And still David saw that ring.
Fingering the latch, he opened the door and stumbled inside the keep. The passage to the great hall seemed darker than usual. The noises the servants made clearing away dinner seemed far away and alien.
That ring. That damned ring.
Not even Osbern could have done that to a baby. To an infant. Hazel had not been even a month old when Philippa had fled from Osbern. But Philippa, that adoring mother, had abandoned her child to go with her husband. What other reason could she have than to protect her babe?
The stones rasped his fingers as he groped along the wall. Agony rasped his mind as he groped toward the truth.
Had Osbern taken his signet ring, heated it, and branded the babe on the tender skin of Hazel’s rump? Would he be so perverted, so twisted, so cruel?
The opening to the great hall yawned before David. He wanted to be with Alisoun. He needed to comfort her, to wipe that lost expression from her face. He needed to talk to her, to discover the truth and deal with it as he could. He needed guidance, and Alisoun would be the one to give it to him.
But first one manservant hurried past him holding a pile of unwashed dishes, and he spoke not a word to his master. Then a maid hurried past him holding a wad of dirty clothing, and another holding a pile of soiled linen. He might not have been there, for all the interest he generated.
Mayhap he longed to be elsewhere so fervently he had made himself disappear. Absently, he touched his face. He was here, though. Wishing hadn’t changed that.
As soon as he stepped into the great hall, he realized the busy servants formed only the edge of a whirlwind. In here, activity spun in ever-widening circles. At the center of the whirlwind stood Alisoun, trunks gaping open all around her.
Did she feel bruised and tattered by the pain of losing Philippa? If so, she showed no evidence of it now. The Alisoun he’d first met had returned: controlled, determined, in charge. As he listened, he heard her direct her maids to pack her trunks for travel, and slowly he digested the fact that she planned to depart.
Depart. Striding forward, he loudly demanded, “Where do you think you are going?”
For one brief moment, the movement in the great hall faltered. Then once again it commenced, more quickly, more emphatically, and everyone, it seemed, pointedly ignored his presence.
Everyone except Alisoun.
“I’m leaving,” she said.
“Leaving.”
“I hired you to keep me and my people safe, and this you failed to do. I have no use for you now.”
The maid who hauled her night soil got more respect than she gave him. Worse, he feared he deserved her contempt, and the faint curl of inner shame translated itself into ire. “You forget, madam, that you are my wife.”
She stood without moving, her hands curled loosely at her sides. “Try as hard as I can, I can’t forget that.”
She made him so angry! All calm disdain while he seethed with questions and dread. In as nasty a tone as he could forge, he asked, “What if I don’t let you go?”
“But you’re so good at letting people go.” She spoke without expression, but somehow she made her opinion of him clear. “Look how well you did with Philippa.”
He strode forward, furious at the implied accusation of cowardice. “What would you have me do? Let Osbern destroy my family to protect her?”
“Your family?” Alisoun laughed lightly. “What about your lands, the wealth which I brought you? Shouldn’t you mention your anxiety for them?”
“I worked hard for what I have.” Dismayed by his own defensiveness, he tried to explain. “I have the right to want to protect it.”
That destroyed her equanimity. Fists clenched, eyes sparking, Alisoun said, “Aye, and be damned to the life destroyed when you do.”
His fury rose to meet hers. “Who are you to so criticize me? A stiff, humorless, former spinster without a drop of love in your veins to sweeten your disposition.”
Her momentary spark faded. “None at all,” she agreed.
Her restraint only made him madder, and he lashed out. “I only married you because I felt sorry for you.”
“And for the money,” she reminded him. “Let’s not forget the money.”
“Damn the money.” He meant it, too. “And damn you!” That he didn’t mean, but the words had been spoken and he couldn’t call them back.
The slight tremble of her lips, the downward tilt of her brows—aye, on her face for those with eyes to see was evidence of her anguish. “I have broken a vow I made before God—to protect Philippa. So I am damned, if that gives you pleasure.”
“You made a vow before God to obey me, too.” He expected her to defend herself, but Alisoun surprised him.
She declared her independence. “What is one more broken vow?”
“You hold our wedding vows invalid?”
“I hold them as unimportant.” Lady Edlyn came out of the solar, holding Hazel, and Alisoun held out her arms for her. “I suppose we should be grateful you didn’t remember the babe, or Osbern would have another helpless soul to torment.”
“Nay!” But no one had heard him lie to save Hazel, and who among these accusers would believe him if he told them?
Alisoun still handled Hazel as if she were some foreign creature, but David thought Alisoun needed that child’s comfort right now more than the child needed Alisoun’s.
“I’ll send you an allowance every month,” Alisoun said. “George’s Cross will remain my primary residence, and when I’ve settled there you might think about sending Bertrade to me.”
His gaze shifted to his daughter. She sat on her stool, shoulders hunched, knees drawn up, with Alisoun’s kitten in her lap. The gown she’d worn so proudly had twisted sideways until it wrinkled in a tight circle. Guy stood behind her, leaning against the wall, his gaze fixed on the child.
“I offered to take her now, but she doesn’t want to go. She still has an affection for you, of course.”
“Generous of you,” he muttered.
Alisoun dismissed him without a glance and went to Bert. Kneeling beside his daughter, Alisoun spoke softly, petting the cat in Bert’s lap until the creature stretched luxuriously. Smiling with tremulous interest, Bert replied, then with a quick glance at him, her smile faded.
Rising, Alisoun commanded, “Do send her when you can. She deserves a proper upbringing.”
He wanted to argue that she, with her inexperience, couldn’t raise his child properly, but the servants distracted him as they snapped locks on the trunks and bound them with leather straps. This was moving too fast. “You can’t have packed already.”
“You needed almost everything I brought to Radcliffe, so I’m leaving it here. What I have at George’s Cross will suffice me until I can send to market once more.”
Ivo and Gunnewate each hoisted a trunk onto their shoulders and strode past him, paying him less attention than they would a cockroach.
Desperate to halt this relentless procession, David said, “You need protection on the road and these two have already proved themselves unworthy.”
“My men are sufficient for the normal hazards of thief and brigand.” Alisoun allowed Lady Edlyn to help her with her cloak. “No one stalks me now.” With an unladylike snort, she said, “I suppose you could say you have done what you were hired to do. You removed the threat from my life.” She walked past him to the door, her maids trailing after her. There she half-turned. “Good-bye, Sir David. I wish you health, life and happiness in the future.”
“Wait!” He hurried toward her and found his way blocked by a gauntlet of irritated maids. Craning his neck, he called, “What about our child?”
“I will send you word when it is born, and if you wish you may come and visit. Beyond that you have no rights.”
23
I hated to stay, but what was I to do? That little girl’s world had collapsed on her, and she didn’t really understand why. It wasn’t as if I liked Bert. A stupid, scrawny thing, all scabby knees an
d big eyes, but she knew her sire had done something dreadfully wrong.
So when Sir David stumbled into the great hall after Lady Alisoun left, only three people remained to face him. Guy of the Archers, Bert, and me. Without waiting for anyone to speak, Sir David demanded, “What did you want me to do? Let Osbern murder Bert and destroy us all?”
“I didn’t say a word,” Guy answered, but he didn’t have to. He made his opinion clear when he moved away from Sir David’s reaching hand.
Sir David hesitated, then his hand dropped. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“If you don’t mind,” Guy said, “I have duties in the south tower with the men. The sewage pond is directly below, but even so the stench seems less intense there.” He walked out of the great hall and we knew when he stepped outside, because he slammed the door so hard the very stones shook.
“Well, damn him, too.” Sir David dropped into his chair and looked around. “Bert! At least you didn’t want to go with her, did you?”
“Nay.” But Bert didn’t sound any too certain, and she leaned over the cat in her lap.
Sir David observed the way she petted the animal, and he snorted. “She even left behind the kitten I gave her.”
“I asked for it.” Bert scratched the kitten under the chin. “It reminds me of my new mama, because it’ll scratch if you try to hurt it but it’s all soft and clean and cuddly if you’re nice.”
Looking wretched, Sir David stared at his daughter.
“Daddy?”
Bert whispered, but Sir David heard her. “What, sweetling?”
“Weren’t you nice to my new mama?”
“I was just sensible. I thought she liked sensible men, but I hazard I was wrong.” His hands curled and uncurled. “What did she say to you?”
“When?”
“When she knelt down and talked before she left?”
“We talked about the kitty’s name,” Bert answered. “She wanted it to have a name so I could tell her about it in the letters we will write.” Picking up the kitten, she rubbed it against her cheek and it purred so loud in that empty room I could hear it. “She liked the name I picked.”
Sir David seemed incapable of speech, so I asked, “What did you name it?”
“It’s black with white, so I named it Clover after one of the cows.” Bert beamed at me through her tangled hair. “Can you remember that?”
“She named the cat.” Sir David rubbed both his temples with his hands, then lifted himself with a roar. “I need ale. Where’s the ale?”
I ran to get it for him, and that was the last coherent sentence we heard from him for the next drought-stricken eight days.
I was glad I stayed for Bert.
Sir David of Radcliffe opened his eyes and stared. This time he knew where he was. Those large, horizontal, treelike objects would soon resolve themselves into the reeds on the floor of his great hall. The fond kisses pressed on his ear were the gifts of his best hunting dog, and the panting that surrounded him was only the pack gathered around him for warmth. He’d woken too many times to the same scene and the same sounds to be mystified by them now.
Groaning, he tried to raise himself off the floor while holding his head in his hands. It didn’t work. Either he could push himself erect or he could hold his head, but he couldn’t do both. And he really needed to sit up, because he was going to puke. “Eudo,” he moaned. “Guy.”
No one answered. Probably they were too disgusted with him to stay in the same room. And why not? He could scarcely stay with himself.
“Bert?”
She was gone, too. Praise God for Eudo. Sir David didn’t remember much, but he knew that Eudo had kept Bert entertained while her father tried to find peace in the bottom of a jug of ale.
Too bad every time he looked into a mug, Alisoun’s face floated there, staring at him.
Of course, it was worse when he closed his eyes. Then he saw poor, pathetic Philippa leaving, the prisoner of her own husband.
Was she still alive?
“Nay!” He flung up his hands to block the thought, and the motion brought up his dinner. Rolling away, he waited until the chamber stopped spinning. He held onto the bench, pulled himself up, and staggered to the door. Flinging it open, he stepped outside and lurched, blinded by the light. The sun hadn’t been so bright and hot since last summer, and it was all the sun’s fault when he missed the first step, caught himself, missed again, and tumbled down the stairs. As he lay in the dry dust at the bottom, he realized that if he hadn’t been so drunk, he would have killed himself.
He wanted to see Bert, explain himself to Guy, and make himself a hero in Eudo’s eyes once more. And in his own eyes, too. It seemed that mattered the most.
Listening, he heard voices, and he hoisted himself to his feet once more and started toward the training yard. He rounded the corner and saw Eudo with his arms around Bert, showing her how to shoot a bow. The sight brought David to a skidding halt.
“Sir David!” Eudo jumped away from Bert guiltily. “I was just showing her…”
Bert stared at Eudo as if he had gone mad, and David realized that while the lad found comfort in holding Bert, Bert thought his embrace nothing but kindness. David said, “Fine. My thanks. You’ve kept her entertained and done her no harm. I won’t forget.” Sitting down on a stump, he waved them on. “Go ahead. Let me see what she’s learned.”
As Eudo helped Bert place her arrow into the bowstring, David remembered that he’d held Alisoun just the same way, demonstrating how to shoot an arrow while absorbing her vitality. Now that vitality had disappeared from his life, and he had no one to blame but himself.
If it had been up to Osbern, he’d never have known what he missed. That worthless poltroon had tried to kill Alisoun before David had even met her. He’d tormented her, beaten Sir Walter, frightened her people, and David had done nothing to avenge her. David could think of little else.
It had taken eight days of trying to justify himself to himself, but now he knew. Alisoun had done what was right, and not what was proper. He had done what was proper, and not what was right. He had sent Philippa back to her husband and possibly to her death, because he was a coward, looking out for himself, fearing the king’s wrath, trying to hang on to his possessions at the cost of his confidence.
He had a lesson to teach Osbern. He’d already learned his own.
“Did you see, Daddy? Did you see?” Bert stuck her face into his and pointed at the target. “I got close!”
“You did!” The arrow quivered in the fence behind the target, and David puffed with pride. “You’re Daddy’s brave girl, and I’m glad, because I’ve got something to tell you. Something to tell everyone at Radcliffe.” He waved Eudo over. “You, too, but where’s Guy?”
The children glanced at each other. “Guy?” Eudo’s gaze slid away. “Why, I believe he had to ride…somewhere.”
“Somewhere?”
“Somewhere…else.”
David didn’t need to seek any more explanation. Guy had left Radcliffe.
“Very well,” he said. “Guy is gone, and I’m going, too.”
“You’re going?” Bert, his indomitable Bert, started to cry.
Pulling her onto his lap, David said, “I haven’t really been here since Alisoun left, anyway.”
“I know, but everyone keeps leaving.” Bert put her head on his shoulder and bawled.
David hadn’t known he could feel any worse, but he did now. He petted his daughter and wondered if Eudo would start crying soon. The squire seemed to be struggling with his emotions also, and David found himself explaining his actions to a lad and a lass. “I made a mistake. Now I’m going to go and fix it.”
Bert stopped sobbing and started listening. Eudo tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.
“I’m going to go get Philippa back from her husband. The only way to do that, I imagine, is to—” he shuddered as he remembered the result of his last challenge, “—kill him.”
He had the complete
attention of both children now.
“There’s a good chance I’ll die in the attempt.” He waited to hear Bert’s yell, but she remained mute and he thought perhaps she didn’t understand.
Eudo stammered with excitement. “I’ll prepare and go with you.”
“Go with me?”
“I am your squire.”
“Don’t you understand? I said I might be…” He noticed the eager, quivering tension of the lad, and he hadn’t the heart to finish the sentence. “You are my squire, and I regret leaving you here, but I depend on you for something much more important than passing me my weapons.”
Eudo withered, and David could see his thoughts. His first chance to participate in combat, and David denied him. “What do you require of me, Sir David?”
“It is a mighty quest which I lay on you, and I pray you are worthy of my trust.”
“I’m worthy!”
Speaking slowly and clearly, David said, “Should I not return, I rely on you to take my beloved daughter to George’s Cross, to Lady Alisoun.”
Eudo’s sideways glance at Bert told the tale. He wanted to fight in battle, not babysit a lass.
Taking his shoulder, David leaned close to Eudo’s face and tried to impress him with the importance of this responsibility. “You remember the journey here, Eudo. It was dark and fraught with danger. There were wolves, and two children alone will attract thieves.”
Now Eudo understood. He blanched at the mention of wolves and his hand went to his knife.
“But Guy is gone and I fear that, should Osbern kill me, he’ll send men to take Bert—” David hugged her closer, “—and you can’t allow that.”
Indignant, Bert struggled against his grip. “I won’t let them take me, Daddy.”
“I know you won’t, Bertie, but you’ll let Eudo help you.” With a lift of the brow, David indicated to Eudo the hazard he had set him, not just in the journey, but in the handling of Bert. “Eudo, there’s no one else to do it. When Osbern sends, his knights will first tell of my defeat, then try to bribe my men. One of them will take the bribe and give Bert up. That’s why I trust you, Eudo, and not them. You’ve proved your honesty to me.”
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