by Jo Beverley
"Aye." His father eyed him as he would an unpredictable and possibly ungovernable new war-horse. "Only five, I think. But we don't know how the allegiance of the others stands. They're mostly Heywood men and could count their allegiance toward old Fulk and his daughter rather than you."
"Nevertheless, I'm going in with just my men."
"God's breath, Galeran—"
Galeran cut his father off with a look. "I want this to be my rightful homecoming, not an armed invasion. If they cut me down, then do your worst."
His younger brother, Gilbert, was turning red in, the face. "If they so much as scrape you, Galeran, I'll roast Lowick over a slow fire. That I vow! And as for that bitch—"
Galeran stopped him with a look too. "No one will touch Jehanne except me. No one."
"Fine," said Gilbert with a snarl, "but I want to watch!"
Before Galeran could respond to that, a man burst in. "My lords, the gates are opening!"
Thank God.
Galeran fought the need to collapse with relief and turned on his heel to sweep out like the vengeful lord and master he was supposed to be.
The woods clamored with bird song now, and the sun pinkened the rim of the sky, shooting the first bright rays up into the gloom. It was the first dawn chorus Galeran had heard since coming home, and despite everything, his heart swelled.
He looked toward Heywood, and even through the morning mist the sun touched the white walls gold, showing clearly the open castle gate and the uncertain dark beyond.
Today the walls were bare of people—soldiers or women.
He gestured for his horse, the simple gelding he'd bought in Stockton. Raoul brought him over, along with his own mount.
"This is no business of yours," Galeran said. "My family is staying here to see if I'm spitted on sight. You could stay with them."
"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for a whole beam of the True Cross."
"I'm glad we're providing you with entertainment."
Galeran mounted and turned to his men, the small group who had returned with him from the Holy Land. "Remember, this is my castle, held by my wife. I expect to be welcomed. But we do not know for certain who holds the power in Heywood. If there's trouble, I want no heroics. Break free and return to the camp to serve under my father. He will avenge me."
There was a muttering of discontent, but Galeran said, "On your oaths, obey me."
Then he turned his horse toward his home.
Nothing moved. The castle appeared deserted—almost magically so in the dawn light and mist—but it couldn't be. With the encircling army drawn back, it was possible that a few people had slipped away, but not the whole garrison and population. Heywood normally held some fifty people.
He hoped that Lowick had gone. That was a good part of the reason for the delay in surrender. Having to kill the man would only complicate a complex situation.
Galeran's greatest fear was that Jehanne and his son had left with him.
He rode forward bareheaded again, so that no one could have any doubt that he was in truth Galeran of Heywood, lord of this demesne. So that no one could claim they fired on him by mistake.
No arrow hummed out of a narrow slit. No cross-bow bolt streaked to pierce him. Then he was before the walls, too close for that kind of attack.
His skin prickled as he clattered through the open gate and into the shadow of the thick stone walls. There was a murder hole in the arch here that could pour down pitch or scorching sand....
But nothing fell, and beyond in the bailey the garrison stood in two rigid lines, awaiting him.
They looked scared to death.
As well they might.
Some of the weight slid from Galeran's shoulders. This part, at least, was going to be all right.
He rode into their midst, halted, and dismounted, the jingle of harness and rattle of his mail the only sounds. Signaling to his men to stay on their horses just in case, he slowly, silently, looked around.
Beyond the rigid, pale-faced soldiers, the castle folk hovered nervously, women clutching wide-eyed children, old people staring with predictions of suffering in their weary eyes.
Where was Jehanne?
She wouldn't be with the peasantry. If this were a normal homecoming, she would be on the keep steps waiting to give him a formal welcome. She might even be running down into the bailey to greet him with a smile and an edged comment denied by glowing eyes.
She was nowhere to be seen.
If she had fled with her lover, should he let her go?
Not if she'd taken his son.
The dense silence pressed on him, almost strangling speech, but he swallowed and raised his voice. "Does anyone here not accept me as his liege, as lord of this demesne?"
Silence answered him, but silence lightened by hope.
Galeran wanted only to ask about Jehanne, to race into the castle and search for her, but he had a part to play here. He moved with dignity to the steps and mounted to the second.
Before he could speak again, a man came forward and knelt at his feet, bare head bent. Walter of Matlock, captain of the garrison. "Lord Galeran, be merciful. We were left in your lady's command, and had word you were dead. We served as we thought right."
"Rise, Walter. No man will suffer for having obeyed my lady as he was bid."
The sergeant-at-arms rose and Galeran saw tears of relief in his eyes. In wanting to give Lowick time to escape, he'd inflicted a night of fear on these men and on their families.
He went quickly down the steps and kissed Walter lightly on the cheek, the kiss of peace. "It is as it was, Walter. There is no need even for a renewal of oaths." He spoke loud enough to be heard, and relief rippled through the bailey like a breeze. People started to mutter, and as if released from constraint, a child cried.
"I assume none of Lowick's men are here," Galeran said quietly.
"They left in the night, my lord." Walter flashed him a look. "We didn't try to stop them."
Galeran even found a smile for that. "Wise man."
He didn't want to ask, but had to in the end. "And the Lady Jehanne?"
The man's face went carefully blank. "Awaits you in the hall, I believe, my lord."
Another weight slid from Galeran's shoulders, leaving him light, almost too light. It was hard to think, hard even to feel in solid contact with the ground beneath his feet.
But Lowick was gone, and Jehanne was here. Perhaps something could be done to put the pieces together again.
He turned to Raoul and his men. "Stay here, care for the horses, settle in. Oh, and send word back to my father that all is well and he may enter when it pleases him."
Then, as the sun burst up to bring a new day, Galeran climbed the wooden stairs to the entrance of his keep.
To walk into the hall was to walk back into chill and gloom, though the first shafts of golden light criss-crossed from the narrow windows. For a moment he was blind, and when his dogs fawned around him, he had not seen them coming.
He greeted them, for that at least was a simple matter and gave him a little time.
Then he looked up and saw a bunch of women in one corner—Jehanne's women. His wife, however, stood apart in the center of the large chamber, her own two black hunting dogs by her side. She wore her favorite colors—blue and cream—and her long hair was disciplined into thick, neat plaits bound with blue ribbons to match her eyes. She stood there calmly, as if waiting to greet a stranger with neither excitement nor fear.
But then, Jehanne never gave away more than she intended.
A lump lodged at the top of Galeran's throat, and he wanted quite desperately to crush her to him.
He might have done it were it not for the tiny baby in her arms.
Her bastard child.
Trust Jehanne to face him with her sin proclaimed.
Where was Gallot? Galeran glanced around but saw only her wide-eyed, frightened women. Wise, he thought, to keep an older, more aware child out of this.
So, how had hi
s clever, wise wife put them in this situation?
He walked forward, unusually aware of the rattle and clink of his mail and the fact that it hadn't been off his body in days. He must stink. What was Jehanne seeing? Perhaps he did appear a stranger. His stubble had almost attained the status of a beard, and there were new scars to mar him.
His dogs had known him on the instant. Her hounds, too well-behaved to leave their mistress without permission, still thumped their tails in welcome.
Only she seemed indifferent.
But she wasn't indifferent. As he drew closer, her control cracked a little and her eyes widened and grew intent. He couldn't tell, however, if she was terrified or merely surprised by his appearance.
He stopped in front of her, marveling at how little she had changed. She matched almost perfectly the image of his dreams.
Two pregnancies had not rounded her, though her breasts were bigger at the moment, doubtless full of the bastard's milk. Apart from that, she was perhaps a little thinner and paler than he remembered, but just as beautiful. Her skin still had the pearly translucence that had always fascinated him, her eyes were still a clear blue. Her hair still made him think of gold and silver threads spun by fairies, and tendrils still escaped to curl around her face as they had always done.
Why, Jehanne? Why?
If she heard the silent question, she did not answer. She simply met his eyes in silence. He supposed there wasn't much to say unless she fell on her knees like Walter to beg for mercy.
He knew she'd rather die.
What would she do, though, if he threatened her brat? Would that break her? He was immediately ashamed of that vicious thought.
"Lowick?" he asked.
"Has left." Unlike her familiar clear voice, it came out huskily and he saw her swallow to clear her throat.
"Did he want you to leave with him?"
"Yes. But I am no use to him without Heywood."
Then why? Why give yourself to a man who valued you so little? Did he lie to you? I thought you were impossible to lie to.
"Did you want to go?"
She held the child a little closer. "I was afraid to stay," she whispered.
"But you did stay."
With quiet composure she added, "I am your wife and this is my home."
Galeran looked away at the anxious women, grasping a moment to think. One face scowled rather than trembled. Jehanne's sturdy young cousin, Aline, was there. He'd forgotten she'd left St. Radegund's convent to bear Jehanne company during his absence. What had the almost-nun made of all this, and why was she frowning at him? But then, she had eyebrows that generally gave a severe impression.
His favorite and most intelligent hound, Grua, picked up the mood and whimpered, pressing close. Stroking the smooth head, Galeran wished Aline and Grua could instantly tell him all they knew.
Why had he imagined that his first moments with Jehanne would provide answers? Or any he wanted to hear. She hadn't denied wanting to leave with Lowick, and she'd as good as said that it was only duty that kept her in their home.
Jehanne had always held to duty, guarding her honor as fiercely as any man.
So why had she done what she had done?
Was it simply that she'd thought him dead? Duty would surely demand more evidence than a rumor, and more mourning time as well.
And if she'd truly thought him dead, why had she not married her lover?
Distant noises told him his father was arriving in the bailey, already blistering the castle people in the way Galeran had not. The bellowing voice grew louder as Lord William began to mount the stairs to the hall, still berating any and all for this affront on his family's honor.
Lord William, who blustered and raged but could not stand to see a woman hurt.
Galeran walked back to Jehanne. "Give the babe to his nurse."
Jehanne's eyes widened slightly, but after a noticeable hesitation she obeyed and passed the sleeping child over.
"Fall," he said quietly, and timing it to coincide with his father's entrance, he hit his wife.
It was no playful tap, but Jehanne could have stayed on her feet. For a moment instinct kept her there, bringing a flash of outrage into her eyes, but then she crumpled, hand to reddened cheek.
Her dogs leaped to defend her, but Galeran grabbed her arm anyway. He was mailed. The dogs could do their worst.
Perhaps that's why she snapped, "Sit!"
Galeran began to haul her up, but was stopped from further violence by Lord William's iron grip. "Hey, now, lad, we don't want you killing her, for all she's done."
He broke Galeran's hold on Jehanne and thrust him into the restraining custody of Will and Gilbert. Then he went forward to raise his erring daughter-in-law, berating her, but assuring her that she'd be safe in his protection.
Gilbert growled, "You should have beaten her before Father arrived. You know how soft-hearted he is about women!"
Will said, "For once I agree with Gil. Now that he's promised her his protection, he'll not let you touch her."
"You can get a Church court to impose a penance," mused Gilbert. "Father can't interfere with that. Or when you send her to a convent, order her a daily whipping for a year...."
Galeran let it wash over him. He'd planned on being stopped by his father, knowing the best way to melt his father's anger and get Lord William on Jehanne's side was to hit her. What sickened him was that he'd found it satisfying to hit her; his move to follow, to grab her and hit her harder, had not been acting.
He sent up a fervent prayer for strength and control.
He shrugged out of his brothers' loosening hold and went over to where his father was scolding Jehanne as if she'd just spent too much at the midsummer fair. He made peace with her confused hounds, then said, "Enough of that, Father. I want to talk to my wife in private. I promise not to hit her again. Today at least."
At his tone her dogs weaved between them, as if trying to separate them. Jehanne reassured them and sent them to the far side of the hall, away from their dilemma.
Lord William seemed just as concerned as the dogs, as if he, too, would like to get between them, but he stepped back. "Away with you, then."
Galeran seized Jehanne's arm and steered her toward the solar. He knew his grip was too tight, but his fury seemed to have traveled to his hand and he couldn't control it. The last time he remembered being so unable to control himself was on his wedding night.
It was like his wedding night in other ways too. Pent-up desire simmered in him, threatening to overwhelm at any moment. He was again like a dead tree ready to burst into flame at a spark.
He had every right, too. Every right to throw Jehanne down and enjoy her body. Every right. Even if he were about to cast her off.
He dragged her into the solar, kicked the door shut, and released her with a violence that staggered her. He saw that her face was red and would bruise. Despite his promise to his father, she looked as if she expected more of the same.
He turned abruptly to put the width of the room between them, to rest his head on his arms against the hanging that covered the rough stone wall. "I'm sorry. I seem to be violent today."
"I don't think you need reproach yourself for that." She spoke softly, but every word was clear.
"Such violence serves no purpose."
"That blow did."
He pushed away and turned, leaning against the wall, arms folded. "I wanted to hit you, Jehanne."
"If our situations were reversed, I'd want to kill you."
He looked at her, testing the implications of her words. "Would you indeed?"
Now it was she who turned away, moving to fuss with the hangings around the bed. Their bed. Where she and Lowick had...?
"No," she said. "I wouldn't want you dead. But I'd want you punished. I'd find a way to make you suffer." She turned stiffly. "What punishment, Galeran? Don't play with me."
"What would hurt you most? Beating? No." He was playing with her and wasn't proud of it, but didn't seem ab
le to stop. "To take the babes away, I suppose..."
She stared, turning sheet-white. "Galeran!"
Ashamed, he pushed away from the wall to go to her. "Don't, Jehanne. I didn't mean it—"
"Didn't they tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
She whirled and raced into the hall. Without a pause she picked up a pitcher of ale and hurled it full in Lord William's face, flinging the stone jug after. Fortunately he was still agile enough to duck, and the pot smashed on the wall.
Even over his father's bellow Galeran could hear Jehanne screaming, "Why didn't you tell him? How could you not have told him? "
He grabbed her before his father overcame a lifetime's scruples and beat a woman. "Told me what?"
She was rigid in his arms. Rigid as stone, or a corpse.
The dogs were all around them again, whining.
Lord William wiped his red face with a cloth hurriedly presented to him. "I thought you'd had enough blows for one day, lad...."
"Told me what?"
"Gallot's dead, Galeran," said Jehanne icily. "It was all for nothing. He's dead."
Into the silence Gilbert said, "Don't forget the rest, you frozen-hearted bitch. You killed him to make way for your lover's bastard."
* * *
In the end Galeran ordered his wife into guarded confinement in the small nursing chamber next to the solar, more to protect her from others than to punish her. He couldn't even begin to comprehend what had happened in his absence and wasn't ready to try. Days of hard traveling had left him unfit for this crisis, and his poor rest the night before was merely masking exhaustion.
He took refuge alone in the solar, looking sightlessly out of the narrow window.
His firstborn son was dead before he'd ever held him, and some people suspected that Jehanne had in some way caused the death. He'd gathered that much from the cacophony of information before he'd shut it off.
Later.
He'd handle it later.
His tired eyes followed the road away from the castle, into the nearby woods. It drew him, but running away once was enough for any grown man.
He needed sleep but knew his tormented mind would not permit it yet, and anyway, it was only morning. There was a day to get through.
