Wessex Weddings 05 - Her Banished Lord

by Carol Townend

  Gil and Louise were waiting on the bank with the horses, wrapped in their cloaks against the early chill.

  ‘Oh, no, my lord, I am sorry, but I cannot do that. Our other passengers are not expecting us to leave until after noon.’

  Hugh sent him a straight look. ‘I’ll double whatever they paid you.’ And may Aude forgive me. But these were des per ate times. He had hoped to be out of Jumièges already, but the mascaret had put paid to his delicately laid plans, forcing delay on him when delay could be disastrous.

  And at the rate money was draining from his purse, they would be short of silver within the week. If they survived that long. Time had finally run out, and he was no closer to proving his innocence. Louise must be got safely away before the fight to clear his name could continue.

  He must be realistic. If he were caught breaking the terms of his banishment, he would never prove his innocence, he would be executed. And then what would happen to Louise?

  On the bank, Gil swore softly. ‘Hang it, Hugh, Lady Aude will go up in flames if the ship casts off without her.’

  The ship’s master jerked his head at Gil and Louise, a crease forming in his brow. ‘I take it you want those two to accompany you?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘I doubt there’s space.’

  ‘We shall make space. Come, give me a hand with these travel ling chests.’ Clapping the captain on the shoulder, Hugh grinned. He would die before he let this man know that desperation was clawing his insides to bits. ‘What harm? The river is calm this morning; other ships are certain to be leaving for Honfleur later in the day, your passenger will find a place on one of those.’

  ‘But the lady paid the fee in full,’ the captain muttered. He was weakening, Hugh could sense it. His eyes were lingering covetously on Hugh’s purse, weighing the likely profit.

  Hugh jingled more coins. ‘Give me the lady’s fee and I shall send Gil here back to the Abbey to return it to her.’

  The captain’s eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, no, you don’t! How do I know I can trust you or your man? He could pocket the money and say the job was done.’

  Hugh drew himself up. He must be more on edge than he had realised; his hold on his temper was slipping. ‘Do you know who I am?’

  ‘A nobleman who by rights should be close to the borders by now. It strikes me, my lord, you have little to bargain with.’

  Hugh inhaled slowly, reaching for calm. ‘On my honour, Gil would obey me.’ He gave an easy shrug. ‘But if you are in doubt, send one of your oarsmen along with him as witness.’

  The ship’s master stroked his chin. ‘Double the usual fee, you say?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you will lend a hand unloading her baggage?’

  ‘Assuredly.’

  ‘Done.’

  With a wry grimace, Hugh un buck led his sword and set about removing Aude’s belongings from the barge. It was the second time in as many days. Mon Dieu, Gil is right, he thought, as his squire and an oarsman took the path back to the abbey. When she finds out, she will go up in flames.

  Her recently bought travel ling chests were lighter and less weighty than the old ones. Daisies, he thought, noting the flowers painted on the wood, Aude likes daisies.

  An image of her took form in Hugh’s mind. Aude was awaiting her husband in her marriage bed. A long auburn plait was trailing over one shoulder, her eyes glowed like amber in the flare of a rush light. She wore the most delicate of night gowns, the silk was so fine it was almost in visible and….

  Diable! His loins were throbbing. Hastily hefting Aude’s packing case on to his shoulder, Hugh thrust the image firmly behind him.

  In the Lady Chapel, it was cool and quiet and dimly lit. The windows were tall and slender, and beeswax candles gave the softest of lights. It was the perfect place for reflection and Aude had much to reflect upon. Kneeling in front of the altar, she stared up at a candle she had lit for the repose of Martin of Beaumont’s soul.

  More than a year had passed since Martin’s death, and every day Aude prayed for him. A hard chill was coming up from the stone-flagged floor; she folded her skirts under her knees.

  How long will it be before I stop missing him?

  It was true that Aude’s relationship with Martin had been unusually chaste, but that, she was beginning to realise, had been no bad thing. Martin’s tall, rangy form had not drawn her in the same way that Hugh’s had done yesterday. Aude had never found herself gazing fascinated at Martin’s mouth, she had never found herself wondering what it might be like to kiss him.

  If only she had a female relation with whom she could discuss the welter of feelings Hugh Duclair stirred inside her. The man had her completely bemused, but she could hardly discuss Hugh with her brother, one of Hugh’s oldest friends.

  While Aude genuinely missed Martin, she was be ginning to see that the affection she felt for him was perhaps not the sort of affection a woman ought to feel for her husband. Martin’s touch had never evoked the confused yearning she had felt yesterday when Hugh had taken her hand. Thank goodness! If Martin’s touch had affected her in the same way, it might have been a trial to keep to the vow of chastity he had imposed on them.

  ‘Until our wedding day,’ Martin had said. ‘We shall be chaste in thought and word and deed, until our wedding day.’

  And so they had. She had only been thirteen when she had been betrothed and the vow had been an easy one to make. Martin had been, first and foremost, her friend.

  And Hugh?

  Despite her anxiety for him, Aude’s lips curved— Hugh was her friend too.

  In the past he had been some thing of a re pro bate; Hugh enjoyed shocking people, Hugh was a tease. Hugh enjoyed women too. Martin had not kept her entirely cloistered; rumours of Hugh’s roistering had reached her at Beaumont.

  With a shiver, Aude adjusted her skirts under her knees, Hugh was more than a mere re pro bate nowadays. Banished. Stripped of his lands and title. Poor Hugh. He would shrug aside her pity—Hugh had the pride of a king—but it was impossible not to feel sympathy for him.

  Hugh, a traitor? It did not bear thinking about. What would he do? Where would he go? How would he set about proving his innocence?

  The candle sizzled, an impurity in the wax re minding Aude of her purpose—she had come to the Lady Chapel to pray for Martin. Hugh’s affairs were not her concern. Setting her hands together, she closed her eyes and bowed her head.

  She had not been long in prayer when a draught teased the hem of her veil. Her eyes opened as the flame of Martin’s candle wavered and winked out.

  ‘My lady?’

  Edwige was standing under one of the arches.

  ‘Is some thing wrong?’

  Her maid drew nearer. ‘I am sorry to disturb you, my lady, but I thought you would want to know at once.’ She opened her palm to reveal a handful of silver.

  ‘Goodness, I didn’t know you had so much money, Edwige.’

  ‘I don’t. My lady, it is your money.’

  ‘Mine?’

  ‘The river barge—the one in the inlet—it is leaving early. Your payment has been returned.’

  Frowning, Aude held out her hand and Edwige tipped the coins into it. ‘This is my money? Are you saying that someone has taken my place?’ Heavens, was she never to get away? Freedom, it seemed, was always around the next corner…

  ‘So I was given to under stand.’

  Aude rose. Taking up Martin’s candle, she rekindled it from one nearby. ‘That cannot be; the ship’s master seemed reliable to me.’

  ‘He has changed his mind. Hugh’s man said—’

  Aude stiffened. ‘Hugh’s man?’

  ‘Yes. Gil said that Hugh conveys his apologies and said to tell you that he had no choice—’

  Aude stalked to the splash of light by the doorway. ‘Hugh Duclair has taken our place on the barge?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Holy Mother, that man!’ Aude picked up her skirts and crossed the yard with
un lady like speed. She hurried past the bemused guards at the gate house with an even more un lady like word falling from her lips. ‘The devil! Hurry up, Edwige!’

  Two minutes later, Aude and Edwige were standing, chests heaving, on the edge of one of the quays.

  Edwige pointed down river. ‘See? There it is, my lady.’

  There it was indeed. Her barge. Out in the middle of the Seine, its oars lifting and falling. The fierce carving on the prow made a Norse dragon ship of it as it cut through the sparkling water, heading towards the sea.

  ‘We are too late.’

  ‘Thank you, Edwige, I have eyes.’

  Aude glared at the ship. The demon! She had booked with time to spare, she had paid in full, she had even given that boy extra to guard her baggage. She gritted her teeth. ‘How dare he?’

  Hugh Duclair was standing in the stern looking directly at her, the image of his Viking ancestors, may God blast him. So handsome, with that bright hair ruffled by the breeze. He grinned across the water. So confident, even in the midst of his current humiliations, with those strong shoulders, that assured stance.

  ‘The wretch.’ Aude scowled and raised her voice. ‘You wretch!’

  He lifted his hand, he bowed.

  ‘He’s a wretch, Edwige.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘Yesterday…’ Aude’s words were tripping over themselves. She felt sick, betrayed. ‘Yesterday…all that so-called concern, all those warnings about the river bank being too dangerous to walk on as he escorted us to the barge…I thought him charming, but all the while he was waiting to clear the deck of my things…ooh, that man!’

  Edwige’s eyes were pensive as she worked it out. ‘Yes, I see. He was looking for a ship. My lady, when he met us after the wave struck, he must have been planning to take our place.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Aude clenched her jaw. The ship was drawing swiftly away and the girl she had pulled from the water, his sister Louise, had moved to Hugh’s side to take his hand. Aude judged her to be about the same age that Aude had been when she had been betrothed to Martin of Beaumont.

  Hugh’s squire was also visible on the deck and three horses were tethered am id ships. Where her baggage had been.

  Her hands had become fists, her nails were gouging into her palms. Once again a man had put his needs before hers; once again, her wishes were un important. This was exactly why she would never marry. Not even a malleable man. When she reached Alfold, which, thanks to Richard of Beaumont’s generosity, was hers and hers alone, she would never marry.

  Hugh’s bright hair gleamed in the sun as he sent her another ironic bow. She could just imagine the grin on his face, the lights in his eyes would be dancing and…

  ‘Wretch!’ she murmured, but already she was calming down.

  In truth her heart was twisting, and there was the most terrible pain in her chest. Hugh was at the end of his tether, she under stood that. And for friendship’s sake she must not begrudge him safe passage. Lord knows, he needs it. ‘I only wish you might have asked, Hugh.’ Had he thought she might refuse him? Did he think so little of her? It hurt to think so.

  ‘What’s that, my lady?’

  ‘Nothing.’ The barge grew steadily smaller as it approached the bend in the river; when his head was no longer visible Aude turned away, shoulders drooping. She would not see him again, and much as she misliked that thought, it was probably just as well.

  Edouard had been right to forbid her to associate with him. Even setting his banishment to one side, Hugh Duclair was far too unpredictable. Not to mention disturbing. Her anger was fading, but un com fort able emotions remained. Hurt. Sadness. Regret. And—she would not be honest if she did not admit this to herself—a pang of longing for some thing that would never be hers.

  ‘My lady, what shall we do?’

  Aude looked across the square towards the Abbey. ‘First, you will show me where they put my baggage, then we will find Sir Olivier; he can help us find another ship to take us to Honfleur.’

  ‘So you are not abandoning your plans to go to this Alfold Hall?’

  She glared fiercely at Edwige. ‘Most certainly not!’

  Wessex, England—several weeks later

  Hugh kicked his gelding into a trot, sending up puffs of dust in his wake. He was riding along a chalky track with Gil and Louise. They had been told it led to Alfold. They had also been told that Lady Aude de Crèvecoeur had taken up residence there about a month earlier.

  Hugh was not here to see Aude, far from it. Seeing Aude was the last thing he wanted. He was here to learn the lie of the land—and to discover if her brother had arrived as he had promised. He and Edouard had not communicated since that evening by the Abbey wall in Jumièges. With luck, Edouard might have news for him.

  The track ran long and straight at the foot of a ridge. Thick beech woods had sprung up on one side, while the downs lay on the other, dotted with sheep.

  Sweat prickled between Hugh’s shoulder blades; it was too warm a day to be swathed in his cloak and hood, but he could not run the risk of being recognised. The Count of Freyncourt had been banished from all of Duke William’s lands; he was no more welcome here in England than he had been in Normandy.

  Was it possible that Edouard was already in Alfold? It would be good to see a friendly face again.

  ‘Hugh?’ At his side Louise tossed back her hood and huffed out a sigh. ‘Is that Alfold? It doesn’t look much.’

  She was pointing down the slope to where a cluster of cottages sat near the edge of some field strips. The field strips were edged with clumps of hazel, and beyond the hazels yet more beech trees had grown up. They must be looking at the other side of Crabbe Wood. They had made their camp deep in Crabbe Wood, but Hugh had never approached it from this side.

  ‘Louise,’ Hugh said. ‘Please keep your hood up as we agreed. I can’t run the risk of Aude seeing me. We simply need to know if her brother has got here.’

  ‘And if he has?’

  ‘I return to Crabbe Wood. And then, when I am safely out of the way, you and Gil can take Edouard a message. There is no reason why you two shouldn’t be seen, but me…that is another matter entirely. And remember, it is dangerous for anyone to be seen in my company. Until I have ex changed the kiss of peace with the King, anyone who helps me is putting them selves at risk.’

  Louise’s eyes were dark with suspicion. ‘I know your mind, Hugh. You are trying to get rid of me. You will give me the message and desert me here.’

  Hugh said nothing, Louise was right, Hugh had hoped Aude might take her in. ‘Louise, I do not wish to desert you, I want to see you safe.’

  ‘I would rather be with you.’

  What could he say? ‘Best guard your tongue while we are in the village.’

  They continued along the track with the sun beating down on them. Hugh shrugged deeper into his hood. If Aude should chance to see him… Lord, he might have thought of her every now and then in the past few weeks, but he had no desire to compromise her position here in England. He must not be recognised.

  Several times when Hugh had been lying on the edges of sleep and his guard on his imagination had been at its weakest, his mind had presented him with images of Aude. Why, he could not fathom. These images—and they were usually of Aude in her bed—had been so alluring that he had been reluctant to dismiss them. Also, they had a tantalising way of shifting, of becoming inexorably more intimate.

  One night, when they had been waiting for the ship that would carry them to England, Hugh had envisioned Aude lying in her bed as though awaiting a lover. Her beautiful hair had been unbound, it had trailed like tongues of fire over her breasts. Those amber eyes had glowed with welcome. And as for her night gown, someone had unfastened the ties at the neck and…

  The last time the image had presented itself had been last night in Crabbe Wood. Aude had been wearing little save a secret smile; Hugh’s imagination had gifted him with clear sight of her naked shoulders peeping up over the bedcovers
.

  And now, despite the sweat trick ling down his back, merely to recall those images had the edges of his mouth curving up…

  These imaginings meant nothing. And if he had not dismissed them as quickly as he ought to have done, it was only because they helped him find sleep when lying on a lumpy pallet.

  ‘Hugh?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  Louise was giving him her mutinous look. ‘I can see why you must hide yourself, but I have not been banished. Nor has Gil. Why must poor Gil and I hide our faces like outlaws? We are boiling to death in our cloaks. I really don’t under stand why Gil and I can’t simply go and ask Lady Aude if her brother has arrived.’

  A hot summer was turning into an even hotter hot summer’s end. Louise was tired and irritable and not thinking straight. She was very young. Guilt knotted Hugh’s insides. Louise’s face was streaky with dust; they had been riding too hard, for too long. Hugh did not need Louise to tell him that she had had enough; he could see that for himself. There were shadows under her eyes where there had never been shadows. Also, since leaving Normandy his sister had lost weight, her cheek bones were far too prominent. This life was not for her.

  ‘I told you, I need to see the lie of the land for myself. And while you are with me…hang it, Louise, I will not have you questioning my every decision. I really think we have come to a parting of the ways.’

  ‘No! I want to stay with you!’

  Firmly, Hugh shook his head. Louise must be made to under stand. ‘This is not what I want for you. It was a mistake to permit you to accompany me for so long. I have been watching out for some where safe for you to stay, and Alfold might be the very place. It is small and out of the way, yet it is close to Winchester. When I have made my peace with the King, it will be an easy matter to come and find you. And you will be among friends here.’

  ‘Your friends, not mine. Anyway, that place in the trees seems safe enough to me.’ Louise loosened the tie of her cloak and pulled the wool of her gown away from her neck with a grimace. ‘Holy Mother, Hugh, it is far too hot to be wearing a cloak. I’m sticky and dust seems to have got every where.’ She stuck her chin out. ‘I repeat, Gil and I are not outlaws.’