Stuart, Elizabeth (22 page)

She
had never been fearful of the dark nor of traveling through wild back country,
but now she glanced uncomfortably over her shoulder. She hadn't seen her
husband since the first half-hour of the ride. He had placed her with trusted
men near the front of his army while he rode with the rear guard. "In case
of pursuit," he had told her.

A
muffled figure was riding down the column of men toward her. Jocelyn felt a
brief stir of excitement, squinted against the wavering flare of the torches,
but the man wasn't the one she sought, and her excitement died.

She
was surprised when the rider swung in beside her. "My lady... I may call
you that now in truth, I suppose." He flashed a familiar smile. "May
I offer my congratulations. My lord's luck was with him this day, I
believe."

"Sir
Geoffrey!" Jocelyn was surprised at the reassurance a familiar face
offered, was surprised even more at how much she had needed it. And his words
were kind, easing the awkwardness of the situation.

"I
thank
you," she said. "It's true, we did have some excitement this morning.
I fear your lord got an unlooked-for bride. But it's good to see you. I'd begun
to think your lord had left you in the wilds of Cheshire."

"No
indeed. At Montagne I remained in camp, holding the men steady. They'd no
liking for being on the other side of a high wall from their lord, not even at
the order of the king."

There
was little Jocelyn could say. It was her family those men hadn't trusted. Still
she wanted to know the truth, hadn't dared ask her husband.

"Sir
Geoffrey, I would ask you to tell me the truth if you will. Your lord sits high
with the king. My own father has given him the kiss of peace. Is the danger
really so great that we must flee secretly like this through the night? Would
anyone dare seek to harm him now? The truth," she repeated. "I assure
you I'll take no offense."

"Very
well. You do know Robert is the last of his name. Should anything befall him
now, accidental or otherwise, you become his only heir. Without the saving
grace of a child, you and all you own will simply return to the control of your
family. Forgive my plain speaking, madam, but would it not be a simple way to
more than double the holdings of Montagne?"

Jocelyn
had thought she was cold before, but now even her insides felt like ice.
"I see," she said. "I'd not thought of that."

"Your
lord father may well plan to keep the peace," Geoffrey offered.
"However, there are others who might seek advantage, who might lie in
ambush were our route known and timed in advance. There are those sworn to
Stephen who have leanings toward the Angevins. What a simple way to alter the
distribution of power here in the west, to return it to what it was before
Robert came back from Normandy."

"So
we leave unexpectedly and ride through the night," Jocelyn said. "I
understand."

"It's
Robert's way to do the unexpected. It's kept him alive these last years."

Jocelyn
nodded. "I thank you for telling me. And there's no need to ask
forgiveness. Not for speaking the truth. Not ever."

He
smiled. "That should stand you in good stead, lady. My lord was ever a man
for plain speaking."

They
rode on in silence until Jocelyn caught the flicker of firelight ahead through
the trees. She tensed, her mind running to thoughts of ambush. "What's
that?"

"It
should be our camp. Robert sent men ahead to ready a resting place for you.
They should have food prepared by now, his tent will be set up to get you in
from the cold."

Geoffrey
hesitated, grinned. "I would tell you, lady, in the spirit of plain
speaking, that we didn't think to get nearly so far tonight. Some of the men
even took wagers on how long you would last ere we were forced to call a
halt."

Jocelyn
didn't know whether to be angry or to laugh. "Who won? I should like to
reward the man."

"I
did. I told them you would ride to the end. You've made me a rich man this
night."

At
that Jocelyn did laugh, the first time she had laughed in many a long and
miserable day. Geoffrey joined in and, to the obvious surprise and admiration
of the men around them, they were both still laughing when the weary column
stumbled into camp.

It
was one of the first things Robert was told when he rode in nearly an hour
later, that his lady had made all that terrible ride without complaint, that she
had been laughing, even, at the last.

He
smiled as he handed Belisaire over to his man and headed toward the campfires.
His wife had impressed his men, and he knew well enough that wasn't easy to do.
He'd been right that first night. Jocelyn Montagne was an unusual woman.

He
ate a quick, cold meal beside the fire. Geoffrey had anticipated most of his
orders so there was really little to do. In fact, many of his men were already
asleep, rolled tight in the oiled cloth groundsheets and blankets they carried.
He should be seeking his own rest, but blood of Christ, this was his wedding
night!

He
glanced toward the cluster of trees where his tent was set up, thinking of
Jocelyn, of the scalding images he'd been wrestling with all day. He wanted the
girl, had wanted her since that night he'd taken Belavoir.

But
Jocelyn had endured enough for one day. She would be exhausted, most likely shy
of him as well. He didn't want to give her a distaste for the marriage bed... a
distaste for him.

He
reached for his wineskin, picked it up and drank thoughtfully. He'd never had
any complaints from women before. He knew well enough how to pleasure a
partner. Judas, even that bitch Marguerite had liked him in bed!

Marguerite
had used that, used him. He'd been a fool for her at first, a green youth in
the threes of a first and very painful love. He'd been forced to learn the hard
way to take what he wanted, even as she had taken from him, and Christ, had she
taken!

But
Jocelyn was as different from Marguerite as sunlight from shadow. Besides, he
wasn't sure he had the patience just now, the self-control needed to seduce a
skittish, virgin wife properly, not with an interested audience encamped not a
dozen yards from his tent. And for all that he wanted the girl, he'd come to
respect her as well, an emotion he hadn't felt for a woman in a very long time.

Jocelyn
deserved better from him than a quick tumble in a flimsy tent in the midst of a
rough camp. He owed her better. She'd begged for patience and care for her
sister, though she'd asked nothing for herself. Well, he would grant her the
same.

He
reached for a blanket, grinning, wrapping himself in its warmth. This certainly
wasn't the way he'd planned to spend his wedding night. Marguerite would have
called him a sentimental fool.

He
closed his eyes, still smiling. The bitch would have been wrong, of course, as
she'd so often been about him. He was acting in pure self-interest. He wasn't a
green boy ever to fancy himself in love again, but he did want a peaceful home,
an eager bedmate, a woman he could respect for his wife.

And
for all of that he was willing to wait, to give his new bride whatever time she
needed. He suspected that Jocelyn de Langley would be a woman well worth the
wait.

***

Jocelyn
leaned over and blew out her candle, frowning as the icy, smothering darkness
engulfed the tent.

He
wasn't going to come.

She
shoved the loose, heavy mass of hair back over her shoulder, embarrassed that
she had gone to such lengths to try to wash herself, to scrape the mud from her
stained skirts and beg a comb from Sir Geoffrey to make herself presentable.

She'd
not seen her husband in hours. She had no hint what he wanted, whether he would
even be joining her tonight. Still, the man who'd brought food and wine had
left two cups. She had thought her husband would come to talk to her at least,
that he might...

She
flushed in the darkness, embarrassed by what she had thought. There could be
any number of reasons her husband hadn't come, why he'd avoided her all
afternoon. However, she could think only of one, could think only that Adelise
would never have slept alone on this night, no matter whom she had wed.

Jocelyn
wrapped herself in her blankets and curled up, chilled and shivering on the
fragrant pallet of pine boughs. An aching sense of loneliness welled up,
swallowing all her courage and even her pride. Tears burned behind her eyelids,
slid warm and wet across her cheeks and into her hair.

Be
careful what you ask for, Jocelyn...

***

They
reached Belavoir at midday. Robert slid from his horse, turning to help his
wife from her mount. Already the cheers of his men and the scores of servants
gathered to welcome them home were dying out. People were glancing at one
another, surprised and uncomfortable, as they realized he had brought home the
wrong bride.

Robert
grinned but one glance at Jocelyn's carefully expressionless face told him she
found nothing whatever amusing in the situation. He reached up and lifted her
down, sliding one arm about her waist as he drew her against his side.

She
stiffened at the intimacy but didn't pull away. He turned to his people, met
the host of speculative looks with a candor he had always found effective.
"You are thinking I've brought home the wrong wife, but you are
wrong," he said loudly. He lifted his eyebrows, sent his slow, lazy grin
through the crowd. "I do assure you I'm well able to tell one woman from
another. Ask any of my men. All will vouch for that fact."

A
surge of laughter followed his words, a few choice comments were even shouted
by the more daring. Robert waited a moment for the noise to die down. His
people were smiling now, listening attentively.

"I
tell you, by God's grace, that I've actually brought home the right wife—the
wife of my choice instead of the king's decree. The lady Jocelyn of Warford has
agreed with me that we are well suited. She has done me the very great honor of
becoming my wife. It is she who will be your new lady. You will give her your
respect and prompt service, or I will know the reason why. In all things, save
the ordering of my men for war or defense, her word will be as mine and if any
offense is offered to her it will be the same as an offense to me."

Jocelyn
was listening in disbelief, amazed by the power her husband was giving her,
amazed even more by the flattering, but not-entirely-truthful way he was
describing how she had come to be his wife.

The
people of Belavoir were smiling, some even nodding at her in approval. She was
awed by the effortless way Robert de Langley controlled the crowd, by the easy
way he swayed people to his side. Her father had never been able to threaten or
coerce even one small portion of such loyalty or acceptance as this.

"I
would ask you to join with my lady and myself on the morrow for a day of
feasting and celebration," Robert continued. "We left Montagne rather
suddenly. I did feel a most pressing need to be elsewhere," he added, as
the crowd laughed again and began to cheer.

Then
his arm tightened around Jocelyn, shifting her so suddenly she was taken by
surprise. She had no chance to stiffen, no chance even to think as he drew her
against him and covered her mouth with his own as the crowd and her heart
thundered in concert through all that swift and unsettling kiss.

"Madam,
your bath is ready."

Jocelyn
stepped forward and lifted her arms, allowing the maidservant to untie the side
lacings of her bliaut, to lift it over her head along with her tunic and
chemise.

"I'll
brush and clean these as best I can. The mud'll be easy, but the stains may
well be set."

"Thank
you, Alison. Just do what you can."

The
girl left with the clothing and Jocelyn moved toward the tub, shivering. She
had gone instinctively to the bedchamber she and Adelise had once shared, not
daring to trespass in the lord's chambers. The room had been closed and icy,
but it hadn't taken long to get a fire blazing in the hearth, to have a bed
made up and colorful hangings back on the walls.

Jocelyn
eased into the steaming water and sank down, relishing the soothing liquid
warmth that rose up about her. Thank God for hot water and the power to order
it whenever she chose. This was the first time she'd been warm in the whole of
two days.

She
frowned. That wasn't entirely true. She'd been much too warm outside in the
bailey when her husband had kissed her. It had been a quick kiss, a kiss any
husband might give his wife in public. Still it had been hot and possessive,
branding her senses and shattering her resolutions. She hadn't been expecting
it, hadn't had the chance to steel herself against its effects. And it had made
her realize just how difficult it would be to live with a man like Robert de
Langley and hold onto even the tiniest shreds of her pride.

She
picked up a cloth and began to wash her body, evaluating her nakedness in a way
she'd never done. Just what would her husband think when he decided to take her
to bed? Her flesh was creamy white, smooth and supple to the touch. Her waist
was appropriately narrow, but her hips and breasts curved out more generously
than was desirable for any highborn lady with pretensions to beauty.

Jocelyn
frowned at the firm, round fullness of her breasts. She'd heard some women
bound their chests for the slim silhouette that was so desired and had always
laughed at such vanity.

She
wasn't laughing now. If she had thought she could get away with it, she'd have
done it in an instant. However, bindings wouldn't help when she needed help
most, when she met Robert de Langley without benefit of any concealing cloth
between them.

But
then the lord of Belavoir didn't seem in any hurry to find out what he'd
gotten. She should be thankful, she knew, that she would have time to prepare
herself to meet him with all the poise and self-possession a man looked for in
his lady. That quick kiss had nearly destroyed her, while he had turned away, laughing
with the crowd, forgetting his wife as he was drawn into the affairs awaiting
him at Belavoir.

She
would just have to do the same. She would manage Belavoir and see to her
husband's comfort just as she had seen to her father's. And somehow she would
find the strength to keep her feelings to herself. It was what she'd always
done, after all.

She
finished her bath, then washed her hair and wrapped herself in a towel before
the hearth. Even with the fire, the room was cold: it took hours to heat a stone-walled
chamber properly.

Picking
up the comb she had borrowed, Jocelyn dragged it through her hair. She had left
Montagne with nothing but the clothes she was wearing. Her husband had sent
back a messenger saying he had been called away suddenly on a matter of
urgency, that he would send for his wife's things.

Still,
she didn't have much hope of getting anything soon. Her father would be furious
at the way they had left. She would probably be wearing that same stained gown
and bliaut for a long time to come.

Rising
dispiritedly, she moved to the bed, picking up the cloak she had worn and
wrapping herself in its warmth. She was giving in to self-pity, she realized,
something she disliked in others and hated even more in herself. She should be
thanking all the saints that she was out of Montagne, that she had the exalted,
unexpected position as the lady of Belavoir.

What
she needed was sleep, Jocelyn told herself. All would look brighter after a
rest. And since she had nothing to do until Alison came back with her clothing,
she might as well see if she could get some. With the thought she curled up on
the bed, drawing the cloak about her. In a matter of minutes, she was asleep.

***

"Well,
madam, are you going to sleep away the whole afternoon?"

Jocelyn
awoke with a start. She started to sit up and discovered, too late, that she
wore nothing at all but a cloak—a cloak that had dipped dangerously low on one
bare shoulder. She grabbed the edges together, feeling her face flame as she
raised her eyes to the unsettling golden ones of Robert de Langley.

For
a moment she couldn't think why he was here. Or even where
here
was. She
felt as if she had been swimming far beneath the surface of the sea and was
still struggling to reach the top. "I-I am sorry, my lord. Is there
something you would have me do?"

Robert
smiled, letting his gaze wander from his wife's flushed, disoriented face, to
her glorious hair, to that bit of white shoulder clearly visible through it
all. He had begun this visit in innocence, but he didn't think now that he
would be able to end it that way.

His
heartbeat had accelerated alarmingly, his groin was heavy and tight with the
need for release. His gaze shifted from hers, dropped to her wide mouth. It had
tasted sweet this afternoon, so soft and seductive it was all he'd been able to
do to drag himself away.

"Yes,
Jocelyn, there is," he said. "We've been married two days now and
I've yet to hear you call me by name. I believe I did give you leave to do so
within a few minutes of our first laying eyes on each other." He glanced
about the chamber, letting his gaze linger on the door his men had rebuilt.
"In this very room, as I recall. Do you remember?"

"Certainly
I remember." Her face flushed at the memory, then she added
self-consciously, "Very well... Robert, though your name doesn't come
easily to my tongue."

"It
will." He couldn't resist a smile as he added, "All things do ease
with practice."

He
stepped away to a chest where a flagon of wine stood with several cups. It
seemed a lifetime ago that he had dealt with innocence. The women he'd sought
out most of his life had been sexually confident, sure of themselves and of
what they could offer a man.

Yet
he found himself pleased that his wife knew little of coupling. She was
obviously shy of him in this new married state, but he'd known from the first
that she didn't dislike him. And if he was any judge of women, he doubted her
shyness was going to last long.

He
filled his cup and moved back, lifting it for a drink and then holding it down
to her. "Here, madam, drink. I believe you are still two-parts
asleep."

Jocelyn
shifted further up against the bolster, fighting to recover the poise she had
lost so completely. It wasn't easy with her husband studying her in that odd
way he had that made her whole body heat and her flesh begin to tingle.

She
clutched the cloak with one hand and reached for the cup. She was at a decided
disadvantage dressed as she was, but she couldn't ask him to leave. And she was
thirsty. The wine tasted good. "I'm sorry... Robert," she said,
trying for a normal tone. "I meant only to sleep for a short time. Have I
truly slept all afternoon?"

"No.
Just over an hour. And you did earn that sleep, I believe."

Then,
to her horror, he was easing down onto the bed beside her, leaning forward to
take the cup and drink from it himself She studied his lean brown fingers
curled around the cup, couldn't help remembering the feel of them against her
bare throat. Her eyes rose to his mouth. That same sensual mouth had been warm
and hard against hers this afternoon, had kissed her senseless a few weeks ago.

She
swallowed and looked away. Her whole body was responding, tensing, tightening
in a way she couldn't control. How would she ever be able to hide her feelings
when she reacted this strongly and the man hadn't even touched her?

How
would she respond when he finally did take her to bed?

She
knew a sudden, instinctive fear that she was in waters far over her head, that
she could lose everything of importance and end with nothing of herself left at
all.

The
bed shifted slightly as he reached to put down his cup. "We do need to
talk, Jocelyn," he was saying. "About all that has happened. I
greatly regret you were denied the joys of a real wedding day—all the attention
and fuss and new clothing all women set store by. I'll do my best to make it up
to you. If your father refuses to give up your things, you may have as much
money as you like for clothes and whatever else you've lost."

Jocelyn
shook her head. Her husband had land but little money, and he would need what
he had to pay troops. "There was nothing of any real value," she
murmured. "A few of my mother's things I held dear for sentimental reasons
alone."

She
glanced up and met his eyes bravely. "In truth, I've no regrets of these
last two days save that I came to you like a pauper. That I shamed you before
your friends."

There,
she'd said it, had gotten it out between them at last. She held her breath,
watched his face to see what it would reveal, then wondered if she truly wanted
to know.

"Good
Christ, madam, whatever gave you that idea?"

"My
brother said the match was all Richard de Lucy's idea. That at first everyone
thought it a joke. My father even mentioned your being 'forced to
settle.'"

Jocelyn
lifted her chin, held her voice steady with an effort. "You had thought to
marry an heiress, my lord, an uncommonly beautiful heiress. Despite what you
told me outside that chapel, you couldn't possibly have been pleased by the
change. I'm sorry. You could have done much better, I expect."

"What
your family said is untrue," he said slowly. "There was talk
occasioned by the disparity of the dowry you and your sister would have. Your
mother held nothing in her own right save the castle and lands of Warford,
while Adelise's mother was a de Valence and held a very great deal indeed. And
I won't lie to you, I did bargain for all I could get. Your sister's action
made it possible to push for everything I wanted and more."

He
hesitated. His voice became softer. "But I never meant that bargaining as
disparagement of you, Jocelyn." He reached out, ran his knuckles gently
along her cheek. "I wasn't forced to any unwanted settlement. Judas,
madam, what man wouldn't be pleased to have you for a wife?"

Jocelyn
stiffened and drew away. She couldn't think when he touched her like that, and
she needed to think. They needed to talk. She wanted a marriage based on
friendship and trust if nothing more. She didn't want to begin with lies
between them, even if he did mean them for the best.

"You
do not have to say that," she managed to say. "Sir Geoffrey told me
you were a man who favored plain speaking, and I would rather by far have you
do me the honor of speaking the truth than offering me flattery as a misplaced
kindness."

She
stared at him, trying to make him understand. "I want to be able to trust
you, Robert. Don't you see? To believe what you say without question. I'm not
some mindless fool and have no wish to be treated as one. Don't give me false
and pretty words, not even if they are offered with the best of intent. I want
to be able to respect you, to respect myself. We can have that, at least, I
believe."

"What
I see, madam, is that I shall have to buy you a mirror," he said dryly.
"You cannot have looked at yourself, if you think I'm offering mere
flattery."

"I
don't need to look at myself. I've had only to look at my sister all my life,
was told to look at her, emulate her."

Robert
sat back and stared at his wife in amazement. Jocelyn obviously believed what
she was saying, and for a moment he was wholly at a loss. While her beauty
wasn't the boyishly slim, blond fairness so favored by his countrymen, he'd
never seriously considered that she might not be aware of it herself, that she
might feel discomfort or shame in the intimate setting of a marriage bed.

He'd
always taken his own physical attractiveness for granted. He had never had to
wonder if women found him desirable. Beckoning eyes and eager female bodies had
been plentiful since he was barely fifteen. His first wife, too, had been
hailed as one of the greatest beauties in all of Normandy, and she had traded
on her looks as a shrewd merchant would rarest gold. In fact, he'd never lain
with a woman who wasn't sure of herself and her effect on a man.

Now
he frowned as he fumbled for words to make up for what years of neglect had
obviously done to this woman, to compensate for the humiliation his own schemes
had put her through yesterday.

"I
wasn't ashamed to marry you, Jocelyn. I didn't 'settle,' as you so wrongly
believe. The idea to match the two of us was hatched between de Lucy and myself
within minutes after you left us yesterday morning. Believe me, madam, I did
push for it as much as I dared without letting your father know I wanted you.
To do so would have been to lose most of the those lands he did so hate to
offer up."