Desiree

by Roberta Gellis

  “You? Why you? I am sure word of his treachery is spread all over by now. Why is no one else preparing to shed his blood for this great good?”

  “Because I am the nearest—” his lips tightened grimly “—and because the woman I love has been threatened by this…louse. Oh, I might have been less enthusiastic if the keep he had taken and was preparing for war was in the north or far east past Rye, but it is not. Exceat is the next strong place, near enough to be raided, specially since Telscombe has a port. He could also send out ships to raid Seaford. It is not only my duty to King Richard to rid Telscombe of Nicolaus but my duty to Exceat.”

  Desiree opened her mouth to say that she was the one to define his duty to Exceat, but she never had the chance. “And there is my own selfish reason,” he went on, his eyes gleaming. “If I take Telscombe, I will have lands of my own. Simon promised to seizin me of the keep and lands.”

  “I will give you lands,” Desiree cried. “I will give—”

  “Why?” Alex asked, plainly astonished and not at all gratified. “That is ridiculous. That would diminish your strength. Why should you say something so silly?”

  Because I am afraid for you. Because I see you lying dead, covered with blood. But she could not say it. She almost felt Alinor’s long, strong fingers around her throat. “Because I want you with me in Exceat,” she muttered.

  “Oh,” Alex said and blushed hotly. “I will finish here as quick as I can. I—”

  “No!” Desiree exclaimed, now understanding why Alinor had warned her against using her body to draw Alex away from the practice of war. “No. Do not scant your study of Telscombe. I do not want you to try to take it, but if you are set upon it, then be sure you can find the easiest and safest way. I—whenever you come, I will be waiting.”

  “You are the most wonderful woman in the entire world,” Alex said, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips.

  He was able to turn that into a gesture of farewell, because the two men he had sent back came around the bend of the road just then. One had waited on the main road where the track from Telscombe intersected, the other had ridden up the Telscombe track. He had actually knocked on the postern by the gate and asked how far it was to Newhaven, which had given him a chance to peer into the bailey, and he was quite certain that no troop was being readied to pursue them.

  Desiree rode away toward Exceat suspended between joy and tears. Alex’s face when she had urged him to take care in examining Telscombe and promised to be waiting for him despite her disapproval of the enterprise gave her a new interpretation of Alinor’s statement that she hid her fears from her husband because she loved Simon more than she loved Alinor. Desiree now had her own evidence that the self-control and self-denial of his wife bound a husband closer. Alex admired what she had done, he trusted her. She was “the most wonderful woman in the entire world.”

  The week that had brought Desiree so much anxiety, had been just as bad for Vachel, although it started more hopefully. He had made good his escape from Roselynde without difficulty and had ridden very hard all the way to Telscombe. The guard had not been entirely willing to let him in, but that he had arrived on an exhausted horse in the middle of the night, implied his news was urgent.

  Still, the guard would not wake Nicolaus, since there was no sign of pursuit and Vachel did not claim that he heralded an attack, however, they did let him in and let him sleep in a shed in the bailey. And when Nicolaus woke, the tale of the condition and time of Vachel’s arrival gave verisimilitude to his claim to have poisoned Simon, and likely the whole Household.

  Nicolaus merely shrugged over that; he also seemed indifferent when Vachel said he thought the women might live because they drank less wine and drank it watered—until Vachel told Nicolaus of Frewyn’s death. That news brought a gleam to Nicolaus’s eyes, but Vachel was soon sorry he had spoken because when he asked for a ship that would take him back to France, Nicolaus shook his head and laughed.

  “Not yet,” he said. “First I want proof that Simon Lemagne is dead. When I am sure there will be no sheriff’s army to oppose me, it will be a good time for me to take Exceat. Doubtless they would let you in and then, I am sure, you could find a way to open the way for me.”

  Vachel knew that if he was allowed into Exceat, it would be as a prisoner, but he did not tell Nicolaus, feeling strongly that he had better seem to have some value to Nicolaus. As if that worry were not enough, another was added. No messengers were seen flying down the coast road to spread the news of the sheriff’s death. They were not really expected the first day, but by the third day Nicolaus commented on the quiet. Vachel told him he thought the dearth of messengers was owing to the confusion with everyone in power either dead or very sick. Nicolaus shrugged but looked as if what Vachel said made sense to him. However, as the week drew to a close, when Nicolaus happened to see Vachel, he said coldly that someone in Roselynde should have had sense enough to send for help even if everyone in authority was dead.

  Stiffening himself against a shudder, Vachel pointed out that likely Alinor’s vassals or the deputy sheriff might not wish to announce that the sheriff was dead. Vachel spoke as calmly and surely as he could, but he did not like the way Nicolaus looked at him.

  The truth was that despair had eaten Vachel over the last few days until he was no more than an armor of self-preservation over a hollow core. He himself no longer believed that Simon was dead, because his heart told him Alex was not. Only one thing now existed in the empty center of his being—hatred of Alex. He was sure that it was because Alex had arrived at Roselynde that his scheme had not worked.

  The expression of indifferent blandness with which Nicolaus heard him out, told Vachel that a few days was all he would have before Nicolaus got rid of him. He had those few days only because most of Nicolaus’s attention was given to making Telscombe able to resist an attack. And Vachel knew there had been some hitches.

  The master-at-arms Nicolaus had left in charge of Lewes had apparently been removed by the deputy sheriff, and the man now in charge would permit no more stores to be transferred to Telscombe. Nicolaus had cursed long and luridly and had stripped the small port town below Telscombe of every knife, candle, stored root, and sack of grain.

  Vachel’s outer armor of self-defense urged escape. So far no restrictions had been placed on him. In fact, he had twice been down to the little port to pick up what he could. Likely no one would question him if he simply rode out. Nicolaus assumed that he had nowhere to go.

  But he did. Vachel stared eastward. He did have a place to go. Exceat. Possibly going there would not save his life…but just possibly it would. In any case, he would get his revenge on Alex.

  Alex watched Desiree and the men guarding her until they were out of sight. Then he sighed with satisfaction. He knew that she was strongly opposed to his attacking Telscombe although he was not sure why. Thus, he had avoided the subject while they rode from Roselynde. He had been worried that she might forbid him to examine the place; that would have caused a quarrel. What he was really frightened to death about was that she would weep and beg him not to do what he knew he must do. But she had not.

  Wonderful, wonderful Desiree. He must take Telscombe on his own. Then he would have a keep, a whole keep of his own. Not strong like Exceat and not nearly as rich, but that did not matter. He would be a landed knight and—he drew a deep, happy breath—with Desiree to tell him how to manage the land, which would make her feel invested in it, he would have a living.

  “All right,” he said to the men, gesturing that they should gather around him. “We have come from a taking of a keep in the west—which is where you will say that I won this horse and armor—and we are looking for a new place. I am a foreign mercenary, which is why I do not speak English, and I am the captain of this troop. I will ask questions that Reid will translate.

  “If any of you have questions that would be important to a man-at-arms seeking a good master,” Alex continued, “go ahead and ask them. It wil
l make us seem more genuine and less like spies, if the people of the village are loyal.”

  That, however, was not a problem. They saw broken doors as they rode along the lane that led from the main road and then looped around to go down to the water. The chandler’s shop, nearest to the piers, was a ruin, and Alex saw people running away to hide. He told the men to call out that they meant no harm and only sought to buy a drink and a pasty if any were to be had. Then he told Reid to dismount and ask politely if the alehouse, which had not been damaged, would serve them.

  After a sharp question the barred door was opened. Inside they found that the owner, his wife, and his two sons were making ready to leave the following morning. They were willing to serve Alex and his men because there was only a little ale left in the one barrel that Nicolaus had not taken. The ale was poured, Alex laid a penny and a farthing on the counter. Reid told the tale Alex had prepared.

  Bitterly they were warned away from taking service with Nicolaus. When Reid had translated, Alex bade him find out who had raided the town and so frightened its people.

  “I speak French,” the alehouse keeper said.

  “You speak French?” Alex asked.

  “I was once master-at-arms to the Lord of Telscombe.”

  “Ah, I understand. You had a difference with your overlord and were dismissed.”

  “Not my overlord! Never! Sir Nicolaus murdered my overlord!”

  “Murdered? You mean Sir Nicolaus took the keep and your overlord died in the fighting.”

  “No,” the man said bitterly. “I said murdered. Sir Bernard was old and at his best not much of a fighter. He was stabbed to death after he yielded. And the only reason I am not dead also is that I was just coming up from securing,” he hesitated slightly and then continued, just a little too quickly, “the cellar. I saw Nicolaus run his sword into Sir Bernard, who was not even armed.”

  “Not the kind of man I would like to serve under,” Alex said.

  “You do not know the half. On Sir Bernard’s order, the other men-at-arms had given up their weapons—we were only a small troop—and Nicolaus ordered them slaughtered.”

  Alex was silent, staring at the floor, and Reid covered his thoughtfulness by asking whether Sir Nicolaus had refused to send help to the town when the raiders came.

  “Raiders? Those were no raiders. Those were Nicolaus’s own men-at-arms. It seems someone put a stop to his emptying out Lewes and he decided to empty Portobello instead.”

  “Where will you go?” Alex asked.

  The alehouse keeper shook his head, lines of misery adding years to his face. “My wife comes from this place. Her mother was alewife before her. But we cannot stay here. Nicolaus knows my face. He visited Sir Bernard several times before he decided to take Telscombe. When he remembers I was Sir Bernard’s master-at-arms…”

  “Would you stay if Nicolaus was no longer overlord of Telscombe?”

  “Who will fight him? Do you think I did not try to report his attack on Telscombe five years ago? No one was interested. Richard and old King Henry were at each other’s throats in France and the sheriff of Sussex was waiting to see who would win. By the time I came back to Portobello, Nicolaus was gone. Only a few servants were in Telscombe.” He shrugged. “I had my wife and my sons. We lived.”

  Alex had been thinking furiously. Here, it seemed, was real hatred of Nicolaus in a man who must know everything there was to know about Telscombe. Unless the man was a spy set by Nicolaus to give warning of anyone asking questions about the keep. Alex made a gesture and Chad and Peter went to stand near the door. The alewife, eyes suddenly wide, let out a wail and the two sons stood up. Reid shook his head at them and touched his sword hilt, although he did not draw the weapon.

  “We mean you no harm,” Alex said hastily. “But we must be sure that you cannot carry word about us to Sir Nicolaus. I am the castellan of Exceat and I am going to fight him. I am going to take Telscombe from him. Sir Nicolaus has committed treason, and his reason for stuffing and garnishing Telscombe is to provide a foothold for an invasion by Prince John. The reason Nicolaus does not care for the people of Portobello is that he intends to fill it with the French who come with John.”

  The alehouse owner spoke sharply and his wife stopped wailing.

  “Now,” Alex continued, “if there is enough in that barrel for another drink all around—”

  He took another penny out of his purse and laid it down. The sons, after a glance at their father, collected the mugs and refilled them.

  “How long will you hold us?” the alehouse keeper asked.

  “It depends on how much you can tell me about Telscombe,” Alex said. The man stiffened and his wife began to whimper again. Alex shook his head. “I did not mean that to be a threat,” he said. “I only meant that if I face a protracted siege and a very hard battle, I will need a longer time to gather men and supplies and to make ready. If you know some way to take the keep quickly, I can bring fewer men from Exceat in two to three days. Once my army is here, of course, my plan to attack will no longer be a secret. You will then be free to go or to stay as you please.”

  There was a silence in which the men-at-arms drank their ale and watched Alex for a signal to beat willingness to talk into someone, but he sat patiently watching the alehouse keeper. The man was staring at him, a mingling of hope and terror in his eyes. Alex thought he too must fear a trap by Nicolaus.

  At last the man drew a deep breath and said, “My name is Donnet. If you are in earnest about fighting Nicolaus and taking Telscombe from him, I can tell you how to get into the keep by a secret way. Will you promise to kill him? He is a murderer.”

  “He is a traitor too,” Alex said. “Death is the reward for treachery.”

  Donnet nodded. “There is another way up the cliff to the keep. It was the track we used to come down to fight off any reavers who tried to raid Portobello so it was mostly a secret. Behind one of the wine casks in the cellar is a postern door. That was what I went to secure when my master was killed and it was through that I fled when the other men-at-arms were slaughtered.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “And you are not to worry about me,” Alex said, kissing Desiree quickly on the lips and then on the nose. “I will promise you that I will not climb any ladder in Telscombe and will be in no danger of being cast over the cliff.”

  He then hugged her hard, kissed her quickly again and hurried out of the garden where they had met to part. Desiree swallowed hard and did not follow him. She did not call his name and she did not weep. She had made promises of her own when they lay together in Alex’s narrow bed.

  Before that, Desiree made a last effort to keep Alex from danger. She again promised him land if he would leave the taking of Telscombe to others, and he had replied that if she did not want him to have the keep, he would tell Simon not to seizin it to him but that he must rid Telscombe of Nicolaus. That was his duty to Simon as sheriff and to the king, who was a prisoner.

  She had heard the implacability. Duty. Alinor had said that despite Simon’s doting love, it did not matter what she wanted. He would do his duty. She could hurt him or drive him away; she could not bend him from his duty. Desiree blinked back tears. Alex had offered to give up for her his dearest desire, his hope of a future, but he would still go to fight. She had hugged her lover tighter and sighed that if he took Telscombe he must be seizined of it, as well.

  Still bound by Alinor’s warning about instilling doubt in her lover, Desiree expressed the only fear that could not make him doubt himself—that a scaling ladder he climbed would be thrust away from the wall and he would be killed in the fall or drowned in the sea. He laughed at her and assured her that he knew where and when to raise a ladder and would not be thrust off. Now, in parting, he had done all he could to ease her, he had promised not to climb a scaling ladder. Only Desiree had seen the gleam in his eyes and barely controlled a shudder. She was sure he would keep his promise and equally sure that what he would do instead would
be as dangerous or even more dangerous.

  Alex had no idea that he had given himself away by his cheerful anticipation of a good fight against foes that certainly deserved what he would bring to them. He had seen the destruction and terror in Portobello. There had been no need for that. If their lord told his men-at-arms to strip the town, they had no choice but to obey him. And a few injuries there would have been when some of the merchants and householders tried to protect their goods. However, Nicolaus’s men had been entirely too violent. Alex was looking forward to lessoning them.

  He was aware of the danger he would face—and it was greater than he would have faced in scaling the wall—only in tactical terms. He had calculated how many men he could take with him up the narrow, precipitous path Donnet had shown him that night, and it could not be more than twenty. He and those twenty would need to fight the whole of Nicolaus’s men-at-arms until they could get the gate open or his men could come over the wall.

  Then there was the path itself. His men would not like it. He had warned them it was more a ladder than a path and overhung almost all the way by vines and briars, which Donnet had told him must be put aside carefully so as not to betray the track was there. But at the end of the path was a door into Telscombe’s cellars, and the door, which they had tried that night, was neither locked nor barred.

  Donnet had left it that way when he fled, burning with hate and grief. He thought that he would come back up the path and take some revenge for the loss of his master and the men of his troop. He climbed the path once or twice, but there were only defenseless servants in the keep and as the years passed his thirst for revenge had weakened—until Alex and the raid had reawakened it.

  Chad, supplied with food and water—and with the wine cellar at his disposal, except that he knew Alex would have him flayed alive if he got drunk and gave the game away—had volunteered to hide by the door and make sure it stayed open. Morly, whose broken fingers made his grip on weapons too uncertain in a hard fight, and one of the young recruits settled into Donnet’s house to make sure neither he nor his wife or sons would spread word of the coming attack. Actually, Alex believed Donnet, but the precaution cost little and a mistake in his judgment might cost his men’s lives.