Lord of the Mist

by Ann Lawrence

  Once aboard they toured above and below deck, where the king signed an order to ship all manner of game to La Rochelle that good hunting would be available with he disembarked.

  Durand made another effort to point out the value of treating with Philip. John would not hear.

  He sat through a lengthy session with the king on the number of bowmen to accompany them to France and the onerous cost of putting them up in Portsmouth. Eventually Durand found himself alone with the king and seized the opportunity to broach the matter gnawing at him all day.

  Nay—from the moment he had joined himself to Cristina.

  “Sire, I know ‘tis your wish I make a bargain with Nona, but if I might, I have another proposition for your consideration.”

  King John lifted a brow. “Indeed?”

  “Aye. When we are victorious in France, I’ll again have possession of Marion’s holdings. There will be little need of me to wed Lady Nona. Mayhap there is another who, in an alliance with her, might strengthen your hold in Normandy?”

  “What is your reluctance to make this marriage contract?” John asked, leaning closer.

  “I would prefer to avoid the shackles of a wife at this time,” Durand said carefully.

  The king smiled. “Can you not think of the bonds of marriage as aught else than shackles? We find ‘tis more a silken cord that binds one.”

  “If the bride is one such as our queen, then aye, sire, it may be so.”

  “Did your marriage to Marion so serve you ill that you would avoid another?” the king persisted.

  “‘Tis more that I served Marion ill,” Durand said. “It is not the bond I object to, but the one with whom I’ll find myself sharing it.”

  The king’s dark, quick eyes met his. “Hmmm.” He rose and walked to a table spread with maps, duplicates of those he hourly pored over at Ravenswood. “Take a mistress, if that is your need, and we’ll speak to Nona so she is properly compliant to your needs. We’re sure Marion would have understood had she lived.”

  A small spark of anger sprang to life, but Durand tamped it down. “Marion was not so compliant as you suppose.”

  The king inspected his hand. His jeweled rings glittered in the light of the many candles illuminating his maps. “Marion was a most agreeable woman, was she not? Willing to serve in any humble way she could? Or so it seemed.” The air in the small space crackled with tension.

  Durand carefully thought on his words before speaking. “Marion best loved to serve you, sire.”

  A smile kicked up one corner of the king’s mouth. “Marion served her king well,” he said. “Would that you might do the same.”

  Durand realized that the previous summer he had summoned together all those whom Marion most favored. Which man had served her? And torn his pride to shreds?

  Penne, who Marion oft reminded him had been her first choice?

  Luke, whose lighthearted manner filled her with amusement?

  Or the king?

  Marion was beyond his reach. These men were not.

  Durand cleared his throat and took an iron grip of his desire to wipe the clever smile from the king’s face. He was but a small man after all. Petty in his amusements. “I seek only to serve you, sire.”

  The king took a seat by him. He slipped a ring from his finger. “Here is a small token to give to Lady Nona. Use it to seal your troth in my service as you both love and serve me.”

  The ring was cold in Durand’s hand. He now had two rings—much as Simon had. Had he any more honor than the thief?

  “‘Tis time we spoke of a price for your goodwill, de Marle.” John smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Shall we set it at forfeiture of all you—and Nona—hold, should your duty fail you?”

  Durand rose. The deck beneath his feet rocked with the escalation of the winds. It symbolized how he felt when dealing with John—it was always an insecure, rocky venture. “Sire.” He bowed and turned away, the ring gripped tightly in his palm. On deck, he threw back the edges of his mantle and put his face to the wind. It scoured his cheeks but he welcomed the burn.

  So if he desired Cristina, he could have her as a mistress only, and with Lady Nona’s tacit agreement if the king demanded it. When faced with forfeiture, Nona, too, would concede to whatever the king desired.

  Forfeiture. As he and Gilles had discussed, it was a common threat of the king’s to keep his barony in tow. To jeopardize one’s own possessions was one thing; to do so with another’s was sinful. Nona was innocent in all of this.

  The ride back to Ravenswood was done in silence, Penne and Luke at his side, his men in a trailing line behind him. His brother and friend made no effort to engage him in conversation. When they reached the road to the castle, Durand stopped for a moment to consider the fearsome sight of Simon, nearly unrecognizable though he had hung in the gibbet for so few hours. He served as a warning to all who might journey to Ravenswood of the penalty of crime.

  Had Cristina seen him? There would be no need to pass this way to reach the village, but if her escort was cruel, they might take this way with simple excuses about muddy roads. Who would offer her strength to endure such a sight?

  Durand reined in his horse. “I have business in the village. Luke, see that all is in readiness for the king’s amusement this night should he tire of Porchester.”

  Luke frowned. “You cannot think to stay the night in the village? What excuse do we offer if anyone asks after you?”

  Penne’s mare danced, and he circled until he drew to Durand’s other side. Durand was hemmed in. Penne gripped his arm. “You are making a foolish mistake.”

  “What mistake is that? And who are you to question what I’m to do? Have not each of you trespassed where you should not?”

  A blank look of incomprehension overspread Penne’s face. Luke’s blotched an ugly red. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Durand knew in that moment he should not suspect the king—or Penne. The truth was written so clearly on Luke’s face. It was he who had fathered Felice. An icy cold filled Durand.

  Penne glanced from one brother to another, then looked pointedly toward Durand’s men. “This is no way to conduct ourselves.” He placed his horse between the two brothers. “We must return to the keep and make the most of what little time we have left. We could be dead on the morrow and should not have this between us.”

  Durand edged his horse between the two men and rode off. His mare kicked up clots of mud which splattered his mantle’s hem and the horse’s belly. When he reached the cottage so recently inhabited by Simon le Gros, he saw that a thin thread of smoke rose from the chimney.

  He tried in vain to sort out the emotions of his discovery.

  He had lied to Cristina. When she had asked him what he would do if someone betrayed him, he had said he would run him through.

  But he could never raise a sword against Luke.

  Luke was tied to him regardless of their love or hate of one another. He could do as John’s royal siblings had through the years and cut Luke off without land or monetary consideration. And what reason could he give for such action? Not the truth. That would announce his cuckoldry to all. It would be a very public humiliation.

  It was well Marion was out of his reach.

  The cottage, despite the smoking chimney, looked deserted. No groom ran out to tend his mount. Split crates and indistinguishable goods were trampled on the muddy ground before the door.

  His ravens, who like most captive birds rarely strayed beyond the food provided them, stalked among the ruined goods as if inspecting them. It was an omen—of what he knew not.

  Cristina came to stand at the door, Felice in her arms. The front of her gown, from bodice to hem, was damp. Sweat plastered tendrils of hair to her brow.

  She raised her fine dark eyes to his. An instant heat coursed through him.

  Luke and Marion…they no longer mattered—not this day, nor this hour. One thing was clear to him, though he must keep it to himself.

  This woman was all he wante
d or needed.

  “What are you doing here?” Cristina asked in a tart voice.

  “What happened?” Durand swung his leg across the front of his horse and slid from the saddle. The ravens scattered. He went down on his haunches and picked about the ruined boxes.

  “A rope split and my boxes fell off the packhorse.” There was no welcome in her manner.

  He plucked a length of twine from the mire. “This end is cleanly cut, Cristina.”

  She shrugged. “I must take the babe in by the fire.”

  “Might I join you?”

  “Nay! We’re by the road, my lord, and any who pass would see your horse.”

  “Then I’ll stable my horse, Cristina. I imagine I still remember how.”

  Cristina opened her mouth, then shut it, and shrugged. She rested her cheek on Felice’s head.

  “What’s going on here?” He could not help the anger coloring his voice.

  Was he really angry at her—or at Luke?

  “What, my lord?” Her voice dripped the vinegar of a sour wine. “The queen commanded me. Was I to say her nay? She pointed out quite clearly that Lady Nona was to be mistress of Ravenswood and any other mistress was a burden. Surely, you know that? You do know all that transpires at Ravenswood, do you not?”

  “I think I know more of Philip’s court than my own keep.” His mount sensed his agitation and danced in place, the heavy hooves clomping near the devastation of her boxes. “And so you took Felice and hastened here?”

  Her face softened and she kissed Felice’s head. “The queen had me escorted here. So convict me only of protecting myself, my lord. Is there aught more I could have done?”

  “You could have come to me,” he said gently.

  How much was betrayed in those simple words?

  His desire for her. Her distance from him.

  She dropped her gaze and shook her head. “I thought you approved.”

  “Approved?” The memories of her body beneath his were too raw and immediate for him to be less than completely honest. He could not deceive her—or himself. The power lay with the king, some with him, none with her.

  Anger died, to be replaced by some other emotion that she had not sought him out and laid her cares at his feet.

  “I knew nothing of the queen’s scheme.” He shifted his attention back to her belongings. “Will you tell me who did this?”

  When she did not answer, he pointed to the ruined plants crushed in the yard. “I find myself uncommonly talented in naming these plants. Lavender there. Violets. Roses.” Then his gaze swung back to her. “And I am also uncommonly talented in reading the tale in little evidence. This was no accident. Now what happened here?”

  Only silence met his query—a very stubborn silence. He knew her well enough now to know she would be silent only to protect someone. In this case he suspected she was protecting him. She probably thought he would dash off with drawn sword and try to exact a punishment. She was right.

  He unhooked the heavy purse at his belt and held it out. “Then I shall ferret it out on my own. Replace what is lost and keep what remains for the care of the child.”

  “For the care of the child?” she stepped toward him. Despite the rain, fire snapped in her eyes and words. “For the care of your child! Your child. When will you acknowledge her? She may have caused your wife’s death, she may be naught but a female, yet she is your child. You are responsible for her, and she is precious! Would that I had such a daughter!”

  Her words smote him with the force of any weapon man might wield. “Go inside, Cristina, ere you become chilled.”

  Her mouth opened, then closed with a snap. She turned and crossed to the cottage door. He led his mare to the stable and groomed the horse, using the time to contemplate what he must say to her.

  Offering the purse was clumsy.

  Durand skirted her muddy belongings and entered the cottage.

  She stirred a small cauldron bubbling at the hearth. “What are you cooking?” he asked. He draped his muddy mantle over a bench and placed his gauntlets on the hearth stones to dry.

  “I am washing clothes, my lord.”

  “With such a curious smell, I am thankful ‘tis not supper.” He grinned, but she did not react to his jest.

  * * * * *

  Cristina had no humor left. She could not tell him she had naught left but the gown she stood up in. The rest was irreparably stained with the mud of the stable yard. She had not even a penny to purchase some of the fine lengths of cloth on Simon’s shelves to remedy the situation.

  This made it doubly hard to refuse Durand’s purse.

  Durand sat on the floor by a thick sheepskin on which Felice lay. “You’re the only one to take me to task for my neglect of her.” He prodded Felice in the belly with his finger. Her limbs kicked the air. The babe was a living reminder that Marion had sought comfort or love in someone else’s arms. But ‘twas time he ceased to blame her for what was naught of her doing. “I will leave the purse for my daughter’s care.”

  Cristina’s dazzling smile amply rewarded him; then she ducked her head and plied the wooden paddle in the wash.

  Her gown clung to her body from the heavy, damp heat. He cleared his throat. “Your calling me to account is but one thing I admire in you,” he said.

  A light blush colored her cheeks. “What have I done, my lord, but state what you already knew?” She used her stick to lift some article of clothing and drop it from the boiling pot to a barrel of cool water.

  “You stood by your marriage vows, despite what I imagine was a powerful dislike and sense of shame.”

  “Dislike?” Cristina wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She removed the leather thong holding her hair back. He watched her lift her hair and let the air cool her neck. The action raised her full breasts and drew his gaze to the long line of her neck. The simple action aroused him.

  She pulled her hair over one shoulder and said, “I wanted to run at every moment. But he was my sworn husband…and my only hope of a family.”

  “You wanted that so much? A family?” Durand watched her intently.

  “I have wanted nothing else. You cannot understand, I am sure, what it is to have no children—to wish and pray for them, but have the prayers go unanswered.” She looked down at Felice, and her expression softened. “A child loves you without condition.”

  “Only a child can love in such a manner,” he said gently.

  “Aye.” She returned to her work.

  He changed the painful subject by returning to a count of her strengths. “And you stood without flinching whilst those of lesser honor accused you of theft.”

  This time she merely shrugged. “What else could I do?”

  “Your head was high. You did not allow your spirits to falter. Some men are not so brave.”

  “Some men would offer to stir this pot,” she said with a smile.

  He got to his feet and took the stick from her. She worked at rinsing the garment she had removed from the boiling water. Sweat broke on his brow as he swirled his stick through the soapy wash water. “I would not want to do this each day,” he said.

  “Remember that when you muddy your hem.” She pointed at his mantle.

  “Aye. I’ll give my women a penny each when I return, lest they curse me over their washtubs.”

  With a soft laugh she pulled the garment from the rinse water and wrung it out. Then she shook it and draped it over a rope she had strung across the end of the cottage storage area.

  Durand recognized the garment from their time together in the west tower. The soft linen shift was so sheer it did little to conceal her sweet form. Now it was blotched with dark stains. He strode to the garment and lifted it, spreading it out that he might see it more clearly. “I was most fond of this shift. What happened?”

  “‘Twas in the box that fell from the horse.”

  “Cristina,” Durand said, placing his hands on her shoulders. How small and delicate she was. He almost ask
ed her again who had destroyed her belongings, but realized he could easily discover who had escorted her here. She was protecting him from something. “If you say ‘tis how it happened, then ‘tis how it happened.”

  “I want no more trouble.” Her eyes entreated him to let it rest.

  “And I want you to take Felice and go. Mayhap to Winchester or to one of your family.”

  Her shoulders went stiff. “Take Felice?”

  He gently massaged her shoulders. “Aye. If you remain here, you and Felice will be pawns to the royal pleasure. I want to know that you both are settled whilst I am in France. I know that in your loving hands, Felice will be safe. When you are gone, you will be quickly forgotten by those who might wish you ill.” His hands were magic.

  “The king will not forget so valuable a child,” she said.

  “For a while he will,” he assured her. “He’ll have a kingdom to consider, not a child and her nurse. I’ll be better able to direct Felice’s future when this foray against Philip is done.”

  She wanted to shout with laughter. Durand could not know of the king’s proposition or he would not be sending her into his snare at Winchester

  Durand soothed the aches and pains of hurts both inside and out. A mad urge to lean back into his arms swept over her.

  Cristina stepped away from him instead. “The queen also wishes a say in Felice’s future. Now, excuse me, my lord. I-I…have something I must do,” she said, but did not wait upon his pardon.

  She climbed the ladder to the second story. After rummaging in her meager belongings, she found what she wanted. But before she could lift the vial to her lips, Durand appeared on the ladder.

  In a lithe leap he was on her, dashing the vial to the floor. “Jesu! What are you doing?”

  Cristina stared down at the small wet stain on the wooden floor, then looked up at him, a stricken look upon her face.

  He gripped her shoulders and shook her. “What was it? Poison?”

  She covered her lips with her fingertips and her face paled. “Poison?” She shook her head. “You misunderstand.”