Soon the relieving hosts had moved into position, de Cotaine’s men neatly trapped between their two companies.
Geoffrey de Marchmont called up to Alain on the keep leads.
“I trust we come in time, de Treville?”
“Well in time, my lord, thank the Virgin. Lady Gisela is unharmed and the defenders safe.”
De Marchmont was dismounting and advanced to where Mauger de Cotaine still stood, guarded by his small group of remaining supporters.
The shire reeve’s voice was authoritative as he said crisply, “Sir Mauger de Cotaine, Baron of Offen, I have the King’s authority to arrest you for treason and various other specified crimes against the folk of this county. It is useless for you to resist since our two companies completely surround you. There is no escape.”
Lord Alain interposed, his voice carrying clearly. “I acknowledge your authority, lord sheriff, but I claim right of combat against this man. I have challenged him to mortal combat and was waiting for his reply when we heard your trumpets. He has threatened my wife’s safety and injured her father and members of her household. I demand he answer to me first to those personal charges I hold against him.”
Rainald de Tourel had dismounted and conferred briefly with the shire reeve.
He called to his friend, “There is no further need for you to endanger yourself, Alain. The man will be charged and, please God, be found guilty in the King’s court in Oakham.”
“Yet I insist on my knightly right of challenge.”
Again the two commanders conferred and Gisela whispered urgently, “Alain, you have nothing to prove and everything to lose. Allow the shire reeve to decide this man’s guilt or innocence.”
Gently he put her from him. “I have everything to lose if I do not meet this man, my heart. Surely you must see that. Many in this county have wondered why I have held my hand against him. Now I must prove myself.”
The shire reeve was addressing de Cotaine. “Do you accept this challenge, Sir Mauger?”
“Aye.” The answer was churlish. The handsome mercenary chief shrugged his broad shoulders. “Let him come down now and face me before your men and mine and we shall see whom the gods favour.”
Gisela turned from the scene below to rest her head against her husband’s shoulder. She felt sick and faint, yet she knew there was nothing she could do to prevent this bloodletting between her love and her bitterest enemy.
From the first she had wanted this, a goad to prod Alain de Treville into giving her revenge against the man who had killed Kenrick and attacked her beloved home. Now that they were to engage in mortal combat that desire for vengeance was as ashes in her mouth. She was shaking with fear and cold and Lord Alain called for Aldith to bring her warm fur-lined mantle.
He bent, tilted up her face with one finger upon her chin, and kissed her very gently. “Stay here, my love, with your father and Sir Clement to guard you. Try not to fear for me.” He hesitated, then added softly, “If aught should go wrong, Rainald de Tourel will take your case before the King and he will make provision for you.”
She reached out for him blindly as Aldith came to her side, but he pushed her very gently towards her attendant, nodded to Sir Walter and began to move towards the trapdoor that would lead him below. Once there, he walked out through the keep bailey and gatehouse to meet his foe before the assembled companies.
Gisela refused to go below and await the outcome in the great hall. She insisted on remaining on the keep leads in clear view of the coming battle. Her father saw to it that she was well wrapped against the cold and drew her to a slightly more sheltered place behind the crenellation. He forbore to argue with her. Numbly she remembered his comment made weeks ago: that vengeance was a dish best taken cold. Now the heat of her passionate thirst for vengeance was over, she did, indeed, feel deadly cold.
She watched Alain emerge with Huon in attendance from the gatehouse as the drawbridge was lowered, the entrance to the gatehouse guarded by men of de Tourel’s company. He walked steadily into the ring formed by the shire reeve’s men. De Cotaine’s had withdrawn somewhat and stood surlily awaiting the outcome in trepidation. Whatever occurred now they could not hope to avoid punishment.
Gisela saw Alain remove his surcoat and hand it to Huon, who handed his lord his broadsword and a battle axe that Alain fitted carefully within his belt. Gisela recalled seeing Huon on several occasions over the last few days assiduously sharpening and oiling the blades of Alain’s weapons in case of need and blessed the boy’s optimism that his lord would return to him. Now Alain was well armed and prepared.
Her heart ached for him. He was near exhaustion surely, after riding so hard to her assistance and crawling through that vile tunnel to her rescue, yet he was going fearlessly into combat.
One of de Cotaine’s men was acting as his squire and the mercenary chief was preparing himself, running a thumb down the blade of his sword and checking his mace, which hung from a leather strap from his sword belt.
They were to meet on foot, blade to blade. This was no chivalric tourney. Both men were aware of the fact that only one could emerge from this alive. Gisela drew a hard rasping breath and felt her father’s comforting, steadying hand upon her shoulder.
The shire reeve was addressing the combatants. Gisela could not hear what was said but, all too soon, she saw his raised arm holding a small wooden baton and the two antagonists turned and faced each other, only a few feet between them. Rainald de Tourel stood close to the shire reeve, his eyes narrowed to watch the proceedings. Several of his own most experienced men had been detailed to ensure none of de Cotaine’s men could interfere in their lord’s favour.
Gisela had never seen men fight before. Tourneys had been declared ungodly by the church; though they often took place, she had never been taken to witness one. She had seen boys wrestle together on market days for prizes of pigs or coin, but that had been good-humoured and could end only in strained muscles or, at worst, broken bones.
Her whole body shuddered at the first heavy clang of sword on sword. She could not bear to look yet forced herself to do so. She could not fail Alain now through lack of the courage she had demanded in him.
To her, so far away upon the keep roof, it looked vaguely unreal. The two circled and lunged, withdrew and lunged again. Their movements looked clumsy as they swung the incredibly heavy weapons, she registered dully, as if she had expected something more polished and elegant.
Both were experienced fighters—she knew that instinctively. Whatever de Cotaine’s faults, he did not lack courage, though he must have sensed that even if he should win, he would be later arrested. This mortal combat was a last defiant throw of the dice, a thirst for personal scores to be settled.
Alain’s movements looked efficient enough. He did not display any show of weariness, at least not at first. The heavy clangs of the great swords continued to ring out and Gisela marvelled at the silence of the watchers. No one called out any insults or encouragments. Everyone, it seemed, was concentrated on the deadly nature of this business.
Once Gisela’s heart came into her mouth as Alain was forced right back almost on to his knees, but he managed to recover and lunge back energetically at his opponent. She could hear, even from this distance, the harsh, wheezy breaths the two made now as stolidly they continued the fight, seemingly evenly matched and neither wishing to give ground.
She knew that Alain was deliberately reining in his own hot fury at this man he hated for threatening her and inwardly she prayed that that same careful deliberation would carry him to victory. Then, suddenly, there was a yell from one of the watchers as de Cotaine’s sword flickered to the most vulnerable part of Alain’s mail, that joint where the shoulders of the mailed coif met the body mail.
Lord Alain gave a great grunt; Gisela was certain he was severely wounded, then, before she could cry out her terrible fear, he made a sudden feint. De Cotaine staggered back, attempted to recover, then gave a gurgled scream as Lord Alain’s blade st
abbed mercilessly upwards and punctured his jugular, unprotected by the parting of his mail collar. He reared up, staggered again, pulled himself relentlessly upright and Gisela watched, horrified, as Alain stood back. The mercenary lord stood for moments, clawing at his throat, his own blade falling helplessly with a great clang to the ground, then he gave a final rasping, choking scream and toppled forward, face down, full upon Lord Alain’s sword.
Gisela leaned down anxiously for sight of Alain. He had been sorely wounded, she knew. She saw him stagger and lean heavily upon Rainald de Tourel’s shoulder, then men closed in round him and she could no longer discern his beloved form. Her father was urging her towards the roof trapdoor.
“Come below, Gisela. They will bring him to the Jewish physician. All is over. De Cotaine has paid for his crimes. The shire reeve will round up those mercenaries believed responsible for crimes within the county.”
She allowed herself to be persuaded, though her eyes yearned after the little knot of men helping her husband towards the drawbridge.
She almost flew down the steep spiral steps and to the curtained-off alcove Joshua ben Suleiman had had prepared for the reception of the wounded. He received Gisela courteously and made no attempt to bar her from the area.
Rainald de Tourel came into the hall with Alain leaning heavily upon him. Behind him, to the relief of both Gisela and Aldith, came Sigurd, appearing to have taken no harm. More than likely he had totally eluded his pursuer. The frightened villeins and serfs drew back, gazing worriedly at their wounded lord. Gisela hastened to her husband’s side as he approached the alcove.
She saw with relief that he was grinning despite his obvious pain and the ominous spreading stain upon his mail.
“By all the saints, Joshua, I’m bleeding like a stuck pig,” he grimaced as the physician helped him on to a low couch.
“Lie still, my lord, and let me see what damage you sustained.”
Gisela stood ready with a bowl of warm water and Aldith hastened up with torn linen for bandaging. Huon was anxiously bringing up the rear but Rainald gestured the boy away, as he and Joshua helped the injured man out of his mailed coat and cut open the oiled leather coat beneath.
Gisela almost cried aloud at sight of the ugly gash running from his collar bone on the right side almost to the navel. Alain made no outcry, but it was clear the action of ridding him of his garments had given a great deal of pain. Joshua bent to examine the wound. Rainald stood back, frowning, then he turned and gave Gisela what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“He’s taken worse than this often enough in the heat of battle,” he said on a falsely cheery note.
Joshua raised his head and waved to have the water and wine brought to clean the wound.
“It is a bad gash,” he pronounced, “it is fortunate it has missed the vital organs, in particular the heart. A little nearer the left and—but we will not think of that. I see no fragments of leather or rust from the mail in the wound. It will heal when I have completed the stitching, but the blood loss is considerable. You will have to rest for some days, Lord Alain.”
Alain grinned back at him cheerfully. “If that will keep me to my chamber with my lady, away from desmesne business for a while, I’ll make no complaints,” he said and suffered the physician’s ministrations with merely a grunt or two though Gisela guessed he was feeling exquisite pain.
A mixture of wine and water was brought for Alain to drink and at last he was helped up the stair to his chamber.
Gisela busied herself plumping up the pillows of their bed, aware that she must not allow her terrible anxiety to show. He caught at her two hands as she smoothed the fur coverlet over him and made to withdraw slightly.
“I told you all would be well.”
“I wish I could have been as sure.”
“Kiss me, sweeting.” He drew her down hard upon his body and then gave a sharp whimper as the movement caused intense pain to run through him.
“You must not do that,” she remonstrated.
“I have been waiting days to do that, and now you say I must not?”
“Joshua ordered you to rest.”
“I will when you assure me that you love me.”
She stared down at him, her great blue eyes awash with tears. “You know I love you. I told you so the last night we had together at Allestone and many times afterwards upon the journey.”
“Yet,” he said hoarsely, “I doubted, feared that—Oh, God, Gisela, you are all in the world to me and I could so easily have lost you had I come but moments later than I did. My own crass jealousy blinded my eyes to the truth.
“Out there I thought only to avenge you, not only for what you suffered at Brinkhurst but for his loss, Kenrick of Arcote’s, for, by the Holy Virgin, I believe he loved you and died trying to save you. I have no right to resent the youthful love you gave to him.”
She bent and kissed his eyes, his salt tears dampening her lips.
“I have told you, Alain de Treville, you are the only man to whom I have offered a woman’s love and will always be.”
“You are satisfied?”
Her tears fell now fast and furious. “Alain, you great oaf. Do you really believe that I wished you to endanger yourself?”
“I did, when we were first wed.”
“I was selfish and foolish. I know better now.”
He lay back against his pillows. There was a whiteness about his lips that caused her concern.
He said slowly, “I love you with all my heart and soul, Gisela de Treville. I know I took you before you were ready, indeed, wondered if you could ever be ready to love me in return. It was wrong, but I could not resist the temptation.”
She put a gentle finger reprovingly upon his lips. “I have suffered terribly since that moment at Devizes when I realised that by my fecklessness I could have caused your death. I have loved no one else for many weeks now. When you are fully recovered, I will prove it to you.”
Yet it proved to be a full week before she was able to keep her promise. Alain ran a fever and felt much weaker than he had expected to. For one or two days Gisela lived in a ferment of fear as she saw Joshua ben Suleiman’s pursed lips and furrowed brow, but finally Alain turned the corner and laughingly welcomed Hereward on to his bed, then banished him to draw his wife into his arms.
“So, my love, I am a fit man, and ready to receive your surrender.”
Despite his assurances she insisted upon their lovemaking being very gentle, for she knew he was holding in expressions of pain. She lay by his side and allowed him to caress her, knowing there would be time for their passion to flower, then grow into a warm glow that would be there for them throughout their lives together. Allestone was no longer a grim fortress, but a home enclosing herself and her husband in happiness through the still dark days of war ahead.
Three days before the Holy Season of Christmas of 1153, two days after Gisela’s churching, Rainald de Tourel came to play his part of godfather to Alain’s first son, who was to be his namesake. He was delighted to find Gisela in good health and spirits after a relatively easy childbirth.
He was able to impart the news for which they had been waiting. A final peace treaty declaring Henry Plantagenet, known as FitzEmpress, heir to the English throne had been signed at Winchester earlier that very month of December. Alain’s mission had been successful after much bargaining by several embassies. The ailing King had given his consent gladly.
The war had dragged on for months and in July the only real obstacle had been overcome. Eustace, Stephen’s heir, furious at the very suggestion of that truce and its terms, had stormed from his father’s presence. Later they heard he had committed the most terrible sacrilege and pillaged the abbey in St Edmund’s Bury.
Stephen, anxious to conciliate the shocked monks, had first captured Ipswich and hastened on to Bury to confront his errant son. It was at a feast there that Eustace had unaccountably choked upon a dish of eels and died horribly in the presence of his horrified father
and his principal commanders. Rainald, who had witnessed the event, had declared sorrowfully that he was not sure whether the choking fit had brought on a stroke.
Men spoke in hushed tones of God’s vengeance for Eustace’s evil ways but, in all events, his death, in time, brought his sorrowing father, still mourning for his beloved Queen Matilda who had died in May the previous year, a measure of comfort that he could bring this dreadful civil war to its close.
“God comfort him,” Alain said piously. “He has ever been a good lord to me and more kind and merciful to his enemies than many deserved.”
Looking down into the cradle of her sleeping son, Gisela echoed that prayer silently. The long days of civil war were over and, God willing, they could live here at Allestone in true happiness and peace.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-6109-2
THE BARON’S BRIDE
First North American Publication 2002
Copyright © 1997 by Joanna Makepeace
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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