Stuart, Elizabeth (31 page)

Without
warning, Jocelyn made a lightning grab for his dagger, jerking it free of his
belt and slashing upward for his throat. He rocked back, his soldier's sharp
reflexes sending his right arm out to block, though he wasn't fast enough to
stop the blade.

Jocelyn
struck, then backed away, knife lifted, knowing she had missed her target, that
she was a dead woman. Brian would exact a terrible and lingering revenge.

Brian
held his hand to his face. Blood gushed through his fingers from an ugly gash
along his cheekbone. His eyes met hers in amazement.
"Bitch!"
he
said. "You stupid Welsh bitch!"

And
then he added in a voice that was thoroughly chilling, unnaturally soft,
"You'll pay dearly for that, I swear, Jocelyn. You'll wish long and hard
for death, months before I let you have it."

"Rot
in hell!"
she
threw back as she caught up her skirts and began to run for the thickest part
of the nearby woods, to run as she had never run before in her life. Yes, she
would pay. But she wouldn't make it easy.

Behind
her Brian was screaming for his men, his horse. There was a confusion of noise
and shouting, the thundering sound of her own blood rushing in her ears.
Jocelyn fought for speed. If she could just make that thicket, the men would
have to dismount. Then she might have the slimmest chance.

Hoofbeats
thudded against the earth. She heard the high pitched cries of men eager for
blood... for sport. The dead winter grass was entangling, the ground uneven. It
was difficult to run, impossible to make
any speed.

Over
the explosive pounding of her heart, she could hear closing hoofbeats, the
snorting breath of a horse just behind her. She wasn't going to make it. They
would catch her here in the open. She would never see Robert, would never get
the chance to tell him she hadn't done what he thought.

Merciful
God help me... forgive me... be with Robert wherever he is.

She
spun about, dagger lifting to slash at whatever came within reach. But a
riderless horse galloped past, another just behind him.

Jocelyn
stared back across the field. Two men lay on the ground, arrows embedded deep
through their leather armor. Brian and the rest of his troop had drawn rein in
confusion. Horses reared and snorted as arrows continued
to fly,
striking man and beast, thudding quivering into the ground.

Jocelyn
didn't wait to see more. Whirling, she raced for the thicket, tearing her
clothes, raking her flesh as she shoved her way through the undergrowth.

"Hissst,
lady! Over here!"

She
fought her way toward the sound, passed four bowmen busily notching arrows
against bowstrings, letting fly in a rapid and deadly rain.

"Here!
I have you a mount."

Aymer!
Jocelyn
was sobbing for breath as she flung herself against the knight.
"Robert...
where's Robert?"

"Not
here," he said, steadying her with both hands. "We're but a dozen men
left to watch. The Carrick boy sent word you'd be out and so we followed,
hoping for just such a chance. But come, your brother's men will cut us to
pieces if we don't outrun them now."

And
as she hesitated, still fighting for breath, he said, "Come, lady, we must
go
now!"

"Can
you tell me where my lord is? Robert de Langley of Belavoir?"

The
man frowned at Aymer, then shrugged. "Don't know. I just came on duty. The
great lords have been riding in and out all the day."

Aymer
tried again. "It is urgent I find him. I have his lady here and my lord
will want to know. Can you tell me who might give us his direction?"

The
soldier turned and stared rudely at Jocelyn. "So that's her," he
muttered. Then he spat at her feet, just catching the hem of her gown.

Aymer
stared in disbelief, the blood in his face surged hotly. "By our Lord
Christ!" he snarled, reaching for his sword. "By our Lord, if I don't
lesson you in the way to treat a lady, you cur!"

But
Jocelyn grabbed his arm. "No, Aymer, let it lie," she said swiftly.
"Come, let's see if we can't find Robert on our own."

Aymer's
hand was still gripping his sword hilt. He was weary and frustrated and in a
rage. It had been difficult bringing his lady to safety, traveling through
country gone over to Henry, pursuing his lord and his king across half the
midsection of England. Now he had reached Stephen's camp but he couldn't find
Robert. "I would teach this knave a thing or two on respect for his
betters!" he growled.

"No!"
Jocelyn said. "Let it lie."

Aymer
drew in his breath and turned away. The hurt in his lady's eyes made him want
to rage and snarl and tear that insolent fool into bits. "Come then,
madam, we'll find him. Never fear."

"Yes,
I know. That's not what I'm beginning to fear."

Aymer
cursed under his breath as he led the way back to the little band of dirty and
disheveled men waiting at the edge of the bustling camp. "I've told you
Robert didn't believe your brother, madam," he snapped. "He did deny
Montagne's words, did set me to watch for any sign of you."

Jocelyn
didn't respond. Aymer had believed her. Miraculously all his men believed her.
But it had become increasingly apparent these last few days that her name had
become a byword among Stephen's adherents, probably Henry's as well. And she
very much feared what Robert might be thinking now.

She
mounted wearily with Aymer's help. She had thought all her worries were over
once she stumbled into her husband's men. Now she knew they were only
beginning. Robert had been made a fool of twice over by the women of her
family. Because of her he had lost his chief castle, a fortress vital for the
defense of the west. And now she was going to have to tell him she might be
baseborn, that she might not hold legal claim to those western lands for which
she'd been married.

Aymer
stopped several times to ask questions, but Jocelyn didn't dismount again. It
would go better for them if she didn't reveal her identity.

They
finally reached the de Langley tents. Robert's camp was set in a place of honor
near the king's silver-and-azure pavilion. Jocelyn felt her throat knot with
emotion as she caught sight of the familiar rearing lions fluttering from a
crimson standard before his tent. He had kept them—her lions.

Aymer
came back after a hurried conference with the first familiar, welcoming face
they had seen. "My lord has ridden out along the river hunting for herons
with the king. Rest you here, lady. I'll go fetch him myself."

Jocelyn
shook her head, sent her long suffering champion a small, forced smile.
"No, I'll go with you. Surprise is ever an important part of good battle
tactics. I would see the truth for myself in his face."

They
left the rest of the men and rode out. Here along the river, spring was already
turning the grasses soft green,
shading the woodlands with the tantalizing silver
shadows that would soon become color. Though the afternoon warmth still
lingered, the air was soft, cooling as evening approached.

Jocelyn
let her cloak billow behind her as they cantered along the river's edge. Robert
was ahead somewhere. She would soon be talking to him. This was the day she had
both longed for and dreaded since she had first learned what Brian had done.

"There
they are, madam!" Aymer drew rein, rising in his stirrups and pointing
toward a distant bend in the river and a cluster of horsemen. "There's the
king. I can see his colors from here... and there is my lord!"

Jocelyn
sucked in her breath, felt her insides knot with tension. She saw him, too,
straight and commanding, taller than Stephen as he sat his horse.

Please
God, let him see me. Let him at least hear what I have to say.

She
kicked her mount into a trot. Tears threatened, making her throat ache, her
eyes burn. At least he was alive. Whether or not he ever believed her, she
would thank God on her knees that Robert still lived.

The
king's guard had seen them. Robert must have recognized them for he disengaged
himself from the group and spurred out across the meadow alone.

Jocelyn
urged her mount to a gallop, all her well-rehearsed explanations flying from
her head. Tears clogged her throat, blurred her vision. How stupid of her to be
overcome now when she most needed eloquence.

She
pulled her horse to a stop, slid from the saddle and ran the last few paces to
meet him. She couldn't see his eyes but his mouth was grim, his face ashen.

She
flung herself to her knees. Her heart was pounding so violently she could
scarcely breathe. "Brian lied!" she cried out. "I do swear on
the soul of my mother, he lied! Hear me, Robert. I never betrayed you, would
never have handed Belavoir over for any cause on earth. Brian lied to shame
you... to ruin me! I swear it. I swear it before God!"

He
said nothing, only stared at her as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Robert..."
She faltered, tried again. "Robert, I will understand if you can't take me
back only say you believe me. After all these weeks of hell, I need to hear
that!"

"Do
you remember what you said that morning Adelise ran away?" he asked
unexpectedly. "That morning when I told you
I didn't make a practice of
murdering my wives?"

She
shook her head. Why was he reminding her of that?

"You
told me you would never have believed
I did."

Jocelyn
could hear the unsteady, violent beat of her heart, the sound of the wind in
the marsh grasses nearby. From further away came the rattle and chink of mail
and harness as the men of the king's party shifted restlessly. She stood
staring, fighting back tears, unable to believe she had understood correctly.

Robert
kicked his foot free of his stirrup and held down one hand. "Come and ride
with me, sweetheart. I think I must hold you now to believe you are real."

She
reached blindly for his hand, caught her toe in his stirrup and let him swing
her up into the saddle. His arms closed around her and she twisted and leaned
into his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. "I-I'm sorry, Robert. Now that
I've begun, I... I can't seem to stop!"

He
held her tightly. She felt his lips brush her hair. "Cry if you want,
love. I've a man who can clean my mail, keep it from rusting."

She
choked on a laugh, buried her face in his scarlet surcoat and wrapped her arms
around him, mail and all. "Oh, Robert, I did sometimes fear I'd never see
you again."

"I
would have come, sweetheart. Somehow, believe me, I'd have come."

"Sir
Aymer... he saved my life." An involuntary shudder caught her, drowned her
in the memory that could wake her, trembling still, in the night. "Aymer
and his men were there when I needed them. Brian would have killed me. I know
he would."

Robert
squeezed her shoulder, stroked her hair, held her as if he couldn't get enough
of her. She heard him call out something to Aymer and then the big stallion
beneath
them was in motion. "Weil talk, love. Weil talk it all out when we get
back."

She
wept until the need eased, then rode with her face still buried in his
shoulder. They would make a strange sight to any passing here along the river,
but she didn't care. She had just escaped hell and hadn't the slightest thought
for anything else.

Robert's
men were already gathering when they reached the de Langley encampment. They
cheered as Robert swung her from the saddle. Geoffrey stepped forward, smiling
as he went down on one knee. "It's good to see you again, my lady. The men
have been out scouring the river banks for this small token of welcome."

He
brought his hand from behind his back, offering up a bouquet of violets.
"It isn't much I fear, lady, but it is offered with a right glad
heart."

Jocelyn
bit her lip, fought for a steady voice as she took the flowers. "A man did
spit on me today when he learned my name. Thank you..." She glanced around
at the rough, familiar faces. "All of you. You've taken the ugliness of
that away, given me a memory of joy to replace it."

Geoffrey
rose to his feet. His smile still held, but there was a grimness about his
mouth. "You've but to point him out, madam. I assure you by tomorrow the
knave will have nothing left to spit with!"

Jocelyn
lifted the violets, inhaled their sweet scent. "It doesn't matter,"
she said, and then she smiled. "He was obviously quite lacking in
judgement. Sir Aymer was armed, you know."

Geoffrey
returned her smile. "Just so, madam." And then he reached to lift the
tent flap, standing aside so that Robert could usher her inside.

The
flap closed behind them, creating a world of intimacy and quiet. Jocelyn
glanced around. A small table was set up with a flagon of wine and two pewter
goblets, fresh manchet bread and a platter of cheese. And everywhere
earthenware cups held clusters of violets.

Jocelyn
clutched her flowers. She was going to cry. Again. "They did this for you,
Robert. To... to please you," she said haltingly.

Robert
caught her shoulder, turning her gently to face him. He was smiling, the most
beautiful smile she had seen in all her life. "No, madam. They did do it
for their lady. I can assure you my men have never brought me a flower in all
my days."

He
brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. For a moment they simply stared,
drinking in the sight of each other. "I'm almost afraid to touch
you," he said softly. "Afraid you will disappear... afraid I'll
simply wake and find I'm dreaming again."

"Oh,
Robert, I missed you. I missed you so much at times I did think I would surely
die!"

He
reached for her, drawing her into his arms and kissing her deeply, so hungrily,
Jocelyn thought she would come apart. She rose on tiptoe, pulling his head down
against her, opening her mouth eagerly against the slanting onslaught of his.

He
crushed her to him as if he would be a part of her through clothing and steel.
Then with a low groan, he swung her up, carried her the few feet to the
curtained area at the rear of the tent.

Jocelyn
dragged off her tunic as he was ridding himself of his surcoat. She turned to
help with his mail as he bent and let the heavy hauberk slide from his
shoulders to a shimmering heap on the floor.

Wordlessly,
he caught her gown, lifting it up and over her head, kissing her passionately
as his hands slid beneath her chemise, grasping her, holding her, as if still
doubting she could be flesh and blood. Then that garment, too, was gone and he
was reaching for her, making her tremble and ache and strain against him.

Jocelyn
could never remember wanting to be a part of him so desperately as she did now.
She reached to help him untie the points of his hose, was relieved to find he
was every bit as ready as she.

He
was kissing her again, not even bothering to remove his shirt as he pressed her
down into the bedding, as he shifted her beneath him with urgent hands.

She
spread her legs, bent her knees. And with no further readying he was entering
her, filling the terrible, aching
emptiness she had carried inside,
joining her body and soul in the most primitive and perfect of ways.

She
arched against him, convulsing immediately with need and pleasure. He buried
his face in her hair, holding her shoulders as he rode her, shuddering and
emptying himself deep within her.

At
last all was silent save for the sound of their labored breathing, the wild,
unsteady beating of heart against heart. Robert pressed his face against her
throat, groaned and shifted deeper, as if he would possess her more fully somehow.
"Why is it that nothing else in all the world seems to matter when I have
you like this?"

Jocelyn
closed her eyes, drew a deep, steadying breath against the stunning pleasure of
his words. "Because it doesn't. Not for a few moments at least." She
tightened her arms around his neck. "Don't let it be over," she
whispered. "Not yet."

He
groaned again and rolled onto his back, pulling her atop him, holding her
against him. "When I saw you out there today, I almost thought you a
vision I'd conjured. I've been wanting you, wondering about you, cursing all
the fates for what had happened between us. But by heaven, I never thought I
needed to fear for you, not with your own brother! What did you mean when you
said Aymer saved your life?"