Wessex Weddings 05 - Her Banished Lord

by Carol Townend

  ‘There is no need to feel compelled.’

  ‘Lady Aude, it will be no trouble.’ His smile broadened. ‘I want to help. You see, I hope to prove myself worthy of you.’

  Firmly, Aude shook her head. ‘My mind is made up, Sir Olivier. I will not marry you.’ Unless I have to…

  ‘You will forgive a man for hoping.’

  The brown eyes held hers steadily, and after a moment Aude nodded. ‘I will not change my mind, but I will accept your help. I am told that another river barge is due to set out tomorrow. In order to avoid an argument with Edouard—he wishes me to delay, and I am for leaving as soon as possible—I shall be needing new travel ling chests.’

  She was sent another of those charming smiles. ‘My lady, I know the very place where they might be found.’

  Chapter Three

  Owing to the need for discretion, Hugh Duclair had three horses stabled at one of the quieter inns a little down stream from Jumièges. The inn was small and in need of repair, daylight was visible through the stable roof. It was not a place in which he would choose to stable horses in winter, but since it was summer and a hot one at that, he had known the animals would be snug enough.

  Having paid their accounting with the inn keeper, Hugh and his squire, Gil, were riding back along the river bank towards the port. The river was almost at the full, and swifts screeched across the sky, fast as arrows.

  Hugh was thinking about Aude de Crèvecoeur. Great God, it had knocked him back seeing her this morning. Edouard, Hugh had been half-expecting to see, but his sister… No, seeing Aude had been a surprise.

  Each time Hugh saw Aude it seemed that she was becoming more and more beautiful. Little Brat, he had called her, years ago, and the name had stuck, much to her irritation. There had been no trace of the Brat today. At first Hugh had thought Aude was ignoring him, as well she ought given his present cir cum stances—it would not serve her well to recognise him. But what had startled him most wasn’t the way his heart had lifted at sight of her—he had always been fond of little Aude—it was the way his gut had twisted when she had not immediately acknowledged him.

  The matter of his banishment had hardened him; Hugh had learned to inure himself to his friends rejecting him. Politics—he knew it was just a question of politics. But it would seem that Aude was an exception; he had thoroughly disliked it when she had not recognised him.

  Might Aude come to believe that the accusations against him were true? That there was no smoke without fire? Hugh’s jaw clenched. He could only pray, could only trust that she would remember their past friendship.

  He grimaced and glanced down ruefully at his horse, an unremarkable bay gelding. Aude might not recognise him if she saw him now. The previous time they had met, he had been riding into Crèvecoeur on Shadow, his warhorse. With a full escort.

  Hugh forced his thoughts back to the present. His warhorse had been left at Freyncourt—Shadow was far too showy for a man not wishing to attract attention to himself. After midnight tonight, he should be out of the Duchy. Which was why he was wearing a worn grey tunic and was astride a gelding he hadn’t bothered to name, an animal that had more temper than manners. Gil was mounted on a small black, a brown mare on a leading rein trotted beside him. The mare belonged to Hugh’s thirteen-year-old sister Louise.

  Louise was, if she had done as Hugh had ordered, waiting for them back at the barge. Hugh loved his little sister and enjoyed her company, but in the dark days ahead, he was going to have to part with her. He had no right to drag his sister all over Christendom while he fought to clear his name.

  ‘I hope Louise hasn’t taken it into her head to explore the market,’ he said. ‘We shall be casting off at high tide; the ship won’t wait for her. Besides, she really must learn that we have no coin to spare until we regain what the Bishop has stolen from us.’

  ‘No, my lord,’ Gil murmured. ‘I am sure Lady Louise under stands.’

  Hugh looked bleakly at his squire. ‘Are you?’

  Anger burned deep within him. Anger at the calumnies spread against him, anger that the Bishop’s lies had been so readily believed. He and his sister were reduced to penury, because the Bishop of St Aubin wanted to keep the silver his father had deposited with him for safe-keeping. Family silver. Freyncourt silver.

  Hugh might be a Count, but he was discovering it was not easy proving his innocence. He had, so the word went, sup ported Duke William’s enemies in the recent power struggle in Flanders. And the documents that would support the deposits his father had left with the Bishop had gone missing. At first Hugh had thought, naïvely, as it turned out, that it would be a simple matter of proving his innocence, of finding those documents. How wrong he had been.

  His Holiness, the Bishop of St Aubin, vehemently denied the existence of the Freyncourt silver.

  And the document that proved it?

  Missing from his father’s strong box.

  ‘I wish I had your confidence, Gil; we only have a few hours to quit the Duchy.’

  ‘I am sure she will be waiting at the barge, my lord.’

  Hugh frowned. ‘Gil?’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘You really must dispense with my title from now on. It will be important you use my Christian name in the days to come.’

  ‘Yes…Hugh.’

  Against all the odds, Hugh felt a smile forming. ‘And for God’s sake, try to use it more naturally, you sound as though it might choke you.’

  ‘I am sorry…Hugh…but I think that it might. I will endeavour to try harder.’

  ‘See that you do. Today we hired our selves out as ship’s porters to save a coin or two. But tomorrow? Who knows what part we will have to play tomorrow? If you cannot address me as an equal—and my sister, too, for that matter—I shall have to dismiss you until I am reinstated.’

  Gil’s expression of horror was eloquent enough to make further words unnecessary. His squire would, Hugh was sure, get it right from now on.

  They lapsed into silence. Hugh was lost in his plans when an alarm bell jerked him out of them.

  Gil yelped and pointed down river. ‘Holy Mother, what is that?’

  A wave was rolling along the river. Couldn’t be, but it was.

  A wave?

  Hugh’s heart began to thud. He dug his heels into the gelding’s ribs. ‘La barre,’ he muttered.

  The wave was rushing upstream towards the port. White crests foamed at both banks. In the centre, a wall of water reared up.

  Behind him, Gil began to babble as he spurred his horse. ‘My l—Hugh! The boats! The jetties!’

  ‘More to the point—Louise!’

  Hugh gave the gelding his head. They pounded up the track towards the quays.

  In the port ahead, others had noticed the wave. People were crying out, pointing, dragging pack animals away from the water side, darting forwards to drag bales of wool clear of the water-line. The tocsin rang on, louder than before.

  Louise! She should be on the barge. The blood thumped in Hugh’s ears as beneath him the gelding’s hoofs drummed the ground. The wall of water was closer, almost level with the port itself. Hugh had heard tales about tidal surges, had heard of the damage they caused, but until this moment he had thought them exaggeration. Now as he stared dry-mouthed at the approaching surge, he wasn’t so sure.

  Louise! As the gelding thundered towards the port, part of him was praying that his sister had disobeyed him. She often did. But the cold lump in his belly was telling him that this time, Louise had done as she was told. ‘Stay in the boat,’ he had said. ‘Be good.’ Mon Dieu.

  ‘We’re too far away!’ The despair in Gil’s voice sounded like Louise’s death knell. ‘Impossible to get there!’

  Hell! The surge was a mere five yards from their barge which, since it was moored at the end of the jetty, would be one of the first to be struck. Hugh focused on a slight figure in a brown gown and his blood turned to ice—Louise! There she was, she had heard the com motion, had run to the ship’
s rail to stare.

  ‘Get out, Louise!’ Hugh yelled. ‘Get out!’ But it was hopeless, Louise could not hear him. It was too late, he could never reach her in time.

  Hugh Duclair had told Aude the truth; another river barge was indeed moored down stream, in a shady inlet behind the far jetty. Sir Olivier—he was being most useful—had helped her find it.

  Aude had booked passage on it for the following morning, and with the knight’s assistance had covertly acquired new travel ling chests. Aude’s maid, Edwige, had quickly transferred most of Aude’s belongings to the new chests.

  The old trunks had been plain wood, studded and banded with iron. The new ones were painted, the surfaces covered with daisy-like flowers. Once Edwige had finished packing, Aude and Sir Olivier had between them supervised their safe stowing on the barge in the backwater.

  That being done, Aude and Sir Olivier were walking arm in arm along the river bank back to the main port.

  ‘I do not think Lord Edouard suspects you are in tending to leave tomorrow, my lady,’ Sir Olivier said.

  ‘No, I hate to deceive him, but I must confess I am glad you have agreed to accompany me.’

  Sir Olivier smiled. ‘You know the reason for that, my lady. My time with the Abbot has come to an end and—’

  ‘Sir, you know I will not marry you; you will not persuade me.’

  ‘Perhaps, perhaps not…’

  ‘Sir, you must believe me. But I do hope to use some of my English revenues to pay your knight’s fee. I will need support in Alfold.’

  His face brightened. ‘You would like to hire me?’

  ‘Yes, I—’

  A piercing scream cut through the air. A tocsin was sounding.

  ‘What on earth…?’ Aude lifted her hand from Sir Olivier’s arm.

  More screaming. Hairs prickled on the back of Aude’s neck. Snatching up her skirts, she started running towards the quays.

  She took in the approaching wave—coming upstream?—and the panicky scurrying on the jetties. People were shoving past her, faces blank with fear. Spray arched skywards, droplets glowing like a rainbow. Someone else started screaming; everyone was screaming.

  And there, alone in the barge nearest the oncoming water, stood a little girl—a child—in brown homespun. She was looking at the wave, frozen with shock, for gotten.

  The wave reached up like a living thing. The barge lurched sideways, the mooring rope snapped. The girl’s shriek rose like a gull’s above the clamour and the wave thundered down, dragging the girl into a swirl of frothing, seething foam.

  Hissing snakes, Aude thought, as some thing clicked inside her. There was no time for thought, she tore the veil from her head and hurled herself forwards. ‘My lady, no!’

  The river swooshed past, flooding the jetty. There was noise, Aude’s ears were full of it: rushing, screaming, bells. So much noise, it deafened. Water hit, came up to her calves. The river roared, drowning out the snakes. Cold.

  Water slapped her legs, almost toppling her. The ancient river gods had come alive and they were out to get her. Aude held her ground. One hand found a mooring post and she clung. The other reached for the girl as her barge was swept away, bucking and rocking out among the white horses.

  ‘Take my hand!’ Aude cried.

  The girl in brown was being tossed about like a bundle of rags among the packing cases, but the water was bringing her closer. She was barely managing to keep her head above water; if she let the incoming tide take her, she wouldn’t last more than a minute.

  Someone else was in the water. A woman wailed. ‘Didier! Didier!’

  Aude fixed her whole attention on the child. A barrel thumped into her and her knees buckled. She held her ground. The girl vanished beneath the surface before reappearing a few yards nearer, water steaming down, hair stuck to her skull. A small hand reached for hers. ‘That’s it!’

  Bracing herself, Aude stretched forwards.

  Their hands met and clutched. Held. The girl’s body swung round; the river was determined to carry her upstream. Aude gripped that small hand as though her life depended on it. Her arm felt as though it was being ripped from its socket.

  And then she was no longer alone. Sir Olivier was at her shoulder, catching the child’s other hand, the brown skirts. Together, they wrestled her out of the water.

  The wave had passed Jumièges; it was ploughing on upriver, but the danger was not over.

  ‘Be careful, my lady,’ Sir Olivier gasped, as they got the girl clear of the water and he lifted her into his arms. ‘There’s a fierce wake. Mind the wake.’

  Even as he started back to shore, a packing case thudded against Aude’s shin.

  Aude’s legs buckled. She fought to find her footing and slipped head first into the boiling river.

  Galloping flat out along the high water-line, Hugh had arrived in time to see that Louise was safe. The havoc the surge had caused at the port had almost stopped his heart. A couple of rowboats, their moorings severed, were being tossed about on the river; barges were drifting mid stream without oarsmen or steers men; upturned boats were being carried towards Rouen, but Louise was safe.

  Aude had saved her! It had to have been Edouard’s sister; Hugh recognised that green gown. The pristine white ness of her veil stood out in a crowd, she stood out in a crowd, risking herself to save Louise. She had handed Louise to Sir Olivier. And now she herself was gone.

  He had to find her. Little Brat. She must be saved, she must.

  Breathing hard, Hugh fixed his eyes on the spot where he had last seen Aude. Nothing. He shifted his gaze a little upstream. Still nothing. The branch of a tree. Something that looked like sacking. A white…her veil, surely?

  No, no, she had torn that off, had flung it aside.

  Yes! There she was, several yards behind the crest of the wave, in the churned up, muddy waters of its wake.

  As Hugh narrowed his eyes, the main front of the bore reached him. He held the gelding steady as the wave crashed on to the bank. Spray fanned out in all directions, droplets gleaming pretty as dew in the morning sun. His horse shifted, shaking his head, legs trembling. Hugh held him steady. So deadly, that river. The front raced by, soaking him, his horse, and doubt less Gil, who was swearing colourfully some where behind him.

  Hell, where was Aude? He had lost sight of her again. Desperation gripped him, he couldn’t breathe. Where? Where was she?

  The river was seething and choppy, broken up into thou sands of wavelets as the wave forged its way inland. The gelding shifted; he was afraid of the river today, and Hugh could not blame him.

  Where was she?

  There! A few yards out, Aude’s head had reappeared next to a bundle of straw. Both were sinking.

  Hugh kicked his heels, guiding the gelding into the water. The river shall not have her! The force of his feeling rocked him, but then he had long had a soft spot for Aude de Crèvecoeur. Despite appearances, her life had not been easy. This morning by the barge, Hugh had been occupied, but he had noticed her the moment she had stepped on to the quayside. And he was almost certain that, despite Edouard’s orders to the contrary, Aude had wanted to speak to him. She hadn’t wanted to speak to the surly deckhand who had removed her belongings from the barge—she had wanted to speak to him, to Hugh Duclair. Foolish, foolish girl.

  Edouard’s sister, like Edouard, had a loyal heart, and he would be damned before he saw her bravery rewarded by drowning. There was enough in justice in Normandy without adding Aude’s death to the scales. Edouard’s strictures, his own resolution not to drag Aude into his affairs must, for the moment, be set aside.

  ‘Careful, Hugh, that river has power.’

  Thanks to Hugh’s urging, his horse entered the water faster than was safe. Its flanks shuddered, its eyes rolled, it fought Hugh’s commands, but it obeyed.

  Aude was clinging to an oar, a wavelet breaking over her. Her plaits had unravelled. Her hair streamed out, dark red against the cloudy water.

  ‘Let go!’ H
ugh took the gelding in as far as he dared. It would help no one if he were swept away too. ‘Strike out for me!’

  Hugh doubted that Aude could swim—no lady of his acquaintance could—but she seemed to under stand that the oar would carry her away. She let go and surrendered herself to the water.

  Determined to intercept her, Hugh angled his horse sideways. It wasn’t particularly deep here. The gelding was still on its feet, but the force of the water would have been too strong for a person to with stand. The rush of the river filled his ears.

  Aude was blinded by water. Her mouth was full of brine and it was choking her. Cold. It was so cold. How could river water be so cold when the day was so warm? The horseman who had waded in after her—she could not see him clearly for the stinging in her eyes—must be quite mad. Her hair, too, was blinding her. She spluttered and choked.

  The horseman was shouting, but Aude couldn’t hear him for the roaring—whether it was the roaring of the river or her own blood, she could not tell. Her lungs ached. Water slapped her in the face.

  He was getting close, thank God. Her legs tangled in water logged skirts, her arms refused to obey her. Heavy, everything was heavy, pulling her down. But even as Aude felt herself sinking, she was carried towards him, the madman on the bay horse.

  Yes! Only a little further.

  ‘Come on, Aude!’

  He knew her name?

  Feebly Aude kicked her feet—her shoes had gone almost as soon as she hit the water. Her toes scraped the bottom, but it was impossible to stand. Too fast, the river was running too fast.

  She hit the horse’s flank, the horseman’s leg. Glimpsed red cross-gartering. Another wave tried to drown her. Blindly, she groped for a well-muscled calf and hooked her fingers into his cross-gartering. ‘Hold hard!’

  A madman, clearly. Why else would he be commanding her to do the obvious? More water found its way into Aude’s lungs and a fit of coughing took her as he turned the horse and she was dragged ignominiously towards the river bank like so much wet washing.