“He has moved on since then,” Merriman said. “For he attends the Count of Mortaine, now.”
“He sent me a letter,” William said. “It was full of veiled accusations, hints and unpleasantness. It was designed to poison my mind against my mother and against Isobel—Helena. I see that now.”
“He must have been given York as payment for some other unsung deed,” Robert murmured.
“He killed my father,” Elen added.
“He set a trap for us that night,” Stephen guessed.
“It was he who sent those soldiers to Ferndale to look for you,” Robert said. “You threaten him, Helena. He must know you could prove to be his undoing.”
“Savaric,” Elen said, voice tight with anger.
A man stepped into the inner circle and cleared his throat. “If it’s Savaric you want, you’ll ’ave to move fast,” he said. “I was locked up in Nottingham castle until a couple of days ago.” He nodded to Robert, who suppressed a smile. “But even in the dungeons you ’ear things. Savaric was there, in Nottingham, with the Count but they were ’eaded for Aquitaine within the week.”
“Aquitaine is easily within reach,” Stephen pointed out. “Even in winter, the channel can be crossed.”
The man shook his head. “I think ’e’s ’eading farther north than that. I ’eard and saw something while I was there and didn’t pay it much mind until now. There were two Frenchmen being ’eld there but they were taken to see Savaric and then released and sent back. They were supposed to be ’eading for France.”
“What makes you think they are not?” Robert asked.
“I ’eard talk. The servants ’ear everything that happens there. But I thought it was ridiculous—a troubadour’s ballad gone awry and didn’t worry about it.”
“What talk?” Stephen prompted as gently as he could. But the man still jumped in reaction.
“They were saying the Frenchmen had been hired by Savaric to find and kill the King of England.”
Stephen felt his stomach drop as if he had been jolted from his horse and was on the long fall to the ground. There was a sharp pain in his arm and he looked down. Elen grasped his wrist, gripping so tightly her nails had drawn blood.
Her black quest was not over after all.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“You cannot go to Normandy! You’ll be hunted down at their first sighting of you!” Robert almost wrung his hands.
Helena glanced at Stephen to catch his reaction but he was silent. He continued to pack the saddlebags with single-minded attention.
“Stephen, for heaven’s sake, think, man!” Robert pleaded.
Stephen paused and looked up from the packing to stare at Robert with eyes that seemed feverish in their glittering, black stillness. “I have thought.” His voice was low, strained. “The King is in danger. I must go.”
“From two Frenchmen?” Robert almost laughed. “Richard is surrounded by a whole army of men. How could two men possibly endanger him?”
“They are assassins. I have seen assassins at work. So have you, Robert. Richard will not be expecting an attack by stealth and deception. Not here, not in Normandy, so far away from the Holy Lands. So I must find him and warn him.”
The sickly strain that had tugged at Helena’s heart since William had spoken his news leapt again. “I am going with you.”
Stephen turned to her. “No, I cannot allow it, Elen. I was disgraced and outlawed only a few short days ago. The news won’t have reached the king’s court yet, so I can wander freely. But you they will clap in irons before you can greet your first dawn over there.”
“I travelled the breadth of England for a year,” she retorted, furious. “I even danced in the king’s court at Winchester. No one called me out.”
Stephen looked at Robert. “Will you leave us for a while?”
“Of course,” he murmured and slipped into the thick shadows at the edge of the trees. The campfire crackled, making the shadows leap. There was no one else in the square. The wedding feast had come to a premature, faltering halt and darkness had fallen.
Stephen turned to Helena. “You have wandered England as Isobel but this is different.”
“Why? Only the people in York know I am not the Lady Isobel.”
“Savaric and Prince John know who you are.”
“John returns to Eleanore. He is not interested in me.”
“But Savaric is. Elen, do you not think I can see your plans? You want to accompany me because you think you will come across Savaric along the way.”
She felt her heart jump in surprise. “Are my motives so transparent?”
Stephen smiled but it was a strained grimace. “To me, yes they are. Will you never be content unless his blood flows over your feet? Is there no other way to end this?”
Helena’s heart lodged in her throat and the breath squeezed out of her. “Another way? What alternative is there that does not allow Savaric to go his way, unhindered and unpunished?”
“You could bring William’s testimony to the attention of the court. Let them deal with Savaric as they deal with any criminal.”
“William’s information is not proof the court will accept. I will not risk it.”
Stephen’s face was bleak. “Then I cannot risk taking you with me.”
A tiny spurt of anger flickered through her. “I did not ask for your permission,” Helena said, keeping her tone as light as possible.
Stephen saw beyond her forced levity and frowned. “Elen—” he began, his voice a growl.
“Did the promises we just exchange mean nothing to you?” she demanded, preventing him from voicing another refusal.
Surprise touched Stephen’s face.
“I understood what you said,” she continued, “even though you did not say the words aloud. ‘If you need me, I will come.’ Did you not promise me that?”
He sank slowly onto the big log by the fire. “Yes, I promised that,” he said. He seemed suddenly very weary.
She touched his shoulder. “You are an honorable man. You have stood by that oath since you gave it. I know you would not break your word. Not now.”
“I had not intended my word to be distorted in this way,” he said bleakly. “Elen, think of what you are doing. I cannot gainsay you but I do plead with you to reconsider.” Lines formed around his mouth. “You do not understand how vengeance plants black seeds of destruction in your soul. They will root themselves and grow into a rank, bitter harvest.”
Helena dropped her gaze from his strained face. “There is no other way. You admit that yourself.” But the words tasted foul and unhappiness spread through her. She tried to comfort herself. There was no other way. She had searched diligently for over a year and had found none.
After a long moment, when the only sounds were those of the fire and the high whistling note of chill wind blowing through the bare branches of the trees, Stephen spoke. “Very well.” His voice was rough. “I leave within the hour, Helena. Be ready.”
She hurried back to the cavern to pack and it wasn’t until she had reached her quarters that she realized Stephen had called her Helena, not Elen.
* * * * *
Château Gaillard was Richard’s new castle, built at Les Andelys, close to Rouen in Normandy. It was reported to be the greatest and most costly castle in Western Europe.
Savaric studied the white curtain wall high up on the flat hummock overlooking the river. Despite the depressing rain clouds that clung to its towers, the castle looked bright, solid and absolutely invulnerable.
Invulnerability could be an illusion, Savaric knew from hard experience in York. His precious castle had been breached not once but three times and with impunity.
He intended to take that lesson and use it for himself. Hence, he sat in this decrepit tavern, talking to peasants who’d helped build the expensive monstrosity on the hill. The fellow who sat opposite him was deep in his cups and unlikely to prove useful, however. Savaric lifted himself to peer into the man’s mug. Almo
st empty. It was the third Savaric had poured in an attempt to lubricate the man’s memory and he realized his mistake. Beer tended to affect these peasants quickly. They were not used to it.
With a sigh he looked around him, examining the other men. Dullards, the lot of them.
“My lord?”
Savaric looked up, annoyed at the interruption. The man hovered by his side, nervously clasping his hands.
“What is it?” Savaric demanded.
“I heard…that is, I was told…you are looking for men who worked on Gaillard.” He swallowed but Savaric did not miss the hopeful glint in his eyes.
“You were one of them?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Savaric stood. “Find us another table,” he demanded. “A clean one.”
“Yes, my lord. At once.”
“And—”
The man whirled, anxious not to miss anything he might say.
Savaric would not pay the man with beer. Any of the beverages were likely to affect this man’s wits just like the last one. Then he remembered something from his childhood that he had not thought of for a long time. “Are you hungry?” he asked the man.
“Yes, my lord,” he replied hesitantly.
“Order yourself a meal, while you’re arranging that table.”
“Yes, my lord!” The man hurried off to find the innkeeper.
Savaric smiled, satisfied. Now he would get the information he sought.
* * * * *
As they rode up the long, steep ramp that gave access to the castle, Helena stared at the high, forbidding walls of Château Gaillard. She felt once more the astonishment at having arrived here in the heart of Normandy barely five days after their departure from Robert’s camp.
Stephen had been relentless in his drive to reach the king as soon as possible. He had insisted she wear clothing suitable for long hours in the saddle and his prediction was correct. They had ridden across England to the east coast, barely stopping for food, sleep, or any other concerns or comforts. They had not been stopped or questioned, for they appeared as travelers who were best left alone. Stephen wore his sword and shield and a jerkin of chain mail. Everyone knew it was unwise to hinder knights in a hurry.
They had found a ship with a captain willing to make the crossing to Normandy, once he had been encouraged by a purse of coins Robert had given them for this purpose. A stiff winter storm had threatened as they pulled out of the harbor but the captain sniffed the air and seemed pleased. His optimism was justified, for the storm descended behind them and the sharp wind sent the ship slicing through the waves with a turn of speed that had them landing at Dieppe in record time.
They unloaded the horses and Stephen had questioned the citizens of the town—where was the king now? The answers varied but the majority of them were sure and consistent. The King was at Gaillard.
So they had climbed onto their horses once more to race across Western Europe, following the river route that would take them directly to Les Andelys.
The town was a bustling, prosperous-looking place, since Richard had selected the summit over the river for his primary defense against the French. They had arrived there just on sunset of the fifth day, stiff, saddle sore, weary in both mind and body and filthy dirty.
Stephen found an inn that offered them a room and as much warm water as they needed. From their saddlebags, Stephen produced the finery he had insisted they bring—clothing, jewelry, hair ornaments. When Helena watched him shake out her green velvet dress and inspect it, she realized he had a plan in mind, a plan he had not shared with her. The attention to appearances gave part of it away, however.
“You plan to confront the king directly?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“He may not believe you.”
“I will be convincing,” he assured her. He laid the gown across the narrow bed. “I do not know if he plans to leave the castle. It’s possible he may be here until the spring but I can’t afford to gamble on that possibility, especially with the French border so near. I’m going to the castle as soon as I am presentable.” He looked at her squarely. “You may come or not. My plan does not hinge upon your presence and you have a man to kill, I seem to remember.”
Helena shivered. The coldness between them had not diminished since the moment he had ceased to call her Elen. In that, he was as relentless as his quest to save the king.
“I will come,” she answered. “You may have need of me.” She did not voice the rest of her reason. Stephen was abiding by their wedding oath despite his utter loathing for the task and she could do no less. She must be where she could do the most good if he needed her. “Besides,” she added, “I do not know for certain where Savaric is. If he sends other men to do his work he could be far from here.”
Stephen shook his head. “He is here,” he said shortly. “Savaric will be where he can receive news as soon as possible of the results of his laborers’ work. If we are right about Savaric, then you can count on him being here. He will be unable to stay away.”
“You doubt your own judgment of Savaric, still?”
Stephen grimaced. “In this last month I have been shown how wrong my assessment of a man can be.” He pointed to the steaming lavers on the small table. “Prepare yourself. I want no one in that castle to doubt your station.”
He whirled and left the room, shutting the door not with a slam but with a soft sound that shouted of control.
Helena regarded the lavers, eyes stinging with unshed tears. He doubted his judgment of men? She knew what he had not said. He doubted his judgment because of her. Because he had thought more highly of her than she had acted.
So now Helena rode stiffly at Stephen’s side, dressed as a lady of high rank. The jewels and riches Stephen had given her to wear were heavy and uncomfortable after her days of freedom in the forest. Her wimple was of delicate linen and the veil was bound by a thick circlet of gold, studded with fine, green gems. Her fur-lined cloak had been brushed and cleaned and was fastened with a big, heavy filigree brooch she recognized as Stephen’s family crest, the medal he had worn at their wedding. There were rings on her fingers. Her belt was thick with embroidery and heavy with embedded gems.
No one would doubt her station. Nor would they question Stephen’s, for he was dressed in similar splendor and his hair was freshly trimmed. Even their horses had been curried and shone with care and their bridles flaunted decorations.
Even so, Helena was nervous. There was no shielding identity to hide behind and she was about to face the king, if Stephen had his way. Helena had no doubt he would get what he wanted. There was an air of implacable intent about him. A fine ridge between his brows spoke of restless impatience and lack of tolerance for petty concerns. There was an implied arrogance in his manner, an air that said he was a man who expected to be granted his wishes without question.
Was it a façade? Helena knew the barely veiled anger was not a pretense. The haughtiness was perhaps simply a device that would allow him to talk his way into an audience with the king, for his name alone would not win him that boon.
The portcullis was lowered and they halted before the bars, their horses blowing steam into the dark night. Two knights wearing mail and tunics bearing the red cross of St. John stepped in front of them, swords drawn.
“State your business, my lord,” one of knights demanded.
“I have business with the king,” Stephen said shortly. “Let me through.”
“Does he expect you?”
“Since when does that matter?” Stephen asked, staring down at him. “Do you know who I am?”
“I know your shield, my lord. I am aware that the king would not ordinarily send for you.” The knight seemed almost apologetic for the assessment.
“Do you call the circumstances we find ourselves in these days ‘ordinary’?” Stephen demanded. “Let me through, I say. The king will be grateful if you let me pass, I promise you.”
The other straightened and lowered his sword until
it rested point-first on the ground. “Let him through, Piers. I know Dinan is loyal to the king. He would not harm him. That is enough for me.” He nodded at Stephen.
“Maybe, but if I might ask, my lord,” Piers said, speaking with a deference that seemed genuine enough. “The lady who accompanies you?”
Helena’s spine stiffened as everyone swiveled to look at her. The unnamed knight glanced at the brooch on her cloak.
“My wife,” Stephen said, tone flat. Uncompromising. “I vouch for her.”
Reluctantly, Piers stepped aside. The second knight signaled to the guards manning the towers on either side of the gate. With a grinding noise, the portcullis slowly raised from its bed to disappear inside the gatehouse.
They rode through and the unnamed knight shouted behind them, “You will most likely find him in the great hall!”
But the great hall was empty of anyone but kitchen drudges clearing the last of the evening’s meal. Stephen pulled out one of the few individual chairs around the high table and helped Helena sit. He used high court manners and formality and Helena, aware of their audience, nodded her thanks as gracefully as she could, despite the coil of tension in her stomach.
“Where is he?” she asked softly.
Stephen shook his head, the small furrow between his brows deepening. “I don’t know. It is unlike Richard to be drawn away from an evening’s entertainment. Something must have happened to clear the hall so early.” His gaze roamed the room, assessing, judging.
“But what?” she murmured.
Stephen turned his head, following with his gaze the progress of a small man in courtier’s formal gown and stockings hurry across from the entrance of the hall to one of the passages that led from the other side.
The courtier glanced at them as he passed and nodded, then halted, a comically surprised expression on his face as his busy mind appeared to catch up with his eyes. “Dinan!”
Stephen lifted his hand in acknowledgment and the man came over to them. He was too polite to ignore Helena altogether but his bow was sketchy and he turned to Stephen straight away. “You have picked an auspicious night to return to the court, Dinan.”
Heart of Vengeance Page 28
