by Jo Beverley
"Because you can keep your wits under pleasure." He slid the knife slowly, very slowly, into his jeweled sheath. "Do you deny the pleasure, Aline?"
She wanted to, but her dry mouth and aching crotch said otherwise. They had stripped another polite layer from themselves, and lying was no longer possible. "No, I don't deny it. But I'm angry that you expected to be unaffected."
"I never expected that. I merely underestimated your armory. So," he said with his usual warming smile. "I am your prisoner. What ransom do you want?"
"What do you suggest?"
"Tush, Aline. That is foolish."
"Not at all," she said with a grin, "I merely meant to take your figure and treble it."
He trapped her against the cart again, but gently. "A hundred kisses."
She stared up at him, already sliding under his aura. "Our lips would wear out."
"We could spread the three hundred over many years."
She looked down at his chest, at a fine piece of gold embroidery around a gleaming yellow stone. His fancy, high-colored dress reminded her that he was a foreigner. "But before winter you will be back in the land of grapes and almond blossoms."
"You could come with me."
They were the words she had wanted to hear, but now the reality frightened her. "No, I couldn't."
"Why not?"
"I couldn't leave my home, my friends, my family."
"I see." He sounded annoyingly calm. "Ah, well, it is probably as well that we put aside our games for now and concentrate on our friends' affairs. Jehanne and Galeran need us clear-headed and willing to act...."
See how little he cared! She pushed out of his arms. "Exactly. So, no more of your assaults, sirrah. You can see I'm a well-defended fortress."
"Adequately. Unless a strong force moves against you."
She began to walk around the cart, back to the light, fighting tears. He could at least have tried to talk her out of her decision.
"Aline..."
His touch on her arm froze her still in shadows. She did not speak, however, waiting, heart beating high and fast. Perhaps now he would beg.
"Don't become a nun."
Teeth gritted, Aline continued into the light, where flambeaux and the fire shooting from the mountebank's mouth seemed more like the illumination of hell than saving light. She shivered under the danger and the weighted memory of Raoul's sensual attack. She'd spent her life paddling in ponds and was now being towed out into the wild sea, which both thrilled and terrified her. Even worse, he did not seem to want to stay with her there.
If he didn't want her, what right had he to decide she should not take vows, and to try to destroy her will to do so?
Right or not, he was succeeding.
* * *
Galeran saw Raoul spirit Aline behind the cart and noted when they emerged, noted, too, the aggrieved set to Aline's firm chin. He'd rather expected her to be kissed into a daze. What particularly interested him, however, was the expression on Raoul's face. He looked dazed enough for two.
Jehanne had noticed as well. "He really shouldn't..."
"Nor should she."
"He's a great deal more experienced."
"True, but Aline has her eyes wide open."
"Just so long as that's all she has open."
Galeran raised his brows at her. "I can't see Aline giving up her virginity in a brief encounter behind a cart, Jehanne."
She laughed and shook her head. "I know, I know. And with all our worries, I don't know why I'm fretting about her."
He rested his hand on her nape and rubbed there. "Perhaps because it's easier than fretting about more serious things. We should be in London tomorrow."
He felt her shiver. "I think I'd be happy to just wander. I'm afraid, Galeran."
"With reason." He didn't stop massaging her tense neck. "Do you want to take ship? Doubtless Raoul would give us refuge in Guyenne."
She turned to look up at him, her beauty turned wild by the fire-eater's flames. "You would do that? Leave England for me?"
Her move had brought his hand to the side of her face, and he ran his thumb down her beautiful jaw. "I would do anything for you."
"Oh, Galeran! It's tempting. I'm terrified of having to watch you die."
"Do you fear for me? I'm terrified that some punishment will be imposed on you. It is, as you say, very tempting to run away."
Her expression firmed. "But a sin. We can't."
"No, I don't think we can. I hope we don't live to regret it, though." He kissed her lightly on the lips. "But I do regret our vow."
"So do I." With a mischievous glance, she pressed a little closer and touched his chest. "Shall I play Eve, then? There's apparently a dark corner behind that cart."
His mouth went dry. Dignity argued against it, but he pulled her swiftly over to the cart and behind it, to find that dark and private corner.
"Not Eve," he whispered, loosening his clothes. "Just Jehanne." Then he was in her hot wetness, her legs tight around him, her hands clutching his shoulders as her body clutched his.
"Oh, God," he groaned knowing his thrusts were probably rocking the cart at her back. "We're mad."
"Don't stop. Just don't stop!"
How she thought he might, he had no idea. The world could crash to an end around him and he wouldn't stop before the blinding relief of shooting his seed into her.
As his heart rate settled and he lowered her slowly back to the ground, he realized she'd not found her release. She made no complaint, but when he slid his hand between her thighs, she spread them and leaned against him. In moments her breathing fractured and her fingers dug deep into his flesh. Then her teeth sank in him, too, as she muffled her cries.
He felt himself begin to harden again. In a peaceful bed he'd be in her again before she recovered, and it was a spicy notion, but enough was enough. He drank the last of her passion from her lips, then led her out a long way around, hoping no one would know just who had been making that cart shake.
By the time they blended in with the crowds, Jehanne still looked dazed. Galeran thought almost kindly of the problems that had brought them to a tinsmith's cart in Waltham, for they'd never before made love like that, in fierce, surreptitious urgency.
But there were too many hazards for him to be grateful. It was those hazards, even including death, that had driven them into that brief madness. He'd settle for security and love in a bed any day.
When they joined Raoul and Aline, his friend gave him a knowing grin, and Galeran could feel himself blush.
At least Aline hadn't noticed. She seemed enthralled by a sword swallower. "Ugh! Why would anyone want to do a thing like that?"
"Perhaps he has little choice," Galeran said, tossing the man a coin. "Perhaps it is his destiny."
"Like a vocation," said Aline, not looking at Raoul at all.
And when Galeran looked a question at Raoul, his friend just seemed very thoughtful, and even unhappy.
The situation could be interesting if Galeran had interest to spare.
Chapter 15
The next morning Galeran visited his father, who was trying very hard to look frail.
"This is better, anyway," said Lord William. "Keep him unsure of us."
"Not hard when you don't know what you plan to do."
"Don't scowl at me, lad! In the end all that matters in this world is our honor and our soul. I have to think on this."
"I understand, Father."
"Watch out for Flambard. He'll do what he can to break us." Lord William gripped his hand. "I'll be praying for you."
Galeran went to mount his horse, reminding himself that he believed in prayer, and believed in a just but merciful God. He'd rather have had his father by his side, though. No monarch would reject William of Brome's support if offered. A monarch unsure of it might decide to break the family's power entirely.
He could imagine Bishop Flambard urging that.
The road into London teemed with mountebanks, merchants, gentr
y, and lords, doubtless woven through by all kind of thief. They could have used the horses to force a path, but with women and a babe in their midst that wasn't so easy, so they went with the slow-moving flow, reminding Galeran again of his thoughts about destiny. He was grateful, at least, to have lodging. Raoul had distant kin—wine merchants—living in the city, and had sent a messenger ahead to ask hospitality. They'd just received word that Hugo and Mary would be delighted to house their party, though they warned space would be tight.
Still no opportunity for a peaceful, private night with his wife, he feared. Galeran found that he wanted his peaceful life at Heywood perhaps more than ever before. It was so close, so nearly in his grasp, yet could be snatched away at the king's whim.
It hardly seemed possible, but within the city walls the crowds were worse. In places, the crush of people clogged up entirely and Galeran had to order his men to use horse and whip to break up the blockage. It took them hours to reach Corser Street. Their hosts apologized for the limited space in their narrow house, but Galeran knew they were fortunate.
While Jehanne and Galeran arranged their party in the two available rooms, with the grooms and men-at-arms left to sleep out in the sheds behind the house, Raoul undertook the task of finding any news.
He returned in an hour with a basket of pies and a net of cherries. "The king's holding open court," he said, dusting off his clothes. "Of course, the point of it is to accept homage from as many people as possible."
"What's the mood out there?" Galeran asked, pouring his friend some of Hugo's wine.
"Favorable to Henry, I'd say. The previous king wasn't any more popular here than in the north and the general tone seems to be 'good riddance.' Especially with King Henry making that special declaration on his coronation day, reestablishing the old laws."
Jehanne was off with the baby, but Aline was present, struggling to untie the net to liberate the plump cherries. She stopped her work and frowned at them. "I hope he's not too keen on law and order."
"Why not?" asked Raoul, strolling over to slash the net with his knife. Galeran noticed that even that simple operation seemed to generate a great deal of tension and colored cheeks. How Aline could think she still wanted a religious life, he didn't know. But would Raoul commit to her?
He put such matters out of his mind.
Aline picked up a cherry and moved away from Raoul. "What if the king wants to enforce laws against adultery?"
Raoul speared a cherry on the sharp tip of his knife. "Is that likely?" he asked Galeran, then put the cherry into his mouth. He never took his eyes off Aline.
Cheeks cherry-red, she popped her cherry into her mouth.
"I hope not," said Galeran, wanting to bang their heads together. "No one has ever accused Henry Beauclerk of being tenderhearted in judgment."
"Hah!" Aline spat a cherry pit into her hand and looked at Galeran. "An understatement. He threw a man off the battlements of Rouen with his own hands for opposing him."
"A clear lesson about opposing the will of princes."
Aline's severe eyebrows settled lower. "You can't truly find this funny."
"No, of course I don't. We have to trust to Henry's good sense and his desire to have my father on his side. Raoul, did you find out anything else of interest?"
Raoul sheathed his knife. "Not really. I asked about Raymond of Lowick, but no one knew anything of him. I heard news of the Bishop of Durham, though. He arrived here yesterday."
"Flambard's here already?" said Galeran with a chill of unease. "I hoped he'd move more slowly. I'm sure he stands our enemy. Apart from his ambitions in the north, he'll never forgive us for thwarting his plans."
"He may be toothless. It was clear in two words that he's a hated man."
"Oh, yes, he is that, but hatred hasn't stopped him yet. He seems almost magically able to slither out of trouble."
"You choose interesting enemies," said Raoul with a grimace. "No one I spoke to was sure his day was over. His charm seems to be a rare skill at obtaining money. What king can ignore that?"
"Henry won't dare support someone so unpopular," said Galeran, but again he was merely concealing his fears. Ranulph Flambard was a very clever man and as Raoul said, kings had a fondness for men who could provide them with money.
Raoul shrugged. "I assume you'll attend the court tomorrow and seek an audience. We'll get better information then."
Jehanne came in on those words, carrying a contented baby. Her pale face became even more drawn. "Tomorrow? So soon?"
Galeran went to put an arm around her. "We didn't come haring down here to sit twiddling our thumbs, love."
"Oh, I know," she said, bouncing the baby nervously. "But I can't help but worry. I wish I could come with you...."
"I don't think that would help."
She grimaced at him. "I know, I know. I just feel so helpless. Can I at least talk strategy with you?"
It would clearly soothe her, so Galeran agreed. Raoul spread out his pies and cherries, and the four of them sat to eat and discuss plans for the morrow, though there weren't really any choices. Galeran would dress his finest, take gifts—including items from the Holy Land—and hope. If the king gave him a private audience, he'd lay the situation before him.
Unless he gained the impression that someone had been before him and laid traps. But he didn't say that, for he had no strategy for that situation other than his wits.
As he and Raoul went to share the chamber set aside for them, Galeran asked "Do you want to come tomorrow?"
"I should stay behind to guard the women."
"The farther you stay away from the women, the better."
Raoul contemplated his bed as if it were a mystery. "I asked her to marry me."
"And she said no?" Galeran didn't know which surprised him most.
"She doesn't want to leave her home."
"That's foolishness. I'm sure you can persuade her."
"I wish I were as certain. So," he added more briskly, "you want me to accompany you?"
"Why not? Lowick will hardly try to snatch the baby from this busy household and Flambard has no jurisdiction here. I'd value your opinion of Henry Beauclerk."
* * *
That night, Raymond of Lowick rapped at the door of the Bishop of Durham's sumptuous house near Westminster. An armed guard opened it, doubtless necessary for such an unpopular person. Since coming to London, Raymond had realized just how unpopular Flambard was. He wished he didn't have to deal with such a man, but who else could support him against William of Brome?
It was for Jehanne, he reminded himself. Beautiful Jehanne, who had been forced into her marriage even though she was as good as betrothed to himself. After all, old Fulk had mentioned it a time or two.
And now she was in danger. Galeran was surely only biding his time. He'd shown his true feelings when he'd struck Jehanne down. Raymond cursed the fact that he'd left her behind to face such violence.
And what of the child? Raymond was genuinely fond of the babe, or as fond as any man could be of such a tiny creature. She was his first child as far as he knew, and he felt honor bound to protect her. Galeran was a good man, but no man could forget the origins of such an infant. At his most merciful, he'd give her to some peasant to raise.
Raymond wished it need not come to death, but feared there was no other way to protect Jehanne and Donata.
And to have Heywood. That was a less noble goal, he knew, but it burned in him all the same.
Just as King Henry had thought England his from birth, Raymond had thought Heywood his from the moment Fulk's last son had died. He was Fulk's favorite. He was acknowledged to be one of the finest young warriors in the north. Who else deserved to marry Jehanne?
When Fulk's interest had turned to Brome, Raymond had fanned his friend Eustace's faint interest in the holy war against the Moors. It had been easy enough, and had left the coast clear.
Or so he'd thought.
To see Heywood and Jehanne presented to that sc
rawny runt Galeran had almost made him choke on his bile. It wasn't right. It couldn't be right. God had showed that by denying Galeran a son until the crusade, and then by taking that son to give Raymond his chance.
As Raymond was ushered into the presence of the bishop, he was firm once more in his belief. It was God's will that he have Heywood, Jehanne, and Donata. Even at the cost of Galeran of Heywood's life.
"My lord bishop, welcome back to London...."
* * *
It took Galeran and Raoul half the next morning to progress out of the walled city and along the long curve of the Thames to Westminster Hall, where the king kept his household and held court. The churned-up road was thick with lordly trains, hopeful merchants, and the merely curious. The congestion was worsened by unauthorized stalls lining every road, and by a small army of beggars.
The river might be an alternate route, except that it, too, was crowded with all manner of vessel, and thus much more hazardous.
Troops of soldiers regularly forced through the crowds to knock down the stalls and chase off the beggars, but as soon as the guards moved on, the hawkers and mendicants popped back, crying out to the passing lords so the noise seemed a physical presence.
It was like swimming through mud, thought Galeran dazedly, tossing some coins to a cripple who looked genuine—surely those scarred stubs where her legs had been couldn't be fake.
Eventually, however, they emerged into the open space around the great Westminster Hall and its sister building, King Edward's noble abbey. Here, too, people gathered in huge numbers, but the space could accommodate them and their noise.
Where did so many hawkers come from? Galeran wondered as a man thrust horse bells at him, extolling their quality. Create a crowd, and the people who catered to crowds popped up as if sprouting from dragon's teeth.
There was a kind of organization here, though. A number of well-disciplined men-at-arms patrolled the area, and temporary stables had been set up to one side for the lordly visitors' mounts. The merely curious and the more unruly sellers were regularly driven back out of this enclave into the jammed streets.
With space to breathe, Galeran began to find all this interesting. He'd been to London only once—to join the crusade. This time, however, the atmosphere seemed different. The mood was lighter, and under the chaos lay a sense of limits or even order. It could already reflect the nature of the new king, and he had to consider whether it promised good or ill for his cause. A lighter mood was surely good, but as they'd discussed the day before, a very strong inclination toward law and order might not be the best thing for his cause.