By Right of Arms

by Robyn Carr

  Why could Giles not be strong …

  … Or Hyatt weak?

  * * *

  Aurélie entered the common room of the hall after nones, the afternoon prayers. She had prayed overlong, for her confession could not yet be fully drawn from her. She wished to seek the help and absolution from Father Algernon for her sin of cursing her dead husband for his weaknesses and hating her living husband for his strengths. But lacking the courage to bare her soul to a mortal man, she begged divine inspiration, and still left the chapel feeling empty.

  The common room was quiet, for all castlefolk were using the best of daylight in their outdoor works. She was surprised by the few who lingered there and stunned to see Baptiste sitting on a rug of skins before the hearth, playing with Hyatt’s son. Aurélie looked around the room and did not see any of Faon’s servants, not even Perrine. She had only seen the child a few times, and never at close hand. He seemed to be kept mostly out of sight. She approached Baptiste and the child, crouching down near them.

  “Baptiste, how have you come by this chore? ’Tis not what I asked you to do.”

  “I could not help it, lady. The woman threw the child into my arms and told me to watch him here until she returns. There was nothing to be done but obey her.”

  “She must surely intend to find some fault with your care. Did you not think to seek out one of her other servants?”

  “I could find none, madame. I would not dare leave him unattended.”

  Aurélie ran a gentle finger along the child’s chubby arm and he turned trusting brown eyes toward her, smiling and gurgling happily. There was little doubt that he was Hyatt’s. Though his face was roundly padded with baby fat, the set of his eyes, his wide, strong cheekbones, and square chin pronounced his paternity. His hair, thick and wavy brown like his father’s, fell in the same errant fashion.

  “Baptiste, what is his name?”

  “Derek.”

  “Ah, Derek,” Aurélie said, smiling and putting both hands out. “Such a handsome lad.”

  The little one grasped her fingers quickly and pulled himself up on chubby legs. He began a rhythmic babbling of bah, bah, bah, swinging Aurélie’s hands as if in a dance. Aurélie knelt, letting the little boy play his game, laughing with him and making equally incoherent sounds, adding a few “weeeee’s” and “boo’s” for his entertainment. Not two minutes passed before she was pulled into the child’s games and oblivious to all else. Worry was dismissed as Baptiste played too.

  They formed a triangle among them to roll a ball, Derek’s effort bringing more giggles from Aurélie and Baptiste. There were hand clapping, tickling, and face making. For a moment Aurélie had forgotten that the child was Hyatt’s bastard son and that she was a prisoner-wife. It was so natural to play with the child, to cuddle the softness of his baby skin, to listen and laugh at his crude attempts at words, and try to help him refine his speech.

  A shadow fell across their play. Behind Aurélie stood Faon, erect and frowning. Her rich velvet gown lay in wide gathers around her feet and gold bracelets decorated both arms. Faon never covered her magnificent hair, but wore it fully curled about her face and falling in ringlets to her shoulders. She tossed her loose coiffure as if it were a lion’s mane.

  “I should have known I could not trust you,” she said unpleasantly. “You’ve let the witch near my son, when this woman means him harm. Now you’ll be punished.”

  Aurélie rose quickly, facing the fiery vixen bravely, though she was smaller and slimmer. “Nay, madame, she will not be punished. You forced her into your service against my word and that of Hyatt’s, and she’ll come away with me now. You may tend to your son yourself.” Aurélie reached out a hand to help Baptiste to her feet, leading her quickly away and toward the stair.

  “You think you fool me with your little games?” Faon railed behind her. “Hah! The boy’s presence frightens you as much as mine. Derek will inherit all that is Hyatt’s and he will never deny my rights as the child’s mother. You are a prisoner, nothing more. You are kept against your will, while I am invited to stay as an honored guest. Do not think yourself so superior, lady, for your time is short … especially now that your father is gone.”

  Aurélie turned before mounting the stairs. She judged the woman’s brazen beauty and noted that her flashing green eyes were filled with fear. She wondered if Faon would display such a tantrum if the room were filled with Hyatt’s men, but the common room held only two young pages seated in a distant corner with armaments to mend and polish. The well-trained English youths turned a deaf ear to the scene and kept their eyes downcast as good lackeys should.

  Faon was losing ground. The child was the fulcrum on which she balanced the precarious weight of Hyatt’s tolerance. In a sudden flash of truth Aurélie realized that it did not matter how Hyatt regarded his marriage, whether it was a union of deep feeling or a bond tied for material safety. Hyatt was selfish, stubborn, and strong. If he desired Faon he would have spent many nights with her.

  “You are right, Faon,” she said softly. “You are here as an honored guest, because you are Derek’s mother.”

  Aurélie pushed Baptiste up the stairs ahead of her and followed, listening to Faon’s outraged shouting behind her, soon turning Derek’s pleasant gurgles of fun into cries of discomfort and fear. “How dare you speak to me so! You high-flown bitch! You have no children of his loins, but mayhap if they ever come from your barren womb, Hyatt will strike them down to preserve his son’s demesne, and you will surely know what he loves!”

  Aurélie closed her bedchamber doors on the cries of the mother and child. She felt pity and sadness for the boy, having to grow up in such a terrible, jealous home. Perhaps Lavergne was right. Hyatt’s decision to keep faithful to his promises would breed trouble. Faon’s presence might be more than even the stalwart knight could endure, and it was certainly a trial for Aurélie.

  “Do not leave my room unless it is on some errand of my bidding,” she warned Baptiste. “I do not know her purpose, but clearly you are the one person upon whom she can easily vent her anger.”

  “What am I to do?”

  “Stay away, when possible. Perhaps it will pass.”

  “But lady, we did the child no harm. We …”

  “Understand, lass, the woman sees the child as harmed by his mere knowledge of me. She fears that Hyatt’s marriage will cost her too much. Only I know that Hyatt wed me at my father’s request, to help him secure these castle walls on his behalf.” Aurélie cocked her head and listened to the quiet. The ranting and crying had stopped. “Come with me to the weaving rooms, lass, and help me to look over the yarns and cloth.”

  * * *

  Faon burst from the double doors of the hall and ran into the courtyard, crying and hugging Derek close to her bosom. She passed a dozen serfs and fettered men-at-arms in her flight to the stable. Tears coursed her cheeks and she panted in sobs, not ceasing until she came to an abrupt halt at Girvin’s solid chest. “Hyatt,” she whimpered piteously. “I need Hyatt. Where is he?”

  “He is judging a mare for breeding. What is it you wish?”

  “Get him!” she demanded. She looked up into Girvin’s fierce expression. “Get him, you overgrown lout!”

  Girvin stiffened, his dislike for this woman eating like worms through his gut. “I’ll decide if he is to be called out of the stable, Mistress Faon. Tell me your problem.”

  Faon pushed her whimpering son toward the huge knight. Derek squealed once at being moved so harshly. His nose was wet and his eyes were dripping with tears. She showed Girvin a chubby bare leg on which the delicate skin was scorched raw in a perfect line that ran from his little thigh to his calf and swelled with a blister of blood.

  “The bitch found my child alone with one of her servants and tried to maim him. ’Tis the mark of a hot poker that burned him, and had I not come into the hall, she might have killed him.”

  “Lady Aurélie?” he asked, the sound more of an angry growl than a question.
>
  “Aye, the lady! Do you doubt it, fool? Why would she allow a poor bastard child of mine to live, to take away all that she thinks is hers? Get Hyatt for me at once.”

  “You bring the injured lad here? Why do you not take the boy to be tended?”

  “He must see,” she wept. “Hyatt,” she yelled in the direction of the stable. “Hyatt!”

  “Get the boy tended,” Girvin ordered. “I will find his father and send him.”

  “Hyatt! I want Hyatt!”

  “Mistress, you—”

  The stable doors opened with a bang and Hyatt took long strides toward the bickering twosome. His quilted gambeson was rolled up over his elbows and his hands were filthy with stable dirt. He looked in confusion at Faon, her tear-stained face, and at his crying son burying his face into his mother’s bosom. “What the devil is …”

  “Your lady wife, milord,” she cried, her voice no longer shouting but wheedling. “I could not find anyone to tend the boy and left him with that useless child who serves your lady. The lady hates the child, milord. She … she … burned him!” She pushed Derek toward Hyatt and upon seeing his father, Derek burst into cries anew and reached for him.

  As Hyatt’s eyes fell to the injured leg, fury sparkled in his eyes. He took Derek from Faon, carefully holding the burned leg away. “You saw her do this?”

  Faon gasped with sobs. “She fled as I entered the hall. Of course it was she. None of your own nor any of these pitiful swine you have conquered would dare, but she is so jealous of the flesh of your loins, milord. ’Tis because she is barren and cannot have children for you. What did you expect from her? You gave her this power through marriage. Oh, Hyatt, you hurt Derek so badly when you refused your name.”

  Hyatt’s muscles quivered with the will it took not to sputter in rage. “He has my name! He may be called bastard by others, but I have given my oath and promise to my son and ’tis you without proper titles and names. Where is she?”

  “I don’t know, Hyatt. When Derek was crying from his hurt, she fled. Hyatt, you must end this with her … before she kills your son.”

  “Where is Perrine?”

  “To chapel to atone for her sins. She is insolent and not to be trusted. I cannot depend on her to keep my son safe from the bitch who claims to be lady of this castle.”

  Hyatt looked over his shoulder to the stable doors where Guillaume stood, his appearance much like Hyatt’s. The men had been hard at work currying destriers and making decisions about which mares to breed and which to keep fallow. At the slur against Perrine, Guillaume’s features hardened, but he said nothing.

  Hyatt stormed past Faon, the child clinging to him with little arms tight around his neck.

  “Hyatt, where do you go? Hyatt, you must help us; you must protect us.”

  He heard Faon’s cries and the sound of her feet, running to keep up with him, padding along behind him.

  “Hyatt, say you will give me justice! Hyatt, promise me justice!”

  He kicked open the door to the common room, nearly taking the heavy oak off its leather hinges. A page came running from the cookrooms in response to the noise.

  “Lady Aurélie,” he barked, his eyes bright with anger. “Where is she?”

  “I do not know, my lord. I have not seen her.”

  Hyatt took the stairs two at a time, Faon close behind him. He could hear the sound of her heavy skirts, which she lifted in an attempt to equal his speed. He used his foot to open his bedchamber door, but there was no one in the room. He shouted once for her, his voice booming down the dark gallery. A frightened maid peeked into the hall. “The looms, milord,” she said weakly.

  Hyatt climbed a third flight and by this time Faon was losing her stamina. But Hyatt moved swiftly in the direction of his wife, cradling his son close to his chest.

  Faon labored up the third flight, her eyes dry and her head clear. She does not know what havoc his anger is, Faon thought. He values his son above all else and while I could be trod upon by the feet of any swine, Derek cannot be abused or Hyatt will surely kill. Perhaps on this very day the bitch will lose her head …

  The door to the weaving rooms burst open and startled gasps rose.

  “Aurélie!”

  She rushed toward him with fearful concern brightening her eyes. She looked first at Hyatt’s face and then at the child. Hyatt turned the boy and exposed the burn. “Dear God,” Aurélie breathed. She did not consider but one reason for his coming. “Oh Hyatt, give him to me. Your hands are dirty,” she said, taking the child gently from his father’s arms. Derek was willingly transferred and put his head on her shoulder, his cries now subdued to tired whimpers. “My grease and salves from my chamber, Hyatt. You know the pouch. Hurry! Oh sweetheart, poor thing,” she cooed.

  Hyatt stood immobile, watching as Aurélie took Derek into her tender arms. She carried him toward the window ledge, where she sat on a long bench and held the boy on her lap.

  “Baptiste, clean water and rags. Quickly now.” She held Derek’s cheek against her bosom while she held out the injured leg for a better look. Impatient for her maid to bring a basin of water, she lifted her hem and used the soft fabric of her shift to wipe the dirt of Hyatt’s hands away from the sore, murmuring to the child as she did so. “Oh, my lamb, you are so brave, so good. Sweet little dove, it will heal quickly.” She looked up impatiently at the boy’s father. “Hyatt! My pouch!”

  From behind Hyatt came a startled gasp. “Hyatt, get my son away from that witch. Hyatt!”

  Hyatt walked into the room and took the basin away from Baptiste. “Go for the pouch that the lady needs,” he said. He took the basin to Aurélie, noting that Derek sat on her lap without resisting, without crying. Aurélie did not even regard Hyatt, nor did she notice Faon. All of her attention was focused on the child.

  Hyatt turned his back on Aurélie’s ministrations. He stared across the room at Faon. The tears on the woman’s face had dried and her eyes reflected this betrayal with cold accuracy. He took slow, pained steps toward her and as she watched him approach, she checked her temper.

  “I will put the boy in your care only one more time,” he said evenly. “Tread carefully, Faon, and understand that I do this as a debt I owe to you because you labored with his birth. But it is the last time.”

  “You do not even question her. You do not even suspect her.”

  He raised a questioning brow. “You said you did not see who did this thing to my son. Do you lie?”

  “Nay. I found him thus, but it was she who hurried away from the accident.”

  “You should never find my son thus. I grant you servants to help you because it is my wish to be generous with you. But I keep you with me only because you are his mother.”

  She shook her head in denial. “You have cast me aside for that haughty witch, but before …”

  “Nay,” he snapped. “Before it was the same as now. I gave you your choice long ago, when you came with child because of my errant affection. I offered you sustenance and a strong arm to lean upon in deference to what you would give me—a son. But you had my word that I would never marry you. It is not too late for you to leave, but …” He turned and looked across the room at his wife and child. “But you will leave without him.”

  “How do you live with yourself, doing this to me?”

  “You did not mind that we were unwed before. You even preferred it. You have used much authority among my men with your haughty behavior. And you have failed in the one thing I have asked of you; it is your duty and no other’s to see him properly tended. If a lazy or stupid servant injures him, whether intentionally or innocently, ’tis you who must take blame for putting him in jeopardy.”

  “You know not how unjust your designs, Sir Hyatt.” She gave her head an angry toss in the direction of Aurélie. “You will regret this, for you have put your son’s welfare in the hands of the same one who will do him harm.”

  Hyatt chuckled at the woman’s absurdity, his voice low and mocking. “Ar
e you that much of an imbecile? I knew you to be conniving, but I never thought you were stupid. If Aurélie wished vengeance, she could make me a eunuch in the dark of night, for I lie bereft of armor at her side and, I admit, I sleep soundly. She would not have to stoop so low as to hurt a defenseless babe.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “But what of you, woman? How low would you sink for vengeance? Would you harm your own son?”

  “How … ?” She looked at him aghast, words failing her and her question stopped incomplete. Her eyes welled with genuine tears and she turned from him, fleeing down the stairs. He heard her sobs dwindle with the distance and in another moment Girvin was trudging heavily up the stairs. The knight’s face was stony and dark.

  “Hyatt, a page says that Faon was alone in the common room before the shrieks of the child were heard.”

  “Did the page see the accident?”

  “He is one of ours, Hyatt. He sees nothing that he is not bidden to see. But I warn you that Faon …”

  Hyatt held up his hand to halt Girvin, more than aware that Girvin had a severe dislike for the audacious mistress. “I have heard enough of blame and accusations. If no one saw it happen, we do not know how it happened. What matters now is that he is tended.”

  Girvin looked past him into the weaving room and far to the rear, past the still and silent looms, a group of women were gathered around Aurélie and Derek.

  “ ’Tis not what the wench expected you to do,” Girvin snorted. “You fuel the hate. Be wary, Hyatt. You, of all people, should know how treacherous a woman can be, if allowed. And yet you keep two, when both have cause to hate you. That I have failed to teach you is excusable. That you have failed to learn from your own life is unfortunate.” Without waiting for any reply, Girvin turned and left his master alone in the corridor.

  * * *

  Aurélie felt depleted of emotion by the time her duties were called to the cookrooms and common hall. She moved through her task of overseeing the dinner with an unusually soft voice. When a page failed to carry a tray filled with meats to a table full of English men-at-arms, she carried it herself rather than chastising the youth.