by Claudia Dain
The morn was far gone by the time Cathryn sat upon the stool plaiting her hair, not that she cared overmuch about her tardiness. Her time with William had been too sweetly spent to allow the time lost to curdle the rest of the day. She could live beneath the power and pleasure of his hands for the rest of her days and be glad for the opportunity, but there was no ignoring the duties that called to them both. It was with a light heart that she answered Marie's timid knock and ushered her in.
"Oh, Marie, I am glad that you have come. My hair is one long tangle and I need your gentle help in righting it," Cathryn said, smiling.
"Yea, certainly I will help," Marie answered slowly, both relieved and confused, happy and surprised, to see Cathryn in such good health and buoyant spirits. It was far from what she had anticipated.
As Marie worked the comb through the tangles that ranged down Cathryn's back, she said, "I am relieved to see you this day. I was anxious when you did not arise with the dawn."
Cathryn smiled and ducked her head. "My sleep was disrupted last night and left me much fatigued. My lord... encouraged me to stay abed this mom. I did not think you would worry, but there was no cause."
"Yea, and so John told me when I asked him about it," Marie began, making steady progress with her lady's hair, "but when Ulrich told me that Lord William had forbidden him to enter this chamber when you were here together, I worried all the more, suspecting that he had, that he would…" Marie blushed and could not finish.
Cathryn lifted her head and stared wide-eyed into the fire. "What, in specific, gave you cause to worry?" she asked.
"Why, I thought I heard a woman cry out last night and swore the voice was yours, lady," Marie answered. "When I spoke of it to John and Ulrich, they admitted that they had heard such a scream as well, but when I questioned Lan, he said he had heard nothing, and Alys said she thought that she heard a high-pitched wail but would not describe it as a scream. Still," she continued, "I was sore afraid that harm had befallen you, but none who heard the sound would share the fear with me. I am glad that they were in the right and I in the wrong."
Cathryn's mouth hung open. They all had heard her! They had heard her cry out her killing pleasure when William had her spread out beneath his hands and tongue, bucking and writhing like a thing gone wild... They all knew! All except Marie, who in her ignorance and her concern had spread the tale to all, including those who had not heard.
She would never leave this chamber again.
Never.
But that would make it worse, for then the tongues would truly fly concerning her and her scream... for it had been a scream, no cry, but a scream in full. She had been cast from a cliff, and a scream was warranted in such a circumstance. It was most reasonable, thinking back upon it, when at the time there had been no reasoning at all.
Marie had finished with her hair and was just tying the ribbons. She must be up and about her day. There was no choice in that. She could not hide for the rest of her days in this cold room, though she did most sincerely wish she could. No, that was a child's escape, and she was no child.
Especially after last night.
Cathryn drew her cloak of composure about her, and it was a cold, cold cloak now. It was most difficult to pull it up and most difficult to keep in place, but she must. She could in no way face them all without it; but it was a misery after the warmth and laughter William had shown her.
She left the chamber and descended the stairs slowly, not knowing what she would face, expecting the worst—prepared for the worst.
The hall was busy, for it was almost time to sup, so late had she stayed abed. John saw her first and smiled in her direction. He did not come toward her at quickened pace or look at her with stricken eyes. That was good. Cathryn took a deeper breath and smiled in return.
Ulrich bowed toward her in courtly fashion and said, "Good morrow. Lady Cathryn. We dine again on boar, he was so big a beast, but Lan will tell no one in what manner he has been prepared. He is a most proud cook and most secretive of his art."
It was Ulrich at his normal best, in no way unusual. He had eyes for none but Marie, whom he trailed behind. And that was also usual of late.
And she saw Alys and Tybon and Christine and all whom she looked upon every day. All behaved toward her in a manner most right and normal, and she began to loosen the ties of the cloak she wore around her heart.
All was well. They would do naught to shame her. Mayhap they found nothing shameful about it, though when she thought upon that scream, that wail, that wailing and heart-stopping scream... well, she simply would not think about it. Cathryn thanked them quietly in her heart, glad they were so thoughtful as to pretend forgetfulness, knowing that they understood her silence for what it was and thanking them the more.
"Lady," John said, touching her elbow with friendly affection, "Lord William bade me tell you that he is meeting with the men of Greneforde in order to devise a plan of attack."
"A plan of attack? Against whom?" Cathryn asked in alarm. Surely William had knights enough of his own that he did not need to use Greneforde men, who were not trained as warriors.
"'Tis an attack upon our poverty they speak of, Cathryn, and Lord William is a most aggressive foe. He has asked me to tell you that he will come to you at first opportunity, but that he must needs begin this action now, as the time is already past for the best beginning."
How it caused her heart to fold upon itself to hear that he would come to her and make haste in the doing. He had unleashed a warmth she scarcely could hold within herself without burning.
"Thank you, John." Cathryn smiled, "I shall be in the solar should he seek me. Nay," she amended, changing her mind, "please inform me when Lord William reenters the hall."
Collecting Marie from a very sad-eyed squire, Cathryn hurried to the solar. The acca called to her, and she was eager to see the crimson fabric draped upon her. She was eager to see William's face when he beheld her arrayed in it. She was eager to feel his hands caress her through the flaming cloth and feel his eager fingers plucking at the laces that bound her within it. Yes, she was eager for much.
"Hurry, Marie, for I would wear this before I am too old and fat, before I look like a scuttling beetle skittering across the floor, before I have gray to match my lord's eyes mixed in the yellow of my hair," Cathryn said, half in jest, half in anxiety.
"Before the sun has set," Marie added, understanding her lady's impatience.
"Yea." Cathryn laughed. "'Tis so, for I am sick unto death of the faded gowns he has... that I have been wearing." She did not want to reveal so much to Marie; that she wanted William to look at her and see her at her best. That she wanted to be as beautiful to him as he was to her.
But Marie knew anyway.
They made good progress, for they were both skilled with the needle. The body of the gown was complete and they were both now working on the sleeves. When the sleeves, good English sleeves, were finished, they would be added to the bodice. If Cathryn had her way, she would wear the scarlet acca on the morrow, but then, if she had had her way, she would have worn it to her wedding. But she had had her way in so little in this life that she was determined to have her way in this; that was why she drove Marie so hard and also drove herself.
She had finished her sleeve and was picking up the bodice when John called from the entrance to the solar, "He comes and he looks for you, lady!"
Cathryn looked up with a start, fought the flush that crept to her cheeks, all but threw the half-finished bliaut into Marie's hands, and rushed out of the solar.
She rushed headlong into William.
The delicious and familiar smell of him assailed her nostrils, and then his arms came around her to steady her. There they stayed and she stayed happily within them.
"My lord, I would have you instruct me," Cathryn began, leaning back against his arms to look up at him. "Is it the proper fashion in France for a wife to greet her husband by rushing into his outstretched arms?"
William smil
ed and bent to kiss the top of her head. "If it is not, it soon will be. You must know that I am a leader of fashion, not a follower."
"That I did already suspect," she answered, "though Ulrich has not been quick to follow your fashion lead in the matter of bathing."
"'Tis my wife's bathing habits that most concern me.
"Ah—" Cathryn smiled—"that explains much."
"It should," he said, grinning.
"But come," she urged, laughing, eager to draw him away from such close proximity to the solar. She did not want William to know of the scarlet until he saw her in it. "I would hear of your plans for Greneforde and her hungry people."
"Their hunger will not last much longer," William said, allowing her to take his arm and lead him down the stairs to the great hall. "The seeds have been chosen and the planting will begin today, if the weather holds good, for some seeds will endure a late start in the year, even preferring it. That accomplished, we will see to new huts for all outside of Greneforde's wall. Twill take most of the winter, but they are eager to begin."
"'Tis heavy work in cold weather," Cathryn commented.
"Yea, 'tis so, but their bellies will be full. We ride to the hunt daily and will distribute the meat evenly until the crops are in and Greneforde back to its former health."
She looked up at him as he spoke, knowing that he was remembering her words of Greneforde as it had been, knowing that he had heard her that day and was trying to give her back what she had lost. Again.
It was most unusual for the lord to share with all the bounty of the hunt, but she should not be surprised; William le Brouillard was unlike any man she had known. He was a man most generous, most beautiful. She could not take her eyes from him.
"You speak of riding to the hunt," she said as they entered the hall, "but I do not see your favorite companions at the hunt. Where are Rowland and Kendall? Do they dally in the yard?"
"Nay, and they had best not dally on the errand they have undertaken. They go to the king to tell him of our marriage."
"And to tell him the state of Greneforde," she added.
"Yea," William admitted, "I would have King Henry know that Greneforde is firmly in my grasp." And so saying, he wondered if his proud wife would feel rebellion rising within her at hearing him declare that her home was now his.
But Cathryn had never in the past begrudged him Greneforde and she did not now. Especially not now.
"Yea, he should know what you hold." And when William's hand crept down to rub the round contours of her derriere, she laughed. "Mayhap the king does not need to know all that you hold."
And, sensitive as they were to the moods of the other, William did not mention Lambert of Brent.
And Cathryn did not ask.
But he was ever in their thoughts.
Cathryn knew Lambert well and knew that he would not leave Greneforde, which he believed already his, without battle, however ruthlessly waged, that was why she had not felt secure even with him gone. That was why she had daily scanned the horizon, searching for the light of his fire and thankful when she had not seen it. But now William was here and lawful lord of Greneforde, and William had stated again and again that he would not relinquish his hold. They were words most comforting. Greneforde needed him, and now so did she.
William, not knowing Lambert but knowing men, understood that Lambert would not give up Greneforde without a fight. And from what he had learned of the man, it would not be a chivalrous fight but a fight of studied savagery. The thought did not cause even the blinking of an eye. William was ready, more than ready, to face the man who had beaten and raped Cathryn.
Yes, he was eager.
Chapter 16
Lambert did not have far to travel when he left the presence of the king to rejoin his companions. They were waiting for him not far from the Tower of Montfichet where the rivers Thames and Fleet joined. They waited without a fire to warm them, for they would have no unwelcome company join them in their well-hidden place.
With a movement of underbrush the two rose as one, hands pulling swords free of restraint. They relaxed their posture when Lambert's face appeared.
"What says the king?" demanded Guichardet, known as le Ebon for his long black hair.
"He says nothing of substance," Lambert replied, removing his mufflers and tying up his horse.
"But you saw him," Guichardet pressed.
"Yea, both saw and spoke, laying my claim to Greneforde as well as any foundation was ever laid. He will do nothing, decide nothing, until he sees le Brouillard. He gifted Greneforde to him for service well performed in times past. Le Brouillard must find another holding."
"Did you speak of the Cat?" Beuves of Girone asked with a sly smile.
"I did," Lambert answered. "And he did not like what I told him, yet he did not protest or deny the truth of it."
"Then he is certain of nothing," summed up Guichardet.
Lambert nodded, adding, "And he will not be until he speaks direct with le Brouillard."
"Then why allow this meeting to occur?"
"Yea, that is my thought," Lambert said, his blue eyes as cold as a winter sky.
"There are two ways to skin this cat," Beuves said, still smiling. "The king's messenger may meet some calamity and fail to deliver the summons; it has been known to happen, especially when one is traveling swiftly and without the usual caution. Or..."
"Or we can wait for le Brouillard to leave his safe enclosure and slice his throat before he reaches Henry," Lambert finished. "For myself, I prefer the latter."
"I have witnessed le Brouillard in battle," Guichardet offered. "He is no soft knight, but battle-hardened. It is not for singing pretty verse at the feet of Henry that he won Greneforde as his own."
"Greneforde is mine!" Lambert spit out. "And all that her walls encompass have I laid claim to."
He spoke of Cat and they all knew it. Beuves smiled and sat upon a log. "You are eager to fight him."
"I would have Greneforde," Lambert said.
"You did have Greneforde. You left." Guichardet pointed out.
"But there would have been no keeping her without the king's consent," Lambert pointed out. "Henry is no Stephen."
"Nay, he is not, and William is no court dog to run from your stick," Guichardet said again.
"You think I fear to face him in knightly battle?" Lambert said, rising to his feet, his hand going to his sword hilt.
Guichardet said nothing. Lambert had never yet faced a man with sword unsheathed, knowing the result to be death. Lambert had killed, but not that way. Not with knightly honor.
Beuves rose from his perch and stepped to Lambert's side. "Guichardet speaks not of fear but of wisdom. Let us choose the path to Greneforde carefully."
"I have chosen," Lambert said, slowly releasing his sword. "To kill a messenger of the king would cast suspicion upon me. Henry knows I desire Greneforde. He knows I am aware of the messenger."
"And so he would suspect you if his messenger failed to return to court," Guichardet said.
"Aye, but when le Brouillard leaves his nest, he will fly onto my blade. A knight such as he must have many enemies who can be blamed."
"'Tis easily said," Guichardet said grimly.
"And easily excused," Lambert retorted.
"Some deaths are harder to purchase than others," Guichardet pointed out.
"Yet I can meet its price and gladly. Killing le Brouillard will give me much satisfaction."
Beuves saw the shimmer in Lambert's eyes and knew he thought of the Cat he had trained to accept his hand, and he wondered if Greneforde would call to Lambert so loudly if Cat did not reside there.
"And when he is dead, how will you regain Greneforde?" There was no Philip now to buy them entrance, and most all the rogue knights that had followed Lambert had drifted off. It was as they said: Henry was no Stephen, and England was not such easy conquest as she once had been.
"By the king's command," Lambert declared. "Without le Brouillard to cr
y his ownership, King Henry will look more favorably upon me, as I already have ties there and a history." Though it would not help his cause if Henry looked too closely into that history. It would be coin well spent to make a second donation to the priest who had once shepherded Greneforde and who had proved so helpful in the past.
"Then we wait and watch," Beuves said, "and when the messenger is both come and gone, we wait with sterner purpose."
"Aye," agreed Lambert, "we wait for le Brouillard."
And when he was dead, Cat would be alone and vulnerable... again.
* * *
Though Rowland searched most diligently, he did not detect the faintest trace of Lambert between Greneforde and the king, who, beyond all expectation, still resided in London. Kendall remarked that they were covering four times the ground they needed to find the king, but Rowland would not be moved from his course, nor would he discuss it. Knowing Rowland as he did, Kendall did not take offense at his silence, though he complained loudly that he would have taken his squire if he'd known they planned to tour England.
It was also beyond expectation that they were received into Henry's presence at once upon their arrival. After all, it was no message of great urgency that they carried. Kendall was delighted with the prompt hospitality shown them. Rowland drew down his black brows in foreboding.
The hall was closely packed upon their entering, and the play of light on the bright woolens and silks worn by the court shimmered in the weak winter light. Kendal] made good use of the congestion to greet comrades not seen since he had departed for Greneforde with William. He enjoyed the crowds and the intrigue that was never far from a sovereign of such wealth as Henry of Anjou. The vivid coloration of fabric and jewel was a visual treat after the armored knights and ragtag villeins of Greneforde.
Rowland saw the crowded hall with different eyes; the courtiers looked, as they jostled and elbowed for position, like nothing so much as maggots feasting on rotting flesh. He did not waste his energy considering them. Rowland had eyes for none save Henry, but he did wonder why there was so much activity surrounding their arrival.
