At his taunt, Gradinton tensed, the big man's neck cording as his lips drew into a snarl. For a moment, it appeared he might accept the challenge despite what Geoffrey's death would cost him. Then, greed triumphed, stronger even than Baldwin's great pride.
"Here now," Gradinton said, throwing his arms out before him in an unwilling gesture of peace, "I meant nothing by my words. The upset of the moment caused a slip of the tongue. There is no need for violence between us."
"Of course not," Geoffrey returned. "It wouldn't do to kill me, not when my daughter is my only heir as well as yours. If I died, the court would take control of Cecilia, just as they now own Freyne. That would gall you right smartly, eh, Baldwin?"
"By what right do you hold her from me?" Gradinton said, his rage replaced by irritation and something akin to pleading.
"Why, right of custody," Geoffrey replied coolly. "Have you forgotten already that only a year ago you ceded Cecilia to me in full? If memory serves I believe your exact words were that I could keep the useless bitch."
Gradinton's face flamed, the dusky heat driven as much by Geoff's taunt as his own arrogance in giving up any claim to Maud's daughter. "How was I to know my sons would both die without heirs in the next month? Damn you, until I can free myself from this fruitless marriage, you must give Cecilia to me, and so custom dictates. Is that not true, Lavendon?"
Henry of Lavendon, his arms crossed in stony silence and a pinched look on his broad face, glanced from Gradinton to Geoffrey. He waited a long moment before speaking. "I told you before Gradinton, I've no wish to be drawn into this squabble of yours." His voice was carefully neutral as he strove to straddle a dangerous fence. Lavendon's seat lay cheek by jowl against one of Gradinton's biggest estates.
Baldwin freed a fiery breath of frustration as he turned back to Geoffrey. "Marry again," he almost pleaded. "You are but nine and twenty. Sire yourself new heirs and give me my granddaughter."
"You waste your breath when we've said all this before," Geoffrey replied. Far better that he live the remainder of his life alone being thought the Devil's spawn than to give up Cecilia. Baldwin would only complete the destruction Maud had started.
Finished with Baldwin, Geoff glanced over his shoulder at the men who yet stretched across Freyne's hall. At his look, they stepped forward, making a show of force. He turned back to Gradinton. "Sand is slipping through the hourglass, grain by grain. Best prepare to go." 'Twas a soft adieu.
Gradinton's gaze was white-hot in frustration. He sent a burning glance at Freyne's steward. "I will wait in the gatehouse. See that my wife and belongings are brought to me there."
Geoffrey's men parted to let Baldwin storm from the hall. "Hold a moment, steward," Geoffrey called to that same man before he moved to answer Gradinton's command.
"Aye, my lord sheriff," the man asked, giving Geoff his full attention. Just as when he'd come to the bailey to greet Geoff's party, there was nothing in this man's face or posture to indicate he feared the sheriff taking custody of this property.
"Bring your accounts. I'll review them before we leave," he commanded over Baldwin's bellows from the bailey below; the nobleman vented his rage on any and all unfortunate souls who crossed his path.
"Aye, my lord," the man replied, then hesitated. "My lord sheriff, will you close the house or bring in a castellan?"
Geoff eyed him, assessing the man anew. Although past the prime of his life, Freyne's steward yet seemed competent and hale enough to do the job he held. It remained to be seen if he were honest enough. "If I am pleased by your accounting, I see no reason to bring in another to rule the house. If you are comfortable with it, you may assume the role of castellan along with your duties as steward. You will need to reduce the household. But, be warned. I will be watching your costs. If I feel you misuse my generosity, you will be free to find another position elsewhere."
The man's mouth lifted into a shallow smile, saying two things. First, that his accounts would be true and second, that the steward congratulated himself on choosing the correct side in this brief war. "You'll not be disappointed, my lord sheriff."
With a nod, he started from the hall. That left Geoff to care for his own. The only servant who remained within the hall was a very pregnant maid. As she sensed his interest, she tried unsuccessfully to disappear into the linen panels on the walls.
"You there," he called to her.
"Aye, my lord?" The girl's voice was weak, and she did what the widow had not: kept her face turned to the side for fear her babe would be born deformed if she looked upon his scars. Her crossed fingers, only partially hidden in the folds of her skirt, were yet another shield, this one meant to protect her from his supposed evil.
As often as it happened, as necessary as it was, her reaction still tweaked Geoff. Until last year, he hadn't realized the depths of his vanity. "Call the pantler and the cook to serve my men."
"Aye, my lord," she replied, waddling as swiftly as she could toward the hall door, her eyes carefully averted.
Lord Lavendon came to stand at his sheriff's elbow. Geoff glanced at the plain man who was foster-brother to his two elder siblings and a long-time family friend. Henry's arms were yet tightly crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed as he looked up at the taller, younger nobleman.
"Geoff, you know there is now but one heir, unless you count that surprise babe Aymer set in his wife." This was a quiet remark.
"The steward said as much. It seems the older boy fell and died."
Geoff retreated to the high table. Henry followed and they sat together on one of the benches. Stretching his legs out before him, Geoff tried to find what ease he could between this day’s last long ride and the one yet to come.
"Aye, strange that," Henry replied, his face clouded for a moment in suspicion. Then he sighed. "I suppose it's no stranger than Gradinton losing all three children within two months. Not that those lads of his didn't deserve to die. Even more vicious than their sire, they were."
Gradinton's sons had argued at Christmas, purportedly over their sister's death at Geoff's hand, and slain each other in the process. That thought brought with it a flicker of gratitude toward the Lord God’s sense of justice. Their passing was no less than Gradinton deserved after what the man had done to Geoffrey. As for gratitude, Henry deserved a serving of that same dish.
"Henry, many thanks for your warnings. Gradinton's attempts to have me dismissed by making me appear inept and corrupt grow bolder by the month. He liked it not when I bought the sheriff's position." It had cost Geoff dearly to do it, but becoming sheriff had stymied Baldwin's attempts to forcibly reclaim Maud's dowry, the majority of which lay in this shire.
"He can but fail if he thinks to make you seem corrupt, Geoff," Henry said with a quiet laugh.
"I only hope he continues to try for some time to come," Geoff replied, "for when that avenue fails, he has but one option left to him: kidnapping." And when that happened, Geoffrey meant to meet Baldwin on the battlefield. No matter who remained standing at the end of that meeting the outcome would leave Cecilia free from threat.
"As for that note of mine," Lavendon smiled, but the movement of his mouth was almost sour. He leaned back against the table and sighed. "You shouldn't read too much into my warning. Remember, it affects me not at all who takes the day. My only reason for writing was that I disliked Gradinton's attempt to use my family for his own gain."
Henry laid his hand on Geoff's mail-clad arm. "Expect no more from me. You know very well that it's customary for the matriarchal family to take custody of female heirs, and property should follow the bloodline. Not that you would, but what if you choose to betroth Cecilia to one of Gradinton's enemies? His own lands could be used against him. Given your youth, Gradinton's well within his rights to ask you to remarry and begin a family anew so he can have your girl."
Geoffrey only sighed. "Two years ago I would have agreed with you, insisting that the father give his daughter to her mother's relatives. But that was before
it was my daughter whom I must cede and Gradinton the one to whom I must release her."
"Now, knowing Gradinton, that I can understand," Henry laughed. "Why not ask Rannulf—?"
"Say no more," Geoff interrupted at the mention of his elder half-brother's name.
Rannulf had called Geoff a fool for beggaring himself to buy the shrievalty, insisting it wouldn't solve the dispute between Gradinton and himself. To ask anything of Rannulf now would be an admission that his brother had been right, and Geoff wasn't ready to humble himself just yet. "This is my issue, not his. There is no need for me to speak with him."
Henry lifted a scornful brow. "Arrogance, the plague of the FitzHenrys," he said quietly. "While I know not how it sits on the youngest of your brothers, I've seen how Rannulf suffers from it. But, I think me it affects you and Richard most deeply."
Geoff straightened in cold fury as Henry compared him to his father's bastard. "You trespass where you have no right in speaking that name in my hearing. Richard is no kin of mine. He ceased to be when he threw off my father and the name our sire gave him."
"My, my, but the youth of today are a hotheaded bunch," Henry chided, borrowing on long acquaintance to lecture like a father. "Will you insult me to prove you need your brothers not at all?"
Geoff grimaced in regret. Between the stress of facing Baldwin and the cloying sense of emptiness that was his constant companion these days, he'd overreacted. "My pardon, Henry. It's just that my half-brothers are a sore issue with me: Say your piece and I will interrupt no more."
The older nobleman nodded slightly in approval. "I accept your apology. I meant only to suggest that you find a great house in which to foster your darling girl, one friendly to both you and Gradinton. Once she's living with that family, you can release legal custody to Baldwin. He'll leave her be. All he wants is the right to control her properties, not her body."
More than anything, Geoff wished the solution were that simple, but almost a year's time had made no improvement in Cecilia. As much as he prayed for it, hope faded that his daughter would ever again own a normal life. "A good thought, Henry, worthy of serious consideration," he finally replied.
"Do that then, and end these hostilities. They threaten more than just the two of you," Henry said, then moved on to a subject far dearer to his heart. "I assume you took the right of marriage along with custody of the boy?"
"Aye, and if you're asking whether I'll approve your contract for joining your daughter to Freyne's heir, the answer is most likely aye."
"Most likely?" Henry's brows lifted in surprise. "I have my reasons for hesitating, but what are yours?"
Geoff's smile lay crooked along his mouth. "Call it a lesson well learned," he said. "The alliance is a good one, the properties being well matched, but I would see the two together before proceeding. Only if I feel they are suited to each other will we go forward with the betrothal." Never again would Geoffrey view wedlock as the merging of properties, to be done without considering the needs of the two persons involved.
"Not all marriages are like yours was," Henry said in soft understanding, "but I appreciate your concern on my daughter's behalf. Rest you easy. Avice is a malleable thing, quick to adapt, much like her sire. She'll do well wherever I put her. It's not her well-being that worries me, but the boy's. I'll not give her and her dowry to one who cannot protect them."
Geoff shot him a startled, sidelong look. "What do you mean?"
Henry grinned at him. "Only that it now lies on your shoulders to make a knight from a would-be cleric. Here is the crux of the reason behind my note. I've two squires of my own and Gradinton was determined to shove that boy onto me when he'd be far more of a burden than I'm willing to accept."
"Hold a moment," Geoffrey said in surprise, turning his head to eye the smaller man. "He's not a squire already?" Even those noble sons intended for the Church received the same training at arms as their elder brothers. Aye, and if bishops weren't supposed to carry swords, thusly commanded by their Mother Church, mace and morningstar were no less lethal.
Henry leaned back against the table, now considering the construction of his shoes. "Nay, and for that you may curse Freyne. The boy's been sickly from birth. Having no tolerance for weakness, Aymer gave his second son to his wife to raise, promising her the lad would have the Church. Our fair Elyssa has indulged her boy in his frailty, seeking to shield him from life instead of encouraging him to develop his strength."
Geoffrey stared at him, yet struggling to absorb the impossibility of what Henry was telling him. "You are saying that this boy's twelve and has had no training in arms?"
"Nay, I am saying more than that. Not only has the boy never held a sword, his dam refuses to sit him atop a horse, fearing he might fall and die." Henry glanced up at him, lips pursed in disapproval. All the world knew that if a child hadn't ridden by the age of seven, mastery of the skill was impossible.
This revelation made Geoffrey stiffen in shock and disgust, and a new dislike woke in him at how the widow had misused her son. "What sort of mother ruins a lad this way, and what sort of sire permits it? Well, the boy's mine now, and his dam will have no more influence over him."
Henry freed a low, harsh sound that wasn't quite amusement. "Do not be so certain. She's a firebrand, that one. I saw nothing in her behavior these past moments to indicate she conceded control of her son to you. Mark my words, she'll do all she can to stand between you and that boy, thinking she is protecting him from your hurt."
"Stand between us?" Geoffrey almost laughed. The only compensation for being thought evil was that folk rarely challenged him. Indeed, this shire's inhabitants, both noble and common, were surprisingly eager to offer him the tax sums they owed their king. "Not possible. She's a pregnant widow. She'll be confined to a cottage in Crosswell's bailey, while her son will be my squire, living with me in my family quarters."
"If you say so," Henry replied, skepticism washing across his round face, then he shrugged. "Let me just say that 'twere me, I'd put a greater distance than a single floor between lad and dam. Think on it. If she's lioness enough to goad Gradinton to raise his fists to her, she'll eat you alive."
The corner of Geoff's mouth lifted in dismissal of Henry's concern. "You overestimate her abilities. Set your gaze on your daughter becoming Freyne's lady in the future and leave me to worry over the widow and my ward. I'll not fail you Henry, if for no other reason than to repay your aid, such as you say it was."
Lord Lavendon rose with a sigh then rubbed a tired hand across his face. "Well then, I gratefully lay the whole of it into your capable hands. After these past weeks spent ropedancing with Gradinton, then Lady Freyne, I've a pounding in my brain that will not quit. I think I'll collect my belongings from the gatehouse, bid you good luck, and be on my way back to my own peaceful, well-behaved household. Send word when you wish to have the babes meet." He thrust out his hand.
Geoff took it. "That I will. Godspeed," he offered, "and take to heart my gratitude."
It was only after the portly nobleman exited that Geoff let himself smile. Lioness, indeed. Although Henry knew him too well to pay heed to Sibyl's tale or to the reactions others had to those lies, Geoff trusted the fear the tales woke in those who didn't know him. There wasn't a pregnant woman in this world brave enough to face him down.
Eyes narrowed and temper at the boiling point, Elyssa stormed into the chamber, then released the weeping Sibyl, leaving Clare to bear her across the room’s width to the doorway on its opposite side. Elyssa whirled and slammed the door behind her on the overbearing son of a sow who was this shire’s sheriff. Terror was gone, destroyed by the brief glimmer of satisfaction she’d seen in the sheriff’s remaining eye. How dare he gloat over making her tremble in fear!
She braced her back against the panel and stared blindly out at what should have been her private enclave. Not a stick of furniture cluttered its corners nor was there a rush upon the floor to soften a footstep. Elyssa refused to use this room, preferring
the women's quarters beyond it, which limited her contact with all overbearing noblemen.
Her eyes narrowed in certainty. Geoffrey FitzHenry was no Devil worshiper, no matter what Sibyl believed. He was just another son of Adam seeking to batter all of Eve's daughters into submission.
"Holy Mother," she breathed in vehement prayer, "I have been your servant for all these years. It’s time you repaid my devotion with action. Smite down that man for his foul attempt to use my own fear against me."
Pointless request. Did not God sit next to the poor Virgin, ready to refuse His Holy Wife, simply because it was She who asked?
Rage gave way to frustration spiced with no little caution. Elyssa wouldn't risk her son's life on a guess. She strode across the room to Clare and Lady Sibyl, and grabbed the weeping woman by the shoulders.
"Proof," she spat out. "I would see what convinces you that the sheriff is the Devil's spawn. More to the point, I would see why it convinces you when no man accuses him.” Had a man accused him, the Church would have seen him burned already.
The mark of Gradinton’s fist was already darkening on the lady’s cheek. Blood crusted at the corner of her mouth, and her lower lip was swollen where she’d bitten it. Sibyl's pale and watery gaze flickered across Lady Freyne's face. "My daughter wrote to me, just before she was murdered,” she said, then her eyes drifted as she struggled for focus against the damage her husband had done to her.
Elyssa's grip on the woman's chin tightened. "Where is this missive? Come now. It’s my son's life and my own soul at stake here. Did you not beg for Coudray's death a moment ago? Show me, convince me, and I vow to you he’ll burn."
That brought life back to both the woman’s face and body. She shook free of Clare’s support, standing unsteadily on her own feet. "Do so and I will forever be in your debt. Come you into the bedchamber, and I will show you my proof. I keep my daughter's missive ever near me to remind me of what Coudray has cost me." She swept past Elyssa and made her way to the leftward of the two doors at the solar's back wall. After his friend’s death, Gradinton had claimed the use of Freyne’s only private bedchamber by right of rank.
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