Gradinton's impatient voice overrode hers in harsh command. "Woman, cease your argument and do as you are told. Give us the boy."
Elyssa's dislike of him leapt into full-blown rage, her temper flaming to match the coppery color of her hair. "How dare you attempt to bend me to your will! I am a widow now, subject to no man save our king. I think it's time for you and your wife to depart Freyne. Be gone with you." Her brusque dismissal rang in the painted rafters high above her.
Gradinton paled, driven speechless by her insult. Lavendon closed his eyes, his expression the picture of frustration. Lady Sibyl eased out of arm's reach of her husband just before he slammed his fists onto the tabletop. Stew splattered as the whole board tilted.
"God's blood, but you are a foul and brazen excuse for a woman. Now I understand why Freyne kept you prisoner on your dower these past ten years," he roared, finding his voice at last.
"No man imprisons me," Elyssa retorted, her tone honed to its finest edge. "I left that stinking pig, wanting no more to do with the brainless and perverted worm."
"Hold your tongue, bitch!" Gradinton's demand was a whispered roar. "I'll not tolerate such disrespect toward a man who was my friend."
"So you would say, being no different than he," Elyssa snapped in careless scorn.
Gradinton exploded to his feet, his abrupt movement startling a cry from his wife. His hand clawed at his belt for his missing sword. When he could not find his weapon, his fists clenched, and he took a step toward Elyssa. Rage gleamed in his dark eyes as his nostrils flared with blood lust. He took another step, lifting his hand in threat.
Elyssa's anger ebbed into surprise, flavored with a touch of fear. He wouldn't dare beat a woman who was no relative to him. She glanced to Lord Lavendon. The nobleman's face was concealed in his hands, his shoulders sagging in defeat. With Reginald gone, there was no man in this room to say Gradinton nay.
"Cease this instant," she commanded in her strongest voice.
Rather than stop Baldwin, her command put spurs to his sides. He careened down the table's length toward her, hands outstretched to grab her.
With a cry, Elyssa shoved Jocelyn toward the still-too-distant doorway and pivoted out of Gradinton's reach, hoping to follow her son. Usually incapable of physical exertion, Jocelyn fair sprinted to the panel and clawed at the latch. The door opened. Jocelyn pulled it wide as Elyssa raced for the portal. Only a few feet short of her goal the nobleman caught her by the upper arm and spun her toward him.
"Leave go!" she yelled, slamming her fist into his shoulder.
Jocelyn leapt between them. "You'll not hurt Maman."
Gradinton moved faster than Elyssa could see. His backhanded blow sent her precious boy sailing. Jocelyn landed in a crumpled heap near Lord Lavendon, who was at last on his feet, shoving away from the table.
"Jocelyn!" Elyssa shrieked, trying with all her might to escape Gradinton and go to her child.
"Enough, Baldwin. This is a matter for her priest, not you. Release her," Lavendon shouted, striding for them.
"What goes forward here?" Reginald called out in confused question from the hall door.
"Help me," Elyssa cried, straining away from her captor. That gave her a glimpse of Reginald and their new guest, a tall knight wearing a travel-stained yellow surcoat over mail gone rusty against the day's damp. Both men broke into a trot at her cry.
Too far gone to heed anyone, Gradinton yanked Elyssa back to stand before him. Unholy rage filled his dark eyes. He drew back his arm to strike. "It's time you had a lesson in manners, bitch."
"Stop, stop!" Clare wailed, dancing as close to Gradinton as she dared and wringing her hands in distress. "You cannot strike Lady Freyne."
"Clare, nay!" Elyssa's shout was shrill as her heart exploded in a fear greater even than that of Jocelyn's safety. She writhed against the big man's grip, clawing at his hand with her fingers.
Gradinton's fist closed. Clare thrust herself between them, her arms flung wide to protect her cousin's abdomen even while her head turned to one side to shield her face from a certain blow. "Nay, you must not strike her," she shrieked. "Lady Freyne is with child!"
Nay, Clare," Elyssa moaned, sagging against Gradinton's hold.
"She is what?" Reginald's shout rose to an ear-piercing falsetto. He froze mid-step near the high table's edge as the knight with him continued on toward the boy sprawled at the table's end. The newcomer's head was bowed as if his gaze were locked on Jocelyn. He wore no helmet and his mail hood had been pushed back to reveal hair as golden as the fire's light.
"She is what?!" Gradinton cried, surprise washing the rage from his gaze.
He released Elyssa so suddenly that it left her off balance, and she staggered back from him. Rather than escape, she threw herself at the man. "Hit me," she begged, knowing he would never do so now. "Mayhap your blow will loosen Freyne's foul seed and free me of this cursed babe."
"Christus," Gradinton cursed as he shoved her away from him, his horrified gaze locked on hers. "What sort of woman are you?"
Elyssa caught her footing and staggered upright, wanting only Jocelyn in her arms. As she started toward her child the newcomer, his back to her now, lifted Jocelyn to his feet. Her son's nose dripped blood, and an angry red mark crossed his cheek. His head bobbled a little as if the blow had loosened it some from the stem of his neck. Before she could reach Jocelyn, the knight gave the boy a quick push, sending him stumbling toward the far door. An instant later a second knight, this one shorter and slighter and yet wearing his helmet and gauntlets, trotted forward and snatched her son up in his arms.
"Maman!" Jocelyn screamed, thrashing as his captor pivoted.
"Jocelyn!" Elyssa shrieked, her heart pounding anew as she started after him, only to slide to a halt at the hearthstone as her son and his kidnapper disappeared into the ranks of the army that now filled Freyne's hall. At least two dozen men, all of them dressed in leather hauberks with swords in hand, blocked her path.
"You cannot have him!" Gradinton roared, shoving Elyssa to one side as he lunged after the departing knight. The armed men nearest to him shifted, their shoulders touching so that the nobleman could make no headway. Gradington rebounded off them only to collide with Elyssa who stumbled back into the golden-haired knight. He caught her by the shoulders to steady her as Gradinton whirled on them, his fist lifted as if to strike. Elyssa flinched, but the man behind her moved not a whit.
"God's blood, you will leave that boy where he is," Gradington bellowed too late. Jocelyn and his captor were gone, taking with them half of the force that had been in the hall.
"Peace. As lord high sheriff I carry with me the king's own writ," her captor called out to the room, his voice a mellifluous baritone, "giving me custody of both Freyne and its heir."
This was Geoffrey FitzHenry?!
"Thief!" Elyssa's shrieked. She wrenched herself around in his hold. Her hands curved into claws, ready to strike. The sheriff caught her wrists, holding her hands still with ease and Elyssa choked back her complaint.
Jesu Christus, this man owned a perfection of feature she'd thought given only to angels, that was until someone had ruined his face. Beneath a wealth of golden hair, high cheekbones lifted over a strong, clean-shaven jawline. His lips were finely drawn, full without being overly so; his nose was straight and neither too wide nor too narrow. His left eye showed a beautiful, deep blue color, but his right eye hid under a leather patch. A vertical scar cut directly down from the eye covering to curl into the corner of his mouth. Another scar started at the top left corner of his brow, crossed the bridge of his nose then trailed off down his cheek toward his ear.
It wasn't what marked his face that set true fear trembling in Elyssa. His scars were but scratches compared to her father's visage. What set her nerves to jangling was the unnatural calm of his expression. Nothing—not anger, not pride, not even irritation at her attack—showed on his face. It was as if his soul were dead, and he but a stone effigy.
; "You can do no worse than has already been done, my lady," he said flatly, then released her. Outside, men shouted and horses cried. Only as those sounds died away did Elyssa realize what they meant. The sheriff had stolen her son!
"You! If you have custody of my son it's because you substituted your petition for mine," she shouted at him. "I trusted you to deal fairly with me when I sent you my petitions. Instead, you betray me and take not only my son, but my right to hold him as my own."
There was nothing for her to see in his expression save empty dispassion. "I took nothing from you. The king's justiciars refused your petition because your son is over the age when a mother might retain a grip on her child's body. I was given custody in your place."
Tears filled Elyssa's eyes. Of course, the king's counselors refused her. They were men. Thieves, all of them.
She turned and found Clare already waiting for her, her gaze filled with sympathy. Her cousin caught an arm around her shoulders, offering the support she knew Elyssa needed. Her touch was so welcome that Elyssa almost forgave her for revealing the babe's existence.
"God damn you," Gradinton shouted, but it was now the bark of a toothless dog. Shoulders bowed, he backed away from them until he leaned against the table. Across the width of that board, his wife now stood, her gaze wild and fixed on the sheriff.
Lord Lavendon took a stance near Reginald, his arms crossed over his chest. "My lord sheriff," he started to say, but Sibyl de Gradinton's words thundered over his. "Geoffrey FitzHenry, may you roast in hell for the murder of my daughter."
Both Elyssa and Clare gasped, the two of them shifting to face Lady Gradinton. Gone was the meek, sad creature who had haunted Elyssa this past week. This woman stood lance straight, eyes glowing with righteous hate.
"Be still," growled Lord Gradinton. He turned slowly and braced his hands on the table to look across it at his wife. "You've done damage enough already."
"Nay, I'll not be muzzled any longer," Lady Sibyl retorted and pointed to the sheriff's face. "Look all you upon Lord Coudray's visage and see in his scars how my daughter struggled to save herself from her husband's attack. Slay him," Lady Gradinton demanded of her husband. "This is the Devil's servant who used his own babes in profane rituals and tormented my Maud before he most foully murdered her. Now he uses Satan's spells to keep my granddaughter from my arms. Bid him die upon your sword before he kills your friend's heir as well."
Elyssa's arm around Clare tightened in shock. She glanced at the sheriff. He watched his accuser with the same dispassion he'd shown her. Everything about his behavior was so wrong it set alarm bells to ringing within Elyssa. God help her, this was the man who had custody of Jocelyn. She willed Gradinton to do something, whether that be slay the sheriff as his wife asked or utter some word that might disprove her accusations.
Gradinton but reached across the table and struck his wife, the power of his blow sending her sprawling. As she lay, stunned and moaning in the rushes, he cried out, "Damn you! I told you to hold your tongue. Say no more or I vow I'll end your life this very night." With each word, his voice lifted until he was nigh on squealing in panic.
Elyssa's heart went cold, remembering the way Gradinton had backed away from the sheriff. Now this. Holy Mother, but if yon vicious brute trembled at the thought of confronting the sheriff, the tale must be true.
Clare pushed away from her, slipping back, putting space between her and evil. She again began to wring her hands. "Lyssa," she pleaded in a whisper, reminding Elyssa that the sheriff was also the man who was now her warden and held her life in his hands.
Elyssa stared at him, desperately seeking something, anything, to reassure herself. As if he felt her gaze, he turned his attention on her, his face as expressionless as a statue.
"Say something. Say she is wrong about you," Elyssa urged him, her voice cracking and barely above a whisper, hoping to prompt him into denial.
The sheriff slowly raised a perfect golden brow. There was nothing, no spark of humanity, for Elyssa to read in his visible eye. "What if she is not?" 'Twas a quiet question.
Her senses reeled. Mary save her, his soul was not dead, but black as all sin. From within her rose a lifetime's worth of warnings against evil. She must run from him, putting as much distance from him as she could, or so all the holy admonishments demanded. But she couldn't run. He had Jocelyn.
Tears stung at Elyssa's eyes. "Give him back, I pray you," she begged the Devil's servant.
"That I will not," he replied, yet watching her. "In two hours' time, I'll be on the road to Crosswell. If you can ride the distance, you may travel with me." There was nothing in his voice to indicate either triumph or pleasure at bringing her to her knees before him.
Elyssa drew her first deep breath since Gradinton's attack. Wiping her eyes, she said, "I ride with you."
"Just so," he replied and turned his back on her to address Lord Lavendon.
Elyssa had no interest in anything they might say. Nothing else mattered except that she be close to Jocelyn when he fell ill, which he most certainly would do. Instead, she turned and started toward the door and the chamber behind it that was sanctuary no more. Not even the Devil himself would keep her from her son.
Geoffrey, Lord Coudray, now sheriff of this stinking shire, watched his new ward cross the room. May God damn the law that made him a nursemaid to pregnant widows, especially when the woman was the widow of his enemy's closest ally. Although Lady Freyne and Gradinton didn't seem to be on the dearest of terms just now, it galled him to have to keep her behind his walls. Judging from her yet-slender waist and slim hips, he'd have her for nigh on the whole of her pregnancy.
"Lady Freyne?" he called to her as she reached the door that separated Freyne's private quarters from the hall.
She halted, stiff and straight, paused a moment then turned to face him. Beneath her fine wimple, two plaits the color of deep burnished copper descended past her waist. Her head covering clung to the gentle roundness of her cheeks and emphasized her short jaw and the warm ivory of her skin. If her nose was almost sharp, the fullness of her lips softened the effect. Her eyes were a pretty copper brown color, wide-set and round. The brows above them did not curve at all. Instead, they slanted upward to peak sharply near their ends. It was this odd arrangement of eye and brow that turned a pretty woman into an exotic beauty.
Of a sudden he realized that the widow was staring boldly back at him, her gaze full on his face, not flinching to the side the way all other pregnant women looked at him. Damn, but he needed her to quake. As long as she did, she'd keep herself distant from him and his family whilst at Crosswell.
"What is your will for me, my lord sheriff?" Where her gaze was bold, her words quivered ever so slightly.
Geoffrey's relief was so great he fought the urge to smile. Her forward behavior was but her shield behind which she was properly terrified. "Take Lady Gradinton with you into your chambers," he told her, glancing at his former mother-by-marriage who yet lay in the rushes keening softly. "She must pack as she will be departing even more swiftly than we."
Something in his request startled her, for Lady Freyne's brows jumped upward. She gazed at him a moment, then her eyes narrowed, and she gave a brusque nod. "I am at your command."
Although her quiver was gone, Geoffrey was content. No matter her strength or ability to hide her emotions, here was yet another female who had fallen victim to Sibyl's lies. He watched as Lady Freyne stooped, her movement still fluid and graceful, to aid his former mother-by-marriage in rising. A moment later, the door closed behind the three women, cutting off the sound of Maud's mother and her grief.
Pity for Sibyl flickered to life within Geoffrey. She was as much a victim in this farce as he. Although her accusations had caused his home and life to be explored by Churchmen with more questions than he dared answer, Geoffrey was grateful for her story. He used it, encouraging its spread. More than walls of stone or writs of custody, it was Sibyl's tale of evil that protected his daughter fr
om what harm the truth could do her, and Gradinton knew it.
He looked at his former father-by-marriage. Now that Freyne's heir was out of Baldwin's reach, Geoffrey could afford to enjoy this minor victory.
Gradinton glared at him, hatred filling his eyes. Geoff only lifted a brow. The big man turned on Lavendon.
"You did this," he accused. "You betrayed Aymer's death to the court then dawdled on the wedding, knowing this bitch's son would come." He pointed to Geoffrey. "I should have seen through your delays."
"Now, don't go looking for scapegoats," Geoffrey said, raising his voice before the plump nobleman need answer. "It was the widow's impossible request for custody that arrived first and brought me rushing here. Baron and bishop alike wished to know why a woman might ask to hold tight to a boy halfway into manhood. But, if my motivation is beyond suspicion, let me say your presence here is not. Leave within the hour and I shall pretend all this was but a mistaken attempt on your part to protect a friend's orphan son." Geoff's goad did as planned and turned Baldwin's rage onto him.
"Beyond suspicion?" the big man spat out. "Who can believe a word a devious bastard like you speaks? You are worse than an eel, with your many twists and turns, all meant to keep my granddaughter from me. I'll not let the likes of you steal my friend's home as well."
Geoffrey raised a brow at the insults. "Devious bastard, am I? Thief as well? How delighted Sibyl will be to discover you've changed your mind and will now challenge me." He made a show of stripping off one gauntlet then paused as if he might be considering striking Gradinton with it.
"Will you kill me, Baldwin?" he continued, marveling at how the thought of his own death woke only peace in him. "How shall I let you send me from this earthly vale? On your sword? Or would you rather I swing at a rope's end as murderers do? Perhaps, to please Sibyl, I should burn as befits the Devil's servant. I am at your convenience."
The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three Page 101