He could ask Mina and Albert outright. Yet he could no longer be certain that he would believe their words and, indeed, his mistrust proved the complete opposite, so that would surely be futile.
There was one final course of action, and although it seemed the least likely to give him any peace, it appeared to be the only one that would not cause him public dishonor: he would allow things to continue as they were at Montmorency Castle, at least until he found indisputable evidence against Mina and her possible lover.
“Didn’t you hear me, Roger?” Albert said loudly, interrupting Roger’s melancholy ruminations. “It looks to be a fine day for hunting.”
Roger realized he had been staring at the table in the vicinity of Lady Joselynd’s trencher and quickly looked at Albert. “A fine suggestion,” he said, wondering what other parts of the conversation or what other glances and smiles he had missed.
Obviously under the mistaken impression that Roger’s attention had been focused on her, Lady Joselynd smiled her bright, empty smile and said excitedly, “Oh, how delightful! It is such a pleasure to watch you.”
“Have you not forgotten the game?” Mina asked.
Roger turned to look at his wife. God’s wounds, why could he not see her as he had at first, a thin, homely creature with overbright hair? When had she turned into the pale, green-eyed enchantress who made every other woman’s beauty commonplace in comparison? “Game?” he asked vaguely.
“The foot ball game, between our village and Barstead-on-Meadow, after the noon hour. The villagers are expecting you to be there, at least to watch.”
Roger was hard-pressed to keep a scowl from his face at the way she said “to watch,” as if he were incapable of participating. “Ah, yes. The game. I have been asked to lead our village. And you, Albert?” he asked, facing him. “Do you intend to play?”
“It was my intention to be nothing more than a spectator, given my age.”
“Oh, come now! You are not much older than I. Isn’t that right, Mina?”
“If Sir Albert declines to participate, we should respect his wishes.”
So you two can be alone together? Roger thought contemptuously. “We wouldn’t want the villagers to think you are a helpless, feeble old man, would we?” he chided. “They might question your ability as my knight. All you need do is take care. I’m certain you’ll be able to stay out of the thick of things.”
Albert smiled good-naturedly, and it was like a needle under Roger’s skin. Was he truly as innocent as he looked, or was his deception only that much greater? “If you insist, Roger, I shall play. However, I must warn you, I have no lightness of foot. I shall surely shame us with my clumsiness.”
“You underestimate yourself!” Mina cried. “I’m sure you’ll do very well, indeed. After all, you have the honor of the Normans to uphold.”
Roger, thinking of Mina’s Saxon mother, shot her a quizzical glance, but she was already rising from her chair and did not see it. “If you will excuse me, I’ve offered to supply some cheese and mead from our stores for the participants. I should ensure that Dudley has matters well in hand, although I’m quite certain he has.”
When Mina had gone into the kitchen corridor, Lady Joselynd’s hand touched Roger’s arm. “I look forward to seeing this game,” she said softly, batting her long, dusky eyelashes at him. “I have only heard of such riotous sport. I have never witnessed it.”
Roger glanced down at the pale, soft, slender hand on his sleeve and wondered if Lady Joselynd was deliberately trying to entice him.
He gave his guest a provocative smile. “I promise you it will not be dull.”
She blushed at his scrutiny and looked away, but her hand slid from his arm with what could well be deliberate slowness. “And you, Lord Chilcott? Will I have the pleasure of watching you, as well?”
“God’s holy rood, no!” Reginald said firmly. “I have no desire to go traipsing about after an inflated bladder!”
“I think we can uphold the honor of the Normans without you,” Roger said, standing up. Albert did likewise. “I am going to have to change my clothes,” Roger remarked, thinking of the mud that would be churned up by the players’ feet, especially in the meadow and riverbank. “Shouldn’t you, Albert?”
“Yes,” his former friend replied. “The game is to start just after the noon, at the crossroads.”
“We shall meet the villagers on the green before that,” Roger said, heading for his chamber.
When he got there, the room was empty, as he had expected, and he quickly donned an old tunic and chausses whose ruin would not matter. In the bottom of his chest, he also found an ancient pair of boots. They might be slippery in the mud, but he wasn’t about to destroy a better pair. It was as he was pulling them on that he noted the writing materials on Mina’s table.
What did Mina have to write about?
He went to the table and scrutinized the pot of ink, the quill, the small piece of unmarked parchment and the red sealing wax. The sealing wax would indicate a message rather than a simple household document such as a list.
To whom was Mina writing? If he understood things, the only relative she had anything to do with was Reginald, and he was right here.
Did she have some friend or other relation she wished to communicate with? And if so, why? It couldn’t be to relate her happiness in her married life.
Another thought momentarily took his breath away. If she was planning to leave him, it could be that she was trying to find a refuge for herself and her lover with someone who could offer them sanctuary.
The idea made a terrible kind of sense to him, and suddenly he felt tears spring to his eyes.
Just as quickly, he swiped them away. He was Sir Roger de Montmorency, and she was his wife, and he would be damned before he would let her shame him in front of anyone!
The bedchamber door opened and he spun around, filled with murderous rage, expecting to see Mina and instead finding Lady Joselynd. Her eyes widened and she took a step back, until he smiled. “You startled me,” he said by way of explanation.
“I ... um ... I came to see if Lady Mina could suggest the best situation from which to watch the game.”
“The battlements, over the main gate,” Roger said, moving toward her. “Dudley will see that there are chairs and refreshments for you.”
Yes, he was Sir Roger de Montmorency and most women wanted to be in his arms. “I hope you will save your loudest cheers for me,” he said quietly.
Joselynd lowered her eyes with charming bashfulness. “You are a married man,” she whispered.
“And you are a very beautiful woman,” he murmured.
“Sir Roger, this is most improper,” Joselynd demurred, although she leaned closer to him and ran one hand up his arm with practiced ease.
Roger gazed down into her blue eyes and saw the cold calculation there. No fires of passion, no heat of desire, no underlying hopeful yearning. “You’re quite right,” he said, suddenly disgusted with her, and with himself. He moved away from her. “I can only say that your beauty must have intoxicated me, and like a drunken man, I forgot myself. Please forgive me.”
Her expression was a masterpiece of wounded pride, confusion and frustrated lust.
“You had best be on your way,” he said, not really caring if his words sounded like a dismissal or not.
“Yes, I should,” she responded coldly, her tone no longer dulcet but hard as granite. “I should hate the baron to hear that you made improper advances toward me.”
“Is that a threat, my lady?” Roger asked calmly. The baron’s wrath meant very little to him compared to the heartache of his wife’s infidelity.
“Perhaps.” Joselynd smiled again and pushed the door shut, closing them inside. “It need not be.”
He was tired of this game. Tired of speculation. Tired of everything. “I have to go.”
With a grim face, Roger marched past her and headed for the inner ward, there to meet Albert prior to participating in an event
that had led to several serious injuries in the past.
Mina sat in one of the chairs so thoughtfully provided by Dudley on the wall-walk. From this vantage point, she and Lady Joselynd could watch the game in comfort. If Roger and his men were successful, they would move the ball over the common land, across the wood and through the meadow toward the church of St. Ninian’s at Barstead. She had a clear view of the men of Montmorency mustering on the green, including several villagers led by Lud, and the soldiers from the castle led by Roger.
Dudley had also ordered a small table set out, on which was placed some wine and fruit. The day was warm and clear, the breeze refreshing. Had everything in her life been well, Mina thought, she would have enjoyed this immensely. As it was, it was nothing but a distraction, and not a very effective one.
Her gaze kept straying to her husband as he spoke quietly to the foot soldiers from the castle. How strong he looked, how fully in command. She could make out his stern expression and guessed that he was approaching this competition over the procurement of an inflated pig’s bladder as if it were a major battle.
Albert, looking not nearly as confident, wandered over to join Lud and the villagers. Mina wondered why Roger had wanted Albert to participate so vociferously. It was clear he did, however, and like so many others, Albert did not contravene his lord’s orders.
“Lady Mina, here you are!” Joselynd exclaimed, sliding into the chair next to her. “I have been searching for you everywhere—and for Lord Chilcott, too. He is nowhere to be found.”
“Reginald is otherwise occupied,” she explained. She had her suspicions as to Reginald’s exact location, but she wasn’t about to tell Joselynd.
“I have not seen much of him these past few days,” Joselynd said wistfully, and Mina almost felt sorry for the woman. After all, if Joselynd thought Reginald was her way to greater status or wealth, it would be disappointing for her to discover that he had no desire to marry her.
The men moved off toward the crossroads, the white marker clearly visible. It was on the closest side of the wood, where the main road to Montmorency Castle joined the road to London and branched onto the northern road, which led to Barstead-on-Meadow.
“There are so many of them!” Joselynd noted. “And some of them are so huge. Just look at that fellow there!”
“That’s Lud, our village reeve,” Mina said.
“How many men does Barstead have?”
“The lord of Barstead Hall generally allows most of his tenants to participate, or so Dudley tells me, and it is a large estate. Sir George also sends a fair number of soldiers. I believe they outnumber our men by nearly two to one.”
“Oh, blessed Mary!” Joselynd exclaimed. “No wonder Lord Chilcott declined to take part. It would not be safe for one of his gentle goodness. Some of those men look very vicious.”
“Oh, you needn’t worry,” Hilda said jovially, arriving with some fresh rolls, which smelled delicious. “Sir Roger’s men are well trained. Usually nobody gets hurt, except for a broken bone or two.”
“I’m sure Sir Roger’s men are well trained for fighting, but not for this peasant’s sport,” Joselynd replied, her tone making it very clear that she resented a servant’s remarks, however pertinent.
“They play this all the time, and other games, too. Sir Roger says it keeps ’em nimble,” Hilda said, undeterred.
“You may go,” Joselynd said dismissively to the maidservant.
Mina was still not completely certain that the marriage between her half brother and Hilda would take place. Judging by Hilda’s manner, though, it seemed she was. However, Hilda was intelligent as well as confident, so she did not linger where she was so obviously unwelcome.
“Is that quite true?” Joselynd demanded of Mina after Hilda had sauntered away.
“Oh, yes,” she replied. “Roger has many interesting ideas about training.”
Not that she had heard them from Roger. She had spent several pleasant minutes one recent morning watching Roger’s soldiers play such a game. At first she had been rather taken aback by their display of frivolity, until Albert had taken the time to explain its apparent usefulness for keeping the soldiers fit and fast on their feet.
Mina noticed that the sentries were watching the villagers and mumbling what she took to be wagers on the outcome; no one else was nearby.
Mina had told Reginald she would help him, and this might be a good time to disillusion Joselynd as to her prospects regarding a marriage. She had put off the task, certain that Joselynd’s reaction was likely to be emotional, and because a distrustful impulse forced her to continue to watch for signs of her husband’s possible infidelity. However, if she didn’t speak to Joselynd soon, the lady might discover the state of the relationship between Reginald and Hilda for herself and cause a tremendous furor that might involve the baron.
“Lady Joselynd,” she began not unkindly, “there is something I must tell you.”
The young woman gave her a puzzled look. “You sound very serious.”
“I am. I think you should know that Reginald does not plan to marry you.”
Lady Joselynd blinked once, twice and a third time before she opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “Are you saying he has refused me?”
“It was my understanding that nothing definite had been arranged by the baron. I thought you had simply come to meet Reginald and see if a match might be amenable to you both. There has been no formal betrothal.”
“The baron expects it,” Lady Joselynd snapped, her winsome frailty nowhere to be seen. “He told me so.”
“The baron is not the potential groom,” Mina observed. “Despite Reginald’s decision, you are quite welcome to extend your visit.” It would be a sacrifice to endure the woman’s company any longer, Mina thought, but one she would make for Reginald’s sake.
“He does not want me?” Joselynd reiterated in disbelief.
“Apparently,” Mina said. “I would not take it as a personal affront—”
“I consider it an insult that such a creature as that overdressed popinjay brother of yours has the gall to refuse my hand in marriage,” the lady growled in a most unladylike manner, leaping to her feet. “However, I shall take this as a blessing in disguise. I have no desire to be wed to him and was only acting polite, for courtesy’s sake. Nor do I have any desire to be allied to your family, either to your brother, you or your lustful husband.” Her eyes narrowed, she pushed her face uncomfortably close to Mina’s and whispered, “Oh, yes, my lady, I would watch Sir Roger de Montmorency very carefully, indeed, if you value your family’s honor. Just this very day he tried to seduce me.”
To Joselynd’s surprise, Lady Mina didn’t move, nor did her expression change. She knew Sir Roger’s wife was a cold, unfeeling creature, but she would not have believed any woman could remain so completely unmoved by an accusation of infidelity.
“I think you had better leave. Today,” Mina said softly.
“Oh, I will and with pleasure! And I hope I never see you or your husband or your idiotic brother again! Just wait until Baron DeGuerre hears how you have treated me!”
Mina eyed Joselynd coolly. “I would suggest that you remember Sir Roger is a favorite of the baron’s, and unless you are very sure of your place within his affections, you might do better not to force him to choose who he regards more. I might also point out that the baron is not married, either.”
For an instant, Joselynd looked taken aback, then she majestically swept past Mina.
Mina remained absolutely still, alone in her thoughts, isolated in her anguish, her horrible suspicions confirmed.
Roger didn’t want her.
She felt paralyzed, as if the whole castle had come crumbling down around her ears and buried her under tons of stone.
What was it Albert had said? Love could lead to despair greater than death. Oh, God in heaven, that she should discover the terrible truth of his words! Mina covered her face with her hands and tried desperately not
to howl in pain like a wounded animal.
“It’s all right, my lady,” one of the sentries called out. “He’s not hurt. He’s gettin’ up, see?”
Mina slowly removed her hands and followed the direction of the soldier’s gesture. Roger was climbing to his feet and in another moment was rapidly running after the gang of men chasing one stout fellow who lightly kicked the ball ahead of the pack.
Look at him, she thought bitterly. Sir Roger de Montmorency, with all his talk of loyalty and honesty.
All his lies.
Chapter Seventeen
“What, winded already?” Roger demanded as he trotted up to Albert, who was bent over, his hands on his knees and his breathing labored. “I haven’t been working you hard enough, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Albert gasped. “Nor am I a young man.”
A great cry went up from the Montmorency men as the ball hurtled past Roger and Albert. “Come on!” Roger cried, dashing after it. He caught it nimbly with one foot and managed to kick it behind, back in the direction of Barstead. His men surged past him.
“Catch it!” Roger shouted at Albert, who obediently ran forward.
“God’s wounds, Roger, it’s only a game,” he muttered breathlessly as he paused to catch his breath again and see where the ball was.
“Giving up?” Roger challenged, halting with his hands on his hips. “Maybe you should go and lie down in the gutter to rest.”
Albert gave him a searching, angry look. “What are you driving at?” he demanded.
“Maybe your fighting days are over, and I have been too preoccupied to notice.”
Suffering with his angry jealousy, Roger was dismayed to see Albert’s beatific smile. “Ah, this is your way of testing me, is it?” Albert asked merrily. “Well, hurry up, then, Sir Roger!” Albert dashed off with renewed vigor, leaving Roger to chase after him, as well as the ball.
Albert caught the ball and for several minutes was a master of footwork, parrying the ball between his nimble feet and advancing it many yards toward St. Ninian’s. Roger, well aware that Mina was watching from the battlements, finally managed to get the ball away from Albert and sprinted ahead, only to be met by a surly mob of sweaty opponents from Barstead.
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