Lord of Midnight

by Jo Beverley

  He choked on a curse, half blind, but a sweeping hand caught her skirt. Trying to wrench free, she fell against the bench. Her out-thrust hand stopped the fall, but she sprawled half over the stone.

  And screamed.

  “Claire?”

  She surged back up, her head slamming into his chin.

  “Lucifer’s horns, Claire—”

  But then, sweeping wet hair off his face, he saw what she had seen. In the narrow space behind the bench, carelessly covered by dying weeds, lay a man.

  A man who was assuredly dead.

  Renald’s arms came around her, drawing her safely back. “Hush, love.”

  Claire stopped the noises she’d hardly been aware of making. “He looks … he looks like my … father!”

  He held her tighter. “Is it a relative then?”

  She shook her head wildly. “He’s dead.”

  He turned her against his wet chest. “Hush, love, hush. He can’t hurt you.”

  The wave of shuddering passed and Claire swallowed. “I’m sorry. I’m not normally such a ninny. I’ve seen death. But—”

  “But it was a shock.” He calmly rubbed her back. “It reminded you of the shock of your father’s death. I understand. Let me escort you to the hall.”

  She pulled herself together. “No. I’m over my silliness now. I didn’t recognize him. I didn’t try. But he must be one of our people.”

  “Or a servant of one of our guests.”

  She had completely forgotten the hall full of people. “We still need to see who he is. We can’t just leave him there.”

  He studied her a moment, then nodded. “Very well.”

  Arm protectively about her, he led her back to the bench where they both peered over. It was dim in the shadows, but the man’s ghastly face glimmered up through limp leaves, slack in death. Gritting her teeth, Claire brushed away some weeds, then gasped. “But … It’s Ulric, my father’s man!”

  Renald’s hand tightened on her arm.

  “I wondered where he was. Why he didn’t return with … with the body. He never left my father’s side.” She glanced up at Renald’s still face. “Did he die in the same engagement?”

  He left her, and squeezed closer to sweep away the rest of the flimsy covering. “He’s fresher dead than that.” Then he slowly raised his hands, hands stained dark.

  “Blood?” she whispered.

  “Blood.”

  Remembering a dark and bloody sword, Claire straightened. Then she started to back away.

  “Claire, I had nothing to do with this.”

  She froze, staring at him, trying to sort through panic to truth.

  “This blood is fresh,” he said steadily, eyes on her. “He must have been killed not long before we came here. Long after you saw the blood on my blade.”

  That must be true. She rubbed her hands over her face. “I’m sorry. What reason anyway would you have to kill poor Ulric?”

  “What reason could anyone?”

  She stepped a little closer. “It couldn’t have been an accident?”

  He rose, wiping his hands on his braies. “I don’t see how. Death was fast, I’d judge, and I can find no blade. No, Claire, I’m afraid there is a snake in paradise after all. Murder’s been done here tonight.”

  He looked as deeply concerned as she, and with reason. He spoke of a true snake, one that had stolen the fragile paradise they had found.

  “We cannot marry tomorrow.” She spoke without thinking, but from a deep, troubled instinct.

  He came to her. “Because of the death of a servant? Claire, it is announced.”

  “We can change our minds. People will understand.”

  “Will they? I don’t. You were happy to marry within days of your father’s death, but balk when a servant dies? What sense in that?”

  None, she thought. “But this happened here. Here in Summerbourne!”

  “Disturbing, yes.” He gathered her into his arms. “But we will find out who did it and set it right. A quarrel perhaps, among the servants.”

  “But Ulric wasn’t even here! I mean, no one knew he was. When did he arrive? Where has he been?”

  “Hush.” He stroked her. “We will find all this out, and it will prove to be ordinary enough. It does not affect our wedding.” He tilted her chin. “Pity me, Claire. I do not want to wait.”

  And some of the paradise flowed back, along with a lot of the hunger. She didn’t want to wait either. It seemed heartless, with poor Ulric lying only feet away, but she wanted to marry this man tomorrow.

  “Very well.”

  He kissed her. “Let’s go and put this in the hands of your melancholy sheriff. He’s the one most suited to take charge, and it will suit his temperament better than bridals.”

  She even smiled at his words, since they were so apt. It certainly didn’t ease Eudo’s mood to be told of a body, but perhaps he was relieved not to have to look festive anymore. Perhaps the earl decided to join him in his inquiries for the same reason.

  Margret came over, shaking her head. “A murder. I don’t suppose I should have expected your betrothal to go off as usual, should I?”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “At least it’s hard to imagine anything worse to come.

  Renald watched Claire chat with her friend and resisted the urge to move closer, to check what was being said. Lady Margret couldn’t know. As far as he could tell, no one here but the earl knew, and he was too cautious of the king’s wrath to speak out.

  It had been a close thing, however, earlier. Renald had reminded the earl that the king would be displeased if anything happened to prevent this marriage, though he sympathized with the man’s dilemma. He couldn’t feel harshly toward anyone who cared about Claire.

  She was almost within his grasp, though, and he’d let nothing stop him now.

  The wedding and the wedding night, and they’d be bound for all eternity.

  Thank God that Ulric had never had a chance to speak to her.

  Chapter 14

  Claire woke the next morning to her wedding day, nervous, but doubtless only in the way that any bride was nervous. By the time she’d gone to bed the night before nothing had been discovered about Ulric’s strange death. She was determined, however, not to let it cloud her day.

  She’d rather the culprit had been found, and the matter settled. As far as she knew, all Eudo had discovered was that Ulric had arrived in the middle of the feast, and probably slipped into the hall to eat. No one seemed to know where he’d sat, or who he’d spoken with. No one could imagine who had killed him in the garden.

  Eudo seemed to think it would never be solved.

  She realized she was half off the bed and squinted side-ways to where Margret lay hogging the center, fast asleep. With the crowding in the hall, this big bed couldn’t be left with only one. Lady Huguette was snoring quietly on the far side.

  It felt nice. As it had been all her life. Three to a bed.

  Tonight, however, it would be different.

  Two to a bed.

  Naked and entwined.

  She heard noises outside the window, horses and men shouting. Slipping out of the bed, she hurried to see what was happening. For a moment she thought everyone was leaving! But then she relaxed. The men were going hunting.

  A good idea. Fresh air and exercise before another day of feasting, and if they returned with fresh meat, that would be useful, too.

  The floor was a tangle of maids, and Prissy stirred and sat up. “Oh, lady. Are you awake?”

  “No. I’m sleepwalking.”

  Prissy chuckled and got up to help her dress. Soon everyone was up, and the day had begun. Renald had made no requests for this day, so Claire felt free to go and help organize the new feast. Thank heavens most of the cooking was done, apart from fresh bread.

  All the women were willing to help, too, so soon everything was ready and they could sit and chat, waiting for the men to return so the ceremony could go ahead.

  “You seem very calm,
” said Margret. “I was in a fine state by now.”

  “I remember. Up and down. Changing gowns. Fretting that Alaine wouldn’t arrive.”

  “At last you don’t have to worry about that.”

  “No.” It caused a tiny pang, that this was his home not her father’s. But then she remembered the benefit. That she could stay here all her life.

  There were other blessings too. Her grandmother was secure here, and her mother almost back to her happy self, comforted by the presence of all her friends and by being free of worry.

  She didn’t know about Thomas since he’d gone with the hunt, but she felt sure even he was more at ease.

  Truly, she was blessed.

  When they heard distant horns, most of the women leaped up to run into the courtyard to watch the men return and to see what they had brought back.

  Laughing and triumphant, they rode in, small creatures slung from saddlebows, and a deer across a packhorse. Claire stared at its sad, dead eyes, and for a moment clouds threatened. She drove them away. Enough of folly. She liked venison, too.

  Renald swung off his horse and came to sweep her into a hearty, smelly kiss. “Miss me?”

  “For a matter of mere hours?” But she had. She realized that now. Summerbourne had seemed empty without him. “I expect you’ll be often gone. About the king’s business.”

  “No more often than I have to be, I assure you.” He looked around. “Weren’t we supposed to be getting married today?”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Not unless you have a bath.”

  “I’ll go leap in the river immediately.”

  “Then when you’re clean, my lord, I’ll be ready.” Claire called for her maids and her friends and ran up to her room to change.

  She was soon ready to go down to the church, waiting with just her maids to hear that all was ready, when the door swept open without a knock, and in walked her aunts.

  Claire’s first instinct was panic that Felice had come to try to claim Renald as husband, but she forced a smile. “Felice! Amice! How lovely. Are you home for good?”

  “Why not?” Felice dropped her cloak in the middle of the floor. “We heard about the betrothal. Now we’re safe, we’ve come to support you at your wedding.”

  Claire was sure her aunt had heard about bloody swords and dead bodies, and was hoping for more of the same. She kissed them both anyway. They were like sisters and their presence completed the occasion.

  Amice was untangling herself from layers of veils. “The convent is not very nice, really. The beds are hard, and the food rather plain. I’m so pleased we won’t have to move there. Oh, Claire, how are you coping?”

  “Very well.” Claire assisted her. “I’m glad to see you both.”

  “No wonder.” Felice picked up Claire’s torn veil and poked a finger through one of the holes. “It looks as if he’s already shown his violent nature.”

  Claire rescued the fragile silk. “Not at all.”

  “You’ve kept him sweet? According to his men, he’s a terror when angered.”

  “Then he’s slow to anger. Felice, stop this!”

  “I’m sure no one could be cruel to Claire,” said Amice, but added, “His men did tell terrible stories, Claire. We could hear them.” She turned a vivid pink and whispered, “Not only about his rages. About his lust.”

  Claire knew she should silence them both, but a feverish need to know started in her. “Lust?”

  “Two or three a night,” said Felice.

  “And that turned you off?”

  Felice flushed. “I’ve no mind to be ripped open once, never mind thrice!”

  “Ripped open?”

  “Haven’t you found out yet? He’s huge. Few women can endure him, but of course, he doesn’t care.”

  “It can’t be true.”

  “His men boast of his extraordinary qualities. Of his victim’s screams.”

  “Oh, Claire!” Amice dabbed at her watering eyes. “What are you going to do?”

  Though shaken, Claire wouldn’t give Felice any satisfaction. “Marry him. I don’t believe such nonsense. Now, I’d rather be alone until the wedding.”

  “Of course,” said Felice, but didn’t move. “I thought you might be interested in news about Imogen of Carrisford.”

  “I know about Imogen. She’s married to FitzRoger of Cleeve.”

  “Bastard FitzRoger. A sorry trial for such a sweet and gentle maid.”

  Claire clapped her hands over her ears. “Felice, I don’t want to know!”

  “He imprisoned her in his castle.”

  Claire lowered her useless hands, finally chilled. “Why? What’s happened to her?”

  “Why? Because she fled his cruelty. And who do you think acted as her jailer?” Before Claire could respond, Felice added, “Renald de Lisle.”

  When Claire just stood there, Felice added, “As for what happened to her, I gather she’s been allowed some freedom, but only after a whipping.” She patted Claire’s cheek. “You’d best be a very meek and obedient wife, Claire, and not object to anything your husband demands of you, no matter how painful. Come Amice, we must go below. Claire wants to be alone.”

  Amice followed her twin, but turned to say, “I’m sure if you’re kind and gentle with him …” Felice pulled her on her way.

  “Load of spiteful nonsense,” said Prissy, coming to fuss with the folds of Claire’s gown. “Don’t you listen to a word she says, lady.”

  “It must be true about Imogen,” Claire whispered. “Felice couldn’t make that up.”

  “Rumors are funny things, lady,” Maria said. “Probably they had a falling out and that’s what gossip has made of it.”

  “After all,” Prissy added, “you have to go on what you know about a person. Would you say Lord Renald was a harsh, cruel man?”

  Claire began to come out of the dark mist.

  “Take that business of three a night, lady,” Prissy went on. “Lord Renald’s not had a woman while he’s been here. I’d have heard.”

  “But it’s only been three days.”

  “If he were that greedy for it, and that uncaring, he’d have found some of the lusty maids. There’s enough been giving him the eye, and that’s the truth.”

  Claire laughed with relief. Talk about snakes in paradise. She’d seen for herself in the dairy how many maids were giving him the eye. And if he were taking up any of the invitations she’d have heard, too, especially if he was leaving them injured.

  “After a lifetime, I should know better than to pay attention to Felice.”

  Prissy patted her shoulder. “It’s only natural for you to be nervous, lady. Mind now,” she added with a wink, “if you decide you don’t want him in your bed, there’s plenty that’ll take your place!”

  Her mother swept in, smiling. “It’s time, my dear.” She gathered Claire in for a warm kiss. “Oh, I think this is the happiest day of my life. Everything is going to be perfect.”

  Claire hugged her back, lips unsteady. Yes, astonishingly, everything was going to be perfect.

  She took a moment to steady herself, then put on her veil, securing it with a jeweled circlet. Then she went with her mother down to the hall, where her aunts waited to escort her to the church door.

  As was the custom, everyone was gathered to witness the vows. Claire took her place before the bishop, and smiled at Renald de Lisle. Firmly, she promised to honor and obey him, and to care for his body and soul. How sweet to be able to say the words honestly.

  In turn, he made his vows to her, and moved the betrothal ring from the right hand to her left where it marked her as a married woman. Then he kissed the ring, and smiled. Everyone cheered, but Claire scarcely heard it, lost as she was in the warmth of his eyes.

  No, she had never expected this, but it was sweet, deliciously sweet.

  And now there were just a few short hours before the night.

  They ran to the hall hand in hand, pelted with flowers and seeds, followed by a merry throng.
Immediately they were pushed into a dance, a wedding dance just for the two of them, for hunter and hunted. It ended when he caught her, swinging her into his arms and carrying her victorious to her place at the table.

  He plied her with morsels of food, but would only allow her watered wine. “I want you to have all your wits about you tonight, my love.”

  Dizzy without wine, Claire fed him with her own hand, and kissed traces of food from his lips. Acrobats tumbled, men ate fire and swords, and magicians made impossible items appear and disappear, yet she and Renald hardly noticed, so entwined they were in each other.

  Once the feast ended, everyone spilled out into the sunshine, out of Summerbourne to the open land beyond to dance on the grass, and to indulge in sporting contests.

  A pole had been set up between supports, and boys and men tried to balance their way across it. A prize had been hung over the river and boys rowed down in boats, one of their company balanced on the prow ready to try and seize it. A greasy pig ran screaming around an enclosure, free to anyone who could catch and hold it for a count of twenty.

  Barrels of ale stood ready, free to all. Cloths on the grass were piled with all that remained of the feast. Men, women, and children danced all around. Claire danced, too, delighting in the good company of her friends and neighbors, and in her husband.

  At first Renald stayed by her side, but then he was dragged into a wrestling match. One of the women called out, “Don’t go straining something on a night like tonight!”

  He laughed and tossed his opponent easily. Then all the men wanted to drink with him. He looked back at Claire ruefully, but let himself be carried away.

  It was only for a little while. The day sped on.

  Claire went to sit with some women in the shade of a tree, and talked contentedly about babies, and blisters, and bedstraw. Ordinary stuff. The stuff of life. Then she wandered closer to where Renald and some men were playing a game with a stuffed ball, trying to hit a target. He wasn’t very good.

  It was endearing to see that he wasn’t master of everything.

  “A handsome young man.”

  Claire turned to find Eudo the Sheriff by her side. She was in no mood to talk of murder, but she smiled, putting aside her lingering bitterness with him over her father’s death. It wasn’t entirely fair to blame Eudo. Lord Clarence had been uneasy about Henry Beauclerk’s seizure of the throne from the first. Eudo had doubtless been as shocked as everyone else when her gentle father had put their theoretical discussions into disastrous action.