Faerie (10 page)

“Aye,” he answered, his hushed words echoing off the stone walls. He rubbed a hand over his face, then crossed himself before leaving the altar and exiting the chapel.

“I fear I failed in my vigil and fell asleep. How fares the lady?”

“You slept, but you did not fail. God has answered your prayers. She has wakened, and the priest has left, for it is apparent she is not in so much danger now. She asked for Sigge, the
boy who was with her, but we only told her he was safe. And she called your name.”

“Odd,” he replied as they walked. “She was not conscious when I found her. She could not know it was I.”

“But she might. If she has awakened since so easily, she might have stirred enough to know you were there. Now she is sleeping again. She is in much pain. I have left her with Ealga, who can manage my mother now. I shall take my turn to sleep.”

“I must go soon. May I see her before I leave?”

“Haps peek in, but you should not wake her.”

“I would not. Only to reassure myself.”

She nodded. Philippe followed her through the hall and up the worn stone stairs to the solar. Beyond was the open door of the ladies’ chamber and the bed. They slipped silently inside.

Leonie lay on the bed, curled up in a ball like a small child. The ashen color that had so terrified him had only slightly warmed.

Lady Beatrice glanced up at him and whimpered.

Ealga’s grim smile folded into the wrinkles of her face as she beckoned him forward. “Lady,” she said to Leonie, “can you wake? ’Tis the Peregrine, who has come to see how you fare.”

The girl’s eyes did not open, but she tossed fretfully.

“Lady?” Ealga called again.

“Nay!” Leonie said, curling tighter into her ball. “Don’t let him—send him away.”

Frowning, Ealga jostled the shoulder of the girl, who had not yet opened her eyes. “Nay, Lady, ’tis the Peregrine, he who rescued you. Can you not wake up for him?”

“Keep him away from me!” She pulled the blanket over her head.

Philippe sighed. “I think she is still dreaming, haps remembering whatever happened. But it is good to see she hears and moves.
I must go about the king’s business now, but I’ll return soon. I’ll keep my vigil as I ride, for I hold all of you dear to my heart.”

Old Ealga came around the bed and bowed before him. “I thank ye for saving her even though she cannot, kind knight.”

“She is fortunate to have such a loving family. I am to meet Rufus here, so I shall return as soon as I can.” With a sigh, he left the chamber and went down to the hall to collect his helm, mail, and sword.

“I am sorry,” Claire said as she gave him a loaf for his journey. “She doesn’t know what she says.”

“It does not matter. I am reassured. Now you must rest, Claire.”

“Aye. I can sleep now.”

She waved after him as he rode away.

Philippe had rarely been as weary as when he returned to Castle Brodin. Dark clouds billowed at the horizon like a pack of wolves approaching their prey. Philippe’s warrior’s instinct pricked at the scent that always hung in the air when men ready for battle had passed through.

He spotted the king’s crimson-and-gold pennon flapping in the wind, and relief flooded him. His mission was coming to an end, and he could rest.

As he rode through the village, scarcely even a child paused to look at him as they scurried about in the way people always did when a king was in residence. Lord Geoffrey would be calling upon every retainer he had to make the king’s stay as fine as it could be.

Past the barbican, he could see the king’s campaign tent pitched in the lower bailey. But Rufus would not be staying there.
The family would give over their private chambers and likely the entire hall, for although Rufus loved the rustic ways of a campaign or a hunt, he would take the comforts of a castle whenever he could.

Philippe’s spirits rose as he rode up the road to the castle and into the bailey where the bustle became like bees swarming after clover in the meadow.

He stopped before the great hall door, and the young servant Leof came running. Philippe slapped his gauntlets into the boy’s hand, then pulled off his helm, which had been tangling in his hair. He understood all too well why the old Normans shaved the backs of their heads, and wished sometimes Rufus’s wild courtiers had never thought of the new style of hair flowing down to their shoulders. He would be equally as glad to get out of his mail, but that would have to wait.

“Where is the king?” he asked. “I must give him the news. And the Lady Leonie, how is she?”

“King William is in the solar with Lord Geoffrey,” replied the page, “and he is anxious to see you. I last saw him heading for the stairs behind me. Lady Leonie is in her chamber. She is walking about now. She has broken her fast with the other ladies.”

Philippe nodded. Now he could be more at ease. As the page held the door open for him, he strode into the cool, dark hall and saw Rufus approaching him. Philippe bent at the knee.

But Rufus seemed in no mood for formalities. He rushed up to Philippe, his short, stout body moving faster than it seemed such a man might go, and clasped Philippe by the arms.

“By the rood, man, I’m glad to see you! How goes it, Philippe?”

Philippe gave a weary smile, for he had a fondness for this man few people liked and most hated. “Your courier found us short of Bosewood and I sent him on to Durham with your message. I divided my knights, some to de Mowbray in Northumbria, some to Richmond, others to smaller holdings, and rode here alone. I
appointed de Amiens to reinforce the border near Carlisle, but remain in readiness, should you send for him.”

“Wise choices. By damn, you would have made a good commander, Philippe. You could have been Earl of Northumbria if you had just been willing.”

“You said yourself there are things even a king must not do, Sire, and we agreed the wiser choice was to give de Mowbray back what was rightfully his.”

“And now I wonder. Does he conspire with Malcolm against me?”

“I hope to find that out before it is too late, Sire. So far, I have heard no talk of conspiracies.”

Rufus muttered and hummed as he thought. “He is a man nobody likes, but on that, I’m not one to talk. He’s not as distasteful as Richmond, and at least he seems to believe in something, though I know not what. I almost think he meant it when he pledged to me.”

“Who can say?”

“That is why I need you there, Philippe. I trust your assessment.”

“What if I’m wrong?”

“You’d better not be. The crown could fall if you are. But come, I’ve given you no time to refresh yourself. Get rid of that mail and clean up. Then join us in the solar.”

Philippe nodded and dipped a bow as Rufus turned away and in his frenetic way bobbed across the hall to the stairs leading to the solar.

Aye, he wanted the chafing mail off his body. It was good to have a king who knew for himself the rigors and discomforts of his knights. Philippe held out his arms, and the page and two other young men eased the jingling mail over his head.

He doused his face and hair in the bowl of cool water and finger-combed his hair, then started toward the stairs to follow
Rufus, who had stopped at the far end of the hall near the dais to talk to a knight.

At the foot of the stairs, Leonie stood, looking ashen but alive, her hand resting on her uncle’s arm. For a moment his heart tripped an extra beat.

“Ah!” said Rufus, his beefy red face brightening in color. “Lady Leonie. Good to see you up and about. I have heard you had a very narrow escape. Come and tell me all about it.”

“That is why she has come down the stairs, Sire,” said Geoffrey, his face wearing the grimness of death. “She must make an accusation.”

“Indeed, girl? Then who do you accuse?”

Leonie’s green eyes darkened with fury. She pointed. “Philippe le Peregrine.”

S
ILENCE HIT THE
hall before it erupted into gasps and a wild gabble of shouts.

Fury surged in Leonie as she watched the Peregrine’s honey-brown eyes shift from the mask of caring and concern to astonishment. Had he merely assumed she would die, and no one would learn the truth?

How well he fooled everyone else! How well he had once fooled her! But no more.

The king’s sharp eyes shifted from his knight envoy to her, to her uncle, and then back again.

“We will hear this matter now,” Rufus said. He flung gestures about the hall and servants scurried to obey. The trestle table was pushed to the back of the dais, leaving her uncle’s elaborately carved and padded chair, the closest thing to a throne the castle possessed, for the king. Royal robes were hastily draped over it. Rufus took his seat, and the crowd bowed and retreated a proper distance.

“Now,” said Rufus, adjusting his corpulent body in the chair and resting his arms on the chair’s carved armrests. “Lady Leonie, explain. What is this about? Do you accuse Philippe le Peregrine of attacking you?”

She dipped a reverent curtsy. He was her guardian and avowed to protect her. But he called the Peregrine his friend. And she had met Rufus only once before, when he was still a prince,
the second surviving son of the Conqueror. She could not call upon his loyalty as the Peregrine could. But she lifted her head proudly, her anger bracing her. “I do, Sire.”

“Leonie, I am the one who brought you from the forest,” cried the Peregrine.

Rufus raised his hand abruptly. All voices hushed again. He focused his sharp eyes on his knight, and Leonie could not tell what lay behind his thoughts. “I will hear everyone in this matter, but I will hear the accuser first.”

Her heart pounded wildly. Did she dare hope to be treated fairly? What would Rufus do?

Rufus leaned forward, toward her. “Now, Lady Leonie, tell us. On what day did this happen?”

“Three days ago, Your Majesty, before the noon meal. I went to the forest to gather sumac leaves to make red dye for my wool.”

“Yes, yes, I have heard about your embroidery. A nice skill for a lady. But what were you doing there alone?”

“The sumac turns very bright red this time of year, and I thought it might be the perfect time to pick it because I was told—”

Rufus waved a hand in a quick whirl. “Get on with it, girl. Tell us what happened.”

“I only remember that I was hit hard on the head and nearly fell and fainted. But when I turned, there was Philippe le Peregrine holding me. Then his visage changed to evil, and he began to choke me. I fought, but then—then I remember nothing more.”

“You are certain it was he?”

Her eyes closed as the memory returned, of Philippe’s face, the one she had once thought so handsome, twisted in malice. “Aye, Your Majesty. It could be no other.”

“Nay!” shouted Philippe. “Nay, Sire, I could not do such a thing!”

The king’s eyes cut harshly to Philippe. His frown stopped the man from further protest. It gave her some hope that he might be made to pay for his crime.

The Peregrine stepped back. She saw one of the king’s guards lay a hand on the brown sleeve of his tunic. A warning, she thought, yet there seemed something consoling in the guard’s touch. Surely everyone in the king’s household called the Peregrine friend. How could she hope to be believed above that?

“This is all you remember, Lady Leonie?”

“Aye, Sire.”

“It was Philippe le Peregrine who brought you home, carrying you on his horse. Is it so?”

“So I have been told, Sire. I remember none of it.”

“Then is it not possible you might have some memory of this, and confuse it with the assault?”

Something seemed to shimmer in her head, some distant coloring or fog, and she frowned, searching her mind for the missing pieces. Pain jabbed like a bolt of bright lightning, and she swayed but caught her uncle’s arm. A breath or two. Now she was right again.

Nay, the memory she had was compelling. She saw his face clearly. Felt his malevolent hands at her throat, cutting off her breathing. “I remember his face when I was choked.”

The hall flared up in shouts again, fists thrown into the air, demanding vengeance.

Once again Rufus raised his hand. Leonie drew a deep breath. She could see the king’s great muscles bulging on his short arms. Rotund and small of stature though he was, his very body reeked of strength and power.