"I have her message. It came to me by way of Ashby and Gilliam," his brother replied. "If you've not heard, it can only mean Gradinton took the man who carried news to you." Richard stepped to the bedside and offered Geoffrey the parchment along with the lamp.
Geoffrey opened the folded skin, recognizing Elyssa's strong, neat hand.
To my dearest son Jocelyn, squire to Lord Ashby. I send you this missive only praying it may reach you. This morn, Lord Coudray's enemy, Baldwin de Gradinton, marched on Freyne with a vast army and siege engines aplenty. He seeks to steal Cecilia of Coudray, who is his granddaughter and now his only heir. Although I have sent word to my beloved Lord Coudray, the man I would make your stepfather, he is presently at the Michaelmas court. I can hold no great hope of his aid, knowing he is duty-bound to remain there.
Geoffrey's breath hissed from him. Jesu, but the cocksucking son of a sow had bided his time carefully, waiting until his foe was well and truly helpless against him. By law, the sheriff and only the sheriff could report to the Exchequer on the shire's blanch and ferm. Geoff read on, his heart's ache growing with every word.
As I know Lord Ashby is brother to Coudray it is my hopeful wish that you might ask Lord Ashby to send us what relief he can. If that cannot be done, we will attempt to hold Gradinton at bay until Lord Coudray can come. I sign this missive with all pride in my heart at your many and continuing successes, reminding you that I hold you first in my love for all time. Your dam Elyssa, Lady Freyne.
He stared at what was a loving farewell to Jocelyn. She signed it as if she did not expect to survive and wished to assure her son of her care for the last time. Why? All Baldwin wanted was Cecilia.
The answer came from his innermost core. Elyssa loved his daughter like her own blood; she'd die before she let Gradinton tear his sweet lass from her. Panic exploded in Geoff, and he dropped the parchment to grasp his sword hilt against the pain.
"Goddamn him!" he bellowed, coming to his feet. Gradinton would kill Elyssa. The lamp shattered against the wall as Geoffrey swung his sword with all his power into the bedpost.
Men shouted from a great distance. He tore his sword from the bed's support. Wood squealed and cracked. Acrid smoke filled his lungs. Dying in his helplessness, he swung again and again.
Someone had him by the shoulders, trying to wrestle him to the ground. Roaring against containment, Geoffrey tore free and turned on his attacker, sword already in motion. His blade clashed into another, the impact so ferocious that it drove him back three steps.
"Geoffrey!" It was his father's voice raised in angry command.
In instinctive reaction he lowered his blade. Even as he realized his mistake, his sword was wrenched from his grasp by his half-brother. With the loss of his weapon, rage died, leaving only impossible pain beneath it. Geoffrey stumbled back until he reached the wall behind him. The plastered surface was wet against his hands. Grief rolled over him.
"He'll take them while I am trapped here and cannot stop him," he shouted.
The wine merchant's wife was shrieking in the doorway. Beside her her burly mate, his nightcap in his hands, puffed himself out in fury. "My bed! You've destroyed my bed and nigh on set the house afire," he shouted. "May God curse me for renting to you."
Richard turned on the merchant, his sword yet in hand. "He'll replace what he’s ruined,” his brother shouted, "now begone with you. This is a private matter."
The commoners nigh on ran down the stairs, their curses including all noblemen.
Geoffrey felt the cold emptiness he'd known after Cecilia's retreat into silence reawaken within him. Even imagining Elyssa's loss made the emptiness grow until it was worse than the first time. He'd go with her if she died. His heart froze, his limbs chilled until they were stone.
Suddenly, Richard stood before him. The brother he despised set hands on his shoulders. There was unexpected comfort in his touch. "So," Richard said, "you've found one on whom to spend your heart, have you?" There was naught but kindness in his brown eyes.
Beyond speech, Geoff only turned his head to the side as Osbert's voice rose behind Richard. "Bestir yourselves, you lazy slugs!" the knight shouted. "This is naught for the likes of your ears. Find the lamps and get to clearing the wreckage."
Martin came to stand beside Richard. "He fears Lady Freyne will die before she cedes Cecilia to Gradinton."
"Will she?" Richard asked them both in surprise.
"Aye," Martin replied.
Geoffrey's skin crawled at his undersheriff’s reiteration of what he already knew. "May God damn that filthy bastard to hell." The quiet words barely escaped his frozen jaw.
"Mind your tongue," his bastard brother said with remarkable good humor then he patted his taller and younger sibling's scarred cheek. "Geoff, take heart. All is not yet lost."
His brother's easy words and warm touch on him drove back the coldness. Richard was right, all was not yet lost. Within Geoffrey flared the need to destroy Gradinton. May the kingdom be damned, he'd ride for Coudray and rouse his forces. Geoffrey groaned in dismay.
"Damn me," he hissed at himself. "All of Coudray is at Freyne, trapped behind those stinking walls. Crosswell's force isn't enough to finish Gradinton. What was I thinking?"
He pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead in frustration. His need to keep Elyssa attached to Cecilia, and thus to him, had caused this. All he had was enough men to drive Gradinton from Freyne. He shoved Richard away from him.
"Leave the cursed bed," Geoffrey bellowed to his men, who were attempting to repair it. He grabbed his chausses from the clothes pole and jammed his feet into his undergarment. "Dress! Arm! We are for Freyne."
"Geoff, wait, you cannot leave court," Richard started to say.
"Why not? I am Freyne's warden by royal command, and Gradinton attacks what is under my control," Geoffrey interrupted, yanking the drawstring tight, while already clutching his shirt. He tugged his shirt down over his chest then looked at his brother. "You've delivered your news. For that you have my thanks. Now, leave me to do as I must to spare my family hurt. If you think to stop me, you do so at your own peril."
Richard's head jerked back as if struck. "Goddamn your arrogant hide!" he roared, and caught Geoffrey by his shirtfront, then slammed his younger half-brother against the wall.
Growling in his own rage, Geoffrey shoved at his attacker, only to find Richard's sword at his throat. Although shorter and almost ten years his senior, they were evenly matched in strength. It would be suicide to resist when Richard was armed and he was not.
There was complete silence in the room. Martin retreated to the corner, catching up his sword belt. Osbert stood near the door, his brows raised as if to offer Geoffrey his aid in this battle.
"Listen to me or call your men to murder me," Richard growled, "for only murder will silence me. Which will it be?"
Rage simmered in Geoffrey, but blood was the stronger. For all the times he'd sworn to kill Richard, he wasn't capable of ordering his men to harm his brother. "I will listen," he agreed in harsh reply.
Richard kept his sword pressed across Geoff's chest to see he did. "Ever since our sire's death you've set your course to proving you need your family naught at all. Now that you come to the one event where you do need us, you'd rather lose all you own than lower yourself to ask."
As the words left him and rage retreated, Richard's shoulders relaxed and his sword dropped. "Geoff, you are not alone. Ask, damn you," he almost pleaded. "Take what we long to give you. Ask Gilliam. Ask me, or, if you cannot bring yourself to take my aid, ask Rannulf, and I will send my men to him. Even now, he waits for your word."
Richard's words brought more confusion than hope. "Rannulf?” he said, speaking his eldest legitimate brother who was like unto Richard’s twin. “Why would he help? He called me fool for buying the shrievalty and disparaged my efforts to protect Cecilia. I cannot think he'd aid me now that I must pay the piper just as he warned."
Richard only smiled.
"You misjudge him. I think he sees it as his role to be our father’s surrogate, always complaining against our foolishness. Gilliam's messengers came not just to me at Meynell, but to Graistan as well. Rannulf calls every man he owns to meet him at Lavendon. There, like me, will he wait for you to command us against Gradinton at Freyne."
A new peace crept over Geoff. Rannulf would come, as would Gilliam. Richard had offered as well. Together, the four of them would end Gradinton's threat against those he loved.
All four? He studied his eldest brother. Gone from Richard's face was the harsh dislike they'd shared since their sire's death. "You would aid me?"
"Am I not your brother, the son of my father, just as you are?" Richard raised a brow in a gentle chide.
Geoff freed a scornful breath. "That’s not what you said at our last meeting. Then did you call yourself Alwynason, severing your connection to the FitzHenrys." Two years ago, he and Richard had retreated to the field and met sword to sword over how Richard rejected the father who'd loved him. Only Rannulf’s intervention had kept them from killing each other.
"True enough, but much has happened between now and then," Richard replied softly. "I came not only to bring you this word, but to beg your forgiveness. I did our sire a terrible disservice when I rejected him, and you were right to despise me for it. I've since decided it is better to be the illegitimate son of my father than any other man's legitimate child. Will you accept my aid?"
Geoffrey stared at Richard for a long moment. In the harsh outline of his brother's face and the set of his shoulders Geoff saw their sire's reflection. This man was his blood, no more or less so than were Gilliam or Rannulf. And equally as willing to lay down his life for his sibling's cause.
"Aye, with gratitude and love in my heart," he said with a surprised laugh.
"My thanks," Richard replied, his smile growing. "Now, go make your apologies to your host, and I will be on the road to Lavendon. We'll meet again at Freyne once you've discharged your duties here."
Geoffrey shook his head. "I'll not stay while my enemy threatens the woman who holds my life in her hands."
"But my lord, you cannot leave when only you can make the report," Martin protested.
"He's right, Geoff, you cannot leave," Richard said as Geoff pulled on his tunic.
Geoff yanked his garment into place. "How can the court complain? It’s not as if I seek to cheat them. The taxes, the witnesses, Crosswell's men and undersheriff are here. If I do not appear, what can Hubert Walter do, but ask me to resign?"
The words fell unheeded from his lips, but when he heard them, exhilaration spiraled through him. "I will resign," he shouted to the ceiling. To be free of Crosswell would be a wondrous thing.
Only then did the whole of Gradinton's intent come clear, and he laughed in soaring hopes. "And here lies Gradinton's error, Richard. Baldwin sees nothing but properties and coins. Since he would never turn his back on profit to save a woman, even a daughter, he does not expect me to do so either."
How carefully Gradinton had plotted. Believing Geoffrey would not dare leave court, Baldwin insured himself there was no chance of Cecilia becoming an orphan, thus giving the royal court control of his granddaughter. Moreover, even if an army did appear to challenge him Baldwin wagered that without Geoffrey at its head there was little chance of more than an attempt to drive Gradinton away from Freyne.
In that moment, Geoffrey knew Baldwin's life was his. With her grandsire dead, Cecilia would be free from threat. Then Geoffrey and Elyssa could wed, keeping his and her children as their own and making life worth living once more.
"It could take you as long to resign as it would to wait for your appointed time," his brother warned. "You know how the clerks who control the schedule savor their power. I suppose with enough silver you might win yourself a day or two, but I wager you’ll wait a week. Either way, you'll not have a hint as to when you might be departing court until after morning's come. Bid me good journey, and I will see you at Freyne."
"Richard," Geoffrey replied, yet buoyed by rising excitement as he belted his tunic and tossed his mantle on over his shoulders, "we sit in a town full of the king's justiciars. William of Hereford is in his house just down the street, soundly sleeping in his own bed. Not a single petitioner awaits him in all his household. Come with me and watch how, with our cousin's aid, the bishop takes my resignation. Oswald has no choice but to help me, when it was in part my recommendation that gained him his auspicious position.”
He leaned over the wreckage of the bed and found the necklet in its bag. His hand closed around it, and he took its undamaged state as a sign. From under his bed came his saddle pack. He tucked the piece into the pack, then straightened and looked back to Richard.
His brother shook his head. "Best leave me behind if you want Oswald's help. I'm not certain he's forgiven me for last autumn."
When Geoffrey raised a brow in question, Richard only waved away his interest. "A long story. Suffice it to say that it is by Oswald's influence that I now have a wife and daughter of my own."
"You are wed?" Geoffrey replied in surprise. "When?"
"In autumn past."
Disappointment and regret woke in Geoff. This meant all three of his brothers had wed in the previous year, and he'd not attended one ceremony. Of their wives, he knew only Gilliam's wild woman, Nicola. It had been wrong of him to so cut himself from his family.
"Well then, if you'll not come, wait here for me and we'll ride as one," Geoffrey said, and turned on Martin. "Do you still stand here in your altogether? Don your clothing and come witness my term's ending."
Martin grimaced against his own regrets at losing his employer, but did as he was bid. It was Osbert who caught up Geoffrey's crossgarters and came to do this menial task for his departing master.
"My lord," the knight said to him as he wound the long strips around Geoffrey's stockinged calves, "I find myself in a dilemma. It seems my time at Crosswell has come to an end. I'm wondering if you might have a place at Coudray for one such as me?"
Geoffrey smiled at how great the changes were that Elyssa had wrought. Until her advent this knight had given him naught but dislike; now he offered his heart and loyalty. "We have come a long way, my friend. Do you know, Sir Osbert, I believe I do. I'll warn you that, should we fail in our coming endeavor, it might well be your pay will be less than what you've known in the past. But, the food is good and the hall, well, the hall is superb."
"I thought as much." The knight came to his feet. "That’s just the sort of place I wanted, thinking to pass my later years in comfort."
Geoffrey's smile grew as he accepted the man's hand in his. He was not alone.
***
Candles caught in brackets around the bishop's bedchamber brought something near to day's light in the big room. Like the rest of Hereford's large townhouse, the walls were draped with panels made rich by the handiwork of whole nunneries. Where the gentle light touched, these elaborate embroideries showed their rich colors and detail. If William of Hereford's massive bed had curtains of functional wool for heat's sake, he'd laid shimmering silk over them, then trimmed the whole with cloth of gold. Atop a nearby perch sat the bishop's hawk. Stirred from its nightly roost by the noise of visitors, it turned its hooded head from side to side in an effort to see what it could not. The tiny bells on the bird's head covering tinkled prettily in the room's quiet.
At the room's far table, Geoffrey's cousin Oswald poured wine into a bejeweled cup. Six years younger than Geoff, the slim, dark man was doing well for himself. Oswald's bedrobe only marginally undershone the trappings on the bishop's bed. Oswald turned to the servant who stood silently in the corner. The man sipped, then took the cup to the bed and offered it to his master. Rubies flashed as they caught the flame from a thick night candle, burning at William's bedside.
From the bed’s deep shadow, the prelate reached out to accept the cup. Silver gleamed in his dark hair and beard, even sprinkled on his bared chest. Holding the cup
, he again receded into shadows yet maintaining the same silence he’d kept since Geoffrey finished his tale and presented his resignation. In the bed William of Hereford turned the cup in his hands, the metal scraping gently against the massive ring of state he wore.
At long last he shifted into the light and raised his dark gaze to Geoffrey's face. "It’s good to see them healing so well," he said, keeping his deep voice low and private.
"So it is, my lord," Geoffrey agreed, freeing a quick laugh. It surprised him to find himself at ease with the scars that he would ever more wear upon his face. Elyssa had done this for him. Her acceptance made his own possible. "Even better, I have become accustomed to my one-sided sight. No longer do I spill cups in my lap by overreaching and my ability with the sword returns."
"If I refuse your resignation, then what?" William asked.
Although startled by this swift change of subject, Geoff's spine stiffened. "You'll need to imprison me, elsewise I will leave."
"Not a pleasant thought," the prelate murmured, then tried a personal tack. "You cannot afford to go, Geoff."
Geoffrey slipped easily into his other role as the same friend and hunting companion to this man that his father had been. "If I choose to beggar myself William, it’s my business, not yours."
"This is a siege, not a battlefield," the bishop offered on another front. "I'll see your meeting held earlier. Surely, it will wait a week."
"Gradinton does not assault merely the keep where my daughter and the woman I take to wife reside, he attacks me," Geoffrey retorted, his voice rising in outrage with each word. "See how he plots to use the law against me so I cannot meet him as honest men do? Moreover, is this not the harvest season, a time that all civilized men agree is meant for peace? There is no honor in him."
William of Hereford raised his brows in reproach. "That’s poorly aimed on your part. You’ll not bend me to your will by speaking of law and society."
"My lord," Oswald said, his tone fraught with impatience, "I tell you it’s no good arguing with him. Once these FitzHenrys get their blood to boiling, they cannot see anything but what they want. If he says he must go, then go he must."
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