Stephen to discover just how you came by that
talk."

"Don't
change the subject! I want to hear how you murdered your wife. I'm certain the
Montagnes would like to hear it as well. Especially Lady Adelise."

From
across the room, Stephen was pushing toward them. "How dare you, Pelham!
How dare you come here and make trouble! I've been patient with you, but this
is
enough!"

Pelham
didn't take his eyes from de Langley's. "I've a right to ask. The lady was
in the process of being contracted to me. I'll not have her abused, perhaps
murdered as well."

"We
will take this up privately!" Stephen snapped. "Both of you. Come
with me."

"Not
yet, and it please Your Grace," de Langley said. "I've been publicly
charged. I've the right to answer publicly as well." He held Pelham's
eyes. "My wife died of a fever. Any number of people who were present can
swear to it."

"But
there was more to it, far more than any fever. You barred the door with your
sword, wouldn't let anyone in, so I've heard." Pelham paused for effect.
"Not even her
priest!"

"Yes,
there was more, though nothing so sinister as you'd like to imply." De
Langley hesitated a moment, gathering himself with an effort. "My wife was
several months gone with our child. She was in the process of losing it, a
bitter time for us both, you'll agree. There were reasons we needed to talk
alone—not even her priest was welcome. I saw to it, though, that she was
shriven at the last,"

His
face was impassive, his voice cold as ice. "At a time I was least able to
defend myself, that ridiculous talk of murder was begun by my enemies. None
took it seriously. Not even the Angevins."

He
shook his head, eyeing his accuser as if the man were a halfwit or worse.
"God's love, Pelham, you can tell that tale held no truth by the simple
fact that the Angevins didn't pursue it. Had there been the merest hint of
evidence, Henry would have been screaming it in every corner of the land!"

"No,
there wasn't any evidence, you did take care of that!" Pelham snapped.
"But even your own men wonder. Some say—"

He
broke off for de Langley had stiffened, his right hand sliding to his sword hilt.

The
king's justiciar, Richard de Lucy, moved to stand between the men. He put a
hand on de Langley's sword arm, turning aside to the king. "I believe
we've heard enough, Your Grace. These ridiculous accusations are nothing but
heresay and the gossip of idle men about a campfire. Most likely all in their
cups. Lord de Langley has answered patiently, but as you said, this is
enough."

Stephen
moved to stand beside his favorite. "Certainly, it's enough. More than
enough. Pelham, I would have you get back to your post. You were charged with
seeing to the main camp outside these gates. If I see you within Castle
Montagne again, by the splendor of God I do swear, sir, I'll have you put in
chains!"

Pelham
sent him a bitter look. "I can see you've no plans to look for the truth.
I warn you, however, I intend to."

"Enough!"
Stephen
bellowed. "We'll speak of this later, you and I. Now get out!"

Pelham
turned to go, but Robert de Langley stopped him. "I would hate to have to
kill you, Pelham. There's no woman on earth worth killing a good man for, most
certainly none worth dying for. Remember that, Pelham. Remember it and thank
God and His holy angels that I do understand this ridiculous sickness you
have."

A
long look passed between the men. Then Edward of Pelham pushed through the
crowd, striding out the door without a backward glance. Jocelyn watched as
Brian slid out the door in his wake.