Читать книгу Her Banished Lord - Carol Townend, Carol Townend - Страница 9

Owing to the need for discretion, Hugh Duclair had three horses stabled at one of the quieter inns a little downstream from Jumièges. The inn was small and in need of repair, daylight was visible through the stable roof. It was not a place in which he would choose to stable horses in winter, but since it was summer and a hot one at that, he had known the animals would be snug enough.

Having paid their accounting with the innkeeper, Hugh and his squire, Gil, were riding back along the riverbank towards the port. The river was almost at the full, and swifts screeched across the sky, fast as arrows.

Hugh was thinking about Aude de Crèvecoeur. Great God, it had knocked him back seeing her this morning. Edouard, Hugh had been half-expecting to see, but his sister…No, seeing Aude had been a surprise.

Each time Hugh saw Aude it seemed that she was becoming more and more beautiful. Little Brat, he had called her, years ago, and the name had stuck, much to her irritation. There had been no trace of the Brat today. At first Hugh had thought Aude was ignoring him, as well she ought given his present circumstances—it would not serve her well to recognise him. But what had startled him most wasn’t the way his heart had lifted at sight of her—he had always been fond of little Aude—it was the way his gut had twisted when she had not immediately acknowledged him.

The matter of his banishment had hardened him; Hugh had learned to inure himself to his friends rejecting him. Politics—he knew it was just a question of politics. But it would seem that Aude was an exception; he had thoroughly disliked it when she had not recognised him.

Might Aude come to believe that the accusations against him were true? That there was no smoke without fire? Hugh’s jaw clenched. He could only pray, could only trust that she would remember their past friendship.

He grimaced and glanced down ruefully at his horse, an unremarkable bay gelding. Aude might not recognise him if she saw him now. The previous time they had met, he had been riding into Crèvecoeur on Shadow, his warhorse. With a full escort.

Hugh forced his thoughts back to the present. His warhorse had been left at Freyncourt—Shadow was far too showy for a man not wishing to attract attention to himself. After midnight tonight, he should be out of the Duchy. Which was why he was wearing a worn grey tunic and was astride a gelding he hadn’t bothered to name, an animal that had more temper than manners. Gil was mounted on a small black, a brown mare on a leading rein trotted beside him. The mare belonged to Hugh’s thirteen-year-old sister Louise.

Louise was, if she had done as Hugh had ordered, waiting for them back at the barge. Hugh loved his little sister and enjoyed her company, but in the dark days ahead, he was going to have to part with her. He had no right to drag his sister all over Christendom while he fought to clear his name.

‘I hope Louise hasn’t taken it into her head to explore the market,’ he said. ‘We shall be casting off at high tide; the ship won’t wait for her. Besides, she really must learn that we have no coin to spare until we regain what the Bishop has stolen from us.’

‘No, my lord,’ Gil murmured. ‘I am sure Lady Louise understands.’

Hugh looked bleakly at his squire. ‘Are you?’

Anger burned deep within him. Anger at the calumnies spread against him, anger that the Bishop’s lies had been so readily believed. He and his sister were reduced to penury, because the Bishop of St Aubin wanted to keep the silver his father had deposited with him for safe-keeping. Family silver. Freyncourt silver.

Hugh might be a Count, but he was discovering it was not easy proving his innocence. He had, so the word went, supported Duke William’s enemies in the recent power struggle in Flanders. And the documents that would support the deposits his father had left with the Bishop had gone missing. At first Hugh had thought, naïvely, as it turned out, that it would be a simple matter of proving his innocence, of finding those documents. How wrong he had been.

His Holiness, the Bishop of St Aubin, vehemently denied the existence of the Freyncourt silver.

And the document that proved it?

Missing from his father’s strongbox.

‘I wish I had your confidence, Gil; we only have a few hours to quit the Duchy.’

‘I am sure she will be waiting at the barge, my lord.’

Hugh frowned. ‘Gil?’

‘My lord?’

‘You really must dispense with my title from now on. It will be important you use my Christian name in the days to come.’

‘Yes…Hugh.’

Against all the odds, Hugh felt a smile forming. ‘And for God’s sake, try to use it more naturally, you sound as though it might choke you.’

‘I am sorry…Hugh…but I think that it might. I will endeavour to try harder.’

‘See that you do. Today we hired ourselves out as ship’s porters to save a coin or two. But tomorrow? Who knows what part we will have to play tomorrow? If you cannot address me as an equal—and my sister, too, for that matter—I shall have to dismiss you until I am reinstated.’

Gil’s expression of horror was eloquent enough to make further words unnecessary. His squire would, Hugh was sure, get it right from now on.

They lapsed into silence. Hugh was lost in his plans when an alarm bell jerked him out of them.

Gil yelped and pointed downriver. ‘Holy Mother, what is that?’

A wave was rolling along the river. Couldn’t be, but it was.

A wave?

Hugh’s heart began to thud. He dug his heels into the gelding’s ribs. ‘La barre,’ he muttered.

The wave was rushing upstream towards the port. White crests foamed at both banks. In the centre, a wall of water reared up.

Behind him, Gil began to babble as he spurred his horse. ‘My l—Hugh! The boats! The jetties!’

‘More to the point—Louise!’

Hugh gave the gelding his head. They pounded up the track towards the quays.

In the port ahead, others had noticed the wave. People were crying out, pointing, dragging pack animals away from the water side, darting forwards to drag bales of wool clear of the water-line. The tocsin rang on, louder than before.

Louise! She should be on the barge. The blood thumped in Hugh’s ears as beneath him the gelding’s hoofs drummed the ground. The wall of water was closer, almost level with the port itself. Hugh had heard tales about tidal surges, had heard of the damage they caused, but until this moment he had thought them exaggeration. Now as he stared dry-mouthed at the approaching surge, he wasn’t so sure.

Louise! As the gelding thundered towards the port, part of him was praying that his sister had disobeyed him. She often did. But the cold lump in his belly was telling him that this time, Louise had done as she was told. ‘Stay in the boat,’ he had said. ‘Be good.’ Mon Dieu.

‘We’re too far away!’ The despair in Gil’s voice sounded like Louise’s death knell. ‘Impossible to get there!’

Hell! The surge was a mere five yards from their barge which, since it was moored at the end of the jetty, would be one of the first to be struck. Hugh focused on a slight figure in a brown gown and his blood turned to ice—Louise! There she was, she had heard the commotion, had run to the ship’s rail to stare.

‘Get out, Louise!’ Hugh yelled. ‘Get out!’ But it was hopeless, Louise could not hear him. It was too late, he could never reach her in time.

Hugh Duclair had told Aude the truth; another river barge was indeed moored downstream, in a shady inlet behind the far jetty. Sir Olivier—he was being most useful—had helped her find it.

Aude had booked passage on it for the following morning, and with the knight’s assistance had covertly acquired new travelling chests. Aude’s maid, Edwige, had quickly transferred most of Aude’s belongings to the new chests.

The old trunks had been plain wood, studded and banded with iron. The new ones were painted, the surfaces covered with daisy-like flowers. Once Edwige had finished packing, Aude and Sir Olivier had between them supervised their safe stowing on the barge in the backwater.

That being done, Aude and Sir Olivier were walking arm in arm along the riverbank back to the main port.

‘I do not think Lord Edouard suspects you are intending to leave tomorrow, my lady,’ Sir Olivier said.

‘No, I hate to deceive him, but I must confess I am glad you have agreed to accompany me.’

Sir Olivier smiled. ‘You know the reason for that, my lady. My time with the Abbot has come to an end and—’

‘Sir, you know I will not marry you; you will not persuade me.’

‘Perhaps, perhaps not…’

‘Sir, you must believe me. But I do hope to use some of my English revenues to pay your knight’s fee. I will need support in Alfold.’

His face brightened. ‘You would like to hire me?’

‘Yes, I—’

A piercing scream cut through the air. A tocsin was sounding.

‘What on earth…?’ Aude lifted her hand from Sir Olivier’s arm.

More screaming. Hairs prickled on the back of Aude’s neck. Snatching up her skirts, she started running towards the quays.

She took in the approaching wave—coming upstream?—and the panicky scurrying on the jetties. People were shoving past her, faces blank with fear. Spray arched skywards, droplets glowing like a rainbow. Someone else started screaming; everyone was screaming.

And there, alone in the barge nearest the oncoming water, stood a little girl—a child—in brown homespun. She was looking at the wave, frozen with shock, forgotten.

The wave reached up like a living thing. The barge lurched sideways, the mooring rope snapped. The girl’s shriek rose like a gull’s above the clamour and the wave thundered down, dragging the girl into a swirl of frothing, seething foam.

Hissing snakes, Aude thought, as something clicked inside her. There was no time for thought, she tore the veil from her head and hurled herself forwards.

‘My lady, no!’

The river swooshed past, flooding the jetty. There was noise, Aude’s ears were full of it: rushing, screaming, bells. So much noise, it deafened. Water hit, came up to her calves. The river roared, drowning out the snakes. Cold.

Water slapped her legs, almost toppling her. The ancient river gods had come alive and they were out to get her. Aude held her ground. One hand found a mooring post and she clung. The other reached for the girl as her barge was swept away, bucking and rocking out among the white horses.

‘Take my hand!’ Aude cried.

The girl in brown was being tossed about like a bundle of rags among the packing cases, but the water was bringing her closer. She was barely managing to keep her head above water; if she let the incoming tide take her, she wouldn’t last more than a minute.

Someone else was in the water. A woman wailed. ‘Didier! Didier!’

Aude fixed her whole attention on the child. A barrel thumped into her and her knees buckled. She held her ground. The girl vanished beneath the surface before reappearing a few yards nearer, water steaming down, hair stuck to her skull. A small hand reached for hers.

‘That’s it!’

Bracing herself, Aude stretched forwards.

Their hands met and clutched. Held. The girl’s body swung round; the river was determined to carry her upstream. Aude gripped that small hand as though her life depended on it. Her arm felt as though it was being ripped from its socket.

And then she was no longer alone. Sir Olivier was at her shoulder, catching the child’s other hand, the brown skirts. Together, they wrestled her out of the water.

The wave had passed Jumièges; it was ploughing on upriver, but the danger was not over.

‘Be careful, my lady,’ Sir Olivier gasped, as they got the girl clear of the water and he lifted her into his arms. ‘There’s a fierce wake. Mind the wake.’

Even as he started back to shore, a packing case thudded against Aude’s shin.

Aude’s legs buckled. She fought to find her footing and slipped head first into the boiling river.

Galloping flat out along the high water-line, Hugh had arrived in time to see that Louise was safe. The havoc the surge had caused at the port had almost stopped his heart. A couple of rowboats, their moorings severed, were being tossed about on the river; barges were drifting midstream without oarsmen or steersmen; upturned boats were being carried towards Rouen, but Louise was safe.

Aude had saved her! It had to have been Edouard’s sister; Hugh recognised that green gown. The pristine whiteness of her veil stood out in a crowd, she stood out in a crowd, risking herself to save Louise. She had handed Louise to Sir Olivier. And now she herself was gone.

He had to find her. Little Brat. She must be saved, she must.

Breathing hard, Hugh fixed his eyes on the spot where he had last seen Aude. Nothing. He shifted his gaze a little upstream. Still nothing. The branch of a tree. Something that looked like sacking. A white…her veil, surely?

No, no, she had torn that off, had flung it aside.

Yes! There she was, several yards behind the crest of the wave, in the churned up, muddy waters of its wake.

As Hugh narrowed his eyes, the main front of the bore reached him. He held the gelding steady as the wave crashed on to the bank. Spray fanned out in all directions, droplets gleaming pretty as dew in the morning sun. His horse shifted, shaking his head, legs trembling. Hugh held him steady. So deadly, that river. The front raced by, soaking him, his horse, and doubtless Gil, who was swearing colourfully somewhere behind him.

Hell, where was Aude? He had lost sight of her again. Desperation gripped him, he couldn’t breathe. Where? Where was she?

The river was seething and choppy, broken up into thousands of wavelets as the wave forged its way inland. The gelding shifted; he was afraid of the river today, and Hugh could not blame him.

Where was she?

There! A few yards out, Aude’s head had reappeared next to a bundle of straw. Both were sinking.

Hugh kicked his heels, guiding the gelding into the water. The river shall not have her! The force of his feeling rocked him, but then he had long had a soft spot for Aude de Crèvecoeur. Despite appearances, her life had not been easy. This morning by the barge, Hugh had been occupied, but he had noticed her the moment she had stepped on to the quayside. And he was almost certain that, despite Edouard’s orders to the contrary, Aude had wanted to speak to him. She hadn’t wanted to speak to the surly deckhand who had removed her belongings from the barge—she had wanted to speak to him, to Hugh Duclair. Foolish, foolish girl.

Edouard’s sister, like Edouard, had a loyal heart, and he would be damned before he saw her bravery rewarded by drowning. There was enough injustice in Normandy without adding Aude’s death to the scales. Edouard’s strictures, his own resolution not to drag Aude into his affairs must, for the moment, be set aside.

‘Careful, Hugh, that river has power.’

Thanks to Hugh’s urging, his horse entered the water faster than was safe. Its flanks shuddered, its eyes rolled, it fought Hugh’s commands, but it obeyed.

Aude was clinging to an oar, a wavelet breaking over her. Her plaits had unravelled. Her hair streamed out, dark red against the cloudy water.

‘Let go!’ Hugh took the gelding in as far as he dared. It would help no one if he were swept away too. ‘Strike out for me!’

Hugh doubted that Aude could swim—no lady of his acquaintance could—but she seemed to understand that the oar would carry her away. She let go and surrendered herself to the water.

Determined to intercept her, Hugh angled his horse sideways. It wasn’t particularly deep here. The gelding was still on its feet, but the force of the water would have been too strong for a person to withstand. The rush of the river filled his ears.

Aude was blinded by water. Her mouth was full of brine and it was choking her. Cold. It was so cold. How could river water be so cold when the day was so warm? The horseman who had waded in after her—she could not see him clearly for the stinging in her eyes—must be quite mad. Her hair, too, was blinding her. She spluttered and choked.

The horseman was shouting, but Aude couldn’t hear him for the roaring—whether it was the roaring of the river or her own blood, she could not tell. Her lungs ached. Water slapped her in the face.

He was getting close, thank God. Her legs tangled in waterlogged skirts, her arms refused to obey her. Heavy, everything was heavy, pulling her down. But even as Aude felt herself sinking, she was carried towards him, the madman on the bay horse.

Yes! Only a little further.

‘Come on, Aude!’

He knew her name?

Feebly Aude kicked her feet—her shoes had gone almost as soon as she hit the water. Her toes scraped the bottom, but it was impossible to stand. Too fast, the river was running too fast.

She hit the horse’s flank, the horseman’s leg. Glimpsed red cross-gartering. Another wave tried to drown her. Blindly, she groped for a well-muscled calf and hooked her fingers into his cross-gartering.

‘Hold hard!’

A madman, clearly. Why else would he be commanding her to do the obvious? More water found its way into Aude’s lungs and a fit of coughing took her as he turned the horse and she was dragged ignominiously towards the river bank like so much wet washing.

On dry land, she let go and fell on her knees. Someone was talking. Aude couldn’t make out the words; it sounded as though bees were buzzing. Blackness was swirling at the edges of her vision, exactly as, moments ago, the water had swirled about her. She retched and retched again. Warm hands were on her shoulders, supporting her. He was sweeping her hair back to keep it clear of her face. Her chest ached.

‘That’s right, Aude,’ her rescuer said. ‘Get it out. All of it.’

Aude? More retching. Her stomach burned. And still he was holding her.

‘Better?’

Nodding, Aude sat back down, panting. She looked into his face.

‘Hugh!’

Hugh Duclair’s stormy blue eyes were anxious and his thumbs were making tiny caressing movements on her shoulders, but even as she watched the anxiety faded. He released her and shifted away. ‘Ma dame, I do not think you know me.’

‘Oh, yes, I do, I—’

‘Ma dame, your brother has forbidden you to acknowledge me.’

She gripped the frayed edge of his sleeve. It was that or reach for Hugh’s hand and the look in his eyes warned her that such a gesture would not be welcome. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Hugh, you saved me! Besides, you proved you know me when you called me by name.’

Sighing, Hugh sat down on the bank beside her. He was almost as out of breath as she was. Someone else was riding up, a young man with another horse on a leading rein. His squire, Gil—Aude recognised him from last year. She flung a weak smile at him. Thank God, not all Hugh Duclair’s friends had deserted him.

‘In any case, I thank you,’ she said, as another fit of coughing overcame her. She put a hand to her throat, she felt hoarse. ‘I was never…never so glad to see anyone in my life.’

Hugh grinned and for a moment his face transformed and he was his old self. A handsome Viking of a man who was her brother’s closest friend; a man who was—thank goodness—utterly oblivious of the fact that while Aude had been a girl, she had put him at the centre of many a romantic dream.

‘No, my lady, I should be thanking you.’

Still panting, Aude shoved her hair back. ‘Me?’

Hugh’s sun-gilded head nodded in the direction of the port. ‘That was my sister in the barge back there.’

‘Your sister?’ Aude had heard of Louise, naturally, though she had never met her.

‘Yes, indeed. My one and only little sister.’ Hugh put his hand on his heart and his eyes held hers. He was regarding her so warmly that the heat rushed back into her cheeks and for a moment she could not look away. ‘Aude, I owe you more than I can say. My sister is—’

‘Hugh! Hugh!’

‘Gil?’

‘Some monks and a couple of the Abbot’s knights are heading this way.’

‘Merde, they cannot be allowed to delay us.’

Aude could practically see Hugh’s cares fall back on his shoulders: banished with time running out on him; concern for his sister; the loss of his baggage on that barge…

He pushed to his feet, and Aude found herself staring at a pair of strong male legs. His boots squelched.

‘I got you wet, Hugh, I am sorry.’ There was a cold lump under Aude’s breastbone. There was so much she longed to discuss with him, she wanted to wish him well…

But already Hugh was moving away. ‘It is of no matter,’ he said. ‘You have my eternal thanks. The good brothers will see to your welfare while I go and find Louise. And, Aude, if they should ask, remember that it is best that you do not know me.’ He gave her a brief bow, and in a couple of heartbeats he and Gil had gone.

Aude was sitting alone on the ravaged foreshore when the monks arrived to exclaim over her and offer her their assistance.

‘Haven’t you had enough of the river today, my lady?’ Edwige asked, curling her lip as she edged round a stinking tangle of fish nets. The wave had strung much debris along the river path and the two women were carefully making their way upstream, towards the concealed inlet.

‘Believe me, I have, but we won’t be long.’

Aude had bathed and washed the salt and mud from her hair and put on a dry gown and veil. ‘As soon as we have reassured ourselves that our property is still on that barge, we shall return to the Abbey.’

On the foreshore, some boys were hauling a halfsunk rowboat out of the river, scraping and bumping it across the stones as they dragged it in. With a grunt and a heave they tipped it on its side and the water poured out. Where was Hugh now? Had he found his sister? How was he going to prove his loyalty to the Duke?

Edwige touched her arm. ‘Where did you say this barge is?’

‘A little further on the left, there’s a backwater and…there!’ Aude pointed at a mooring in the shade of an overhanging alder. The barge looked intact. ‘See, it is exactly as I left it! I hoped it would be, tied up out of the way as it is. Come along, Edwige, stop dawdling. Don’t you want to see for yourself that your trunk is safe?’

It wouldn’t have been the end of the world for Aude and Edwige to have lost their belongings; everything they were taking to England could easily have been replaced. Which likely could not be said for Hugh Duclair. Hugh had lost so much when he had lost Duke William’s trust. His lands and his revenues had been confiscated, and today the river had snatched what little remained. When the money in his purse ran out, he would have nothing. What must that feel like?

‘What’s he doing here?’ Edwige’s sharp whisper cut into Aude’s thoughts. ‘Is he following us?’

Aude glanced back. A masculine figure in a threadbare grey tunic was striding purposefully after them. She went very still. Hugh.

The soon-to-be exiled Count de Freyncourt was rolling down his sleeves as he came and when he reached within a couple of feet of her, he bowed his head in that slightly ironic way he had. ‘My lady.’ Aude had the fleeting impression that he was pleased to see her again; she was certainly glad to see him.

‘Hugh, was Louise all right?’

‘Perfectly, thank you. Gil is looking after her.’

So tall. And when the sunlight gilds the tips of his hair, he really does look like Lucifer. Her eyes fell on the fraying sleeves of his grey tunic. A beautiful, albeit rather shabby Lucifer…

‘I should not really be speaking to you, my brother will disapprove.’ Aude softened her words with a smile.

She really did not understand it, but truly it was impossible not to smile when Hugh looked down at her like that. His eyes were soft and unguarded, as they had been before his banishment. His mouth had gone up at the corner, exactly as it used to when laughter between them was but a breath away. Aude was beginning to think that one could not help but smile whenever Hugh did. His coldness when she had first seen him on that barge that morning had been particularly distressing.

Hugh Duclair seemed to have a strange effect on her these days. She felt fluttery when he was close by, most unlike her usual calm self. It had not always been so; when they were younger there was only ease between them. Aude had liked him then and she liked him still. Except…well, there was that inauspicious encounter early this morning. She had heartily disliked him when he had taken it upon himself to remove her baggage from the other barge!

Hugh lifted a brow. ‘Wise man, your brother.’

His voice was dry. Deep. Surely it had not always been as deep? And his mouth—when had that begun to fascinate her? Hugh had a full lower lip which hinted at a sensual nature; his upper lip had a slight dip in the centre. On his cheeks there was the slight shadow of an incipient beard. Heavens! Why ever was she examining Hugh like this? A kiss. What would his kiss be like? It was an extraordinarily compelling thought, it would not be pushed to one side. She would enjoy Hugh’s kiss…

Jerking her gaze away, Aude stared at a tree past Hugh’s shoulder, painfully conscious that her eyes wanted to linger on his face, to study that nose, so strong and straight, to memorise the exact curve of those high cheekbones. Her eyes wanted to learn his features in a way that was new to her. It was extremely unsettling, not unpleasant exactly, but deeply unsettling.

Fond though Aude had been of Martin, she had never felt the slightest inclination to learn his features; her eyes had not wanted to linger on him. This reaction to Hugh Duclair was baffling. It must be because she was so worried about him. The future of a man with a day to get out of the Duchy and only a small purse between him and penury could only be bleak. Fortunately, Hugh did not appear to have noticed either her interest or her confusion.

Some swallows were diving low over the river. As they swooped up past the white cliffs on the opposite bank, Aude forced herself to concentrate on the patterns they were tracing in the air.

‘I would not want you to court your brother’s displeasure on my account, particularly when he is in the right,’ Hugh said softly.

Slowly, as though he were fighting himself, he touched her hand. Tingles raced up her arm.

‘Take care, Aude. The river has taken a bite out of the path here, you and Edwige must watch your step.’

Sure enough, a section of the bank had broken away.

Hugh flashed a grin at her, revealing strong white teeth. ‘Wouldn’t want you falling in twice in a day. Aude, my banishment is not effective till midnight, so I think you may safely allow me to escort you one last time. In any case, there is no one else about.’ He offered her his arm. ‘Edouard need never know. If you manage to remain silent, you may truthfully tell him that you only spoke to me when absolutely necessary.’