by Jo Beverley
Could it just be an innocent trip to visit relatives? Galeran would like to believe it, but Jehanne's party had been traveling in haste, and had speeded when pursued. Moreover, he had left clear instructions that his wife was to stay in the castle.
And, of course, there was the bowman.
He didn't want to think about that bowman.
Night settled and the moon was clouded, so they slowed to a walk as they crossed the moors. Galeran heard the nearby convent bell sounding lauds as they came in sight of Burstock.
Burstock Castle was a simpler structure than Brome or Heywood, developed twenty years earlier around an old manor house that sat near a river. A motte had been thrown up behind the house, but it was still crowned only by a simple wooden watchtower. The family lived in the comfortable wood manor house within the palisade.
At this time of night, of course, the gates were firmly closed.
"Will they let us in?" Raoul asked when they drew up some distance away.
His friend's patience was beginning to wear on Galeran's nerves. "Probably, but I think we'll camp here for the night."
"Why?"
"I want to see what happens in the morning."
"We've no food and precious little wine."
"Pretend it's Lent. No fires."
The men weren't happy with the situation, but there were no complaints, which wasn't surprising after Galeran's berserker rage. They must wonder when next that kind of violence would erupt, and who would be on the receiving end.
Galeran wondered too.
He took care of his horse, cooling it, then leading it back a short distance to a stream to drink. He unsaddled it and hobbled it so it could graze on the low moorland growth. He drank some water himself, and washed the blood off his hands and face. There was gore all over his mail and braies, but there wasn't much he could do about that.
He spotted some brambles and pointed out the fruit to his men so they could gather some if they wished. Then he allocated watch hours to each man, with special instructions to wake him if anyone entered or left Burstock.
Having run out of things to do, he rolled up in his cloak.
He could sleep this way if he had to, but doubted he would sleep tonight. He could have kept watch all night, but feared his mind would wander. And anyway; he didn't want to have to talk to Raoul.
One question tormented him: Was Lowick in Burstock, awaiting his leman? Were they even now in a bed, pumping together hot and sweatily, and lamenting that Jehanne had needed to whore with her husband to deflect his suspicions?
His whole body burned again with that desire to kill. He desperately forced himself into calm, seeking more palatable explanations.
He could not think of a one.
Jehanne could have no good reason to leave the safety of her home, where she had been commanded to stay.
Perhaps she knew about the bowman, knew he had been tracking Galeran for days, waiting for an opportunity to kill him and still escape to claim the reward. If Jehanne had been waiting for news of her husband's death, that news of his safe return could have thrown her into a panic, causing her to flee to the nearest refuge.
Though the explanation had a certain plausibility, it didn't sit right in his mind. It didn't fit with what he knew of his wife, and it left Jehanne's warning letter unexplained. Of course that could have been a skillful attempt to deflect suspicion.
Hell's flames, nothing made sense anymore!
Galeran wasn't sure he would recognize sense these days if it snarled in his face.
A few days ago he would have sworn that Jehanne was the same honorable woman he had always known, that her sin had somehow been an aberration. Now he couldn't help but wonder if he'd been duped by hopes and lust.
He went over and over her behavior, from the moment he'd found her waiting for him in the hall to when she'd left him alone with a broken bed. He sought truth, he sought understanding. He found only confusion.
Eventually he did sleep, to be woken by the dawn chorus poorly rested and chilled by the dew. Spots of rust were already mixed with the dried blood on his second-best mail. Cuthbert would have yet more reason to complain.
He stood and stretched, then went to study Burstock, determined to have done with foolishness.
As soon as he decided what foolishness was.
Lars, the guard on watch, shook his head to indicate nothing had happened yet. But cocks were crowing, and somewhere inside the walls a dog barked. As the sun turned the sky pink and gold, people straggled up the road to the castle from the nearby village, and the great gates swung open to let others out. Two came out on horseback.
Galeran tensed and studied them, but didn't think they were men of his.
They certainly weren't Jehanne and Lowick riding south.
The sun rose higher, and in fields down by the river work began. Raoul had come to stand beside Galeran, and his stomach growled. Doubtless all their stomachs were complaining. There was no point in staying here until they all starved to death.
"Very well," Galeran said, "let's go down and see what the story is."
They saddled the horses and headed back aways to rejoin the road out of sight of the castle. Then they rode up to the gates, banner unfurled.
Believing that Jehanne had taken refuge there, Galeran expected to be stopped, but the guards at the gate just raised their spears in acknowledgment and waved them through. Too late, Galeran wondered if this was another trap, but in a world turned crazy, he'd still be ready to swear that Jehanne's uncle Hubert was incapable of base deceit.
He looked around cautiously, however, trying to sense betrayal. All he saw was the ordinary bustle of a peacetime castle.
The bailey here contained the old manor house as well as the usual shelters for animals and workshops for the craftsmen. In fact, it was more like a small village than a castle compound People chatted as they passed, children played among strutting poultry, women pummeled wash in big tubs.
Stable grooms ran forward to take the horses even as Hubert of Burstock came forward to welcome them. Aline's father was a short, compact man of great strength and shrewdness known far and wide for his bluff honesty.
With dangerous suddenness, Galeran relaxed. How could he ever have thought Hubert would be party to a meeting of illicit lovers? If the women had convinced him Jehanne was in danger of her life, he would take them in. But Hubert did not look wary so much as worried.
"A bad business, Galeran," he said with a frown.
That was certainly true. But to what business did Hubert refer?
"Is Jehanne all right?" Galeran asked, thinking it was the most noncommittal question that made sense.
"Yes, yes. Upset, of course, but unharmed. Come along in. Have you broken your fast?"
"No."
"Then you must eat! Come along." And Hubert shepherded them all toward the wide doors of the thatched manor house with no hint that he thought ill of Galeran. It was all very strange.
When Galeran walked into the long, beamed hall, supported along the sides by huge wooden posts, he immediately searched out his wife, but she was not to be seen.
Had Hubert lied to him?
But Hubert of Burstock never lied. Then it occurred to him that Hubert had not actually said that Jehanne was here.
Since he wasn't ready to search the place by force, and was almost faint with hunger, Galeran allowed himself to be steered into a seat at the long, fixed table, and plied with bread, meat, and ale.
Hubert sat by him. "What action are you planning?" he asked quietly, toying with a pot of ale of his own. "It's a delicate situation."
Galeran concentrated on a sausage. "True enough. What would you advise?"
"It might be no bad thing to be rid of the babe."
"Do you say so?" Galeran flashed the man a puzzled look. Was he recommending murder?
"The brat would doubtless be well enough cared for, and once you fill Jehanne again, she'll soon forget it."
"I'm not so sure of that."
>
A grimace told him Hubert agreed. "If it stings her, she deserves it! After her sin, what right has she to put her own concerns before those of the rest of us?"
Us? Galeran queried silently. This conversation wasn't making sense, but he was reluctant to confess as much just yet. But how could Hubert be jeopardized unless he thought he might have to go to war with Galeran over Jehanne?
"And," said Hubert, "once Jehanne bears another child, preferably a son, any claim this one might have to Heywood would be greatly weakened."
"That's true. But I have plenty of evidence that getting sons and having them survive is not always easy."
Hubert waved a hand. "That's in the past! Sometimes a woman needs loosening up for it to work right. And perhaps Jehanne's learned her lesson and will act more the gentle woman. That'll help the babes stick."
Galeran couldn't resist saying, "Gentle, like galloping over here as if the hounds of hell were after her?"
Hubert gave a sharp crack of laughter. "True enough. But it was the only thing to do, if you ask me, despite the affront to the Church."
"It's hardly a sin for a woman to ride at a gallop." Galeran wondered whether his earlier blood madness was with him still. This conversation was making no sense.
"Some might disagree with you there, Galeran. But," Hubert added testily, "you know what I mean. Flambard's not going to like Jehanne having carried Donata away. And he'll doubtless not be pleased that I've given them both shelter here. I don't like being at odds with the Church."
It was like a key turning in a lock. Galeran put down the remains of the sausage. "The Bishop of Durham wants Donata?"
"Aye. You know that, surely? Though how the idiots expected to care for her without women or wet nurse—"
"Galeran?" Jehanne burst out of one of the private rooms along the back of the hall. "Oh, praise heaven! What have you done about it?"
Galeran rose to take her hands, grateful not to meet her with dark suspicions on his mind. "Nothing," he said. "I came straight here."
"Why?"
It was an excellent question. With his wife and her child safely elsewhere, he should have stayed behind to deal with the importunate churchmen. If, that is, he'd had any notion of what was going on.
"We had best talk privately."
Hubert waved his permission, and Jehanne led Galeran back into the room. It was small, but had a large window onto the castle herb garden, letting in morning sunshine and sweet aromas.
Aline was there, holding Donata. She immediately rose to leave, but Galeran stopped her. "Give the babe to me."
She stared at him from under her severe brows, making no move to obey.
Jehanne said, "Do it, Aline."
Aline passed over the child, along with a warning scowl, and left the room.
Galeran looked down at big dark blue eyes, long but pale lashes, and a sucking blister on the upper lip. "Aline fears me."
"No. But we all wonder when your rage will strike, and where."
Chapter 9
Galeran looked up. "Including you?"
Jehanne sat on a bench by the window as if her legs had given way. "I almost wish it would. That your rage would strike. I can't believe it won't.... The waiting is hardest."
He didn't tell her his rage had already broken out. "Then let that be your penance."
The child made a mewling sound, and her tiny mouth worked anxiously while she stared up at him. No matter what her origins, he couldn't hate such an innocent.
She had her mother's delicate skin, and he could believe, if he chose, that the golden fuzz on her head was her mother's heritage too. Perhaps it was a blessing that Jehanne and Lowick were of a similar type. Galeran would never have to search for the father's features in the child.
Then the baby screwed up her face and let out a sharper cry. Galeran jiggled her a little, but she squalled louder. Frustrated, he scowled at Jehanne. This might not be his child, but did the babe have to reject him so openly?
"She's still hungry," Jehanne said. "I was feeding her when I heard you had arrived."
"Then why didn't you say so?"
She didn't reply, but because I was afraid floated in the room, making his heart ache. When she learned of his berserker rage, she'd fear him even more.
With reason. As he passed the babe to her, he remembered his foolish youthful wish that Jehanne would fear him.
He could have wept.
She raised her tunic and he saw that her gown was slashed down the front to free her breasts. She put Donata close, and the babe grasped the nipple with her gums to suck lustily.
Just as the peasant child had.
Just as Gallot once had...
Galeran pushed back that thought. "Can you talk as you feed her?"
"Of course."
He put a foot on a chest and leaned on his raised knee. "When did the bishop's men arrive?"
"Yesterday, quite early." A tense pallor in her face was a memory of fear. "I suspected something, so I insisted that the men-at-arms stay outside the walls and permitted only the three monks to enter. Brother Forthred seemed taken aback to find that you weren't there." She flicked him a wary glance. "I think he assumed you would support his case."
"And let him take the child?"
She nodded, stroking her babe's hair in a protective gesture Galeran thought entirely unconscious.
"Jehanne, I took the cross and traveled to a war half a world away to give you a child. Do you really fear I will let one be torn from your arms?"
She looked up then, eyes wide, and glossed by unshed tears. "Truly? It would be—"
"Truly." After a moment he straightened. "You could look more delighted."
"I am, I am. But I see blood in it, Galeran."
He took to pacing the room, for he did too. "Because of the bishop's men? Tell me what happened."
She made an effort to compose herself. "Raymond has made confession to the bishop, who has decreed he should do penance for his sin. But the penance is that he raise the child he misconceived. They came to take her to him!"
Galeran stilled and nodded. "Cunning."
"I couldn't let them take her! I protested on any number of grounds, but Brother Forthred went on and on about sins and perdition. Then he promised damnation for all who abetted me. I was terrified that the people of Heywood might give him Donata just to stop his ranting!"
"So how did you escape?"
"I pretended to give in and went to get her. But I sent a message to Walter of Matlock. I... I wasn't even sure he would support me against the Church, especially when you'd left orders I was not to leave the castle. But he did, thanks to Blessed Mary. He openly sent out a small group of men, saying they were to search for you and inform you of these matters. Then he accompanied me, Aline, and the babe out of the postern gate and down the road. Aline and I took two of their horses and we all rode here. Forthred will come after us, though. I've been racking my brain to think where we could go next." She stared at him. "Galeran, no one can oppose the Church! What are we to do?"
"This far north, it's amazing what a person can do."
"Not for long. And Flambard has the power of the Crown in his fist as well! Oh, I am weak in these matters! Too weak to do as I should."
A thousand sharp suspicions cut at him. "What do you mean?"
He thought she wouldn't answer, but then her eyes slid past him to rest on the wall. "When I found I was with child," she whispered, "I resolved to do away with it. I saw then what tangles it could weave around us. I... even prepared the herbs." Her gaze skittered over him and down to her child. A tear fell to splash in the babe's hair. "I could not take them."
"It would have been a sin," he said gruffly. "Adding one sin to another cannot create good."
"But think what could have been...."
"You could have concealed your adultery, you mean?"
"No!" she protested, looking up. "I mean we could have avoided this bitter taste to your return. Not by concealing my stupidity, but by not
having such public ignominy, and not having a child to confuse matters. I would have told you. I have never lied to you, Galeran, even by omission."
He was taken aback by that. "Perhaps I would rather you lied to me about such a thing."
She frowned, clearly disapproving of such a weak thought, and he was tempted to laugh at the strange twists and turns of their relationship these days. Just then, however, the child fell asleep and slipped off the nipple. Jehanne rearranged her clothes and rose to pat the babe on the back. With a little bubbly burp, Donata smiled as if she had sweet dreams.
Ah, to be so innocent again.
He held out his arms. "I would like to hold her again."
She looked at him with a slight frown that reminded him of Aline. "Jehanne, if you even imply that I will hurt her, I will be grievously hurt."
She hastily put the child in his hands. "I implied nothing! It's just that she's wet."
Galeran realized that was true. Wet, and smelly as a dye yard. With a rueful smile he passed the babe back. "You can see that I'm a very inexperienced parent. We'll have to stop reading the worst into each other's every act."
Flashing him a very startled look, she said, "That won't be hard for me."
She laid the baby on a cloth on the floor to change it. He watched in fascination as she removed the wet clothes from the tiny body, marveling at the fragile yet perfect limbs. Donata didn't wake, and was soon dry again and wrapped in a secure bundle. Then Jehanne laid her in the cradle.
"I wonder often," she said softly, "why this happened to us. To you in particular..."
"If God had given us a child in the early years of our marriage, our lives would have been different. Perhaps it is God's will."
"Not at all," said Jehanne sharply. "It is all the result of my willfulness and pride, and it is I alone who should suffer for it."
"But not by giving up the child?" he asked dryly, taking a seat by the cradle. The tiny mite fascinated him.
Jehanne's hands flexed in a sudden, desperate movement. "If Brother Forthred had brought a wet nurse, even.... Babes do not thrive on pap, Galeran!"
"So, if Brother Forthred had brought a wet nurse, you would have handed Donata over without protest?"
