Fire and Steel

by Anita Mills

  “Your pardon, then.” She paced away from him anxiously. “But if you will not speak of Belesme, then tell me of Linn.”

  “There’s naught to tell,” he responded evasively. “I saw her at Mayenne, and that is all.”

  “All? Brian FitzHenry, I have known you most of my life, but I have never before known you to be so sparing of words. If Geoffrey is dying, how is Linn?”

  “She grieves for him, as you would expect.”

  “She is well-treated?”

  “Aye,” he lied.

  “Sweet Mary, but must I pull every word from your mouth? I’d have you tell me of my sister—I’d know if she looks the same, if she sent any word to me—anything!”

  “She loves us all well, Cat. She spoke of you and Pippa and Bella, saying she wished she had been kinder to you all, for she’d not realized how she would miss you. And she is homesick for the Condes—she’d see her mother and father again.”

  “When Geoffrey dies, she’ll go back.”

  “If Count Hugh does not try to keep her so he will not have to return her dowry,” he acknowledged in an unguarded moment.

  “Nay—he would not dare.”

  “She carries Mayenne’s heir. I would to God she did not.” His brown eyes were distant for a moment and then his attention returned to her.”

  She carries Mayenne’s heir? Holy Mary, but then…”

  “Aye. But I will tell you this, Cat: babe or no babe, I mean to go to my father if Mayenne will not return her to her parents. I’d not see her rot in Mayenne forever.”

  “My father would not let that happen.”

  “If he knows of it.”

  “He would know.”

  “He is in Harlowe much of the time now, Cat,” he reminded her. “Nay, but ’tis possible he would not. But I would not speak of this either.” He leaned against one of the central pillars that supported the ceiling of the hall. “Let us speak of you instead—’tis my turn for questions.”

  “There is naught to tell.”

  “Are you happy here?”

  She met his eyes squarely and nodded. “Aye, I am.”

  “Your lord pleases you?”

  “Aye.”

  A gleam of amusement lit his brown eyes. “And now you see how it is, Cat. If you ask someone about something that scarce concerns him, you will get more words than you would listen to, but if you pry into his inner thoughts, you get very little.”

  “Are you telling me not to meddle in your concerns, Brian—is that what you would say to me? After all we have been for each other?”

  He grinned broadly. “’Tis what I always liked about you, Cat—you have a quick understanding.”

  “Brian—”

  “And so do I. Nay, I’d not speak to him of Nantes.”

  “I’d not quarrel with you tonight of all nights, Cat,” Guy told her as he barred the door to their chamber.

  “And I’d not quarrel with you either, but—”

  “Nay.” He turned around and put a finger to her lips. “Listen to me again but once—I’d not say it twice. I am sending you to Nantes to keep you safe, whether there is need or not. I’d not lose you, Cat.”

  “But I could go to Belvois!” she burst out, drawing back. “’Tis closer and—”

  “Nay. Most of the Belvois men are here, and I cannot spare enough to truly garrison the keep. My hope is that its walls will discourage Belesme if he comes, but I’d not take that chance with you inside. You go to Nantes. Coward or no, Gilbert is safe within those walls.”

  “Please, Guy, I’d not leave you.”

  Her eyes filled with tears that tore at his resolve. “And I’d not have you go, but I’d not have you fall into Belesme’s hands if he should come this way.” His hands reached to clasp her shoulders, and his flecked eyes were intent on hers. “Do not tear me apart, Cat.”

  “Nay, but…” She bit her lip and looked away, unable to meet the pain in his gaze. “Guy, I cannot bear it that you stay here.”

  “Aye, you can.” He stepped closer and his hands slid from her shoulder down her back, pulling her into his embrace. “If I can stand it, you can also, Cat, for you are dearer than life to me.” He felt the stiffness leave her body as she leaned into his. “But I’d remember you for aught besides tears this night,” he added softly, his voice dropping almost to a caress. “Aye, I’d undress you and love you while there is still the time.” One of his hands felt for the end of a plait and his fingers began to unwind the golden strip that fastened it. “Aye, and I’d lie beneath the rose scent of your hair.” Her arms slid around his waist and held him tight as a sob escaped her. He stopped unworking her braid to smooth his hand soothingly over her crown and cradle her head. “But I’d be content to just lie holding you, if it be your will,” he murmured above her. He could hear her sniff back more tears, and his other arm tightened protectively around her. He wanted to send her even less than she wanted to go, but the thought of what a man like Belesme could do to her was frightening and real. “Nay, Cat,” he sighed finally, “but you cannot change my mind about Nantes. The Robert of Belesme that raids now is far more terrible than the one you knew in Rouen.” Resolutely he set her back so that he could see her face. “He has fallen into such evil that had I not Rivaux to rebuild, I would offer my levies to Henry and go after him in hopes of ridding Normandy of him forever.”

  Nodding, she tried for a semblance of a smile, but her mouth merely twisted. “Then I am glad Rivaux is not rebuilt. I’d not have you face him—not now…not ever.”

  “Look at us—we are expecting the worst, when we do not even know if he will come this way,” he said to lighten her mood. “I’ll warrant that in a month’s time ’twill all be past and I’ll be coming for you at Nantes.”

  A month. It sounded like both forever and not too far away. “You think ’twill be over in a month?”

  “Aye, no more than six weeks for certain. Did you” not hear Brian? Belesme never raids past the first snowfall—he withdraws into France for the winter, where he waits for the spring.” Lifting her chin with his knuckle, he managed a smile that warmed the gold flecks in his eyes. “Come—cry peace with me and give me a kiss. We’ll go to bed, and I will hold you.”

  “Nay.”

  “Nay?”

  “I’d not spend my last night with you being held, Guy.” A reluctant smile played at her mouth and then broadened. “But neither will I do all the work either—you can smell my hair when we are done.” To hide the flush that rose in her face, she bent her head and reached for the ties of his chausses.”

  29

  “Would you favor chess or tables perhaps?”

  “Nay.”

  Gilbert of Nantes eyed his granddaughter with a touch of exasperation. In the three weeks shed been with him, she’d been quiet and withdrawn, and now she appeared to be getting sick. The unusually warm September did not set well with her, leaving her pasty and queasy much of the time. “Mayhap we could walk in the garden and I can show you where your mother once—”

  “Nay.”

  “God’s teeth, but what ails you, girl? Three daughters I had, and not one of them as puling as you! I’d not have young Rivaux complain to me that I let you sicken whilst you were here!” He spoke with feeling, as though berating would somehow make her well, and then sighed, for Catherine was the comeliest of his granddaughters and he truly liked her. Unlike her mother, she appeared to have a docile nature. To cheer her, he rose and stood over her. “Aye, but I suppose you cannot help it, can you? The spice merchant comes from Spain this week, I am told—mayhap I can get you some oranges to tempt your appetite.”

  Catherine’s gorge rose and her stomach revolted at the thought of food. “If I am unwell, Grandpapa, ’tis but because of the child I carry. ’Twill pass.”

  “Child! Eh…what’s this, you say? A babe?” He came alive at the thought, rubbing his hands together almost gleefully. “Well, now, if you would not make an old man glad! Your grandmother and your mother never could get s
ons for Nantes, Catherine, but young Rivaux has good blood in him. Aye, a son for Nantes mayhap!” he chortled enthusiastically.

  “I just pray I have a son for Rivaux,” she managed miserably.

  “What you need is air and rest and some of those oranges. Aye, and I’ll see if the fellow has anything for a weak stomach also,” he promised.

  Gilbert surprised her. She’d been prepared to dislike and despise him, but it appeared that in his old age he had mellowed. Certainly he had been gruffly kind to her, offering to amuse her a dozen ways, ordering rich fabrics from the cloth vendors and setting Nantes’s seamstresses to making pretty gowns for her, and regaling her with tales of how things had been in the Old Conqueror’s time. In turn, she listened silently to his boasting, gaining his affection.

  “A son for Nantes,” he mused half to himself. “Aye, but I think you’ll be the one to bear a son for Nantes. My Mary could not do it, nor could Eleanor or Margaret, and Adelicia does not matter, for her son cannot inherit, anyway—aye, ’tis you who will have the next Count of Nantes, Catherine,” he decided definitely.

  For a moment she could almost smile despite her sickness, for if it should prove to be a son, the babe would have enough titles one day to make even King Henry envious. Aye, her son would be lord of the Condes, Count of Nantes and Rivaux, and Earl of Harlowe if he lived long enough.

  “Aye, but we would celebrate this, Catherine. I’ll call for my best wine.”

  “Nay.”

  “Oh…aye.” He nodded, remembering her sickness. “Well, there’s naught to say that I should not celebrate, is there?”

  “I’d go home—I’d return to Rivaux.”

  “I promised the one who brought you—William, was it?—that I’d keep you here until your lord sent for you, Catherine.” His black eyes were like coals beneath his white brows as they watched her. “Aye, and it pleases me to have you, anyway. ’Tis lonely for an old man with naught but ungrateful daughters.”

  “Mayhap you should pass Christmas in the Condes. Maman—”

  “I doubt she would welcome me,” he cut in testily. “Nay, your mother was naught but a trial to me, and well she knows it. But I’d not speak of such things when you are ill—I’d not harm the babe by oversetting you.” Satisfied that he’d mollified her, he turned to reach for a flacon of wine and poured himself a cup. “To an heir for Nantes,” he told her as he raised it to his lips. “Aye, mayhap Rivaux will name him Gilbert for Nantes.” When he looked back, her eyes were closed and beads of perspiration were visible on her forehead. Her face had that ashen hue of one about to be heartily sick. “Oh, God’s teeth,” he muttered as he sought to catch her. “To your lady! Hawise! To your lady—to Rivaux!”

  “Nay, I am all right—’tis but the sickness. ’Twill pass.”

  “My lord…”

  Gilbert turned on the hapless servant who stood tentatively within the door. “Not now,” he snapped. “Can you not see she is unwell? Hawise! Hawise! Where is the woman?”

  For answer, Hawise pushed past the young man in the doorway to reach her mistress. Putting her arm around Catherine, she murmured soothing words as she had done ever since the girl had been a small child. “This does not last long, sweeting,” she soothed, “and then all will be well. Let your poor Hawise take you to your bed.”

  “Nay, I will be better—’twill pass.”

  “My lord—”

  “Jesu! Can it not wait? God’s blood, but the girl is sick!” Gilbert shouted at the fellow who still waited. “Nay, get out of here.”

  “Just let me sit,” Catherine begged.

  Nodding, Hawise motioned to the count to help his granddaughter, and between them they eased her onto a bench. Cat leaned forward, her head in her hands, and tried to control the rising nausea. The room spun around her, and the voices seemed far away and unreal.

  “My lord, there is a man—”

  “Are you still here? Have you no ears? I am surrounded by fools! All right, out with it, and be gone!”

  “He comes from Belvois, my lord,” Gilbert’s man tried to explain. “He says ’tis of utmost import that he speak with you.”

  “Belvois? Send him to the kitchens—I’d come down later.”

  “Nay.” Cat swallowed hard and raised her head. “Send him here. Belvois is one of my husband’s keeps.”

  “Take her to her bed,” Gilbert ordered.

  “Nay, I’d hear him.” Cat shook her head determinedly and held on to the bench beneath her. “Please, I pray you.”

  For the first time since she’d been at Nantes, Gilbert eyed his granddaughter with disfavor. “Art as stubborn as your mother, I fear, Catherine,” he muttered. A weak-willed man given to retreat, he turned back to the servant with a sigh. “Aye, I will see him.”

  “Let your grandsire tend the matter,” Hawise urged. “This will pass sooner in bed, and well you know it.”

  “I’d hear whoever comes from Belvois first,” Cat defied her through clenched teeth.

  The wait seemed interminable, with Catherine determined to defeat the waves of nausea and her grandsire pacing impatiently, cursing and muttering about how she would harm her babe. Holding her peace, Hawise dipped a cloth in a ewer of water and wrung it out before wiping her mistress’s face with it.

  “Belvois is no concern of yours or mine,” Gilbert muttered. “A woman should stay out of a man’s affairs, and I’d not see the fellow.”

  “I’d know how ’tis he comes here rather than Rivaux.”

  “Aye, but he’d have no reason—” He stopped short as a boy was brought in to kneel before him. “Get up and speak your piece,” he growled.

  “’Tis Belesme, my lord! He lays siege to Belvois!”

  “Holy Mary!” Cat gasped involuntarily as she leaned into Hawise’s stomach and felt the older woman’s arms go around her. Belvois was but ten leagues from Rivaux itself, and it had but a small garrison. If Guy tried to relieve it, or if Belesme should turn southward to Rivaux itself…Catherine dared not let herself think further.

  “Why come to me?” Gilbert demanded irritably. “I am not suzerain to Belvois. Go to Rivaux.”

  “I pray you, my lord—I have been in my saddle night and day…” The boy paused and looked toward Cat. “My captain bade me escape and come to you—said you shared a bond of blood with Rivaux through the Lady Catherine, and—”

  “And he cannot go to Rivaux,” Cat interrupted, her heart thudding painfully with fear. “Rivaux has naught but one wooden wall to breach, and no men to spare, Grandsire.” White-faced, she looked at Gilbert and her dark eyes pleaded. “I ask your aid for my husband—I pray you do not wait until Belesme reaches Rivaux itself.” Denying the awful dread that threatened to betray her, she tried to keep calm. Gilbert was weak-willed, everyone said, and it was up to her to have the greater will now.

  “Rivaux will have gone to relieve his own keep ere I can get there,” he temporized, stalling whilst he found the means to avoid her appeal. “Aye—’twould take me a fortnight to raise my levies.”

  “Count Robert has fewer than one hundred men,” the boy offered.

  Casting him a look of pure malevolence, Gilbert cleared his throat, his own mind racing. One hundred men was not many, but he had no wish to meet Robert of Belesme across a field. Not now, not ever. Speaking finally, he allowed, “I could perhaps send fifty mounted men-at-arms—but no more than that—and ’twill take two days ere they can be ready.”

  “’Tis not enough!” Cat disputed. “Aye, and you can spare twice that without calling your levies, can you not? And I’d not have you send your captain, Grandsire—I’d have you go with me.”

  He was too stunned by the change in her for the full import to sink into his consciousness. He fingered the stubble of his beard for a moment, trying to decide how long he could delay. “Aye—but ’twill take four days to arm and provision them.”

  “Four days?” She fairly howled in indignation. “Nay, I’d not thought it of you! Did I not know you better, I’d
think you meant to wait until Rivaux itself is taken! But as you are Count of Nantes, I know it cannot be so!” She pulled away from Hawise and rose to face him. “Aye, despite what is said of you, I know my grandsire is no coward!”

  His face reddened dangerously as he exploded, “Who dares call me coward? If ’tis that bastard father of yours—”

  “My father is no bastard!” she shot back. “And nay, ’tis not he who says so!” She cast about wildly for the means to goad him. “’Tis Belesme! Aye—he warned Curthose you would run!”

  “He ran also!”

  “But they all said it: de Mortain, Curthose himself, and—”

  “And all are gone now,” he scoffed, “but yet I live.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And what said Rivaux of the matter? Did he call me coward also?”

  “Nay, he disputed it,” she lied. “And do you think he would have sent me to you if he thought you craven? Nay, but he would not! He values me well, Grandsire! He sent me here because he knew you would keep me safe!”

  “And so I shall, girl! But I cannot take an army to Rivaux if he asks me not—nay, he should send to Henry!”

  “Why? Henry did not protect it the last time, did he? And lest you forget it, Guy fought against him at Tinchebrai—nay, he’d not aid us!”

  “’Tis not my affair. Rivaux has no oath of mine.”

  “But he has a bond of blood! I carry your heir and his in this body! One day Rivaux and Nantes will be ruled by my son—does that mean naught to you?” she cried. When she saw he was unconvinced, she lowered her voice and managed in a calmer tone, “All right, send de Searcy with me, then. I’d not have you risk yourself for my husband, Gilbert of Nantes.”

  “I did not say I would not go,” he protested. “But I think it a fool’s ride, for Belesme does not stay long anywhere in Normandy. He does but burn and kill and leave.”

  “Which is why we must leave on the morrow if we are to be of aid to Guy. Please, Grandsire, for the sake of my heir and yours, help me hold his patrimony.”

  Her eyes met his and held until he had to look down for fear she could see the cowardice in his heart. Aye, he’d go, but he’d make certain he arrived too late to cross paths with Robert of Belesme. “All right, Catherine—for the son you give Nantes, I will do it.”