The Lode Stone

by Jane Ann McLachlan

  Her vehemence shocked him. She had been more frightened when Alys was hurt but she had kept her head. She should feel safe now, on the streets of Le Puy.

  Was this all an act? And if so, for whose benefit?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: One Step Ahead

  They were Charles’ men. I will never forget that face. They had meant to kill Jean and let me escape; that much was obvious when the third man, instead of capturing my horse, left me to join the battle against Jean.

  Three men against one and he had beaten them off. Who would have guessed the strength of his arms, his skill with a sword? No one would have imagined he would make such a deadly opponent. But Charles would know for the next time.

  I snapped my fingers at the first maid I saw. “Parchment!” I ordered. “And a stylus. At once.”

  I hurried up the stairs to my rooms, seeing again Jean’s instant readiness, his grim determination as he defended me, or so he thought. The way he would not strike at their horses to topple the riders, the fury on his face when one of them tried to wound his. A man who defended others, even animals, with no thought to himself. It made me furious!

  “Madame Melisende—!” Elise’s voice greeted me as I reached my chambers.

  “We were attacked by outlaws after my purse,” I cried as though still terrified. I was, just not for the reasons she needed to believe. “Jean de Lyon fought them off. He saved my life!”

  Even Elise must hear the false story if I was to keep him safe.

  “I will write at once to Lord Charles. He will send men to find and punish them. And you must go to market and tell the townspeople and villagers so they can guard themselves until the outlaws have been captured.”

  The maid dashed in with my writing supplies and I sat at my table before Elise could ask any questions.

  Lord Charles, my soon-to-be husband,

  I was attacked by three outlaws this morning, no doubt after my purse. We were in my woods on the road leading to town. Jean de Lyon fought them off, killing one. Please make haste to capture the other two before they have a chance to attack anyone else. I have alerted the townspeople to stay away from the woods until the culprits are caught.

  I looked over my letter when I had finished and added a line to say I was now safe and unharmed, to prevent him from rushing to my side. I grimaced at that unlikely image. Satisfied, I blew on the ink, rolled and sealed it. That should send him to clean up his mess before any blame turned his way. Until I could think of a way to convince him to let Jean live, he need not know I was aware of his part in all this. I reached for the other parchment.

  Lord Roland,

  I have been attacked by thieves. For the sake of our past friendship, please come on your warhorse as soon as possible and attend me until my guard, Lucien, returns.

  It might sound odd, my specifying which horse he should ride, but I hoped Roland would assume I would feel safer with him on a warhorse. When both letters were ready I told Elise to have my stable master deliver them while she hurried to market with the warning. “No more questions,” I said faintly when she opened her mouth. “I will go and lie down now.”

  As soon as she was gone I slid down from the bed and paced the floor of my rooms. I ordered wine sent up. Good wine; I felt I deserved it. I looked in on Alys, sleeping quietly with her arm bound tightly to a straight board. I interrupted Guarin’s Latin lesson, to his delight, until I let him know there would be no riding lesson today and he must stay indoors. I went back to my rooms and lay down, playing to the full the part of a woman who had been attacked and feared for her and her children’s safety.

  I sent word to my gateman to admit Lord Roland when he arrived, and if I did not know of his coming before Lord Roland reached my courtyard I would find a new gate keeper.

  It occurred to me I had not thought to ask Jean if he was wounded—not badly, or I would have seen it, but what if he hid a cut to reassure me on the ride home? I sent a maid to enquire if he needed cloths or salves and to convey my orders that he rest on his pallet. I sent a second maid after her to bring him his mid-day dinner and ale so he would not need to leave the stable.

  I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes. I got up again in a moment and washed my face and neck and went down to the great hall to eat my dinner where I would be on hand as soon as Roland arrived. I was drinking my third cup of wine, the cheese and bread untouched before me, when my stable boy dashed in to say Lord Roland was coming behind him.

  “On his warhorse?”

  “I...I do not remember, Madame,” he stammered.

  “Stupid boy! If he is not on his war horse you shall have no dinner!” I waved him out, regretting my temper as soon as he was gone, and promised myself to see that he was fed. I was already half-way to the door to greet Lord Roland.

  My maid opened the door for me in time to see Lord Roland ride into my courtyard on Simon’s war horse. “Have cook make a fruit pasty for the stable boy, and see he uses some sugar in it,” I whispered to my maid before descending the steps to greet my guest.

  “Lord Roland! Thank you for coming so swiftly!” I hurried toward him.

  Now the tricky part. “You must forgive me for not heeding your earlier warning, but you will be glad when you hear of my narrow escape. I hired Jean de Lyon, and this morning he saved my life when we were attacked by thieves. I am just going now to make sure his wounds have been attended to. Please come with me.” I snapped my fingers at the stable boy holding the reins to the war horse and motioned him toward the stable.

  A mixture of emotions flitted across Roland’s face—surprise, disapproval, discomfort—but not the one I feared, disbelief. I grabbed his arm and drew him along with me before he could object. I had to be in the stable when Jean saw the war horse, and I wanted Roland with me.

  “Jean,” I called as we entered the stable. “Have you been taken care of?” Good Lord, I felt a fool. I would never say such a thing, they must know this was all play-acting. But I had to get the man off his pallet and walking toward us.

  And so he did. I saw the frown on his face; he knew something was up. If I was right he would realize at once what I was doing even though he would have no reason to suspect it. He looked from me to Roland and his frown began to change.

  Roland was still unaware. His face creased into a scowl when he saw Jean. He had been told by his brother this man was a liar and scoundrel.

  Then the stable boy led in Simon’s horse.

  The lame man’s face twisted as though he were in pain when he saw the horse. He made a low noise in his throat and clicked his tongue, seeming not even aware he had done so.

  The horse’s ears pricked up. He gave a low whinny and swung his head, pulling the reins from the boy’s hand, and trotted over to Jean. He stood there, nuzzling Jean’s neck, heaving deep sighs like a love-sotted girl.

  Simon stared at me. “Melisende...”

  I barely heard him. I was gripped by a fury so profound I did not recognize myself, and struggled to speak. “You had three years to come home to me. Two weeks in my stable to explain yourself. Now you have one hour to collect your belongings and get out.”

  I walked out, my legs, my whole body shaking with rage.

  “Simon?” Roland’s shocked voice croaked behind me.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Complicated Matter

  “I told him to stay where he is.” Roland walked across the hall toward me. I sat before the hearth fire, shivering despite the warmth, drinking the mulled ale my maid had brought.

  “I am going to fetch my brother.”

  “Your brother is out taking care of the men he sent to kill him.”

  He took this in. “They were not thieves, then.”

  “They were not thieves.”

  “You are certain?”

  “I recognized the face of the one he killed.”

  Roland lowered himself into the chair beside mine, signaling to the serving girl to bring another mug. He waited till she arrived with the hot, sweet ale and had stepped
back out of hearing.

  “He is your husband, Melisende.”

  “No longer.”

  “As long as you both live.”

  “I thought so once.”

  He drank his ale. I felt him looking at me, trying to understand.

  “Because he is crippled and scarred?”

  I gave him a disgusted look.

  “Because he is not titled? I know you do not love Charles.”

  “It is Charles who insists on marrying me.” I glared at Roland. “I do not care about titles as you do.”

  He had the grace to flush. But he took another swallow of ale and kept at me. “You loved Simon, as I did. As I do. You were devastated when he did not come home.”

  “No, he did not. He chose not to. And now he can leave again for all I care. And you will have to ask your brother why.” I stood up. “I am tired. I am going to lie down.”

  Roland rose also. “Melisende, I cannot leave it this way. I am a friend to you, whatever you think of me. And a friend to Simon, whatever you think of him. But you are married. Charles cannot wed you now. He has to know about Simon.”

  “And you think he does not?”

  Roland took a deep breath. “No. I cannot believe he would kill Simon to marry you.”

  “But he will kill him.” I closed my eyes, exhausted. I wanted them all gone. But I could not let my children’s father be murdered. “Very well. Bring Charles here if you can, and we will talk. But you must stay as witness.”

  ***

  When they walked in I knew they had not spoken. Roland would not be so easy with his brother if he knew what Charles had done at the battle of Acre, and Charles would not be greeting me with a smile if Roland had told him what we knew.

  I ordered the kitchen maid to lay out a platter of meat and olives and cheese and a jug of my house wine—I hoped it was young and sour. Then I sent her out of the hall. I was not gentry-born; I knew very well that servants had keen ears and mouths to spread what they heard.

  “Have you buried your man and had the other’s wound tended to?” I asked Charles coldly.

  “Melisende, what—”

  “Stop, Charles. I recognized his face. I gave you time to cover your work but I will tell what I know if you try to have—him—killed again.” I still could not say his name. Nor could I call him Jean now that I knew.

  “No one will believe you.”

  “I believe her. And I know—we know—that he is Simon.” Roland did not quite meet Charles’ eyes. He was used to being the younger brother, but he would not bend on this, I would not let him.

  Charles looked from Roland to me.

  “Shall I call him in?” I asked.

  Charles blanched.

  “No,” I decided. “First I want you to tell us how you came to have his horse. Tell the whole story this time. Do not spare yourself. Or shall we hear it from him?” I did not want to hear it from him. From Simon. I was not ready to speak to him at all. But he had looked shocked when I told him—thinking he was Jean—that my husband had sold me to Lord Charles. I wanted to know what Charles had left out of his story.

  “Better I hear it from you, brother,” Roland said, looking Charles straight in the eye.

  Charles swallowed his wine in three long gulps, making a face as he put his cup down. “Very well,” he said.

  “If you lie, or hold anything back, I will make sure the true story gets out.” I glared at Charles. “But if you tell the truth at last, perhaps we can reach an agreement.”

  “The only good thing to come of this is that I will not have to marry you.”

  “Already we have found something to agree upon.”

  “Melisende,” Roland said. “Let him talk.”

  Charles took a deep breath. “We were in the heat of battle before the gates of Acre. My father had been killed, I was cut off from my men, my horse butchered beneath me.” He spoke quickly, as though the telling pained him anew.

  “I was surrounded by Saracen when I saw Simon charging toward me with four men.” He looked at me. “I told you all this.”

  I nodded, unable to speak. Just so had Simon fought the men he believed were attacking me.

  “He reached me with two of the men, but he was wounded, his side cut open, his left leg dangling useless. Mortally wounded, I believed. I saw in his eyes that he knew it.”

  He raised his head defiantly. “Why should both of us die that day? I ordered him to give me his horse. He could not disobey me, nor did he try. He and his men had made an opening through the Moors, but it was closing rapidly. As we stared at each other, another of the men with him was struck down. ‘For God’s Sake, man!’ I cried.

  “’Marry my Melisende,’ he said. His voice was growing weak, the noise of the battle nearly drowning it out. ‘See that she wants for nothing, and Alys also. Promise me.’

  “I promised to take care of you, desperate for him to get down from his horse. I could have pulled him off but I would not, for the sake of the love my parents bore him.

  “‘Marry her!’ he insisted. ‘She will not take your charity.’”

  Charles looked at me wryly. “How well he knew you.”

  I scowled, but I was too close to tears to speak.

  “Charles,” Roland sounded horrified. “What have you done?”

  “I did not kill him! I did not pull him from his horse! I did as he asked—I gave him my promise, swearing to it with my hand on the cross sewn onto my chest, while he slid down from the saddle. I clambered up and kicked my spurs into the horse’s sides.

  “But it would not leave. I pulled on the reins and dug my spurs in deeper. The horse reared and wheeled in a circle back to Simon, nearly toppling me. I spurred it mercilessly, desperate to get away. The Moors were closing in, Simon and the one man still alive could not hold them long. It would all be for nothing, my command, my promise.

  “‘Go!’ Simon yelled, hitting the horse on its flank, but still it would not leave him.”

  He took a shaky breath and another long drink of his wine.

  “I fought beside men in battle, heard them screaming, swearing, weeping. But Simon had always been quiet, steadfast. I had never seen tears in his eyes nor heard his voice break, until then.

  “‘Home!’ he cried. ‘Home!’ And weeping, he struck the horse with the flat of his sword.

  “The horse wheeled and charged from the field. I caught a last glimpse of Simon falling to his knees before the Saracen, his sword still swinging, forcing them back while I escaped.

  “It was all I could do to hold on. I loosed the reins and bent over its neck, holding on for my life as it flew over the ground. And God forgive me, I laughed into the rushing wind, for I knew no living horse could catch us.”

  He hung his head.

  I wiped my eyes quickly, trying to erase the picture of Simon crying Home! as he stood bleeding in a battlefield. “I was not his to give,” I said. But the anger had gone out of me. Mortally wounded. The words reverberated in my head. I was not his to give, but there was Alys, our Alys, to think of. I would have made a bargain with the devil to keep her safe; how could I blame Simon for doing the same?

  “What would it have served if I had died as well?” Charles demanded.

  “I would not have mourned,” I said.

  “I would have.” Roland put his arm around his brother.

  I looked at them both in disgust.

  But still there was Alys and Guarin. Simon had chosen them over himself. Had chosen them over me, expecting me to understand.

  I went to the door and called for more wine, good wine this time, and another platter of food. And for someone to fetch Jean de Lyon in the stable.

  Chapter Thirty: A Good Man

  I did not speak a word when Simon came in, nor when the dinner was served. He did not speak either. He looked at Charles, and nodded at Roland, and looked searchingly at me. I turned away. We ate in silence.

  I watched the three of them sitting at my table: the man who had loved me but
married a countess; the man who had married me and given me away like a horse; and the man who would marry me only to save his soul. I no longer wanted any of them.

  But that was not the choice I had before me.

  I was a wealthy woman, and a wealthy woman must be wed. Simon might excuse Charles from his vow and leave as he had come, but sooner or later Charles would marry me and my lands to someone whose loyalty he wanted to buy.

  No matter how I fought it, my choices were as limited as Simon’s had been. He had chosen our children. How could I do less?

  I took a deep breath. “No one need know about any of this.”

  Charles looked relieved.

  I ignored him. I had no more wish for people to laugh at the way I had been bandied about than he had to have them know of his cowardice.

  “Simon has come home and we are all delighted.” I looked at Simon. It was not a friendly look. “You will cut off that beard tonight. You no longer need a disguise.”

  He opened his mouth.

  “You have no say.”

  Roland sent Simon a sympathetic look.

  “Lord Charles, I free you of your vow to my husband. Marry whom you please. I will keep the quarry and the woods. You may give this house to Simon to celebrate his return.”

  “Lord Roland,”—the grin left his face—“I am sure your countess can buy you a new war horse. You may leave Simon’s in my stable.”

  “I would be pleased—”

  “Do not be pleased, Lord Roland. I am not trying to please you.” I was pleasing myself, at last, and let the men go to the devil.

  I looked at Lord Charles. “If Simon dies—if either or both of us die—your brother will know you have killed us. He will not be fooled by your men dressed as thieves a second time.” I glanced at Roland. He nodded.

  I raised my wine cup. “Shall we drink to our agreement?”

  We drank, all four unsmiling. Charles was certainly thinking of the welcome Simon would receive throughout Le Puy when he reclaimed his identity. Making him disappear quietly would no longer be possible—Lord Charles’ quarry and woods were gone forever. Roland had lost a precious war horse. I had regained a husband, which was itself a great loss, all things considered.