“I will tell Sir Connor, and until then, it is enough that you take me to him.”
Godwin sniffed. “Maybe you know something and maybe you don’t,” he muttered, sliding Alexander another look.
“I assure you, I do.”
Whether it was because of Alexander’s firm tone or the fact that he was not getting the answers he wanted, Godwin said no more, even when they reached the village. It was not as crowded as on market day, so they did not have to slow their progress.
Other people did, and stopped and stared. A plump, well-dressed fellow halted in mid-bustle to watch them. His eyes wide as the moon, he made the sign of the cross, then darted into the tavern. Soon, other men came pouring out to join the whispering women.
Alexander wondered how many of them recognized his father’s likeness in him, and what they made of it. Whatever they thought, this was much better than sneaking into Bellevoire dressed as a peasant. His only regret was that he was not wearing finer clothes.
Once he had his portion of the ransom money, he would buy himself some, as well as a better scabbard. And an embossed leather belt, and new boots.
The horses’ hooves clattered over the wooden drawbridge. They rode through the outer gatehouse in the outer curtain wall, and into the ward. The second wall facing them now looked just as impressive and strong as the first. Both walls had towers at their corners, although the fortress was not an exact square. The wall facing the village was longer, no doubt to give the defenders more chance to maintain an advantage over foes attacking the town.
He had known Bellevoire was a large fortress, but he had not known the half of it, he thought with awe.
They continued beneath the massive portcullis of Bellevoire and into the inner ward.
He was finally here at last, in the castle that should have been his.
Godwin ordered his troop to halt. Alexander reined in his mount and surveyed the walls, the buildings and the people.
The inner ward was nearly as large as the village, and just as busy. The clang of hammer and anvil declared which building was the smithy; another with smoke rising from the louvered opening in the slate roof must be the kitchen. Across the yard was another tall building, and judging by the wide steps and ornate door, it was the lord’s hall. Another building adjoining it, with windows on the second level, must be the private apartments of the household.
On his left, a long building two stories high, with wide doors and small windows, was the stables. Grooms and stable boys were leading saddled horses out for the group of soldiers waiting near the entrance.
A patrol, no doubt, or search party, obviously preparing to ride out.
Then, among the men outside the stable, Alexander spotted Sir Connor, formerly of Llanstephan, now of Bellevoire, standing beside a saddled horse. The man was older now, of course, and his face was more angular, creased with a few wrinkles, as if he had known some suffering since those merry days of his youth. His clothing, however, was made of excellent cloth and his scabbard of wonderfully worked leather. His sword was surely a masterpiece of craftsmanship, too—nothing like the inexpensive one he carried that had nevertheless cost his mother so much, in so many ways.
No matter what had happened in the years since he had last seen Sir Connor, though, the man was what he had always been: an example of the rewards of privilege and rank, considered worthy enough to earn the love of an amazingly bold and beautiful woman, and to possess Rennick DeFrouchette’s estate. Sir Connor had been blessed from birth, while he had been cursed.
As Alexander took his time dismounting, noting that an older maidservant standing beside the well had dropped her bucket and was regarding him with openmouthed shock, Godwin hurried over to his overlord, who started and looked his way.
Their gazes met and held, and Alexander watched the flash of recognition, the look of shock, the comprehension dawn, just as he had imagined.
He had not imagined the way Sir Connor’s expression hardened into outright revulsion.
Connor issued an order to his men to carry on, then he strode across the cobblestones toward him. He came to a halt and regarded Alexander with a scrutiny that was both intense and suspicious. “Godwin told me what you said.”
Alexander inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Yes, I know where your wife is.”
The man blinked, as if he couldn’t believe it.
“She is unharmed.”
“You have my wife?”
“Not with me at present, obviously, but I know where she is, and for a price, I will return her to you.”
“Ah!” Understanding dawned. “You stole her for ransom.” Sir Connor ran a long, slow, measuring stare over him. “I see. Godwin also told me that you wouldn’t reveal your name, but he is new here since Rennick DeFrouchette’s death. It is obvious to me by your looks that you are related to him, and if I had any doubt, your villainous act would have confirmed it.”
Alexander wouldn’t allow himself to be upset by this man. “Have a care, my lord. It is surely not wise to annoy the man who has your wife’s safety in his hands.” His gaze swept over the courtyard, taking in the soldiers milling about and the maidservants. More had come to cluster about the well, and they stood watching.
“Is it your usual practice to discuss your business in the courtyard, my lord?” he inquired. “Or shall we go somewhere more private?”
Chapter 9
His eyes flaring with undisguised rage, Sir Connor started for the hall. “Follow me.”
Alexander did as he commanded, but he was not pleased at being treated like one of the man’s foot soldiers, especially not here and not now.
Once inside, the comfort of the great hall surpassed his expectations, adding to his envy and indignation. Colorful tapestries lined the lime-coated walls, and there was a huge hearth along one wall, an innovation that made for a much less smoky room. The furnishings were many and wonderfully carved and polished. Most were of new oak, as blond as the braid of Lady Allis’s hair, which he carried in the pouch at his side.
A few servants were here, too, cleaning out the hearth. With a brisk order, Sir Connor sent them away, so that they were alone.
He sat in a chair cushioned with a scarlet pillow and gestured for Alexander to do the same. “So, you look like DeFrouchette, so I assume you are a relative. Judging by your age, I suppose you are a nephew, possibly a cousin, although I am not familiar with any of the man’s family.”
“Neither am I.” Alexander waited a moment, trying to summon the joy of anticipation. “Although I am his son.”
Sir Connor’s eyes merely narrowed. There was no shock, no jolt of surprise—just that subtle, disappointing reaction. “It is well-known that Rennick DeFrouchette had no sons.”
“That is what your charming and beautiful wife said, too. I am Rennick DeFrouchette’s bastard, and you killed my father before he could acknowledge me as his issue. If he had, I would now be master here, not you.”
Again the man’s expression barely altered. “So you claim. How is it nobody has ever heard of you, especially here in Bellevoire?”
As Sir Connor could be calm, so could he. “My father abandoned my mother when she told him she was with child. I daresay he never spoke of me because he preferred to pretend I did not exist.”
He had believed that since he was eight years old, and the pain of that realization still galled him like an open wound, but he would not reveal that, either.
“Now that I can believe.” Sir Connor folded his arms. “However, as to your claim that Bellevoire would be yours—your father was a traitor to the Crown. It would have been forfeit to the Crown regardless of your acknowledged existence or not, even if you had been named the legal heir.”
“There was no trial, so no legal proof offered that my father was a traitor.”
Sir Connor sat up straighter and stared at him incredulously. “There did not need to be, man! Your father tried to assassinate the king in front of a courtyard full of people.”
Shock struck Alexander like the blow of an ax, and he had to fight not to betray it. Lord Oswald had not told him that.
A woman appeared at another entrance, flushed and panting as if she had rushed there. Attired in a royal blue velvet gown of simple, yet elegant, cut, the bodice fit to perfection, while the skirt flared outward from her slender waist. A leather girdle sat low on her hips, the ends dangling down nearly to the ground, like the gown’s cuffs. Her hair was a lighter blond than Lady Allis’s, yet her features were similar enough to guess that this was Lady Allis’s sister. She was nearly as beautiful, but not quite, for she lacked the spark of fierce vitality that her sister possessed.
Connor jumped to his feet, finally demonstrating that he was more tense than he acted. “He has news of Allis.”
Her eyes wide, the woman’s anxious gaze went from Connor to him and back again, and she turned so pale, Alexander thought she might swoon. “Allis?” she repeated in a whisper.
“She is well, he says. He also claims that he is Rennick DeFrouchette’s son.”
The woman glided toward them, her movements as graceful as Lady Allis’s. “Rennick never told me he had a son.”
“My father did not speak of me,” Alexander said. “But seeing me, do you doubt it?”
It was immediately obvious she did not. Again, a look of utter revulsion came to the face of the person regarding him.
Then he learned he was indeed looking at Lady Allis’s sister, for her expression darkened and her eyes flashed with a familiar ire. The woman gathered her skirt in her hand and marched toward him, the tassels of her girdle swinging and her expression as determined as that of an armed opponent who was about to engage him in single combat. “I don’t care if your father was the king. I want to know what’s happened to my sister. Where is she? Have you hurt her?”
“She is unharmed and where you cannot find her. There she will stay until you have delivered twenty thousand marks into my hands.”
Both of them gasped. “Twenty thousand marks?” the lady whispered incredulously. She exchanged a doubtful look with Sir Connor.
It troubled him, that look, both the uncertainty and the seeming … intimacy … of it. If he were Lady Allis’s husband, he would pay anything to get her back, no matter what he had to do, or who he had to beg. “I am sure you can afford it, or have friends who can help you. You had better find the money somehow, for I will have a portion of it—a small recompense for what you have stolen from me.”
Connor drew himself up and the look he gave Alexander was full of loathing and disgust. “You are indeed Rennick’s son, for just like him, you would get what you want through a woman rather than your own merit.”
“What do you know of my merit?” Alexander demanded, his fists curling as he struggled to restrain his outraged pride, which had been battered countless times. “Thanks to you—and your duplicitous wife—I may never be anything but some man’s bastard, without hope of land or title or the means to achieve them.”
“What you have done tells me all I need to know of your merit, or lack thereof,” Connor retorted.
Alexander took a deep breath and forced his emotions back under control. “Think of me as you will. I have been called all manner of things, and whatever you say makes little difference. Just make certain that when I come back in a month, you have the money.”
“A month!” the woman cried.
“I assumed you did not have such a sum handy. Of course, if you do—”
“We do not,” Connor interrupted with grim reluctance.
“How can we be certain that you have her, as you claim?” the woman demanded. “You could have heard that she has been abducted and think to profit from it.”
She was as clever as her sister. “You are very like her, you know, and not just in looks,” he noted as he reached into the pouch tied to his waist and pulled out the braid. It was soft in his hands and seemed like molten gold, and for a moment, he was loath to part with it.
He tossed it to her.
She caught it, then dropped it as if it were a live snake. “Oh, God, Connor, it’s her hair!”
Sir Connor gathered her in his arms and held her close as he addressed Alexander. “Now that you have delivered your message, go.”
Again, something was too intimate here, too close for a mere legal relationship.
Alexander tried to ignore his troubling suspicions. Whatever was between Sir Connor, his wife and his sister-in-law was no concern of his—except that it might prove that neither Sir Connor nor this woman had the right to look at him with such scornful disgust. “You two seem very … loving.”
They broke apart. “Would you deny me the comfort of a brotherly embrace?” the woman charged as Sir Connor took another step back. “Considering how cold-blooded your sire was, perhaps you would.”
Was that guilt in the man’s eyes? Had Oswald been wrong about Sir Connor’s devotion to his wife? Maybe, then, Sir Connor wouldn’t pay.
Then he would not have to bring her back to Bellevoire.
But what then? his mind argued. She will be sold, for Oswald, Osburn and Ingar will have their money.
Therefore, regardless of what he might prefer, she must return. He must make them see that a terrible fate awaited her if they did not pay. “What shall I tell my companions when I return? Will you pay, or shall we sell her to the Norsemen?”
The woman blanched. “Of course we will pay.”
Sir Connor came to stand behind her. “Lord Oswald is behind this,” he said with sure and firm certainty.
How had he known?
“If you want to keep her safe, pay the ransom,” Alexander said, not willing to discuss Oswald’s part in this. “In the meantime, you will give me the loan of a horse so that I may return and tell her you will pay. Neither you nor your men will follow me from here, or the lady will suffer.”
“The loan of a horse?” Sir Connor queried with open disdain.
“A horse is not part of the bargain. When I have gone far enough, I will set it free to return to you.”
“A fine morality you have, DeFrouchette, that allows you to keep a woman but tells you to return a horse.” Sir Connor came closer until he was nearly nose to nose with him. “Take the horse and send it back, if that enables you to think you are not a dishonorable rogue. And you will have your money, but know you this, you lout: a worthy opponent would have challenged me directly. A noble warrior would have offered to settle this matter man to man. A man worthy to be a knight and lord of an estate would not have sought his vengeance in a woman’s pain.” His lip curled with scorn, as if Alexander smelled of something foul. “Now get out of Bellevoire and take your convenient morality with you.”
The confrontation Alexander had dreamt of, the meeting that was to be such a glorious triumph, was over—and he had never felt so petty and ashamed.
After DeFrouchette had gone, Connor took Allis gently in his arms. For a long moment, he simply held her, feeling her tremble, knowing how difficult these days had been for her.
They had been terrible for him, too. Guilt gnawed at him every waking moment, and he had thought a thousand times of all the things he might have done differently the day that Isabelle had disappeared.
Allis nestled her head against his chest. “At least we know she is well. You did believe him when he said he hadn’t hurt her?”
Connor took her hand and led her to a chair. “Yes, I did.”
“I have never heard so much as a whisper of Rennick’s son.”
“No, nor I,” Connor replied as he sat opposite her. “Still, I don’t think he was lying about that, either. He was too much like the man, in looks, and in evil.”
Allis’s eyes welled with tears. “And now he has Isabelle, but he thinks he has me.”
Connor pushed himself out of his chair and knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. “I was so glad you realized that he must continue to think that! Otherwise, who could say what he might do to her? He might very well sell her as he threaten
ed.”
A tear slipped down Allis’s cheek, her pain adding to Connor’s own. “I wish he did have me.”
“I don’t,” Connor replied as he brushed the tear away with the pad of his thumb. “You’re with child, Allis, and don’t forget that Isabelle is clever and brave. Of all the women I can think of who could endure what has befallen her, it would be her—or you.” He gave his wife a comforting smile. “Men always underestimate her. I did. I daresay this fellow has, too. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if she walked into the hall tomorrow, told us she’d clouted her jailer on the head and climbed down a tower wall.”
Allis tried to smile. “She might.”
Connor’s warm grip tightened, and he spoke with even more assurance. “There is more to give us hope. Although he would not admit it, I saw the truth in his eyes when I asked him about Oswald. That miscreant is involved in this. We know more now than we did before.”
Gleda came out of the kitchen, a tray bearing two goblets in her trembling hands. She handed one to Allis and one to Connor. Her hands were shaking so much that she spilled some of the red wine onto Connor’s fingers. “Oh, forgive me, my lord!” she cried, wiping it off with her sleeve. “It’s just that I’m that upset. I thought I was seeing a ghost!”
“So did I,” Allis said as she sipped her wine.
Tucking the tray under her arm, Gleda nodded eagerly. “Aye, just like his father, wasn’t he? With the black hair and those blue eyes, and the height of him.”
“Tell me, Gleda,” Connor said, as he toyed with the bottom of his goblet, “you were here when Rennick DeFrouchette was master. Did you never hear talk of a son?”
She shook her head. “Not a word, but then, it wouldn’t surprise me. A lustful man he was, and…” A look passed over her face and she fell silent a moment. “We wondered, some of the women, why he never fathered any children here. We thought, maybe, you know…” She gave them a meaningful look.
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