Hellion

by Bertrice Small

  But could he forget that for these past months she had been Guy d’ Bretagne’s most complaisant mistress? And what of your beauteous mistress, now lying by your side? the voice in his head prodded him. That was different. A man might have a mistress, but a woman should remain faithful and true to her lord. Yet how could Isabelle of Langston have remained true under the circumstances in which they both now found themselves? Would he really have preferred her to fling herself from the battlements of La Citadelle in remorse? He had to speak with her. And he had to begin thinking of a way that they could all leave La Citadelle. If he had indeed impregnated his wife, the d’ Bretagnes must not obtain possession of his child.

  He slipped from the bedchamber in the morning, leaving Vivi sleeping soundly after an active night. Making his way to the mews, he found Isabelle already there, fussing with Couper.

  “Good morning, Isabelle of Langston,” he said quietly.

  Her startled green-gold eyes met his blue ones. “You remember?” she whispered softly. “Ohh, Hugh! Tell me that you do remember!”

  “I remember, ma Belle,” he murmured, and then she was in his arms, weeping, clinging to him.

  “How? When?” she asked him.

  “When you cried out my name in your passion,” he said.

  She looked up at him, blushing, her dark lashes wet and spiky. “No one would help me, Hugh. The king even tried to seduce me. He wanted me to remain at court for his pleasure. Rolf did not know what to do. I knew that you were not dead. I just did not know where you were, but I had to try to find you, Hugh! Are you terribly angry with me?” The words tumbled out one after the other as she tried to explain it all to him. Would he understand? Or would he hate her for what had happened?

  “Why did you not remain at Langston, Isabelle?” he asked her.

  “And if I had? The Langston men who were captured with you were so fearful of the d’ Bretagnes’ magic, they did not even try to help you, or escape so help might be obtained for you. If I had not sought you out, Hugh Fauconier, who would have? Your playmate, Henry Beauclerc, was more interested in seducing your wife than he was in finding you. When you think that you went to Normandy at his behest, it is disgraceful! And Duke Robert was little better. If Lind and I had not come seeking you, you would have been attempting to get a child upon some other female two nights ago!” Her temper was engaged now as it had not been in many months.

  Hugh could not help but laugh. She was the most outrageous woman in the entire world, a perfect hellion who would brave anything, obviously, to get back her own. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her firmly. For a moment her mouth softened beneath his, and then she pulled away, hitting him a blow that staggered him. “Belle!” he protested.

  “What kind of a great trusting fool would go off to Manneville knowing what a wretch my brother Richard is? Could you not have made the peace he tricked you into believing he was offering you at Duke Robert’s court? Did you have to go to Manneville with him?”

  “It seemed impolite to refuse his invitation, especially since he was being so publicly contrite and pleasant before the duke,” Hugh said, rubbing his arm. The hellion had bruised him, he was certain.

  “This is all your fault, Hugh Fauconier!” Isabelle hissed at him. “Every single bit of it is your fault!”

  “My lord, lady,” Alain came into the mews. “The castle courtyard is astir. It is no longer safe for you to speak at length here.”

  “He is right,” Belle said. “We should not be seen together too frequently else we arouse suspicions. We will communicate through our falconers, Hugh.”

  He agreed, but before he left her, he asked, “Are you with child, ma Belle?”

  “It is much too soon to know that,” she replied, “but one cannot say you did not do your best to give Hugh the Younger a brother or a sister, my lord.” She offered him a small smile.

  “Do you love him?” Hugh demanded.

  Isabelle looked at him cryptically, and then without another word left the mews, Couper on her glove. He watched as she set her merlin out on the stones to get the air and fed the bird bits of its favorite raw chicken. Why had she not answered him? It had been a simple enough question. Did she love Guy d’ Bretagne? And if she did, what of them? Of Langston? Of their son? He was about to take his peregrine and join her outside, but when he looked again, Isabelle was gone. He needed to speak to her again, but he knew it must not be for several days. This Isabelle was not the Isabelle he remembered. This was a much stronger woman. One might almost say formidable. To have such a woman for a wife was a sobering thought.

  The summer ripened along with the grain in the fields. The d’ Bretagnes watched Belle when they believed she was not aware of it; but she always knew. She understood what it was they sought: some confirmation that she was with child. Guy’s fascination with her belly had become paramount. His big hand would smooth over it in gentle, circular motions. He was constantly feeding her tidbits he thought she might enjoy. She felt like a goose being stuffed for slaughter.

  “Do you think you might be with child?” he finally demanded after several weeks had passed. She knew how anxious he was.

  “I cannot be entirely certain,” she admitted honestly, for she knew he was aware of her moon cycle. “Perhaps, but I must wait a bit longer to be sure, my lord Guy.”

  “I think it so,” he told her, catching her hand in his and kissing it. “We will let Vivienne pretend she is a mother,” he said softly to her, “but you shall be the child’s mother. It is at your breast the babe will nurse and be nourished.”

  “And loved,” Belle responded quietly. “But for my sake, wait awhile longer and say nothing. I really am not quite certain, my lord.”

  The same day a rider came to La Citadelle, the first visitor Isabelle had seen since she and Lind had arrived those many months ago. Vivienne allowed the man time to eat and otherwise refresh himself, and then she called for him to present himself before her and state the nature of his business at La Citadelle.

  The young man bowed politely. “My master, the Count of Brittany, demands your fealty, lady,” he said. “You are to present yourself at court by Michaelmas, with your brother, to do Count Alan homage. At that time he will offer you a choice of gentlemen from which you will choose a husband, who will hold La Citadelle in the count’s name, keeping it safe for Brittany.” The messenger bowed again.

  Vivienne d’ Bretagne looked astounded. “Fealty?” she said. “Homage? A husband? Is your master mad, then, that he would beard me? Does he not know who I am? My brother and I are the direct descendants of the great enchantress Vivienne, wife of Merlin. We give our fealty and homage to no one, least of all to a puny Count of Brittany. As for this count of yours choosing a husband for me …” Her laughter echoed throughout the hall, and even her servants and retainers laughed with her. “Tell your master I want no husband except one of my own choosing. I have already taken a mate for myself. The d’ Bretagnes have always held La Citadelle on their own. Tell your count if he thinks us helpless to do so now, that I welcome him to try to take it from us!” She laughed again. “I shall enjoy turning your master’s army into a horde of toads!” The hall again erupted into dark chortles. “We will give you shelter this night, but be gone by morning back to your lord, and tell him what I have said. His interference is not welcomed here.”

  When all had gone from the hall but the d’ Bretagnes and their two lovers, Guy said to his sister, “Are you wise, petite soeur, to be so forthright with the count’s messenger?”

  Vivienne’s violet eyes darkened with her outrage. “Do you think I do not know what it is Count Alan seeks to do? He wishes to annex La Citadelle for himself, and this is but the first step. I will not allow it! I can but hope our reputation for magic will now keep him away since my rebuff has been so strong.”

  “It might be wise,” Hugh said in his harsh voice, “to gather in the harvest as early as possible, chérie. La Citadelle is defendable, but you do not want to lose your crops. I
f the count takes your challenge up, Vivi, the first thing he will do is fire your fields. In a good year you barely get enough to survive on, and must buy food stocks to supplement what you grow from your neighbors. If your neighbors learn that you are at odds with their liege lord, they will not sell to you, so you must protect all you have now.”

  “How do you know things like this?” she asked him suspiciously. He had become more independent of late. Was he beginning to remember his past life, whatever it was? She did not know, of course, for Richard de Manneville had never enlightened her. Frankly, she had not cared at the time. His plain face had attracted her as no other man’s face had, and she had wanted him. That had been enough. Now she was not certain she should not have learned his history.

  “What I have told you is simply common sense,” Hugh answered his beautiful mistress. “I know you can understand it. You are simply angry at having been approached in such a cursory manner by Count Alan. I would not mind if you took a husband, chérie. What fun we would have cuckolding him on a regular basis.” He laughed darkly.

  Guy nodded. “Hugh is correct about making a defense, petite soeur. Think a moment, and you will see. We must begin to plan as if we were already at war.”

  “Perhaps you are both right,” Vivienne d’ Bretagne said slowly. “It was indeed thoughtless of the count not to come himself to speak with me. It says he thinks little of our family, and only wants our lands. I can but imagine the prospective bridegrooms he has chosen. Big, honest, clumping knights devoted to him and him alone. Aye, we had best prepare to defend ourselves against him.”

  “He will not wait until Michaelmas, I suspect,” Hugh said.

  “How do you know such a thing?” she again demanded of him.

  “He has offered. You have refused, Vivi. You have dared him to take by coercion what he sought to gain by cajolery. Alan of Brittany is a battle-hardened knight. He must now attempt to take La Citadelle by force, or else be embarrassed before his peers.”

  “Your memory has returned!” Vivienne d’ Bretagne cried out.

  Isabelle held her breath, wondering what her husband would answer his mistress. Would he admit to her charge?

  “Vivi, though I cannot remember in detail my past life, we both know that I was a soldier. I speak to you as a soldier now. My feelings are instinctive. There is nothing more. I am still with you. Can you not be content with that? Why is it so important to you that I remember nothing of my life before you?” Hugh’s gaze was direct and honest. He took Vivienne’s two little hands in his big ones. “Chérie?”

  “I do not want you to leave me,” she said low.

  “Do not be foolish,” he responded. “Besides, where else should I find such an easy life, and such a beautiful woman to love, if not here at La Citadelle? You have said yourself that as no one came after me, I must have been unimportant. Unimportant men do not live as I live here with you.”

  Isabelle was amazed at Hugh Fauconier. Never would she have suspected that her husband was so adept at dissembling. This was a Hugh she had never seen before. Had he ever masked his own feelings for her? It was something to think about.

  “I think,” Guy said, “that we should leave the defense of La Citadelle to Hugh.” His sister agreed.

  The following morning Hugh Fauconier saw the count’s messenger off. “How came you?” he asked the man.

  “By the coastal track,” the messenger answered.

  “Take the track across the moor when you return to Count Alan,” Hugh advised him. “The way is a bit longer, but there is a storm coming, and the coast road will become impassable.”

  “My thanks,” the messenger said.

  As Hugh watched from the castle ramparts, the count’s messenger turned onto the coast road. Hugh smiled. He had told the man the absolute truth, but of course, having had a poor reception from Vivienne d’ Bretagne, the messenger assumed he was attempting to trick him; perhaps even murder him. Hugh looked out to sea. The cloud bank was already thick, and rushing toward the shore. The hapless messenger would have to take shelter somewhere along the route for the next few days. It would take him far longer to reach his destination than if he had taken the advice. That was good, since they needed the time.

  He descended to the mews, finding Isabelle there. It was the first chance he had had to speak with her since their initial meeting a few days ago,

  “Have you no control over that woman?” his wife demanded angrily. “She is about to start a war with the Count of Brittany. How will we escape if she does that? We shall all be killed!”

  “You are with child,” he said calmly. He recalled Isabelle having grown extremely irritable when she was newly enceinte before.

  “Of course I am with child!” she snapped.

  “You did not answer my question the other day,” he said to her.

  “What question?” she said, but she knew.

  “Do you love him?” Hugh asked her.

  “Of course I do not love him, though he believes I do for I have told him so that I not be sent from the castle. If they had sent me away, how could I have been of help to you? How can you even ask me such a stupid question, Hugh Fauconier?” Isabelle demanded. “My love for you has always been true.”

  “You are certain?” His tone was very grave.

  “We have our children,” she answered him, and then, “Do you not care even a little for Vivienne d’ Bretagne, Hugh? I have seen how protective you have been with her, even after your memory returned to you.”

  He sighed. “Aye,” he told her. “She is so helpless, despite all her cruelty. Vivi is in a strange way yet a child. She clings to a way of life that is long past, and by doing so, she has condemned both herself and Guy to great unhappiness, though she recognizes it not.”

  “We shall never forget, either of us,” Isabelle remarked, “but we must forgive, Hugh.”

  “First,” he said, “we must escape La Citadelle and return to Langston. It will not be simple, ma Belle.”

  “Perhaps you should go and leave me here,” Isabelle suggested. “You could come back for me, for I am your lawful wife, and the child I carry is our child whatever the d’ Bretagnes may imagine. It would be far easier for you and the Langston men to escape now before we are besieged than later and burdened with a woman, my lord.”

  “Nay,” he said. “I will not leave you. Not this time. I will find a way, I promise you.”

  “I must tell them I am with child,” Isabelle said. “Guy already suspects, and I dare not lie to them.”

  “Do not,” Hugh said. “Your condition is to our advantage. Remember, a woman in your condition is always demanding and must be catered to, Isabelle. Remember, they want this child badly.”

  She reached up and gently stroked his cheek for a moment. “But for your poor voice, you are yourself again, Hugh. I am relieved to find the kind man I married restored to me. I did not like Vivienne d’ Bretagne’s rough, cruel lover. I wonder why your loss of memory made you so? Still, you must continue to play that part else they suspect.” Then, kissing his cheek, Isabelle hurried off.

  “I knew it!” Guy crowed that evening when Belle announced her condition to both brother and sister.

  Vivienne said nothing. For the family’s sake, she wanted the child, but she herself was not particularly excited over the birth that would come. Her main worry now was that their way of life was being threatened by Count Alan. Though she might menace the count with magic, she knew well the kind of magic she truly needed to keep her enemies at bay was no longer available to her family. Somehow, somewhere, they had lost that great and wonderful power. They had ruled La Citadelle and its lands these last few generations by fear and intimidation. The Church had never had any power on d’ Bretagne lands. Their serfs were an ignorant, superstitious lot, and La Citadelle was sufficiently isolated on its headland that no one bothered with it. Why was the Count of Brittany suddenly concerned with them? Would her severe threat to his messenger be enough to warn him off? Vivienne d’ Bretag
ne hoped so. She simply wanted to be left alone in peace.

  Hugh, however, began preparing the castle as if they were going to war. The peasants were driven into the fields and forced to work day and night getting in the harvest, which would be stored within La Citadelle’s walls. Hay was stuffed into the barns until they were overflowing. Fruit was picked from trees and vines. Only those serfs with skills would be allowed to shelter with their families within the bailey. The others would be left to fend for themselves. Of peasants, there seemed to be an unending supply.

  The gates were locked early, the drawbridge pulled up and not lowered again until morning. On the ramparts of the castle a twenty-four-hour guard paced. But it was not quite as vigilant as it might be, for one morning the guards awoke to find Count Alan’s army camped outside the walls. Before the gates were piled the bodies of the fierce dogs who roamed the castle demesne each night.

  Hugh smiled grimly when he was told. “The count has accepted your kind invitation to come calling, my dear Vivienne,” he said dryly. “You have the choice now of defending La Citadelle until it either falls or we are starved out of existence, or you have a last opportunity to make your peace with him.” He peered down at the gathered knights and soldiery. “I would suggest you make your peace.”

  “Are you mad?” she shrieked at him. “Accept a husband, and pledge my fealty to that fool? Never!”

  “Guy, can you not reason with your sister?” Hugh asked him.

  Guy d’ Bretagne took the angry woman’s hands in his. “We Bretons are known for our fierce tempers, Vivi, but you know we are in no position to seriously oppose the Count of Brittany. We did not believe he would really take up our challenge, but he has. Accept the count’s offer of a husband. Can we not overcome this man, and then continue on as we wish? The count will be happy believing our lands secure; and we will be happy because he has taken his army and gone away. Bridle your temper, petite soeur, and let us make peace before it is too late for us to do so. If you persist in your foolishness and La Citadelle falls, what think you will be our fate? The stake, I’ve not a doubt. Our family will be gone, but the count will have our castle, which is what he really wants.”