By Right of Arms

by Robyn Carr

  * * *

  There was no second messenger for Hyatt, and Aurélie had set out more food each night than was needed, yet she went to bed each night alone, for he did not come in the two or three days promised. Seven days passed before she warily approached Girvin.

  “My lord is delayed somehow, Sir Girvin,” she said softly.

  Girvin looked at her for a long moment. His voice was nearly a whisper. “Do not be afraid for him, my lady. Bad news travels very swiftly and we would have heard something if he were in trouble.”

  “Sir Girvin … ?” She stopped herself. He looked at her with a puzzled frown and she touched him, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “ ’Tis nothing,” she said. “Thank you.”

  She turned to go and he called her back. “My lady, each night for four nights there has been more roasted meat than necessary and …”

  “ ’Tis my fault, Sir Girvin. I do not disregard your hard efforts in hunting, and I appreciate your talents better than anyone. I have only thought there would be a hearty and hungry troop, and perhaps I should wait until Hyatt is here in fact before ordering the roasting done.”

  Girvin smiled at her. “I do not criticize you, my lady. It is to your credit that you do right by the messenger’s warning. I need an extra bowman on the hunt and I would ask for Sir Guillaume, if you think he can manage a spear and bow well, and if you can spare him from trailing at your skirts.”

  She was surprised and delighted by the request. It was also the second time that Girvin had used Guillaume’s title with his name, as if the time of Guillaume’s restoration came closer each day. “He is among the best huntsmen, Girvin, and is ill disposed to play nursemaid to me. Take him with my blessing.”

  “Do you carry a dagger, madame?”

  She laughed good-naturedly, a soft ripple of amusement that caused Girvin’s stony features to relax into a complacent pose. “Only Faon would dare threaten me, and if she does I shall simply offer her one of our best horses for her amusement, and my vengeance would be served.”

  “Be careful,” he warned before their conversation ended.

  In the days since Hyatt had left, Girvin had stirred her curiosity a great deal. Of course, he was closest at hand to protect what Hyatt had claimed, for there seemed to be a bond between the two men that ran deeper than blood relation. And in Girvin’s eyes Aurélie had begun to see that softness of love and devotion, much like what passed between brothers or fathers and sons.

  She had almost asked him about Giles’s death, for although Girvin was a terrifying, ruthless knight, there was something about him that was like a snag in her understanding of him. He seemed anxious to kill, yet he also regarded useless death as a waste, as did Hyatt. He struck terror in hearts when he loomed in his threatening position, yet she had never seen him act unfairly or cruelly. Upon her first sight of him, with his admission that his sword had dealt the final blow to Giles, she had decided never to forgive him. But she doubted, now, that Girvin had killed without cause. And, even more, she doubted Giles could possibly have possessed the courage to attack one such as Girvin.

  Aurélie was cautious in her pursuit of information about Verel and was limited to glancing about the area of the stables and corrals whenever she was within the village or outer bailey. She did not see him, but neither did she hear anyone in the hall remark on his absence. These knights of Hyatt’s were extremely attentive to details, and she doubted he had slipped away unnoticed. But she dared not betray her own knowledge of his plan and if she saw Faon, she skittered away like a frightened rabbit, not willing to exchange words or glances with the woman.

  It was more than a week since the messenger had come when she stood at her bedchamber window and stared pensively at the stars in the clear black sky. Hyatt, do you live?

  She doffed her chemise and crawled under the down quilt. She wondered briefly what would become of her if Hyatt were killed in some skirmish between Limoges and De la Noye. Would she be passed to a new owner, be executed, or be left as a dowager? Perhaps she would be dependent upon Girvin, who, she assumed, would act as a protector to Derek until the boy grew up.

  But these questions quickly passed, since the real cause for distress lay in how she would grieve for the loss of this man’s body’s warmth beside her. And his strength would be gone … a strength she felt certain no one could match. She now truly belonged to a man, and she knew she could never belong to another. Yet he did not love her, so where was her purpose?

  He has conquered me, she thought. I am his, and it is as if I had no life before him. But he is not mine; I know nothing of this well-reared, well-lettered man who chooses to be known as a bastard. ’Tis plain he was highly born and has somehow learned the wisdom and justice of the highest nobles, yet he attacks and fights under the shield of a base-born knight and will not confide one moment of his past to me. I lie in this bed that was ours, missing him, wanting him, and for what? He goes to great lengths to make love to me tenderly, and still greater lengths to remind me that all I mean to his existence is what I can bring in service to his cause. Oh love, if you are my love, will I ever be cherished by you? Will you ever let me cherish you, or would my spoken word only make you fearful that I am cut of the same cloth as Faon?

  He filled her thoughts, which turned to dreams, as on many nights before this. She dozed fitfully, torn with concern for his safety, coupled with worry for her own sanity. She had nearly come to cry out with longing for the man who forced his whim on her lands, her home, and her heart. Every time she settled herself again into the quilt, she saw his face in her sleep.

  In the blackest hour of the night she was startled awake by the crashing of metal, and she bolted upright. Her chamber was black; there was no candle and only a sliver of the moon shone through the shutters. The summer heat made a fire unnecessary and so she could see nothing at all. She reached under her pillow and felt the handle of her dagger and drew it, holding it against the unknown intruder.

  The sound of scratching flint and then a spark and light across the room caused her to let her breath out slowly. But she was still poised upright, dagger raised, a torrent of hair falling over her shoulders and curling to cover her breasts, and the quilt at her waist.

  “Hold, Aurélie,” Hyatt whispered.

  As he walked toward her, she slowly let the dagger drop, resting on her thighs. “Hyatt? It is the middle of the night.”

  “Closer to dawn,” he said, smiling down at her. “I dropped my gear. This chamber is crowded in the dark.”

  “You didn’t make camp for the night?”

  He leaned over the bed and gently pulled the dagger from her hand, putting it aside. He sat down beside her and in the dim light she could see the harsh effects of many days on the road. He had not been lolling about as some guest or wooing any farmer’s daughter. His beard was thick, his face burned by the sun, and the dust and dirt on his clothes caused the smell of the horses and leather to cling to him. But his hand deftly pushed her thick hair over her shoulder to expose her naked breast and she did not cringe from his touch. Rather, she welcomed it.

  “I could not wait another night for you,” he whispered.

  She let her eyes gently close. “Do you treasure me after all, milord?”

  He chuckled, a deep and seductive sound. “You doubted it? I do not know what games women play, but with men, I can assure you, their passion is only aroused when their minds are. ’Tis not a thing simply willed. Aye, wench, I treasure you. You pleasure me greatly.”

  Though it was not all that she wished to hear from him, she quickly decided that she would not press him further on this night, since the gentle touch of his calloused hand already sent ripples of pleasure spiraling through her. Her cheeks grew flushed in anticipation and she tilted her head back as his lips lightly touched hers.

  “Is there a chance you have missed me as well, chérie?”

  “I have been worried that some terrible battle delayed you—” was all she was willing to admit.

  �
� ’Twas nonsense that delayed me, but we need not speak of it now. I could have made camp and waited another day.” He kissed her again, a deeper kiss. “Nay. I could not have.”

  Her hand rose to rest on his chest. “You must be hungry.”

  “Aye,” he whispered, covering her mouth in a searing kiss. He pulled her hard against him, crushing her breasts against the rough cloth of his gambeson. His lips dropped to her bare shoulder, his hands under her, urging her closer. “I am famished.”

  “I could fetch food,” she breathlessly offered.

  He chuckled softly and, without putting much space between them, removed his gambeson and tossed it aside. He shed his boots, chausses, and loincloth in one swift motion and was pressing her down into the bed. “What fruit would satisfy me when I only wish to taste your flesh? What wine can you bring me to substitute for the thirst I have, that only your body can quench? I have not slept a night that your rosy hips, teasing breasts, and witch’s locks did not torment me. I am hungry for you, and I shall take my fill.”

  “Oh, Hyatt,” she breathed, clinging to him. From deep within her she could sense the urgency of her own desire and she could choose no word of love more eloquently than his own poetic verse.

  He nibbled at her ear, her neck, and her breast. Her sighs mingled with his seductive words, muttered against each curve of her body. What had once been acquiescence on her part was now a wanton craving, and she opened herself to him willingly, urgently. But he held himself at bay and teased her.

  “Tell me you want me, chérie. Or deny it if you can.”

  Her hips rose with a will beyond her ken, desperate for him. “I want you, Hyatt,” she obliged in a whisper. “Be my love.”

  His fingers handled her body with the finesse of a true craftsman; his lips tempted hers until she was wild with pleasure. “I will be your lover … until you can stand no more.”

  When her sighs of pleasure turned to gasps of desperate longing, he moved within her slowly, rhythmically, torturing her with some ecstasy she thought she could not bear. Her words began to flow as easily as his, as she lost herself in his lovemaking and murmured her own endearments against his ears. She clung to him in a fever, with the force she would have used to keep herself afloat against a raging river.

  And the river swept her away in a wild, pulsing joy of brilliance that consumed her. She was frozen by the mystical shower of passion fulfilled, grasping him tightly in awe, in wonder.

  He felt her achievement and she heard the confirmation from his lips in a breath. “Ah, my love, at last …”

  Aurélie had never given or taken so much. She lay panting within his arms, their bodies covered with a mist of rapture past. It was a long while before her rapid breathing subsided, and longer still before she could speak. And when the words did come, they trembled with emotion. “Oh, Hyatt …”

  “You did not know, Aurélie? What did you think passed between men and women? Where was the reason for sport, if not the reward?”

  “I did not know,” she said simply. “I suppose I should have guessed.”

  He rose on an elbow and looked down into her eyes. “There is the power which men are willing to kill for … and ofttimes women use to snare unwilling victims into their traps.”

  “It feels a little like death,” she softly mused. She reached a hand to gently touch his cheek. “But it occurs to me, Hyatt, that it is not just a power that pushes men to kill and women to show their treachery, but mayhap a power so glorious that soothes what pain has been endured and gives men and women alike the courage to love.”

  He stared down at her for a long moment, considering this. When he opened his mouth to speak, she placed the palms of her hands on his cheeks and pulled his face down to hers, kissing his lips. “Nay, Hyatt, do not speak. I do not wish to hear you argue this point and spoil the moment. It is too precious to me.”

  A slight smile touched his lips before he returned her kiss, and let many more precious moments follow the first.

  * * *

  Although Hyatt had suffered a lack of rest, both on the road and in his chamber, he was dressed and gone with sunrise. Aurélie stirred, finding herself alone, and almost laughed at his determined nature. He would not be weakened by love or love’s play. His duties would never go undone.

  She washed from a basin of fresh water brought by Baptiste and donned a clean gown. Her cheeks were pink, if not from a night of untold pleasures, at least from the chafing of Hyatt’s beard. She made a silent, and somewhat cheerful, resolution to play lackey and see him properly shaved.

  Hyatt was still at his morning meal when she descended into the hall. Several of his men stood around while he sat, talking and eating. He noticed her arrival and looked in her direction. “Perhaps Aurélie can tell you how he managed. Have you asked her?”

  She stopped short and looked at Hyatt and some of the faces surrounding him. One young man flushed slightly before speaking. “Nay, Hyatt, we feared it would sound too much like an accusation.”

  He pulled the chair beside him out from the table for her to seat herself, his eyes studying her broodingly as she approached. “Sir Verel of Giles’s troop is gone, Aurélie. Did you know he planned to escape?”

  She looked down. “I strongly suspected from the first, milord.”

  “And you chose not to warn me? Or Girvin?”

  She took a bolstering breath and met his eyes. “I am sorry for your loss, messire, for Verel was good and strong, and if he could have been shown the way to save his pride yet change his allegiance, you would have had a good man in your own troop. But he was an enemy and could not change. I think it is better he is gone, than in De la Noye, reduced to plotting against a force he could never best. If I said nothing it was because he is not a threat to you, but your justice would have forced his death. I have wanted to spare anyone from the old troop of De la Noye.”

  “Do you know who gave him a horse and weapons?”

  “How are you certain he had these things?”

  “ ’Twas a small group of thieves or soldiers who delayed us. We found them leaving a village with their booty and though we chased them far, for two days, they had good mounts and evaded us. Left behind in one of their flights was a cloak with an initial on the collar. It belonged to one of my men. It was stolen.”

  “Did you see Verel?”

  “Nay, but I have reason to believe he was among them. And we have found the hole he burrowed under the wall, behind the stable. The shovel given to him was to scrape the stable floor free of dung, but he put it to better use.”

  “Is it possible that the thieves came upon Verel, killed him, and relieved him of his gear?”

  Hyatt slowly shook his head, his eyes boring through her. “Do you know who outfitted him, my lady? Do you know his purpose now?”

  “Messire, I know that none of those knights whom you have reduced to beaten vassels gave him aid, but I cannot say from whence his help came. And he spoke of finding a French force north of Avignon to attack De la Noye, but he is dreaming. He will find no one to come this far, especially on his behalf. His anger bites him deeply, and he will not fare this escape well. I warned him.”

  Hyatt took his eyes off her for the first time and looked to his men. “Carry on and forget the knave. He is among thieves and scavengers now, and if that satisfies him more than an army, so be it. But fill the spot and keep your eyes sharper now.”

  When the men had drifted away he looked again at his wife. “Do you lie to me, my lady?”

  “Nay, Hyatt. ’Twould be of no use.”

  “Did you ask Verel to stay and take up arms on my behalf?”

  “I only said that it was possible, in time, for his skills to be proven and you had no use for talented stableboys. I have seen you command, seigneur. I know you to make good use of each man.”

  Hyatt slowly nodded. “Is there more?”

  Girvin had wandered into the hall, glanced briefly at Hyatt and Aurélie with a slight nod, and gone to the barrel to dip
a cup of cold water for himself.

  “Nay, Hyatt. There is nothing more.”

  “You spoke of changed loyalties. Have you now changed yours?”

  “Have you, my lord?”

  “What? I cannot—”

  “You swore your oath as husband for the sake of usefulness and alliance. Is that your allegiance still?”

  “Aye.”

  “And so is mine the same; for the sake of this castle and its people, I am beaten.”

  As he looked at her, his hand slipped over hers in her lap. He gave it a slight squeeze. “You play the beaten one so well that I sometimes wonder if you mean to use it as a weapon, rather than a sufferance. Do you think that if you remind me over and over that I have won, I will forget there has been a war and you were a parcel of the booty?”

  “I assure you, messire, I am not clever enough to use your victory as any plot against you.”

  “I wonder, Aurélie. You are an unusual woman. I will ask you again, do you know who aided Verel?”

  “If she has suspicions,” Girvin’s voice interrupted, “do not insist that she make wishes into verdicts, Hyatt. You will not find the truth by demanding her thoughts. I have suspicions as well. Suspicions are hot for as long as a fire poker in the snow, and as useful. I will not name them.”

  “What do you say?”

  “I have said enough. If I knew who spirited the boy away and could prove it, I would tell you. ’Twas not Lady Aurélie.”

  “You have earned the trust I have in your word,” Hyatt said. “How am I to be assured that this woman, my wife by conquest, would tell me what she knows? She has not yet earned my trust.”

  Girvin laughed deeply, the rumbling noise causing Hyatt to stiffen and Aurélie to listen attentively. “I have seen how the whining accusations of women deepen your trust in them. Leave the lady be. Verel is better gone. He would have gotten himself killed had he stayed here. Lady Aurélie does you a service with her silence, more so than she could with wily and hopeful tales.”