Spring's Fury (28 page)

"What aches so in you? Do we not yet live and love?"

"Jos is dead. I saw him take the bolt and fall from the tree. Oh, Gilliam, my heart breaks. I had a hand in his death."

"He is not yet dead!" the priest cried, fair dancing in his agitation. "My lady, you must come this instant. The boy needs you for only you can fix him. So too, does Alfred and one of the blacksmith's sons. You must come now." Reynard thrust out a hand to his lady, meaning to drag her to her feet if she did not rise on her own.

"Jos lives?" Nicola's look went wild with hope. Gilliam offered a hand to brace her as she struggled to her feet. "Take me to him."

Even with the priest's arm around her shoulders, she swayed in exhaustion. Gilliam set his hand at her hip to steady her. Father Reynard tried to walk away, but Nicola leaned so heavily against him, he staggered.

"Give me a moment, Father," she muttered, seeking to draw strength from her empty reserves.

"Love, I think you'll do him no good in your present state," Gilliam said, coming achingly and slowly to his own feet. He rested his hands on her shoulders. "You must rest."

"Nay," she cried out, tearing free from him as if she feared he might try to stop her. "Let me heal him." It was this that gave her the strength she sought. When she moved away, her footing grew steadier with each step.

Gilliam offered God a swift prayer of thanks, then tagged on his wishes for Jos's continued life. If the boy died, his wife's guilt would eat her alive. With his spiritual needs addressed, Gilliam turned, meaning to assess the damage. Even that simple motion made him dizzy. By the morrow, every muscle in his body would be alive in pain. He'd taken one blow across his back that he was certain had broken his skin. Why it had not broken bones was beyond him. Like this whole encounter, 'twas a miracle, no doubt about it.

The men of Ashby's village had come into the meadow. They turned bodies, seeking faces they knew among the dead. Walter came striding across the field toward him. "My lord, may God be praised. You live still!"

"Aye, that I do. Who do we have left?"

"I've seen Robert, Richard, and William all walk out, braced upon a peasant's shoulder. Philip lies yet stunned, waiting to be borne away. So too, do Gilbert and Edwin, but they have other injuries as well. I saw Alfred as they took him to the church. He spoke to me, but I have little hope of his survival. The rest—" He paused and lifted his shoulders in eloquent description. "How many did Lord Ocslade bring?"

"Forty some," Gilliam said, releasing the lace that held his metal hood about his head. He pushed the thing back and took off the cap he wore beneath it then ran his fingers through his hair.

"Holy Jesus," the man offered in admiration of their victory. "Alfred said I must tell you your lady is a berserker."

Gilliam shot him a sidelong glance, then remembered Nicola's blankness after the village woman's death. "I should have guessed. It’s a good thing I own her and need never face her, eh, Walter?"

"My lord, only you could own her," Walter said with a breath of amusement.

"That's true enough." Ashby's lord laughed. "Set the folk to gathering horses and stripping Ocslade's men of their armor. Not only does this day leave us to exist in peace, but Ashby is now far richer than dawn found us. Three sets of chain mall, hauberks, and swords aplenty, plus a stable full of horses. Not a bad day's work, I think me."

"Aye, my lord." Walter turned away to organize the peasants to these tasks.

Gilliam reached down for his sword then went to one of the last men he'd killed. As he used that man's tunic to clean his blade well enough to sheathe it, the reeve's daughter moaned and came to her senses. He strode to her and offered his hand to help her rise.

"My lord," she said quietly, staring at him in consternation.

She was much prettier when her expression was not marred by a whore's leer. "Reeve's daughter, I owe you my thanks for this day's success. Because of you, my wife and I yet live. Do I dare tell you how astonished I was to see you racing up behind your lover, blade outstretched?" He smiled at her.

Her eyes filled suddenly. "He killed my father. I could not bear that he would kill Colette, as well." She raised her hands to cover her face. When she dropped them, gone was the pretty girl; the whore had taken her place.  She eyed him speculatively, her expression growing soft with the promise of pleasure.

"Do not waste your time," Gilliam said, his remark made gentle by the love this girl claimed for Nicola.

The sultry look fell away, and the small woman shot him a bright smile. "Ah well, it was worth a try. I think Colette was not honest when she spoke to me about her marriage to you, my lord."

He grinned in return. "I know she was not."

She tilted her head to look up at him, the motion reminded Gilliam of her father.  "I am not sure if I am happy or angry over this."

He raised his brows and eyed her as she studied him, her lips pursed as she considered the issue.  A moment later, she nodded as if in decision. "I am happy."

"Now you must leave," he said quietly.

She eyed him in speculation. "You would not let me stay?"

"What is there here for you?" he replied.

"Nothing," the girl said in happy relief. "Aye, if I stay here, some other woman will have the life I want. I think I'll take me to a greater place than even Graistan, and find a kinder lord to keep me." She smiled up at him, pleased by her sinful thoughts.

Gilliam considered her for a moment then turned. "Walter, find this woman a fair palfrey, will you? She'll be needing a mount to take her on her travels."

"My lord, thank you," she cried in surprise. "This I did not expect."

He shook his head, refusing her thanks. "You have done me a great service, and for that I must see you rewarded."

The girl hesitated, the fine planes of her face touched with guilt.  At last, she said, "I would not cheat you my lord, when you intend me only kindness. I have already rewarded myself."

A whore and a thief, but an honest one. Gilliam grinned. "Have you?"

Her smile was gay, and mischief sparkled in her brown eyes. For that brief instant, he saw the merry child who had won Nicola's heart. She turned her belt on her waist to reveal a heavy purse. "I thought Osbert and William would not be needing their coins any longer. I left what the others carried."

"Keep the coins with my blessing," he said, trying not to laugh. Walter brought her a small mare, yet fitted with its previous owner's saddle and bridle, then helped her to mount.

"You can ride?" Ashby's lord asked.

"Not well, but I think I shall improve," the girl replied. "My lord, will you bear a message to your wife for me?"

"With all gratitude."

"Tell her that I love her still, but cannot know how long this love of mine will last. Say to her that should I pass this way once more under no circumstances is she to trust what I say." The girl's sudden smile was wicked with delight. "I am not the trustworthy sort."

This time, Gilliam did laugh. "Get you gone from my vale, little thief. I'll not tolerate your sort here."

She was still smiling as she set her heels into the horse and rode into the woodlands.

* * *

Nicola stared out over her crowded hall in pleasure. Not only was all of Ashby here for the spring ale, but the masons as well along with Lord Coudray and his men, who had escorted the workmen. With the meal just ended, villagers and servants worked together to clear the tables. The morrow would find Mad Muriel and her son dining on lamb stew and duck brewet; the dogs received the remains of the roasted ox and sheep.

"My lady, that was truly a fine meal." Lord Coudray owned a rich baritone voice that made his every sentence sound like a song. He had shared a bench with her.

She smiled at him.  That this man was Gilliam's kin there could be no doubt. His hair was just as golden, although it lacked the curl of her husband's fair locks. His eye color was a deeper blue, his nose had the same perfect length and width, his cheekbones high, and his jawline as strong. All in all, he should have been the more handsome of the two, save that half his face was ruined.

The scars could be no more than a year old. The longest traveled from the top left of his brow, across the bridge of his nose, beneath the patch covering his right eye, then trailed off toward his ear. A second, smaller scar cut directly down from the shielded eye to curl into the corner of his mouth.

Still a little awestruck at entertaining so auspicious a man, Nicola said quietly, "I am very glad you enjoyed it, my lord sheriff."

"Geoff," he insisted, and he smiled at her. Even with the scar at his mouth's corner, it was a beautiful thing. His teeth were even and white; the curve of his lips infectuous. "Anyone who makes my brother as happy as you do cannot stand on ceremony."

"I am not happy," Gilliam said, speaking around her to his brother. "You are taking my bed for the next days, and she will not play bed games with me while we sleep in the hall."

"Gilliam," Nicola protested. "That’s a private matter!"

Geoff laughed. "What is wrong with you, my mother's youngest son? This is a dangerous woman you taunt. I'd have a care with your tongue, were I you."

"She loves me too much to hurt me," Gilliam assured him.

"Humph," Nicola said, turning her back on him. "Do not be so sure."

"My lord, might I go sit with my friends?" Jos asked, coming to stand between her and Gilliam. He presented an odd image, dressed in his new formal attire, his arm yet caught in a sling while his shoulder healed, and naught but stubble atop his head. "Dickon wagers that my scar," he lowered his head to indicate the crooked line on his scalp, "is longer than Alexander's."

"Aye, go," Gilliam said with a smile.

"Not yet," Geoffrey said, reaching out to catch the boy by the sleeve and draw him closer.

Jos shot Nicola a worried glance. Despite all of their assurances, the boy strove to avoid Lord Geoffrey. He was certain his mother had convinced Lord Coudray that he was being abused at Ashby; Jos feared he would be forced to leave.

"I would drink to you, Jocelyn of Freyne." His hand still clutching Jos's sleeve, Geoffrey reached for his cup. "To the infant of last autumn, who is no more, and to the warrior who used his skills to protect his lord and his lady, like a fine and loyal knight." He took a swallow of ale, then released the lad.

Jos blushed against the compliment.  “My thanks, Lord Courday.”

"Nay, my thanks to you, Jocelyn. I am right fond of my brother and grateful for what you did to help him. How glad I am I brought you to him."

Jos's cheeks grew redder still. "You will not take me away?"

Geoffrey's brow creased in confusion. "Why would I do that? You will, stay here until you are knighted."

"My mother sent messages," Jos started, then sighed in relief. "My lord, please tell my mother that I am well and happy here. She must set her heart at ease over me.”

"That I will do. Go to your friends now, Jocelyn."

As the boy darted away, he called over his shoulder, "Name's Jos, my lord."

Gilliam turned to sit astride his bench. "Come love, there's room for you at the end now." He patted the spot, between his thighs.

"Why do you carry messages to Jos's mother? Is she also your ward?" Nicola asked as she moved to sit between her husband's legs, her back against his chest. This was a mistake. There was a tingling inside her that suggested a week without lovemaking was impossible.

Geoff's jaw was suddenly tight. "Of a sort," he said shortly. "It comes of my being sheriff. Pregnant widows must live at the shire's seat under the sheriff's protection until their babes are delivered."

"Ah," Nicola said in understanding. This was a logical way to protect a dead man's blood line. Not only did it shield an unborn heir from scheming relatives, it also assured that the babe was indeed born of his mother's body and was not some peasant's infant purchased to replace a stillborn child.

"Ah, indeed," Geoff muttered. "I am praying she drops the child while I am here. Better that my under-sheriff sits at her side throughout her delivery than me. Lady Elyssa has a way of raising my hackles that is unsurpassed in any other woman."

"So she is yet filling your moat with tears, is she?" Gilliam asked with a quick laugh.

"Nay, she's given up tears and now insists on prying into my private life." This sharp comment was followed by a sigh of resignation, and Geoff's shoulders relaxed. "I should not complain so. She's a good woman, who has restored Cecilia's voice. My daughter has been without speech since her mother's death," he added for Nicola's sake.

"Lady Elyssa has done this?" Gilliam asked in astonishment. "Then, fie on you for complaining over her, or is it jealousy that goads you? You are as bad as Rannulf and cannot abide to share your child's love. It’s a marvelous thing Jos's mother has done. Why, it broke my heart to see my niece voiceless and shy in June past when she had always been such a cheerful little lass. If you cannot thank Lady Elyssa on your own behalf, then thank her on mine,"

"I did thank her," Geoff retorted. "Do not nag, Gilliam. I came here to escape my troubles, not dissect them."

"Aye, leave your brother in peace," Nicola said. "What sort of host chides his guest?" She leaned her head back against Gilliam's shoulder, her cheek resting against his throat. His arms around her tightened in response, then he raised his arms until his wrists were beneath her breasts.

She drew a sharp breath. Tingling turned into desire, and there was nothing weak-kneed about it. Pipes squealed and drums beat as the musicians announced the first dance. There was a great stomping of feet to herald the dancers into the hall's cleared center.

Nicola slid back on the bench as far as she could go between Gilliam’s thighs. His long gown was bunched between his legs, keeping her from feeling his shaft against her lower back. His embrace tightened as he tried to accomplish the same thing. One week was definitely too long. She turned her head as if to look out at the dancers, her hair brushing across Gilliam's throat. It was his turn to gasp.