Lady of Steel

by Mary Gillgannon

  “But why would she lie about something like that? Why let everyone think she’d killed her child and then hide the boy away all this time?”

  “Maybe FitzSaer is the boy’s father.”

  Reynard shook his head. “As much as I mistrust Nicola and doubt her feelings for you, I can’t believe she has any fondness for FitzSaer. And why did she tell me about the conversation with this priest and the whole business with de Ronay? If she’d kept quiet, we would never have known what was happening until it was too late to do anything.”

  “First, you accuse her of wanting me dead. Now you defend her. Which is it, Reynard?”

  Fawkes knew what he felt. He could not believe that everything between Nicola and him was a lie. He could not accept that. No one could feign the sort of passion they’d shared.

  Unless that’s all it was. Passion. Perhaps Nicola desired him in bed and reveled in their lovemaking, but never let it touch her heart. He’d never known a woman to be so cold, but it wasn’t impossible. Nicola’s experience with Mortimer might have damaged her somehow. Killed her normal womanly feelings. She might be incapable of caring for anyone but her son.

  Fawkes closed his eyes. The thought of Nicola not loving him made him feel unbearably desolate.

  “I don’t know what to think,” Reynard said. “We have to find out if this tale about the babe is true. But who can we ask?”

  “Old Emma must know.”

  “But she’s been Nicola’s maidservant since Nicola was a child. She would give her life to protect her lady.”

  Fawkes sighed wearily. “I feel like I’m being torn apart. One part of me is utterly convinced Nicola loves me and would never betray me. But she has all these secrets. There are things she’s done that make no sense at all. No sense, unless…” Fawkes let his voice trail off. He would not say it. It was impossible Nicola cared nothing for him.

  “When Old Emma comes back, we’ll ask her,” he said. “Nicola may be clever and devious enough to fool us. But plain, solid Old Emma will tell the truth.”

  Even as they waited for the servant, there was a clatter on the stairs. Gilbert de Vescy rushed into the room. His eyes were wild. “Fawkes! Reynard! I’ve just escaped from the oubliette at Mordeaux. Adam FitzSaer is the fiend behind all of it!”

  They stared at the haggard-looking knight. “Tell us,” Fawkes said.

  Gilbert took a deep breath. “It started several days ago. I’m not certain exactly how long. Someone knocked me unconscious. When I awoke, I was in the oubliette. I’ve been there all this time. Until today, when Lady Nicola set me free.”

  Fawkes exchanged a look with Reynard. “Nicola set you free? Where is she?”

  “She stayed at Mordeaux to search for Hilary and the children, and the healer, Glennyth. They’ve disappeared. Nicola helped me out of the oubliette and showed me a secret tunnel leading out of the keep. I rode here as fast as I could.”

  “Now Glennyth is missing.” Reynard sounded as overwhelmed as Fawkes felt.

  Gilbert ran his hand though his disheveled, silver-threaded brown hair. “I’m sorry, my lord. I should never have left Lady Nicola there. But she ordered me to leave her. What do we do now? If we send an armed force to Mordeaux, FitzSaer might hurt my family.” He took a ravaged breath. “I can’t bear being so helpless.”

  Gilbert had no idea, Fawkes thought grimly. A man could hardly be more helpless than he was now, weak, burning with fever and unable to get out of bed. He wanted nothing so much as to lie back and sleep for hours.

  “Perhaps someone could get inside the castle using the secret entrance,” Reynard suggested. “Then they could find FitzSaer and kill or imprison him.”

  “’Twill not be easy,” Gilbert said. “FitzSaer is certain to be on guard, now that I’ve escaped. He may have discovered the passageway and closed it up.”

  “Where does this passageway lead inside the castle?” Reynard asked.

  “It goes to a cellar where they store the winter vegetables.”

  “We need to find someone who knows the layout of Mordeaux castle,” Fawkes said. “Once they get inside, they can find out who supports FitzSaer and who does not.”

  Gilbert nodded. “I could do it. Except if FitzSaer discovers me, he might do something to my family.” His blue eyes darkened with anguish.

  Fawkes noted that Gilbert spoke of his family. Did that mean Alys was wrong and the little boy wasn’t really Nicola’s son? Fawkes wanted to ask, but right now there were more pressing issues.

  Gilbert narrowed his eyes. “We could get someone who regularly goes to the castle to find out more. I could talk to the villeins who live nearby. Some of the women regularly bring produce to the kitchen. I should have spoken to them before I came here. But I knew I had to come here immediately and tell you what’s happening. Now I should go back. Not to get inside the castle, but to find someone who can.”

  A wave of dizziness passed over Fawkes, and for a moment he worried he might faint. He didn’t want Gilbert see how weak he was. He motioned brusquely. “Go. Take a knight or two. Reynard, get them whatever they need.”

  Reynard told Gilbert he would meet him in the hall. After Gilbert left, Reynard leaned near to the bed. “What’s wrong, Fawkes? You don’t look well. Is it the fever?”

  Eyes closed, he nodded. “It makes me dizzy and muddle-headed.”

  “Try to rest. I’ll organize some men to accompany Gilbert. Then I’ll be back.”

  After Reynard left, Fawkes tried to sleep, but his agonized thoughts kept him from true slumber. Did Nicola care for him? Or was she plotting with FitzSaer to kill him off? And what of the babe? Was that all a cruel tale told by Alys to torment him, or was Nicola’s baby alive? And who was the father? Him, or another man?

  It was all a jumble. As if one of the glass windows in the solar had been shattered and he was trying to put the pieces back together. It seemed far too difficult to do in his weakened state. And what was the point? His fever was worsening, which meant his wound had turned poisoned and he was probably going to die.

  He must have finally dozed. Next thing he knew, Old Emma was wiping his face with a cool wet cloth.

  “Are you in pain? Do you want some poppy?”

  “No more poppy.” Too many important things were happening for him to have his wits confused. “But I could use more water.”

  “Of course, milord.”

  Old Emma poured him a cup of water. After he drank it, Fawkes grasped Old Emma’s plump hand. “There’s something I must ask you. When Alys was supposedly taking care of me, she told me…she told me Nicola’s babe didn’t die. She said that all this time the boy has been living at Mordeaux.”

  Old Emma fixed him with a steady gaze. “I wondered when you would find out. Nicola should have told you long ago. I urged her to do so many times.”

  “You mean it’s true?”

  “Aye.”

  “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “In the beginning she was too afraid.”

  Fawkes jerked his hand away from the servant’s. “Did she really think me so depraved and cruel she thought I would harm the child?”

  Old Emma’s dark eyes grew sorrowful. “I’m afraid Mortimer was capable of doing exactly that. That’s why she had to hide the child away when he was born. When you came… Well, she didn’t really know you, milord. One afternoon she’d spent with you, and then only in bed. Also, there were these tales of you killing the Saracen prisoners, one after another.”

  “I never killed women or children! I’m not completely without conscience!”

  “I know. I know, my lord.” Old Emma patted his good arm. “By the time we realized you weren’t a monster like Mortimer, Nicola had already lied. Having learned of the tales some of Mortimer’s men were telling about her, she was afraid you wouldn’t believe her.”

  “Not believe her? All she had to do was produce the child. I could hardly deny the boy’s existence!”

  “Nay, not about that. About the fact that the bo
y is your son.”

  Fawkes focused on the servant’s face. Was this another tale meant to manipulate him? “Of course the boy is my son.” His voice was harsh with sarcasm. “That’s why Nicola hid him from me for weeks. Because she thought I would be upset to learn I had a strong healthy son. It makes perfect sense!”

  “I haven’t seen him since he was born, but Nicola says Simon doesn’t resemble you in the least. Indeed, she insists anyone looking at him would think he was Mortimer’s get.”

  “She thought I would despise the boy as I did the man and do something to him?” He could not keep the resentment from his voice. How could Nicola think him capable of such cruelty?

  “Well, not hurt him, nay. But deprive him of his birthright, his rights as her heir.”

  “That’s all Nicola thought about, her child’s birthright? That was more important than telling me he was alive? She could not tell me even after we got past the early awkwardness and doubts? Even after we…” He couldn’t say it. If he told Old Emma how close he felt to Nicola when they made love, she would think him an utter fool. Only young maids believed in such fancies.

  Old Emma made a helpless gesture. “I know, my lord. My lady can be witless sometimes. It’s because of Mortimer. The things he did when they were first married were so awful, she never got over it. I know you’ve heard the tale that she poisoned Mortimer and turned him into a shell of what he once was. But even after he lost his will, she never felt safe. Then you came and killed Mortimer. It should have made everything right. Yet even that didn’t allay her fears. So she lied to you. By the time she realized you weren’t going to turn into a beast like Mortimer, she couldn’t see a way past the lies.”

  Old Emma’s explanation sounded ridiculous. Yet, who was he to say? He’d never experienced the sense of powerlessness Nicola must have felt, at the mercy of a deranged, violent husband. He looked Old Emma directly in the eye. “You say the child is my son? You’re certain?”

  “Aye, my lord. If Nicola ever lay with anyone else, I would have known of it. I was never far from her bedchamber in those days.”

  Nicola had a son and the boy was his. He should be elated. But all he could think of was that the child was somewhere inside Mordeaux castle. If they could not find him and get him out before this army arrived, his son might end up a hostage.

  Maybe that’s what Nicola had planned. Perhaps as Reynard suggested, she was working with FitzSaer, intending to surrender the castle to Prince John. Her plan might be to get rid of him so she could wed someone else. Some wealthy lord, a man of her own rank.

  He had to know. So far, Old Emma had been honest with him. Would she tell him the truth about what Nicola felt for him?

  The elderly maidservant was fussing with the covers on the bed. He reached out with his good hand and grasped her arm. “There’s something else I need to know.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  “How does…how does Nicola feel about me? Is she pleased to have me for her husband?”

  Old Emma made a choked sound. Then she grinned at him. “Pleased? Nay, more like you are the answer to her dreams. She never forgot you from that afternoon you spent in her bed. She’s in love with you, milord. Do not doubt it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Nicola paced back and forth in her prison, cursing FitzSaer. And cursing her father for designing the oubliette so there was no chance a prisoner could escape. Someone would have to rescue her, or she was doomed. If Gilbert managed to get to Valmar, he would send rescue. But how long would that take? In the meantime she had no idea what was happening.

  The fury and frustration built inside her until she felt she would explode. So much of her life had been spent like this, waiting for others to decide her fate. She was always at the mercy of someone, usually a man. Being helpless had shaped her life. It had also caused her to make terrible mistakes. Like plotting with the priest and Prince John. And all the lies she’d told Fawkes. She should have trusted him long ago. Then Simon would be at Valmar, instead of missing, and Fawkes likely wouldn’t be injured.

  All that time she wasted, when she and Fawkes could have been happy together. Now he might die and she would never have a chance to tell him she loved him. Tears filled her eyes and her throat grew tight and aching. So many foolish choices. And because of them, she might have lost everything.

  She slumped to the ground, feeling the deep chill of the oubliette floor seep through her gown. An ancient, empty cold that seemed to deaden her body even as her heart froze with despair and grief. She could kneel here until her life force ebbed away. Give up the battle, the endless struggle. She’d failed so miserably at her life. What was the point of continuing?

  Then all at once, she saw herself as she would look to FitzSaer if he opened the grate and gazed down at her. He would think he had won. And he would win if she died of despair. He might not end up as the lord of Mordeaux and Valmar, but he would have destroyed the lives of so many people. Her life. Fawkes’s. Simon’s. Gilbert’s, Hilary’s and Joanie’s. Not to mention the knights and servants and villagers who depended on her and on Fawkes.

  Nay, she would not be defeated. She was the lady of Valmar. To give up now would be an insult to the memory of her father, and a cruel blow to everyone in the demesne who depended on her.

  She got to her feet and stood tall and straight. There was still hope. Hope that she would get free. Hope that Fawkes would survive. She must not panic and make foolish decisions, as she had so many times.

  The anguish and despair weighing on her lifted. It was as if telling herself to have hope had freed her and cast away the chains of fear and dread that bound her. She glanced up, wondering if this change in her outlook was a message from God. Even as she did so, she heard footsteps. The grate moved aside and the light of a torch flickered down on her.

  “Lady!” A fervent whisper. “I’m sending down the rope. Do you think you can climb up?”

  “Morwenna? How did you… Send it down and I will try.”

  Summoning all her strength, Nicola clawed her way up the rope. When she was half-way up, Morwenna began to pull. As she neared the top, Nicola grabbed the edge of the opening.

  “Take my hand,” Morwenna said.

  Nicola did so. Morwenna seized her other wrist and dragged her up. Years of lifting heavy pots and pans had made the cook very strong.

  For a few moments Nicola lay panting next to the opening. “Thank you,” she breathed.

  “We must hurry.” Morwenna helped Nicola stand. “I don’t think we should risk taking the torch. Do you think you can find the hidden tunnel without light?”

  “I must.”

  Leaving the torch burning on the wall, they crept up the stairs and through the hall, where a half-dozen knights slept. They hurried to the other side of the castle to the souterrain.

  “I could fetch you a candle from the kitchen,” Morwenna suggested in a whisper.

  “I don’t want to take the time. I’ll have to manage in the dark.”

  “How long will it take you to get out?”

  “Not long.”

  “Good. Goddard, the reeve, is waiting behind the castle. He couldn’t risk taking a horse from the stables, but he has a mule. ’Tis hardly a fitting mount for a lady, but better than nothing.”

  “No matter.” Nicola choked back a laugh. “I’m certain I look nothing like a lady now anyway.” She grasped Morwenna’s right hand. “Thank you. I will make certain you both are rewarded for this. Rewarded handsomely.”

  “For you to get free and sort out this mess, that will be reward enough. I want Gilbert back as castellan. And Hilary and the children in the tower where they belong.”

  “I’ll make certain of it.” Nicola gave Morwenna’s hand another squeeze. Then she fumbled for the door to the souterrain and entered the pitch-dark chamber. She found the tunnel entrance and drew the covering aside, then climbed down into the passageway. After pulling the covering into place, she began her journey.

  He
r shoulders ached, both from climbing the rope and being hunched over. To distract herself, she focused on what she must do next. Ride to Rosebrook where there was a good chance FitzSaer had imprisoned the two women and the children. She would free the captives and send Glennyth on the mule to Valmar, while she and Hillary followed on foot, carrying the children.

  A deep weariness came over her as she thought of walking miles carrying Simon. And what if she was wrong and they weren’t at Rosebrook? She had no other idea of where to look for them.

  Once out of the tunnel, she found the mule tied to a thorn bush. It was still dark, but the light of the waxing moon was enough to see her on her way. And for a time she would be able to follow the river.

  She mounted the mule and urged the animal forward. It obeyed willingly but moved with a slowness that was maddening.

  It was growing light by the time she neared Rosebrook and every inch of her ached. She tied the mule to a tree in the apple orchard behind the manor house and approached the dwelling. Everything seemed quiet, but when she circled around to the front of the house, she saw two knights sprawled out, sleeping by the door. There was no way to get past them. She’d have to get inside by other means.

  She leaned against the side of the house, overwhelmed with fatigue and frustration. Her beloved Simon must be here. And Glennyth, the one person who might be able to save Fawkes’s life. Somehow she had to find a way in.

  Nicola went to the large window on the side of the house and used her dagger to pry open the shutter. At first the wood refused to give way. Then she sought a different angle and was rewarded when the shutter popped open with a sharp creaking sound. Terrified the guards had heard, she waited, the dagger poised in her hand and her heart thrumming in her chest.

  When nothing happened, she returned to her task and finally managed to wrench open the shutters several inches. But she couldn’t climb into the high window. She would have to find something to stand on to reach it. In the outbuilding behind the house, she found a wheelbarrow and quickly maneuvered it in place by the window. Nicola climbed into it, drew the shutters farther apart, and eased herself into the opening. She swiveled her hips and dropped to the floor. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Relief flooded her as she saw Hilary, Joanie, and Simon asleep in the bed.