Wounded Heroes Boxed Set

by Judith Arnold

  Several times during the bride ale, Joanna had noticed Lord Gilbert looking in her direction, his expression inscrutable. Still, she was surprised and a bit apprehensive when he approached her table, looming over her tall and elegant in all his white-haired, terrifying majesty.

  She let out a sigh of relief when all he said was, "You look lovely today, my lady." He tilted an appreciative glance at her tunic of honey-brown silk, the only gown she owned that was suitable for such a grand occasion.

  "Thank you, my lord." Joanna gestured toward the table, empty now save for her and her brother, sitting across from each other. "Will you join us?"

  "I’d like that." His lordship sat on the bench next to her. "Good to see you, Hugh. I heard you were fighting in the Rhineland."

  "Aye—Saxony. I’m to return in the fall."

  "You don’t have long, then. It’s already August."

  "I’ll be leaving next month."

  Lord Gilbert nodded, cleared his throat. He looked back and forth between them, tapping his fingertips together. Joanna and Hugh shared a surreptitious look of conjecture.

  The baron cleared his throat again. "I was sorry to hear of your husband’s death, Lady Joanna."

  It unsettled her to hear him speak of Prewitt, after everything that had happened six years ago. "Thank you, my lord. I was sorry to hear about Sir Geoffrey," she said, referring to his eldest son, who’d succumbed two years ago to measles.

  He studied his tented fingers, took a deep breath. "I wanted you to know that I understood...well, not then, of course. But I understand now why you...didn’t feel that you could marry Nicholas."

  Taken aback by this unexpected admission, Joanna said, "I appreciate that, sire."

  His gaze still trained on his hands, Lord Gilbert said, "At the time, I must confess I was at a loss as to why you would balk at betrothal to a baron’s son—even a second son. I knew about his...unnatural tastes, of course, but young men often outgrow such proclivities. And I thought...’Twas naïve of me, I suppose. Certainly it was, but I thought a beautiful young woman like you could..." He spread his hands helplessly.

  "Change him?" Hugh put in, his crooked smile indicating what he thought of such a notion.

  The baron sighed, looked sadly at Joanna. "Obviously you knew better. You were right to refuse the betrothal. We ended up marrying him off to Lord Alger’s daughter, Mabila."

  "I know," Joanna said.

  "In five years of marriage, they’ve produced no children. They’re miserable together, of course. He goes his way, and...I’m afraid she goes hers."

  Hugh raised his goblet to his mouth, casting a look at Joanna over the rim. Clearly he was as puzzled as she to find Gilbert de Montfichet sharing such personal revelations with the likes of them.

  "With Geoffrey gone," the baron said, "Nicholas is my heir. He’s to inherit the barony. He’ll be lord of Montfichet." He shook his head. "He’s not a bad sort, really, despite—" he waved his hand eloquently "—his tendencies. But he’s no baron. He’s not a leader, he’s a pleasant young fellow who likes his wine and his music and...other pleasant young fellows." Closing his eyes, he said, "Christ, if only Geoffrey had lived."

  "It must be heartbreaking to lose a son," Hugh said. "But you have another, and he may yet surprise you. Nicholas is still young and unformed. Give him time to—"

  "Two others," Lord Gilbert said quietly.

  "I beg your—"

  "I have two other sons—Nicholas and...a bastard son I’ve never acknowledged. I’m ashamed to say I’ve never even met him." Looking at Joanna, he said, "I believe you know him. His name is Graeham Fox."

  The breath left Joanna’s lungs in a gust. Hugh dropped his goblet, splattering the white linen tablecloth with red.

  A serving wench scurried over to pour Hugh some more wine and clean up what he’d spilled. Two couples who’d been sharing their table returned, laughing as they took their seats. Suddenly they were surrounded by people and conversation.

  "Do you suppose we could take a walk?" Lord Gilbert asked them, sliding a significant glance toward their table-mates. "Perhaps down by the stream."

  Nodding mutely, Joanna rose and walked with her brother and the baron down to the gurgling little brook that meandered through the meadow. Hugh took his goblet to drink from as they strolled along the bank in heavy silence.

  Finally Lord Gilbert said, "Twenty-six years ago, my younger brother Charles was struck down while leading King Stephen’s forces against the Angevins at the siege of Wallingford. Charles left a widow, Constance. She was heiress to Kilthorpe Castle, near Reading. She was..."

  He paused at the edge of the stream, gazing into the bubbling water. "She had hair like rusted gold, and soft green eyes, and she was very charming. Quick-witted. She could always make me laugh. I’d always been...fond of her. Too fond, perhaps, and I’d sensed similar feelings on her part, but she was my brother’s wife, and I was a wedded man, and, well..."

  Hugh arched his brows at Joanna as he sipped from his goblet.

  "Kilthorpe Castle was critical to King Stephen’s defense," the baron said. "No sooner was Charles in the ground than the king chose a new husband for Constance, Brian fitz Harold, one of his best military commanders. He sent me to Constance to negotiate the betrothal, although she had little choice but to concede to it. My lady wife stayed home. She shouldn’t have." He sighed. "Constance was grieving over Charles, I comforted her. ‘Twas...complicated. I still can’t explain how it happened. Perhaps it was the wine, or..." He shook his head. "I don’t know. It just happened."

  "She found herself with child?" Hugh said.

  "Aye. She was my sister by marriage, and promised to one of the king’s most important vassals. Poor girl, she was frantic when she realized she was pregnant. There was no way she could pass the baby off as her husband’s, because Charles had been away from home for months before he died. I was consumed with shame, and beside myself with worry for her—for both of us."

  "What did you do?" Joanna asked.

  "I told the king and Lord Brian that Constance agreed to the betrothal—as indeed she had—but that she was too deep in mourning over Charles to give herself in marriage quite yet. Lord Brian could take up residence at Kilthorpe and command his army from there, but propriety would demand that she live elsewhere until they were properly wedded."

  "Clever," Hugh muttered.

  "She spent her confinement at Holiwell Nunnery. That’s where our son was born—in secret, of course. I arranged with the prior of Holy Trinity for the infant to be brought up there. Constance was devastated to give him up—he was her firstborn—but ‘twas the only way. She returned to Kilthorpe and married Lord Brian. A year later, she died in childbirth, along with twin babes."

  Hugh tried to hand his goblet to Joanna, but she waved it away. Lord Gilbert gazed at nothing with his searing blue eyes, so much like Graeham’s that she wondered how she could have missed the resemblance. There were other similarities, too—that aristocratic, high-bridged nose, the chiseled cheekbones, the height, the bearing.

  "For the most part," his lordship said, "I tried to forget that I’d ever sired a bastard son. Every reminder of him brought back memories of shame and grief. But when Brother Simon—he’s the prior of Holy Trinity..."

  "I know him," Joanna said. She and Graeham had had a lovely visit with Brother Simon before he left London.

  "When he told me young Graeham intended to take minor orders, I felt I had to intervene. My youngest brother was pushed into a Church career he wasn’t suited for, and it ruined his life. In my judgment, too many young men take orders without truly grasping what they’re letting themselves in for—and what they’d be giving up. I got to thinking about it and decided that Graeham had grown up more sheltered than was healthy. Of course he wanted a career in the Church—’twas all he knew."

  "That’s when you sent him to Beauvais to serve Lord Gui," Joanna said.

  "Aye. Gui de Beauvais is one of my oldest and dearest friends. I kn
ew I could trust him to do right by the boy. I asked him to watch for any hint that Graeham might have an aptitude for soldiering. Of course, he did, and I assume you know the rest."

  "Why are you telling us this?" Joanna asked.

  "On the twenty-third of June, I received a letter from Lord Gui telling me that he’d sent Graeham to London on some important mission. ‘Twas going to take longer than Graeham had anticipated, so he found lodgings in West Cheap at the home of a woman whose name was, of course, familiar to me—Joanna Chapman. Gui begged me to look Graeham up and introduce myself as his father, but it seemed like madness to break my silence after all these years. Though when I saw you the next evening at the Midsummer Watch, my lady, I wondered if it might be a sign."

  "Ah, yes," Joanna said. "I thought you looked at me rather curiously."

  "I was tempted, certainly, to contact Graeham, given all the praise Gui heaped on him, and given that Nicholas...well, that he’s been something of a disappointment. A man likes to be able to feel that he’s produced a son worthy of carrying on his lineage. Still, I wasn’t convinced. Then, a few days ago, when I returned home from a hunting trip, my lady wife greeted me at the door with Lord Gui’s letter in her hand."

  Hugh winced and tilted the goblet to his lips.

  Lord Gilbert shook his head. "The strange part was, she wasn’t nearly as angry about my infidelity as about my abandoning my own son. She said the only way I could redeem myself now would be to do as Lord Gui advised and go to see Graeham. I must say, she argued her point vehemently. She wore me down. Of course, she’s right—I should have claimed the boy in the beginning, not shunted him off as I did. I had resolved to come round to your house and meet him, when a second letter arrived from Lord Gui, just yesterday, telling me that Graeham had completed his mission and would be leaving London on the fifteenth of July."

  "That’s right, my lord," Joanna said. "Serjant Fox returned to Normandy three weeks ago."

  "So I must go to Normandy. It’s high time I made amends for having failed Graeham so miserably. I won’t be able to live with myself —nor," he added with a sheepish smile, "sleep with my wife—until I meet him and acknowledge him openly as my son."

  Joanna smiled. "I know that would mean a great deal to him, my lord."

  "My only regret," said the baron, "is that I didn’t come to my senses a little earlier. Then I might not have had to miss his wedding."

  Hugh stilled in the act of bringing his goblet to his mouth. "His wedding?"

  "Ah, you didn’t know," the baron said with a grin. "Graeham married someone named Phillipa in Paris about a week ago. I take it she’s a ward of Gui’s or some such."

  Blood roared in Joanna’s ears.

  "Are you sure?" Hugh asked.

  "Lord Gui told me all about it in his letter," said Lord Gilbert. "It had been planned for some time. He set the wedding date for August second when Graeham wrote him that he was returning."

  "Jesu," Joanna whispered.

  The baron seemed oblivious to her consternation. "They’re going to live in England. Lord Gui is granting him an Oxfordshire estate —fifteen hides, not bad. A reward for this mysterious mission of his, apparently."

  Joanna felt the cold drain of blood in her head, a roiling sickness in her stomach.

  Are you so chivalrous, then, she’d once asked him, that you’d go to all this effort for no reward at all?

  Perhaps I am.

  He’d lied to her.

  Not for the first time. Not for the last time.

  I’ll return to England in a few weeks, he’d said. Only he’d failed to mention that he’d be a married man. Did he think she’d consent to be his mistress?

  She clutched her churning stomach. This was a hellish dream, a nightmare.

  Christ, no wonder he’d never returned her declaration of love. He was using her—and God help her, she’d let him, she’d walked right into it, eyes open. Right from the very beginning, he’d exploited her, first to advance his mission, and then for sex. How could she have let it happen? How could she have lowered her guard, especially after Prewitt?

  "My lady, are you all right?" asked Lord Gilbert. "You’re so pale."

  Joanna felt a whirling sense of unreality, as if she’d drunk too much wine. Then she felt Hugh’s arm around her, guiding her along the bank of the stream to a boulder, urging her to sit, to lower her head.

  The voices of the two men sounded muffled to her ears. Hugh seemed to be telling her to take deep breaths. He was explaining to Lord Gilbert that her stomach had been troubling her today, and perhaps she was ill.

  If only that was all there was to it. Merciful God, what would become of her now?

  Dimly she became aware that Lord Gilbert was bidding Hugh good-bye and saying he hoped she would feel better soon.

  She raised her head and saw him walking away. "Wait! Lord Gilbert!"

  The baron came back. "Yes, my lady."

  She tried to rise, but everything twirled slowly. Hugh pushed her gently back down onto the boulder.

  "I...I wonder if you would take a letter to Serjant Fox for me when you go to Normandy," she said.

  "Certainly," said the baron. "I take it you want to congratulate him on his marriage."

  "Something like that," she said. "I’ll bring it round to you tomorrow."

  "Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll send a servant to your house for it—say in the afternoon?"

  "‘Twill be ready then. Thank you, my lord."

  "My pleasure." He inclined his head and walked away.

  Hugh knelt in front of Joanna, took her icy hands and chafed them between his. "Joanna, I’m—"

  "Don’t tell me you’re sorry," she said in voice that sounded strangely hoarse and faraway. "You tried to warn me. I wouldn’t listen. You tried to warn me about Prewitt, too, and I wouldn’t listen then. This is my own fault. No one’s to blame but me."

  "I brought him to you, Joanna," he said, his hands closing tight around hers. "I installed him in your home. I should have known better than to trust some stranger I’d only met, just because he seemed like a likable fellow."

  "Nay," she said. "I have a weakness for men like that—handsome devils. Handsome, charming, unscrupulous devils."

  "What are you going to write in your letter to him?"

  "I’m going to tell him I’m moving to the country and I’ll never see him again."

  "Thank God! You mean you’re finally going to take my money?"

  "Only enough to get me settled somewhere far away from London. I wouldn’t do it...I didn’t want to do it...I was hoping Graeham would come back and marry me, but now I...I don’t feel as if I have any choice, not considering...oh, damn it all."

  "Swearing again, are you? I’ll warn you—country folk don’t take very well to ladies using rough language."

  "I’m pregnant, Hugh."

  His eyes widened in shock. He leapt to his feet, his face a mask of outrage, spun around, fists clenched, stalked away from her and then back. "I’ll kill him. I’ll find him and wring his goddamned neck."

  "I thought you were going to slice off his, er..."

  "I’ll do that first, and then I’ll wring his goddamned neck."

  "Hugh," she said, striving for calm in the face of her own tumultuous emotions, "you knew we were sleeping together."

  "Aye, but there are ways to prevent..." He gestured in the general vicinity of her stomach. "Things a fellow can do to keep from...Jesu, Joanna, he should have known what to do."

  "He did," she said, feeling heat flood her face. "Except, well, for the first time."

  A wolflike snarl rumbled out of Hugh. "Did he know? Before he left?"

  "Nay. I’ve only known myself for three weeks."

  "Are you absolutely positive you’re..." His gaze lit on her stomach.

  "Quite." Her purgation was due the day Graeham left for Paris; never had her courses been late. And then there were her stomach troubles, the fluxes and vomiting.

  Squatting in front of her,
Hugh took her hands again. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

  "I was waiting to tell Graeham first, when he came back. I was sure he’d marry me and we could move away from the city, and..." She shrugged helplessly.

  "This letter you’re writing to him. Don’t you think you ought to tell him?"

  "Nay." She shook her head resolutely. "He made it clear he never wanted to sire any bastards."

  "But now that he has, shouldn’t he know about it? He’s a man of property now. He could provide for the child."

  "Don’t you understand, Hugh? He’s a married man now. ‘Twould be humiliating for me to force myself and my child on him, knowing he doesn’t care about me, about us."

  "Doesn’t he?"

  I wish to God I didn’t have to leave you....I’ll miss you.

  "Perhaps a little. I have no way of knowing for sure. He was always so credible when he wanted to be, so lethally charming. All I know for certain is that he didn’t care enough—and that he was using me. I was convenient and willing."

  "And now you’re carrying his child," Hugh said.

  "I’m not sorry about the baby, Hugh, in spite of everything. I want this child. I’m glad I’m carrying it. I can’t stay in London now, though."

  "Aye, once you start to show, you’ll be the talk of West Cheap. You’ll be ruined."

  "‘Tisn’t my reputation I’m thinking of. I don’t want to raise a child in that city, and I can’t bear to stay there any longer myself. The house reminds me of Graeham now. I need to get away from there."

  "That’s all well and good, but don’t ignore your reputation. Promise me something, Joanna. When you settle down in the country, let people think you’re a recent widow and that the baby was your husband’s. No use making things any harder on yourself than you need to."

  "All right," she said. "But you have to promise me something in return."

  "What?" he asked warily.

  "That you won’t seek Graeham out and...mutilate him."