The sole question was who had taken it.
Radegunde sat down for a moment, for her heart had clenched in fear of how they might discover that truth.
Tuesday, September 15, 1187
Feast Day of Saint Nicomedes and Saint Nicetas
Chapter Eighteen
Duncan was troubled, but not by the theft of Lady Eudaline’s book.
To his thinking, whoever had stolen it was guilty of a crime he or she believed to be documented within its pages. Lady Eudaline’s trap had been well-baited. Her ploy would succeed, and there would be one less villain in the world.
Nay, his concern was with his own future.
Or more specifically, for his future with Radegunde.
Duncan wanted only to ensure her safety, but made no progress in convincing her of the merit of his concern. She was bold, his lady, but that did not change his desire to protect her. He struggled to remain still as she slumbered beside him, not wishing to awaken her with his restlessness.
Of course, he failed.
The light was barely sliding beneath the door of the chamber in the stables they had made their own, when Radegunde rolled over. Duncan lay on his back as he had all the night long, and closed his eyes as if asleep.
He did not want to argue with her.
At the same time, he did not wish to keep silent about his concern. Perhaps he might find the right words with a little more thought.
Radegunde propped her elbows on his chest and leaned her weight against him. “Do not feign sleep now,” she chided, her tone teasing. “It would take a less observant woman than me to be fooled. You have not slept all the night long.”
Duncan grimaced, then smiled at her. “I did not wish to deceive you, only to keep from interrupting your sleep.”
“What are you fretting about?”
“I am not…”
“Aye, you are, Duncan, and the sooner you confess the truth to me, the sooner we shall see it resolved.” When he hesitated, she arched a brow and smiled at him. “Surely you have no more secrets to keep from me?”
Duncan sighed. “It is not a secret, so much as a fear.”
“Tell me of it and it may seem less.”
“I doubt that.” Duncan sat up and pulled her into his lap. Radegunde curled against him, like a contented cat, and he wondered how he would ride away from her, even when he intended to return. He had never been so concerned for perils in his days ahead as he was now, because he did not wish to be parted from Radegunde for a day.
Much less months on end.
She considered him and must have guessed something of his thoughts, for her eyes narrowed. “You mean to leave me.”
“You know that I will ride to Scotland with Fergus. We have discussed this.”
Radegunde drew back. “There is more. What else have you decided that we have not discussed?”
Duncan took warning from her tone but knew he could not withhold his conclusion any longer. “I do not think you should ride north after Lady Ysmaine’s babe is born. I would have you remain here, until I return.” In a way, it was a relief to say it aloud.
In another, it seemed he had erred in so doing.
Radegunde’s eyes flashed and she flung herself from his embrace. She crossed the chamber to the bucket of water he had brought the night before and cast off her chemise. She washed with furious haste and donned her chemise and stockings more quickly than he might have believed possible.
Then she spun to confront him, her displeasure evident. “So you would abandon me. This is the merit of your sworn word and our handfast.”
Duncan rose to his feet. “Nay, this is the price of learning that my own father hunts my hide,” he retorted. “I will not see you imperiled.”
“You will see me alone, instead.” Her lips tightened. “When does Fergus mean to depart?”
“After the Yule.”
She counted on her fingertips. “Which means that our handfast of a year and a day will endure less than four months before we separate.”
“I will return to you by the end of our pledged year and a day.”
She flung out a hand. “Why should I not come with you?”
“You have Lady Ysmaine to tend.”
“Then I will come to you after the birth.”
“It is not safe…”
“Safe! Duncan, I desire adventure and a life lived fully. To be safe, to be left behind, to be without the man I love, that is not living. I might as well join a convent.” She donned her kirtle and laced the sides with savage gestures. “To think that I meant to suggest to you that I ride to Scotland in the party with Fergus and we begin our life together without delay.”
“Nay, you cannot.”
She leveled a look at him that might have struck fear into the heart of a lesser man. “Do you mean to instruct me, as if I were a child?”
“Nay, I would protect you!”
“And I would be with you!” She glared at him. “I see that you have made your choice. You will ride north without me, but I will accompany Lady Ysmaine and Lord Gaston to Killairic to see Fergus wed in the spring.”
Duncan shook his head. “Nay, Radegunde. You must not.”
She inhaled sharply and granted him a poisonous glance. “Why not?”
Duncan stepped forward and seized her hand to make his appeal. “You must see that the simplest way to trap me or threaten me would be by putting you at risk. I would do any deed to secure your safety, Radegunde, and any man who knows me at all will guess as much.” He pressed her hand between his own. “I beg of you, remain here so I will know that you are well.”
Radegunde looked down at her hand captured within his. Duncan could not guess her thoughts or understand why her mood was suddenly so reserved. “Is that the real reason?” she said quietly, and he did not understand her doubt. She lifted her gaze to his, and he saw the tears shimmering in her eyes. “Or is it that your love is still not yours to give?”
Duncan did not understand her meaning for a long moment, and so lost his opportunity to refute her conclusion.
Radegunde pulled her hand from his with impatience. “I knew it!” she declared, seizing her shoes and pushing her feet into them with haste. He saw her tears begin to fall. “Still you love Gwyneth! There is naught left of your heart for me!”
“Radegunde! That is not so!” Duncan cried, but he had no chance to argue his case.
A scream of anguish echoed suddenly through the keep. It was such a horrific sound that silence followed it, as if the blood of every soul within earshot had been turned to ice. A shiver slipped down Duncan’s spine, and Radegunde hauled open the portal.
“The book,” she murmured, then flung herself out of the chamber.
Duncan was fast behind her, though he feared it was to late to be of aid to the victim.
* * *
Radegunde raced across the bailey toward the tower, trying to forget her frustration with Duncan. Wretched man! How could Duncan still love a dead woman, when she was alive and prepared to grant him all she had to give?
She supposed he thought it more noble to tell her the truth sooner rather than later. Fool man!
Radegunde stumbled in the bailey, recalling all too well his words before their handfast.
I admire you. I like how you laugh and that you are stubborn and outspoken. I admire how you savor life, and that you believe you can make matters be as you desire. And I find you more alluring than any woman I have ever known.
Not a word about love.
Not even about affection.
And now he spoke of protection, as if she were a bird requiring a secure cage. Did he know naught of her nature? Did he understand so little of what she desired? She had hoped that Duncan would confess his love in time, that his actions spoke of the truth of his heart.
Gwyneth. He had said he loved Gwyneth.
And he still carried that lock of red-gold hair.
A woman he had met, loved, and lost before Radegunde had even been born.
/> She would grant that he was loyal and true, but with that, her admiration reached its limit. Why could he not love her?
She had been so sure that Lady Ysmaine had been mistaken in her view about a handfast and its merit, but now Radegunde’s conviction faltered. Had she been foolish to surrender her all to Duncan? The possibility made her stomach knot.
Radegunde flung herself through the portal to the hall and hastened up the stairs. There was already a throng of servants drawn toward the chambers at the summit.
“Azalaïs!” a man roared in apparent despair from above. The company froze, and Radegunde forced her way through their ranks more readily then.
The solar occupied the summit of the tower, but there were chambers below it. Lord Bayard’s widow had claimed one of these rooms with her youngest daughter, Rohese, while Lord Millard and Lady Azalaïs occupied the other. Radegunde could see Lady Ysmaine and Lord Gaston at the portal of that chamber. It must have been Lord Millard who had shouted.
Lord Gaston stood in his chemise and hammered on the door. Lady Ysmaine had seized a robe but her feet were bare, and her eyes were wide. She would be cold. Radegunde moved with greater speed. Her lady cast a glance down the stairs and relief touched her features at the sight of her maid. She beckoned and Radegunde reached her side just as the portal was unlocked.
“I heard the crack,” Lady Ysmaine whispered.
The crack? Radegunde did not immediately understand.
“She jumped and hit her head on the rocks,” Lady Ysmaine added quietly and Radegunde felt ill. She could only imagine how horrifying the sound of impact must have been. She held fast to her lady’s hand, better prepared for whatever they would find inside.
The door opened to reveal Lord Millard, who looked haggard. “She leaped from the window,” he said with such remorse that Radegunde immediately doubted his sincerity. The company gasped. “I awakened to find her reading, then she jumped up and flung herself to her death before I could stop her.” He rubbed his brow and wept. The company murmured in consternation, the tidings being repeated in horrified whispers.
“But why?” Lord Gaston demanded. When Millard did not reply, Lord Gaston strode past him into the chamber. Radegunde and Lady Ysmaine followed.
The bed was unmade and there was a stool by the window. Lady Eudaline’s book was on the floor beside it with its pages open. Lord Gaston went to the window and braced his hands on the sill to look out. The window was beneath one in the solar and faced south, over the river and toward Angers.
Lord Gaston crossed himself, then turned back with a grimace, seizing the elbow of his lady wife and guiding her away from the window. “There is naught to be done for her now,” he murmured, then summoned a pair of men with a snap of his fingers.
Radegunde slipped around the pair to the window and looked for herself. Far below, she spied the broken body of Lady Azalaïs, motionless on the rocks at the base of the tower and half-submerged in the river. She wore only a chemise, which now clung wetly to her pale body, and her hair was unbound. Radegunde saw red blood flowing from the lady’s head. The current of the river swirled around the tower and tugged at the corpse. As Radegunde watched, the body was dislodged from the rock to float briefly then disappear beneath the surface.
She felt slightly sickened by the blood that stained the river water and pivoted to find Duncan amongst those crowded in the portal. His gaze was fixed upon her, and as irked as she was with him, she drew strength from his presence. He looked vexed, and she knew it was because their argument was not completed.
He had more to say and she had to admit that if he wished to defend himself, he could not be without feelings for her.
She wanted to hear him out, too.
Radegunde supposed it was not all bad that he wished to see her protected. Aye, there was truth in his assertion that others might use her presence to attack him.
Perhaps she had been too harsh. Or too quick to judge.
The fact remained that a single confession would set all to rights between them. Radegunde held Duncan’s gaze for a long moment, willing him to say those three sweet words. He surveyed her and lifted a brow in silent query. Radegunde realized that he awaited some sign from her that she was hale. She nodded just a little and saw relief touch his features.
Her heart softened at that. There was something to be said for a man so constant that even an argument did not shake his sense of duty to her.
Perhaps his actions did reveal the truth of his heart.
Still, Radegunde wished to hear as much from his own lips.
“You will have to retrieve her downstream,” Lord Gaston informed the men. “I would have her returned to the chapel with all haste, that she might be laid to rest here, beside her father.”
Lady Ysmaine parted her lips but at a glance from her husband, said naught.
Radegunde understood. If it was true that Azalaïs had killed herself, she could not be buried alongside her father in hallowed ground.
Did Lord Gaston doubt Lord Millard’s tale?
“It shall be done,” Duncan said, gesturing to several other men.
Radegunde’s heart warmed that Duncan volunteered to undertake the unpleasant task. His loyalty and steadfastness were why she loved him, and she yearned anew that he would discern her own merit before his departure.
“Make haste before she journeys too far, if you please,” Lord Gaston called after them, whose boots echoed on the stairs. “It is imperative that she be buried with honor here in her home.”
Lord Millard, to Radegunde’s surprise, did not thank Lord Gaston for this. Instead he surveyed the other knight with narrowed eyes.
What did he know?
“Fear not, Lord Gaston,” Duncan declared. “It will be done.”
Radegunde saw that Lady Marie and Rohese had arrived, but the younger maiden seemed loath to cross the threshold of the chamber. Had she seen her sister’s demise or did she simply anticipate a fearful sight? Lady Marie moved quickly to console Lord Millard, but Rohese stood her ground, pale and trembling. It seemed she could not bring herself to take another step. Radegunde could not blame her for not wanting to see her sister in such a state.
Had the sisters been close? To be sure, Radegunde knew little of them.
“Come, we will pray for her.” Lady Ysmaine urged the two noblewomen to leave the chamber, while Lord Gaston ushered the household back to their labor. “Radegunde, please accompany me.”
That was when Radegunde noticed that the book was no longer on the floor. She hoped that Lord Gaston had reclaimed it, but could not be certain. It seemed a poor idea to ask him when there were so many who might hear her question.
Who else had been close enough to claim it? She made a list while her observations were fresh. Lord Gaston. Lady Ysmaine. Lord Millard. Lady Marie. Perhaps a servant she had failed to observe while looking out the window.
The three noblewomen descended the stairs together to go to the chapel, the priest awaiting them on the landing far below them. He gave his condolences to Lady Marie and appeared to be quite disconcerted himself.
“This is your fault,” Benedicta charged in a whisper, slipping into the company beside Radegunde like a dark shadow. “Do not imagine that I will forget it.”
Benedicta. If she had not been in the chamber, she had been close at hand. Radegunde met the other woman’s malicious gaze and added her name to the list of those who might have the book.
* * *
The wild man of the woods was not an impulsive man. He had learned years before to choose his path with care, for a quick decision could steer a man false.
It might even cost him all he held dear.
But it was time to step forward. It was time to demand justice. The return of Gaston de Châmont-sur-Maine to his family holding, and the support shown to him by Amaury de Valeroy, convinced the wild man of the woods that goodness would again prevail. In truth, he had lost track of the years, for there had been only the rhythm of the seasons in the fo
rest since his parting from Mathilde. He had not realized that so much time had slipped away, not until he had seen his Radegunde fully grown.
He had not been able to think of anything else since leaving her with Duncan at Valeroy. His valiant little Radegunde, a woman.
He was keenly aware now of how much he had lost.
Nay, those years had not been lost. They had been stolen.
He might have chosen to become an exile, but it was less of a choice than a lack of other options. In the end, he had retreated to the forest alone to protect those he loved, but now he saw that he could only protect Mathilde and Radegunde and the boys if the villain responsible for his woes was brought to justice.
That man was at Châmont-sur-Maine, and with Gaston returned, the wild man of the woods dared to hope that his word would be believed this time.
The band of troubadours, a merry company passing through the forest, offered the perfect opportunity to achieve his goal. Indeed, their timely arrival convinced him of the merit of his choice.
The troubadours were not so readily convinced that they should add to their company, but the wild man of the woods confessed that he knew of a baron who would welcome their skills in his hall. It was beyond certain that Gaston would celebrate his own return to his father’s keep, and the troubadours were sufficiently glad to wager a place in their ranks for such tidings.
Their leader’s sole condition was that their new comrade bathe and change his garb.
The wild man of the woods did better than that. He had them aid in cutting his hair. He borrowed a sharp knife and shaved his beard. He washed and clothed himself in borrowed garb, afterward ensuring his hood shadowed his face.
But he knew he walked taller, with both purpose and justice in his step.
The reckoning had come.
* * *
Duncan’s party was compelled to ride far downriver to retrieve Lady Azälais, nigh all the way to Angers. Even then, the river did not surrender her readily, for she had become entangled in some branches, which had been driven against rocks in the middle of the river. The Maine was wide and flowed steadily southward, its waters muddy after recent rains. The river was been waist-deep, and the surface deceptively smooth. The undercurrent was stronger than one might have expected, and it took them a goodly measure of time to safely retrieve the lady.
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