The Baron's Bride

by Joanna Makepeace

  Alain leaned forward eagerly. “He has work for me? Does he need me at Wallingford? If so…”

  “No, my friend. The siege goes on as ever. You know only too well how these affairs progress slowly, if at all. It may be we will lift the siege at any time. There have been suggestions that we try to lift the siege at Malmesbury, but no decisions have been made yet.” He paused and looked down into the lees in his wine goblet. “The King has been informed that you were once friendly with Henry Plantagenet.”

  Lord Alain’s expression grew grave. “If the King doubts my loyalty…”

  “No, nothing like that. Is it true you know the Empress Matilda’s son well?”

  “No, not well. I served with him briefly as a page and I met him again just once at the French Court when the King sent me on an embassy to King Louis.”

  “Do you rate him highly—as a man—and commander?”

  “Yes.” Alain spoke without hesitation. “Though, of course, that is my opinion only. As I said, our acquaintance was short. I left service with him and went to serve in Robert of Beaumont’s household.

  “Henry struck me then as a boy who would be a good friend and a bad enemy, but one who considered justice highly, always an excellent trait in a ruler—and there was no trace of laziness in him, always on the move, restless, but with purpose. Of course, he may have changed—and now that he is wed to Eleanor of Aquitaine his ambitions will have no bounds, I would think.”

  “The King believes that Henry will soon land on the south coast, probably at Poole or Wareham. We know he planned to set sail from Barfleur soon after Christmas.”

  “Ah.”

  Rainald de Tourel said very softly, “The King would like you to try to meet with Henry again.”

  De Treville’s dark eyes widened perceptively. “But that would be construed as treason.”

  “By some, yes. The mission would not be without risk—from both sides. Henry would be unlikely to welcome you either. You could be arrested as a spy.”

  “The King wishes me to treat with Henry FitzEmpress? Surely there are greater men than I to perform such a service.”

  “Greater but less trustworthy. No, the King does not wish you to go to any such lengths. Indeed, without the consent of his Council, that would be outrageous indeed.”

  “But Rainald, there have been so many attempts at truce. No side will give way. Matilda considers her claim unassailable and Stephen was the barons’ choice…”

  “The King is tired, Alain, and, I fear, unwell. He wants an end to all this—for the sake of the realm.”

  Alain shrugged. “Amen to that. So do we all—but how?”

  De Tourel tapped meditatively upon the rim of his wine goblet with one finger. “It has been suggested that if the King should die—Henry might be an admirable choice to succeed him.”

  “But the King’s sons, Eustace, in particular, would never agree to that.”

  “Eustace, perhaps not—he is headstrong and unruly—but William might, if it is the King’s will.”

  “And is it?” Alain questioned bluntly.

  De Tourel said quietly, “Eustace is becoming more and more out of hand. The people fear his brutal excesses. Since the Queen died, Stephen is beginning to feel more and more at odds with his elder son—and doubtful about the final outcome.”

  “But surely I am not to put such a consideration to Henry, even should I be allowed into his presence?”

  “No, naturally, you could not dare go so far, but the King wishes to know your assessment of Henry’s character now, and whether he would be acceptable to the people of England. God knows his father, Geoffrey, would never have been. If you could meet with him again, however briefly, and report to His Grace, we could have a better idea of how far to proceed with the possibility of such a proposed treaty in council.”

  Alain sat back in his chair and stared bleakly at the glowing charcoal in its brazier.

  “You wish me to go in secret?”

  “Yes.”

  “And should I be taken and arraigned for treason…?”

  De Tourel smiled grimly. “It would be for the King to do his best for you, but…”

  “‘But’ is the operative word.”

  “It is thought that Henry will meet with some of the defecting barons nearby, probably at Devizes.”

  “Then the King fears many such defections?”

  De Tourel sighed heavily. “The war lags on and the land suffers. As we have said, many do not trust Eustace to succeed his father—and the Church is antagonistic towards Eustace for his ungodly behaviour. It is natural enough men should turn to a younger man they could hail as a saviour. The King needs to act soon—before he finds himself deserted by his ablest commanders.”

  Alain was silent and sat for a while, turning his wine goblet and watching the blood-red liquid swirl in the dullish glow from the brazier.

  He said at last, “I would need to travel in disguise. This is not a role I am good at. Also I should need to ride hard and fast to reach the south before Henry leaves for an undesignated destination. I would need to take few men and in this winter weather—who knows how long we might be delayed?”

  “Aye, I found it hard going in places riding here from Wallingford.”

  Alain was thinking fast now. “I could go as a wealthy merchant, anxious about these marauding raids in this district, fearful for my own property in Oakham. As you have already suggested, what more natural than men should seek out Henry as a possible future protector?”

  “But once in his presence, should you be admitted, he would recognise you?”

  “Oh, certainly. It would then be necessary for me to disclose, in part, at least, the true purpose for my arrival.”

  “You would risk that?”

  Alain shrugged. “Henry is known to have a fierce temper. It is said to be the curse of the Plantagenets, inherited from the infamous witch blood of their legendary ancestress, Melisande.

  “There is no doubt I could be summarily dispatched if I was thought to be a spy from the King’s camp, but, as I have judged him previously, Henry is known to prize justice, and I believe he would listen to me patiently. I remember as a boy he was known to come to the rescue of younger lads bullied unmercifully. The mission is not without danger, but I have hope of success if once I can reach him.”

  “What if you were to take a beautiful wife? Henry, I believe, is also known, like his father, to idolise lovely women?”

  Alain’s dark eyes snapped in sudden fury. “You would have me endanger Gisela?”

  “Not necessarily, you could take some other lass, but—” and Rainald de Tourel’s white teeth gleamed in a knowing smile “—I do not think Lady Gisela would have aught to fear from Henry FitzEmpress, even should her husband forfeit his head.”

  Again Alain sat for a while, gloomily silent. “She is a fearless woman,” he said at last, “and a fine horsewoman, unlikely to delay me on the ride; and God knows she is like to get up to the Devil’s own business if I leave her here. De Burgh is unlikely to be able to curb her should she venture to once more ride out against de Cotaine.”

  De Tourel said heavily, “Alain, I would not willingly counsel you to do aught that would deliberately place your lady in jeopardy, but if she were to ride with you with only one attendant and few followers, it would serve to arouse less suspicion than a man riding alone. You could place her in safety in some inn when you reach the coast before proceeding on to Devizes.”

  Alain stood up and stretched. “I will go, of course,” he said decisively. “The King has need of my services and I cannot, in honour, refuse, but you must leave to me how much, in the end, I feel the need to divulge to my wife. Is that understood?”

  “Perfectly.” De Tourel smiled in answer.

  “Then I will see you again at supper, and, Rainald, I would regard it a favour if you curbed your over-obvious charming manner tonight.” His smile faded, as he added more soberly, “Afterwards, when I have thought further, I will decide what to
do about the need for Gisela to accompany me.”

  The two men were both on their feet now and regarding each other gravely.

  De Tourel said, “God guard you in this quest, Alain, and bring you safe back to Allestone, but know, all our hopes ride with you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Gisela was surprised when Alain entered their bedchamber somewhat abruptly and earlier than she might have expected. Noting his grim expression, she called Huon, who was outside waiting attendance, to take charge of Hereward. The young page hurried in, snapped on Hereward’s leash and, despite the pup’s determination to jump up on Alain and lick his face, took him instantly outside the chamber.

  Aldith, who was turning back the furred coverlet for her mistress, curtsied and followed the page, pulling to the door after her.

  Lord Alain stood with his back against it, looking steadily at his wife. Gisela had donned a fur-lined bedgown for the night was cold. Her golden hair streamed below her waist and she stood hesitantly, one hand against her heart, as if she feared what might come of this meeting. It was the first time they had spoken alone together since she had accused him of arrant cowardice. She bit her lip, longing to break the deadlock, yet uncertain what to say.

  In the end she said, a little awkwardly, “I—I thought you would be closeted with our guest a little longer. Did he say if he was satisfied with our arrangements for his hospitality?”

  Lord Alain said somewhat curtly, “Considering what I saw in the bathhouse, he would be churlish to complain about the warmth of his welcome.”

  She flushed hotly and fiddled nervously with the tasselled cord of her bedgown.

  “I—I thought—it was explained to me that to assist a guest in the bathhouse was customary and expected of the lady of the manor. Lady Rohese was present and…”

  “It is expected,” he replied shortly, “it was just that you both seemed to be extra attentive, that is all, but there, Rainald has always had a way with women.”

  “He is amusing,” Gisela said lamely. “I know some of his stories may not have been in the best of taste, but…”

  He waved away her excuse. “No, it is nothing. There was no impropriety. Perhaps I would not have been so touchy had not I seen in your eyes a recognition of his likeness to Kenrick of Arcote.”

  Her blue eyes widened in shock.

  “So my feelings for Kenrick still rankle with you?”

  He was unfastening his swordbelt, his shoulder turned on her, but he swung round instantly.

  “Yes, it rankles, especially when I find you mourning him so keenly at the tomb only days ago.”

  “I explained that. I…”

  “Do you deny you love him still?” He was staring at her, his eyes hostile, his stance rigid, both feet planted determinedly upon the floor.

  “I cannot deny I still have deep feelings for Kenrick. I always will have. He was my childhood companion. I thought him the love of my life, but…”

  “But?”

  She was very close to tears and turned away from him, one hand agitatedly moving, as if she would ward him off, though, in truth, he made no move to touch her.

  She said, piteously, “He cannot come between us now.”

  “He can lie a cold ghost within our marriage bed,” he said harshly.

  “If you believe that…”

  “I do believe it, since, it seems, you are determined to make me the instrument of your vengeance. Your one desire is to avenge your lover’s death.”

  She swung round on him then, advanced, then began to strike impotent blows upon his unyielding chest.

  “He was never my lover. You should know that only too well, my lord. You took my maidenhood, you and no other.”

  He caught her hands in his own and forcibly halted their attack upon his person.

  “Your body is mine, but your heart is still his. Confess it.”

  “Confess?” She lifted vivid blue eyes to him, now drowned in angry and hurt tears. “What do you want me to confess? You are my husband. I have not betrayed, and will never betray, your trust.”

  “Aye, I’m prepared to believe that since the man is dead and there can be no temptation.”

  She stood docilely in his arms. “Yes, he is dead,” she said dully, “and I regret that. I feel partly responsible since I begged him to come back to Brinkhurst with me to plead with my father and to offer for me in order to save me from an unhappy marriage.”

  “Ah.” The single word was an angry assertion of his previous conviction.

  “My father pressed me to the match. You know that,” she flamed at him. “I had no choice.”

  “And will have no chance to break your vows. I’ll see to that.”

  She wrenched herself away from him then. “Very well, play the tyrant in your own household. Keep me confined. Beat me if you will. You have that right.”

  “When have I ever mistreated you?”

  “You are threatening me now.”

  “I make no threats, simply remind you that you are mine and I will hold you.”

  Angry spots of vivid colour showed in her cheeks.

  “As you said, a moment ago, my body is yours—but,” she added defiantly, “my will is my own and my opinions.”

  “That I am a coward? You made that very plain.” The words were grated out through gritted teeth and she saw his dark, opaque eyes light up with a sudden flame of rank fury.

  Her momentary fear was so intense that she cowered back from him. “I—I should not have said that…”

  “But you continue to think it.”

  “No,” she whispered, dry-mouthed. “I was out of my mind with temper at your interference in the wood and since—have regretted those hastily uttered words. I know there is not one cowardly bone in your body.”

  He gave a short, harsh laugh. “There are cowardly impulses in all of us, lady, believe me.”

  She was silent, waiting for him to make the next move in this frightening exchange.

  He said, curtly, “I have my own reasons for holding my hand over this matter of bringing Mauger de Cotaine to justice. For the moment he must be allowed to continue his depredations in the county unchecked. I like it no more than you do, but it has to be so.”

  “I am sure I could have had proof of his involvement today. I saw their leader. I know he was one of the raiding party at Brinkhurst. If he could have been followed, I am certain he and the other routiers would have finished up at Offen—”

  “I believe you, but, as I said, you must trust me in this.”

  She let her shoulders rise and fall in a little gesture of utter helplessness.

  “I am concerned about Edwin, Algar—and Sigurd,” she murmured in a little hoarse whisper. “I am afraid you will punish them harshly, yet they were only trying to help me. I am responsible for what happened.”

  “You appear to constantly hold that tyrannical opinion of me firmly fixed in your head,” he said coldly.

  “I—” She hesitated. “I know it. I tend to fear the worst of you and—and have no real evidence to show any undue severity towards your men on your part, yet—”

  “You fear me.” He strode suddenly forward and took her by the shoulders. “Do not deny it.”

  She trembled in his grasp and he forced up her chin with one finger so that she was looking directly into his eyes. “Why?”

  “You have—a reputation for strict discipline, my lord.”

  “Yes,” he said softly, “and with good reason.” His voice was hoarse now with desire. “I have the urge to compel my wife to love me—and, perhaps, that might prove my downfall.”

  He was holding her so close now that she could smell the clean fragrance of his skin, the faint muskiness of his masculinity. She was afraid of his anger since she had given him just cause to punish her.

  She had disobeyed him, accused him of cowardice—that most terrible attack upon his manhood and knightly honour—and, in these last few hours, she had deliberately provoked his rising fury by appearing to be bewitch
ed by the flattering attentions of his friend.

  She found herself suddenly lifted off her feet and held against his heart, as his mouth closed demandingly on hers so hard that, for moments, she was unable to breathe and the sound of her own quickened heartbeats pounded unnaturally in her ears.

  She clung to him desperately. She had missed him so dreadfully since that day in the church near Kenrick’s tomb, had longed for the feel of him beside her in bed, the sensations his skilful hands wrought upon her own taut, expectant body. She knew now that she loved him and none other.

  They had warred since the first moment they had clashed near Aldith’s assart cottage. He had teased her, resisted her demands, yet, in the end, he had tempered his judgements and given in to her pleading for his mercy, rescued her from a dreadful death in the raid on Brinkhurst, wooed her in the marriage bed and finally dominated her, not by harsh usage, but by the skilled and gentle knowledge of the arts of love.

  Now she wanted only to surrender, to beg his forgiveness, to heal the widening breach she saw yawning threateningly between them—hear him declare his love for her.

  He had carried her to the bed and laid her down upon it, kneeling up upon one knee beside her, his face pressed close to her now.

  “Perhaps, my heart,” he said softly, “I can teach you to love me if I cannot compel. Sweet Virgin,” he muttered on what almost sounded like a sob, “do you not know how close I was to losing you out there in the wood, how near you were to being defiled and murdered by that red-bearded piece of slime? I love you, Gisela of Allestone, aren’t you aware of that yet? Can you not understand that I cannot bear to have you so much as glance at another man, not even to mourn a dead one?”

  She arched towards him and, for a while, there were no more words between them.

  He had undressed quickly and hungrily pushed down her bedgown from her ivory shoulders. Then he ran his hands through the glory of her loosened fair hair.

  If she had feared he would take her in anger she was soon reassured, for he deliberately curbed his desire, holding her close, nuzzling the soft flesh of her shoulder, pressing his lips to the proud stem of her throat. She sensed almost a desperation within him and, after his possession of her, which carried her to the heights of ecstasy, she lay back, replete, her own wild desires satisfied, and ran her hand lovingly over his strong arms and the hard rib cage.