The Baron's Bride

by Joanna Makepeace

  Soothingly the Earl of Gloucester addressed her. “All shall be considered, my lady. Do not be afraid. In the meantime, Baron Mauger shall also be kept under guard, I promise you. He must, in fairness, however, be granted an opportunity to refute your grave accusations of misuse of his office.”

  The ladies’ bower of Devizes Castle was not occupied, so Gisela was unsure whether the present seneschal was married or if that lady had taken refuge in some other fortress. She found herself handed into the care of a toothless old crone who was not communicative, but provided her charge with water for washing and a platter of broken meats and fine manchet bread as well as a flagon of good wine.

  Gisela pushed away the food but was grateful for the wine, which poured welcomingly down her parched throat and seemed to give her strength. She sank down on a cushioned window-seat and gazed bleakly at the courtyard below, which still teemed with petitioners either leaving or striving to pass through the guarded door. She could see no sign of her husband with his guards and turned her gaze to the grim gatehouse beyond.

  Her heart was pounding wildly as she understood at last what she had done. She had doomed Alain. He had been recognised, arrested as a spy through her foolishness, her wild unreasoning desire to obtain vengeance for Kenrick’s death.

  Had she remained silent, Alain might well have obtained an audience with the Count, succeeded in his mission and possibly had opportunity to place the case against Mauger de Cotaine squarely before Henry of Anjou. Now it would be unlikely that he would be allowed to see his former companion again. He would be judged guilty of spying and hanged out of hand.

  She broke down then, despite the presence of the old woman, and sobbed out her despair. She choked on her disgust for her lack of simple discretion. She, alone, had brought him to disaster. Even should she obtain justice from Count Henry against Mauger de Cotaine’s contemptuous treatment of her and hers, it could never compensate her for the loss of Alain de Treville.

  What could she say in his defence if she were questioned? Alain had impressed on her the knowledge that his mission was secret. Even she, Gisela, did not fully understand the possible consequences of it. She must not betray him, but she must, in all conscience, try to impress upon her interrogator, whoever he might be, that Alain meant no harm to Henry FitzEmpress’s cause.

  In actual fact, it proved to be Henry himself who came some hours later into the bower. He was unaccompanied and gestured to her dragon guardian to be seated some way off where they would be unlikely to be overheard.

  Gisela struggled to her feet and curtsied. Gently Henry took her arm and helped her to seat herself again.

  “I trust someone has brought you food and seen to your comfort, Lady Gisela,” he enquired courteously.

  She nodded uncertainly and searched his face for signs of sympathy for her distress. They were there, but it was soon clear that Henry FitzEmpress took nothing for granted, certainly nothing he had heard from others, without very careful consideration. He stood in front of her, thumbs pushed into his ornamental sword belt, and regarded her steadily but sternly.

  “Now tell me exactly what happened at your manor and the nature of evidence you have against Mauger de Cotaine,” he demanded.

  Gisela took a hard breath and, looking back at him, as steadily, quietly told her story. He listened without comment, occasionally tugging at one ear-lobe as she thought he might often do when concentrating hard on some information.

  She stopped at last in a sudden rush as she had come to the point when she had recognised de Cotaine in this castle, uncertain how she should proceed without further incriminating Alain.

  He moved away, restlessly pacing the rush-strewn floor of the bower, and then came back to her.

  “You say de Cotaine is known for his crimes by most honourable men within the county, including the shire reeve, but de Cotaine is too powerful for any to act against him?”

  “Yes, my lord, I truly believe that,” she answered quietly.

  “And you, later, recognised the captain of the band that attacked your manor?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “But you have no real evidence that this man is a servant of Sir Mauger’s?”

  She hesitated. “No, my lord, that is true, but I am certain he is. There have been other occasions when manors have been attacked and their owners had proof, but dared not either accuse Sir Mauger in the shire reeve’s court or attack Offen Castle.”

  Henry gave a little decisive nod.

  “Are you aware that this man, de Cotaine, has been of some service to me?”

  “I heard it said in the hall, my lord. It seems that he is a traitor to his King also,” she added bitterly.

  The sandy lashes swept back and she found his piercing eyes hard upon her.

  “Yet I am sure you will assure me that your husband is not, yet he appears disguised in our stronghold. Do you not agree that a charge of spying could well be levelled against him and proven?”

  “Yes,” she said softly, “but if you yourself question my husband, my lord, I am convinced he can assure you of his good faith, though circumstances appear to be against him.”

  He smiled then and, for the first time, she realised that this plain, stocky young man had indeed great charm; despite her own fear, she managed to smile back.

  “I promise you I shall do that,” he said as he came towards her and took her hand. “I think the best thing now is for me to summon your servants from the inn you speak of. You should have a guard to convey you there. This town is full of undesirables, soldiery in particular, some of it undisciplined.”

  He gave her his sunniest smile once again. “You tell me you have a man waiting within the bailey. Tell me what he is wearing and he shall be sent to the inn with a message.”

  She complied, describing Edwin as accurately as she could.

  “But my husband?” she ventured to recall the Count as he made for the door.

  He turned back to face her. “I have promised that he shall have justice at my hands as Mauger de Cotaine will—in time. I know he will want you to be safely far from this place and so your servants should take you immediately home.” He held up a hand in remonstration as he saw she was about to argue. “You have already done all that you can for him. His one desire will be to have you safe. You will obey my instructions and give no trouble to your escort?”

  She shook her head weakly, tears starting to her eyes again. She had no idea how lovely she looked and did not note how Henry FitzEmpress’s heart, so easily moved by beauty, was softened by her obvious distress.

  He turned once more, one hand on the door latch. “Trust me, Lady Gisela, to have your interests at heart.”

  Then he was gone and she was left once more to her own doubts and terrible fears for Alain.

  Chapter Nine

  Alain de Treville kicked the door of the tiny guard chamber in which he was confined in a final act of furious frustration. Outside, in the room designated for the comfort of the guards during relief periods, he could hear their bawdy banter, the banging down of heavy-bottomed flagons on the table and bursts of raucous laughter. No one took the slightest notice of his bellows to bring him before one of the barons within the castle and at once.

  He had been pulled roughly from Gisela’s side, frog-marched to the door, across the courtyard and thrust unceremoniously into this inner guardroom. As yet he had not been manacled though he could see in the dim light which filtered in through a grating far up on the outer wall that there were stanchions and chains ending in manacles habitually in use to further ensure prisoners could not escape.

  There was one rough-hewn stool and a pail, plus a bundle of soiled straw that had served the last prisoner as bedding. Lord Alain wrinkled his nose at the sour stink of it and thanked God and the Saints the pail, at least, had been emptied.

  He had banged at the door for hours and the darkness and chill of the place was deepening. He sank down upon the stool at last, exhausted by the efforts to summon attention
and by the emotional agony which, once he was quiet, surged through him.

  Sweet Virgin, where was Gisela? The instruction he’d heard to convey her to the ladies’ bower had not been reassuring. He did not know if she would be there in the care of the castle’s chatelaine, but knowing Henry’s reputation, and recalling his wife’s distressed beauty, revealed in his last sight of her, he could not convince himself that she would remain inviolate.

  He gave a great shuddering breath. What a fool he had been to bring her here. How could he have allowed himself to be persuaded against his better judgement? The very sight of her was sufficient to excite passions, especially in this town teeming with loosely disciplined soldiery.

  He knew, only too well, that it was hard to keep men in check when actually on the march or on campaign, but when let loose in some town…He let out another agonised breath, unwilling to face the mental pictures his fears for Gisela summoned up.

  What ill fate had brought Mauger de Cotaine to Devizes at this time? Yet Alain might well have expected it for he had suspected for a year or more that the man had been in traitorous communication with King Stephen’s enemies. That had been the very reason why he had not agreed to ride against de Cotaine’s stronghold, despite the temptation of his wife’s angry taunts.

  His job had been to keep an eye on de Cotaine and discover if he could find out more of what went on between Gloucester’s force and de Cotaine. He could well believe that smiling devil had found it profitable indeed to seem to serve two masters.

  An even more terrible fear smote him. What if de Cotaine, released from guard, was allowed access to Gisela? The man’s hatred for the woman who had accused him must be tremendous. How simple it would be to strike at the unprotected wife of his neighbour!

  No, he mustn’t think like that. He would run mad. Henry, for all his faults and rages, would not allow a gentle girl like Gisela to become prey for an animal such as de Cotaine.

  He forced himself to try to think logically about his own predicament. What would Gisela say of him if she were questioned? He knew she was brave, loyal and spirited, but in this place, surrounded by so many powerful men, she must be terrified. He smote an impotent fist against the rough stone of the wall as his fearful anger rose again threatening to choke him.

  How long must he stay here? Dear God, would he be allowed a chance to explain his presence here in Devizes Castle in what amounted to a disguise? Grimly he faced facts. He doubted it. He was a spy and—as a spy—he would hang, probably at first light. He pulled the stool up against the wall and leaned back wearily.

  It was almost pitch black in this cell now; he could scarce see his own hands and feet. There was nothing he could do but compose himself for an attempt at sleep, here, on the stool, not on that filthy straw. It was unlikely anyone would think it worthwhile to feed him and he was not hungry though it had been some time now since he last ate.

  He let himself think of Gisela as she had been those nights she had lain in his arms and of her fortitude upon the journey. He had recently found himself filled with overwhelming jealousy that had threatened her growing affection for him.

  He knew he loved her now beyond reason, yet he could not move a muscle to protect her and, once again, she could fall into the hands of that handsome, smiling predator. Agonisingly he recognised the probability that his last sight of her would be standing there in the hall outfacing them all.

  He must have been asleep for some hours when he woke suddenly, very confused to find a glaring light shining in his eyes, and knew that a kick had made contact with his shinbone. He started up with a growl to find a stocky figure standing over him.

  A genial voice purred, “Now, now, Alain, no show of temper. That wouldn’t be wise. I’m sorry to rouse you so unceremoniously from sleep, but I considered this was the best time for you and I to have a private talk together. It was your own lady who advised me.”

  Alain stared blearily up into the smiling features of Count Henry as he stood holding the flaring resin torch high above them, scrutinising the face of his prisoner.

  “My lord?” Alain stammered doubtfully.

  “Just let me fix this torch in the bracket there and have a stool brought for me to sit on. Neither of us can be expected to sit on the floor in this filthy place.” The Count sniffed distastefully as he regarded the dirty straw, then slid the torch into the iron bracket upon the wall behind Alain and bawled to someone just outside the cell door.

  “Roger, bring me a stool. Hurry up about it, man. The night will be over before I see my bed at all at this rate.”

  A heavy-set man still clad in mail, considering the lateness of the hour, complied immediately with his Count’s order and hastened into the cell, carrying a second joint stool which he dusted down carefully before setting it down upon the ground. He, too, gazed round the cell in disgust and looked enquiringly at his lord, who waved him imperiously to the door.

  “I shall be quite safe, man. The guards will have seen to it that our prisoner here is not armed and, as you know well enough, I am capable of defending myself, though—” he smiled warmly at the dour-faced soldier who was looking down at him anxiously “—I am always gratified that you are rarely far from my back. And, Roger see to it that we are not overheard.”

  The man glanced warningly towards Alain who was standing awkwardly, back against the wall, then nodded, bowed and stepped through the door. Alain heard the harsh sound of bolts being drawn to on the outside.

  The Count seated himself, grimaced at the chill in the bare place and pulled his heavy furred mantle about him. He gestured to the stool opposite for Alain to sit down again.

  “Now, I understand you wanted to see me. Here I am. It seems a long time since we served together and this meeting now is in unfortunate circumstances, but it will have to serve.” He looked up, grinning. “Tell me why I shouldn’t hang you out of hand, mon cher ami.”

  Alain sank down as the commanding gesture was repeated and blinked somewhat owlishly at his companion. He had still not accustomed his eyes to the light and was confused at being woken so suddenly.

  Count Henry continued cheerfully, “I see you have not lost the art of getting to sleep in uncomfortable surroundings. Remember when we two shared sleeping accommodations stretched out on the cold stone floor outside our lord’s chamber?”

  Alain nodded and forced a grim smile. “I do, my lord, and am gratified that you remember the occasions, too.”

  “Bon, so tell me I have no reason to fear that you have now turned against me and came here to harm my cause. Your lady says I must believe that, despite the way things appear.” His sharp bright eyes turned upon the merchant’s garb, now sadly dirtied and torn at the shoulder by the rough handling of the guards and contact with the floor when Alain had been first thrown into the cell.

  Count Henry read instant alarm in Alain’s face as again he half-started from his stool. “My wife, where is she? If someone has dared to harm her…”

  “The Lady Gisela is perfectly safe. By now she should be asleep in her chamber at your inn and, tomorrow, on her way home to Allestone with her own men and six of my most trusted men-at-arms.” The count indicated the closed door. “My captain, Roger de Miles, handpicked them for me. She will suffer no insult upon the road, believe me.”

  Alain sank back again, visibly relieved. “My lord, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. All these hours—” he drew a shuddering breath “—I have been fearing—” He passed a grimy hand across his eyes and looked up once more. “I should never have brought her here, but…”

  “Yes, now we come to it. I am at a complete loss to know just why you are here at all.” The mobile mouth quirked. “In this damned campaign friend is often set against friend. That is the devil of it, but I know you owe your allegiance to Stephen and, frankly, cannot imagine you playing him false any more than I can believe you came here to do me harm.”

  “I come at the request of my King, my lord.”

  “Ah.” Henry lean
ed back on the stool and his smile faded as he regarded Alain now gravely. “You come on embassy?”

  “I have no direct authority, sir. If I do meet the fate you suggest, the King will make no complaint at my summary treatment at your hands. Indeed—” it was Alain’s turn to give a grim smile “—no help could possibly reach me in time. I realised that only too well. That is why I made arrangements for Gisela to leave here if—if the worst happened.

  “I brought her because the importance of my mission demanded that I take every opportunity presented to get into your presence. She lent similitude to my pretence of being a merchant upon my journey here and she herself was adamant about accompanying me.

  “Her own servants adore her. I knew she would be safe with them, but…” he paused, a trifle shakily “…I could not have anticipated the presence of Baron Mauger de Cotaine of Offen here in Devizes and her reaction to the sight of him. She lost all sense of discretion, as you saw.”

  “He was guilty of the attack upon her manor?” The question was sharply posed and Alain sighed.

  “Aye, my lord, not personally, but, as she alleges, he has surrounded himself with scum who do his bidding.”

  “And he takes the pickings.” The Count nodded. “It is as I thought. The man is useful but—scum, as you say. You realise that, for the present, I must release him from confinement and allow him to continue in his work for us, but—”

  His lips parted in a knowing smile, which was not reflected in the colourless grey eyes. “He will be well watched. I will not have such men in my service. In the end he will be recompensed for his service, though maybe not in the manner he hopes.”

  The two exchanged long looks and Alain made a little intake of breath, as if satisfied at last.

  Count Henry continued to stare long and hard at his prisoner. “Well, man, you come on the King’s business. What business?”

  Alain turned to avoid that stare for one moment, then turned back to face the Count.

  “Nothing official must be implied. I think,” he said slowly, “the King wished me to see you again to judge whether, in my view, you have changed.”