by Jo Beverley
She turned away, and after a moment put her hands to her face. "No. No, I wouldn't. I try, Galeran, but I cannot be meek and mild!"
Galeran laughed. "Nor do I want you to be. But don't start lying to yourself, Jehanne. Since we are not willing to give Donata to the wolves, we had best put our minds to handling all our problems, hadn't we?"
The babe stirred, perhaps because of her mother's raised voice. Galeran put out a foot and rocked the cradle, and in a moment Donata settled back to sleep.
Jehanne had turned and was staring at him as if he were a puzzle. "How can you just accept her? How can you just accept everything?"
He met her eyes. "How can I not? Do you want to be whipped? Locked away? Burned at the stake? Do you want me to throttle this child...?" He bit off the increasingly violent words. "Don't, Jehanne. Don't push me. Let's handle the simple problems first. Was Lowick with the monks?"
"No," she said, distinctly pale. "Didn't you speak to Forthred at all?"
"No."
"Had he left?"
"I don't know. I never returned to Heywood. I heard you had come this way and followed."
She looked him over as if seeing him for the first time. "Why are you so bloody?"
There was no place in this for lies. "Someone tried to kill me."
She sat on a bench with a thump. "What?"
"Yesterday. On the road between Heywood and Burstock, when you appeared to be fleeing me."
"What?"
Galeran's heart eased. Jehanne was clever, but she was not capable of faking such deep confusion.
"Do you mean you were the horsemen pursuing us?" she asked. "I thought it was the bishop's men!"
"Pity you didn't have anyone with Raoul's sharp sight."
"It wouldn't have mattered. We weren't about to stop and study matters. We just rode here as fast as the horses could bear. But what is this about someone trying to kill you?"
The action of rocking the babe was strangely soothing. "There was a man on the road with two crossbows and the plain intent to kill me."
She paled. Distinctly, she paled. "Sweet Savior! Where is he now?"
"Under the earth."
"Praise be!" Then she frowned again. "It might have been better, though, to preserve him for questioning."
"I wasn't thinking very clearly. But if we knew who was behind it, it might carry us into deep water."
"Raymond," she whispered.
"I can't imagine who else wants me dead."
"Sweet Mary, help us. I can hardly believe it! He is not a bad man." Something of Galeran's feelings must have shown on his face, for she added, "He isn't, Galeran. You must know that."
"He tried to have me killed, Jehanne."
She closed her eyes. "Desperate," she sighed. "He isn't a saint, either." Then she studied him again. "Was there only one man? You seem to be wearing a great deal of blood."
"There's a great deal of blood in a man." A lightning-flash vision of blood pouring through the streets of Jerusalem made him shudder, and then he saw blood on the babe's white blanket.
After a heart-stopping moment, he realized it had merely rubbed off his gory mail when he'd held her. He rose, suddenly aware of his own stench. "My rage broke free, Jehanne. I didn't just kill the man, I butchered him. Walk carefully around me. Please."
* * *
Outside in the hall, Raoul saw Aline leave the room, then turn to study the closed door. He could not see her face, but her whole body expressed concern. Her short, compact, well-rounded body was extremely expressive.
He suspected it would be expressive in bed....
How strange to think that way about the little nun.
He strolled over to her. "Lady Aline. You are troubled?"
She swung sharply. "There are matters enough to trouble anyone who has a mind above base pleasures." Her eyes flicked down to his crotch, and then she turned pink.
Raoul began to think the Lady Aline was mistaken in her vocation to a life of chastity. "Are there? Perhaps you could sit on this bench and explain these matters to me."
She stepped back. "Do you take me for a fool, sir? You know perfectly well what is going on."
She would have walked past him, but he caught her wrist. The way she froze, the way her color deepened, told him she was rarely touched by men. It intrigued him. She tried to snatch her hand away, but he had her shackled just tightly enough to prevent it.
"Sirrah!"
"I do not know what is going on, Lady Aline, and I think I should."
She looked him in the eye searchingly, clear-headed despite her fluster. "How can you not?"
"Because for three days we've ridden around the estate and received no messages. And before we could return to Heywood we were told that Lady Jehanne had come here, so we followed. Your father seems to have told Galeran some interesting things, but since they spoke quietly, I am left in ignorance. Pity me."
Judging his moment, he released her. She pulled her hand close to her body and rubbed her wrist even though he knew he had not hurt her.
"Very well." She walked briskly over to a bench, her firm, purposeful step having the unaccountable effect of making Raoul want to kiss her into limp dazedness.
He shook his head and sat beside her, but not too close. He had not lived to the ripe age of twenty-eight by seducing virgins in their father's houses.
"So," he said, "what caused the Lady Jehanne to flee here?"
Aline's pretty face turned sober and her gaze direct. "Raymond of Lowick, may God rot him in interesting places, has decided on a new line of attack. He's made devout confession to the bishop and accepted penance. Seeing what turmoil his ungoverned lust has caused—I quote almost verbatim from the unctuous Brother Forthred, you understand—Raymond is resolved to ease the situation by taking upon himself the burden of raising the unfortunate product of his liaison."
Raoul leaned back against the wall behind and whistled. "Clever. His own plan, do you think?"
"I don't know. He's not totally stupid, but I'm not sure he would think of such a circuitous route to his goal. Perhaps the bishop.... Though how it would serve Bishop Flambard, I can't tell."
"Ah, yes, Galeran mentioned this Bishop Flambard. The Church dearly loves to have men in its pocket, and I gather Galeran's father is a thorn in the flaming bishop's side. What sort of man is he?"
Though Aline's hair was almost as blond as her cousin's, her brows were darker and inclined to make a severe line. When she frowned, as now, they were formidable. "No one even knows where he came from, but he served the Conqueror and now holds the highest position under William Rufus. His chief talent is squeezing money for the king and himself. His name is virtually a curse with layman and churchman, for he spares neither."
Raoul wanted to smooth those creasing brows with his thumbs, but he kept his mind on the issue in hand. "So he survives because he is protected by the king?"
"Yes, though it's rumored that last year some men managed to seize him, intending to kill him. He escaped, unfortunately, and now he goes nowhere without heavy guard." She scowled at Raoul as if everything were his fault. "It is most unfortunate that those men made a mess of it."
"Very." He cut to the point. "If this Brother Forthred had succeeded in taking the child, would the Lady Jehanne have gone too?"
"How could she do otherwise, when no wet nurse was provided?"
Raoul nodded. "Very clever."
Her eyes widened. "You mean the intent was to seize Jehanne, not Donata?"
"I very much doubt an elderly prelate and a young lord have much interest in a six-week babe."
Her face relaxed at last, but into deep concern. "Sweet Savior, but this frightens me." Before he could even think about offering comfort, she frowned again—this time while staring at him. "You are very bloody, sir. In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, you stink of it. Is there fighting over this already?"
He looked down and realized he was well stained with gore. That's what tussling over severed heads did for a
man. "There's no fighting yet, but you're right about my deplorable state. Perhaps if I take off my armor, it could be cleaned. I have no wish to offend your nose, Lady Aline."
"Much good that will do. Most of the gore is on your braies."
Strength and good intentions can take a lusty man only so far. "Then I suppose they must be cleaned too. Doubtless the blood has gone through to my skin, since my clothes are stuck to me in places. I fear, to be really worthy of your company, dear lady, I need a bath."
Seeing the trap too late, she stared at him like a startled bird. "Oh, no!" But then she turned blood red herself. "Of course. Come. We have a room set aside for bathing here."
Intrigued, amused, and not too seriously aroused, Raoul followed her to another corner of the hall and through a door, to find a small room equipped with braziers and a wooden tub. Since it was summertime, the braziers were unlit, but a stone hearth in one corner radiated heat. Two large kettles hung over it, full of hot water ready for anyone wanting to bathe.
"An excellent arrangement," he said.
Aline had her head bowed over a chest from which she was taking the necessary cloths. Her lovely, ample rump drew his eye, therefore, especially as it was covered by rich red cloth. No nunlike clothes for Aline. He wondered why not.
It might be safer for everyone if she were marked as Christ's.
"There are advantages to these old halls," she said. "It's easy to have small private rooms when building with wood." When she stood and turned, he saw she had regained most of her composure. "Of course, even with the palisade, it's not well suited to defense."
"And thus was taken by your Norman forbearers, I assume."
"Not at all." She pushed springy curls back from her round, heated cheeks. "My grandmother was left a widow by the battle at Hastings, and given in marriage to my grandfather. They were happy, to all accounts, and Burstock has never been fought over."
"A place of blessings." After a moment he said, "Perhaps, Lady Aline, you could summon people to help with my armor."
She flushed again, this time with embarrassment at her own neglect. It was as well, he thought, that flushing suited Aline. It was so easy to bring color to her cheeks.
Now, however, she pulled on efficiency like a cloak, opened the door, and called orders in a lusty voice.
In moments, two men arrived to strip off his mail and carry it away to be cleaned, then two others poured water from the huge kettles into the tub and took the empty vessels off to be filled.
Women hurried in with jugs of cool water, bags of herbs, and even a vial of oil.
Raoul eyed the oil with interest, but he let his better side take command.
"You are to be a nun, Lady Aline?"
"That is my intention."
"Then perhaps it is against your rule to assist a man at his bath."
She stared at him for a moment, temptation clear in her eyes, but then she shook her head. "No. There is nothing sinful in such a courtesy."
"But you have a sister-in-law here who is responsible for this household, do you not?"
She nodded. "Catherine. She's away at St. Radegund's convent on business."
Raoul decided he had done what he could to be virtuous. He certainly wasn't going to suggest Jehanne assist him at a time like this, and to demand lower aid would be to insult Aline, who was now rolling up her outer sleeves in a businesslike fashion.
Perhaps whatever qualms had troubled her were eased.
Perhaps, he thought with some affront, she had previously believed him so ill bred as to be indecent in this situation. He bent to unlace his braies, intent on showing her that he knew polite behavior.
In hindsight, he wished he hadn't accepted the willing Ella's invitation that first night at Heywood. He had not imagined then that there was a lady in Heywood whose opinion would concern him—especially a modest, excessively virtuous, lushly rounded almost-nun.
He suppressed a smile, wondering why Aline intrigued him so. Perhaps just because she was such a contradiction.
She was so brisk and practical that she reminded him of his mother, who could manage a large household to perfection and dabble in a hundred other matters at the same time. But Aline was also young and easily flustered around men. She had in truth offended against the laws of hospitality in refusing to assist him to bathe at Heywood.
He'd be flattered to think that he alone had this effect on her, but he'd heard it was not so. She was skittish with all men, especially young ones. It was strange in a girl with five brothers. People seemed to accept that it was her vocation to the holy life that made her prudish, but Raoul wasn't sure.
In truth, he found it hard to imagine Aline of Burstock as a nun. A dictatorial abbess, yes, ruling a community of both men and women, and large properties as well. But it was necessary to go through the process of learning to be a nun in order to end up an abbess.
He peeled off his linen leggings, using force where blood had stuck them to his skin.
She looked up from where she was testing the temperature of the water. "Are you injured, sir? I apologize. I should have asked."
He looked over to see that her genuine concern had banished embarrassment for the moment. "It's someone else's blood."
"Galeran's?" she asked with alarm.
"No. Someone we encountered on the way." He pulled off his shirt so he was dressed only in linen drawers, and glanced at her.
She had modestly turned her head and now moved away from the tub. Of course it wouldn't be polite for a lady in this situation to ogle a man's parts, but her avoidance of the sight of his body was extreme. She must have seen many male bodies in her time.
She was clearly ideally suited to be a nun and he should accept that fact. It was as well that servants continued to come in and out, refilling the big kettles, building up the fire in the hearth, and filling the jugs of rinse water. He wouldn't even be tempted to be foolish.
He stripped off and sat down in the tub, finding it a little small for his length, but otherwise ideal. The water was exactly the right temperature, seasoned by the herb bag, and with a film of oil that would linger on his body.
Though she might avoid the task, the Lady Aline was clearly skilled.
She turned cautiously, first eyes, then head, then—once she was sure he was decently covered—her whole body, suddenly brisk again. She picked up the pot of soap and a cloth and moved to wash his back. He took another cloth, had her soap it, and washed his own legs, chest, and arms. In fact, as was usual between strangers, he washed the parts he could reach.
It was sweet to feel her rubbing his back, but he'd rather she were where he could see her.
"So you still intend to be a nun, Lady Aline."
"Of course."
"What rules must you obey during this time away from the convent?"
"None. I never took a novice's vows."
Interesting. "Why not?"
"I was about to when Galeran went away and I went to Heywood to be with Jehanne."
"Do you miss the cloister?"
"Of course." But her voice did not carry conviction.
His lips twitched. "I'm sure it must be hard to be meek and obedient." When she was silent, he added, "Especially if the orders are foolish. We encounter that, sometimes, in battle."
Her hand paused. "And yet you obey?"
"Generally. That is how armies work. And religious communities, I suppose. I wonder why you wish to be a nun."
"Why not?" Her hand picked up its task again. "It is a productive life."
"Some would say it is a sterile one."
"Only those who think of nothing but rutting." She stood and tossed the cloth on the floor. "Are you ready for rinsing yet?"
"In a moment." He made a business of cleaning his feet, pleased that she had moved where he could see her. With her cheeks flushed, tendrils of her hair damp with steam, and her garments clinging to her generous curves, she was completely luscious. He felt his body respond, and decided he'd better stay in the water a b
it longer to control himself.
A serving woman, bringing extra drying cloths, studied him with a sliding look and winked. Another Ella. She was tempting, but he ignored the invitation and leaned back against the rim of the tub. "What productive work do you hope to do in the nunnery, Lady Aline?"
"Prayer, of course," she said warily, "and care for the unfortunate." Then she added, "Also work with numbers. Accounts."
A light in her eye told him he'd found her true vocation. "A useful interest for a wife too, surely?"
Her lips curved in a cynical smile "What man would let his wife know all his business? Most certainly not a man of our class. I know only of merchant's wives who share fully in the trade."
"Perhaps you should marry a merchant, then." He was talking just to keep her where he could enjoy the sight of her, and also, perhaps, to teach her to be at ease with him.
"I would marry a merchant, and willingly, but Father would never permit that."
"So you wouldn't mind marriage?"
That set her blushing again. "Are you not ready for rinsing yet, Sir Raoul? The water must be getting cold."
"Another moment, if you please. It is pleasant to relax here. So, will you be returning to your convent soon, now that Galeran is back?"
Her eyes slid away. "As soon as matters are settled."
"But can you do anything to help settle them? I think not."
She looked back at him, eyes clear and unflustered. "Why are you here, then, Raoul de Jouray?"
"Just to be with a friend."
"And that is why I stay too."
"Ah." He stood, deliberately catching her unawares. "I am now ready to be rinsed."
Her eyes skittered wildly and her color danced around her face, but she brought him the clean water—eyes averted—so he could pour it over himself. Then she held out the warm drying cloth and he stepped out of the tub into it.
They were alone for the moment, and he couldn't resist. Once he had the cloth wrapped decently about himself, he ran a finger gently over her rosy, averted cheek. "Thank you."
She turned to look at him, her large eyes huge. "I have only done my duty...."
"But you do it well. And I know it was against your inclination. I hope I did not upset you."