By Right of Arms (5 page)

He was all for France and the Church, whatever the cost. The cost had proven dear.

Lavergne had continued to plead for concessions on behalf of his daughter. Although Aurélie had abandoned her father’s principles for her husband’s, Lavergne was desperate to protect her against death or imprisonment. Hyatt had not given his word to that. He refused to weaken his position on any issue. But it was in his mind from the first that only necessary death and bondage should occur. He did not fear the mistress of De la Noye, this child-woman of whom Lavergne had spoken so affectionately. The fact that she was steadfast behind Giles to the end only made her more admirable in Hyatt’s mind. Loyalty, especially from a woman, had come to mean a great deal to him.

When he saw her, ravaged though she was by the destruction that encompassed her and the effects of honest grief for her husband, her beauty was manifest. She was small and trim, though by no means frail. Her face, even in devastation, had a healthy glow, her eyes bright enough to glitter in the dark and as blue as the clearest sky. Her thick brown hair was streaked with honey-gold and fell below her waist, curling seductively around her face. And her tenacity spoke of passion. This was, as Lavergne had claimed, a worthy dame.

He had earlier found the woman, Perrine, and allowed her to fetch her mistress for the early morning burial. He instructed his men to let her pass. Although he wished it otherwise, he found himself compelled to watch her from the wall, assuring himself that there was sufficient strength in her stride. She endured her hardships well. He was disappointed that he lacked a better view, another chance to look closely at her face and alluring form. Hyatt was never trapped by a flirtatious smile, but there was something about Aurélie, something more than her obvious fairness, that occupied his thoughts. From the moment he had issued her the blade, he had hoped he was accurate in assuming she was made of surviving stock.

He returned to his own work while she was busy with the burial. He had serious matters to deal with, though most of De la Noye had fallen into place better than he expected. These simple castlefolk and even the men-at-arms had suffered a rule so weak, they were resigned to Hyatt’s shocking power almost immediately. Little was needed in the way of educating them.

The greatest disappointment of his conquest lay in the continued poor behavior of one of his own, Sir Thormond. The knight was a cockerel who was consumed by self-importance. He had acted outside of Hyatt’s authority on several occasions in the past, the complaints and crimes attributed to him many. Although he had been warned, Thormond was feeling a victor’s zeal when they took De la Noye. He was reprimanded twice for actions he took against the residents, and Hyatt began watching him more closely. He discovered Thormond hiding some of the booty for his personal use. Now he must deal with the man. He knew the punishment must be harsh and swift for two solid reasons. Thormond had earned punishment befitting a thief, and the example to the other knights and residents here might save future retribution. If all were sufficiently shocked into awareness, only the foolish would dare steal from Hyatt in the future.

Yet Hyatt vehemently wished that he had never taken the knight on, or had turned him out long ago, on perhaps the first or second offense of usurping his master’s authority. Against his better judgment, Hyatt had paid the man, purchased his battle gear and horse, and provided a squire. He needed men and had been in a hurry to appease Prince Edward. And Thormond had once ridden with Hyatt’s estranged brother.

However, Hyatt would not give the fallen knight another opportunity to betray him. At just after daybreak, when the prisoners and injured were all returned to De la Noye and littered the inner bailey, Hyatt ordered Thormond delivered to the yard.

That the stench of death and the pitiful state of the conquered ones sickened him were weaknesses Hyatt did not share with any comrade; soldiers did not wince away from death and injury and despair. These were his thoughts as he entered the yard: that no one would know by his action or expression that his stomach churned against his duty. When he was noticed emerging from the hall, the prisoners were poked and ordered to stand taller, and Thormond was dragged forward.

He saw Aurélie. She stood far back, behind many captured soldiers. She watched the flurry of activity that took place the moment Hyatt inclined his head. He saw her face, pale and drawn, her head covered by the black hood of her cloak. For a moment he wished she were not there; he would spare her this. But it was a fleeting wish.
Let her see,
he thought.
She will know my strength and I will know hers. Until then, we know nothing of each other.

Thormond wore the colors of red and black, but he was stripped of his sword and shield. As he was brought forward, he looked down at the ground. Only his chausses, shoes, and gambeson gave him away to be one of their number, yet he was being held as an offender. As he was pulled to the center of the yard to face Sir Hyatt, he slowly looked up, his expression full of hatred and defiance. Hyatt saw the stinging truth again, there in Thormond’s eyes. He knew Thormond would kill him, if it met his needs.

“Thormond,” Hyatt shouted in a voice that caused his prisoners to stand taller if the guard’s prodding had not. “I would break the arm of any man who steals from me, but one of my own—” he shouted, looking all around him. He judged the reactions of those present. Then he spat in the dust at the feet of his soldier. “With one of my own, one whom I’ve trusted and tried to teach truth and honor, my judgment would be harsher.”

He looked toward one of his knights and the man unsheathed his sword and tossed it to Hyatt. He caught the heavy weapon with ease, as if it weighed no more than a scythe or hoe. In a flash of action so swift many would wonder if they had even seen it, the prisoner’s arm was held out and whisked off just below the elbow. A shriek of pain left the victim before he crumpled to the earth in agony.

Hyatt stabbed the bloodied weapon into the ground beside the severed limb and looked around again, his voice ringing loudly over the cries of the injured man. “To test my justice, test only the edge of my sword. They are equally sharp.” Then in a voice only slightly subdued, he added, “Mend him and turn him upon the road. He betrays my shield. He betrays my word.”

The cries stopped as Thormond was quickly hefted over the shoulder of one guard and carried out of the way. Hyatt judged the observers again, looking for one in particular. She stood. He could not see her closely enough to know if she gaped, but her arms were still at her sides. Perrine hid her face and seemed to retch, but Aurélie faced the loathsome deed. He kept himself from showing a prideful smile and turned, striding back to the hall as confidently as he had come.

Hyatt had acted quickly; there should be little doubt he would not dally over tiresome testimony. He was grateful to find some of his men in the hall, finished with their early morning meal. He desperately needed any diversion they would provide. He wanted to scour away the memory of Thormond’s betrayal and severed limb. Only a few of his most trusted men knew that he had doubted Thormond; they had helped him watch the errant knight. But the punishment was hard earned. The residents of De la Noye would consider him ruthless. That was his deliberate plan.

He called for cold ale and spoke with Sir Girvin, his closest vassal. “Thormond is finished,” he said sourly.

“It should have been done long ago. It is a necessary example,” Girvin grunted.

“A costly one,” Hyatt said. “My hard-earned monies bought his sword and ax and horse. I could not teach him to follow, and now he shall never lead.”

“You kept the destrier and weapons, did you not?”

“I would rather have a good soldier,” Hyatt grumbled.

Girvin seemed to sense his friend’s melancholy. “Does this promised castle prove too much trouble?” he asked, smiling.

“It does not bode of great plenty,” Hyatt said, adding a curse under his breath.

Girvin began to laugh. He had been with Hyatt for many years, and the younger man often became surly when faced with a lord’s responsibility. In truth, De la Noye was his greatest conquest thus far and Hyatt had no cause for any such coltish pouting. “Who will carry this poor lad’s burdens?” he asked the men standing about.

Offers went up around the hall and within a moment there was jesting and toasting, the very thing Hyatt had hoped for to ease his distaste. He was laughing over a good retort when he noticed the slim, darkly clad figure cautiously and quietly enter the hall. He thought she must pass this way to gain her chamber, but not knowing the keep well, he was not certain where he might cross her path next. Perrine stayed close behind her, the attendant’s face still white with disbelief. He held a cup of cool ale in his hand and hoped he appeared untroubled by the fact that he had just maimed a man.

Aurélie met his eyes. He smiled and made his way to where she stood.

“My lady,” he said, his voice even and smooth.

She lifted her chin but could find no words.

“I trust the departed are blessed and resting?” he asked. She nodded, looking up at him. “Good,” he said. “We could not look to the morrow for fruitful harvest until yesterday’s tragedy is past. I expect each soul yearns for only good to befall the fair De la Noye now.”

He tried to speak as though those buried were but losers of a joust and that, as in all good sporting, he held no grudge. Women knew little of war—they sent their men away to fight and either welcomed home victors or buried the dead. Hyatt wished her to know that he held no contempt for those slain. Indeed, he had respect for those who fought valiantly. As long as kings argued, knights fought. His eyes remained softened toward her. War was work, a matter of necessary action, not meant to be enjoyed nor to destroy all that might be left.

She shook her head numbly, showing great confusion. “I … I could not help but see … in the courtyard …”

“I am sorry you must witness such, madame. A lord’s chore is often ugly.”

“I think, Sir Hyatt, that it must be a terrible demon who drives you,” she said softly, searching his eyes.

It was as before, when he looked at her face. There was a catch in his breast and he felt a strange tugging. He was taken by more than her comeliness. From inside he could feel the urge to cradle her in his arms and drive away fear and pain she might have. But he reminded himself that her delicate appearance was not a true indication of her strength. She had stood through the cursed event as well as he, and did not weaken.

“Perhaps, madame, all that is different about me is that I am free from demons.”

“Nay,” she replied. “A fearful devil, surely … and one we shall all know quite well.”

Hyatt let his eyes bore deeply into hers for a moment and then slowly he let his gaze drop, giving her body a long, leisurely appraisal. He wanted to touch her, but did not. In time, he promised himself, he might let her see beyond his ambition and calloused determination. And he would look beyond her pride and strength. He began to taste a tender moment, but forced himself to have patience. His eyes again focused on hers, and he did not smile. “You will know me quite well, Aurélie. Rest assured.”

Aurélie was aware of Hyatt’s occupancy of the former lord’s chamber. She could hear his movements and wondered at his strange hours, for it seemed the chamber was never without a variety of voices, heard from early morning until late at night. More confusing to her was the fact that he left her alone in her private solar. She expected this modest luxury to be revoked at any moment.

Isolated, by her own choice since the hall was not denied her, she gave herself to hating the victor and mourning her husband’s death. She saw only a few servants, and that they seemed to endure their captivity well did not ease her mind as it should, but only increased her fury. No one, it seemed, mourned Giles or resisted Hyatt’s rugged occupation.

“My lord insists that you rise from your grief and prepare for a visitor,” Perrine told her when she delivered an early morning tray of food.

“My lord?” Aurélie said, aghast. “Perrine, have you made him your lord?”

“I have little choice, madame,” she returned. “He makes it clear his rule here will not be questioned.”

“Does the madman expect me to visit the kitchens for his guest? Am I to don a costume to serve the vermin? I will not do his bidding. I will not discard my widow’s black.”

The door to her chamber slowly opened and Hyatt stood there, looking in at her with an amused smile on his lips. “I was told of your stubbornness, Aurélie, but I was not warned about your impudence. I suggest that you set aside your belligerence and do as I have asked.”

“Never,” she cried, stamping her foot in emphasis. “I am your prisoner, not your servant.” During her days of solitude her anger had built into a seething rage. She foolishly forgot the people she intended to protect from him and was insulted by his passive tolerance. While she might have cowered from his hostile treatment, she bristled under his smooth control.

He raised one brow and crossed his arms over his chest. “I am willing to force the issue,” he said.

She stared at him with childish insolence. “Will you cut off my legs if I do not serve? Beat the villagers if I fail to oversee the hall? My arm,” she said, thrusting it toward him. “Will it be sacrificed if I will not put aside my black? Or will it be my head?”

“None of these,” he said easily, shrugging his shoulders. “I will simply dress you myself.”

She was stunned into silence. She had learned, and heard from Perrine on her brief visits, that Hyatt meant to be taken seriously. And that his command was most frequently issued in a soft and patient voice that only covered a more brutal action he would not hesitate to employ.

“I would not bemoan the task. If it were unpleasant to me, I would simply send my guard to do it.”

She whirled around and presented her back. She wished for a moment that he would simply beat her, rather than employ his boyish charm, this courtly solicitude of asking for her compliance. And then the memory of the man’s stump and his arm lying in the dust came to mind, and she shuddered.