The Blue Falcon

by Robyn Carr

  She lowered her eyes. “You have a wife,” she muttered.

  She did not see his surprised expression, but his startled laugh came quickly to her ears. “Have I, now?” he asked. “You offer yourself, Chandra?”

  She ground her teeth miserably, wondering how she could endure his touch, knowing she must. It had been a very long time since she had shared his bed. “If you want none of me, Tedric, then go. I will not find a wench for you to bed.”

  He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Let us see what you have to offer. Take off your clothes.”

  Her blue eyes flashed as she looked at him, but there was no escape. He did not frequent her bed, knowing that if he used another woman to ease his need it chafed her the more. Yet she needed to submit--to protect herself. And others.

  She closed her eyes as she removed her gunna, letting it fall to the floor. Next her kirtle fell and finally the light shift she wore under her garments. She did not hear him approach and she flinched as she felt his hand on her breast. Her eyes flew open to see him watching her closely, studying her every expression.

  “Let down your hair,” he commanded.

  With trembling fingers, she plucked at the ribbons that held her small coil in place, and the lustrous golden locks fell over her shoulders and down her back. A chill breeze caused her to shiver. He gathered a handful of the silky gold in his hand. “Yea, Chandra, you are beautiful. It’s no wonder you create battles between men.”

  She found his eyes. “If only you would profess your love, Tedric--”

  “I do not love you, nor have I ever. I take pleasure in owning you because other men want you.”

  “And what do you want, Tedric?” she asked quietly.

  “You cannot give me what I want. But with your help I will have it all. All.” He made a sweeping bow and allowed her to lead the way to the bed. Her knees threatened to give way; the journey there was long.

  Her breasts, already swollen and tender, ached under his careless touch. She dared not anger him now but lay acquies­cent to his will. Yet she refused to show him any eagerness, for he would grow suspicious. That was something she could not fool him with. Instinctively her hands came up against his chest to resist him, and it was enough to arouse his hunger for her. He quickly discarded his clothing and roughly forced her down onto the bed.

  He found his greatest pleasure in holding her down and forcing her to meet his will. He enjoyed her struggles, and the gasp of pain she released as he entered her brought a smile to his lips. His lust was quickly spent, and without the briefest kiss or caress, he left her.

  She turned her face into her pillow and wept. There was never a decent moment between them. Always, it was some struggle for power or nothing at all. Even being bound to him in marriage did not lessen the insult of his violation. But the pain was something she could endure better now. It was the memory of another man’s tender and volatile touch that caused her weeping. And to fix that memory more firmly in her mind came the suspicion that she had conceived and part of him grew even now in her womb.

  ***

  Great numbers of soldiers had gathered to prepare for the Crusade. The tension of postponed departure times and presence of both French and English knights frequently caused dissension among the troops. To further complicate the situation there were German mercenaries, soldiers speak­ing yet another language.

  Within Richard’s own army there were problems, one of which Conan was forced to deal with directly. Because of the rivalry between Conan and Tedric, Conan’s troops and those of Theodoric’s sons often came to blows.

  It was in the summer heat in the camp that the feud came to a peak. Conan was walking from the makeshift stables to his own tent at night. He passed the pavilion of Blair, Theodo­ric’s second son, the mightiest and most successful in knightly skills of all the sons.

  As he passed, he heard a sound and saw a man huddling in the darkness beside the tent. Conan stopped, strained to see in the darkness, and kept silent. It was obvious that the culprit was up to no good. A moment later there was the sound of the cutting of cloth. Conan reasoned that the tent in which Blair’s gear was stored was being entered, though for what purpose he couldn’t guess.

  Conan crept up behind the man and, grabbing him by the back of his gamberson, spun him around and pinned him to the ground, striking the knife from his hand. The man gave a shout of surprise before he fell, and a grunt of pain as Conan’s knee hit his chest. Then, as Conan looked at the subdued villain, he saw the face of one of his own men.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded angrily.

  The man did not answer, but looked up fearfully at Conan. Conan repeated his question, but the answer was more clear now.

  “Sir Conan,” he pleaded. “He is your enemy!”

  “You are my enemy! You would see this battle drawn to dangerous lengths, two troops fighting among themselves, never able to join together to fight one foe!” He stood and dragged the man to his feet. “Despite my orders you will not cease in goading these knights into a larger battle!”

  “Sir Conan, let me go and no one will know,” he begged.

  Conan looked at the man, one of the best in his troop, and then looked at the tear in Blair’s tent. “I will know,” Conan said.

  Half dragging and half pulling the man to the front of Blair’s tent, Conan shouted, “Sir Blair!”

  Torches were lit outside the front of Blair’s pavilion, and within moments the knight he called stood in the dirt before him, chausses and linen shirt being the only clothing he wore. He looked in some confusion at Conan and the man he held.

  “This man would have damaged or stolen from you, Sir Blair. He is one of my own, though he was not ordered to commit this crime.” He gave the man a push toward Blair. “He is yours to punish and will not ride with my troop again.”

  The man fell to his knees before Blair and hung his head. Blair looked down at him, angry but still confused. “How can I be certain this does not work by your order?”

  “I am certain he thought to win my favor by causing your anger, but I have ordered all my men to cease in their bickering with your knights, and the knights of your broth­ers.”

  “It is a well-known fact that there is trouble between our families,” Blair said scornfully. “The battle has reached France and will likely reach the Holy Land.”

  “Tis not so by my choice,” Conan said.

  “Yet before long there will be injury and perhaps loss of life. Our animals have been tampered with and there have been lights among our troops.”

  “I have had like troubles,” Conan returned.

  “How will you stand behind your claim that none of this is ordered by your hand?”

  Conan bowed briefly. “I will accept any challenge you lay to me,” he said.

  Blair laughed suddenly. He was over thirty years in age and a hulking man of experience. “You’ve had no trouble in besting Tedric, but we have never ridden against each other. Do you think I could be as easily beaten?”

  “Nay,” Conan said evenly. “It would be more difficult.”

  “Aye,” Blair laughed. “I don’t deny it would give me great pleasure to take you down.”

  Conan cocked one brow. He had spoken with these sons of Theodoric when he first came to Vezelay, for he could feel the animosity when he entered the camp. Now he looked at Blair’s wide grin and knew that the knight had grown impatient with this feud as well.

  “A pleasure because of the accusation I brought against your brother?” Conan asked.

  “Nay.”

  Conan bowed again. “I am at your call.”

  “The challenge is better placed at another time. I fear it would satisfy too many in our troops to see us come to blows. The charge against Tedric grates on me, as it does on my brothers.”

  Conan inhaled deeply. “I believed I was right in making the charge. I cannot remove it.”

  “Neither can you prove it.”

  “I cannot,�
�� he affirmed.

  “Then it is best laid away,” Blair said. “For the time being we must fight together. What we settle later on English soil will be final.” Blair kicked the dirt and formed a cloud of dust. The man before him choked. “Lay the lash to him yourself, at the first light of dawn. I will assemble my men to stand witness, if you will bring your troop. Then banish him from your men-at-arms. That should stop future pranks.”

  “And you believe Tedric innocent? You will stand by him?”

  “He is my brother.”

  “But you will not oppose me here and now?” Conan asked.

  “I knew you as a boy, Conan,” Blair said. “It does not sit well with me that you and Tedric must battle as you do, but I have never known you to be unfair or dishonest, even in your youth. You must believe Tedric guilty, though I fear you are mistaken. Yea, I will lay away this feud while we fight a common cause. I think I can convince my brothers to do the same.”

  Conan nodded. “The man will meet the lash at sunrise.”

  Conan turned to leave. “Conan,” Blair called. Conan turned to look at him again. “I cannot promise what battles we will fight when we return to our homes. Time and old feuds may yet see us raise swords against each other.”

  Conan looked at the man long and hard, remembering when he had lived in Theodoric’s house, remembering the closeness he had shared with all the members of that family. His quarrel with Tedric had torn away at the friendship, but the memory of what it once was had not yet been destroyed.

  “Then I will expect you to fight hard and well,” Conan said, turning and tugging at the arm of his man.

  ***

  Edythe knew that the lacemaker in the village was said to have the power of sight and that her mother often visited the shop to hear Giselle’s predictions. Like most of the other villagers, Edythe thought it harmless enough. Giselle had even been kind enough to predict some happy events in Edythe’s future: a new gown, a present her father would give her.

  Early one summer morning, when Udele was preparing to visit the lacemaker, it occurred to Edythe that she had not gone there in quite some time. Edythe scurried to her chamber and fetched her mantle. She had been warned by the village priest that consorting with one who made predictions was a sin, and for that reason she did not dare visit Giselle. Even though her worry over Mallory was constant, she would not give in to the urge to ply Giselle with questions lest her reward be greater danger for Mallory. Edythe was certain that Udele was going to ask after Conan’s safety.

  Edythe crept quietly along, a great distance behind her mother. Had Udele’s mood been even passable she might have asked permission to accompany her, but she feared doing even that small a thing. Udele’s moods were variable and unpredictable. One moment she seemed nearly kind and soft-spoken, and in the next breath she was wild with rage. Edythe tried to avoid being in her path for fear of a sudden outburst.

  There was a place behind the lacemaker’s cottage where Edythe crouched beside a stack of firewood. Through the narrow slit of a window, she could hear her mother’s voice.

  “I would know of my son’s fate in battle, and tell me quickly lest I yield to the urge to strike you mute and senseless.”

  “Your anger is misdirected, madam,” Giselle said easily, her voice smooth and warm in spite of the hostility she faced.

  “You could have warned me that this would happen!”

  “I could not warn you,” Giselle corrected. “I could not see what you would do.”

  “You told me the wench would not live long! You never told me that Conan would flee to war upon her death!”

  “I gave you the truth. Sir Conan would have stayed by Edwina’s side through her life. You cut her life short.”

  There was no sound from Udele. Silence reigned for many moments.

  “I could not have spent so many years granting your wishes and reading your future and that of your son without being seared by your deed. I have warned you, madam. You have pushed your mortal power too far in killing your son’s wife.”

  “What difference?” Udele asked with little feeling. “The end would have been the same.”

  “She would have lived longer than you allowed.”

  “Never mind, she was spiteful and jealous. She threatened to ruin me in the eyes of my son.”

  “She was kind and honest. She threatened you with the truth,” was the reply. The sharp sound of a stinging slap rang through the small cottage. Edythe jumped at the sound. She had more than once been on the receiving end of Udele’s rage. Edythe’s heart raced and her hands were cold. She quaked with the horrifying truth. Udele must have pushed Edwina to her death.

  “If you breathe a word of this--laying a crime to me that cannot be proven--you shall meet your own end quickly.”

  “It is with great sadness that I promise you none shall hear of this from me,” Giselle said firmly. “I promise this not out of loyalty, but rather because my purpose is not yet met. I must guard my own life a bit longer.”

  “Then speak of this no more. How will Conan fare this war?”

  “He will return to England.”

  “Will he bring riches? Will Anselm be his home?”

  “Not until you are gone,” Giselle replied.

  “How so?” Udele cried.

  “You have lost him, madam. You have worn his loyalty thin. Your persistent interference has done what I promised you it would. He will do his duty to you, but he will not think of you when he turns his hand to conquer.”

  “That will not be so!” she raged. “How dare you! He would never cast me aside, nor would he put me behind others!”

  “Lady,” Giselle said softly and with patience, “he already has.”

  The silence that followed was split suddenly by the slam­ming of the cottage door. Edythe sat stunned for many moments, finally rising and gingerly making her way home.

  Edythe kept herself to her rooms the rest of that day, vowing not to cross her mother’s path until the evening meal when Alaric would be present. She prayed that Udele would not find a way to escape the accusation. She knew she would not be safe in her own home if Udele could excuse it as slander.

  Edythe sat near the small window in her room as the sun lowered in the sky. She heard her door open and turned to see her mother enter with Pierce. Her heart thumped a bit faster, though Udele wore a pleasant smile and bore a tray with two goblets.

  “There you are, dear heart,” Udele said sweetly. “I have not seen you about today.”

  “I have been here all day,” Edythe said defensively.

  “All day? And you have not been out at all? But, my dear, surely some happening of interest occupied you this day.”

  “Nay, madam,” Edythe replied, turning and looking out her window, straining her eyes for some sight of Alaric. “There was nothing special about the day.”

  “Truly?” Udele questioned, setting her tray down on a stool beside Edythe. “You did not even find an adventure outside the lacemaker’s window?”

  Edythe turned abruptly and looked at her mother in horror. Udele pulled a strip of cloth from the pocket of her gunna and held it before Edythe. The torn piece matched Edythe’s gown.

  “This was found on the firewood outside Giselle’s cottage. I fear you’ve snagged your gown,” Udele said.

  The surprise on Edythe’s face lasted only a moment, and then, turning away from her mother abruptly, she refused to comment. While her back was turned, Udele reached into her pocket again, this time withdrawing a handful of a powder.

  “Won’t you tell me why you were there, Edythe?” Udele asked.

  Edythe did not turn, but sighed heavily, trying not to let tears spill. “I thought you would ask after Conan, and I wanted to listen.”

  “Then you heard?”

  “Nay,” Edythe said too suddenly. “I could not hear.”

  “But you did,” Udele accused. “Had you heard nothing you would not be so frightened of me.”

  Edythe suddenly turned back, he
r eyes brimming with tears. “I wish I had not heard,” she said, her voice catching. “Madam, I cannot believe what I heard!”

  “Ah, then my secret is told. And what will you do, Edythe, dear?”

  “I must tell Father,” Edythe said resolutely, though her voice was shaking.

  Udele nodded her head solemnly. “I suppose you must.” She raised her eyes and smiled at Edythe. “My fate is sealed then. He will have me cast out at the very least.”

  Edythe looked at her mother in confusion. “You are not frightened?”

  “Nay, ‘tis what I deserve. I have suffered with the sin long enough. Tis best that I accept my punishment.”

  Edythe sat on her stool next to the window and looked at Udele in wonder. She could not believe her mother’s relaxed, accepting manner. Udele smiled with a sweet sadness.

  “Madam,” Edythe said earnestly, “perhaps there is still a way you can be forgiven--”

  “Nay, I think not.” Udele raised a goblet and handed it to Edythe. “This may be the last time we share a cup, daughter. Join me?”

  Edythe took the goblet with shaking hands and watched in complete awe as Udele sipped from hers.

  “Drink?” Udele asked her.

  Edythe raised the thing shakily to her lips, taking a slow drink. The wine was bitter in her mouth, but she hoped for some soothing effect.

  “You should have stayed in your rooms today, Edythe,” Udele said, her voice no longer pleasant and kind. “You should not have spied on your mother.”

  Edythe felt her head begin to spin giddily, but she was not so sorely beset that she did not know she had been tricked. “The wine--” she said haltingly.

  “Aye, the wine.” Udele laughed suddenly. “You have always been so foolish, Edythe. Did you really think I would let you take your news to Alaric?”

  “Father--” Edythe whispered weakly.

  “Alaric has gone to Stoddard Keep, dear heart. He will not hear your tale.” The goblet fell from Edythe’s hand, clanging on the hard floor. Again Udele laughed and then lifted her own goblet to her lips and drained it, a small dribble of wine falling from her mouth, staining her bosom with a bloodlike darkness. “You have heard that I killed, Edythe. Did you doubt that I would do so again?”