Lady Fortune (21 page)

Of course he did no such thing. He simply looked at her blankly. “Gone?” he repeated. “How?”

“It was hidden in my chest of clothes. When I went to look for it, it was gone.”

“You were going to bring it to me?”

He hadn’t hit her yet, and she was too far gone to lie. “No. I was going to give it to my daughter so she could bribe the abbot into letting her avoid this marriage the king has planned and join the holy sisters.” She met his gaze fearlessly.

Hugh sat in the chair by the fire, looking away from her, and she wondered if he couldn’t bear to look upon her treacherous face. “The abbot is not to be trusted,” he said evenly. “He wouldn’t keep his promises.”

“So I told her. But it was her only chance, and I’d let her be bartered off once before…”

“So you were going to give her the Fortham family relic, betraying your husband and your people?”

He still sounded calm. He was going to kill her, she thought bleakly. She would have preferred him to thunder and shout and beat her, rather than this dreadful calm.

“Yes,” she said, bowing her head in shame. “For my daughter, I would.”

She heard him rise, crossing the room toward her, and she forced herself to remain still. She was his property; it was his right to do with her what he wished. After such a betrayal she deserved no better.

He touched her, and she flinched. He put his hand under her chin and raised her face to his. He was huge, towering over her, almost blocking out the light, but his strong hand was gentle. “I hope you guard our children’s future with as much courage as you have your daughter’s.”

She could feel hot tears fill her eyes at his words, and she tried to blink them back, failing miserably. “I have scant luck at bearing children, my lord. And I am… old.” She had never said such words aloud, and the cost was enormous. “If you married me to breed an heir, you should have chosen truer stock.”

He smiled at her, for the first time, and Isabeau was lost. “I didn’t marry you to breed an heir, as you so delicately put it. Though we will have children. Strong sons and beautiful daughters. I know it in my heart. But that is not why I sought you in marriage.”

“I bring no lands, little dowry…”

“You know full well why I married you, my lady,” he said. “Because of a summer’s afternoon fifteen years ago, and a maid in tears.”

“I was no maid. I was seven months gone with child and I looked like a cow.”

His mouth turned up in a smile. “You were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Cow or not, you were the lady of my heart, and you always will be.”

The room was warm, but Isabeau was damp and chilled, and she could see steam rising from the folds of her cloak. He caught the ribands at her neck and untied them, pushing the cloak from her shoulders into a pool on the floor around her.

It had provided little protection from such a driving rain, and her gown was damp and clinging to her. “You’re cold,” he murmured, pushing the wet tendrils of hair away from her face. “Come to bed.”

“Father Paulus—” she protested weakly.

“Father Paulus is a bitter, twisted old man. God decreed marriage for the procreation of a family—if he interferes in that divine instruction, then he is the heretic.”

She’d thought so from the very beginning, and was about to point that out, when a shiver swept over her body. Odd, that she should be chilled when he stood in front of her, scarcely dressed, radiating heat.

It was a different kind of heat, perhaps. He leaned forward and kissed her, brushing his lips against hers with the merest feathering of a touch, and her heart leapt inside her, twisted in longing. She wanted nothing more than to flow into his arms, to close her eyes and open her heart to him.

“The chalice…” she said, truthful to the last.

“We’ll find it, lass,” Hugh said softly. “Right now we have more important things to do.”

His touch was fire on her frozen skin. His mouth was breath to her starving lungs. He was warm and strong, and he lifted her small, shivering body in his arms, holding her against his chest, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up against him and weep with relief.

But weeping wasn’t what he had in mind, and in truth, she had better things to do as well. She stood patient and still when he set her down beside the bed, slowly stripping off her sodden clothes.

Oh, he loved her well! She was suddenly shy, embarrassed—she had been with no man but her husband, and he’d always been straightforward about the business, speedy and efficient. She’d learned to enjoy it, she’d supposed, because it was in her nature, but nothing had prepared her for the slow, savoring pleasure Hugh of Fortham took in her body.

He used his mouth, his fingers, his teeth, to delight her; he kissed and stroked and nibbled and caressed. He coaxed and lured and teased with an art she would never have suspected in such a gruff soldier, and when he entered her she cried out, both in joy and surprise and sudden, clenching release.

But he wasn’t a hasty man, a quick man, and he had more planned for her. He waited patiently, clasped tightly in her arms, in her body, until the spasms passed, and then he brought her there again, and yet again, until she wanted to weep at him to stop, she could bear no more, but she knew that she could. When he rolled onto his back, taking her with him so that she rode astride, she went joyously, taking her pleasure of him, and when he moved her back beneath him, spilling his seed into her, he kissed her mouth when he came.

She lay in his arms, hot, sweaty, sated, and dreamed strange dreams, of a fierce dragon threatening her daughter, of mad priests and sane fools, and the baby she knew would grow inside her from this night. The baby that would be born strong and healthy, a child of love, a child of delight.

And in her dreams, the child danced with the dragon.

Brother Barth moved with surprising quiet for a man of his bulk.
Fortham
Castle
was settling down for the night— the men at arms were gaming in the great hall; a few were wenching and hoping he would turn a blind eye to it. Which he did, as long as the maid were as willing as the man. He hadn’t always been a monk, and he had once known both the pleasures and the sorrows of the flesh. He had no taste for it anymore, but he passed no judgment on the sinners around him. Hadn’t the Lord himself said, “He who is without sin among you cast the first stone?”

Which brought him to the Abbot of Saint Hugelina, a man far too well acquainted with all manner of sin, both in the judging and the committing of it. Barth had known princes and paupers, bishops and beggars, and he viewed them all with the same dispassionate acceptance, but Father Paulus tried his temper sorely, and Brother Barth had prayed mightily over it and his own doubts about the man.

It wasn’t his place to criticize his superior, to disapprove of the man’s harsh judgments and blatant greed. For all that the abbot’s lust for the chalice seemed self-serving, who was to say that Saint Hugelina wasn’t well served by just such men? He had no doubts that the chalice belonged at the Abbey of Saint Hugelina, to be carefully tended by the good monks. He just wasn’t convinced Father Paulus had that final destination in mind.

The Abbey of Saint Hugelina was small and poor, as befit an order devoted to a small, poor female saint. And the abbot was an ambitious man—his tenure at Saint Hugelina’s was expected to be only a stepping stone toward a bishopric. And what better way to buy himself such a lofty post than with a priceless relic?

Barth knew enough about life to accept the fact that bishops and abbots were bought, not ordained by God. Quite often the holiest member of any religious community was the least in consequence. He’d found more pure faith in unlettered lay brothers who worked in the vegetable gardens than in some of the most learned monks in Christendom.

No, he didn’t trust Father Paulus to deliver the holy relic to the struggling abbey. But that didn’t mean Barth had any right to keep it hidden in the small room allotted to him just off the abbot’s sleeping quarters.

He told himself it was merely discretion that had kept him from interrupting the abbot’s holy ordeal at the hands of young Gilbert. And discretion it was—Brother Barth knew the difference between groans of religious fervor and those of unholy pleasure. The abbot enjoyed the whip a bit too much in Brother Barth’s estimation, but far be it from him to interfere.

It had been so astonishingly simple to find the chalice in the first place that Barth was convinced the saint had ordained it to be so. When he saw Julianna lurking in the shadow of the stairwell last night, he knew who’d taken the relic from the chapel. He had only to deliver her to the fool’s room and make his way to her chambers to find the flagon. He could certainly count on Master Nicholas to keep her distracted, even without the use of his tongue.

He’d ducked out of the way just in time to see Lady Isabeau rush from her daughter’s room, a distracted expression on her face—and to know that the chalice wasn’t nearly as safe as Julianna supposed.

It took him but an instant to find it, another benefit from Saint Hugelina, he was certain. Lady Isabeau was not well versed in subterfuge, and doubtless her plans for the relic were noble and good. She most certainly had gone to tell her husband she had it—her shy delight in him was obvious to all but the man himself. He rather hated to do anything that might get in the way of their marriage— Father Paulus had already done his wicked best to cause trouble where none was needed.

But Hugelina’s work was more important than the affairs of two ordinary people, and Brother Barth had hardened his heart and tucked the chalice beneath his robes.

His room was cool and dark when he arrived, a state he accepted with equanimity. Father Paulus had decreed that he needed to set a good example of monkly self-denial. The holy orders had gotten a bad reputation of late, with monks committing sins of gluttony, lust, and greed to an alarming extent. The austere abbot had poked Brother Barth’s sizable paunch and suggested that he should make an especial effort to curb his earthly appetites, a notion that didn’t sit well with the monk. Since taking orders, he’d neither looked at nor touched a woman with carnal thoughts, nor had he longed for any possessions, but he was rather fond of his food and wine, and he viewed their forced limitation with strong regret.

He couldn’t even blame Father Paulus for gluttony behind his back—he doubted if the abbot was interested in much more than having pretty young boys whip him and gaining power within the church. He certainly had no interest in food or women. Brother Barth might have had a bit more compassion for him if his weaknesses were as simple and natural.

He needed to have compassion anyway, he reminded himself for the ninety-ninth time. Humility and forgiveness, he told himself. And to prove that he truly repented of his wickedness, he would wake Father Paulus out of a sound sleep and present him with the sought-after chalice.

In truth, it would be doing the poor people of this castle a blessing. With the abbot gone, Lady Isabeau and the earl could begin their marriage the way God ordained it, not as His interfering servant decreed. And he had a certain fascination for the fool and Lady Julianna. They were hopelessly ill matched, at each other’s throats, and on the very edge of falling in love as few people knew how to love. He only hoped for their sake that they could escape such a curse.

Love like that could cause more pain and sorrow than joy. It could devour a man’s soul, drive a woman to despair, ruin lives and families. There was no future for them— Lady Julianna was well born, and Master Nicholas was… well, a fool. The king’s fool, but still and all, no match for a lady.

The fool had to have been sent here for the chalice— King Henry was as greedy as the abbot, with far more people to do his bidding. Once the chalice was gone, Master Nicholas would have no reason to linger, and the danger to both him and Lady Julianna would be averted.

He could hear loud snores from the other side of the wall, a surprisingly earthy sound from the priest. At least Barth could take a small, wicked pleasure in waking him from a sound sleep.

He’d hidden the jewel-encrusted goblet beneath the mattress of his pallet, hoping that no one would be tempted to bother a poor monk’s quarters, particularly since Father Paulus had decreed that he be shown no special attention, such as a warming fire. No one would have entered his room since he hid the chalice just before the evening meal. He had only to slide his hands beneath the thin pallet and grasp…

Nothing.

He tore the mattress of the wooden frame in disbelief, but mere was no trace of the chalice, and nowhere else in the sparse little room for it to have been secreted. Someone had seen to him after all.

He sat down heavily on the wooden frame, staring into the shadowy room, lit only by the candle he had brought with him. He could hear the wind howling, and the lashing of the rain against the castle walls. He could hear the abbot snoring happily, unaware that he’d once more been deprived of his heart’s desire.

And Brother Barth threw back his head and laughed.

The rumbling noise was like a thousand horses’ hooves on a hard-packed road, loud and insistent. Or an unending growl of thunder shaking the very castle. Julianna pushed her face further into the pillow, trying to shut out the grating sound that was determined to rip her from the healing safety of sleep.

She’d cried herself to sleep, stupid girl, she thought weakly. What a silly, childish thing to do. Like a babe crying for the moon. And what in heaven’s name would she have done with it if she’d gotten it? All golden and useless, beguiling and maddening?

She let out a muffled wail, shoving her face deeper into the soft pillow to shut out the noise. And then she felt it, the soft pressure on the small of her back. Followed by the faint sound of a mew.

She rolled over, careful not to crush the poor kitten. “Hugelina!” she cried. “I’d forgotten all about you.”

The cat managed to look indignant even as it butted its head against Julianna’s hand, and she almost started crying all over again. Only sheer pride stopped her. After all, she had nothing to cry for. A mad fool had tricked her, but he’d tricked everyone. And if there was any kind of justice in this world, her new stepfather would send him from this place and she’d never have to see him again.

Her eyes burned at the thought, and she quickly blinked the tears away, angry with herself. There must be something demoralizing about the air at Fortham, she thought.

Unbidden, her mind went back to the long, delicious moments she’d spent in Nicholas’s jumbled bed, wrapped in the covers, in his body, wrapped in the kind of pleasure she had only dreamed of. It would be a kind thing if babies came from such simple pleasure rather than degradation and pain.

She shook her head to drive those errant thoughts from her rebellious mind, and the kitten pounced on a long strand of hair, rolling it around its furry little body with all the delight of a child with a ball. Or a cat with a mouse, she thought belatedly, tugging her hair free and picking the kitten up to tuck it beneath her chin.

The loud purring started once more, an amazing amount of noise from such a tiny creature. The room was very dark, almost pitch black; the fire had died down, and the household was asleep. And she had a purring, yowling, hungry kitten in her arms.

For that matter, she was famished herself. Her stomach was doing its share of rumbling, in counterpoint to the kitten, and she had very grave doubts whether she’d make it through the night without getting something to eat.

That was probably what was ailing her. She was weak from hunger, and her weepiness was simply from lack of nourishment. If she found her way down to the kitchen, she could find something for herself and Hugelina the Cat, with no prying eyes and flapping tongues. And then she could come back to bed, pull the covers over her head, and not emerge until the lying, despicable fool was miles away from this place, whether it took hours, days, or weeks.

It was a plan, and a good one. She scrambled out of bed, wearing only her thin chemise. She pulled a loose gown over her head, but didn’t bother with shoes. The sleeves were long and full, and she tucked the kitten inside one, keeping its tiny body curled up in her hand, hidden beneath the folds of cloth.

Her first thought was the Great Hall. There might be food left over on the long tables, though she’d have to be careful. The earl’s hounds were a constant presence, and they’d make short work of Hugelina if they caught her. Not to mention that she had no great desire to disturb any of the men who might happen to be sleeping off the day’s hard work or the night’s libations there. The Great Hall after midnight could be a dangerous place, and chances were the dogs had managed to dispose of any leftover food. That, or the rats.