Hellion

by Bertrice Small

  Hugh barely glanced at the two men. He had eyes only for the beautiful woman who had taken him from his brother-in-law’s dungeon, and then for a time given him her love. She had saved his life, and for that he owed her much. She had been cruel, selfish, and wicked. Had he been himself, he should have never loved her. Aye, he thought secretly, I did love her for a time, may God help me.

  Belle’s green-gold eyes flicked from Simon de Beaumont past Vivienne to Guy d’ Bretagne. She had never before seen the face of death. It was frightening in its finality. While she regretted the deaths of Simon and Vivienne, she could not believe that Guy was really dead. He had been so full of life. She had never known such a man before, and suspected that she would never know such a one again. His passion for lust was the most wildly erotic thing she had ever experienced. While she would never discuss it with Hugh, her now restored husband, she knew that Guy had truly loved her, and while she had never admitted it to herself before, Isabelle knew she had cared for him in a strange way as well. It was over. She would not forget, but she would not dwell upon it ever again. Farewell my lord Guy, she said silently.

  “Cover the bodies, and finish the burial,” Hugh ordered his men. “Try to disguise the graves so they will not be discovered. Let the superstitious believe the devil came for his own, and leave the legend of the d’ Bretagnes intact.” He chuckled. “They would like that.”

  When they had all gathered back in the Great Hall of the now eerily quiet castle, Hugh and Belle put their heads together to decide the route by which they would make their way back to England. The Langston men and the two falconers sat quietly as their lord and lady argued back and forth.

  “Boulogne to Dover is the shortest crossing,” Isabelle said. “I would be just as happy to spend as little time on the sea as possible.”

  “It’s too far for us to travel overland, with the king and his brother still feuding. Do you not remember what Simon de Beaumont told us? We may not even be safe in some parts of Normandy, with Robert de Belleme on the loose. And do not forget William of Mortain. His lands are very near. Both these men know me, and would count it a coup to have me in their dungeons. Although I am neither rich nor important, I am still the king’s good friend. The roads in Normandy are far too dangerous to travel for very long, chérie”

  “Then what are we to do?” Belle demanded of him. “Certainly you are not suggesting that we remain here at La Citadelle? Though Vivienne and Guy are dead and buried, even now I can feel their presence about me. The castle is already haunted, and the sooner we leave, the happier I will be, my lord!”

  “I agree,” Hugh replied in irritatingly mild tones. “In the weeks since Vivienne’s marriage, I have had far greater freedom than I had in the months prior. The d’ Bretagnes possess a small fishing village several miles up the coast to the north. We will go there at first light and commandeer the boats and men we need to sail across the Channel to England.”

  “At its widest part?” Isabelle shrieked, causing the Langston men to cease their own talk and look to their master and mistress.

  “There are several islands, ma Belle,” Hugh soothed her. “We will sail from one to the other in gentle stages, and from the last of those islands, Alderney, straight across to Weymouth Bay. The final part of the journey will take us no more than a full day, with good winds. We have just enough time to make the crossing before the northerlies set in and make the Channel difficult, if not impossible, to cross for the next few months. Even if we could reach Boulogne in safety, which I doubt, the winter winds would have begun,” Hugh explained.

  “What about the horses?” she challenged him. “We cannot afford to leave ten horses behind. Your liege lord, Henry Beauclerc, will certainly not reimburse us our loss,” she said scathingly, “and what of the birds? I will not leave Couper!”

  “We are not going in just one boat,” he replied. “The horses will be given passage as well as the birds.”

  “I had best pray for fair winds, then,” Isabelle said dryly, “for I see you are determined to put to sea.”

  “We will be in England all the sooner,” he promised her with a small smile. “It is really better my way, chérie.”

  “We will see,” Isabelle of Langston said ominously.

  She returned to the apartments she had shared with Guy to gather up a few of her possessions. The place reeked of memories. She could almost feel him within these very walls, his sensuous mouth curling with amusement as he watched her, all the while planning some wicked passion for them to share. She took a few pieces of plain, sturdy, serviceable clothing, and the other small things she would need for her journey. Pulling a small stone from the wall, she drew out a soft chamois bag, putting it among her other possessions. It was Guy’s private cache and contained silver pieces. She would keep it for the new baby. One piece, however, she took out, clipping it carefully into smaller pieces for the journey, sewing them into the hem of her skirts.

  A rumble of thunder caught her ear, and, going to the window, she flung back the shutters. There was a storm out over the sea. She watched as the lightning forked down into the roiling waves. Lovely, Isabelle thought irritably. Pray God it has cleared by tomorrow. Behind her she thought she heard laughter. Guy’s laughter. She whirled about but there was no one there. She was alone. Or was she? Quickly gathering up her bundle, Isabelle fled the apartments without another backward glance. She had been right. La Citadelle was haunted. Guy and Vivienne would never leave it. They would be in possession for eternity.

  They all slept on pallets in the hall near the fire, waking even before dawn. Lind and Alain foraged in the kitchens, competent to boil up oat stirabout, finding day-old bread and half a wheel of cheese. A small basket of apples was discovered, and Isabelle ordered that they be taken, along with whatever else could be found that was edible. They ate quickly. As they left the Great Hall of La Citadelle, Isabelle thought how strangely silent it was now. Only yesterday at this time it had been so alive and vibrant.

  Outside in the bailey she waited for the horses to be brought. Lind and Alain had gone to the mews to release the birds. They would only take Couper and the young peregrine Lind had personally trained. He was so fond of the bird that he could not bear to leave the beautiful creature behind. The other birds they set loose. Left in the mews, they would have soon starved and died. Isabelle watched as the creatures, freed of their hoods and jesses, were at first confused. But then the gyrfalcon, boldest of all, took wing, soaring into the bright morning skies above, screeching his delight. The others quickly followed suit. Hugh had wanted to keep the gyrfalcon, but it was too great a responsibility, considering the journey ahead of them.

  The horses were ready, but they would not ride them yet. Hugh had decided they were less apt to attract attention if they departed the d’ Bretagne holding by means of the interior staircase to the beach rather than riding out across the countryside. The tide was now almost out, and they would have plenty of opportunity to reach the little seaside village of Bretagne-sur-Mer, which was well isolated from the rest of the holding. The villagers might not yet have heard of the murder-suicide of their master and mistress, and believing the English came on orders of the d’ Bretagnes, they would cooperate.

  Leading their animals into the castle, the men followed Isabelle and Hugh through a wide hallway that led directly to the staircase. The steps were broad and the gradient downward not steep. Slowly, carefully, they led the animals down the slope. For a time all was silent save for the clopping of the horses’ hooves, but then they began to hear the sea, its roar growing louder as they moved forward. At last they came out into a large, high cave, and, mounting their animals, rode forth into a sunny morning. To their left the sea was spread out in bright blue splendor.

  “Pray the weather holds,” Isabelle said as she took Couper on her wrist, then, kicking Gris gently, moved ahead.

  It took very little time to reach the village. The sun was just coming up, and the fishermen had not yet put to sea. Isabelle
could see the wariness in their faces as the mounted party approached, but no one fled, for the villagers knew that only someone from La Citadelle would have approached them from that direction. The party came to a stop before the fishermen and their boats.

  “Who is in charge here?” Hugh demanded in harsh tones.

  For a long silent moment no one spoke, and then a tall, bearded man stepped forward. “I am headman, my lord. Did they not tell you at the castle to ask for Jean-Paul?”

  “I was simply told that the headman would arrange passage for us back to England,” Hugh answered. “I am Sir Hugh Fauconier, lately in service to the d’ Bretagnes. I am now returning home with my wife and my men-at-arms. I will need passage for us all and for our animals. There will be a silver piece, half to be paid now, half when we reach England, for each boat that will take us. What think you, Master Jean-Paul? Will the weather hold for the next two or three days?”

  The headman nodded slowly. A silver piece for each boat? It was a fortune, and none from the castle had ever been as generous with them. Ten passengers. Ten horses. The two hunting birds were no problem. Most of the village boats were small, but there were three that were large enough to make the voyage; his and two others. “The weather will hold for the next week, my lord,” he answered Hugh. “We can take you. Guilliame! Luc! Make ready your boats.” The headman turned back to Hugh. “The silver, my lord?”

  Hugh took three coins from his pouch. He clipped each piece in half and gave them to the headman while the other fishermen looked on enviously. Without another word the three vessels were pushed into the surf. Five horses and three men each were loaded onto the boats belonging to the men called Guilliame and Luc. Isabelle, Hugh, and the two falconers boarded the headman’s ship, but not before Belle had carefully divided the foodstuffs among the others. Barrels of water were brought aboard to ensure that they not go thirsty.

  The winds were fresh, blowing evenly yet not too hard as they departed Bretagne-sur-Mer. The seas rolled gently, and there was no sign of rain or fog. Gradually the coastline disappeared, and finally Isabelle could see nothing either ahead of them or behind them but the sea. She shivered, drawing her cloak about her tightly. She did not like the sea, and God willing she would never have to face it again once she was safely home to Langston. England, she thought to herself. Langston. There had been times she had thought that perhaps she would not see it again. Now she could barely wait to step within her own hall, to see her mother and her little son again. How wonderful it would be to live a quiet, normal life once more. When Hugh’s arm slipped about her shoulders, she smiled up at him, and within her the child moved as if it were giving them its full approval. She put her hand upon her belly in a maternal gesture.

  “The baby is as eager as we are to get home,” she told her husband. “Have you thought of what we shall call it, my lord?”

  He laid his hand atop hers. “We will have to call him Henry if it is another lad, ma Belle; but I should like Matilda if it is a little girl, after our own good queen,” he teased.

  “I shall never name a son of mine Henry!” Isabelle said indignantly. “Had it not been for the king, none of this would have happened! We have almost been robbed of our lives, and certainly we have been robbed of the chance to watch our son grow. And why? Because of Henry Beauclerc! No Henrys!”

  “Had it not been for the king,” Hugh reminded his irate mate, “we should have not been wed, hellion. Besides, it was your idea to come after me, certainly not the king’s. I cannot help but name a second son Henry, especially if I am to retain his favor.”

  “If I had not come after you,” Isabelle reminded him for possibly the hundredth time, “you would not have regained your memory. Besides, what choice had I? Had I remained at court, I would have eventually been forced into the king’s bed. Would you have found that preferable?”

  “By not remaining at court,” he said softly, “you were forced into Guy d’ Bretagne’s bed. As to which was preferable, I do not know.”

  “At least all England will not know of my shame,” she countered, “and at least the child I carry is true-born because of Guy’s inability to father a child. The king is known for his potency. Would you have enjoyed raising a royal bastard, my lord?” she concluded icily.

  “Touché, hellion,” he responded. She had done it once again; taken a logical argument and turned it to her advantage. “You are an impossible woman,” he said.

  Isabelle turned from her view of the sea to gaze up at her husband. “Aye,” she agreed placidly, “but would you have me like my sweet-tempered mother? Alette could have never survived what I have, my lord. She is much too gentle and kind.”

  At that moment the subject of their thoughts was hurling oaths from the new tower at Langston down upon the head of her stepson and his unpleasant henchman, Luc de Sai. “Villain! Cowardly devil’s spawn!” Alette de Briard shouted. Then she hurled the contents of the night jar down upon their heads.

  Richard de Manneville leapt aside none too soon, avoiding the noxious dousing, but his companion was not so fortunate and was splashed. De Manneville snickered, but then he shouted back at his stepmother, “Lady, you are being foolish. I will eventually gain entry to your refuge, and you will regret having denied me access. Langston is mine now. I hold it for England’s rightful king, Robert of Normandy.”

  “King Henry is England’s rightful king, you stinking oaf,” Alette returned. “When my husband, Hugh Fauconier, and your sister return, you will wish that you had never been born, Richard de Manneville!”

  “Hugh Fauconier will not return,” Richard said with certainty, “and as for my sister, should she come back to Langston, she will find me in charge not only of this keep, but of her person as well.”

  “My grandson is master of this keep should his father not return,” Alette said smugly. “King Henry will uphold little Hugh’s claim, and kick your skinny rump straight across the Channel back to that damp pile of stones called Manneville.” She then disappeared within her tower, slamming the shutters closed behind her.

  “Give the little bitch to me,” Luc de Sai said darkly. “I’ll teach her better manners.” He shook his wet sleeve, but he knew the stink would remain until the garment was washed.

  “When I secure the place,” Richard said, “you can do what you want with my dear stepmother, but if Isabelle returns, you must wed her in order to secure my claim to Langston. Hugh Fauconier will never escape the d’ Bretagnes alive. If he isn’t already dead, he might as well be.” He laughed nastily. “Alette for a mistress, and Isabelle for a wife. You will be most comfortable, Luc. If Duke Robert cannot take England from his brother, then I will swear my fealty to Henry Beauclerc for these lands, and you will continue to hold them for me. I cannot lose, my dear Luc. I cannot lose.”

  In her tower Alette fumed aloud. “I cannot believe that Richard was able to simply walk into Langston and take possession of it. Ohhh, if only my Rolf had been here, he would not have dared!”

  “That is most true, lady,” Father Bernard agreed. Rolf de Briard had gone to answer the king’s call to arms and was in Normandy with all Langston’s experienced, well-trained men-at-arms, leaving only a group of unseasoned, callow youngsters to guard Langston Keep. They did not know Richard de Manneville, nor did it seem likely to the inexperienced defenders that two knights accompanied by four men-at-arms were a danger to Langston. Even Rolf would not have expected such boldness. “Sieur de Manneville must have watched for Lord Rolf to leave,” the priest said, “knowing that the king would call him, leaving Langston defenseless to him.”

  “Praise God and His Blessed Mother,” Alette said, “that I was able to escape to my tower with the children. If Richard knew which of the boys was little Hugh, he would kill him without so much as a thought. Then if Hugh did not return, there would be no male heir to Langston.” She shuddered. “I thank God we have our own well within this tower, and that the servants are able to smuggle food in to us, but good father, how long can I ho
ld out? I am not fearful for myself, you understand, but for the children. Richard is as cruel as his father was. The children must be protected at all costs.”

  “Your tower is secure, good lady,” the priest assured her. “The sieur is not clever enough to learn how we obtain our stores. He will not be here for long, I promise you. I know the king, and I know Duke Robert. Henry Beauclerc will prevail. He will retain England, and he will have Normandy before another year has passed, I promise you. The king would never give Langston to Richard de Manneville. We will be able to hold out until Lord Rolf returns, I am certain.”

  In the hall, Richard de Manneville sat at the high board with Luc de Sai. For all his bravado, he was uncomfortable, and just a little afraid, for he was in truth a coward. The servants were extremely polite, and gave him no cause for complaint, obeying his every order. He and Luc had even been supplied with pleasant and enthusiastic bed partners from among a group of pretty serf girls. Yet Richard de Manneville knew he was trespassing in his sister’s house. His stepmother was barricaded in her tower with her children, and with the true heir to Langston. The priest came and went, although Richard had not yet been able to discover how.

  The priest now warned him that his soul was in mortal danger. “Duke Robert will not prevail, mon seigneur. Go home to Manneville, and give up this foolish quest to have Langston as well.”

  “Langston was my father’s keep, and as his surviving son, it should be mine by right,” Richard replied.

  “I know that your father, may God assoil his soul, made over Langston to your sister, the lady Isabelle,” the priest answered him. “Both King William Rufus and King Henry recognize her rights over yours. Now she is wife to the Saxon heir of these lands. You have no claim. You have done no damage, mon seigneur, although the lady Alette fears for the children. Return to Normandy now while you have the opportunity.”