“Stay low,” her companion croaked.
Elayne flattened herself to the ground, suddenly aware of an acrid odor. She gagged when she raised her head and saw they were lying next to the ditches dug as latrines. Bianca seemed impervious to the stench. Flies buzzed everywhere, but Elayne forgot the unpleasantness when Bianca pointed to a nearby field where Geoffrey and his knights faced three armored men, also on horseback, one of whom wore a golden coronet on his head.
Both knights who’d accompanied the king removed their helmets. The one on his right had silver hair. The other was Alex de Montbryce.
The urge to leap to her feet and wave both arms over her head was overwhelming, but she had to content herself with whispering his name into the malodorous air in the hopes he would know she was nearby.
Bowshot
GEOFFREY REMOVED HIS HELMET and thrust it at one of his companions, his face contorted with anger.
Alex was confident they were far enough away that the Angevin wouldn’t hear his remark to the king. “His face is almost as red as his hair. I believe he’s annoyed we’ve discovered his ploy.”
Stephen smirked a tight grin. “I think you’re right. Let’s see if we can rile him a bit more.”
Hoping for a glimpse of another redhead, Alex scanned the enemy tents as Stephen coaxed his horse closer to his rival. Was Geoffrey using the same ruse he’d employed at Montbryce, or were these tents full of men?
The king ran his thumb and forefinger over his mustache. “Well met, Geoffrey. How fares my cousin, Maud? Has she not joined you for this outing?”
Geoffrey struggled for composure. “Well met, indeed, Stephen. What a surprise to find you here in Normandie.”
Gallien leaned over to Alex. “I’ll wager it’s true he’s surprised, but not as much as he’s going to be.”
Alex smiled, but his heart was beating too fast. They had the numbers to dissuade Geoffrey from his plan of attack, but there was no guarantee he’d surrender his hostages. Would Stephen push for their release, or simply consider it too trivial a matter to haggle over if the Plantagenets balked?
“I’m disappointed you haven’t come to Caen to do me homage as your king,” Stephen said.
The knight holding Geoffrey’s helmet glanced quickly at his comte, then looked away.
“He’s going to have an apoplectic fit if he doesn’t breathe soon,” Gallien quipped.
Geoffrey narrowed his eyes. “I might be in Caen sooner than you think, cousin.”
Alex was certain the Angevin must have heard Gallien’s outburst. “Idiot! Stephen reeled him in like the bottom feeder he is.”
As if sensing he’d given away too much, Geoffrey thrust out his hand for his helmet. Taken unawares, the knight holding it dropped it in the dust, spooking his horse. He looked in desperation to his glaring lord, obviously unsure as he regained control of his steed if he should dismount and retrieve it.
“If you’re planning to come to Caen,” Stephen said coolly, “I can assure you of a warm reception.”
He turned his head and nodded to Gallien, who put his helmet back on, looked towards the hills, drew his sword, and waved it.
The archers came over the brow of the hill—hundreds upon hundreds, bows drawn, a silent, deadly host.
Geoffrey’s horse became agitated. He reined it back under his control impatiently.
“The steed has sensed its master’s turmoil,” Gallien murmured with a grin.
“You think to dissuade me with a few bowmen?” the Angevin shouted.
“Non, Geoffrey,” Stephen replied as if speaking to a child of five.
Gallien signaled again. The infantry came over the brow of an adjacent hill, row upon row of well armed soldiers, the rays of the sun bouncing off their swords, shields, and lances.
“Do you want me to summon the cavalry, or have you seen enough?” Stephen asked calmly.
Geoffrey flared his nostrils. “Very well. You win the day.”
“You will strike this camp and move it far away from Caen, let’s say to Anjou,” Stephen said without a trace of humor in his voice. “If you do not, I will return and crush you.”
Geoffrey glared at the knight who’d dropped his helmet. The man dismounted quickly, retrieved it, and held it out to his comte, who snatched it from him. “The camp will be struck.”
He was about to put on his helmet when Stephen spoke again. “And you will release the Scottish hostages to me.”
Alex’s heart skittered around inside his ribcage. Were they even still alive?
Geoffrey’s helmet almost slipped from his gloved hands. He glanced quickly at Alex. “Is this your request or Montbryce’s?”
Stephen stared at him.
Geoffrey snickered. “What do you want with two small children who aren’t what they purport—”
He closed his mouth abruptly.
Sword still in hand, Gallien turned to Alex. “He has just figured out that if Stephen holds David’s grandchildren, he can perhaps persuade the Scottish king not to support Maud.”
Alex nodded. “And he’s also realized if he gives away that they are not who they say they are—”
They watched Geoffrey squirm, but Alex’s heart sank when the Angevin announced. “The question is moot. They’re already on their way to Anjou.”
Stephen turned to Alex, but at that moment their attention was drawn to a disturbance near the perimeter of the camp. A soldier was attempting to drag two protesting women back into the camp.
One of the women was kicking the soldier furiously, screaming in some foreign tongue as she slashed at him with a knife. The other woman pushed him. As he watched the soldier struggle for balance on the edge of a ditch it occurred to him there was something familiar about the second woman. The covering slipped from her head as the soldier grabbed at her hair—flaming red tresses he recognised immediately.
“He’s lying, Sire,” he shouted. “That’s Elayne.”
Heedless of the danger, he urged his horse towards the enemy camp as his beloved screamed, then shoved the teetering soldier into the ditch.
ELAYNE WAS CERTAIN THE SOLDIER HAD PULLED OUT THE ROOTS OF HER HAIR. Tears blurred her vision. Breathless, she rubbed her tender scalp, blinking rapidly. Bianca scrambled to her feet and ran back to the encampment, screaming at her. “Hurry, he’ll be angry.”
The thud of hooves thundered in her ears. She turned to see Alex galloping to her rescue. But he was shouting something, waving frantically.
The furious barking of a dog made her swivel her head back in the direction of the tents. The breath left her lungs. Henry had a firm grip on his sister’s hand as they ran towards her. Faol sprang back and forth behind them, lunging and snapping at a handful of pursuing soldiers.
She didn’t know what to do, which way to go. Safety lay with Alex, but she couldn’t abandon her children.
Alex’s shout reached her ears as he galloped past. “Run!”
He was risking his life by riding into the enemy camp to save her children. But if he succeeded, there’d be no room on the horse for her. She picked up her playd, lifted her skirts and set off running towards King Stephen and the silver haired knight, who had turned his horse and now kept Geoffrey and his companions at bay with his sword.
She urged her leaden feet to go faster, but the distant horsemen didn’t seem to get any closer.
She daren’t look behind her. If Alex failed, she would lose him and her children.
ALEX NEVER TOOK HIS EYES OFF THE CHILDREN. They’d seen him and continued to run. For the moment Faol was holding off the pursuers, but a well-placed arrow would quickly dispatch the dog.
As Alex reined to a halt in a cloud of dust, Henry went down on one knee and meshed his fingers together. Claricia put her foot in his hands and he shoved her up towards Alex. He got the distinct impression this wasn’t the first time they done this maneuver. He grasped her hand and lifted her into the saddle. “Face me,” he shouted. “Hold on tight.”
He reached down to
grasp Henry’s hand and hoisted him up behind him. “Brave lad,” Alex shouted.
Henry clung to his doublet, then turned. “Faol, come.”
The wolfhound responded immediately and ran to them as Alex wheeled his horse, catching a glimpse of bowmen running out of the encampment, taking aim. He urged his horse back to safety, praying the faithful dog would evade the arrows.
Despite the confusion and the thunderous beating of his heart, everything seemed to be taking place in complete silence, except for the thwack of bowstrings. He glanced skyward, surprised to see a volley of arrows arcing above him. Surely they weren’t aiming at the king? He was too far away. Elayne had almost reached him.
He gritted his teeth, concentrating on saving the children he loved. His heart exploded in his chest when only yards in front of him Elayne fell to her knees, then slumped forward, an arrow in her back.
PAIN CASCADED FROM ELAYNE’S SHOULDER, knocking her flat as the breath whooshed out of her lungs. King Stephen had seemed so near. She heard the hoofbeats of Alex’s horse behind her. Yet, she couldn’t move, couldn’t go on.
She clawed the earth as the world tilted. She fretted about what had happened to the playd. Agony blazed through her body like a river of fire.
Alex called her name.
She slowly lifted her head. Visions swam before her blurry eyes. King Stephen kicked Geoffrey. The Angevin fell from his horse. The silver haired knight transformed into an angel who took Henry and Claricia under his wings and rode off towards the hills.
Goodbye, my darlings. Remember yer maman.
The sky was suddenly where the earth should have been. She was choking on dust, a metallic taste in her mouth. A wet tongue rasped along her cheek, she smelled dog breath, then Alex drifted into view. She thanked God for one last look at his beloved face. He was crying, murmuring something about removing an arrow. Had he been shot?
Don’t be sad. I love you.
She reached up to cup his face, screaming when a loud crack severed her arm from her body, pushing her into blessed blackness. She was lifted to heaven in Alex’s strong arms.
Silver-Haired Angel
ALEX MUSED THAT IT HAD BEEN GOD’S PLAN ALL ALONG to bring him to the Abbaye aux Dames. After hours on his knees in the silent chapel, he eased back to sit on the hard wooden bench, careful not to wake Henry and Claricia who’d eventually dozed off in the early morning hours.
The nuns were solicitous, providing warm blankets and cushions for the twins stretched out either side of him, sleeping soundly.
He closed his weary eyes, praying for the hundredth time he wouldn’t have to tell them their mother had died.
The abbess welcomed him like a long lost son when they brought Elayne to the infirmary where he’d been born. She’d been a young postulant when his mother had sought sanctuary at the time of his birth and remembered the event vividly. “Your mother was a brave woman,” she declared, eyeing him up and down. “And what a fine young man you’ve turned out to be.”
The entire community was agog that they’d arrived in the company of a king who admonished them to do everything they could to save Elayne’s life. It had become the collective mission of every nun in the place, including several who still prayed alongside him.
That the babe born there long ago had returned seemed to be heralded as some kind of sign.
Elayne hadn’t woken since he’d broken off the back of the arrow and shoved the shaft through the wound. He’d used her beloved playd to stem the blood. He doubted it would ever be wearable again, but had insisted the nuns not dispose of it.
He planned to have another woven for her when she was well again. He recalled that Dugald’s playd had been slightly different. She’d be able to instruct the weavers at Montbryce as to the proper pattern.
Despite his exhaustion, he chuckled, remembering the utter shock on Geoffrey’s face when Stephen kicked him off his horse. His minions had scrambled to help him, a task rendered more difficult because one booted foot had caught in the stirrup. Stephen would make sure the whole of Normandie knew of the Angevin’s humiliation. That the avaricious man had been hoodwinked by a pair of eight year olds would rub salt into the wound.
He hadn’t had a chance to properly thank Gallien for carrying the children to safety after he’d had more or less thrown them at his cousin, his mind on helping Elayne.
Even in the throes of agony, she’d told him she loved him. It was ironic. He was a man who’d sworn off marriage, yet now his most fervent and desperate hope was that the woman he loved would survive her ordeal and agree to marry him by the rites of the Church and in the presence of his family.
Romain and Laurent had stayed with him at the Abbaye for several hours, but he’d insisted on their returning to the castle with Gallien to make sure their knights and soldiers were taken care of.
Fixing his gaze on the flickering sanctuary candle in an effort to stay awake, he thanked God for the light Elayne had brought to his lonely and misguided life. She’d helped him face and overcome demons that had haunted him since birth. He was a whole man now, capable of being a worthy comte, a true Montbryce, and a loving husband and father.
She’d brought him back into the bosom of his family and given him a new appreciation for his noble heritage.
Henry turned over in his sleep, throwing off the blanket. Alex leaned over to retrieve it from atop the kneeler and moved to cover the boy, startled by the vision of an elderly nun standing silently at the end of the bench. He crushed the blanket in his fists, apprehension catapulting into his gut.
Her facial expression gave nothing away. That she wasn’t smiling was equally meaningless. These women were trained to be detached from worldly things. Earning a place in heaven was the end goal. Death didn’t sadden them.
“You’re summoned to the infirmary,” she whispered.
He frowned, looking at the children, his heart thudding in his ears.
“I’ll pray with them,” she said, smiling for the first time.
Dare he allow the flicker of hope to grow in his breast?
He reached into his doublet for Elayne’s braided token, handed to him earlier by a nun. She thought he’d want to have it. The sight almost brought him to his knees.
He kissed the braid before tucking it back against his heart, rose from the bench, and forced his feet to carry him to the infirmary.
He hesitated on the threshold. The candle flickering by Elayne’s pallet cast an eerie light on the white linens, illuminating the Infirmarian seated in a chair watching over his beloved.
The nun rose when she saw him. He wondered briefly if this was the same pallet where his mother had brought him into the world, and if the elderly woman who came to greet him had been there then.
She had probably kept vigil for several hours, yet didn’t appear to be tired. “Good news, milord,” she whispered. “She’s awake. I’ve reassured her about the children. You can speak to her for a few minutes if you like. She’s very strong, but we don’t want to tire her.”
He wanted to shout hallelujahs to the heavens, to fall on his knees and praise God, to run to the chapel and fetch Henry and Claricia. He nodded to the smiling nun, waited until the brief dizziness left him, then approached Elayne’s pallet.
She was pale, but her reassuring smile sent pangs of longing shooting through his body. He cupped her face in his hands. “I thought I’d lost you,” he murmured hoarsely.
To his immense relief, she was warm, but not feverish. The thick wad of padding around her shoulder showed no sign of blood seeping.
“I’m alive thanks only to you,” she whispered. “The Infirmarian told me that removing the arrow quickly and stopping the bleeding saved my life.”
He didn’t want to think what might have happened if he hadn’t been there. He took hold of her warm hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “That you live brings meaning to my existence.”
She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes.
“Did I hurt you?”
She opened her eyes. “No, my love. You could never hurt me. Where are Henry and Claricia?”
“Asleep in the chapel, after being on their knees for hours. I’ve never known braver children. They take after their mother. You didn’t see how Henry boosted his sister onto my horse.”
Elayne smiled weakly. “Their father taught them that.”
She closed her eyes. After a while he thought she’d fallen asleep, but then she peeled them open. “Faol?” she asked hoarsely.
“Annoyed he’s been made to stay outside the convent walls.”
She laughed, but it turned into a cough that had her wincing at the pain. The Infirmarian bustled over. “Enough for tonight. She must rest.”
He kissed her forehead. “Get well quickly,” he whispered. “We have a wedding to plan.”
She pursed her lips, so he kissed her mouth, tasting parsnips, but it was probably the hemlock in the dwale the nuns had administered to dull the pain.
Eyelids fluttering, she whispered, “I think the drug is making me conjure nonsensical visions. I dreamt King Stephen kicked Geoffrey of Anjou off his horse, and a silver-haired angel carried my children to safety.”
Alex chuckled. “When you’re feeling better, I’ll introduce you to that silver-haired angel.”
She nodded but he could tell she was already drifting into sleep. He tiptoed out of the Infirmary, elated he could wake his children with the news their mother had survived her ordeal.
THE INFIRMARIAN WAS POUNDING the bolster behind Elayne so she could sit up for a while. Just as she slowly leaned back, Alex and another tall man entered the infirmary. She thought she’d dreamt the silver-haired angel, but here he was, looking like a replica of her beloved, except for the hair. “You’re real,” she gasped as the knight brushed a kiss on her knuckles.
“Indeed,” he chuckled in reply. “I’m Gallien, Alex’s cousin.”
Jeopardy (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 10) Page 19