Fatal Truths (The Anarchy Medieval Romance)

by Markland, Anna

  Her son seemed to have matured years in the space of a few hours. He even looked taller. He wore his father’s dagger tucked in the sheath now belted around his waist. The end of the belt had been sawn off. The huge weapon looked incongruous on a small boy, but Henry patted it proudly. He had earned the right to wear it.

  “I have to tell you that your Papa did not survive his wounds,” she whispered.

  To her relief, both children only nodded. They’d probably expected the news.

  “I’d already got accustomed to the idea of him being dead before,” Henry said. “Grandpapa told me.”

  So much for the falsehood about the Crusades.

  Henry brightened. “I’ve told them to bring you food and clothing as well.”

  Though she hadn’t eaten all day, Elayne doubted if she could digest anything, and where would they find women’s clothing? “Thank you, Henry. That was thoughtful.”

  A soldier entered bearing black bread, a chunk of yellow cheese and a flagon of ale. “Nothing fancy,” he said sheepishly.

  Elayne recognized him as the man who’d helped her drape the playd over Dugald. She took the food and drink from him. “Thank you,” she said, hoping he understood. He nodded, bowed to Henry and beckoned to someone loitering in the entryway.

  A sullen woman with long black hair that looked as if it hadn’t been washed for months strode into the tent, carrying a bundle of clothing. Elayne’s surprise must have been evident.

  “Suppose you’re wondering who I am?” the woman asked.

  Her manner of speaking indicated she wasn’t a Norman. She dropped the clothing onto the ground. “Bianca, from Genoa. I cook.”

  “You stay in the camp?” Elayne asked. “Isn’t it dangerous?”

  Bianca shrugged, patting her thigh. “I have a weapon, and we are three, so we stick together. No fancy garments. Not much to spare.”

  Elayne wasn’t sure she wanted to touch the unkempt woman’s cast offs, never mind wear them, but her own were bloodied. “I thank you. I’ll return them as soon as I’m able.”

  The soldier took Bianca by the elbow. “Off with you now. Back to your pots.”

  As they left, Elayne bit into the stale bread.

  The Angevin Comte chose that moment to enter the tent.

  Perfect!

  She chewed hard as Geoffrey greeted the children, asking after Claricia and explaining to Henry his understanding of how distressing the sight of gruesome events could be for delicate females. She disliked him instantly, noting with satisfaction that the sprig of broom in his cap had wilted.

  “Mistress Elayne, my men have told me of Dugald’s death. I’m sorry to lose him. Did you know him before? In Scotland?”

  She came close to choking as she tried to swallow the bread. “I’d seen him. He was the bastard son of my king.” She prayed Henry and Claricia had said the same thing.

  “How did you and these royal hostages come to be close to Caen, when you were supposed to be in Montbryce Castle?”

  Had he asked the children the same question? What had they said? She locked eyes with Henry for the briefest of moments, then looked back at the wolf skin rug that covered the grass floor. At least the pompous man had made an effort to make her children more comfortable. “The Comte de Montbryce handed us over to Dugald, who took us to your army’s camp outside the castle.”

  This much was true. Now for the lie.

  “The Montbryces attacked and overran your men. We were fortunate Dugald was able to spirit us away to safety.”

  She felt his eyes boring into her. “The Montbryce brat destroyed my camp? Routed my army?”

  Some army!

  She smoothed her sweaty palms over her bloodied skirts, her eyes downcast, longing to rake her nails along his arrogant face for his disparaging remark. Let him believe it true. “Oui.”

  “But why was the Scot taking you to Caen?”

  She adopted the attitude of an ignorant peasant. “I don’t know where Caen is, so I cannot answer, milord. He did not explain things to me.”

  A half truth. She had no idea of the geography of Normandie, and he would readily believe the warrior Dugald would not have divulged his plans to a woman, a servant to boot.

  Without another word he thrust open the flap and stormed out. She sank to her knees, biting off another chunk of bread. “Fetch me the ale,” she said to Henry, her dry mouth full of food. “I need a drink.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ALEX AND ROMAIN TRAVELLED TOWARDS CAEN with a handful of Montbryce men, their horses’ hooves churning up the road that had turned to mud after a heavy morning rain. Faol ambled along beside them like a puppy, showing no signs of the ordeal he’d undergone only a day earlier, except to pause from time to time to furiously lick his wounds.

  Whenever they came to a fork or crossroads, Faol chose without hesitation, and they followed without question.

  After several hours, the wolfhound suddenly raced off into a forest of evergreens. The men dismounted, tethered their horses and went in pursuit, immediately aware of a whiff of decay in the air.

  “Dieu!” Romain exclaimed. “That’s unpleasant! It’s making my eyes water.”

  “Something definitely died,” Alex agreed, his voice muffled by his hand over his nose and mouth.

  They came upon Faol, sitting by the carcass of an animal.

  Romain peered at the mess. “Maggots and perhaps rodents have begun their work, but it doesn’t appear any large predators have stumbled on it yet.”

  Alex knelt, fearing he might spew the bile rising in his throat. “Definitely a lynx,” he said, pointing to the tufted ears. “A magnificent specimen. By the look of the terrain, it was dragged here. That would take strength.”

  Faol barked.

  “Brave dog,” Romain said, “to tangle with such a wild beast.”

  Alex stood, picked up a stick and poked it into a hole in the neck. “He was defending people he loved, but he didn’t kill the cat. See the wound that goes right through? An arrow, I suspect.”

  Faol barked again.

  “What else can you find for us, Faol?”

  The dog sniffed the air then ran off deeper into the wood. The men followed to a clearing where they found the ashes of a very large fire. Foreboding crept up Alex’s spine.

  “Too big for a campfire,” Romain observed, scratching his head.

  They both hunkered down next to the blackened earth. Alex poked at the ashes with the stick. “Wait!” he exclaimed, making the sign of the crucifixion across his body. He nudged at a blackened bone in the ashes, then spotted a charred brown skull next to a thick log that hadn’t burned through. “This is a funeral pyre.”

  He reached for a small piece of scorched fabric, blowing off the ash that clung to it. “Dugald’s, if I’m not mistaken. This is a remnant of his playd.”

  “What do you think went on here?” Romain asked. “And where are Elayne and the children?”

  A thousand possibilities whirled in Alex’s head, but he held steadfastly to the hope they were still alive. And with her husband dead—

  “As I recall, Dugald had no bow, and I’d think it unlikely he kept one in the camp. Scots are not known as bowmen.”

  Romain nodded. “Not like the Welsh.”

  “Dugald didn’t kill the cat. There seems to be no other fabric in the ashes, and only a Scot would take the trouble to wrap a man in his playd for his funeral.”

  “So how did he die?”

  Alex walked slowly around the clearing, unwilling to consider the possibility Elayne had done away with her husband. Dugald was a poor excuse for a man, but at least he afforded protection. A woman and two children alone wouldn’t last long in these woods. “There was a contingent of men. See how the grass is trampled here? Probably one of them killed the lynx and his comrades helped him drag it into the forest.”

  “Perhaps they killed Dugald and took Elayne and the children? Brigands, do you think?”

  “They had horses, so I’d wag
er soldiers. Brigands wouldn’t bother with a funeral.”

  “But whose army would be so close to Caen?”

  Alex scanned the environs, trying to get his bearings. “Especially since the tracks lead away from Caen,” he replied, an awful suspicion growing in his heart.

  Romain understood immediately. “We must warn King Stephen.”

  Alex put his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Take the men and ride to Caen.”

  Romain shrugged his hands away. “Non! We must go together. It’s our duty.”

  Alex held firm. “Brother, Elayne and her children are my destiny. You know it as well as I. That’s where my duty lies. They may be hurt. Who knows what happened with the cat?

  “If Gallien and Laurent have arrived in Caen, enlist their aid to muster a force and follow me. We’ll show Geoffrey of Anjou what a real army looks like.”

  ~~~

  ALEX MAY HAVE SENT OFF THE MEN with Romain, but he wasn’t alone. He had a secret and stealthy weapon and was confident the dog would lead him to Elayne.

  He followed the wolfhound out of the copse, through acres of flat grasslands, and into rolling hills. He could have followed the trail of the mounted men himself, but Faol’s obvious certainty that they were on the right track reassured him.

  He left traces of his passage for his brothers to follow, a bent twig here, a line of stones there, a strip torn off his shirt tied to a tree—things they’d been trained to do as boys when playing games of war.

  He became concerned when the dog unexpectedly bounded out of sight, but then breathed again when he caught sight of him, sitting at the base of a small hillock, waiting. The animal cocked his head, listening. Alex did the same.

  The faint but unmistakable sounds of men and horses reached his ears. He dismounted, tethered his steed and joined his faithful companion. The dog crept up the side of the hillock on his belly. Alex followed, crawling to the top on his forearms and shins.

  What he saw astonished him. About a league away, tucked into a valley, scores of military tents sat clustered together. “Where is the Angevin getting all these tents?” he whispered to Faol.

  The dog looked at him curiously, his pink tongue lolling to one side of his mouth.

  Elayne and her children were in one of those canvas shelters, but how to find her?

  The dog could do it without difficulty.

  It was vital he let her know he was nearby.

  He rolled onto his back and retrieved the braided token from his gambeson, inhaling Elayne’s scent. He kissed it, then beckoned Faol to his side. “Take this to Elayne,” he said firmly. The dog sniffed the braid, then sat patiently while Alex carefully tied it to his collar with the twisted piece of Dugald’s playd.

  He rubbed the dog’s ears. “Allez!”

  The dog licked his face then scampered off.

  ~~~

  ELAYNE WAS NERVOUS, and ill at ease in the borrowed clothing that fitted poorly and smelled worse. She suspected Geoffrey didn’t believe her story about the flight from Montbryce, and it wouldn’t take long for the lie to be exposed.

  But her greater anxiety came from rumors passed onto her by the soldier she’d befriended that Maud was expected to arrive in the camp any day.

  The aspiring Queen would recognize instantly that Henry and Claricia were too young to be who they claimed to be, having been familiar with the Scottish royal family before her second marriage to her much younger husband, Geoffrey.

  Though Elayne and the children weren’t under guard, she was aware they were being watched.

  Geoffrey invited Henry to observe the soldiers training with their swords and other weapons. Elayne and Claricia were left to spend time together alone. She was glad of the chance to hold her grieving daughter in her arms and console her. “Your father died bravely,” she whispered, “and he loved you.”

  “I know,” Claricia sighed, twirling her finger in her mother’s hair, “but he didn’t love you. He beat you.”

  Elayne rubbed her daughter’s back. “It’s sad, my darling, but few men love their wives, and many treat them no better than cattle.”

  “Lix loves you,” Claricia whispered, smiling. “He would never treat you like a cow.”

  Tears pricked her eyes, and she felt the flush spread across her breasts and up her neck. “And he loves you and Henry too.”

  Claricia sat up, looking indignant. “No, I mean he loves you,” she insisted impatiently.

  Elayne shifted her weight, settling them into a more comfortable position. “Do you like Alex?” she asked tentatively.

  “Aye,” her daughter replied, yawning. “He smells better than dadaidh.”

  Elayne couldn’t help but chuckle as she kissed the top of Claricia’s head, but she quickly set the girl on her feet and scrambled to rise when Faol loped into the tent.

  “Faol!” Claricia cried, hugging the dog’s neck.

  “Hush,” Elayne whispered, her heart beating too fast. “Let me see his collar.”

  The brooch was gone. Fear and elation warred inside her. Had the hound taken the badge to Alex, or had it fallen off?

  She sank back on her haunches, unsure what to do. Faol pushed his nose into her hand. She looked more closely at his collar, her heart leaping into her throat when she caught sight of the twisted bit of playd.

  Carefully, she untied it, revealing the braid.

  Claricia peered at it curiously. “Is it your hair, Maman?”

  “Aye, Claricia,” she murmured. “I left it as a token for Alex.”

  Her daughter grinned, clapping her hands together. “You love him too.”

  Elayne smiled, her forefinger pressed to her lips. “I do, but now we must go outside the tent and just look around, as if we’re admiring the scenery. Don’t wave, or do anything to give Alex away. Can you do that?”

  Claricia nodded enthusiastically.

  Elayne ushered her outside where, hand in hand, they wandered around the small open area in front of the tent, gazing about. She couldn’t be sure which of the surrounding hills concealed Alex, though she suspected Faol was looking in the right direction, but the certainty that he was nearby sparked hope in her breast.

  The glimmer was snuffed out abruptly when she became aware of excited shouts on the other side of the camp. She stood on tiptoe, catching a glimpse of riders carrying gonfalons that snapped in the stiff breeze atop long poles. She wasn’t close enough to make out whose standard they bore, but the dread that had crept into her innards was confirmed when the friendly soldier ran by their tent. “The Empress!” he shouted excitedly. “Queen Maud has come.”

  ~~~

  FROM HIS VANTAGE POINT IN THE HILLS, Alex heard the large contingent approaching the camp before he saw it. The muddy terrain cut down on the dust, but made the pounding of hooves sound like distant thunder. He recognized the well equipped force outfitted in fine armor as a royal escort, and the tall woman riding stiffly in their midst as Maud.

  Excited shouts and frenzied activity in the camp confirmed it, especially when an unmistakable rider trotted out to greet his wife.

  “Geoffrey,” Alex growled.

  The bile of resentment rose in his throat. It was well known that the Angevin and his royal wife barely tolerated each other, yet here they were, united in their greed for the throne of the English and control of the Duchy.

  He almost pitied them. King Henry had married Maud off at the age of eleven to the Holy Roman Emperor who was eight and twenty at the time. His death left her widowed, and childless. He couldn’t imagine there’d been any hint of love in their relationship.

  Crown Prince William’s tragic drowning in the White Ship disaster had forced Henry’s hand. To secure his daughter as his Successor, he’d married her off again, this time to a boy half her age, a hated Angevin to boot. Despite their disdain for each other, they’d already sired two children, Henry and Geoffrey, and it was rumored Maud was enceinte again. She looked rather rotund.

  Scanning the tents and pavilions, he c
aught a flash of red that disappeared quickly into a tent at the far end of the camp.

  Elayne!

  How long would it be before Maud turned her attention to the hostages? Reluctantly, he admitted that as one man he could do nothing to rescue his beloved and her children. He worried about Romain’s ability to gain an audience with Stephen.

  He kept watch for long hours, and then decided to ride to warn of the danger facing the town now he’d confirmed the enemy’s location. He was probably only about twenty miles from the town, but the journey in the dark would take at least three hours once he traced his path back to the road. At all costs he would return with a force big enough to challenge Geoffrey’s.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  AS HE APPROACHED CAEN atop his exhausted horse, Alex worried about being challenged by the guard that was sure to be posted outside the town. A lone rider was always suspect, especially one galloping in at dawn, and he had no means of proving his identity.

  He was indeed requested to bring his steed to a halt by a group of armed men manning a barricade, but was allowed through as soon as he declared his name.

  “You’re expected, milord Comte,” one of the soldiers explained, opening the barrier. “Your kinsmen await you at the Abbaye aux Hommes. An ostler there will take care of your horse. Looks like you’ve ridden hard.”

  His hopes lifted. Gallien and Laurent were here, with Romain. He gentled his horse the final mile to the magnificent monastery built by William the Conqueror, unable to take his eyes off the equally impressive architecture of the nearby Abbaye aux Dames, the convent where he’d been born. The soft pink rays of the early morning sun bathed the holy place that floated on the mist rising from the dew.

  The clip clop of his horse’s hooves was the only sound louder than the beating of his heart.

  He deliberately averted his gaze from the stone walls of Caen castle, the fortress where his father had been unjustly imprisoned, a place he’d vowed never to set foot in.

  Some of the apprehension he’d felt about entering Caen subsided with the realization the Abbaye aux Dames was an impressive historic building few could claim as their place of birth. He said a silent prayer of thanks that his mother had found sanctuary there.