His Fair Lady (26 page)

“On the church steps, Sir Royce recounted
how the squire gave me to the care of Georges and Marie in
Vincelles. ‘Twas in part how he identified me.”

“In part?”

“That, by my coloring and features, and by
this.”

Ana drew the silver cross from the top of
her gown, holding it out for Lord Gilbert to see.

“My squire gave me the cross just as he was
leaving Vincelles.” She smiled at the memory and caressed the cross
with her fingers lovingly. “I cried frightfully when he began to
leave, screamed really. He gave me his cross and told me God would
keep me safe and to remember him in my prayers.”

Ana lifted her eyes from the cross to Lord
Gilbert and found his own intent upon her.

“Marie, my foster mother, told me that the
squire was God’s instrument of mercy that sorrowful night. Not only
did he pluck me from the destruction and comfort me, but he brought
me to them. They had no children, you see, and believed God led the
squire to them, that they might safeguard me and raise me as their
own.”

Ana gazed across the room unseeing as she
remembered that night.

“The squire also gave Georges and Marie his
own coin, a generous amount. His kindness provided for more than
our simpler needs though. With France’s King Phillip leaving the
country on Crusade, Georges feared Vincelles would fall prey to the
ravaging barons as had Vaux. He moved the three of us into Angevin
held territory, knowing King Richard had provided for its defense.
Then too, Georges was able to expand his trade with the coin,
enabling him to serve much of Chinon and provide well for us.”

Ana feared these things might be difficult
for Lord Gilbert to hear as he’d been searching for his
granddaughter for years, and thought she was that lost child. But,
returning her gaze to him, she discovered he appeared enthralled
with her story, and so pressed on.

“As to the cross the squire gave me, ‘twas
our practice, at the rise and setting of each day, for the three of
us to pray for the good squire. I would hold the cross in my hands,
like so, as we prayed. I continue to do so still, each morning and
night.”

Lord Gilbert appeared wholly amazed at her
tale and speechless as well. ‘Twas not the reaction she’d
expected.

“Forgive me, my lord. You are tired, and I
have babbled on. I hope, if I am able to locate Sir Hugh, I might
also find his squire, or at least learn of him.”

Ana dearly hoped her squire yet lived and
that he could aid her in her present need. She’d been unable to
broach the subject of her identity with Lord Gilbert yet, but
should his health suddenly fail, she’d no wish to be trapped in
England or given over to the guardianship of some faceless
stranger. Certainly, she could not turn to Sir Royce for help. He
believed her to be the lost heiress and would do naught to help her
return to Chinon.

Ana looked to the old lord, her hope rising.
“In these last years, is it possible you have heard aught of Sir
Hugh? Did he return from the Crusades with King Richard?”

“No, child. Regretfully, Sir Hugh
FitzAlan died whilst warring in
Outremer
. He was a fine knight.”

Ana wavered at his words. “And his squire?
Do you think Sir Hugh’s squire returned?”

A clouded look came into Lord Gilbert’s
eyes, and he paused a long moment as if considering something.

“‘
Tis honest to say, the boy who left
England as Sir Hugh FitzAlan’s squire did not return. Like so many
others, he lost his youth upon the battlefield,” the lord said
carefully, cryptically.

Ana’s heart shattered. She reached out a
hand and placed it upon the mattress, steadying herself.

“He is dead?” Hot tears rushed to her eyes.
How would she ever bear it?

Lord Gilbert continued to gaze at her with a
penetrating look. “I did not say he is dead, Juliana. But if you
would know of his fate, I suggest you speak to Sir Royce.”

“Sir Royce?” What could he possibly know,
Ana wondered. In the next breath, a thought struck her. “Did Sir
Royce fight alongside Sir Hugh’?”

“Yes, as I understand it, he did.”

“Then ‘tis likely he would have encountered
Sir Hugh’s squire.”

“More than likely. ‘Tis the knight who holds
your answer, though I cannot fathom why he’s not discussed the
matter of the squire with you before now. Presumably, he has his
reasons, but ‘tis best to leave such explanations to him.”

Lord Gilbert smiled, then the lines of his
mouth eased. “Juliana, humor me, for I too have a question that
seeks an answer.”

Ana swiped at the tears wetting her cheeks
and straightened. “Yes, my lord?”

“Sir Royce bears a notable injury on his
arm. Godric could see it from the window here while Sir Royce was
on the lists. What do you know of that, and of his other bruises
and cuts?”

Ana moistened her lips, guilt rising in her
breast. How could she divulge all that had befallen the knight
without revealing her own role and how she’d fought coming here —
lying, stealing, and deceiving others as she sought time and again
to escape? Such a revelation certainly could not be good for Lord
Gilbert’s frail condition.

“Sir Royce saved me from a wild boar,” she
began carefully. “I’d gone into the edge of the forest with the
other women to . . . well, you know. I became disoriented and
wandered deeper into the wood. When Sir Royce heard my screams, he
raced to my aid and killed the boar with a single stroke of his
sword. He was quite heroic, I can tell you. However, the beast’s
tusk laid open his arm.”

“Indeed?” Lord Gilbert pondered that a
moment. “And what of the bruises?”

Ana took a small swallow. “Hannibal, his
stallion, became unruly.”

“The knight did not control his horse while
you were on it?” A note of anger sharpened his voice.

“Not exactly. ‘Twas my own fault for trying
to mount the animal without Sir Royce present. He came to my aid,
again, only in doing so, we collided, sort of. The back of my head
struck his cheekbone rather hard. The bruise is looking much better
though,” she added quickly, cheerfully. “In another day, ‘twill be
gone completely.”

“And the cut on his brow?”

Ana bit her lower lip. “There were two
Scotsmen traveling in our company. They, er, took an interest in
me. Sir Royce protected me at his own expense. They both sprang
upon him, but Sir Royce prevailed.”

Ana hoped Heaven wouldn’t punish her for
twisting the details, but she’d no wish to distress Lord Gilbert,
especially as he prepared to settle down to sleep.

Seeing he remained deep in thought, Ana
rose. “I should return to my chamber now,” she said softly.

Lord Gilbert looked up. “Yes, my dear, of
course. Brodric, see Lady Juliana safely across the ward and to her
chamber.”

Ana bid him good night at that and withdrew.
As she passed through the portal, she heard Lord Gilbert call to
Godric, bidding him bring more candles, along with parchment, pen,
and ink.

»«

Royce entered the darkened garden, the
discordant creaking of the gate scraping on his ears, on his
nerves, as he swung it open. Fortunately, the moon overhead shed
sufficient light to brighten his way.

Following the tree-lined path, he noted two
men lurking in the shadows. He’d observed them earlier in the hall,
ever near the countess. By their livery, he’d realized then, they
served as her personal guards. Still, out of habit, Royce’s hand
moved to rest on his sword hilt.

Passing through an opening in the hedge,
Royce came to the heart of the garden, at its center a large
fountain. Lady Sibylla waited there, bathed softly in the moon’s
glow.

As he proceeded toward her, she rose from
the stone bench on which she sat, her gaze meeting his. Royce
slowed his step, then halted before her, feeling the pull of her
wide, captivating eyes. Slipping the note from his sleeve, he held
it forth.

“I have come, my lady, as you
requested.”

“But, hopefully, you come of your own
desire,”

Royce paused at her choice of words, the way
she drew out the last.

“Of course, my lady.”

Remembering himself, Royce bowed to the
countess, as was due her station, one much higher than his own.
Before he could rise, however, Lady Sibylla closed the space
between them. She lay her hand along his bearded jaw and tilted is
head upward.

“I would not have you bow to me, Sir Royce,”
she said in a husky voice.

“What would you have then?” he asked,
uncertain of the direction of her thoughts, of her mood.

“I would have you to my bed.”

Royce straightened at that, his heart nearly
leaping from his chest. “My lady is very direct.”

She gave a small shrug, her lips curving
into a smile. “Is the thought of bedding me so loathsome a
thought?” She moved closer, her perfectly modeled features turned
up to him, her entrancing eyes gazing deeply into his own.

“Nay, lady. Far from it. I’d be the envy of
every man in Christendom.”

Royce’s mind raced. What game did the
countess play? Or did she set some trap, her guards ready to spring
upon him at her signal? But, what possible enemies could he have at
Court? He’d not been in England long enough to make any.

“And would that please you, Sir Royce —
being the envy of every man in Christendom?”

“‘
Tis but a compliment I pay my lady.
To be the envy of others holds no import for me.”

Lady Sibylla lay her hand upon his chest, at
the place over his heart. Idly, she smoothed her palm upward and
fingered the laces securing the neck of his tunic.

“And what
is
of import to the great hero of Acre and
Ascalon? Honor, justice, nobility? Or perhaps, something more
worldly holds value for you as well — lands, titles,
power?”

“My lady speaks in riddles.”

She smiled. “I saw you speaking with the
Earl of Pembroke in the forechamber of the hall. Tell me, is he a
man you admire? One you would wish to emulate?”

“Aye, my lady. William Marshal is the
greatest of knights to live.”

“And to achieve such greatness, I can well
imagine the earl’s advice to those who would follow his path.
Regardless of a knight’s prowess and success on the battlefield, or
the close company he might keep with kings, ‘tis only through
marriage that a man may cross from the rank of poor bachelor to
that of lord.”

Deftly, she slid the tie free at the top of
his tunic and began to spread the laces. “Were the great Marshal to
advise you, he would urge you to do as he did — hold yourself in
reserve for the best match, then marry high and well, gaining the
most princely estates you could and all their resources. The earl,
himself, waited until nearly age fifty before marrying the heiress
of Striguil and gaining an earldom. You need not wait so long.”

Royce caught the countess’s hand as she
began to slip her fingers inside his tunic. Uncannily, the earl had
given him just such advice earlier this day, his words similar.

“And what has my lady’s bed to do with
that?”

“I need a husband.”

“A husband?” He dropped her hand, his eyes
narrowing with suspicion. What did the woman really seek?
Certainly, a countess would not choose a knight of low rank who had
yet to come into lands of his own.

“Surely there are many men — powerful barons
of title and substance — who would seek that privilege.”

“There are — brutal, avaricious men, who
prowl at my door like wolves, ravenous for all I can bring to them
and myself as well, a trophy for their beds.”

She turned and began to pace before the
fountain, visibly agitated. “Certain ones have even begun to harass
my lands, trying to force me into marriage in order to protect my
holdings. They did not know I’ve discovered their ruse and know
their names.”

“Lady Sibylla, it seems you have more need
of a champion than a husband,” Royce observed, taking a step toward
her.

“I have need of both — a husband and a
champion. If I do not act soon, the king will choose for me and
award me to someone for his own political gain.”

“And you do not trust John,” Royce said,
more statement than question.

“‘
Tis more than that. Thrice have I
married, each husband carefully and royally selected for me,
Linford’s heiress. I suffered a fool for my first husband. The two
after were cruel and abusive, the last being forty years older than
I, his pleasures perverse. Why shouldn’t I seek a match of my own
choosing? I’ve no need for greater rank or wealth. What I require
most is a protector — a proven warrior of renown — one who can
defend Linford lands. You are such a man. ‘Twould not matter if you
held not a single knight’s fief. In marrying me you will gain
thirty-seven, and in addition, three castles and five
manors.”

Royce stood looking at the countess for a
long moment, trying to find his voice, that she would willingly
take him to husband and make him Earl of Linford.

“My lady’s proposal is quite extraordinary.
Even should I agree, the king must approve.”

Lady Sibylla moved toward him, her eyes
brightening.

“Align yourself with William Marshal, and
the king will consent to our marriage. ‘Tis the earl who is most
responsible for the crown sitting upon John’s brow. He also remains
the king’s chief counselor. None is more loyal. John knows this,
though oftentimes he is unsure of the loyalties of others. But
those who align with Marshal, he considers aligned with him. The
king needs skilled men such as you to secure his throne. Trust me.
He will not deny us in this.”

Royce continued to ponder her words, seeking
some hook, some hidden snare concealed in them. And yet he could
find none. Was he delusional, did he mishear? Or did this beautiful
woman truly wish to marry him purely for the reasons she named?
Before he gave her an answer, however, he deemed it best to learn
more of the countess and the three husbands she’d buried.