by Robyn Carr
“Take your time, young man,” Guillaume advised. “Lady Aurélie is no whimsical lass, and she is wiser than most women. She will not whisper her feelings to you until they live in her heart, and she will not wish to hear your tender oaths until you can live them as well as say them.”
Hyatt kept silent, but his mind was afire with the words. But she has spoken the words. I would not, he thought, lie to her in a hasty moment and make a mockery of what I felt. But upon my return to De la Noye it would be truth to tell her that without her at my side, my life is over.
“Sleep, Hyatt,” Guillaume instructed as the fire began to die. “It is usually foolish to try to form the words before you hold the woman in your arms. When you return to the castle to find her risen and in health will be soon enough for that. Then, if you cannot speak of love, perhaps you can tell her how you depend on her life.”
* * *
Ryland and his troop of nearly fifty made their camp in a clearing, for Ryland was ill at ease in a war-torn country. It was fortunate that the worst of the English aggressors was his friend.
“You must have a great deal to tell your friend about De la Noye, after a month within her walls,” Faon said.
“Aye, and what I have to tell is that she is nearly impregnable.”
“Nonsense. Does not this fierce knight to whom we travel have war machines? Battering rams? The peasants huts are all thatched with dry grass, and mud and fire arrows would …”
“You are misinformed, Faon. I do not wish to oust my brother at the cost of the castle. I want the burg, the hall, and the …” Ryland’s voice trailed off. It was enough for Faon to know that he meant to have Hyatt’s possessions. “The only killing will be of Hyatt’s men.”
“Then it is impossible. You will never take it.”
“Oh … I think it is possible. I have a plan. One that Hollis will admire.”
“If this Hollis is so treacherous, so bloodthirsty, how do you trust him?”
Ryland laughed. “There is one thing Hollis likes better than spilling blood. Money! I shall pay him a handsome pâtis for his protection. And I shall take the fruitful castle and make myself both rich and influential. The king will be pleased.”
Faon laughed openly. “Pleased? That you have taken your brother’s demesne when the king himself sent Hyatt to De la Noye? Are you truly so foolish?”
Ryland leaned closer to Faon. “You misunderstand, madame. Hollis will kill Hyatt, and I shall step into De la Noye, negotiate for the fair treatment of the prisoners, save the burg to produce for England and Prince Edward, and roust the heathen, sending Hollis home to his own conquered lands. It will look as if I am more clever than Hyatt, for I shall be able to deal with Hollis without further bloodletting.”
“And save the prisoners. Humph! There is nothing amongst that useless bunch worth saving.”
Ryland looked skyward. “There are a few hardworking souls. And one very beautiful lady.”
Faon’s eyes shot to Ryland’s face. “You, too, Ryland?”
“What do you ask? Hyatt had both wife and mistress, and yet his men held him in the highest esteem. Where is the problem? With me, you will not be driven to some low position of scorn while the great lady rules over the dominion. Nay, you shall have the authority of one who shares my bed, and she shall yet serve my whim, as well as she did his.”
Faon’s eyes were round with disbelief. Suddenly her gaping mouth formed a smile, then her white teeth gleamed and she was torn with wild laughter, loud and haunting.
“Shut up, wench,” Ryland cautioned. “Do you mean to draw the wolves on us?”
“Forgive me, Ryland,” she chuckled, finding it difficult to contain her mirth. “I did not know you desired the bitch.”
“I do not desire her, but if she paid such loyal homage to Hyatt, she will pay better to me, for all the years that …”
Faon continued to chuckle, tears wetting her cheeks. But she shook her head. “She cannot, Ryland. She is dead.” Ryland sat in a stupor. “I took Nima’s poisons and fixed her food. I poisoned her. The bitch is dead.”
Ryland stared at Faon in a wonder of disbelief. His features hardened and his eyes took on a glitter of rage. He raised his hand and slapped Faon so hard that she reeled backward, her face bruised and her lip cut. Ryland was on his feet looking down at her. “You ignorant whore! Don’t you ever take action out of my authority again!”
Faon raised herself on one elbow, rubbing her cheek with her other hand and looking up at the tall figure who stood before her. “You valued her? But—”
Ryland kicked her in the stomach with all his might, and she tightened into a moaning ball, gripping her middle. “Stupid bitch. How dare you mete out your vengeance on my possession.”
She looked up at him again, tears of pain smarting in her eyes. “You said you would take care of me,” she choked out.
“I will take care of you, dearest. I will make a gift of you to Hollis, and then you shall know your betters.” Ryland whirled away, his cape swirling, one hand flying into the other in a series of angry punches. “Insolent, bumble-headed slut. I’d kill you if you couldn’t bring a good price.”
Faon stared at him in wonder, her insides splitting with both physical pain and the anguish of truth. She knew it was over for her now, for Hyatt would kill her for what she’d done, and now Ryland had proven to be worse than the devil she had heard he was. How had she been so ignorant as to believe him? And the worst was yet to come, for she would be given to Sir Hollis for his entertainment, unless she could get away. At the moment, the only escape lay in the deep woods where hungry wolves roamed.
She laid her head down on the damp earth and sobbed, for all of her life every opportunity she had ever seized died a cruel death before she could achieve anything of comfort.
Hyatt awoke to the sound of animals rising in the wood. The birds chirped, squirrels ran up the trees, deer fed on the sweet grass by the brooks. The rain had left glistening gems on the moss and grass, and the sky was clear and beautiful.
Hyatt stayed through the day, hunting and fishing with Guillaume, and their conversation was less than the night before. There was no downpour of rain to cover the voices of men deep in the wood and they moved about stealthily. Hyatt had hoped to spy some soldiers or scavengers on the road, but as the sun set on the day it appeared there was no one else in the forest.
They did not enjoy a fire at night, for Guillaume would not chance drawing anyone toward his secret camp. They shared the skin of wine and at dawn’s light Hyatt prepared to leave the cave to make his way back to De la Noye. The two men stood on the path below the hill together.
“I should thank you for making me welcome,” Hyatt said.
“You left the game you killed.” Guillaume shrugged. “That is thanks enough.”
“Then I thank you for good advice. It is obvious you have raised sons.”
Guillaume smiled and held out a hand in friendship. “I did so with the help of a good woman, Sir Hyatt. Tell my lady I wish her well … and tell her we shall best these devils who mean us harm.”
Hyatt took the proffered hand. “She will be glad to hear it, Sir Guillaume.”
“God’s speed, lad. Safe journey.”
As the sun rose in the sky, Hyatt moved resolutely toward De la Noye. He felt as if a decade had passed since he left. It was not possible so much of his mind could be changed in fewer than three days in the deep forest. Yet it had.
He shared very few qualities with the Sire de Pourvre, but yet there were certain things he was beginning to understand about the peculiar young lord whose demesne Hyatt had conquered. Hyatt, too, believed that very few things were coincidence. And as Nima had given voice to his thoughts, he had taken everything life had offered him and made something out of it all, the bad and the good.
Hyatt had enjoyed the flirtations of many a woman over the years, yet never had an English maid tarried on his mind for the whole of a day. On campaign in Crécy and Calais he had fallen to the s
ubtle seductions of French demoiselles, but even then he did not find anything to bind him. But upon entering this captured castle he felt his desire stirred the very first moment he saw the widowed mistress. Even though the marriage was a sound negotiation and Hyatt believed marriage was business, he would not have wed the woman had he not desired her. He had been suspicious of his strong feelings, at first believing it was poorly timed lust. But as the days grew into weeks and the weeks became months his desire for her grew apace with his trust in her wisdom and loyalty. Everything he did and said had a purpose that was directly meant to keep secure the home and the wife he now possessed.
And none of this could have been without the many sad coincidences that had led him to the council room of King Edward and the Prince of Wales. His prowess in battle directly resulted from the necessity to prove himself to the father who would disown him. Had all the difficulties of his life been planned, that he would make himself worthy for this?
My God, I love her, he thought. I’d sooner lose my arm or my eye than be without her. And she loves me. Is it desperate we are to become because of it, or strong? He laughed aloud in the woods. If it is weakness love brings, why do I feel as though I could kill a wild boar with my bare hands? And if love truly blinds a man to a woman’s treachery, then why could I never love Faon, even when I wished to? And while I tried to keep myself from loving Aurélie, she proved gentle and devoted. I drew myself the conqueror when, in fact, she conquered me.
He walked on, amazed at the beauty of the day and the joy in his heart. He was eager to be again at her side, no longer in fear that her illness might rob him of something dear, but anxious to speak these words at least once, lest she leave him through some cruel trick of fate without hearing from his own lips what he felt.
And indeed, everything felt different. He would henceforth enter battles and contests with a new reason to fight hard—his lands and his family. His life was no longer just empty pride, but pride in what he called his own. He no longer had to prove his worth to an embittered old man who would disclaim him, but to himself, that he could feel deserving of what he now held. He thought of what he could teach Derek and the children to follow about his life, about pride, about the principles that made a man whole.
His pace was quick, though the wood was thick. He cut back shrubs and vines with his stoutest blade, moving relentlessly toward his home as if he moved toward a new life.
A twig snapped and he paused, his neck stiff and his head turning like a great stag that sniffs man. He ventured on with a softer step and beyond him the brush rustled. With the stealth of a cat he crouched and pulled a short-handled ax from his belt. With ax in one hand and hunting knife in the other, he slowly turned in a complete circle, but saw nothing. He took another step and without a sound to warn him, his arms were pulled around to his back and though he struggled, he was firmly held from behind.
They let themselves be seen, stepping out from behind trees, bushes, and rising from the knee-deep brush. It was a ragged group of makeshift warriors and thieves, obviously such because of their lack of knightly garb. They wore leather jerkins, rudely fashioned fur boots, and they brandished roughly honed weapons. A dozen such men circled Hyatt, their eyes hungry for a fight. And then Verel stepped onto the path before him.
“What luck!” The young knight laughed. “I could not have dared wish for so much. I thought I would never find you outside of your strong walls. The walls you stole from another.”
“And so, Verel, this is what you’ve become. Do you kill me while your friend holds my arms?”
“Yea.” Verel smiled. “And it will feel so good.”
Hyatt smiled mirthlessly. “Perhaps you can boast of the fact to Lady Aurélie.”
Verel’s superior grin faded. “She would thank me.”
“Would she? Even now, as she carries my child?”
“You lie! She is barren!”
“Nay, Verel. Nor was she ever. The Sire did not make her his wife. I did.”
“Lies!” Verel let his fist fly into Hyatt’s stomach with such force that Hyatt bit his lip and a drop of blood dripped from his mouth.
“Ask her,” Hyatt said in a breath.
Verel stepped back away from Hyatt and drew a sword from his belt, the very one that had been stolen for him.
“ ’Twould be the easier way, Sir Verel. Once I am dead, no one need ever question which of us is stronger. You may say it was you.”
“It is I, my lord fool, for you are the one captured now.”
“Aye, it is you, with the help of ten men.”
“Do you taunt me with honor? This is no tourney or contest for the king. This is the wood, where men live and die by their quickness and wits. And you, Sir Fool, have stumbled into my land.”
“So I have. But if you have fallen so far from honor, you cannot blame me, for I did not drive you away from the chivalry of knights. I took you in fair battle.” Hyatt smiled lazily. “Aurélie said you were the best knight—strong, honorable, good. She will be disappointed.”
Verel stood motionless for a long moment. Hyatt eyed the group. They varied in age and strength. A young golden-haired lad with thin arms and hollow eyes held his wooden pike weakly. A man of forty years with thick arms and a heavy beard wielded a monstrous broadsword with finesse. All of these, Hyatt assumed, were driven into the forest to save themselves from one enemy or another.
But they all watched Verel. Aurélie must have been right about Verel, for he had become the leader of this group, as he had in Giles’s troop. Where the young man traveled, whether in groups of thieves and scavengers, or with honorable soldiers, he made himself leader. A man had to have something to offer to become revered so quickly.
Hyatt eyed the young man warily. “I await your pleasure, Sir Forest Knight. I would give you a fair fight, left unbound.”
Verel stood his ground, his cheeks pulsing, his blue eyes glittering with hate. Hyatt smiled at his rage. The boy would be a worthy knight, if it were possible.
Verel turned abruptly, issuing no command, but his silent orders were followed, and Hyatt was dragged from that heavily shielded piece of woods down a long and dense path to a place where there was a small clearing. He espied the camp, four tethered horses, only the one stolen from De la Noye boasting a saddle. Verel had not even spoken to these ragged men, but they followed his orders as ably as Hyatt’s trained knights would. A bit of respect for his opponent began to rise in Hyatt.
Verel stood, legs braced apart, sword in hand, and a feral gleam in his eyes. “Loose him.”
Hyatt was immediately released and stood for a moment, still gripping his ax and knife, but his arms were numb from being dragged through the forest so tightly gripped.
“Is it our contest, Verel? Or do your men only await a sign that you are in some trouble before they lend assistance?”
“Do you fear them?” Verel asked with a superior grin.
“Aye, Sir Verel. Only a fool would be at ease, one against a dozen.”
Verel bowed most elaborately. “It shall be our contest, Sir Hyatt, for Lady Aurélie and De la Noye.”
“And if I win?”
“Your life.”
Hyatt looked around the group, convinced from only a glance at the faces they would take Verel’s orders. They were a tattered group indeed: remnants of beaten armies, villagers without homes and families, dependent on any kind of leadership. And in this case, good leadership.
“Fair enough, Sir Verel,” Hyatt said. He looked at the weapons in his hands and put the short-handled ax back in his belt.
Verel took a ready posture to fight: knees bent, legs spread, and arms wide. Hyatt did likewise and they circled each other cautiously. Verel took a wide swipe at his opponent, but Hyatt easily drew back with a jump. “Nay, Verel, too soon. Watch your man and let him be hasty, while you are cool.”
Verel grimaced with the insult. He did not wish to receive instruction and took another hasty swipe.
“Nay again, sir knight.
You show your anxiety when you attack too soon … before the fight begins.”
“Shut your mouth!”
Hyatt circled with Verel, swirling his thick, sharp hunting knife to distract him.
“Don’t let your opponent heat your temper with taunts, Sir Verel. Your necessity is to fight; arguments are best placed in the bedchamber. This is not a contest of words.”
Verel’s face became red and he took a third swipe at Hyatt, but Hyatt jumped back on one foot and the other rose high in a kick that landed under Verel’s chin, forcing him off the ground and back onto the earth in a heap. He lay stunned, his sword lying next to his hand, looking up at Hyatt.
“The Scots,” Hyatt said with a shrug. “If you are not weighted down with armor, save your life first, worry about a chivalrous contest later. Now, sir knight, your weapon lays at hand. Get it.”
Verel rose a bit shakily, wondering why Hyatt had not killed him. He quickly concluded that it must be the sure knowledge that the others would fall on him and slay him instantly. But a good warrior would die willingly if he took but one with him.
Again, they circled each other. Again, Hyatt twisted his knife in his hand. Verel noticed the flashing of the silver and when he looked in that direction, Hyatt struck. But he held the knife against the younger knight’s chest while he held Verel’s wrist with his other hand, preventing the sword from reaching him.
“Never let your opponent distract you so easily. Watch his arm, not his weapon, lest he entrance you with ease.”
He shoved Verel backward hard, causing the younger man to fall on the turf again. Verel rose, blood lust in his eyes. They circled each other another time, and this time Verel kept himself alert and would not be tricked. He waited until they had rounded each other twice and let Hyatt make the first move. Hyatt’s stout knife whirred past Verel’s belly and Verel moved quickly, deftly, bending his knees and thrusting his sword hard forward. Hyatt jumped, dropped and rolled, but not quickly enough. The sword caught his thigh and when he was again on his feet, a gash swelled with bright red blood and the pain throbbed in his leg. He knew the contest had best be short.
