The violence of Gilliane’s objections when Adam told her he would leave her in his mother’s keeping had produced the bitterest suspicions to torment him since he had almost convinced himself that Gilliane had gone willingly with Osbert. She had begged and pleaded not to be left behind, but refused to give any reason for her desire to remain with them. All she had said, over and over, was that she was afraid, that she loved him, that she would be no trouble, would never oppose his will again in anything.
When Adam asked of what she was afraid, he received no response beyond an offering of Gilliane’s lips. That had turned him sick, hinting that she was using her beauty, her body, to tame him to her will. He had tried to push that out of his mind and had remonstrated that there could be nothing to fear in Roselynde. The keep was nearly as strong as the Tower of London; no man could reach her or harm her in Roselynde; and his mother, who was near as strong as the keep itself, would protect her.
What could Gilliane say? Neither of her fears could be confessed. If she told Adam she feared he would be hurt or killed in an attack on Wick, he would be angry because she made so little of his skill as a warrior. Also, he would laugh at her and want to know, quite logically, what good her presence could do. To that, there was no sensible answer. Even Gilliane knew she would, at the least, be useless and might even present a danger to the men. Men-at-arms would have to be drawn from the fighting to guard her constantly, and, if a counterattack should be launched, she might be taken prisoner. Could Gilliane say she feared Adam’s mother even more than the danger of being captured by an enemy? If she cried that Lady Alinor would call her a whore, Adam would laugh. You are a whore, he would reply—and it was true.
Thus, she had given no answer, only tried to cling to Adam, and he had pushed her away, reminding her harshly of the terms she had accepted. He would win back her men for her, but those men—and she herself—would be pledged to expel Louis from England and set young Henry firmly on the throne. If she wanted to be anything more than a prisoner, watched and guarded constantly, she had better resign herself to keeping her oath. Gilliane stared up at her lover’s flushed, angry face and stammered that she did not care about that, and he had snarled, “What, then, do you care about?”
“You, only you,” she whispered.
“Then why do you refuse to do what will be best for me?” Adam asked cruelly. “Do you wish me to go into battle with a divided mind, wondering whether you are safe? Lonely? With another man? If you care about me, obey me.”
“Another man!” Gilliane had gasped. He really did believe she was a whore! “I do not wish to be free of you. I have been begging to stay near you always. It is you who wish to be free, you who desire another partner.”
“Idiot woman…” Adam began furiously, about to ask how she could be near him on a battlefield, and then the voices of the men entering the hall made him swallow what more he had to say.
Gilliane looked at his face, turned, and nearly ran to the stairwell. Adam had to lock the muscles in his legs to keep himself from running after her. It would be easy enough to explain how far from the truth Gilliane was when they were alone, he told himself. She would not remain angry. Anything could be explained except making her look a fool before her men, and he had avoided that. It did not matter if the men guessed there had been a quarrel, Adam thought, staring at the bread and cheese in his hand, so long as they did not know what it was about or who won. Finally, Adam raised his hand and bit into the cheese. He felt sick, but he chewed and swallowed, wondering what Gilliane thought she could accomplish by accompanying them to the battlefield.
No matter how Adam turned that, there was no sense in it. She might hope to subvert the men before they came to Wick, but once they had agreed to take Wick—no, Sir Edmund would never listen to her at all and Sir Richard would certainly consult Adam before he acted. Besides, even as headstrong a wife as his mother… But Gilliane was not a wife. The idea burst on Adam with a sensation of surprise because he was so committed to marrying her that he thought of her as his wife already and assumed she thought the same way. But Gilliane might not think the same way, and she might not be sure of him as a lover. Another partner, she had said. Could Gilliane be jealous?
The angry sparks began to die from Adam’s eyes. Gilliane was so very beautiful that he had assumed she was aware of her effect on him. However, Adam was not particularly modest. He knew he had a substantial effect upon women. It was not impossible that Gilliane was jealous. That was funny. Adam choked on a mouthful of bread and someone pounded his back.
Absently, he mumbled thanks and drank the wine that was offered to him. If that was the answer…how delightful! But did it fit? Could even a jealous woman believe he was going to carry on an affair during an attack on a keep? Adam choked again. A jealous woman could think anything! They were more unreasonable than the totally insane, as he well knew.
Besides, Gilliane might not have thought as far ahead as the battlefield. She knew, he guessed, that he would not take another woman, not even a whore, while she was near and might know of it. He had complained bitterly enough of his frustration. Perhaps she thought he wished to ease himself at Sir Philip’s keep. Adam grinned. That was not a bad idea at all! He heard Gilliane’s men start to talk among themselves and the sound made him realize that none of them had said a word until that moment. Very wise, Adam thought, grinning more broadly. Very likely he would have snapped the head off any man who spoke.
“Lady Gilliane and I have decided that it would be best if she went to stay with my mother at Roselynde until we have Wick in our hands,” Adam announced blandly.
“Er…yes,” Sir Richard agreed, relieved by the restoration of his young overlord’s usual good humor but not wishing by some inadvertent error to arouse his temper again.
“Unfortunately, Roselynde is out of the way for Leith Hill, and I do not wish to make the footmen march the extra fifty or sixty miles,” Adam went on, pretending that he was unaware of the unease of the men. “However, we have compromised.”
The I and we were deliberately misleading. The words implied that the difference of opinion between Adam and Gilliane was over the route to be taken and whether the entire armed force should accompany them. A compromise was possible on such a matter so that neither could be said to have won the argument. Adam could see the men relax and was pleased with himself. He had fixed their attention on a small matter that might arouse tempers but could not lead to the serious consequences for vassals and castellans that might be caused by a difference of opinion between their overlady and her overlord on a basic subject.
By the time Adam had finished outlining his proposal regarding the movement of the troops, the men had almost forgotten the quarrel. Whoever proposed the plan was wise.
“Of course, you need not come to Roselynde if you would rather not,” he said offhandedly. “If some or all of you wish to remain here, or with the men, I will have no objection.”
Adam would have preferred that they stay behind. His first thought when he conceived of the idea of taking Gilliane to Roselynde had been that they could be alone on the ride and together in Roselynde, once he had explained matters to his mother. That delightful idea had to be abandoned, however. To announce to these men, so new in their fealty, that he was taking their overlady alone to a stronghold of his family could not help but rouse suspicion that some underhanded business was intended. Obviously, they must be invited to come also. Adam rather hoped that no one would think it worthwhile to ride the extra distance in the cold winter weather.
The hope was not fulfilled. All four men immediately announced themselves willing to come along. From their faces, they were more than willing, they were eager. Adam was a little surprised. It did not occur to him that Roselynde was one of the great places of the area, the resort of the most powerful and noblest men in the country, a keep about which these men had heard tales and rumors. Roselynde was not eminent or important to Adam, except for his affection for it and his happy memories of childh
ood there. He did not guess that Gilliane’s men were looking forward to boasting to their neighbors that they had been visitors to Roselynde, rather than chance wayfarers, who would be welcomed by a steward and might never exchange a word with the lord and lady. They would be real guests.
Breakfast finished, the men went out to give orders to the troops. Meanwhile, word was sent to Gilliane to make ready to leave. Since she had been ready when she first came down in response to a message from Adam that he wished to speak to her in private, she merely rose from her chair and told Catrin to see that the traveling baskets were brought down to the pack animals. Perhaps, Gilliane thought as she descended the stairs, she would not ache so much now if she had not been so overjoyed when she received that first message. Adam had forgiven her for speaking out against his will, she had believed, and she had flown down to him.
“I have a plan,” he had said, and Gilliane’s heart had lifted with delight. He had discovered a way, she had thought, for them to be together. When they were folded in each other’s arms, she was sure she could find a way to explain why he should not fight for Wick, endangering his precious person for something so much less valuable. Perhaps if thought were not so swift that she had time to hope so much, she would not have been plunged so deep in despair when she heard the plan. Adam had not forgiven her. He was putting her aside completely.
Driven desperate by fears she could not name, Gilliane had compounded her crime by arguing and pleading. How odd it was, she thought dully, plodding down the stairs and then across the hall to a window. Saer would have beaten her. Adam never touched her, but the pain she suffered was so much more agonizing that she would yield, would agree to anything. Only she did not think she would be given any opportunity to yield. Most likely, the whole argument had been a device to rid himself of her. This despairing conclusion seemed confirmed when Sir Richard, rather than Adam, came to escort Gilliane to her horse, and she drew a deep breath and braced her body. It was too late. Adam would not even permit her to beg pardon.
Sir Richard took one look at his overlady’s pallid, set face and scented disaster. Adam seemed recovered. His rages were quick to rise and quick to cool. However, Lady Gilliane was still as angry as she appeared to be when she left the hall. Doubtless she would set Sir Adam off again. It was really too bad. The day after the abduction attempt Sir Richard had had high hopes of a match between the pair. Now if he did not think of some way to soothe Lady Gilliane, his expectation of a really strong bond to Adam’s influential family might be ruined.
“I am sorry you are not pleased with Sir Adam’s arrangements,” Sir Richard said tentatively.
“Did Sir Adam say I was not pleased?” Gilliane asked, trying so hard to keep her voice from trembling and prevent herself from bursting into tears that she sounded cold as ice.
“No, indeed,” Sir Richard assured her hastily, “that was my own guess. If I was wrong, please forgive me. I only meant to tell you how happy we all are to be invited to Roselynde. Such simple knights as we are might not have another chance to be guests in such a place. It was most kind of you, my lady, to think of us.”
Gilliane lowered her eyes. Was she a hysterical fool, making a tragedy out of a simple, straightforward matter? Had Adam’s intention all along been to bind her men more firmly to his purpose by impressing them with the power his family wielded? If so, she did not blame him for being furious with her when she cried she would not go to Roselynde.
Gilliane murmured something in answer to Sir Richard’s compliment. He, seeing that she now looked far more thoughtful than sullen, said no more but merely led her to her mare and lifted her to the saddle. Gilliane was so deep in thought and so sure that Adam was still too angry to come near her that she did not look around for him.
Now that her mind had been jolted out of the state of despair her disappointment had brought about, gleams of hope appeared here and there. Adam had been annoyed when she argued against the attack on Wick, but there had been no anger in his face when he first broached the plan of going to Roselynde. Gilliane thought hard, recalling to mind every flicker of expression. No, he had not been angry. He had, in fact, looked pleased, enthusiastic, even a little excited. That was why her hopes had flown so high.
What a fool she was! Instead of discovering what Adam intended by the plan, she had fallen into a fit of disappointment, like a two-year-old denied a honeyed fruit. Suddenly Gilliane blushed deep red. Her simile was truer than she had first thought. Had she not been denied her sweet? Had she not thought Adam had made a plan to permit them to make love? When she realized that was not what was in his mind, had she not immediately assumed the worst? Even if he did not regard her as more than a casual mistress, he had wanted her very much all during the ride to Sir Edmund’s keep. Surely it was ridiculous to think he wished to put her aside before satisfying that desire.
No wonder Adam had been so furious. She had mixed business with pleasure. When she should have been thinking of the best way to keep the men faithful and perhaps even overawe Sir Matthew into submission without war, she had been thinking of her body. Adam expected better of her than that. He had told her more than once that there were more important things than dinner. Now she understood more fully what he meant. She must somehow redeem herself. She must think of ways to forward Adam’s political purpose.
A qualm passed through Gilliane. Would she be allowed to speak? Would Lady Alinor allow her to associate with the other women? Would she regard her as something unclean and banish her to a separate place, perhaps even one of the outbuildings where the lowest servants—the women of dog boys and pigherds—lay? No, that was ridiculous. Whatever Lady Alinor felt, she could not treat Gilliane with contumely while her men were guests in the keep. Besides, how would Lady Alinor know that she had made a whore of herself unless Adam told her?
Would Adam tell? Would he keep her secret? Gilliane’s spirits flew up, crashed down. She did her best to keep a rein on them, aware now of the fact that her imagination was dangerous to her. She was afraid to look at Adam, knowing he must still be angry because he would not come near her. But Gilliane was making her own grief. Adam was avoiding her only because he thought she was still angry. Each of her men rode beside her for a while, and that distracted her mind from Adam. They were all pleased and excited and spoke of Lord Ian and Lord Geoffrey. They were very great men, Gilliane was told. Lord Ian de Vipont was one of the closest friends of the Earl of Pembroke, who was Grand Marshal of England and guardian of the king. Lord Geoffrey FitzWilliam was the king’s own cousin, his father being the natural son of old King Henry.
Unfortunately, this information did little to soothe Gilliane. She remembered the casual way she had treated Lord Geoffrey and Lord Ian when they were at Tarring, laughing and joking with them as if they were ordinary men. Doubtless they had written to Lady Alinor and told her that Lady Gilliane of Tarring was a bold hussy without respect or decorum. Much as Gilliane tried to control her overactive imagination, Lady Alinor of Roselynde began to form in her mind as a giantess, twelve feet high with a face of granite and eyeballs of flame.
Chapter Nineteen
Tarring was a moderately strong keep, wide-walled and moated halfway around, but Gilliane’s first view of Roselynde, gigantic on its cliff with the sea beating at its feet, merely confirmed her feeling that the mistress of such a place must be harsh and totally formidable. The first thin wedge of doubt about the rigid, fearsome creature she had created was driven in by the easy joy with which Adam was greeted as he crossed the drawbridge. From the towers and the walls, the men called down and those on guard by the lifted portcullis shouted questions, to all of which Adam bellowed genial abuse in reply. There was no lack of efficiency. The men were all where they should be and all alert, but there was a good-humored ease about them that bespoke longstanding contentment with their situation.
The attitude of the servants in the inner bailey also had its effect. Their greetings were softer and not so coarse, but there was no fear in their
faces, no shying away from the armed men, no sidelong glances when their backs were turned to watch for a spiteful, ill-tempered blow. Adam came to help Gilliane down from her mare himself, but before she could say a word, an old man, although still big and strong, came forward. Adam turned immediately to embrace him and both began to talk a guttural gibberish that Gilliane recognized as English because Cuthbert spoke it to the men.
Absently, still talking to Beorn, Adam put out his hand to lead Gilliane in. Then Beorn turned away to see to the settlement of the small mounted troop that had accompanied them, and Adam called to Gilliane’s men to dismount and come in and be welcome. He did not wait for them, but led Gilliane directly into the forebuilding and up the stairs, during which time she became so frightened that she could not speak. When they entered the great hall and had come about halfway across, the most beautiful woman Gilliane had ever seen in her life burst from a second stairwell and tore across toward them. Her flaming hair was all loose, streaming behind her as she ran, and her dress was not properly done up at the neck. She cast herself into Adam’s arms, crying his name and kissing him all over the face.
Gilliane nearly fainted. If this was Adam’s woman, what did he want with a blackamoor like herself? But although Adam clasped the woman fondly enough and returned her kisses, there was no tenderness in his voice when he spoke. Gilliane’s senses stopped reeling. The beautiful redhead loved Adam, that was clear, but what he felt was still in doubt.
“What ails you, Jo?” he was asking. “You act as if I had been gone ten years.”
“Adam, you wretch!” Joanna replied. “Three months is as good as ten years when we never heard one word from you. Why do you never write? And we sent two messengers who never returned. Mama and I were worried.”
Gilliane (Roselynde Chronicles, Book Four) Page 30
