Gilliane (Roselynde Chronicles, Book Four)

by Roberta Gellis

  Chapter Nine

  What would have happened after Adam’s lips touched Gilliane’s was a puzzle neither was sure it was desirable to solve. The sound of running feet jerked Adam upright. Gilliane dropped her head, red as fire, unable and quite unwilling to move.

  “There is a troop of men approaching the keep, lord,” Alberic reported.

  “What colors?” Adam asked.

  “No banner that I can see.”

  “Perhaps mercenaries looking for employment,” Adam said, a pleased smile replacing the slightly stiff expression of embarrassment he had been wearing.

  One of Adam’s problems had been to find men he could train into an adequate fighting troop so that he could leave some of his own men in Tarring to keep it safe while he went out to coerce or replace Gilliane’s vassals and castellans. Usually this was not a serious problem in the relatively populous south for a man with as good a reputation as a master as Adam. Unfortunately, Saer’s grandiose ideas of conquest had stripped every likely candidate for an army from the surrounding countryside. What was worse, the men had been so harshly treated that the few who had escaped Saer hid from Adam’s recruiters.

  Since they were instructed not to draw in unwilling men—Adam had been taught that such men never made adequate fighters and deserted at the first opportunity—the best the recruiters could do was to spread the word that Adam was hiring and hope that the news would bring in any footloose men in the area. The hope seemed to have blossomed into a fuller-than-expected reality. From the wall, Adam watched the men. Obviously, they had come a long way; they were very travel-stained. Still, they were in good order and clearly eager by the quickness of their marching.

  At a respectful distance, the troop stopped and one man came forward. When Adam heard the name, he nearly fell off the wall in surprise and then wondered for one wild moment if Gilliane really was a witch. How else could she have arranged everything so neatly, just in time for Cuthbert’s return? Then he smiled grimly. She was no witch. She had miscalculated just a little. He still had wits enough left to remember that, whatever was said, these were Gilliane’s men. Doubtless they would be brave and loyal—so long as his interests and Gilliane’s were identical.

  “Come in,” Adam ordered. “There is no need for us to shout at each other across the moat.” And when he was face to face with Cuthbert, he asked mischievously, “What brings you back to Tarring?” for he wished to hear the tale Gilliane had devised for her man-at-arms to tell.

  “It troubled me always that we left my lady,” Cuthbert responded immediately.

  This was rather surprising to Adam, who did not expect that Gilliane would permit her name to come into the excuse at all. Then he reproached himself for underestimating her again. Surely she would have guessed he would be suspicious. What better way to disarm suspicion and prevent questions than to admit from the beginning that the men were attached to her? Since he would never have believed otherwise anyway, it was best to make a virtue of a necessity. He listened to the rest of Cuthbert’s story, however, with considerable interest, marking the real bitterness with which the man related his experiences in London.

  Had he done Gilliane an injustice, Adam wondered. Was Cuthbert’s tale true? Could Gilliane have been so long-sighted that she had sent Cuthbert to London, guessing what his reception would be and thus ensuring an even greater devotion to her? If so, then she surely did not care which party triumphed and only desired security for herself.

  Without more ado, Adam told Cuthbert to bring his men in. He would not pay them again, he said, even though their last contract had been with Saer. He considered that they owed the full time of service to whoever held Tarring keep. However, he would not put any penalty upon them for leaving their post either, since they had done so with the permission of the present holder, Lady Gilliane. They could simply resume their duties exactly as before, except that orders would come from Alberic or himself.

  “And the lady?” Cuthbert asked anxiously, after agreeing to Adam’s terms with relief. “She is well?”

  Wherever the orders came from, Adam thought, it was certain where Cuthbert’s loyalty lay. “Perfectly well,” Adam responded dryly. “Go inside and ask for her. She is not a prisoner and is free to speak with anyone she chooses. Lady Gilliane has agreed to take me as her overlord. At present, we are as one on the need to bring Neville’s vassals to obedience. Do you know the men? Have you aught to say on this subject?”

  “I can tell you what their own men say of them, my lord,” Cuthbert responded readily. “What that is worth, only you can judge.”

  “Good. Tell me.”

  “Sir Richard is a good master. His men are devoted servants who will not hear a word against him. Sir Philip is also well liked, although I have heard a complaint now and again that he is too changeable of purpose. Sir Edmund is young and said to be hot-headed. That may not be a fair judgment on the men’s parts because he has only recently come into the estate and the men were accustomed to his father’s ways.”

  “They stayed with him, his father’s men?” Adam asked. That was usually a good sign.

  “Yes, and it might be only fondness, the older men fearing his hurt if he thrusts himself forward.”

  Adam shrugged. He had suffered considerably from that kind of protective complaint before his own men realized just how strong and skillful he was.

  “Sir Andrew is also a good master, but, to speak the truth, he is not too clever. I have heard his men boast that they were able to get away with mischief by wrapping it up in many words. Sir Godfrey is not stupid, but he is so stubborn, it has been said, that he will strive forward to his own hurt when he is urged to go another way. Left alone, sometimes he will change, but threats or explanations serve only to fix his purpose. Of Sir Matthew the tale is different. His men are sullen and say little, which I have never thought a good thing. A soldier who does not complain is a man afraid.”

  That was a shrewd remark and gave Adam a good opinion of Cuthbert’s judgment. It remained only to be determined whether the man had some private reason for lauding Sir Richard and damning Sir Matthew. Adam hoped that would not prove to be the case because he rather liked Cuthbert. If the man had spoken the truth, he would make a good, responsible henchman—always keeping in mind his basic loyalty to Gilliane. Adam thanked the man and dismissed him. It was interesting and revealing that he went into the keep—presumably to speak to Gilliane—before he went out to call his men in. Amused, Adam busied himself discussing with Alberic whether it would be best to break up Cuthbert’s troop or keep them as a unit.

  After his discussion with Alberic, Adam had gone up into the hall quickly, wondering whether he would surprise Gilliane and Cuthbert in some guilty glance or word. Instead, when he was noticed, it gave apparent pleasure to both. Naturally, Cuthbert said nothing, but merely bowed and smiled and pulled his forelock before retreating. Gilliane came forward with a hand outstretched and glowing eyes.

  “How kind you are, how very kind to take Cuthbert and his men in. He told me how he was turned away by Louis’s people. You will not be sorry you have given him back his employment. He is very honest and loyal.”

  “I did not do it to please you,” Adam said harshly. “I did it because he owes near half a year of service and that will save me the cost of paying new men for that half year.”

  Gilliane withdrew the hand Adam had not taken and blushed hotly. She was not certain what had angered him, but she guessed it had nothing to do with Cuthbert. Perhaps he was ashamed of having kissed her. Gilliane threw a flickering glance at Adam, saw that his color was also high, and was better pleased with his bad temper than she would have been with a smile of complacency. Certainly he was not contemptuous, so he did not blame her for immodesty. She dropped a curtsy.

  “Whatever your reasons, my lord, what you have done is greatly to Cuthbert’s benefit, and so I thank you, for he stood by me when many others fled,” she murmured. “I will go now and see to the maids’ work and be out of your
way.”

  “Not so fast,” Adam ordered. “Cuthbert’s return has solved a problem for me. I do not need to take the time to train fighting men. Instead of sending your vassals and castellans notice that your husband is dead, we will go and tell them.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Gilliane responded without an instant’s hesitation and without a shadow on her face. It was a matter of complete indifference to her whether they stayed at Tarring until they grew roots, or whether they traveled the length and breadth of the world, so long as they did it together.

  “It is my men who will stay in Tarring, however. Cuthbert and his troop will come with us.”

  “As you will, my lord. I am sure you will find Cuthbert most eager to please you.”

  “You mean you have agreed that he should obey me?” Adam asked sardonically.

  “Well, of course,” Gilliane said in a surprised tone. “What a fool I should be to do otherwise.”

  She meant she had no power to contest Adam’s will. He took her remark to mean that she would be a fool to obstruct a purpose she desired. Adam was pleased because he felt she was being more open with him, although he warned himself that the openness might disappear at their first disagreement.

  “How long will it take you to provision the men?” Adam asked.

  Gilliane blinked. “How many men, for how long?” she asked instinctively, more to delay the admission that she had never done such a thing and had no idea what to do than because she realized she had to know.

  “Cuthbert’s fifty and one hundred or so of mine,” Adam replied, watching her narrowly, but there was no change in her slightly blank look.

  Adam was not at all surprised. He had not seriously thought Gilliane would believe him so much a fool as to put himself in her power by taking no men of his own. The blankness he assumed to be a result of mental calculation concerning supplies. It was, indeed, owing to mental activity, but the frantic scurrying of Gilliane’s brain could scarcely be called calculation, and it produced no result. She would have to confess her ignorance, Gilliane thought, and Adam would scorn her.

  Desperate to delay her diminishment in Adam’s eyes, Gilliane said, “You will have to give me a little time to see what is in the storage sheds.” Then a glimmer of hope came to her and she raised her eyes. “That is, if I have your leave to look therein, my lord.”

  “What do you mean, my leave? We are agreed, are we not, that you are now subject to me—but not my prisoner. You do not need my leave to look into your own storerooms.”

  That avenue of escape blocked, Gilliane curtsied. “Then I will go and look. I hope what you need is there,” she remarked.

  “Go and look,” he said curtly, “and come to me with word as soon as may be. I will be in the stables.” They would need horses, and those, too, had been taken by Saer and Osbert. Adam had those Saer had taken now, but they were at Kemp and were scarcely useful for his present purpose.

  They began to walk toward the stair together, but a manservant stopped Gilliane to tell her the priest was there. Adam did not bother to inquire what need there was for a priest. Doubtless, he thought caustically, Gilliane wished to confess all the lies she had told. Gilliane herself did not remember summoning a priest, at first, but it was unwise to turn away a man of God and she waited with what patience she could, thinking all the while of how she could conceal her ignorance from Adam. Then, just as the priest said, “I am Father Paul. Blessings on you, madam, for recalling me to my place,” light dawned on her. Cuthbert would know what a man needed on a march, and, since Gilliane knew how to plan food for the castlefolk, she should be able to tell what the whole troop would need.

  Gilliane smiled at the priest, whose blessing seemed to have brought with it a minor miracle, and then, his words having penetrated her brain, she remembered that she had summoned him to write the notices to the vassals. That, of course, no longer needed to be done, but, if Father Paul had been driven out by Saer and had nowhere else to go, of course he must be received back again. She looked at him keenly, a small, once-rotund man with a high complexion that came from good living. His robe was dirty and worn now and hung loosely upon him—a sign that the times had been hard for him—but the cloth was of as fine a quality as any nobleman wore.

  “You are very welcome to me, Father,” Gilliane said, “for I am new in this place and land and there is much you can tell me and teach me if you were chaplain to Lord Gilbert.”

  “I held the place for fifteen years—before Sir Saer turned me out.”

  There was in Father Paul’s voice a harsh bitterness that was not consonant with the resignation to the will of God a priest should have, but Gilliane had no quarrel with his sentiment. “It was not by my will, I assure you, Father,” Gilliane said, “but we are in better hands now. My new overlord, Sir Adam Lemagne, is of a different character. I must warn you, however, that he is master here and is fast tied to King Henry’s cause.”

  “I, too,” Father Paul said happily. “That was why I was thrust out to starve. I said the pope had forbidden us to defy King John.”

  “Then we are all agreed,” Gilliane sighed, relieved at not being faced with the dreadful dilemma of either telling a priest to go and being cursed, or confessing to Adam that she had brought an adherent of Louis into the household. “I must leave you now,” she continued briskly, realizing the priest had done her a double favor by separating her from Adam because she could now send for Cuthbert without betraying herself. “Do you, meanwhile, see if your old quarters are decent. If anything is lacking, I will see to it when I return. Now I must attend to something else by my lord’s order.”

  Gilliane then hurried to the sheds in the bailey, having dispatched a servant to send Cuthbert to her. From him, she obtained the information she needed, but it was useless to her. There was meat and fish preserved in brine, turnips and apples, barrels of wine, and sacks of wheat—provisions for those who lived in the keep—although Gilliane realized with alarm that they were not sufficient to feed the number of folk now resident until the new vegetables began to grow. Possibly there was not even enough meat to last until the ewes dropped their lambs in the spring. It would be necessary to be less generous, far less generous, with meals in the future.

  Worse than that, because she knew it would bring Adam’s immediate wrath on her head, there was virtually nothing of what Cuthbert said was needed for marching troops. Nearly all the dried and smoked meat and fish were gone; only a few bushels of lentils and beans lay in the huge bins reserved for them. Even barley and oats were almost completely lacking. With a heavy heart, Gilliane turned to dismiss Cuthbert and found Adam staring at her from the doorway, his expression bleak and hard. “I am sorry,” she faltered.

  “Oh, no, it is I who must apologize,” Adam snapped caustically, looking from her to Cuthbert. “Doubtless I interrupted you before you were able to complete your planning.”

  “There is nothing to plan about, my lord,” Gilliane confessed anxiously, gesturing toward the near-empty storage bins. “Cuthbert says that there are not enough provisions to sustain a troop on the march for even two days.”

  Adam looked from one to the other. Both met his eyes with obvious anxiety but no sign of guilt. He turned his attention to the storeroom and cursed fluently. Gilliane paled and stiffened. She would be well beaten for this, she knew. If only she had admitted her ignorance, she might have escaped, but now…

  “It is my own fault,” Adam growled furiously. “I should have thought of it when we came. If I had told you to look then, Ian and Geoffrey could have left most of what they carried with them. We were well supplied, thinking there might be a siege of some weeks. Curse me and rot me—”

  “No, my lord!” Gilliane cried.

  “No, what?” Adam asked blankly.

  “Do not curse yourself—do not,” Gilliane begged, her eyes full of tears. “If you are angry, beat me. I should have looked without your telling me. It is a woman’s part to know what provender a keep holds. I…”

&nb
sp; There were air spaces under the eaves of the outbuilding in which the supplies were kept that let in a little light as well as air. Adam moved closer and stared down at the lovely face turned up to his. “I do not wish to beat you,” he murmured. “I would not wish it even if you were to blame—which you are not.”

  “But you will wish it,” Gilliane said desperately, determined to get the complete confession of her sins over with, “when I tell you that there is not enough food stored to last us all through the winter.”

  She was pale and trembling, but she did not shrink back when Adam lifted his hand. Nor was there any need for shrinking. He only cupped her chin in his palm, so she could not lower her head. Diplomatically, Cuthbert stepped backward until he could sidle from the building. It was plain enough to him that his presence was not necessary, and he was quite sure that the lord and lady would be less annoyed that he had left them without permission than they would be if he interrupted them now to obtain permission.

  “That is the first silly thing I have ever heard you say,” Adam remarked softly, teasing her. “Naturally, if near three hundred mouths are added to the usual number, there cannot be enough…”

  Adam’s voice drifted away. The rapt adoration on Gilliane’s face silenced him. Moved more by tenderness than by the passion her beauty could stir in him, Adam touched her lips with his. Had there been the slightest quiver of fear or withdrawal, he would have let her go without thought or effort. His impulse had been to comfort, because she was so distressed at having failed and because she was so grateful to him for not punishing her. There was, however, no shadow of resistance, not even that which came from surprise. Gilliane was not surprised. The way Adam had held her face, the softness of his voice, were warning enough to her. Nonetheless, the moment their lips touched, her nimble wits were completely paralyzed by a flood of desire so violent that she could have cast herself down on the cold earth floor and played the greensleeves.