Runaway Lady, Conquering Lord

by Carol Townend

  Doors were hanging off the stables at crazy angles, the thatch was bald in places and even as Emma looked she could see why. As a thrush landed on the roof of an outbuilding, it twitched a loose straw from the roof and flew off with it.

  It would appear that Crèvecoeur had been deliberately run down. Lord Edouard’s grandfather might have forfeited his lands, but whoever had been given stewardship of this place—their neglect was criminal. When had Lord Edouard regained possession? Unless he was incompetent in the extreme, it must have been only recently.

  Beside her, Richard was eyeing Crèvecoeur in grim-jawed silence, his face a studied blank, but Emma knew he was as startled as she. They exchanged glances.

  Emma received a tight smile and a nod and then Richard dug in his spurs and urged Roland to the head of their conroi to meet the Count of Corbeil.

  After that silent exchange of glances, Richard was as good as his word. He did not flaunt Emma of Fulford at Crèvecoeur. In truth, he ignored her. That curt nod, that almost insignificant exchange of looks, was to be the last private contact between them for some time.

  While Richard sought conference with Lord Edouard, Emma was shown into the hall by a gangling, bucktoothed maidservant and told to make herself at home. It was a relief to find that her presence in Richard’s entourage had been tactfully explained with half-truths. She was an Anglo-Saxon noblewoman in search of her mother’s family in Normandy. Hearing of Count Richard’s journey, she had begged passage with him that he might escort her to her family.

  It was no surprise that the lodgings at Crèvecoeur were rudimentary, and after a basic but surprisingly satisfying meal of bread and venison, Emma found herself setting out pallets for Henri and herself. Asa and Geoffrey would be sleeping nearby, thank goodness.

  There had been no sign of Richard for over an hour. As Emma stretched out on the mattress, the maidservant pinched out the candles on the table. The fire glowed. A dog yawned.

  Emma stared up at the sooty rafters, the charcoal-coloured walls. This hall was very like her father’s, except that her mother had had the walls of Fulford Hall freshened with limewash each spring. These were grey and pockmarked with holes that looked to have been made with an arrow. Had someone been using them for target practice? There was no doubt, Emma thought, half-asleep already after the long ride, her father would have put the man who had stewarded this place straight in the stocks.

  Henri was sound asleep; playing at squire on Godric’s lap had worn him out. Emma allowed her eyelids to drift shut, and while she listened to the rustlings of Asa and the others readying themselves for bed, her tired mind struggled to make sense of the odd scraps of information she had managed to pick up since arriving.

  Lord Edouard, holder of the courtesy title of Count of Corbeil, was younger than she had expected, not much more than twenty. While he appeared to be energetic, she gathered he had indeed only recently returned to Crèvecoeur. This went some way to explaining the general air of dereliction.

  The Comte de Corbeil had fallen on Richard as though he were a long-lost friend, and had born him off to the chapel—another of the slipshod buildings within the palisade—for their conference.

  Perhaps Richard could advise him. Lord Edouard certainly looked as though he would appreciate good counsel. Would Richard’s marriage to Lady Aude be part of their discussions? Would Richard honour his cousin’s obligations, or might sight of Crèvecoeur have given him pause?

  Opening weary eyes, Emma glanced at the door. There was still no sign of him—when would he be back? Would he sleep in here or would he choose the stables? Her lips twitched. There would be no visits to the stables for her tonight.

  She must confess, she had enjoyed the way Richard had fallen asleep with his strong arms wrapped around her. The big body of his had done more than make her feel safe. For a time, last night, she had felt…cherished. Which was ridiculous, impossible. Richard had given in to his baser instincts last night, and had fallen asleep with her in his arms because he was tired. It had meant no more than that.

  When Emma next closed her eyes, Judhael entered her thoughts. Apulia. Lord. Would Azor really convince Judhael to become a mercenary?

  The next thing Emma knew it was morning and Henri was dragging off her blanket.

  ‘Mama, break fast? Break fast?’

  Suppressing a groan, she sat up. Every muscle ached, stiff from yesterday’s riding.

  Others were up before them. Lord Edouard’s men and Richard’s were at table; it was a wonder she hadn’t heard them. Richard was biting into an apple. Emma found herself examining his features with that now familiar ache in her belly. Already Lord Edouard was deferring to him….

  ‘Mama?’

  Flushing, Emma wrenched her gaze away. Richard had warned her how they must not draw attention to each other at Crèvecoeur; nevertheless, it rankled when he didn’t so much as acknowledge her presence. He did look past her, though, when the doors opened and light tumbled across the threshold.

  Two men strode in. ‘Lord Edouard!’ The dust of the road was still upon them and their faces were taut, their eyes intense.

  Brow clearing, Lord Edouard beckoned to them. ‘Lord Richard, these are the scouts I mentioned, Rognald and Mark. I expected them back before this.’

  Spurs clinking, the men approached the board. Questioning glances were thrown at Richard and his knights. ‘My lord?’

  ‘Are you well?’ Lord Edouard asked. ‘You suffered no…accidents?’

  ‘No, my lord, everything went as planned. But we do bring news. Permission to speak freely?’

  ‘Certainly. Count Richard of Beaumont, allow me to present Rognald and Mark.’

  Rognald inclined his head. ‘Please accept my condolences with regard to Count Martin, my lord.’

  ‘I thank you.’

  Swordbelts were unbuckled; a maid brought water for washing. The scouts were given space on a bench, more food and drink was brought, platters were pushed towards them. Emma strained to hear more.

  The man named Rognald glanced at Richard. ‘It is doubtless as you suspected, my lord. Argentan and Alençon must have learned of your cousin’s death a few days ago as there have been unusual troop movements in both counties and at the borders. And even, I fear, in Beaumont itself. Lady Aude bade me give her brother a message.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Lady Aude wishes us to make plain that unless word comes from you, my lord—’ Rognald looked Richard in the eye ‘—and quickly, she might find herself in the position of having to surrender to the Count of Alençon or his commander.’

  Silence fell. Richard rested his chin on his hand and stared frowningly at the scouts. Lord Edouard had lost colour. The Count of Corbeil looked alarmingly young, and while Emma knew that many younger men had dealt with such matters, she wondered if Lord Edouard had the experience.

  Seeing Henri was about to speak, she pulled him into her lap and put her hand over his mouth. ‘Hush, sweetheart.’

  Several seconds passed. Abruptly, Richard pushed himself to his feet. ‘Change of plan. We leave at once for Falaise. Edouard, my apologies, we shall have to wait to further our acquaintance.’

  Lord Edouard rose. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Geoffrey, the horses.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ Snatching a hunk of bread from the table, Geoffrey ran from the hall, scooping up his pack from his mattress on his way out.

  Richard gripped Lord Edouard’s arm. ‘I thank you for your hospitality and for sharing your intelligence with me. I shall see that you do not regret it. We need each other, I think.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘One thing further. I hope it does not come to this, but should Aude need a refuge, I take it she will be welcome here?’

  ‘Assuredly.’

  ‘My thanks. Sir Jean, Stephen…’

  As one, Richard’s men were on their feet. Emma’s heart began to pound. They were leaving? What about her?

  They were halfway to the door when Emma scrambled
up. ‘My lord?’

  Richard turned and for a moment his eyes were as cold as the stones at the bottom of the Itchen. ‘Lady Emma?’

  She put her arm round Henri and jerked her head towards Asa. ‘What of us?’

  ‘You won’t be able to keep up.’

  She swallowed. ‘Are we to remain here?’ She could not remain here. Judhael!

  A nod. ‘It would be safer, if Lord Edouard will…’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ Lord Edouard smiled. ‘They must stay.’

  ‘My lord, please!’ Richard’s fingers were drumming on his sword hilt. In his mind he was already in Falaise, already hastening to Beaumont. Emma stumbled towards him.

  ‘Lady Emma, we are, as you have no doubt heard, in something of a hurry. You need an escort, I cannot spare one.’

  Emma lurched for his sleeve before she could check herself. She could feel the strong arm beneath the cloth, the heat of his body. ‘My lord, let us follow as quickly as we may. We do not need a large escort.’

  Lord Edouard stirred. ‘I could spare some men to escort the lady to Falaise.’

  ‘Oh, thank you!’

  Richard drew Emma to one side, away from listening ears. She could not read his expression. Angry? Abstracted?

  ‘Please, my lord, let us follow you.’

  Penetrating grey eyes searched hers. Then, ‘Since Lord Edouard is prepared to lend his assistance, I suppose I could spare Sir Jean. Jean!’

  Sir Jean retraced his steps. ‘Lord Richard?’

  ‘You will escort the ladies.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Take Godric. And, Jean, I aim to reach Falaise shortly after noon. Duke William has pledged me his support, so I will see what I may drum up there in the way of troops. That being done, we shall be continuing to Beaumont immediately.’

  ‘You will have to change horses.’

  ‘Indeed. So when you reach Falaise, make sure Roland and the other mounts are well rested. When they are, you can bring them with you the rest of the way.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘Come to think of it, the dogs would be better travelling with you, too.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  Richard gave Emma a curt smile. ‘I shall command a larger escort for you at Falaise. Rest there a night—the child will need it as much as the animals. With luck I shall see you the day after.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  Turning on his heel, Richard followed his other knights out of the hall.

  ‘So, my lord…’ Sir Jean turned to Lord Edouard ‘…how many men can you spare so that these ladies may reach Falaise in safety?’

  Emma was unable to tear her gaze from the empty doorway. This put Richard doubly in Lord Edouard’s debt. For his support and assistance in conveying her to Beaumont and also for sharing the scouts’ report. She chewed her lip, and though the answer was none of her business, a question jumped into her mind.

  Would these events make Richard more, or less, likely to marry Lord Edouard’s sister?

  A sinking feeling gave her the answer. It also told her that she minded far too much.

  The sun had burned the morning mists away. In other circumstances it would have been a pleasant journey, but with her much-diminished escort, Emma grew increasingly uneasy. She found herself torn between the urge to peer over her shoulder—the thought that Judhael was hot on her heels was not to be shaken—and worry about what might be happening at Beaumont.

  When would Richard get there? Was a battle likely? If he was hurt…

  She took no pleasure in the violets and daisies that starred the wayside; she was blind to the flare of the gorse and deaf to the warbling of birds in the bushes. She wanted to reach Falaise. No, be honest, she wanted to reach Beaumont. She and Henri would be safe with Richard. He would never wed her because she was a fallen woman and no lands or prestige would ever attach to her, but it seemed he felt some guilt about having bedded her in the stables at Honfleur. If she was careful, he really might keep her for his mistress.

  And if Judhael arrived in Beaumont? Surely even Judhael must eventually realise that she would never go back to him?

  After crossing a featureless plain the road became sunken and full of ruts. The earth was dark red, the colour of a fox’s coat.

  Emma was tired. Her veil was hot and itchy, she longed to rip it from her head and wash her hair. Richard’s dogs on the other hand, were inexhaustible. One of Lord Edouard’s men had them on long leashes and they were bouncing along beside his mount with as much spring in their step as when they had set out from Crèvecoeur. Even the little white mongrel had more energy that she did, having no difficulty keeping pace, either.

  ‘Only a mile to go,’ Sir Jean said.

  Asa was wrapped round Sir Jean, sitting as close as a girl could get to a man when riding pillion behind him. Her cheeks were pressed against his mailcoat, which had to be uncomfortable, but Asa was wearing the dreamiest of smiles. A warning bell rang in Emma’s head. Did Asa fancy herself in love with him?

  Rolling his shoulders as if to shake off a burr, Sir Jean added, ‘Falaise is directly ahead, my lady.’

  The road curled as they approached a vast stone keep, and Asa was pushed out of Emma’s mind. Great walls seemed to have grown right out of the rocks, casting a long shadow. The rockface was sheer and the castle walls rose up like mountains—they made Emma’s party look as significant as a column of ants.

  A thriving market was in full swing at the foot of the walls, and there were peasant farmers and soldiers everywhere. A troop marched ahead of them on the road, helmets and leaf-bladed spears catching the sun. There were knights, too; pennons waved, horses whinnied. Children squealed and weaved in and out of the crowd, and the air was heady with the scents of baking bread, of roasted meats and spilled wine.

  The river glided placidly past the rugged mass of stone that was Falaise Castle. A willow trailed thin fingers into the water. This was where Duke William’s father had first seen Herleva, the beautiful washerwoman who had become his lover, but there were no women washing clothes today, just a pair of swans, drifting serenely with the flow.

  Lips twisting, Emma gripped her reins. Herleva had given the young Duke a son, the son who would later go on to conquer England, but he had not married her. Dukes did not marry their mistresses. She clenched her teeth. Had Herleva loved her Duke? Or had she, like Emma, had other reasons for taking a noble lover?

  Resolutely, Emma fixed her eyes on the approaching gateway and her mind on the days to come. Count Richard marry the mistress who had once been a washerwoman? Never.

  They entered the castle. Never before had Emma seen so many soldiers in one place; it was most disquieting. She was allocated a place in the ladies’ bower with Asa and Henri—it was a relief to escape the Great Hall. Sir Jean saw them settled, then marched off to inspect the escort that Richard had found for them and to see to the horses.

  They next saw Sir Jean shortly after breakfast as they all climbed into their saddles. Count Edouard’s men had vanished and there were several different faces in their escort.

  Emma exchanged greetings with Sir Jean. She was so stiff that she could barely move, but she made no complaint. The aching muscles would ease on the journey and besides, she wanted to reach Beaumont, and safety, as quickly as possible.

  The mist had come down and was cloaking the landscape when they rode into Richard’s new county. Beaumont. Emma recalled Richard mentioning orchards, but these were lost behind a shifting grey veil, along with the peasants’ fields and the river valley.

  ‘Beaumont, my lady.’ Sir Jean waved at a shiny wet wall rising up on their left. ‘The castle is up yonder.’

  Asa craned her neck to see. ‘The top is lost in the mist,’ she murmured, before letting her cheek settle back against Sir Jean.

  Richard had mentioned that Beaumont was in effect one of Duke William’s watchtowers. ‘The castle is not a wooden motte-and-bailey, like the one at Crèvecoeur, Sir Jean?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Oh,
no, my lady, Beaumont was built to last.’

  On their right a stream rushed past, swollen by spring rains. Alders and willows loomed out of the mist. Emma caught the scent of wild mint and her stomach rumbled. She was hungry, doubtless the others were hungry, too—riding certainly sharpened the appetite.

  They dug in their spurs as the road went sharply upwards. One of the dogs began to whine. Higher and higher they went, the trees falling back into the mist. Emma saw a village, a village green, a well. Finally, the horses’ hoofs clattered across a wooden bridge and they trotted into the bailey. The dogs strained at their leashes, quivering with excitement.

  Stone walls surrounded them, gleaming with damp. Up here, the mist was thin enough for Emma to make out that Beaumont Castle had been built in the usual Norman style—a large stone keep in the form of a tower with adjacent outbuildings and stables. And more soldiers, of course. The place was crawling with soldiers. And horses, and archers, and…

  Emma’s stomach cramped. Where was Richard? And how should she greet Lady Aude if she should meet her? Would Lady Aude even acknowledge her? Perhaps the people here would shun her as some of the townsfolk in Winchester had done. Was she to be nithing here in Beaumont?

  ‘My lady, welcome!’ Geoffrey had spotted them and was elbowing his way through a knot of troopers. ‘You have made good time. My lord did not expect you until tomorrow.’

  Dismounting, Emma eased her back with a grimace. ‘It has been a hard journey. I am somewhat out of practice, I fear.’

  She moved to take Henri down from Godric, but Geoffrey got there first.

  ‘Permit me, my lady. Hello, Henri.’

  ‘Hello, squire.’

  Sir Jean came to lead Emma’s horse away. Asa watched him go, longing large in her eyes. Oh, dear.

  Geoffrey smiled at Emma. ‘Please come with me, I will show you to your quarters.’

  Thus it was, that moments after her arrival at Beaumont Castle, Emma and Asa were whisked through a great hall with a span large enough to rival the King’s Great Hall at Winchester. But this was not quite like the hall at Winchester—there was some sort of fireplace set into the wall. Into the wall? Flames were vanishing into the stonework.