The situation as described by Simon de Beaumont was a bad one. Hugh knew he dare not take Isabelle and attempt to cross Normandy. It was much too dangerous, especially for a woman in her condition. He doubted if even he and his men could get through without casualties. And they could certainly not seek refuge at Duke Robert’s court now. Hugh was King Henry’s man without a doubt. He would not betray his old friend and childhood companion. Both he and Isabelle would be in danger in Rouen, particularly if Richard de Manneville were there and in Duke Robert’s favor.
Isabelle knew from Hugh’s face what he was thinking. They were trapped, and would be unable to escape La Citadelle at any time in the near future.
“Take the men and go yourself,” she pleaded with him when they next met in the mews. “I know I should be a burden to you, but surely you could get through. I am secure here. You can come back for me, Hugh.”
“Are you anxious then, lady, to be rid of me so you may continue to cavort with your lover without guilt?” He hated himself even as he said the words.
Quick tears sprang to her eyes, but she said nothing to rebuke him, turning instead to leave the mews.
“She carries another man’s child,” Alain said. “ ’Twould be best if you did leave her, my lord.”
Hugh swore beneath his breath. “She carries my child, you busybody, none other,” he said angrily. Then, because he had no choice if Isabelle’s good name was to be cleared of future suspicion, he told Alain and Lind the truth.
The two falconers were astounded by his tale.
“Those d’ Bretagnes are surely the devil’s own,” Alain finally managed to say. The elder of the two falconers was pale with shock.
Lind said nothing, but Hugh could but imagine what he was thinking, for he adored Isabelle. She was his lady.
Isabelle’s condition was now beginning to become evident in the gentle rounding of her belly beneath her skirts and tunic. The autumn came with its lovely, clear warm days and its cool, lengthening nights. The dark erotic passion that had always inhabited Guy d’ Bretagne’s soul was mellowing as he watched Belle ripen with the child he had now come to consider his own. The manner of this child’s actual conception was of no consequence to him, for had he not shared Belle’s sweetness with Hugh Fauconier on that night? Hugh’s participation in the creation of the infant to be born in the spring was no longer of any account. Guy considered the baby his child, and anyone who dared to suggest otherwise would suffer the consequences. Simon de Beaumont did not know the truth. Vivienne would not share it with him, for then she should have to admit her own complicity in the matter.
Guy hated his brother-in-law. He was such an ordinary man. He had taken the beautiful, exotic Vivienne, and before her horrified brother’s eyes, was turning her into an ordinary woman. She now wore her wonderful dark hair in plaits, her head covered modestly by a white veil. She looked more like a damned nun than she did an exciting flesh-and-blood woman. When he had remarked upon it one night, his brother-in-law had spoken up rather than allowing Vivi to explain.
“The old-time Saxons used to make their brides shave their hair all off as a gesture of submission,” he chortled. “A woman should be modest in her appearance. Vivienne was too flamboyant, but then she did not know it, having been isolated here all her life. As her husband, it is my duty to correct her. Am I not right, my angel?”
“Oh, yes, my dear lord,” Vivienne said dutifully, taking up his big hairy hand and kissing it. “I am yours to do with as you will.”
Guy felt physically ill at the display. What had happened to his proud and independent sister? Unable to bear it, he arose from the table and left the hall. I must kill that bastard who has so changed my wonderful Vivi, he thought, and if I do not do it soon, she will be so changed I will never be able to get her back again.
Belle had been shown the stairs down to the beach, and having learned the tides, now climbed down and up daily in order to walk along the sands. She went alone most days, which she far preferred. The winds and the mists seemed to soothe her, giving her a peace she knew nowhere else. The tension between Guy and Simon became worse each day.
Simon de Beaumont at first had tried to soothe Guy d’ Bretagne’s feelings over Vivienne, but when it became obvious he would not succeed, Simon ceased his efforts, enraging Guy even further by firmly telling him that he, Simon de Beaumont, was master at La Citadelle. If Guy did not like it, he could seek a home elsewhere. Vivienne had stood by his side, a smug smile upon her beautiful face as Simon spoke.
“Vivienne knows I cannot leave,” Guy said softly. His voice had a dangerous edge to it, and hearing it, his sister paled.
“Be silent, brother!” she cried. “You know you are welcome here as long as you choose to stay and respect my husband’s authority.” She turned to her husband. “Oh, my lord, you must try to get on better with my brother.”
“Why must he remain?” Simon demanded, his patience worn thin.
“Because it is my child, the child my Belle now carries, who will inherit the d’ Bretagne holdings,” Guy responded.
“This house’s line descends through the females,” Simon said.
“Aye, but you claim you will only father boys on my sister, yet I have seen no evidence that she is with child,” Guy answered, “any child. Consequently my daughter—for I am certain Belle will bear me a daughter—will inherit this castle. I would hardly raise my daughter away from her home, my lord.” He smiled. “It is our way.”
“Times change,” Simon growled. “I do not intend seeing my boys robbed of their heritage by a girl!”
Again Guy smiled. He had the upper hand. “When your wife gives you a son, my lord, we will discuss this further. Until then it is foolish to talk.” His dark violet eyes met those of Vivienne’s, challenging her to deny him, deny his daughter.
Chapter 18
Guy d’ Bretagne continually sought for a way to dislodge his brother-in-law, Simon de Beaumont, from Vivienne’s heart. The antipathy between them was obvious to all. One day the woman who had nursed both the d’ Bretagnes as children came privily to Guy and said, “You wish to be rid of that man, lord, do you not? I will help you, for I like not the way he treats my sweet mistress.” She nodded toothlessly at Guy, her one good eye glittering.
“What do you know, my dear Marie?” he asked her eagerly.
“He will break my mistress’s heart, he will,” the old woman said. “She alone does not satisfy him, my lord Guy.” Again she nodded knowledgeably, her finger to her nose, her head bobbing up and down.
“Tell me,” he said softly. “Tell me, and I will give you a potion to take the ache from your old bones, Marie.” His elegant hand stroked her gnarled fingers tenderly.
“Two kitchen maids, a milkmaid, and the blacksmith’s middle daughter service that lusty stallion. All are already with child. His bastards will be legion, my lord, and my poor lady’s spirit will be crushed when she learns of it. We all know how she dotes upon him, and the poor wenches fear her wrath when she learns of his perfidy, for she will surely turn her vengeance upon them, and not her husband. She will hear nothing said against him, so great is her infatuation.”
Guy d’ Bretagne could scarcely contain his delight. “You are wise to tell me this, Marie,” he said to the old nursemaid. “If Simon de Beaumont is betraying her, Vivi should know it. Do not fear, old Marie. I shall protect my sister, and we will soon be rid of Simon de Beaumont.”
The old lady nodded once more. “I knew if I told you, my lord Guy, that you would make it aright. Do not let that great boar harm my pretty girlie.” She patted his arm. “You are a good brother.”
So de Beaumont was helping himself most generously to the charms of the female serfs. Guy chuckled to himself. How predictable it all was; he should have thought of it himself. But now, thanks to dear old Marie, he had the weapon he needed to dispose of his brother-in-law. He hurried to his magic chamber without telling anyone, particularly his sweet Belle, who would be horrified by his pla
n of action and attempt to talk him out of it. Nay. Tonight would see an end to Simon de Beaumont, and then everything would be as it had been before Count Alan came to La Citadelle and forced Vivienne to wed.
That evening they sat at the high board, Vivienne in the elegant garments she had worn on her wedding day. The mistress of La Citadelle was encouraging her husband to partake of a fine red wine she had caused to be brought up from the cellars for his delectation, for Simon de Beaumont did like his wine. Her simpering was enough, Guy thought, to make one ill.
Isabelle thought that Guy seemed unusually edgy this night, and wondered why.
“Let us have a toast to my brother-in-law,” Guy said suddenly, standing up and raising his goblet on high. “I give you Simon de Beaumont, knight, whose prowess with his cock surely cannot be any greater than that with a sword!”
De Beaumont looked decidedly uncomfortable, and Vivienne puzzled. “What kind of a toast is that, brother?” she demanded of Guy.
“Why, sister, did you not know? I cannot believe it, for you always know everything that happens at La Citadelle. Your husband is quite the bull. He will have at least four bastards by summer. Are you not yet with child, dearest Vivi? Certainly half the female serfs are, courtesy of Simon de Beaumont.” He smiled cruelly at her.
Vivienne grew pale with shock. Her large violet eyes turned to Simon questioningly. “My lord?” she said low. “Is this true?”
Simon de Beaumont gulped down more of his wine. “Aye! And what if it is true?” he demanded belligerently. “What is the use in seeding a barren field, lady, for certainly you are infertile, else you would be filled with my child. Do you think these are the first bastards I have fathered? I want sons, lady. You cannot give them to me. I shall recognize the most able of my bastard sons when they are grown. When my lads no longer need to nurse at their mother’s breasts, they will be brought into the castle to be brought up. You, lady, can teach them gentle ways. At least you are good for that. I shall not evict you from your home. I am not a cruel man.” Draining his cup, he set it back down again, belching noisily.
The beauteous Vivienne was devastated by his harsh words. She could not speak for the moment.
Guy smiled cruelly. “Do you hear him, petite soeur? He plans a fine future for his bastards. Does it please you to know that you will have a part in the future of those lads? A foster mother to teach them gentle ways?” Guy laughed knowingly, and then his dark violet eyes grew black with anger. He fixed a hard gaze upon his brother-in-law. “I will not allow you to shame my sister like that, de Beaumont. Even now the poison I administered to you, you great rutting boar, is beginning to burn through your guts. Can you feel it?” He laughed once more, and the sound sent a chill through Isabelle. Her eyes briefly met those of Hugh Fauconier questioningly.
“Guy! What have you done?” Vivienne cried out, as Simon de Beaumont’s broad face grew ashen and he doubled over with the terrible pain assaulting him. The dying man’s face was beaded with perspiration and he gasped for air.
“Did you really think you could take my sister and embarrass her publicly, de Beaumont? Did you truly believe that your Count Alan’s might could overcome the power of the d’ Bretagnes? When your master bothers to inquire to your health, we shall tell him of the illness that struck you down, and of how we mourned your passing.” Guy smiled cruelly at his victim, watching as death entered his eyes.
The big knight writhed in horrendous agony as his death throes came quickly upon him. “Y-you … d-d-devil,” he groaned. His body jerked for several seconds in awful spasms, and then he lay still, his breathing ceased.
Isabelle was frozen with horror. She could not quite believe what had just happened. Granted Simon de Beaumont was not a particularly lovable fellow, but he had just died a terrible death at Guy d’ Bretagne’s hand.
Vivienne began to wail in her grief, tearing at her beautiful dark hair in her great and deep sorrow.
“For pity’s sake, Vivi,” her brother said scathingly. “The man was an absolute brute. He beat you. He betrayed you. He shamed you before others, and you mourn his death? I should have killed him the morning after you wed him. Now at least we may get back to normal. We’ll throw his body over the ramparts into the sea below for the fish to feed upon. What a fine meal he’ll make, eh?”
Vivienne’s beautiful face was bleak as she looked up at her brother. “You do not understand, Guy. I loved him. No matter what he did to me, I loved him!” Gazing at him through wet eyelashes, she asked, “How did you do this awful thing, Guy? How? We all drank of the wine tonight. Why are we not all poisoned?”
“Vivi, Vivi,” he lamented, shaking his dark head. “Have you so easily forgotten that one does not have to murder the entire hall to kill a single enemy? I did not poison the wine. Had I done so, I should have endangered us all. I simply poisoned the cup from which your husband drank. The moment you filled it, the poison was released to flow into his greedy mouth. I should never harm you, or Hugh, or my beloved Belle, petite soeur.”
Isabelle arose to console Vivienne. She put her arm about her to comfort the other woman, but Vivienne shook her off angrily, saying, “My Simon is dead! I shall never be happy again, but you, brother, you have your beautiful Belle. It is not fair!”
“Hugh is here to comfort you, Vivi,” Guy said.
“I do not want Hugh!” Vivienne screamed at them. “I want my husband!” She turned on Isabelle. “How I wish my brother had never found you! I hate you!”
“Nay, Vivi,” Guy chided his sister, “do not hate Belle, for next to you, I love her best in all this world.”
“Do you brother? Do you indeed?” Vivienne’s violet eyes glittered dangerously. “You want it to be as it always was between us, Guy, or so you say. Very well then, I shall make it so!” She raised her arm, and in her hand was her silver knife. Vivienne plunged it down toward Isabelle’s defenseless chest.
With a cry of alarm Guy d’ Bretagne threw himself between the two women. Vivienne’s knife drove deep into his breast, to the carved dragon hilt. Astounded, Guy stared at the weapon protruding from his body.
“Guy!” Vivienne shrieked in horror as her hand fell away from the knife. Her eyes grew wide with the realization of what she had done. “Guy! Oh, brother, forgive me!” Then snatching up Simon’s cup, Vivienne d’ Bretagne drank down the remaining wine. “I cannot live without both the men I love,” she declared, slumping back into her chair. “We will meet death together, my beloved Guy.”
Guy d’ Bretagne slipped to his knees as the blood spurted forth to color his black velvet tunic. “Belle!” he gasped as he collapsed, dying at her feet.
Isabelle’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle her cry. Her green-gold eyes moved from Guy to Vivienne, who was barely alive. It was obvious that she was now in terrible pain, but she would not cry out. Her body writhed with her death agony, but her beautiful eyes still mocked the woman she had always considered her enemy.
“N-Now,” she said slowly, but distinctly, “you w-will not have h-h-him, either. Guy w-will always belong t-t- to me.” Her head fell onto her chest, and in a last burst of strength she gasped, “La Citadelle will … always … be … m-m-mine!” Vivienne’s body shuddered, and then she, too, was dead.
The hall was deathly silent for a long moment, and then a faceless voice cried out, “La Citadelle is curst! Flee! Flee!” And the Great Hall emptied of servants and men-at-arms, who ran out to spread the word that the d’ Bretagnes were no longer alive. Only the six Langston men, the two falconers, Hugh, and Isabelle remained.
“Isabelle. Isabelle!” Hugh’s voice pierced her consciousness.
She focused her eyes on him with some difficulty, for the enormity of the tragedy had caused her to cry, and she could not seem to stop the tears now pouring down her face.
“Are you all right?” he asked her gently, wrapping his arms about her comfortingly. “We are free now, hellion. We can all go home.”
“We must bury them,” she answered him. �
��We cannot leave them here like this, Hugh. We cannot!” She was managing to regain control of herself, and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand.
“Aye,” he agreed. “They must be buried before any desecration can be done to their poor mortal bodies. Lind, find a secret place before the light is completely gone. Then come back, and we will do what needs doing. We will have to remain here tonight, but tomorrow we leave La Citadelle for England.”
“Yes, my lord, at once!” Lind replied, grinning at Alain and the other Langston men. It was good to have Hugh Fauconier back again, he thought, and he knew the others agreed with him.
The castle had emptied of all human life, but for them. In the stables, however, the falconers found the chief huntsman and several others.
“Take whatever you want,” Alain said, “for certainly you deserve it, but leave our horses that we may escape this place, too. They came with us, and they will go with us. And leave the lady’s horse as well. It is hers, and not d’ Bretagne property. She will come with us.”
The chief huntsman nodded. “ ’Tis fair,” he agreed. “You were forced to serve your time with them, too. It is only right you depart with your horses, but why do you take the lady? Being with child, will she not slow you down?”
“She is English, and she is Lind’s half sister,” Alain reminded them. “He would not leave her, and he is one of us.”
That made sense to the Bretons, and taking all the livestock from the stables except that belonging to the English, they departed.
Lind found a secluded spot near the outer walls of La Citadelle. It was near a corner, and close to it a grove of trees had sprung up. With the help of his companions he quickly dug three deep graves. Returning to the Great Hall, the Langston men carried out the bodies of Simon de Beaumont, his wife Vivienne, and, lastly, Guy d’ Bretagne. Isabelle, her lips moving in barely remembered prayers, and Hugh escorted them. Vivienne was laid to rest between her brother and her husband. The Langston men waited as their lord and their lady prayed silently over the bodies of the trio.
Hellion Page 39
