“No!” Gilliane cried, hastily setting down the food and wine and grabbing for Adam’s surcoat. “No! Do not leave me behind! I can ride. I swear I can. I will be no trouble to you again, my lord. I—”
“Gilliane,” Adam interrupted, catching and holding her hands, “you are never a trouble to me. I am to blame for leaving you unprotected. If only I had not—”
“Let us not waste time and breath on vain regrets,” Sir Richard suggested, not realizing he had just prevented Adam from saying that his main regret was not being able to murder Osbert. “You are right that we should move on, although, to speak the truth, I do not believe de Cercy would have courage enough to return. A greater danger is that he will tell braver men that we are traveling in this area and will not tell them that we are so strong a force.”
Adam nodded. “It is totally profitless to stir up a hornets’ nest here. If we are gone… But I expected to arrive at Alresford today, and I do not think Gilliane can go so far as that.”
“I can,” Gilliane insisted passionately. “I can. Come, let us go now. I am ready.”
She stood up at once, stiff with the fear that she would sway or show some other sign of weakness. To her own surprise, she felt quite well, aside from a twinge here and there from the bruises she had sustained when she fell from the horse and down the hill. Sir Richard’s mouth gaped in surprise. Adam did not react at all. Once Gilliane had said she did not wish to be left behind, he knew she would behave very much as she was behaving. However, he was troubled by her faint and by Sir Richard’s constant amazement that Gilliane was not prostrated by every exertion.
Once before the suspicion had crossed Adam’s mind that Gilliane’s body might be frailer than her spirit. Her mind and will were very strong, but that was no assurance that her body could keep up with them without harm. If that was true, the matter must be handled with delicacy. As Geoffrey would be hurt if Adam tried too obviously to help with a task that exceeded his slighter strength or that was made difficult by his lameness, Gilliane would be hurt if he seemed aware of her weakness.
“Do you intend to walk all the way?” he asked lightly, as if he were teasing.
Gilliane paused on her way out of the tent. She would gladly have walked if that was the only way she could remain with Adam, but she knew it was a joke. “My mare is at the abbey—and Catrin,” she said provocatively. “I could walk there.”
“Yes,” Adam admitted, chuckling, “but rather than waste time or take a horse from one of our mounted men, which would suit you very ill anyway, I think I will carry you before me.”
Instead of looking hurt, Gilliane glowed with pleasure. “Oh, yes,” she agreed heartily.
Adam had been thinking only of carrying her as far as the abbey, by which time he hoped he could better assess her strength and ability to ride. Gilliane’s delighted acceptance of his suggestion opened his eyes to an aspect of the situation that had not occurred to him. He would be holding her in his arms. If he could find an excuse to drop back for a time, they could at least kiss and talk, even if it was not possible to obtain complete satisfaction.
In the end, Adam carried Gilliane all the way to Sir Edmund’s keep. It was a bittersweet joy, for they both knew there could be no culmination to the passion they aroused in each other. The frustration was limited, fortunately, by the fatigue of the long ride and the tension of the initial discussions, which buried the need for sexual release under the more exigent need to present Gilliane’s case in the right way to a hotheaded young man. The tale of Gilliane’s abduction, easily introduced when she was lifted down from Adam’s arms, played a useful role. Since Sir Edmund already felt sympathy for the boy king, it did not take long to convince him to swear to Gilliane and, through her, to Adam.
Actually, it was more difficult to curb Sir Edmund’s enthusiasm for his new cause than to convince him to join. He was all for gathering extra men and beginning a campaign to wipe out the rebel forces in the area. Since these were centered in the great keep at Winchester, which Saer de Quincy, the second most influential rebel, now ruled, the notion was, to say the least, not reasonable. It would take thousands of men to reduce Winchester, and long before that happened de Quincy would bring an army to wipe out the attackers. If Pembroke and the king could be brought to support such an attack, it might have some point. Otherwise, it was suicide.
Although Adam was a few years younger than Sir Edmund, his training under Robert of Leicester had been far different. He knew in broad military and political terms what was and was not possible. Nonetheless, he was young. His heart responded to Sir Edmund’s proposal even though his head told him the idea was wild and foolish. The dichotomy permitted Adam to handle Sir Edmund more wisely than an older, more experienced overlord. Instead of dryly pointing out the irrationality of what Sir Edmund desired, Adam’s own eyes lit with enthusiasm. Before a horrified Sir Richard could raise objections, however, Adam sighed.
“I have not the strength,” he said regretfully. “Even if I emptied my keeps and Lady Gilliane agreed—and see, she is already shaking her head in disapproval—”
“A woman,” Sir Edmund began.
“Your overlady, and do not forget it,” Adam replied, frowning.
“Nor are my reasons womanish,” Gilliane said firmly. She had listened to Adam’s talk with Sir Richard to good purpose. “Let us clean our own house before we look into another’s. You and Sir Richard and Sir Andrew are agreed, but that is only half our strength. We must convince Sir Philip, Sir Matthew, and Sir Godfrey. How will it look to the king’s guardians if you come swearing fealty and your fellow castellans are rebels?”
“It is true,” Adam remarked, “but listen to this. If we can bring Sir Philip and Sir Matthew—”
“Not Sir Matthew,” Sir Edmund interrupted sharply. “He is growing rich on French shipping and he is close to Arundel. He will thumb his nose at you and look to change overlords.”
Sir Edmund looked offended when Adam and the others burst out laughing, but when he heard why they laughed—the news that had come from Geoffrey—he was delighted. “And I think,” Adam went on, his eyes suddenly dancing, “that I will add a little fuel to the fire. I think I am going to write Arundel a most sad and most proper letter about a poor girl whose first husband died, who was forced into marriage by a dastardly coward who fled when I approached to avenge an incursion onto my lands, and—”
“Yes, but I do not see what Arundel has to do with—”
“The Earl of Arundel,” Adam interrupted Sir Andrew, “is…” There he hesitated. He had been about to say that Arundel was a blockhead, but another blockhead of the same type was looking at him. “Arundel is a very…er…chivalrous gentleman,” Adam continued, grinning broadly. “He would never rob a poor, helpless widow by subverting her castellan. I will tell him how I have taken pity upon Lady Gilliane’s sad state and offered to bring her rebellious man to obedience. I will explain that we mean no harm and no offense to him, although to reach Wick we must cross his lands, and I will promise to do no hurt to his people and make restitution if damage is done by accident.”
“Why will you cross his lands?” Gilliane asked, paling a trifle as she saw where this talk was leading.
“To bring Sir Matthew to obedience,” Adam replied, and his face set like stone when he saw her lips part to object. “This is a matter of the king’s need and of my duty, Lady Gilliane,” he went on pointedly, “although it will also benefit you. Wick oversees a fine port. Sir Edmund tells me it is being used by the French. It must not be left to their use. It must be in trustworthy hands.”
A quick glance at Sir Richard’s face sank Gilliane’s heart right into the slippers she had put on when she finally changed out of her bloodstained riding dress. Sir Richard plainly approved heartily of Adam’s idea. Thus, Gilliane would have no support—for Sir Andrew followed Sir Richard’s lead in all things—if she dared oppose the attack on Wick. And what could she say, Gilliane wondered desperately. She knew nothing of the real
needs and objectives of Louis or Henry. If she said, in the presence of other men, that she did not want Adam to fight for fear he would be hurt, he would kill her—or, at least, never forgive her for the shame she brought upon him.
So Gilliane sat quietly, keeping her face as expressionless as possible. Still, Adam was quick enough to feel her disapproval. He could not understand it. If Gilliane wanted the lands, they had to be wrested from the grip of men who would not be obedient. Yet she was not willing for him to do that. Why? Sir Andrew was approving of warning Arundel in portentous tones, but Adam heard nothing of it. The only times Gilliane had ever opposed what he wished were when he planned to raid Lewes—a stronghold that supported Louis—and when he planned to oust and replace Sir Godfrey of Bexhill and Sir Matthew of Wick—both of whom were firm adherents to Louis’s cause. It certainly seemed as if Gilliane had lied about her willingness to accept Henry.
“But I do not see that there is any need to apprise Arundel of what we plan to do,” Sir Edmund said suddenly. “If we do no harm to his people or his property, he has no right to interfere between a castellan and his overlord—I mean, overlady. If you write to him, he may refuse permission to cross his lands. Then…”
Adam’s train of thought had been broken by the change from Sir Andrew’s plodding baritone to Sir Edmund’s quick tenor so that, fortunately, he heard what the young man said. “Arundel will not refuse,” Adam stated. “In any case, I do not intend to wait upon his permission. Likely, we will be past his lands before he receives my letter. My stepfather, Lord Ian, will mediate if necessary, making the very point you have just suggested.”
“But then, why—”
“My reasons have little to do with Arundel’s attitude toward our taking of Wick—except that such a letter will prevent him from conceiving of our actions as an insult, which he might take it into his head to do otherwise. More important is that sooner or later word will come to Louis that we are attacking or have conquered Sir Matthew’s stronghold. I am quite sure that someone among those idiot French, if not Louis himself, will either complain that he did not prevent me from moving against Wick or even, God willing, accuse him of treachery.”
“But that is not fair,” Sir Andrew protested. “It is not Arundel’s part to support a castellan against his true overlord—overlady. It has nothing to do with Prince Louis.”
Sir Edmund’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He looked from Adam, who was trying hard not to grin at Sir Andrew’s inability to see below the surface of a thing, to Sir Richard, whose lips were twitching but who was nodding agreement with what Sir Andrew said. Sir Edmund knew that Sir Andrew saw only one thing at a time, but it was inconceivable to him that anyone could overlook the fact that, once in Adam’s power, the port below Wick would be closed to the French. Thus, the matter was of importance to Louis and Arundel’s indifference might imply treachery. In spite of Gilliane’s anxiety at the idea that Adam planned to fight, she could see everyone struggling not to laugh at Sir Andrew. That would be unkind and might cause trouble.
“That is very true, Sir Andrew,” she said quickly, “and from what I have heard of Lord Arundel, he will feel just as you do. Thus, he will be very ill pleased that Louis or his friends should say his motives are dishonorable when they are not. And, if Lord Arundel is insulted and angered, it is not likely that he will agree to attack us himself or permit anyone else to use his forces and his keep to attack us.”
All the men now stared at Gilliane. Sir Edmund was much surprised that a woman should speak at all about such matters in the company of men. What was more, he had the sneaking suspicion that she knew as much or more about it than he did and had said exactly as much as was suited to Sir Andrew’s understanding and feelings—without telling a lie and without concealing from the rest of them the most important aspect of the matter. If Lord Arundel was insulted and infuriated enough, he might repudiate his oath to Louis—and this, of course, was what Adam intended. Even if this incident did not precipitate the break, it would certainly add to Arundel’s dissatisfaction with his French allies and increase his feeling that Englishmen, even enemies, treated him with more courtesy and consideration.
The notion that Gilliane’s intervention had been deliberate—to say what was necessary without saying too much—and was inspired by her doubt that any of her male companions would be adroit enough to do so, made Sir Edmund even more uncomfortable. What was more, a glance at Sir Richard’s nodding head and barely suppressed smile confirmed the notion, as did Sir Adam’s tight-lipped, intent stare. Sir Edmund assumed that a male overlord would not be pleased to discover too much quickness of mind in a female vassal he expected to parrot his own opinions.
In his reading of Sir Richard, Sir Edmund was quite correct. However, he could not have been more wrong about Adam’s response. Adam was simply bewildered. He had been very disappointed when he came to the belief that Gilliane had prevaricated about her willingness to abandon Louis’s cause. However, he had always accepted that as a possibility. What was more, he had gained confidence because the knowledge of Gilliane’s disapproval had not in the least inclined him to change his mind. Adam had not had time to begin to worry about what he would feel if Gilliane started to exert emotional pressure on him because Sir Edmund had distracted him before that idea entered his head. And now, what Gilliane said to Sir Andrew and her manner of saying it certainly implied she understood Adam’s purpose in writing to Arundel and approved it.
The situation was not destined to become any clearer because at that point Gilliane became aware of Adam’s expression. The smile froze on her lips. Sir Andrew was paying her a long-winded compliment on her cleverness, which permitted her to turn toward him so that her stricken look was not visible to those who could have read it. When Sir Andrew was finished, she thanked him courteously for his good opinion and then added that, as she was very tired, she would leave the gentlemen to their discussion and go to her bed. Sir Edmund immediately summoned a maid to take her to the principal chamber in the women’s quarters. Gilliane curtsied to Adam, wished all the gentlemen a good night and sound sleep, and went away.
If Gilliane could have thought of any way to stop Adam from attacking Wick, she would have endured his displeasure, even his rejection, to ensure his safety. A sleepless night of concentrated thought failed to show her a path toward that end. Since Adam had stated so clearly that it was primarily the king’s purpose he was forwarding rather than hers, it would do no good to renounce her claim upon Sir Matthew and his keep. Perhaps if she had been alone with Adam, Gilliane would have tried emotional blackmail. Fortunately, the opportunity did not arise.
Adam had also spent a sleepless night going over what Gilliane had said, what she could have meant, how her behavior from the time he had met her fit together. He could draw no satisfactory conclusion. The evidence was too contradictory and, worse, Adam could not trust himself to interpret it fairly. He was too anxious to obtain one particular answer, too aware of that anxiety to trust any meaning he found. To top his problems, he was suffering from a delayed realization of how close he had come to losing Gilliane altogether.
Suddenly, Adam felt overwhelmed. Usually he was, if anything, overconfident of his ability to handle anything, and charged blithely into situations where, as it was said, angels feared to tread. Now new horrors popped up on every side. What if Sir Philip should turn traitor and seize Gilliane? What if an attack should be made upon them for the express purpose of abducting Gilliane? What if Gilliane should subtly work on her men so that they withdrew from the attack on Wick at a crucial moment? In any case, what was he thinking of, carrying a woman into a war? Even if none of his previous fears were fulfilled—and Adam was still rational enough to recognize that they were not very logical—what was he to do with Gilliane after they had dealt with Sir Philip?
There could be no question of leaving Gilliane at Leith Hill. That would be an open invitation to treachery by a man who could adjust his honor to his purposes. Nor could Adam c
onsider sending her back to Tarring. Aside from the danger of the trip itself and the danger that Osbert might attack Tarring from Lewes, there was Sir Richard’s son. Adam had not missed the way Sir Edmund’s eyes had rested on Gilliane. There was nothing offensive in his admiration, and Gilliane had offered not even so much as a look of encouragement; however, Adam was reminded that he was not the only man who could see Gilliane was beautiful. To leave her alone for an extended period with a young, unmarried man was an open invitation to a different kind of disaster than political treachery.
Adam turned over and groaned. She said she loved him. He had no reason by look or word or deed to doubt that—unless her passion was assumed for some purpose that had nothing to do with love. If she loved him, it should not matter who was in Tarring keep. Still, it would be mad to thrust Gilliane into propinquity with a young man—with any man—without any other person of her own class. If only there was some woman… Abruptly, Adam flopped over again on his back and began to laugh. Of all the cod’s heads in the world, he was the greatest. Not more than twenty-five miles away lay Roselynde and all the help that any man could need in love or war. He sat up in bed, wrapped his arms around his knees, and began to plan.
When the gentlemen came to breakfast the next day, they found a pale, silent Gilliane and a flushed, tight-lipped Adam just emerging from a window embrasure. The lady did not pause at the breakfast table but swept into the stairwell and disappeared. Adam came forward, his eyes leaping with gold and green light so that, had they not been men of courage, the others would have slunk out of the hall. As it was, they made themselves very busy with eating and drinking because then it would not be necessary to address any words to Adam. He cut cheese, broke bread, and then looked down at what was in his hands as if he could not imagine what it was.
Gilliane (Roselynde Chronicles, Book Four) Page 29
