by The Vow
Chapter Eight
THRUSTING AMÉLIE AWAY, Luc barely caught Ceara before she struck the hard ground by Drago’s hooves. The huge destrier was already nervous with so many people around, and might very well slash Ceara to ribbons before he could be stopped.
“Take my horse,” Luc bellowed, and someone quickly took the reins to lead the agitated mount away. Half kneeling, Luc cradled Ceara’s limp form gently in his arms. Her head lolled to one side, and her eyes were closed, long lashes shadowing cheeks that looked much too pale. She made a soft, pitiful sound as he held her.
Kneeling beside him, Robert quickly checked for broken bones, his hand as swift and certain as any surgeon’s. He looked up with a smile and a shrug. “She seems fine to me. Save for a few bruises here and there, I see no sign of serious injury.”
Luc raked a hand through his hair and blew out an exasperated breath. “She has eaten very little in the past three days. I could have forced her, but forcing Ceara to do anything she doesn’t want to do is like forcing the king.”
“Ah, a formidable woman. How intriguing.” Robert’s brow lifted with curiosity. “So, my lord Luc, just why are you traveling with this formidable young woman?”
“She is my hostage.”
Luc’s terse comment should have been enough to warn Robert, but his friend’s curiosity was as boundless as it was unwise. “Hostage? This lovely maid? You jest.”
Through his teeth, Luc snarled, “I do not jest. This is the leader of the Saxon revolt, and if I do not deliver her to the king, I may just as well have not gone to Wulfridge at all. Now move from my path, Robert, for she is in obvious need of rest and food—and fresh air.”
Some of Luc’s worry and anger penetrated Robert’s amusement, and he nodded and rose to his feet to move people away, shouting that they must allow Lord Luc through to the castle.
To one side, Amélie waited, her large green eyes dark with suspicion, her brow furrowed. When Luc started past her, she stepped in front of him. “What does this mean, Luc? You have brought back a … a woman as hostage?”
Ignoring her question, Luc snapped, “Where can I take her for privacy and rest?”
“If she is your hostage, I suggest the guardhouse,” Amélie returned tartly, but at Luc’s glare added in a sulky tone, “There is a room just off the entry that has cushions for the ladies.”
As he started for the castle steps, Amélie came after him, lifting her skirts daintily in one hand, almost on her toes to get a good look at the woman in his arms. It was Robert who distracted her, tactfully pointing out that it hardly looked proper for her to be running after Luc and his Saxon hostage like a rude peasant.
“Unless it is your wont to look foolish, Lady Amélie?”
“You know it is not!” Amélie drew in a deep breath and looked pointedly at Robert’s hand on her arm, which he removed as promptly as if bitten. “You are too forward, sir. Tell Lord Luc that I will await him in the anteroom of the hall.”
“Of course, my lady.” Robert swept her a deep bow that held more than a hint of mockery, and Amélie gazed at him so coldly he affected a mock shiver. “You freeze me with your icy heart, beautiful lady. Do not be so cruel.”
“Do not be so impertinent. I will tell my cousin, and you will be properly punished.”
“Queen Maud went back to Normandy for a time. Will you go there to tell her?”
Amélie’s eyes narrowed to hostile chips, and her lovely mouth contorted into an ugly grimace. “No, you imbecile, I will send a messenger. Be wary, Robert de Brionne. You do not want to make of me an enemy.”
Spreading his hand on his chest over his heart, Robert shook his head with feigned horror. “God’s mercy on us all, Lady Amélie! I would not want to be enemies with the woman who had suddenly decided that Luc Louvat is finally good enough to marry now that he has won a title.…”
Amélie’s hiss sounded like an angry cat, and Robert looked past her to see Luc disappear up the steps and into the castle. He abandoned his game now that his goal was won.
“Excuse me, my lady. I suddenly recalled some duties I must attend.”
Robert left her standing in the courtyard and found Luc in a small anteroom off the great hall. It still smelled of new wood and pitch, but was made comfortable with cushions and low couches for ladies to recline upon. On one of these lay the Saxon hostage, still wearing chains, her face as pale as new milk.
“Who is she, Luc?”
Luc did not turn from loosening the laces of the girl’s dress. “Find Giles. He has the key to these cursed chains, and I must remove them.”
“Giles …?”
“One of Sir Simon’s men. A man-at-arms in my troop.”
Luc still did not look up, and there was an urgency to his tone and movements that seeped through Robert’s first amusement to render him thoughtful. Could it be that his friend had fond feelings for the maid he called hostage? It would seem so, for he cradled her tenderly in his hands, no small feat if one recalled Luc’s past interactions with women. And Robert recalled them well.
“I’ll go at once,” Robert said quickly when Luc looked over his shoulder. He snapped his fingers. “Giles. Sir Simon’s man. Key.”
“Imbecile—”
“Careful, Luc. I shall begin to think there might be some truth to that title if it is applied to me too often.” Robert left swiftly, before Luc could do more than shoot an angry look toward him. He had tweaked his friend enough for now. There was always later. It should be most entertaining to discover why Luc had left to chain a rebel, yet returned with a lovely maid instead. Most entertaining, indeed.
LUC’S TEMPER WAS not improved by Robert’s subtle mockery. Nor was it likely to improve. Before the day was over, he would have to face William and present his case—or more correctly, Ceara’s case. He did not expect a pleasant interview. Nor did he expect Ceara’s cooperation.
When Ceara awoke, blinking vaguely, she was sullen and reserved. Brushing away his hand, she sat up with an abrupt wariness that set him back on his heels beside the stuffed cushion where she lay.
“Leave me alone.”
Luc frowned at her harsh rejection. She was hardly appreciative of his efforts. “I could have left you in the dirt for Drago to cut to pieces with his hooves, but there would not be enough left of you to take to the king.”
Still sullen, she flicked a glance up at him from beneath heavy lids, her mouth tucked into such a tight frown that deep dimples grooved her cheeks. “Is that a complaint? I thought ’twould suit you.”
“If it would, I would not have gone to so much trouble to get you here alive and unharmed.”
“Aye, so you would have me believe.”
“Annoying brat—I have no reason to lie to you. Nor do I have reason to help you. Before you tweak me too greatly, you might think of that.”
Spreading her fingers over her face, she pushed her small nose into the palm of her hand with a soft sound of distress. “My head hurts … did I hit it?”
“No. I caught you before you struck the ground.”
She peeped at him from between two fingers. “You were the one who caught me?”
“Aye, who do you think?”
“I do not know.” She shrugged and her hand dropped from her face to her lap. “All I remember are ringing church bells.”
“There were no bells. Your hunger has made you faint. You will eat, then make yourself presentable. There is no reason for you to go before the king looking like a common wench.”
Her delicate brow lifted in a high arch. “No? Yet is that not how the king already views me? I am a nithing to him. He will not care how I look, only that I am the rebel who dared defy him.” She drew in a ragged breath. “I am well aware of William’s views on rebellion, and you cannot say he will be merciful. Not when he lost one of his knights and over four score men and horses.”
“I grant you four score men and horses are a loss, but not near as grievous as the loss of nine hundred men here only two months ago
. Your brief triumph pales in the face of that other, little though you may countenance it.”
His faint mockery made her eyes flash. “Aye, your defeat of Wulfridge will please him, but ’tis you he will favor, not the one who held out against him. Do not prate to me of mercy from a king who has wasted my country. He will have none, I assure you.”
“No man can predict what the king will say of a matter until he says it.” Luc rose to his feet and gestured impatiently for her to rise from the cushions. “But be assured, my lady, if you present to him a defiant face, you will reap what you have sown. My suggestion is that you swear fealty to him at once, and throw yourself on his mercy. He is not unjust. When he learns of Sir Simon’s disregard for his orders, I doubt he will be grieved as to that knight’s loss.”
“ ’tis not Sir Simon’s loss he will mourn, but the waste of time and resources. He will rejoice at gaining Wulfridge, and most like be pleased that my defiance earned him another estate. But that does not mean that he will allow it to go unpunished. It would set a bad precedent.”
Luc couldn’t help grinning at her perceptive retort. “You know the king better than you should, my lady. Too bad you did not act upon your knowledge earlier. It could have saved you much.”
“Nothing would have saved me. I was caught between two devils.”
“Yea, but now it is this devil who has you, and you must swear to me and to William if you value your life.”
Blue eyes darkened, and she looked away from him toward the floor where bars of sunlight and shadow marked a small mat. “I cannot.”
“Do not be a fool, Ceara. You cannot win. This is the king we’re discussing, not some bloodless puppet who can be swayed by a smile or a bribe.”
“You do not understand why I—”
“Curse you, I do not need to understand.” He gripped her hard by the arms, giving her a rough shake that sent bright blond hair tumbling into her eyes and over her shoulder. “I offer you a way to survive. If you have any sense, you will think on what I have said. Do you wish to die? To have your people punished and even your wrolf slain?”
A soft cry wrenched from her. “You will free Sheba, will you not, my lord? Do not let her suffer for my mistakes.”
“No.” Luc watched her eyes widen and her face go pale, but did not relent. ’I will not save her. It is up to you to do so. Swear to the king, Ceara, and no matter what he decides, I will see that your wolf is set free in the distant countryside. But you must swear fealty to William and to me, or I will let the wolf die.”
He released her arms and Ceara stepped back, tumbling to the cushion again to put her head into the cradle of her palms. After a moment, she looked up, her voice bitter and weary.
“I will swear. For Sheba’s life, I will swear. ’tis a hard pact you have offered, my lord.”
“It is the only way, Ceara. Now come, I will see that you have food and proper garments to meet the king. After that, your freedom and life are in your own hands.”
“Why do you care if I live?” she demanded, refusing his outstretched hand as she pushed to her feet.
Her question took him by surprise. For a moment he did not reply, but stared down at her, frowning. Then he shrugged. “You were a worthwhile adversary. You fought well and bravely to defend your home. A worthy foe deserves a chance to repent.”
“And if I do not repent?”
Luc’s jaw tightened. “Then you will suffer severe consequences. I suggest that you consider whatever you say very carefully.”
He called for a guard, giving him orders to see to the lady’s welfare with food and clean garments fit to be seen by the king. “But watch her close,” he added, “or you will answer to William.”
The guard nodded and there was grim comprehension in the gaze Ceara gave Luc as she passed. He stood at the door to watch them go down the short corridor, then disappear around a corner. When he turned back, Robert had approached with Giles at his side.
“I found him, Luc, but he has no key, I fear.”
Giles was tight-lipped, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword as he faced Luc. “It is lost, my lord. Somewhere on the road—no doubt, when the lady struck me and caused my horse to bolt.”
Robert smothered a snort of laughter, and quickly turned his face away. Luc ignored him.
“Then find another key, Giles. The lady must be made presentable for the king. Unless, of course, you wish to explain to him how the key was lost …?”
Giles paled and bobbed his head. “Yes, of course, my lord, I will find another key. Or have the locksmith forge one. I will see that it is done quickly.”
“I knew you would not fail me. And later, we will discuss the disturbance between you and the lady.”
“Yes, my lord. As you say, my lord.”
Robert leaned one shoulder against the wall as Giles departed, and regarded Luc with a thoughtfully raised eyebrow. “There goes an unhappy man, I would say.”
“You would be right. He is responsible for the key.”
“And you for the lady.”
Luc turned to look at him with rising irritation. “Say what you want to say or ask what you want to ask, Robert, but no more of these cursed obscure comments.”
“Ah, so I shall.”
Robert grinned, and for a moment Luc could not be irritated with him. It was always this way with Brionne, the sly wit and supreme self-confidence. It was those qualities that had first appealed to Luc so long ago. He should not curse him for them now. But Robert had a way of pricking him that could be much too close for comfort.
“Say it then, Robert. I am in need of food and clean garments before I meet with William.”
Clapping a friendly arm around Luc’s shoulders, Robert turned him down the corridor. “We shall talk along the way. I find myself quite curious as to your interest in this chained lady, and would hear why it is necessary for you to so bind your female conquests.”
Luc shook his head. “She is not my conquest. It is her lands that I conquered, not the lady. The lady is—not yet conquered.”
“Even more intriguing. Come to my chambers, and I will give you good wine and meat, and share my meager wardrobe.”
Luc eyed him dubiously. Robert was almost as tall as he, but slim as a birch rod. “It has been a long time since we were able to share clothing.”
“Yes, but a loose tunic can cover a multitude of sins with the right belt. Have you increased your girth that much, old friend?”
Luc grinned. “If you want answers to the questions you are so determined to ask, you had best be courteous.”
“Ah, did I offend? I most humbly beg your pardon.” Robert steered him into a small chamber with one window high on the opposite wall over a narrow bed. It was empty of furniture save for a table and some stools. Several chests stood against one wall. Robert waved an expansive arm. “My spacious quarters. I share them with four others, so do not think me too far above my station. Here. Try the black tunic first.”
Luc caught the tossed garment, but draped it over the table near the door. “I brought suitable garments with me. I just wanted to talk to you where we would not be overheard. Tell me what has happened in my absence. I need to know William’s mood.”
Robert shrugged, and hooking a stool with one foot, pulled it to him and straddled it. “The Danes have gone back to their ships in the Humber River, and Earls Edgar and Cospatric are with King Malcolm and the Scots. William is intent on harrying and destroying all he can so that there will be few uprisings in the future. St. Peter was plundered and destroyed, but William has focused all his energies on rebuilding castles instead of churches. His mood is—most determined.”
“When has William ever been less?” Luc rubbed a hand over his jaw. “How fares the situation with Sweyn?”
“The king sent Count Robert de Mortain and Count Robert de Eu to the Humber to guard the river and the land around it. If the Danes form another assault, we will know.”
“There is no way to get at Sweyn’s f
orces?”
Robert shook his head. “No. Their fleet lies in the river, but they are bound by winter as we will be.”
“And Stafford?”
“Is secure and held in William’s name. I do not think it will be overrun again.” Robert placed both hands on his knees and leaned forward, his spurs clinking slightly against the wooden rungs of the stool. “Now tell me of this Saxon woman, and how she has come to be with you. Is she hostage?”
“She is the old lord’s daughter.”
“And the old lord?” Robert prompted. “Where is he?”
“Dead.”
“Ah. Killed in battle. Too bad. William wished to deal with him as a lesson for any other upstart rebels.”
Luc grimaced. “Lord Balfour has been dead near four months.”
Silence fell. Robert stared at him. “Then who—? No. Not the maid! That fair damsel is the rebel leader?”
“You are much more clever than you have a right to be. How did you guess?”
Robert’s dark eyes danced with suppressed mirth, which was just as irritating as his unctuous manner. “I am not so clever as you must be, my lord, to have defeated such a dread warrior in battle. And then to bring the hostage draped in chains—a dangerous feat which will be well rewarded, I am certain.”
“Damn you, Robert.” It was said without rancor.
Sympathetic now, Robert sighed. “The king will not be pleased.”
“That was my thought as well.” Luc’s mouth twisted in a wry grimace. “It will not sit well with him at all that Sir Simon was slain at the behest of a young maid.”
“She could not do it alone. What of her housecarls? Her captains?”
“Those who were not slain have sworn fealty to me and to William. The lady took full responsibility for the rebellion, so it is her that I brought to William.” He paused, frowning. “One of Sir Simon’s own men told me that she tried to negotiate, but was refused. Her messenger’s ears were returned as a reply from Sir Simon.”