The Warrior's Wife (26 page)

“What say the rest of you?” Bishop Robert asked of the room. “Sir Guilliame has offered his opinion as well as that of his lady. I’d hear what you think before rendering mine own judgment.”

“I say Bagot’s better off accepting this marriage,” the old nobleman replied, his voice as cracked as his face was lined. “Take it from me, Lord Humphrey,” he said, waggling a chunk of bread at his peer as if to drive home the point, “better that your daughter’s married, no matter what you think of the union, than that she makes no match at all. I’ve three girls for whom no man offered, they having no inheritance despite my efforts on their behalf. Now it’s my purse that pays the price, supporting them as they reside in barren uselessness with the Benedictines.”

He shifted on his bench to look at Lord Haydon. “I daresay Lord Baldwin here feels the same. He has four lasses for heirs and not enough property to divide between them.”

“I expect I do,” Lord Haydon replied quietly, a note of sadness in his voice as if the thought of any of his precious daughters being left without husband or home pained him.

Her father’s harsh snort dismissed both the men and their hapless daughters then he turned his back upon them to study the others in the room. His mouth took a sour twist at what he saw.

“You’ve decided, all of you. Each and every one of you sits ready to trade away my property on a cobbling of lies told by this foul woman.” With each word his voice rose.

Circling Rafe, he came to stand before his daughter. The cords of his neck stood out as his fists clenched. Deep rage glittered in his eyes. Kate took a frightened backward step. There was something unholy and ancient about that emotion.

“By God,” her father roared, “but she stood before you and admitted she was a woman of no morals! For that you reward her with Glevering? Nay, you do better than that. You’d have the spawn of mine worst enemy someday take my title through her.”

He whirled once more to look at his peers. “You’re thieves, all of you, and I won’t stand for it!” His hand dropped to his sword’s hilt.

Terror ran roughshod over Kate. Not certain who he meant to kill she threw herself at Rafe, as if nearness would save them both. Her husband caught his arm around her, shifting until he stood between father and daughter.

“My lord, your protection,” he called out to the bishop, but the prelate was already out of his chair and off the dais. The countess’s knight came with him, staying close to the churchman’s back. An instant later they closed on the nobleman. As Bishop Robert grabbed Bagot by his shoulders, the knight reached around his better to yank his sword from his scabbard. Kate’s sire shouted in outrage and whirled to face this new threat. The bishop gave the peer a stern shake.

“I warned you, Lord Bagot. There is a truce, and I will brook no violence here! Now, calm yourself and think. If you’ll but do that you’ll see that this is a reasonable match, especially given that you lost Glevering because of your steward’s treachery. My God man, this is in your best interest.”

Rather than heed the churchman her father pulled free of the smaller man’s grasp. “Damn you all! You’re stealing Glevering from me to give it to my enemy.” His cry was a pained roar.

“Bagot, what choice have we?” one of his erstwhile supporters called to him. “By your daughter’s words the marriage is made, the deed done. She was free to wed. You yourself bought that right from our king.”

Fists clenched against his brow, her father squealed in frustration, then threw back his head to shout to the rafters above him, “You know damn well I didn’t pay a fortune so she could play whore to my greatest foe!”

As if called to it by his words Rafe stepped away from Kate to the center of the hall. He held out his arms as if to gather all attention. “My lords, it’s a good point Lord Bagot makes. He did, indeed, pay a fortune for the right to choose a husband for his daughter. Since what he did was to my profit I deem it only fair that I shoulder half my father-by-marriage’s debt,” he offered.

At once more hearing Rafe name him kin, her father’s face twisted until he looked mad. “I will be no relation to a thieving snake-eater!”

He lunged at the man he hated. Kate managed a tiny scream. Her hands clutched at her chest, as if protecting her own heart would save the man she loved.

As he’d done at the picnic, Rafe caught her father by the arms to hold him at bay. Together they wrestled their way down the hall’s length. Gerard and Sir Josce raced around the table to aid their friend while Will nigh on catapulted over a bench to reach his brother. Every peer within the room was on his feet, bellowing for his fellow to cease.

Naught but a moment later her sire was caught between the two younger men. Will stood panting at Rafe’s back, his hands opening and closing against his need to strike out at his enemy when he knew he mustn’t. Around the room not one man reclaimed his seat. Indeed, two of them went so far as to draw their swords.

“You pigheaded noble fool!” Bishop Robert shouted at the recalcitrant baron. “To attack Sir Ralf when he offers to take on half your debt says your hatred of this family goes too deep. For that sin can our precious Lord damn you. But here, through this wedding, has He given you the chance to release what eats at your soul. I beg you. Heed your Lord. Confess to what fouls your heart, bear your penance and heal. For the sake of God and this shire, make your peace with this marriage!”

“Nay,” Bagot’s lord howled to the rafters, “better that I die damned!”

Then as if what he said shocked even him, he sagged between his captors. “Better that I die than let that Godsol have my daughter,” he sobbed, his tone that of a friendless man alone and adrift on an empty sea.

Already looking uncomfortable at holding their better against his will, both Gerard and Sir Josce took his defeated stance to mean the end of any threat from him. Releasing him, they shifted to stand guard about their friend, should Bagot’s lord consider another attack.

For an instant Kate toyed with the idea of crossing the room to join them, then discarded it. Her father’s behavior was too unnerving. Better that she kept her distance, just in case.

At the far table one of the men who’d entered the hall as a detractor laughed. There was no amusement in the sound. “Take heart, Bagot. You’ve no need to strike another blow against the Godsol if you want him destroyed. He’s just dealt himself a heart wound by taking on half your debt. Why, in no time our greedy king will suck Glevering dry of every coin, leaving him as impoverished and broken as the rest of us.”

Gasps and groans filled the air as every man looked toward the speaker. Eyes flashing, the bishop whirled on the man. “No more of that, my lord,” he chided harshly. “Not here, not now.”

In that instant of inattention her sire exploded into motion. Teeth bared and eyes wild, he raced past the bishop and the countess’s knight, barreling toward his daughter. Even as Kate started to cry out, it was too late. Her father’s hands closed about her throat, choking off all sound. It wasn’t hatred that filled his gaze but pain and jealousy, which leaked from the corners of his eyes, burning hot streaks down the harsh line of his cheeks.

Fighting for breath, Kate dug her nails into his steel-sewn gloves. She kicked at his legs, her shoes bouncing off his knitted metal leggings. Rafe’s shout was afire with rage and worry. Men bellowed in protest.

She needed more help than that and right quickly, too. Blackness began to edge her vision.

“Betraying whore,” her father whispered, his words searing her cheek. He gave her a shake. “I married you, lifting you above the Godsol when I made you my lady, and still you pined for him. Why?” he hissed in breathless demand. Madness and heartache tangled in the word.

The blackness circled in on Kate. Her hands fell away from his gloves. Her eyes shut. God help her, but he was mad. He thought he was talking to her long-dead dam.

“I loved you,” he went on, the words reaching her now as from a distance, “and still you lusted after my pretty enemy. Well, you died once for loving the man who killed our sons. Now die again.”

Horror was the last thing Kate knew as the darkness claimed her.

 

Never had it occurred to Rafe that Bagot would try to kill his own daughter. Roaring in terror for Kate, he launched himself across the room to save his wife, all the while grabbing for a weapon he didn’t wear. At his back came Josce and Gerard. Bishop Robert was there before them, as was the countess’s man. As the churchman grappled with Bagot, trying to break the nobleman’s hold on his daughter, the knight drew back a fist for a stunning blow.

Kate hung like a child’s cloth poppet in her father’s grasp. Not his Kate. He wouldn’t lose her now.

Hands joined, Rafe raised his arms over his head to deliver Kate’s sire another blow. Bagot made a gurgling sound. His eyes widened. His hands opened. Like a stringed puppet without a hand to guide it, Kate collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Clutching at his chest, Bagot’s mouth opened and closed like that of a beached fish. He staggered to the side and dropped to his knees. An instant later he crumpled. Life drained from his eyes until they were but soulless stones, once more becoming the dust from which they’d been created.

“Kate!” Rafe shouted, squatting to scoop up the woman who owned his heart. His friends crowded around him as concerned as he. When she was cradled in his arms Rafe lay his hand against Kate’s breast and felt nothing.

A horrified breath left him. Tears stung at his eyes. His heart tore in twain. “Nay,” he cried, but the word lacked volume.

“Rafe, be easy,” Josce said gently, grabbing his friend’s hand to place Rafe’s trembling fingers against Kate’s throat and what Rafe most needed to feel. “You see? She yet lives.”

As the strong and steady thud of Kate’s heart battered at Rafe’s fingertips every muscle in his body weakened in relief. He stumbled backward until he met a table behind him. Leaning against it, he cradled his wife close to his heart. With his forehead resting against hers, he gloried in the ragged puff of her continuing breath against his cheek.

“You were right,” he told her, the joy that now filled him almost more overwhelming than the terror of the last moments, “it was God’s will that you should be mine, for He took your sire to make certain that I kept you.”

* * *

Something startled Kate out of the darkness that held her prisoner. She drew in a deep breath. It was like swallowing sharp stones. The agony beyond bearing, she twisted and fought, gagging as she tried to escape it. Tears blinded her.

“Nay, Kate,” Rafe said, his voice gentle and filled with care for her, “it’s me.”

The sound of Rafe’s voice was all it took. Kate relaxed against what tortured her, only to find the next breath more tolerable if not easier. Blinking back the pain, she looked around her.

No longer were they in the hall, but in Glevering’s bedchamber. She lay in her husband’s arms as he sat upon the bed. Concern twisted his handsome features and darkened his eyes until they were nigh on black.

That he ached over what hurt her only fed the care Kate knew for him. With that came the need to soothe. She lifted a hand to trace her fingers down the line of his jaw, ruffling the short hairs of his beard as she went.

His smile was that slow curl of his lips she so loved, bringing with it the need to feel his mouth on hers, no matter what it cost her. As if he read her thoughts his head lowered until he touched his lips to her. Her arms lifted to encircle his neck. Kate savored the sweetness of his kiss.

God and all his saints be praised. She was alive and in Rafe’s arms, where she belonged.

Even as the new value she placed on her life came rushing home to her, a thread of caution woke. This moment was worthless if her sire yet breathed. Having discovered his madness, she knew for certain his hatred and harassment would last to his life’s end, or theirs.

Freeing her mouth from Rafe’s, Kate leaned back in his arms. “My sire?” she said, then gasped. Speaking was like spitting up daggers.

“Bagot is no more,” said Bishop Robert from the bed’s far corner.

With a jangle of metal he stepped into Kate’s field of vision. The sliver of day’s light that shot through the narrow window burnished the churchman’s armor and found threads of gold in his thatch of gray. There was a sad twist to his mouth. “Your lord sire has gone unshriven to meet his maker with only hatred to fill his heart. May God have mercy on his soul.”

Relief and gratitude rushed through Kate, only to be followed by a new sort of caution. It was a sin to wish ill on the dead. Releasing her hold on Rafe, she crossed herself, praying fervently that her father’s thrice-damned soul, denied a heavenly home, wandered far from Glevering.

The churchman nodded in approval of Kate’s gesture. “Aye my lady, his death is a terrible reminder to us all that we must make peace with our Lord at every opportunity,” the bishop said, misinterpreting her reaction. “The only boon in all this is that no man here bears the stain of his death on his soul,” he went on. “It was God Himself who stopped your sire’s attack and prevented your destruction.”

As if he intended to protect her from that now past threat, Rafe’s arms tightened around her. A tangled bolt of rage and pain danced through his gaze then was gone. It was enough to tell Kate that her husband wouldn’t have minded bearing the stain of her sire’s death, not for the sake of the feud but because of the hurt Bagot’s lord had done to one he cherished.

Once again the wonder of Rafe’s love washed over Kate. To think he was her husband and she would keep him for all time. Or would she?

“Their decision,” she demanded of Rafe at a whisper in the mistaken hope that a low voice would mean less pain. It didn’t.

Nodding, Rafe shifted on the bed so that they both faced the prelate. “My lord, given the chaos of the past quarter-hour, you’ll forgive me if I need it confirmed. Tell me now. Is Bagot’s daughter truly my wife?”

Annoyance washed over the churchman’s narrow face, then died into testy acquiescence. “When I left Haydon I’d have staked my life that nothing could convince me to accept this marriage as legal no matter how many witnesses you paraded before me.”

“We do have witnesses and a priest, my lord,” Rafe offered, only to have the bishop wave him into silence.

“Of course you do, but it no longer matters, does it?” the churchman retorted. “Bagot’s dead, and by royal decree the lady was free to marry where she pleased. And regardless of the devious way you came to own her, this marriage is best for her, for the shire and it would have been for Bagot if he could but have seen that.”

That said, the bishop’s mouth took a bitter twist. “And now what do we do with Bagot’s foul steward? I’d intended to give the man back to Bagot once this was resolved for whatever justice his master might have meted out. Now, Mary forgive me, but I find myself wishing the man would have the courtesy to drop dead like his noble master. If he won’t, we’ll have to present him to the sheriff where he can tell his tale to all who listen.”

Once again Bishop Robert pressed a hand to his temple as if to rub away an ache. Kate chewed her lip, recognizing the threat Warin still represented to the shire’s peace and to her own happiness. Could what Warin knew force the bishop to change his mind about their marriage?

Only Rafe remained easy, a touch of a smile claiming his mouth. “My lord, with Bagot dead what does prosecuting his steward serve save to further blacken a dead man’s name? Were I you, I’d go to de Dapifer and warn him that word of his treachery will be spread from house to house. Within a month’s time there’ll be no man in all England willing to offer him employment. Suggest to him that with his skills he’d be better bound for the wars in Poitou and Normandy, where”--it was hard amusement that came to life in Rafe’s eyes--“he’ll either die or make himself a living. Either way, your situation is resolved.”

The annoyed expression on Bishop Robert’s face melted from his features. No sour twist of the lips this time. Nay, it was a wide grin that claimed his mouth, displaying a goodly set of teeth for a man his age. “By God lad, but you’re good at this. I can’t imagine why you haven’t advanced further in our king’s appreciation.”

Kate watched her husband fight his own amusement, even as he shrugged away the backhanded compliment. “I fear I’m a rustic at heart, my lord. A home and loving wife to bear me sons was all I ever wanted. And that,” he said, once more looking at the woman in his arms, “is what I have.”