Stuart, Elizabeth (21 page)

Jocelyn
reached out and took the letter.

He
caught her wrist. "And you need not fear for your sister. Despite what
some people are saying, I don't make a practice of murdering my wives."

She
stood very still, overwhelmingly aware of the feel of his hand on her, of the
way his gaze made her body begin to heat. "I would never have thought you
did," she said simply.

His
eyes narrowed, his grip on her wrist tightened. For a moment they studied each
other, and the very stillness surrounding them seemed charged. Then he abruptly
released her and turned. "
Harry!"

The
squire materialized in the doorway.

"See
this lady to the end of the hall. Take care, boy, that none sees you."

"Aye,
my lord."

De
Langley glanced back. "Go now, madam. Before anyone learns what's
afoot."

Jocelyn
nodded and turned to go. At the door she glanced back. Her pulse was racing,
her heart hammering unaccountably in her chest. "I'm sorry," she
said, "for all the trouble my family has brought you." And then she
hurried through the door before she was fool enough to say more.

For
a moment, the men remained silent. Richard de Lucy walked to the brazier,
reaching out his hands to its warmth. "Tell me, Robert, would you say that
the lady Jocelyn Montagne is a sensible girl?"

Robert
stared at the man's back, allowing himself only the briefest of triumphant
smiles. "Sensible? Ah, most certainly. But why on earth do you ask?"

***

In
less than an hour, the whole of Castle Montagne was agog with the news. The
lady Adelise Montagne had fled her own wedding, leaving Robert de Langley for
Edward of Pelham. The king was outraged, the bride's family stunned and
disbelieving.

Stephen
was furious about the dilemma he now faced. To regain the bride by force and
punish Pelham would alienate one of his most important supporters in the east.
To sit idly by and do nothing, however, while his friend and favorite and best
battle commander had his bride and a small fortune snatched from beneath his
nose would send the wrong kind of message entirely. The barons were clamoring
for action—for redress for Robert de Langley— but Stephen couldn't determine
what action to take.

A
council was called, and a handful of the most important men met with the king
in Montagne's solar. Jocelyn remained in the hall seeing to the needs of the
other men, trying to ignore the scowls, the ugly talk about her sister.

At
last, in a rage herself, Jocelyn fled to the kitchens. For a certainty she
didn't approve of her sister's actions, but if she heard one more
self-righteous comment about Adelise's immoral, unseemly behavior, her unbecoming,
unfilial conduct, she was going to upend a flagon of ale over some smug male
head!

It
was just before midday when her father came in search of her. Jocelyn glanced
up in surprise as he entered the kitchen buildings. She had been trying to
disguise the meal so that it wasn't so obviously and embarrassingly a grand
wedding feast.

"Come
here, girl, I would speak with you."

Jocelyn
approached him warily. She had felt the back of his hand already this morning
when she'd told him the news. If things had gone badly at council, she didn't
want to get within reach.

But
he seemed quiet now, oddly subdued. A thoughtful, assessing look had replaced
the frustration and rage of the morning. "You'll need to get upstairs,
girl, and clean yourself up. If I didn't know better, I'd think you a
slattern."

They
were on familiar ground now, at least. "I'll go and change shortly. There
was much to do here and I didn't want to soil my good clothes."

"You'll
go now," he growled. "Wear that gold tunic... and do something with
your hair. Adelise wore a wimple. Get that fool of a woman of hers to see if
she can pull herself together enough to put one on you."

"Is
there some reason, my lord, that I do need to look my best?"

"Aye.
The king wants to see you. Before the council."

Jocelyn
stared at him in dismay. "But I've already told him I knew naught of
Adelise's plans. Why on earth does he want to see me again?"

"Because
de Langley's agreed to take you. He's taking half my western lands as well. I'd
tell him to rot in hell if I didn't know Adelise would be the one to suffer for
it."

Jocelyn
held herself very still. "What did you say?"

"I
said de Langley will take you. You're to marry this afternoon in your sister's
stead. The man is willing to settle if I give him what he wants." He shook
his head bitterly. "Only your castle of Warford and all the lands of mine
that stand between it and Belavoir.

"His
holdings will stand together now. It'll make him the greatest power here in the
west save for Chester." Montagne scowled. "I tried to whittle him
down, but he's got me over a barrel and won't budge an inch. He'll have all the
land or nothing and Stephen's given me no choice. And of course every man here
backs him after this ridiculous business with Adelise."

He
shook his head in frustration. "Christ, who'd have thought my own daughter
would be our ruin? Still, Adelise won't be punished. Some say we're getting off
cheaply, considering what the man's giving up."

Jocelyn
hadn't moved. The words swirled and pounded and echoed through her head. A rush
of heat poured over her, followed by a shivering chill. "You mean I'm
to... to
marry
Lord de Langley?" she managed to get out.
"Today?
"

"Now
isn't that what I've been telling you? Good Christ, girl, you do need to
listen!"

"But..."
She swallowed hard. "He can't possibly want
me."

"It's
the land girl, the
land!
Our agreement today will make him an extremely
powerful man."

"Congratulations,
Jocelyn. I didn't think to see both my sisters making such brilliant marriages
today."

Jocelyn
looked up to see Brian coming toward them, an angry smile curving his hard
mouth.

"Of
course, by the look on your face, you weren't expecting it, either," he
added. "But then who would have?"

Jocelyn
struggled to compose herself. She was reeling from the news, still unable to
take it in, but she knew enough to be wary. Her brother's eyes held a cold,
glittering look that told her he was in a rage.

"What
are you doing here?" Montagne snapped. "I told you to wait with the
others. You've already said enough today to put us beyond forgiveness so far as
Stephen is concerned."

"I'm
sorry, Father, but seeing half my inheritance signed away just doesn't sit
easily for some reason. But as you said, there's nothing to be done now."

Brian
shrugged his shoulders in apparent resignation. "I just came to tell you
there's been a change in plan. One of Stephen's men rode in from the south. The
king's younger son is taken with some trifling illness and Stephen is beside
himself to get to his bedside. Everyone is running and shouting and packing. I
thought I'd best come and tell you. A rider's already been sent to the army
with orders to break camp."

Montagne
looked grim. "You mean after all this threatening and haggling there's not
even to be a wedding?"

"I
mean
there
is
to be a wedding, in a matter of minutes. Richard de Lucy has
sent for the priest. Stephen is hell-bent on seeing this done before he
leaves."

"Now?
Christ
on the Cross! Your sister deserves a bit of time to prepare herself at least.
I'll insist that it be put off. No Montagne will be wed in such a
fashion!"

"Certainly
you may try, though the king near had my head for even suggesting it."
Brian sent a derisive smile toward Jocelyn. "I did assure him that de
Langley was safe this time, that no eager swains were waiting to snatch this
bride away."

Jocelyn
met the mockery in her brother's eyes squarely. She was being married for land,
as her father had none-too-gently reminded her. For land and for peace, just
like her mother had been.

But
Robert de Langley was no Montagne. It didn't matter that she wasn't his choice.
It didn't matter if he didn't want her at all. He was a fair man, a husband
beyond her wildest hopes and dreams. She would thank God on her knees for such
good fortune.

Because
anything would be better than this!

"What
is it Jocelyn? Too surprised to speak?" Brian's smile was cold.
"Believe me, everyone else was as well when de Lucy came up with this
preposterous idea. Damn me, if we didn't all think he was making a joke."

"Brian,
that's enough. Your sister isn't to blame for this —not this sister anyway.
Don't take out your spite on Jocelyn."

"Who
shall I take it out on, Father? On Stephen? On Robert de Langley? Well, taking
possession of the land and keeping it aren't always one and the same. Perhaps
someone should remind de Langley of that."

"Get
yourself in hand, boy," Montagne snapped. "We're in enough trouble as
it is."

"My
lord... my lord Montagne?" a page called from the doorway. "His Grace
the king is calling for you."

Montagne
nodded and turned back to Jocelyn. "Well, girl, it appears there's to be
little time."

Jocelyn
forced a smile. "Don't trouble yourself, Father. I can make myself ready
in a trice. As you know, I've little enough to pack."

But
when Jocelyn followed her father into the hall, her courage almost deserted
her. Men were arming themselves and shouting orders, squires and servants were
running about packing. All was noise and confusion and arguing and then an
unnatural, spreading hush as they began to notice her.

Jocelyn's
step faltered. In her rough woolen tunic and stained bliaut, she knew she must
look more like a serving woman than a daughter of the house, certainly no one
fit to wed with a man of Robert de Langley's stature.

She
cursed the impulse that had led her to help out in the kitchens, but there
wasn't any help for that now. Besides, even at her best, she would never look
anything remotely like Adelise, and that was the comparison everyone would be
making.

"Ah,
Montagne, your son will have told you what's happened," Stephen called,
stepping out of a circle of men and hurrying toward them. "I regret this
haste, but there's no time to linger. William is taken with a fever, and I
would reach him as soon as possible. My priest is already making ready in the
chapel. Lord de Langley and the earls of Leicester and York await us there
now."

Montagne
nodded stiffly. "Certainly, Your Grace. We understand your concern."
He indicated Jocelyn with a wave of his hand. "My daughter is willing, of
course."

Stephen's
gaze shifted to Jocelyn. She saw his mouth tighten, he barely managed a smile.
"Congratulations, lady. You will get yourself a good husband this
day."

Jocelyn
dropped into a curtsey. "I'm aware of that, Your Grace. But now I must beg
a moment to make myself presentable. The entire house was upset this morning.
I've been trying to salvage something in the kitchens. It will take only a
minute to fix my hair, to change my—"

"There's
no time," Stephen interrupted. "Besides, everyone here knows the
truth of this lamentable situation. No one is expecting anything from you,
madam, save your presence."

The
king's voice was loud with impatience, carrying to every ear in the room. And
as Stephen strode away, it was all Jocelyn could do to hold her face
expressionless and stare straight ahead.

This
was her wedding day. She would remember it only as one of the most humiliating
days of her life.

The
rain
of the morning had stopped but the day was gray and sullen with a damp biting
wind blowing from the north. Jocelyn shivered as she hurried across the bailey
after her father, pushing through the crowd already gathering at the chapel
steps.

Weddings
were traditionally performed outside the church door, for witnesses were vital
and the more to view the transaction the better. Jocelyn felt a fleeting sense
of relief that the rain had stopped. She didn't need more bad omens to add to
the weight of this day.

The
door swung open and Robert de Langley walked out onto the steps with the
priest. His face was rigid, eyes filled with anger as he turned to speak to the
king.

Jocelyn's
heart sank. He looked magnificent, more regal than Stephen, in a tunic of fine
brown wool with a heavily embroidered surcoat of tawny velvet that matched the
shade of his hair. A new woolen cloak swung back from his shoulders and supple
cowhide boots encased the lower half of his legs. He had obviously gone to the
great trouble and expense of getting new clothes for his wedding.

But
then he had been expecting to wed the beautiful heiress Adelise Montagne, not
her Welsh half-sister everyone took for a serving wench, a woman with dark hair
and slanted witch's eyes and a sharp, shrewish tongue he had laughed at more
than once.

Jocelyn's
insides knotted at the realization of how ridiculous she would look paired with
this man. And he was angry, obviously disappointed.

Well,
fool, and what did you expect? Were you hoping the man would be pleased?

It
was bitter to admit, but in the deepest recesses of her heart, perhaps she had.
She had wanted this, had dreamed of it, had stopped just short of praying for
it.

Be
careful what you ask for, Jocelyn, you might just get
it.

Her
heart was racing, her legs felt shaky and weak. But she held her head up,
walked stiffly up the chapel steps. Then somehow she was standing beside Robert
de Langley before the church door, and he was reading aloud in a clear,
carrying voice all the lands he would grant her to hold in dower. The words
were a blur, impossible to take in, but the list was so lengthy she knew he was
being generous.

Then
the priest was beginning the ceremony. With a strange sense of detachment,
Jocelyn heard de Langley repeating his vows. Then it was her turn. She heard
the priest, heard her own voice, amazingly steady, as she followed the words,
as she promised to take Robert de Langley to husband "till death us do
part."

The
priest blessed the ring and the ceremony was almost over. De Langley took her
hand, and for the first time, Jocelyn found the courage to look up at him.

His
face was drawn, eyes dark with concern, but he caught her staring and forced a
tight smile. She looked swiftly away, shivering anew with the cold, with the
fear and shame sweeping over her.

A
joke... everyone thought he was making a joke.

De
Langley took the ring from the priest, sliding it onto each of her fingers in
turn. "In the name of the Father... the Son... the Holy Ghost..."

It
was all Jocelyn could do to hold her hand steady.

De
Langley's agreed to settle... considering what the man's giving up...

The
ring came to rest on her third finger. "With this ring, I do thee
wed," he finished, and then he lifted her hand to his lips for a swift
kiss.

It
was a gracious and graceful gesture, and Jocelyn felt the tears, hot and
humiliating, behind her eyes. She blinked them back. She was actually married.
To Robert de Langley. The man who was to have been her sister's husband. The
man who had kissed her once and hadn't cared to repeat the experience.

The
priest turned to open the chapel doors so that as many of the party as could
squeeze inside could attend the nuptial mass. But de Langley was holding tight
to her hand, drawing her to one side of the doorway. "What, madam? You
could face me alone and unflinching over a dagger, yet a wedding ring reduces
you to tears?"

Jocelyn
lifted her chin, fighting for the pride that was all she had left. "I'm
not crying. 'Tis only this bitter wind."

"I
see." He searched her face, then frowned and stared down at her hand.
"This has all been handled damnably, Jocelyn. I'm sorry we've had no time
to talk."

"I'm
sorry as well. You must be excessively displeased by this turn of events."

He
glanced up quickly at that. "Displeased? Is that what you think?"
Amusement flickered across his face, easing the distant look he had worn.
"On the contrary, madam. I am most excessively pleased by what has
happened. Most of it anyway. For the rest, well... we shall just have to make
do."

He
gave her hand a squeeze, and then he was unclasping his cloak and draping it
about her shoulders. "You'll need this. Save for the wind, it's as cold
inside that chapel as out."

"No,
I'm fine, truly, I—"

But
he was already drawing the edges together beneath her chin, clasping them with
the circular bronze clasp she had used as a weapon that night at Belavoir.
"I shall have to remember how dangerous you can be with one of
these."

A
faint smile played about his mouth, setting his eyes alight. "I do know
what I shall get you for a bride gift. It seems the only way I shall get to
wear my own."

Then
the king was calling impatiently and they were hurrying into the chapel for the
mass. Jocelyn sat stiffly, eyes downcast, fidgeting with her wedding ring,
reaching up to touch the familiar circular broach beneath her chin.

The
metal was cold, reassuringly solid beneath her fingers. It reminded her of
those moments she had shared with Robert de Langley on Belavoir's stairs,
reminded her that there was a beginning of friendship between them at least.

Her
husband.

She
cast a sidelong glance at him now, a flustered, fidgety feeling skittering
along the edges of her nerves. He looked imposing... remote... incredibly
handsome in his fine new clothes.

But
she couldn't help remembering how he had looked this morning in the warm
intimacy of his bedchamber without them, couldn't help thinking that she would
be sharing that chamber tonight.

She
drew his cloak tighter, taking an inordinate amount of comfort from that simple
piece of cloth, from the look in his eyes as he had wrapped it about her. Her
husband had said he was pleased. And while she was a sensible girl and realized
his pleasure stemmed from the return of his lands, she was thankful at least
that she had brought him what he desired.

With
the thought her spirits lifted a bit. Robert de Langley was a fair man; she had
seen enough of him to realize that. He might be hot-tempered, but she was
certain he would never be cruel. And what woman could hope for any greater
blessing than that?

The
mass ended and the bridal couple were swept from the chapel and into Montagne's
great hall. Musicians had already begun to play, and servants had wrestled
great kegs of ale and casks of wine into place along the walls.

Stephen
shared a hurried round of drinks, then handed out his gifts—a silver wine cup,
heavily chased and jeweled for Robert, a rosary of coral and pearl for Jocelyn.
Such costly gifts were signs of great royal favor, and Jocelyn forced herself
to smile and say something she hoped was appropriate.

Beside
her, Robert did the same, smiling easily, laughing, sharing a bawdy jest with
some of the men. Stephen sent for the horses to be brought around, then called
for one last toast to the bridal couple.

Robert
forced another smile as the shouts rang out from all over the hall. Most of
these men would be leaving with Stephen. Only a handful were pledged to remain
for the wedding festivities, and most of those were allies or vassals of
Montagne—not a situation that made him feel like celebrating.

He
had argued with de Lucy about it, but not even that wily old fox had been able
to change the king's mind. Stephen of Blois was a rarity in these times—an
honorable man. He believed Montagne's pledge of peace because it would never
have occurred to him to break his own word, and also because it was expedient
to believe it. He had recently lost his wife and any illness in his family, no
matter how trifling, was enough to terrify him.

The
best de Lucy had been able to do was to arrange for good men like the earls of
Leicester and York to drop out of the king's escort and remain here so that
Robert would have allies as well as potential enemies at Montagne.

Robert
took a slow sip of wine. It was good of de Lucy, of course, and Leicester and
York. Both men had been friends of his father, and it was a relief to discover
he still had allies in this viper's nest of traitors and fair-weather friends
that seethed about the aging king. He hadn't bothered to inform them, however,
that they would be celebrating his marriage without him.

***

"My
lady... beg pardon, but they do be asking for you in the kitchens."

Jocelyn
turned to the nervous maidservant. "What is it, Elen?"

The
woman shook her head. "I don't know. Someone at the door there just bade
me fetch you quick."

Jocelyn
nodded and excused herself from the kindly earl of Leicester, thanking God for
whatever disaster must have occurred in the kitchens. She was used to working
in the background, not making polite conversation in such exalted company as
this.

She
pushed open the keep door, stepping out into the cold and damp of the outer
stairs. It was good to be away from all those watching, speculative eyes, from
Brian's derisive smile and her father's angry frown. For with Stephen's
leave-taking, her husband had disappeared as well, leaving her to move alone
among their guests enduring the odd looks, the overly hearty congratulations of
men uncomfortable with an awkward situation.

The
excited whinny of a horse, the rattle of steel caught her ear, and Jocelyn
glanced toward the stables. A half- dozen mounted men were moving toward the
gate, and at their head, rode Robert de Langley.

Jocelyn
sucked in her breath. He was leaving.

So
he hadn't been pleased, had gone through with that farce of a wedding only to
satisfy the king.

She
felt frozen, unable to believe what she was seeing. She would have wagered her
life Robert de Langley wasn't the man to slink away like this, to leave her
without a word. She thought of Stephen's obvious contempt, Brian's laughter,
the host of pitying eyes she would be facing in the hall.

A
surge of anger swept her, strengthening her. Suddenly she was in motion down
the stairs, was striding out into the center of the bailey where the men would
have to ride past. If her husband were leaving, he could damned well look her
in the face and tell her so!

She
watched the men advance, stepped deliberately into the path of de Langley's
huge warhorse. The gray brute slid to a halt, and she moved closer, staring up
at the man who was now her husband.

"You
are leaving," she announced, in a clear, carrying voice. "Just what
would you have me tell my father and all our guests?"

"You
may tell them anything you like... later, from the safety of Belavoir."
Robert held down one hand. "Come, madam,
we
are leaving."

Jocelyn
stared at his hand, confounded, unable to reverse all her rage and her anguish
so quickly as this. "Leaving...?"

"Yes.
Now, while we still can." His gaze narrowed, shifted warily toward the
door. "With Stephen gone and most of my men shut outside these walls, I
can't be sure of our safety."

His
eyes swept back to hers. "My men took the gate just now by surprise. For
the moment they hold it, but they can't for long without loss of life. So come,
madam, while our way is still clear unless..." He lifted his eyebrows,
smiled that slow, mocking smile she had hated so in the beginning.
"...unless you've a taste for abduction. If so I'll be glad to
oblige."

That
forced her into motion. "Of course not," she said coolly, reaching up
for the hand he held out, allowing him to swing her up before him for all the
world as if she had done it scores of times. She settled awkwardly into the
crook of his shoulder, felt his arms slide about her in a way no man had ever
held her before.

He
spurred his mount into a gallop, and she watched the open gates flash by.
Scarcely two minutes ago, she had been inside the keep. She had so nearly
missed this, had so nearly been left behind. "How convenient I happened to
be on my way to the kitchens," she murmured.

Robert's
arms tightened around her. "Convenience had nothing to do with it, madam.
I sent that message. As I told you, I do leave little to chance."

***

They
rode through that long, dreary afternoon and well into the night. Beyond the
feeble, sputtering efforts of the torches, darkness ruled the land. From
somewhere off in the distance, the weird, unholy music of a hunting wolfpack
rent the night, and Jocelyn shivered, huddling deeper into the old fur-lined
mantle her husband had found for her.