Shadows and Strongholds (67 page)

'I am not so sure about that, sweetheart.'

'I know it is sudden. I would have told you before but—'

'Hush.' He set his hand over her mouth. 'Be still.' He removed his palm and stroked the side of her face, and then down, over her breast to her supple waist. He was torn by conflicting emotions, some of them bewildering because he did not understand them himself. The masculine pride and pleasure that his seed had taken root in her belly was simple enough to comprehend, as was the raw lust that her frightened vulnerability fired in him. If she hadn't mentioned marriage, he might have taken her to bed and been content, but, whatever her appeal, he had no intention of making her his wife. She was too needy, too demanding and had no great dowry. He wanted her, he didn't want anyone else to have her, but he didn't want her enough to make her his wife.

'We'll have to see what can be done,' he said, soothing her with his hands so that she would not make a scene in front of the other men in the hall. What he said was true, but its meaning was open to interpretation.

And being Marion, and needing desperately to believe, she chose the meaning that she most wanted to be true and smiled at him. When he took her from the hall and had his way with her in the chamber where the spare mattresses were stored, the smile remained on her face even though the force of his thrusts hurt her. A few more days and she would be Lady de Lysle.

Bishop Gilbert had found Brunin and his entourage lodgings in a house owned by the Church. The former owner, an elderly man who had bequeathed it to the abbey, had but recently died and it was in a state of neglect, the floor rushes rank underfoot and the thatch much in need of repair. Still, it was better than a tent and Hawise, Sian and the maids set out to make it habitable. Brunin said to Hawise with a tired smile that he had slept with her in more ramshackle surroundings and when she looked at him askance, murmured something about a certain charcoal burner's hut in Tockington Forest that made her blush. The rushes were swept out into the midden pit and replaced with fresh ones; the corners were brightened with beeswax candles; the hearth cleared of its choked accumulation of ashes and a new fire laid. Mellette supervised the work and dealt out a constant stream of commands. Sometimes she recognised Hawise, but sometimes she addressed her as Eve, at others as Maid, who was the girl responsible for keeping the fire at Alberbury. When she saw her near Brunin, she would narrow her eyes and mutter imprecations against sluts and whores.

She had refused to remove her fine gown and silk veil, saying that she had to be ready for a summons to the court. 'The King is my uncle,' she kept repeating, as if she had shouted the words in a cavern and then swallowed the echo. But the King in the confused labyrinths of her mind was the first Henry, and she continually referred to people she had known in her youth who were long in their graves.

It was early evening and Sian was stirring a beef and barley stew in the cooking pot. In such cramped circumstances it was a necessity to feed the household out of bakery and Emmeline was eating a hunk smeared with honey. Ralf sat on the doorstep, whittling a tent peg out of a piece of wood, and Brunin slept on a pallet, one forearm bent across his eyes. Hawise knew that the ride to Gloucester and the subsequent meeting with the King had exhausted his strength. He needed to rest… although such opportunities had to be snatched at, and this hovel was not the ideal place to do it. She was worried for him but dared not show her worry lest she be accused of fussing.

Suddenly Ralf stood up, his body quivering like that of a dog spying a hare. Leaving her scrutiny of Brunin, Hawise hastened to his side.

'What is it?' Her heart lurched. 'Papa!' she shrieked. Seizing her skirts in her fists, she ran towards Joscelin who was mounted on his old roan cob and accompanied by two men she did not know, one wearing rich but ordinary garments, the other a knight in full mail. Reaching his bridle, she gazed up at him, joy blazing in her eyes.

'Hawise…' His voice was as dry and light as a husk. With a weary effort, he set his hands to the saddle pommel and eased down off the horse. She had been going to run into his arms, but when she saw how gingerly he moved, she held back.

'I'm all right,' he said. 'Cracked ribs, healing wounds… battered pride.' He opened his arms and she went into them and felt them close around her as they had done all of her life. Only now there was no certainty of safety and protection. Now there was simply the mutual clinging of two shipwrecked survivors washed up on foreign shores. She bit back a sob, and after a moment drew away from him. The flesh had fallen from his bones, revealing the sharp angles of recent strain and illness. His rich copper hair had a greater dilution of white so that he was now the same roan as his elderly mount.

Swallowing hard, he searched her face. 'I… Brunin… is he…' Then he raised his head and looked past her to the figure standing in the doorway. 'Christ, boy!' The moisture from his eyes flooded his voice and swept it away. He strode towards Brunin and stopped. His breath sawed in his throat and his chest rose and fell in shallow, painful spasms. 'I saw you pierced by a lance…'he managed to choke out. 'I thought you were dead!'

'It would take more than that to kill me,' Brunin replied, a smile lighting in his eyes.

'It nearly was the death of him,' Hawise said repressively, joining her husband. 'He rode all the way to Alberbury with the stump in his body, and how he managed that, I will never know.'

'Out of need,' Brunin said simply. 'I knew that if I could reach you, then I could close the door against the wolves.'

They exchanged a look that made Joscelin feel happy for them and utterly bereft. He wanted Sybilla, but was not sure that she would want him. He was exhausted, still half-sick from his wounds and not in good condition to face what was to come. Nor, from the looks of him, was Brunin. He did not need to count the days to know that the young man was on his feet perilously soon after receiving so bad an injury.

The two men clasped each other, but in a precarious, careful way that took account of each other's frailties.

'I did not know if you were alive either,' Brunin said. 'I wanted to ride with the royal contingent to Ludlow, but I was refused permission.' He gave a bleak smile. 'It was probably a good thing that I was. I'd have been too weak to finish any brawl I instigated… and I know I would have instigated one.'

Joscelin found a smile in response, although mirth of any kind felt strange to him like a garment that had once fitted well, but was now too ragged and threadbare to protect him from the world. 'They put me in the Pendover tower store room and set a dragon called Griselde to watch over me,' he said. 'I'd be there now if it weren't for this summons—for which I gather you are responsible.'

'There was nothing else I could have done.'

They looked at each other, both knowing what was at stake. Joscelin clenched his right fist and turned his wrist so that he was looking down on the bunched muscle of his forearm. Beneath his creased and ageing skin, the flesh was still rigid and the tendons thick. A swordsman's hand; a warrior's hand. There were few enough who lived to see the slow degeneration of the years. Even fewer who turned their backs on the dusty circle of the arena and walked away. 'No,' he said, 'there wasn't.' He looked round. His escort was waiting with polite patience for him to finish, but they had neither dismounted nor ridden away. He was not a captive, but he was in their custody.

'There is a bed for you here if you wish it,' Hawise said with a glance at the men, 'although little more than a mattress on the floor.'

Joscelin smiled and shook his head. 'No, I am expected to sleep in King's hall tonight,' he said. 'Where I sleep on the morrow…' He gave a small shrug and turned to his horse.

'I have sent for my mother,' Hawise said. 'She will come.'

Joscelin paused and she saw him clench his fists. 'I do not know if that is a good or bad thing,' he said heavily, 'but you were right to do it. She ought to be here.'

The court was preparing to move on to Woodstock and would do so as soon as Henry had completed his business in Gloucester. Approaching the castle, Brunin and Hawise had to manoeuvre their way between baggage carts and pony trains, between squabbling merchants, toiling grooms and irritable soldiers. A wine tun had been dropped between cellar and cart and a pungent, vinegary aroma blended with the stink of dung and sweat and burning bread from someone's too-hot oven. Two cart drivers began a brawl over who had right of way. One of them accidentally stepped back on a tiny long-haired dog that began to yelp, the ear-splitting noise out of all proportion to its diminutive size. The owner, a gaudily dressed woman, plucked her pet off the ground and waded into the men with a voice pitched at the same level as the dog's.

'It's always like this,' Brunin murmured out of the side of his mouth as he negotiated a steaming pile of olive-green manure. 'The Bishop of Winchester says that travelling with the court is death to the soul.'

Hawise gave a smile of sorts. 'I cannot imagine why he should say that,' she replied as they narrowly avoided two porters carrying what looked like pieces of a dismantled bed. She supposed that it was the same as her own family moving between their manors, but on a much greater scale. Not only was the King's household on the move, but all the households of every magnate and baron summoned to attend him. She realised anew how fortunate they were to have found any sort of bed for the night.

The usher on duty at the door passed them through for a consideration of silver. Hawise frowned and Brunin gave a resigned shrug. 'It is the way of the the court,' he said.

'So only those who can pay receive audience?'

'Not necessarily, but you have to be prepared to persevere. I could have offered to knock his teeth down his throat, but I'm hardly capable just now and there's always a price to pay of one sort or another. Nor is he defenceless.' Brunin nodded towards two mailed guards lounging against the wall and watching ail who passed over the threshold. 'Observe the dog's teeth,' he said.

They had scarcely advanced into the room when a commotion at the door caused them to turn. The lounging guards had come to life and were escorting a struggling, swearing Ernalt de Lysle out of the hall, whereupon they threw him into the mired street.

Beneath her hand, Hawise felt the rigidity of Brunin's arm and was assailed by a jolt of panic. 'Don't do anything foolish,' she warned. Outside Ernalt was picking himself up and brushing himself off. Marion was with him and, as she tried to help him, he shoved her aside with a snarl.

Hawise was horrified when Brunin removed her hand from his arm and walked back towards the door, but he merely paused before the steward and whispered something against the man's ear. More silver changed hands. When he returned, there was an expression of grim satisfaction on his face.

'What have you done?' she demanded.

'Since I'm in no condition to do "anything foolish", I've ensured that the hall stays out of bounds to undesirables,' he said. 'De Lysle won't be getting a second opportunity'