Lords of the White Castle (38 page)

'There are many worse ways to fill my days.' Maude tried to step back and sideways.

'And many better.' John stepped with her. She felt the heat emanating from his body, and even as she was being repulsed, was aware of a treacherous undercurrent of attraction. His masculinity was a hot, raw thread, drawing her flesh towards his. John had often been accused of pursuing the wives and daughters of his barons, of seducing them and causing great scandal and dishonour, but he had never once been accused of rape. 'You could remain here as one of the Queen's attendants, or you could amuse yourself and travel with the court.'

'You are generous, sire,' she said frostily, 'but my place is with my husband.'

John's expression twisted and the customary cruelty showed through. 'Honourable, upright, devout,' he sneered. 'How well you suit each other. But it's superficial, isn't it, Lady Walter? What you hide beneath your self-righteousness is what every woman hides beneath her skirts, and I should know. I've pleasured enough of your kind.' His hand shot out, grasped her wrist and dragged her against him. His mouth plunged at her throat like a striking snake and his other hand rammed down between their bodies, fingers seeking and probing through the fabric of her gown.

There was terror and a betraying thrill of sensation; there was heat and shame. For an instant Maude was immobilised by the shock of the assault. Then her free hand came up. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back, at the same time bringing her knee viciously forward and up.

John uttered a choked wheeze and folded over. He staggered a few steps and clutched the wall, his hands cupping his abused genitals. Maude fled. Bile rose in her throat and when she came to the garderobe pit serving the great hall, she turned aside to be wretchedly sick over and above anything that she had eaten.

One of the other women discovered her crouched there. At first she thought Maude was drunk, but when she realised that her condition was caused by distress, she fetched Theobald from the hall where he was in conversation with Hubert.

Maude felt strong arms folding around her, and heard Theobald's voice warm and reassuring, asking her what was wrong. She weakly gulped out what had happened and clung to him, hiding her face against his breast.

Theobald's expression set like stone. 'I will renounce my fealty,' he said through his teeth.

'No!' Maude jerked her head from the safety of his chest. 'Why should you be punished for what is his doing? Do you want him to make of you an outlaw as he did to Fulke FitzWarin? No, let us leave now—dismantle and pack. Ride out and never return.'

He hesitated, frowning.

She clutched his tunic, her eyes glistening with tears. 'You will gain nothing from confronting him and it will only make a public scandal.'

'I am not such a weak reed that I am swayed by the hot air of scandalmongers,' he said with a curl of his lip.

'He is not worth it. Theo… please.'

He looked at her and after a long pause, sighed heavily. 'You are right,' he capitulated. 'He is not worth it and I have wasted too much of my life already' He turned to the hall, i will say my farewell to Hubert and we will leave.'

She came with him, holding on to him like a child afraid of the dark, but also to make sure that he did not act foolishly in his anger. He was not a man to stamp or rage, but the calm of his attitude was deceptive. She knew that he was furious.

When they entered the hall, however, Hubert was with John at the high table. The music had ceased, the dancing had stopped and everyone was staring at the bedraggled party of men kneeling before the royal chair. John was sitting at a peculiar angle that spoke of deep pain. He was patently irate, but clearly in too much discomfort to vent his rage in bellowing. Maude felt a rush of satisfaction and fiercely hoped that she had damaged him for life.

A terse question by Theobald to a baron standing nearby yielded the reply that the awaited merchant train had just arrived.

'Half their mounts gone and all the King's goods,' said the noble with a hint of relish that spoke of a yen for a good tale, no matter that it was someone else's misfortune. 'Robbed in Braydon Forest by outlaws.'

Theobald frowned in dismay, wondering if such news boded ill for his imminent journey. 'Fortunate that they kept their lives.'

One of the merchants mumbled a response to a question fired at him. John suddenly bolted to his feet. 'Fulke FitzWarin?' he roared, then paid for it as he hunched over with a gasp. 'Are you telling me this is the work of Fulke FitzWarin?'

The man nodded. 'He told us to greet you on his behalf, sire, and thank you for your generous gift of fine robes.'

John's eyes bulged and the sounds that emerged through his clenched teeth were incoherent. His body shuddered as if the flesh was leaping from his bones. Theobald grabbed a squire, gave him a message for Hubert, and hurried Maude away. 'Best that we go now,' he said. 'If they were robbed by Fulke, then we have nothing to fear.'

Maude hurried along at his side. 'He is a fool. He will be killed!' She could not keep the anguish out of her voice.

Theobald gave her a quizzical look. 'Mayhap but if I were making wagers, my money would be on him, not his pursuers.' He bared his teeth. 'I know in part how Fulke must feel, and I wish him good hunting.'

She said nothing. The stakes were too high to make wagers. Three months ago, it would have mattered, but not so much. Now she could feel the cold sweat of fear in her armpits.

Once in their tent, Theobald gave the order to begin packing. They would leave at first light and head down to Bristol to take ship for Ireland. Maude made herself busy, working harder than her maid, knowing that if she sat and did nothing, she would go mad. She was aware of Theobald watching her with curiosity. She felt his gaze, the unspoken questions, and turned away in shame.

An hour later, Hubert Walter arrived with Jean de Rampaigne in tow.

'Well,' he said without preamble as he looked around the tent, by now bare of all save the essential sleeping pallets and blankets. 'There is more than one cat among the pigeons tonight.'

The years since the crusade had not been kind to Hubert. Whereas Theobald's bones had sharpened with age, Hubert's had melted into the flesh of good living. His corpulence was concealed to some extent beneath his gorgeously bejewelled and embroidered cope, but nothing could hide the lapped folds of his numerous chins.

Theobald gave him a narrow look. 'Meaning?'

'Meaning that the King's body is in as much discomfort as his mind. An attendant found him doubled up in the walkway between the hall and the private chambers, swearing that he would "kill the bitch" for what she had done. By the time he was escorted back to the hall, he was claiming that he had walked into a pillar, but of course, no one believes him. There are wagers and speculation aplenty, and Maude's name is on too many lips.' His glance flickered to his sister-by-marriage.

'Let them speculate,' Theobald said icily. 'I have been given leave to retire to Ireland, and I see no reason to stay.'

'You will not renounce your fealty?' It was the royal servant speaking rather than the brother—the Chancellor and Archbishop who had to know men's hearts and minds.

'Would I tell you even if it was my intention?' Theobald sat down on a campstool that had yet to be dismantled and pushed one hand through his iron-grey curls. 'Jesu, Hubert, if blood is thicker than water, then power is thicker than blood.'

If the remark stung Hubert, he did not show it. 'It is my duty to know your frame of mind,' he said evenly.

'If you do not know it by now, then you are not my brother.'

Hubert sighed, the sound wheezing in his chest, i have to do more than know; I have to hear your loyalty declared lest John should ask me.'

'And rub salt deep into an open cut?' Theobald's upper lip curled back. 'John insults my wife, insults my honour, and then demands my oath of fealty! God's sweet wounds, you are asking too much!'

'It is a price you have to afford if you don't want to be arraigned for treason.'

'Treason!' Theobald almost choked on the word. He shot to his feet, paced the two steps to the rear of the tent where Maude stood, and paused, breathing hard, summoning control. At last, turning round, he glared at his brother. 'Very well,' he said with bitter contempt. 'I swear my allegiance to John as King of England and lord of Normandy and Ireland, saving only my honour and the honour of my wife.' He slipped his arm around Maude's shoulder. 'Do not push me for more, Hubert, you will be wasting your time and, my brother or not, I will drive you from my presence on the edge of my blade.'

'No, what you have said will suffice,' Hubert replied, thinking that in the interests of diplomacy he could omit the last part.

As if reading his mind, Theobald gave his brother a glacial look. 'If he touches Maude again, I swear I will cut off his balls and stuff them in his mouth. You can tell him that too.'

'I doubt that necessity. You will both be out of sight and mind in Ireland, and just now John has other prey to hunt.'

'Meaning Fulke?' Theobald relaxed slightly and a hint of grim pleasure curved his lips. 'I know where my sympathies lie.'

'And so they should,' Hubert said, his own expression sombre. 'John's ordered a full pursuit and nothing will satisfy him save Fulke's hacked corpse thrown at his feet for him to trample.'

Maude gasped. She clapped her hand across her mouth to stifle the sound and gazed in horror at Hubert. 'You have to warn him!' Her eyes flew to Jean de Rampaigne who had been standing unobtrusively near the tent flap throughout the exchanges.

'He's a rebel, an outlaw, and he has just robbed the King of England of more than a hundred marks' worth of merchandise. Not only that but recently he attacked and sought to kill Morys FitzRoger, the lawful vassal of Whittington.'

'Morys FitzRoger is no more a lawful vassal of Whittington than John's an honourable king!' Maude spat. 'And since John has robbed Fulke of his inheritance and denied him the justice of the common law he has no recourse to complaint!'

Hubert blinked rapidly, obviously surprised at her vehemence. 'Whatever the argument, it does not alter the fact that the King is sending troops to hunt him down,' he said.

Maude shuddered. She felt Theobald's hand tighten on her shoulder. 'There must be something you can do,' she whispered.

'My hands are tied,' Hubert said, but at the same time spread them open, palm up, in a contradictory gesture. 'I know that you have much to do if you are to leave with the morrow's dawn, Theo. Perhaps you would like to borrow your former squire for a time. I have no pressing need of him at the moment, and he will likely be of great use to you.'

A look passed between the brothers, acknowledging the words that went unspoken. Maude realised that Hubert had come here with the intention of helping Fulke without being seen to do so.

'Thank you; indeed he will.' Theobald's tone thawed slightly. 'If you want a drink there's wine in that flagon.'

Hubert shook his head. 'I cannot stay,' he said. 'Other than my official business, I came to wish you a good voyage and to ask you to pray for me in a less worldly place than this.'

Theobald went to him and the brothers embraced, at first in a constrained manner, and then with the bearhug reminiscent of their young manhood when neither had much more to their dignity than the family name.

Maude came forward. 'Sister.' Hubert embraced her too and she was engulfed in the mingled scents of sweat and incense. When she drew away and looked into his eyes, she saw warmth, intelligence, and a terrifying shrewdness that overrode both.

Hubert departed into the wet evening, and there was a brief silence, punctuated by the drip of water on the canvas roof and the muted sound of rain on grass.

Theobald handed the wine flagon to Jean. 'Collect what
you
need for your journey and go,' he said. 'I trust you to find Fulke before John's men do.' Reaching in his pouch, he drew forth a handful of silver pennies and handed them to the knight.

'You can count on me, Lord Walter, my lady. I have no more desire to see him captured than you. 'Jean took a full swallow of wine and then flashed his smile. 'Mayhap for my pains Fulke will give me a bolt of cloth.' Setting the flagon down, he pouched the coins, drew up the hood of his cloak and ducked out into the dusk.

Maude sat down on the campstool, her stomach churning so badly that she thought she might be sick again.

She had used their supply of uisge beatha on Fulke's wound, but Theobald had a small, personal flask of his own, and now he brought it to her and bade her drink. 'Jean will reach him in time,' he said. 'And Fulke has more skill and cunning than any man the King will send against him.'

'I know. But you did not see the arrow I dug out of his leg. Even the skilled and cunning are not immortal.' Maude gratefully took the flask and swallowed deeply. As usual, the brew robbed her of her voice and set her gullet on fire. It also brought tears to her eyes. She dashed them away on the back of an impatient hand.

'Strange the ways of love,' Theobald mused, taking the wine flagon and leaning against the tent pole. 'We strew the paths we tread with thorns, do we not?'

It would have been easier to keep her back to him: the coward's way out. Maude forced herself to turn on the stool and look him in the eyes. 'My love is for you,' she said steadily. 'I would never betray you or dishonour your name.'

'I doubt neither your love, nor your honour.' Theobald took a long swallow straight from the flagon's rim without bothering to find his drinking horn. 'But I have seen the care that you and Fulke take in each other's company -the cold courtesy, the avoidance of touch. At first I thought that it was because you harboured a grudge over that incident with the whore, but I grew to realise that it was not in your nature to allow a petty quarrel to fester. Not once have I seen a lover's look pass between you, and that is because you will not look each other in the eye.'

Maude felt the heat of tears behind her lids. There was no point in denial. Theobald's perception was sword sharp. Her voice wavered. 'I do not deny that he attracts me, but I have fought it as hard as I know how. I do not want to feel sick at the thought of his danger; I do not want to be on edge when I know he is by—craning for a look at him and frightened that others will notice, or that he will turn and our eyes will meet. Sometimes I imagine—' She broke off, biting -her lip, and looked at her husband. There was compassion in his eyes, and sadness. If there was jealousy, it was well hidden. She swallowed. 'Your love is like a warm cloak around me, Theo. His would be like riding an untamed horse. I need… I need your shelter.' She went into his arms and they folded around her, as she had known they would.