Juliana Garnett (31 page)

But he dared not mention that now. There was trouble enough without stirring more.

“Tell me about Jean-Paul, Luc. Why is he here?”

“He has no other refuge, I am told.” Luc’s smile was wry. “Not long ago, I would not have cared. I am not at all certain I should let him stay now, save to watch him.”

“Does William know he is here?”

“I sent a messenger to York with the news. I have not yet heard back.”

“And what will you do if the king demands Jean-Paul be delivered to him?”

“Take him.” Luc shrugged. “I do not think William will demand that, for he granted him his life and set him free after he paid the ransom.”

“You mean Montfort.”

Luc nodded. “Yes. A small price to pay for treason, I vow.”

“Yet everything when it is a man’s home.” Robert watched Luc closely, but there was no sign of regret in his face. “Do you
ever wonder why Montfort was not given to you for your service to William?”

Luc’s lip curled. “It was offered. I refused.”

Astounded, Robert stared at him. “You refused the home where you were born?”

“It was not mine, but my father’s and his wife’s. I did not have happy memories of it, Robert, as you must know.”

“Yes. I know. But still, it is a grand estate, with a tidy income.”

“Nothing would induce me to live there again. And it has been burned, I heard, so there is nothing left of the house, only the lands.”

“Now you have this.” Robert waved a hand to indicate the stone walls. “It puts me in mind of ancient ruins I saw in Italy.”

“Roman influence. There are odd little chambers everywhere, some dug into the ground that seem to have no purpose. And in the kitchens, there is a tile oven that rises all the way to the ceiling, with several openings for cooking and for wood, and a place to set pots. Very clever, and it still works efficiently.” Luc rose from his perch on the edge of the table, glancing again toward the closed solar door. “Her family has lived on these lands since the Romans were here, I think. She knows nothing else.”

Robert watched keenly. There was a softness in Luc’s eyes when he spoke of Ceara that had not been there in York. The attraction had been there, the angry refusal to admit that he wanted her, but not this tenderness. Perhaps the Saxon maid had actually managed to touch his heart. It would be a wonder. After the way Luc had suffered at the hands of his father’s wife, he had come away with a strong dislike for the fairer sex. He was honest in his dealings with women, never lying about his feelings or hinting that there would be anything other than a physical relationship between them, but neither did he like them very much.

To Robert, who had been reared with four loving sisters, it
had been troubling. He liked all women, tall or short, plump or thin, pretty or not so pretty. It was one of his chief failings, for he could never decide on one woman to take to wife. They were all too tempting.

“Where shall I sleep, Luc? I do not care to invade your chamber, as you and your lady may need to, ah, discuss plans for the morrow.”

Luc grinned. “You are just afraid of being caught in the middle. I’ll have Alain bring you straw for a pallet in here. It’s warmer, and besides, there is no room elsewhere. All the available space in hall and under stairs has been taken—do not say what you are about to say concerning stairwells, Robert de Brionne, or I will lesson you with the blade of my dagger, I swear it.”

Feigning innocence, Robert laughed. “You wrong me, Luc. I have no remarks about stairwells or those who use them for dissolute purposes.”

“Curse you, Robert.” Luc moved to the door and sent for his squire, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Keep the lady Amélie out of my path, and Ceara’s, if you can. It will ease my days if I do not have to deal with sharp tongues and cat fights.”

“I will do my best, Luc, but women have minds of their own, I fear.”

It was a sentiment that Robert was to recall with dismay in the following days.

“W
HY DO YOU
not ride with Luc, my lady?”

Ceara glanced over her shoulder. She stood atop the wall near the front gate, looking over the twisted road that fell steeply away from the castle. “Lord Luc bade me wait for him here, Sir Robert.”

“Ah.” Robert of Brionne climbed the ragged stones that formed the wall, slipping slightly on a patch of ice. “He is afraid you will be harmed, no doubt.”

“No doubt, but hardly likely. I was born here, and grew up running these hills and moors as I pleased. I know every blade of grass and stretch of bog. He does not.”

“Do you worry Luc will be harmed?”

“I worry he will fail to find Sheba” She turned away to stare over the landscape again, flinching as the wind whipped a strand of hair into her eyes.

Robert sighed. “Will you forgive him, my lady?”

“Forgive him for what?” She eyed Robert with a growing irritation that did not lessen when he did not meet her gaze. “What has my lord done that he should be forgiven?”

“Nothing.” Robert looked up at her, a sheepish glance. “It was not Luc who erred, it was I who committed the folly of intruding on such a … a …”

“Pray, do
not
go on, sir.”

“No.” Robert looked relieved. “Of course not. But I did err in bringing Lady Amélie here, I think, as her presence seems to have distressed you.”

Ceara frowned. “I am not distressed. Annoyed, perhaps, as the lady is rude and demanding. Already, she has ensconced herself in the most comfortable chamber, evicting the guests who had been given it, and has done nothing but command this and that from servants who are already overworked and tired. And she has in her retinue a man Luc dismissed from his employ.”

“You mean Giles.”

“Yea, I do. The man was insolent and rude, and thus dismissed in York. Now he is here again, a most unpleasant reminder to me of his audacity.”

“Yet he must be employed somewhere, my lady. It was not meant as an insult to you when Lady Amélie hired him as a man-at-arms. She knew only that he had been dismissed from Luc’s service.”

“Perhaps. See that he is kept clear of me, for I find his attitude most unpleasing, as well as that of your lady.”

“Yea, I agree most heartily. Will you forgive me for bringing her here? It was not my advice that brought her, but the king’s—I suppose you know of the coming nuptials for Lady Amélie.”

“Yea. Luc told me.” She did not mention that Luc had grown furious with her for suggesting that the lady had prospects in mind other than a Scottish husband. They had quarreled heatedly, until she’d felt close to tears of rage and frustration at his blindness. Of course, he did not know that she had understood quite well Amélie’s reminder in French of their earlier tryst, and so did not know the real cause of her anger. But she had seen Amélie’s hand on Luc’s arm, seen the triumphant flare of light in her green cat’s eyes, and heard her purring satisfaction at provoking a quarrel between them.

She should not have allowed Amélie to see her distress, but the moment had been awkward and disconcerting. Later, she had been more angry at herself than Luc—until he had turned from concerned husband to cornered animal. Then he had informed her coldly that she was behaving foolishly, and inventing reasons to keep him at bay.

That comment had evolved into a furious argument, ending with Luc slamming from their chamber and spending the night elsewhere. She did not even want to think about where he had gone to sleep. It was all so absurd, her anger and his, that she wished she could start over again.

“My lady?” Robert was looking at her curiously, snow powdering his hair with tiny flakes. He looked up at the sky, then back at her, his brow lifted questioningly.

She managed a smile, some of her resentment easing at his obvious repentance. “Forgiveness does not come without penance, Sir Robert.”

He looked pained, but nodded. “So I have been told too many times to number. But you will pardon my blunder?”

“As it was not entirely your fault, I will take it under consideration.”

She turned from the wall, blinking at the blowing snow clogging her lashes. “However, you must make amends.”

Robert took her arm, solicitous in helping her down, so she refrained from telling him that she was used to running along the top of this wall since she was but a child.

“I will most gladly make amends, my lady. Just name the penance.”

Allowing him to guide her across the courtyard with his palm cupping her elbow, Ceara waited until they were inside the hall, shed of cloaks and capes and seated on a bolstered bench before she pronounced her terms.

“I would know more about my lord Luc, Sir Robert. And you shall answer my questions forthrightly, or you shall not be absolved of your transgression.”

Robert’s eyes widened, and expectant amusement faded from his face. “My lady, Luc would not forgive me for idle gossip about him. I fear you must name another penance.”

“No.” Servants were still clearing the hall, stacking trestle tables against the wall by the benches. She beckoned a page to her to pour wine for them, and eyed Robert’s discomfiture with speculation. “You are his friend, and will not tell untruths or half truths about him. I do not wish to know of former lovers, if that is what is distressing you. That is of no consequence to me. No, not even Lady Amélie, save that she seeks to drive a wedge between us for some unknown reason. Her, I can deal with in my own way. It is the farther past that concerns me, the reasons Luc will not give me for his enmity with his brother.”

“Ah, the real meat.” Robert shook his head with a faint smile. “Again, Luc would not thank me for idle gossip.”

“I do not want gossip, Sir Robert.” Her sharp tone brought his eyes back to her with surprise. “I want the truth. Can Jean-Paul be trusted not to betray his brother again?”

A long silence stretched between them. Several soldiers who were gathered by the central fire talked quietly among themselves, and two of the castle dogs broke into a fight over
spilled scraps of food from the morning meal. A cold draft fluttered a tapestry on the wall behind them, and gray light streamed through the glazed window to brighten the hall. Robert cleared his throat, and looked down at his fingers locked around the wine goblet.

“It is not likely he can be trusted, no. Yet men do change, my lady,” he added, looking up at her, “and it may well be that Jean-Paul has seen the error of his ways. That I do not know, as I have talked with him only briefly since my arrival.”

“Do you think he has changed?”

“My lady …” Robert looked around helplessly “Do me the favor of asking your husband these questions. I fear I am not the one to query.”

Robert’s already accented English had grown thicker, and she smiled a little at his agitation. She took a sip of wine, giving him time to compose himself before murmuring, “He refuses to discuss it with me. You must tell me all.”

“Mon Dieu! C’est impossible.…”

“Impossible or not, there is no one else I trust to tell me the truth.”

“Why must you know?” Rather cross now, Robert downed his wine in a single gulp. “It will avail nothing.”

“On the contrary, Robert of Brionne. If any man thinks to betray Luc, I will see him stopped.”

“Do you think Luc so easily duped that he will allow his brother to betray him again?” Robert shook his head. “You do not know him as you think if you believe that. Luc is no fool.”

“No, but he has granted sanctuary to a viper. How long before he is bitten?”

“My lady, you wear me down.” Robert’s smile was ironic. “Will you not give me peace on this?”

“Yea, as soon as I have heard the truth.”

Robert groaned. “You are inflexible.
Très bien
. What is it you wish to know?”

“As I said, I wish to know the truth behind the rumors.”

Sighing, Robert gazed down into his empty wine goblet, twisting it back and forth between his fingers distractedly. “It began so long ago, before Luc came to Normandy and my father’s house as squire. He was a boy of only eight years when he came to us, but by then, he had been declared bastard by his father in favor of his younger son, Jean-Paul. It was at the urging of his wife, Jean-Paul’s mother, that he repudiated Luc’s claim to Montfort. It had to be done through the church, since Luc’s mother had been a Norman, while Jean-Luc’s new wife was a Saxon.”

“Where is Luc’s mother now?”

“Dead. She died of a fever when Luc was still in swaddling. Then Jean-Luc wed again, to form an alliance between Saxon and Norman, King Edward said.”

Ceara’s throat tightened. “So Luc’s father put him aside in favor of his new son?”

Robert nodded. “He had the church declare his first marriage unlawful on grounds of consanguinity due to the fact that Luc’s mother had been related by marriage to his uncle. That meant that Jean-Paul, born in England of a Saxon mother, would inherit English lands. Jean-Luc sent Luc away.”

Sent him away … the vision of a young boy, confused and motherless, was a haunting one. How could a father do that to his own son?

The question must have been in her eyes, for Robert put out a hand to touch her arm, saying gently, “It was better that he was sent away, for his new mother was a cruel one. When he came to my father’s house, he still bore marks of beatings, and the scars remain yet, though more inward then outward.”

True enough. She had seen the scars on him, trophies of battle, she had assumed, as so many fighting men bore. She sipped her wine, gathering her composure.

“Tell me, Sir Robert, what happened to his father and stepmother.”

“Ah, that becomes more difficult. By then, Luc was a man full-grown, and we were separated by circumstance for a time.”

“You once told me that Norman knights form groups for life. How is it he was not with you?”

Robert’s smile was wry. “Your memory is too long and too good. Yes, it is true, but knight service is only required by our overlord for forty days a year. During the rest of the year, we are free to pursue other interests. Luc had been called to England by his father. That was when William was still duke, and King Edward still alive, though the king was deranged at times.”

“He was religious, not deranged.”