Lady of Steel

by Mary Gillgannon

“I don’t know.” Could he really love a woman who could do something so cruel and unnatural? “I can’t bear not knowing. If the truth is something terrible, I must find it out now. Before I become even more entangled with Nicola and more settled in with my life here as lord of Valmar.”

  “What are you saying? That if you discover Nicola killed your child, you would set her aside? Even knowing that doing so will probably cause you to lose Valmar and Mordeaux? Are you truly willing to give up all that you’ve won?” Reynard shook his head. “Think of all the people who would suffer if you gave up your claim. Not only the men who have followed you, but the people of Valmar. For the first time in years, they finally have a competent lord.”

  Put that way, it did make Fawkes feel petty and foolish. There were likely a great many men in England who were married to women they neither loved nor respected. He doubted they let it affect their lives in any substantial way.

  “I see I’ve given you something to think about,” Reynard said. “I regret adding to your worries. But as your friend and companion, I have to point out these things.”

  “So, you think I should let the matter go? Accept Nicola’s tale as the truth?”

  “You used to be a strong, decisive leader, Fawkes. One who could not be shaken from his path nor deterred from reaching his goals. Now you’re like a maid, clutching your hands together and worrying, should I or shouldn’t I?” As he spoke, Reynard pantomimed what his words evoked.

  Fawkes glared at him. “Friend or no, if you don’t cease mocking me, you’ll have to back up your words with your sword!”

  Reynard grinned and punched him in the arm. “You’re always such a grim, serious bastard. And arrogant too. Do you think you’re above being made fun of? We all deserved to be called out for our foolishness. I’m no different. Here’s your chance to call me an utter dolt for getting involved with a woman whose entire cottage is jammed with herbs that could kill me, emasculate me or render me a simpleton.”

  “You’re a fool, Reynard,” Fawkes growled.

  “There.” Reynard poked his shoulder again. “You feel better now, don’t you? Stop being so serious all the time, Fawkes. Enjoy what you have and don’t think so much about what might have happened before you arrived here. If you had discovered she was truly plotting against you, or that she had a lover, I wouldn’t tell you to forget and forgive. But this babe, an infant long dead and buried…” Reynard shook his head. “Babes die all the time, for dozens of reasons. Or no reason at all. Frankly, instead of mourning this one, I think you should concentrate on begetting another.”

  “Mayhaps you’re right. Thank you for helping me see reason.”

  “You’re welcome,” Reynard said, grinning. “Now hurry off to your wife. Before you think of another foolish excuse to avoid her.”

  Fawkes returned to the keep and took the stairs to the tower two at time. He felt lighter and more carefree than he had in a fortnight. Reaching the landing, he knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he tried again. “Nicola. It’s Fawkes.”

  He opened the door and gazed around at the empty room. She’d probably gone to the kitchen to fetch some food. Surely she would be back soon.

  He sat on the stool to wait, then caught sight of a leather bag on the bed. He picked it up and examined it. This must be the one he’d seen tied to Nicola’s saddle.

  He hesitated for a few moments, then undid the drawstring, opened the bag and took out a small child’s tunic. It must be one little Alexander had outgrown. She’d probably brought it back to pass it on to some other child. He stroked the soft, finely woven cloth. Reynard had urged him to forget the matter of the babe. But how was he to do that when there were going to be these constant reminders?

  He turned as the door opened. Nicola stepped in the room. She looked at him and then the child’s garment in his hand. The blood seemed to leave her face.

  He had a perfect right to inspect his wife’s things, but he still felt wrong-footed and embarrassed for doing so. But he was not so flustered that he failed to notice her reaction. The expression on her face could only be described as one of dread. He told himself not to think about the reason she was afraid. Having come here to start over with her, he could not let a little scrap of cloth deter him.

  He put the tunic back in the bag and set it on the floor. Then he met her gaze. “I came looking for you. I wanted to say that I am sorry.”

  ****

  Sorry? He was sorry? For what? For snooping in her things? And what did he make of Simon’s shirt? Had he guessed the truth? Nay, that was impossible.

  A frown creased his forehead. “Nicola, since I arrived here I haven’t dealt with you in a way that was considerate, or even reasonable. I want you to understand why. Before I killed him, Mortimer taunted me. He said you warned him I was coming; he implied you didn’t want me to prevail.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve heard other rumors as well. That you had put some sort of curse on Mortimer, and caused him to lose his wits and his will. That you dosed him with some potion that robbed him of his manhood. And then, of course, there is the matter of the child you bore…our son.” His voice wavered. Then he continued, his tone once again steady. “FitzSaer told me you had killed the babe. He took me to the grave. When I saw that there was no marker or sign of remembrance there, I thought…I thought his words must be true.”

  He turned back to the window, as if even now, he could still not quite overcome his doubts, and he didn’t want her to know. Then he faced her again.

  “We got off to a bad start in our marriage. I want us to begin again. Do you think that’s possible?”

  If he wanted to start over, with everything open and honest between them, then this was the perfect moment to tell him about Simon. But if she told him now, he would know she had lied to him many times. That might arouse his doubts all over again.

  Rapid footsteps sounded on the stairs, then a banging on the door. “Milady! Do you know where Lord Fawkes is? There’s a fire in the village and we need his knights to help put it out!”

  Fawkes strode to the door and opened it to reveal a flushed and breathless page. “Where’s the fire? What happened?”

  The page, Thomas, froze for a moment, as if startled to find Fawkes there. Then he blurted out, “It’s the healer’s house. It’s ablaze.”

  “Is Glennyth all right? Did she get out?” Fawkes demanded of the page.

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t there. One of the villagers came to the castle and told me to fetch you.”

  Fawkes pushed past the page and raced down the stairs.

  Thomas looked at Nicola, eyes wide. “What should I do now?”

  “Go through the castle and tell everyone to fetch a bucket or pan anything that will hold water and hurry down to the river.”

  Thomas nodded and was gone. Nicola wished she knew how bad the fire was. If Glennyth’s cottage were truly ablaze, it would take a huge amount of water to put it out. But if part of the structure was not yet burning, they could soak sheepskins and hides in water and use them to smother the flames or at least keep them from spreading. But Glennyth’s house was full of dried herbs, perfect fuel for a fire. By the time they got the sheepskins to the river and then to the house, it would probably be too late.

  And the healer—had she gotten out? Was she injured? Even if she was safe, it was likely some of those fighting the fire would end up getting burned. She’d better fetch healing ointment and some bandages. As Nicola started down the stairs to get the things, she had the awful thought that after this fire, her small stash of medicines might be all that was left at Valmar.

  By the time she reached the village, a line of people extended from the river, rapidly passing containers from one to the next. She ran past them to the common and across it to Glennyth’s cottage. Half of it was a blackened ruin. The other half smoked and steamed but was no longer aflame. She looked around frantically for Glennyth and saw her nearby, staring gloomily at the wreck of her home. Next to Glennyth was Reynard. They we
re both disheveled and streaked with soot, Reynard even more so than Glennyth.

  Nicola rushed to them. “Are you both well?”

  “I am,” said Glennyth. “But Reynard’s hands and face are burned.”

  Reynard’s clothing and hair were also singed. Nicola shot a questioning glance at the healer.

  “He went into the fire to fetch Tom.” She nodded to the bundle in her arms—Glennyth’s cat.

  “I wasn’t home when the fire broke out,” Glennyth said. “Thankfully, I came back and discovered it before the flames had spread too far. But Tom was sleeping in the loft, and I was afraid he hadn’t gotten out. I was in a panic. When Reynard arrived, he soaked himself in the river and then went in after Tom.”

  Nicola looked back at Reynard. There were reddened patches on both cheeks and his chin, but his face didn’t look too bad. “Your hands. Let me see.”

  Wincing, Reynard held put out his hands and showed the raw-looking flesh on the backs of them.

  Nicola turned to Glennyth. “I brought some all-heal ointment.” She dug in her basket and retrieved the pottery jar.

  Glennyth nodded. “That will help. I’m glad you had some on hand. All of mine is likely gone.” She gazed bleakly at the smoking cottage. “’Twill take me a year or more to replace my supplies. That is, if I decide to remain at Valmar.”

  “What do you mean?” Reynard sounded alarmed. “Where would you go?”

  Glennyth gave him a bitter look. “Mayhap I’ll go to some village that appreciates a wise woman rather than seeking to burn her out.”

  “You think the fire was set deliberately?” Nicola was horrified.

  Glennyth turned to her. “How else could it have started? All was well when I left.”

  Nicola felt a chill. Because of her role as wise woman, Glennyth knew many secrets about the people in the village. Secrets that might make someone see her as a threat. There were also people who resented Glennyth. Men who thought women should not have so much authority, and women who were jealous.

  “We must find out who did this,” Nicola said. “They must be held accountable, and pay to rebuild your home and replace your belongings that were destroyed or damaged.”

  “How will you find that person and prove they are responsible?” Glennyth snapped.

  “I will find a way. I vow this act will not go unpunished.” They all turned to see Fawkes standing on the pathway to the common. His eyes were dark with anger and his jaw tight.

  He motioned to the smoking cottage. “I will have my knights continue to douse the fire, to make certain it is truly out. The rest of you should go back to the castle.”

  “This is my home,” Glennyth said. “I don’t want to leave it.”

  “You can’t sleep here,” Fawkes said bluntly. “Besides, if someone seeks to do you harm, you’ll be safer at the castle.”

  Reynard took a step toward Glennyth. “I’ll make sure of that.”

  “Where will I sleep?” Glennyth regarded him skeptically. “With you in the knights’ quarters?” Her caustic tone made it clear how appalled she was by the idea.

  “There’s a bedchamber in the lord’s tower,” Nicola said. “No one is using it.”

  “I couldn’t sleep there.” Glennyth was clearly aghast. “Many people at the castle already resent me. If you put me in such a fine bedchamber, that will cause me more trouble.”

  “We’ll say that Reynard’s wounds need tending, and you’re staying there to take care of him,” Nicola said. “Burns are always at risk of putrefying. Everyone knows that.”

  “Burns?” Fawkes stared at Reynard. “I didn’t know anyone was injured.”

  Nicola spoke up: “Reynard saved Tom from the fire.”

  “Tom? You mean, Thomas, the page? But I just saw him.” Fawkes frowned.

  “Nay, Tom, Glennyth’s cat.” Nicola pointed to the bundle in Glennyth’s arms. “He was sleeping in the loft when the fire broke out. Reynard rescued him.”

  “How noble of him.” Fawkes glowered at Reynard, although his mouth twitched, giving away his amusement. “You went into a burning building to rescue a cat.”

  Reynard made a sheepish gesture.

  “Tom isn’t merely a cat. He’s my family,” Glennyth grumbled.

  “Well, what’s done is done.” Fawkes turned to Glennyth. “As Nicola said, you will stay with Reynard and tend his wounds. If he suffers ill from this, you will owe me a debt.” He nodded to Nicola. “Take them to the castle and get them settled. I will deal with things here.”

  ****

  After they left, Fawkes made certain the fire was out, then ordered the knights who’d been fetching water to return to castle. The villagers who were helping also left, either back to their own homes, or to clear away what remained from the Lammas celebration. Due to the fire, festivities had been cut short. No one was in the mood for music and dancing now. Fawkes wondered how the villagers would react to being cheated out of an evening of revelry. Would they blame Glennyth?

  Fawkes approached the ruins of the cottage. If the hearthfire had caused the blaze, the damage should be greatest in that area. Instead, the portion of the dwelling that had burned most fiercely was the side facing the forest. The only way that made sense was if the fire had started there. Had someone crept up to that side of the cottage, doused the wood with oil and set it alight? The wood would burn slowly at first, but eventually the fire would reach the herbs inside the cottage and turn into a fierce blaze.

  Fawkes frowned at the smoking building. He would have to speak to Glennyth. She implied there were several people who resented and disliked her. Like Eadulf, who blamed Glennyth for the loss of his potency, and who had accused her publicly of putting an evil spell on him.

  Fawkes walked back to the castle, his mind swirling with thoughts. He was worried about Reynard’s wounds and troubled by the cause of the fire. And then there was Nicola. Before Thomas arrived with news of the fire, Nicola had seemed on the verge of telling him something. Somehow he had to get things between them back to where they had been before the page’s arrival.

  At the castle, he headed for the lord’s tower. He encountered Nicola on the stairs. “Glennyth gave Reynard some poppy juice to help him sleep,” she said. “It might be better if you don’t disturb them.”

  “Poppy juice? Where did she get poppy juice? I thought all her herbs and potions were destroyed in the fire.”

  “I gave her the juice. I have my own store of medicine. Some of it is from Glennyth, and some from the peddler who visits now and again.”

  “I’m glad to know you have some healing potions stored away. That means everything wasn’t destroyed in the fire.”

  Nicola motioned. “I wish to speak to you about the fire, but I don’t want anyone to hear.” She led the way to her bedchamber. When the door was shut, she turned to him. “We must find out who set the fire.”

  “I agree.”

  “We can’t let this pass. I think whoever caused the fire meant to do more than destroy Glennyth’s livelihood. I think they meant to kill her.”

  “She’s that much hated?”

  “It could be a way to strike at me.”

  “You? Why would setting the fire and killing Glennyth be an attack on you?”

  “Because Glennyth is my friend. And because she was involved in things I’m blamed for: Mortimer’s decline and the tales I used witchcraft to destroy him.”

  Fawkes nodded thoughtfully. “For that matter, I suppose it’s possible the fire was set as a means of discrediting me as the new lord.”

  Her eyes widened. “I had not thought of that.”

  “Do you think I have enemies here who might do such a thing? Are there people in the village who don’t accept my right to rule Valmar?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I did.” She sighed. “It’s all so upsetting.”

  At this moment, he could do naught about the fire and who caused it. But he must let her know he meant to protect her. He drew near. “Don’t worry, Nicola. I will
keep you safe.”

  ****

  A tremor went through Nicola. No one other than her father had ever promised such a thing. Could she trust Fawkes to honor his words? And why did he promise her this? Was it because he truly cared for her? Or did he see her as the key to possessing Valmar, and valuable for that reason?

  At this moment, she found she didn’t care. She let him pull her into his arms. He was so big and solid and strong. It was a comfort to have him close. To feel his muscular arms around her. As she rested her head against his broad chest, she felt the tension in her body drain away. It was a relief to feel like she didn’t have to do everything herself. To realize she had someone to help her deal with this matter of the fire.

  It was like being a little girl again, safe and secure in her father’s arms, where nothing could harm her. And yet it wasn’t quite like that. Even as she relaxed against Fawkes, she felt flickers of arousal. This wasn’t her father holding her, but her lover.

  She thought about their first encounter and how her anger and resentment had slowly melted away as he explored her body with tender, almost reverent caresses. He had seemed so young then. She had been young, too. Although that day was only four years in the past, it seemed a lifetime ago. They were much different people now. He a hardened knight instead of a boyish squire. And she no longer a pampered, spoiled girl, but a wife and mother.

  Life had tested them and made them stronger. But it had also made them wary. Both of them feared letting down their guard and risking true intimacy. And yet, he was taking the first step in holding her like this. Not like a lover, but as someone to lean on, someone to trust. If he was willing to risk himself at this moment, she must take a risk as well.

  She turned in his arms, so her breasts were pressed against his chest. A moment later she was rewarded by the unmistakable feel of his shaft prodding her belly. In an instant they were back to the incendiary passion that burned between them from the beginning.

  She raised her face and kissed him. As the familiar fire flared, she felt him holding back. This time he was letting her set the pace and take control. Exhilarated, she nibbled at his lips with teasing, tantalizing kisses and then kissed along his hard, stubbled jaw. Down to the hollow of his throat, tasting the salt of his skin and his warm, earthy scent. She went back to kissing his mouth. Daringly, she used her tongue to coax his lips open and explored the silken cavern within, savoring the textures of teeth and tongue and lips.