“They would not have been certain that Lord Gaston would return, even though Lady Marie wrote to him.”
“Indeed. But Lord Gaston did return, so any aspirations for the holding had to be dismissed with his arrival. Azalaïs might have lost some or even all of her allure as a wife, for she offered neither title nor fortune, and she had yet to conceive a son. Lord Millard might prefer to find a new wife.”
“But first he must become a widower, and she was almost twenty years his junior.”
“Nature would have need of assistance, to be sure. Then came the tale of the book. What could Lady Eudaline tell Lord Gaston about the history of his father’s abode? Who would care more than the son of Lord Fulk’s greatest competitor?”
“Millard, son of Sebastien de Saint-Roux.”
Radegunde’s eyes lit with triumph. “The competitor who believed Châmont-sur-Maine might have come to his hand by the king’s grace.”
Duncan nodded. “And perhaps there is justification in the book to appeal to the king for that result. Perhaps Lord Gaston’s claim upon the holding is not so secure and his mother wished to warn him.”
“Precisely! And so, Lord Millard hears of the book. He believes it offers opportunity. He commands Benedicta to steal it. He then orders Lady Azalaïs to read it aloud to him, because he is suspicious. And when she is poisoned, he understands immediately what has happened.”
“And casts her out the window to her death, pretending that she has jumped. But why?” Duncan shook his head. “We return to the same issue. She would have died within moments at any rate.”
Radegunde sat down with a thump beside Duncan. “He wanted to hide something.”
“What?” Duncan did not understand her meaning. “She could not have revealed any secret, not once she was poisoned.
“Nay? Duncan, I am surprised at you. There is one tale her corpse could have told, but the fall to the rocks ensured it could not.” She spoke grimly, then drained the cup. “If I am right, he is a fiend indeed.” She claimed his cup then and drank its contents as well, but did not cast him the smile he anticipated.
Nay, there was a shadow in his beloved’s gaze.
And a challenge.
That was the moment that Duncan understood her meaning.
Bruises. Millard might have tried to hide the bruises on his wife’s body by ensuring that her corpse was battered by such a fall.
Once he had the thought, the other pieces of the puzzle fell readily into place. No wonder that man had urged a quick burial. No wonder the lady’s own maid had been the one to dress her for burial. No wonder the men of the household said her nature had changed upon her marriage. If she had come to fear her husband or his fists, she might well have become more quiet and submissive.
Duncan felt ill.
Had Lord Gaston suspected the truth? Was that why he had insisted that his niece be buried in consecrated ground? Or had his choice been a simple courtesy to his brother’s memory? Duncan realized that Radegunde was watching him closely.
“You saw her,” she whispered. “Was she bruised?”
“Aye, from head to toe. She was too battered for an old wound to be noted beneath the new. If that was his intent, he succeeded well.”
“Blackguard! He should be made to pay!”
“But we have no proof, Radegunde. We cannot make such an accusation against a nobleman without evidence. He will simply refute it. The sole result will be the tarnish of our repute for daring to speak ill of one of our betters without apparent justification.”
“Such a man is not our better.”
Duncan agreed but said naught.
Radegunde’s lips set with a determination he knew well. “I do not like it.”
“Nor do I.” He caught her hand in his. “But even if you are right, the lady is dead. She can suffer no more.”
“It is poor solace, Duncan.”
“Yet it is the sole one we have.” He tucked her against his side and she sighed.
“I need a kiss, Duncan,” Radegunde murmured. “A kiss to warm me to my toes and a night in your warm embrace.”
Duncan caught her close, only too willing to provide that.
“Will you tell me of Scotland?”
“With pleasure.”
But first, he would see to his lady’s pleasure.
Wednesday, September 16, 1187
Feast Day of Saint Euphemia
Chapter Twenty
On the morning of the feast, the entire household rose early. The meal was to begin at midday and would continue through the evening. There were minstrels and jongleurs who would perform and such a quantity of food that Radegunde was astonished. The villagers formed a line across the bridge as soon as the portcullis was lifted and the keep was in uproar.
A company of troubadours arrived at first light and were invited to entertain in the hall. From the look of them, they had slept in the forest the night before—perhaps more than one night—but their leader had a fine clear voice. Two in the company had juggled while their leader recounted their skills to Lord Gaston.
Duncan imagined that man found himself welcoming the notion of song and jest, as well, as the troubadours arrived just after the funeral mass.
Or perhaps he sought to see Lady Ysmaine smile. Radegunde had confessed to Duncan that her mistress was uncomfortable in the mornings with her pregnancy. It was good that Mathilde and Lady Richildis had arrived, for their presence would do as much to ease Lady Ysmaine’s concerns as their ministrations.
By the time the meal was served, the hall was filled with merriment, which was no doubt encouraged by the generous flow of wine and ale. The villagers cheered at the sight of the roast boar, which was far larger than Duncan had recalled. The troubadours sang an impromptu ditty to Lord Gaston’s valor, which the lord of the manor acknowledged with a smile.
It was not unlikely that the funeral for Lady Azalaïs that very morn had also made those yet living wish to celebrate their fortunate state.
The meal was served and the troubadours began to serenade the company while they enjoyed the repast. Duncan sat at the back of the hall, near the portal, where he could watch the others. On this day, he accepted only one cup of wine and made it last.
Something was going to happen. He could feel it in his bones, and the watchfulness of Fergus only amplified his own impression.
It was natural that any challenge to Lord Gaston’s leadership should come to the fore on this day, after all. Would Lord Millard stay or would he go? What would Lady Marie choose to do? Decisions had undoubtedly been made and would be announced at the feast. Duncan wished they would hear from Wulfe, if only to know for certain that Christina was well and that Everard had been brought to justice. But it was early days as yet for that. Wulfe might still be in pursuit of the villain.
When all had sated themselves, Lord Gaston stood and clapped his hands. “I thank you all for joining me in celebration this day, and I hope the fare was sufficiently ample.”
The villagers cheered and pounded their cups on the tables.
“I would have you linger and take your ease, perhaps dance with someone who has caught your eye.” Lord Gaston grinned at the enthusiastic reaction to that suggestion. He indicated the troubadours. “And here we have a troupe to lead us in merriment. May their songs and tales bring pleasure to you all.”
Thunderous applause followed these few remarks and the company of traveling minstrels advanced toward the high table. Duncan watched them and knew he would invite Radegunde to dance soon enough. Her mother Mathilde cast him a warning glance, as if to remind him about her daughter’s foot, and Duncan waved in understanding. In that moment, he saw astonishment touch Mathilde’s features.
The troubadours were just passing her and she stared at one, all the color draining from her face. Then she dropped her gaze and hastily composed herself. If Duncan had not been looking at her in the very moment of her dismay, he would have missed her reaction.
As it was, he wondered what had c
aused it. Had she recognized someone in the company? There was one man taller than the rest, a great bear of a man, and Duncan felt there was something familiar about the way he walked.
Then the man stepped forward and raised his voice, and Duncan knew.
It was the wild man of the woods.
Radegunde’s eyes widened at the sound of the man’s voice, which verified his own conclusion.
Her father had left the forest.
Duncan sat taller to watch and listen. The wild man of the woods looked far more reputable than he had in the forest. He wore garb that had clearly been donated by others, for it did not fit him overly well, but it was clean. His hood was raised and he bent over a lute. That pose hid his features from those seated at the high table, but Duncan had glimpsed his shadowed face. He had trimmed his hair and shaved, and was a finely wrought man.
Radegunde and her brothers had his coloring.
“If my lord will forgive me for being so bold, I deem it too soon after such a generous meal to dance,” the leader of the troupe said, his voice easily carrying over the company. “Perhaps a tale would suit the company better first.”
There was a roar of assent to this and the leader gestured to the wild man of the woods. “We have a storyteller in our ranks.”
Radegunde’s father stood, handing the lute to another and folding his hands before himself. He kept his head bowed. “I know only one tale,” he continued. “So I hope it finds favor with you.”
A chuckle rolled through the company. There was a bustle of activity as cups were filled and people moved to sit more at their ease. Bones were cast to the dogs, who gnawed them contentedly beneath the tables. Radegunde’s father nodded at his companion with the lute and that man struck a chord of accompaniment.
“Once there was a man,” he began. “More than a man, he was a knight and a lord. The tower of his keep was tall, his horses were magnificent, and his forests abounded with game.”
“We know that knight!” cried one of the villagers. “He is Lord Gaston!” The others cheered this notion and Gaston waved the company to silence.
Radegunde’s father smiled. “Nay, not Lord Gaston, for this lord had bad fortune in marriage. He loved his wife with all his heart, but she died in the bearing of their first son, then the son died shortly thereafter.”
Duncan watched, for he knew his Radegunde would shed a tear at this detail, and she did. His heart clenched at this evidence of her compassion, and he felt honored anew that she had put her hand within his own.
“Nay, not Lord Gaston,” that man said and claimed his wife’s hand within his own. More than one in the company smiled at his gesture, as did Lady Ysmaine.
“This lord was so bereft by the loss that he declared he would not wed again. It was in his grief that he heard of more sad tidings. He had a lady cousin, not so wealthy as he but possessed of great beauty and wed to an honorable knight. That knight had been killed in battle, around the same time that the lord’s wife died in childbirth, and the lord’s cousin had been left alone with her infant children. She had twins by the lost knight, a boy and a girl, and sent word to her cousin to ask after some aid in these sorry times. The lord did better than send her some coin—he invited her and the children to live with him. In truth, as he oft said, they gave him the gift for they brought sunlight back into his abode.”
Duncan smiled for Radegunde was better pleased with the tale now.
“The children grew and blossomed beneath the lord’s care, becoming as dear to him as if they had been his own children. His cousin, though, did not fare so well. She could not face the days and nights without her true love and faded in strength. Two winters after her arrival at her cousin’s holding, she took a chill and died. After some consultation with her kin, the lord resolved to raise the twins as his own. He hired tutors for both boy and girl, and ensured the boy was trained to win his spurs. The children grew into fine nobles, the lady as lovely as the dawn and her brother both handsome and filled with valor. The lord knighted the boy with his own blade when that time came, and truly, it could not have been said whether the twins or the lord loved each other most. There were rumors that he meant to make the boy his heir, but neither knight ever spoke of it to others.”
Duncan sipped his wine, wondering. Did Radegunde’s father share his own tale?
“Because the lord did not wish to lose his cousin’s son in war, he insisted that the boy participate only in tournaments, an activity at which the young knight excelled. He won many garlands from maidens and more accolades. His sister loved the pageantry of these events, and so they often traveled together when he was invited to participate. If the location was nearby, the lord went to watch as well, but in his winter years, he was less inclined to travel any distance. And so it was at one such tournament, the sister met a knight who was much smitten with her. Indeed the vigor of his interest in her was only equaled by her disinterest in his suit. They argued, and this knight tried to restrain her, so forcibly that he left bruises upon her wrist.”
The company gasped at this. Duncan felt his eyes narrow, for it was too familiar a tale. Radegunde was listening avidly, while Millard looked annoyed. Rohese was pale and staring down at her hands in her lap.
“She showed them to her brother on their journey home, confessing that the knight had declared he meant to wed her and if she did not agree, he would leave her with no choice. She was resolved to not upset their guardian with this matter, though her brother argued that course, and hoped it could be quietly resolved between two knights pledged to honor.”
There was a murmur of outrage that a lady and a maiden should be treated so ill.
“And so it was that the brother was resolved to defend his sister from this other knight. He knew the cur’s name and his colors. He waited to accept another invitation to tournament until he knew that knight would be there. He had hoped to journey alone, to discuss the matter with the knight and dissuade him, but the sister would hear naught of it. She was resolved to accompany him and see the knight shamed and her honor defended. She could not be swayed, so great was her resolve.”
Duncan smiled into his cup, well acquainted with a woman of such determination.
“And so the pair departed together, as they had so many times before. The young knight spoke to the one who wished to court his sister, and the knight laughed the matter away. The young knight thought the matter resolved, and so he entered the lists and won much acclaim that day. It was a triumph, his best day ever, and he could not wait to take the spoils home to the lord and cousin who showed them such good care.”
Radegunde’s father paused and the company was rapt. “It was only when he was showered with flowers and surrounded by admirers, he realized that his sister was not to be seen.”
The teller paused to take a sip of wine. Even the dogs seemed to awaiting the next part of the tale, so quiet were they.
“The knight left his destrier in the care of his squire and hastened to his sister’s tent, pitched beside his own. She was not there, nor was she in his own tent. She was not with the ladies of the court, nor in the hall where they offered refreshment. On impulse, he strode to the tent of the knight who had been so determined to be his sister’s suitor. He heard sounds of a struggle from within and charged in with his blade drawn.”
The company leaned forward.
“His sister was there, indeed, though not in any state in which he should have seen her. Her wrists were bound and her skirts were around her hips. The knight was atop her, one heavy hand over her mouth, and they struggled mightily as he strove to claim her maidenhead. She drove her knee into him and thrashed beneath his weight, then she saw her brother and froze, an entreaty in her eyes. And he knew that if he did not intervene, her maidenhead would be lost to this man, who could then compel her to wed him. The notion filled the young knight with such fury that he lifted his dagger and he threw it at the man who would so violate his sister.
Those listening to the tale gasped as one.
> “But a serpent is wily and sees to its own preservation above all else. The abusive knight had heard the brother’s entry, though he pretended otherwise. He saw the sister’s expression and guessed what the knight would do. And when the knife was loosed, the knight quickly rolled the lady atop him, so that the flying blade landed in her back instead of his own.”
“Oh!” the company cried as one.
Duncan saw Lord Amaury and Lady Richildis exchange a quick glance. Did they know this tale already? Was it truth? Lord Gaston was frowning at the board. Duncan knew that Gaston did not approve of tournaments, of playing at war. He might, though, recall the tale.
More to the point, if the honorable knight was Radegunde’s father, what did this mean for her prospects?
The storyteller continued. “The villain cast the maiden aside with disdain as the blood seeped out of her. ‘She is of no value to me now,’ he declared. Then he looked at the knight and he smiled. ‘And you will not win at joust any longer, not with this stain upon your honor.’ The brother did not understand the words and in truth he did not care. The knight left and the brother fell to his knees beside his sister. He saw immediately that her wound was deep. The knife was buried to the hilt in her back and surely had pierced her heart. He gathered her into his arms, weeping and gnashing his teeth. She forgave him and kissed his brow, their tears mingling as she died in his embrace.”
More than one in the hall wiped away a tear, including Radegunde.
“It was only after the sister had breathed her last and the knight had closed her eyes that he realized he was no longer alone. The baron who had hosted the tournament stood in the opening of the tent, all the guests gathered behind him. ‘She would have seduced me,’ the wicked knight declared. ‘I meant to wed her on the morrow and treat her with all honor and dignity, but her brother claimed he would not allow the match. I fear he would not permit her to be happy.’ The knight was incredulous but many believed this tale, uttered with such conviction, and faced with the truth of his own knife in his sister’s back, he could not think of any tale that would excuse him, even the truth.”
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