Armand's Daughter

by Diana Dickinson

  He couldn’t go down to her. He couldn’t bear it. He wrapped himself in his cloak and sat down with his back against the cold stone. Catherine was right not to trust him when he could no longer trust himself.

  It was March. The last few days of February had been still, calm and mild, a foretaste of spring. Catherine knew that all the raging storms were probably not over yet but for the moment there was a respite in the weather. The plants in her herb garden by the church clearly believed that winter was at an end. There was new growth everywhere, with green shoots and even flower buds appearing. The birds were starting to build their nests and all around, new life was stirring.

  Since the day Catherine had ridden to Lanhalles, now nearly two weeks ago, Raoul had never once shared her bed at night. He would only come to the tower room in the morning, once it was fully light and she herself had dressed for the day. He looked pale, almost ill, and there were new darker shadows beneath his eyes. He had stopped his light-hearted banter with Jean Paul and the squire wisely carried out his duties with silent efficiency. Once or twice Catherine had caught Raoul looking at her but she was unable to read the expression in his eyes. She had almost asked him to tell her what was troubling him, but then she had changed her mind, afraid what he might say.

  But where was he going at night? That was the question which tormented her. Jean Paul could tell her nothing, he simply looked bemused and claimed not to know what she was talking about; so did Connell. Catherine was convinced that he was with a woman; it made her seethe with anger – and it baffled her too. He had been able to do his dirty business with the whore in Lanhalles during the day, so this was obviously someone other than her. She made discreet enquiries about whether anyone ever entered or left the castle late at night or early in the morning. They did not, or at least not via the main gate. Then she remembered that there was a postern in the North Tower. Perhaps he was leaving the castle that way. The door, when she went to look at it, had obviously not been opened for years. The hinges and bolts were rusty and there was no sign of the key. She thought that it might have been given to Gilles. Possibly he still had it.

  The only other alternative that Catherine could think of was that he had brought some woman in and had tucked her away somewhere. But where? On the pretext of seeing what would be needed in the way of new hangings and clean rushes, she combed every inch of the castle. There was no trace of a stranger.

  Thwarted but no less suspicious, she began to watch Raoul’s manner with the washer-women, the laundry maids, the cooks, the serving wenches and even with the wives and sweethearts of his men. They all appeared to blush and grin like fools whenever he spoke to them but she could detect nothing significant in his behaviour towards them. He seemed to be unfailingly polite and pleasant but wore an air of pre-occupied sadness which mystified and infuriated Catherine even more.

  One morning very early Catherine was still in bed when she heard the door of the tower room being opened. She sat up, her pulses racing.

  “Raoul?” she said tentatively. “Is that you?”

  He parted the bed curtains and stood looking down at her without speaking. He seemed to be struggling with some strong emotion.

  “Has something happened?” Catherine asked, alarmed by his strangeness.

  He gave a short bark of laughter.

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s all over.”

  “What is? I don’t understand.”

  Catherine climbed out of the bed and came towards him but he turned away and walked over to the window where he stood with his back to her.

  “I have two regrets...no, three,” he said quietly. “I would have liked to have brought my grandmother back to die here. And I would have liked to have had a son.”

  “Are you ill? Why should those things be impossible?”

  Raoul swung round to face her and she quailed at the wild look on his face.

  “They are impossible because a fleet of galleys is sailing, at speed, towards Radenoc. They will soon be here.”

  “Whose galleys? How do you know? I don’t believe you!”

  “I’ll show you.”

  He went out onto the stairs and Catherine ran after him. Almost opposite their chamber was another door, leading to a store-room or a closet, Catherine had always supposed. It was open now revealing narrow steps which wound upwards.

  “Come here,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her after him.

  At the top, emerging into the daylight, Catherine gasped, her head swimming at the giddy height. She stood frozen, unable to move.

  “Come to the edge.” Clinging to his hand she inched forward to the parapet. “There!”

  In the dawn light they were clearly visible. Thirty ships, perhaps more, their sails bellied out by the breeze, their oars like so many insect legs running over the ocean.

  “Gilles,” Catherine said, feeling sick.

  “Exactly,” he said, but the desperation had gone from his face. “Now go inside again before you catch cold.”

  It was only as she went back towards the stairs that she noticed the lantern and some blankets bundled up beside the door. In a flash she understood. This was where he had been. He had been sleeping up here, on the roof top. Why? Did he hate her so much?

  “Please come down with me,” she said. “I want to speak to you.”

  “What do you intend to do?” she asked as he followed her into the tower room. “Gilles’s return affects me too. You’ll fight him, won’t you?”

  “Oh yes. I shall challenge him to single combat.” He gave a wry grin. “But I don’t expect he’ll let me win. He is not a man of honour, I’m sorry to say.”

  “No,” Catherine said with a shudder. “He’s not.”

  “But no doubt you’ll be happy to have him back. And your younger brother too.” He sounded calm now, completely unemotional.

  “I long to see Simon, of course, but I’ve no love for Gilles. He’ll give me to Bellec. This time he’ll make sure.”

  “Bellec?”

  “A beast of a man. The night before you came here Bellec tried to rape me – it was Simon, and then news of your coming, that saved me. He’ll make no more mistakes.”

  “I didn’t realise that, Catherine. I’m sorry.” He put his hands on her shoulders and spoke earnestly. “Take any chance you can and get away. Beauchamp is yours, so will Valsemé be after my grandmother’s death. Ask Tanguy Rivoallon to take you to her – she’ll protect you if anyone can.” He released her and went to the table. “I’ll write something to prove who you are. With that and my ring she should be content...although she won’t like the fact that you’re his daughter.”

  “But why are you just giving up?” Catherine demanded hotly. “Can’t we defend ourselves? You have quite a lot of men, Radenoc’s well provisioned – we can withstand a siege, surely.”

  “Is that what you want?” He flung down his pen and turned to face her. “You’d see the land laid waste, the houses in Kerhouazoc and Lanhalles destroyed again, innocent people killed, just so that I can remain as baron? That’s what you want, is it? Don’t you see, if I’m the only one to fight, there’ll be no need for Gilles to make the people suffer – enough blood has been spilt here already. Do you really want more?”

  “But he enjoys making them suffer!” Catherine cried. “He enjoys pain and blood. He’s doesn’t care about their welfare or their well-being! He’s not like you. Whether we defend ourselves or not, he’s just as likely to slaughter and maim and kill. Don’t you know what it was like here, after my father died? Haven’t your friends in Kerhouazoc and Lanhalles told you about de Faou and Piriac and what they used to do?”

  “I do know, Catherine. But there’s no other way.”

  “Does life mean so little to you? Do you want to die?” Her eyes were blazing. He looked away.

  “Perhaps. I find that Radenoc is not as important to me as I thought it was.”

  She felt like shaking him but controlled herself with an effort.

  “You said
that you had three regrets,” she went on more calmly. “You only mentioned two. What’s the third?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “Please.”

  He looked down at her and smiled, wistfully.

  “Without your love none of it matters. That’s all.”

  “My...my love?” she repeated, incredulous.

  “I’m sorry. Don’t be angry.” He put his hand briefly over hers. “If you could bring yourself to say that you forgive me for what I did, that will be enough. And if you leave Radenoc, please take Jean Paul with you. I don’t want him falling into Gilles’s hands. Now I’d better wake him and get ready.”

  “No. Wait. I don’t understand.” She seized him hand as he moved away from her. “What does my love matter? You don’t want me.”

  “Not want you?” He turned back with a bitter laugh. “Is that what you think?”

  Catherine suddenly found herself close to tears.

  “Why should I think anything else? You’ve never touched me! You can’t even bear to sleep in the same room as me!”

  “Catherine, Catherine!” He gripped her shoulders. “I swore not to. I’d rather cut my hand off than hurt you again. But you’re so beautiful and I want you so much that I can’t trust myself any more. It’s driving me out of my mind. I’d rather be killed by Gilles than break my vow. Now do you understand?”

  “But...but I don’t want you to keep your vow!”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I thought you had someone else – I don’t mean Jeanne – I mean a woman, a mistress, someone you loved...”

  “And you were... jealous?” He sounded as if he hardly dared to believe what she was saying.

  “Yes, yes I was. I was jealous!”

  “But why?”

  “Oh, Raoul! I’ve been such a fool. In my heart I forgave you long ago. For months I’ve been wishing that you would... “

  She was unable to say any more as she found herself crushed against him, his mouth passionately seeking hers.

  “My sweet beautiful girl,” he murmured after a moment. “I’ve never loved anyone but you. Please believe me.”

  Overwhelmed, she simply wound her arms round his neck and lifted her face to receive his kiss. When, a little later, he carried her across to the bed, she shrank closer to him, trembling.

  “Please, don’t hurt me,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be afraid, my love,” he whispered. “I promise you that I won’t.”

  Much later Catherine lay naked, her head pillowed on Raoul’s smooth chest, as he ran his fingers gently through her unbound hair. The first time, although he had patiently made sure that she was ready and relaxed enough to receive him without pain, his own need had been too urgent for him also to bring her to the peak of ecstasy. After that, to her surprise, he had shown no wish to move away but had explored, caressed and kissed every inch of her body. Just thinking about it brought yet another re-awakening of her desire. He had waited until she had felt almost as she had in those terrible dreams, so desperate that she would have begged him to make love to her. He had known what she wanted, though. She hadn’t had to beg – and this time she had steadily risen on a wave of pleasure so intense that when at last she reached the ultimate pinnacle, the summit, her senses seemed almost to explode. She had cried out, clung to him, and wept. Then, in a haze of contentment, she had fallen asleep.

  “Oh! My lady!”

  Marie’s voice shocked, aghast, brought her to her senses. Sure that she must have been dreaming, Catherine began to turn over.

  “Stay still, love.” Raoul pulled the furs up to cover her. “Did you want something, Marie? Jean Paul?” He sounded amused.

  “Er, just to tell you, my lord, that an army seems to have surrounded the castle,” the squire said. “They’re flying the Radenoc standard so I assume that it’s Lord Gilles.”

  “Well observed, my lad. It is. Send someone with some food. I’m ravenous.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “What happened to Marie?”

  “She’s gone, my lord. I think she was a little...surprised.”

  “Right, thank you.” Raoul said with a laugh.

  “Oh Raoul!” Catherine cried when the squire had gone. “I’d forgotten about Gilles!”

  Raoul took her face in his hands and kissed her.

  “Don’t worry, my love. I must write my challenge and send someone to deliver it,” he said, getting up. “Where do you suppose my shirt can have got to? No, that’s your shift. Put it on so that we don’t...surprise anyone else.”

  He threw it to her and continued to search for hastily discarded articles of clothing.

  “How can you be so calm?” Catherine demanded, dragging a blue woollen gown out of a chest and pulling it on. “Surely you don’t still intend to go through with this?”

  “Sweetheart, what has happened between us changes nothing, apart from how I feel about it. I see no viable alternative.” Half dressed, he crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. “Don’t cry, love. I’ll agree to single combat on condition that he allows you, escorted by Jean Paul and a few of the others, to have safe conduct to wherever you want to go. And as I said before, I advise you to make for Valsemé.”

  He released her and pulled on his tunic. With trembling fingers Catherine pinned Yon’s silver brooch to the front of her gown then began to plait her hair.

  There was a knock at the door and a page entered with a loaded tray. At a signal from Raoul, he set it down then poured ale and removed the covers to display the dishes to his master. Raoul thanked him then sent the boy away.

  “Now then, let me see.” He crossed to the open window, biting hungrily into a chunk of bread. “It must be close to mid-day. You’ve kept me in bed all morning, you witch.”

  “Raoul!” He paused at the sudden urgency in her voice. “What’s the state of the tide?”

  “I’m not sure. Coming in, I think. Why?”

  “When did it turn? How long ago? Quickly, let me see!” She ran to the other window, forgetting her fear to peer out desperately.

  “What does it matter?”

  “Oh, God! Why didn’t I think of this before? How could I have forgotten? I can’t tell now if it’s safe or not. But you’ll have to try it. Please, come here. Help me!”

  Catherine had thrown the cushions off the window seat and was now frantically tugging at wooden seat.

  “That’s right, lift it off. There!”

  Raoul found himself looking down a circular shaft which ran hundreds of feet down through the tower wall.

  “A well? You think this makes a difference to lasting out a siege – is that it?”

  “No! No! It isn’t just a well. It’s a tunnel, a way out of here. You can go to my uncle, get help!”

  Raoul hesitated, turning the possibilities over in his mind.

  “But what will you do? How will you account for my absence?”

  Catherine was unpinning her brooch.

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll think of something,” she said. “Now take this and go.” She pressed it into his hand. “It’s all I have to give you.”

  “You’ve already given me a great deal more,” he said with a reminiscent smile. He fastened it to his tunic and would have taken her hand. “Catherine, I can’t...”

  “Please! Please!” She plunged across the room, seized a torch which she lit in the fire, then pushed him towards the well-shaft. “It may already be too late! Don’t argue, Raoul, for the love of Heaven. Just go, go!”

  With an odd sense of déja vu, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Then he lowered himself into the opening, his feet seeking the iron rungs below. He held the torch in one hand, and feeling carefully for handholds with the other, he felt a surge of adrenalin, like in the old days on the road. ‘The squirrel’ Daniel had called him when he had done those dangerous climbs. If he could do those, he could do this!

  “Can you climb down?” Catherine
called anxiously.

  “Yes, it’s easy enough.”

  “Raoul, the sea may be coming in! I think you should come back!”

  “Don’t worry, my darling, I’ll be back soon enough – with an army!”

  Catherine steeled herself to watch as the flickering light grew smaller and eventually vanished altogether. Then she knelt on the other seat and peered as far out of the window as she dared. Was it more than an hour after high tide? Would he get through?

  There were footsteps on the stairs. She clambered hastily down, replacing the cushions but not the seat over the well shaft. She hastily thrust it under the bed. She was about to draw the bed curtains when Jean Paul entered the room.

  “Where’s my master?” he asked.

  “Oh, he’s, em, up on the roof looking at the besieging army.”

  “I’ll go up to him, then.”

  “Yes...no, wait.” It was no good. She couldn’t keep this from Raoul’s own squire. “There’s a secret way out of Radenoc,” she said. “Lord Raoul’s gone to the Count of Léon for help.”

  “That’s wonderful.” The squire’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

  “Now listen.” Catherine shut the door and stood against it. “I’m relying on you. Everyone else must think that he’s ill, including Marie.” Catherine certainly couldn’t trust her. “We must use delaying tactics and try to maintain a good defence until he returns. If they thought that my husband had escaped, they might let it slip to the enemy who’d send out search parties and his life would be in danger. They mustn’t know. No-one must know. I want you to stay here and pretend that you’re looking after him. If anyone comes up here, he’s asleep and mustn’t be disturbed. Pile up the covers and draw the curtains round.” She watched critically as the squire did so. “Good. Now, I’ll stay here for the next hour or so.” Was that long enough for him to get out of the tunnel or to come back if he could not? “I want you to tell the captain and the sergeant-at-arms to gather the best of Raoul’s men to meet him in the Hall.”