Читать книгу My Lady De Burgh - Deborah Simmons, Deborah Simmons - Страница 8

The de Burghs had been cursed.

Robin was certain of it. Although the family continued to be prosperous and powerful, all of its members seemingly healthy and strong, there was an insidious force at work that was gradually weakening its ranks and scattering the de Burghs across the countryside. And Robin knew well its name. Marriage.

Just four years ago the seven sons of the Earl of Campion had been bachelors and determined to remain so. Then, as if directed by some unseen hand, one by one, Dunstan, Geoffrey and Simon had taken wives. Even the earl himself had wed again at Christmastide! And now Robin had been called home to the celebration of his brother Stephen’s nuptials.

As he glanced around the great hall of Campion Castle, Robin was not cheered by the sight of the many couples. Instead of tendering congratulations, he wanted to howl in outrage. Not only did he protest the fate of his siblings, but of the three de Burghs yet unmarried, he was the oldest, a knowledge that made him decidedly tense. And with good reason. Robin had no idea how the other two felt about it, but he was starting to sweat.

It was not that he had anything against women. They provided a welcome diversion at times, some more than others, of course, but even the most comely or entertaining did not tempt him in the slightest toward a lasting union. The very thought of being shackled to one of them forever made Robin lift a finger to loosen his suddenly tight neckline. Already, he felt the noose closing around him, collaring him forever to some unknown, unnamed female.

Although usually the most lighthearted member of the family, Robin was becoming downright surly as he contemplated his future. As both a man and a knight, he resented the feeling of helplessness that assailed him. He wanted to strike out, but what use was his skill with a sword against a phantom? Robin gritted his teeth even as he wondered how much time he had left. Although his brothers appeared to have succumbed without a fight, he refused to accept his fate so easily.

Surely there was some way to prevent what lay ahead! Robin had been taught that reasoning could extricate him from most situations, and normally he would have asked his father for advice, but the earl had already been felled by the curse. In this instance, whatever wisdom he offered would be suspect. And there was no sense in approaching his married brothers.

Robin’s options were dwindling, and he felt the cold, clammy press of desperation. He had always thought the de Burghs invincible, for they were powerful men, strong warriors, learned in varying degrees and skillful at running a vast demesne. Wealth and privilege and capability had resulted in an inbred arrogance that continued to show itself, even in those who now called themselves husbands, but Robin felt his own confidence faltering. Only three de Burgh bachelors remained; perhaps it was time they put their heads together.

Having made his decision, Robin moved into action swiftly, seeking Reynold among those who crowded the vast, vaulted hall. He found the younger de Burgh seated on a bench, his back against the wall and his bad leg stretched out before him. Normally glum, Reynold appeared even more grim than ever, and Robin wondered if he was counting his last hours of freedom, as well.

Flashing Reynold what he hoped was an encouraging grin, Robin sank down beside his brother and tried to think of what to say. No one had openly broached the subject of this sudden alarming propensity for marriage, and Robin was not sure how to begin. Luckily, Reynold spoke first.

“Can you believe it?” he asked, shaking his head as he gazed at Stephen. “After all the women he has dallied with, I never thought to see him settle down. Or give up his taste for wine.”

“Nor did I,” Robin agreed. He studied Reynold carefully, but his brother’s expression was unreadable, as usual. However, he was determined to plunge onward. Although the de Burghs would rather die than admit a weakness, clearly honesty was called for in this instance, and time was running out. Perhaps together they could somehow bring about an end to the weddings. Hopefully, before his own.

“I never expected to see any of our brothers wed,” Robin said, slanting a glance toward his sibling. “Don’t you think it odd that they are all doing it? And so quickly?”

Reynold shrugged stiffly. He was never talkative, so Robin wasn’t particularly disheartened by his lack of comment. And there was no point in waiting any longer. “Well, I do. I think it damned odd,” Robin said. He leaned closer, to speak in a low undertone. “In fact, I think ’tis the work of a curse.”

Reynold swung round to stare at him, but Robin was undeterred by the scrutiny. “How else would you account for it?” he demanded. “Just a few years ago we were all bachelors and liking it well enough. Now, as if manipulated by some mysterious force, the de Burghs are being shackled to females, one by one, even Father!” Robin shuddered. “I tell you, we must do something before we are next!”

Robin followed Reynold’s glance down to the cup in his hand and frowned. He had been drinking a bit much of the freely flowing wine, but who wouldn’t, when faced with his sentence for the future? Surely, even the implacable Reynold must be worried. “Aren’t you concerned?” he asked.

His brother’s stoic expression changed not a whit. “About what?”

“About being snared by some woman!” Robin said, waving a hand toward their once-carefree brothers, who now hovered near their respective wives, smitten and witless. “About becoming one of them!”

Reynold snorted. “I should be so lucky.”

“Lucky? I tell you, they’ve been cursed!” Robin protested.

Reynold eyed him as if he had lost his mind. “Look at them, Robin,” he said. “Do you think they’re unhappy?”

Robin obediently glanced toward the sibling who stood closest in their line of sight. It was Stephen, and Robin had to admit that his charming brother looked even better than ever, but that was probably because he had quit drinking. Of course, he was grinning like a fool, as they all were, even surly Simon. As for Geoffrey, the scholar, he was crowing over the infant in his arms, just as if he had personally given birth to it, and Robin felt a stab of something alien.

“Of course, they all appear happy, otherwise they wouldn’t have gone through with it, would they?” he said. “I tell you, it’s all part of some blight upon the family.”

“Most men would trade their souls for such a blight,” Reynold murmured. Something stark and wistful passed over his face, only to be replaced by a scowl. “There’s no curse,” he muttered.

“And just how can you be sure of that?” Robin asked, annoyed by Reynold’s skepticism.

“Because I will never marry,” he said, and rising to his feet, Reynold stalked away, limping slightly.

Robin frowned. Was it his imagination or had his always moody brother become even more surly? It was probably because he alone of the seven de Burgh brothers remained at Campion. Robin wondered if he ought to stay on after the celebration instead of returning to Baddersly, a demesne he had been holding for Dunstan. But the thought of all the changes that had been wrought here in his absence, especially the addition of a new lady of the castle, a stepmother, made him wince. He wanted to go back to the Campion of old, not this new, unfamiliar place.

It seemed just yesterday he and his brothers had all lived here together, playing tricks on one another, relying strictly on each other, confiding only in each other, sometimes including their sire and sometimes not, though little enough got past the Earl of Campion. Oh, there were squabbles, of course, but they had been one, big, boisterous clan.

Now everything was different. His brothers were scattered all over the kingdom, living with their wives, returning for Christmas or an unusual occasion such as this one. It just wasn’t right. Robin grunted in dismay at the emptiness that yawned before him whenever he considered his family. Although his wasn’t a bitter nature, he felt betrayed somehow.

Yet he was loathe to blame his brothers. They obviously were befuddled or under some kind of enchantment. How else to explain their sudden perplexing behavior? Robin had grown up with them in a household of men, lived now among the knights of Baddersly, and he just couldn’t comprehend this abrupt penchant for taking wives.

It had started with Dunstan, the eldest, and the man Robin most admired in the world. Having served the king as a knight, Dunstan had won a demesne of his own, Wessex, and was now known as the Wolf of Wessex. When he wed Marion, a woman whom all the de Burghs held in affectionate regard, Robin had been startled. But the marriage had been forced by circumstance, Marion’s guardian having threatened her. And since Dunstan lived apart anyway, the new arrangement had little altered things at home.

Poor Geoffrey had been forced to wed by king’s decree, in a union designed to end the warring between Dunstan and his neighbor. At the time Robin had been thankful for his own escape, though sorry enough for Geoff, whose bride was a horrifying creature. She had since become more agreeable, but Robin still retained his sympathy for his brother, although Geoff seemed as devoted to her as Dunstan was to Marion. Still, the circumstances surrounding both couples were so unusual that Robin’s suspicions hadn’t been aroused.

It was Simon’s nuptials that had shaken him.

Simon, the fiercest of them all, a warrior through and through, had, of his own volition, fallen for the woman who had bested him in battle! By the time Robin and his siblings had reached Simon, he was too far gone to help. Geoffrey had even insisted on matchmaking between the two, an act Robin considered tantamount to betrayal of his own flesh and blood.

It was at that point that Robin began to think of Dunstan, Geoffrey and Simon as possessed. And this celebration for Stephen, who was known for sampling the charms of women far and wide, had just confirmed his opinion. If Stephen could marry, then the rest of them were doomed. His once strong brothers had been felled, weakened and ensnared, and Robin had no intention of being the next to surrender.

Not that he particularly disliked women. He had dallied with a few, and they had provided him with most pleasant divertissement. Most pleasant. But outside the bedchamber, their appeal waned. For the most part, Robin found them to be petulant and demanding creatures, and he was not going to be saddled with a lifetime of that, no matter how happy his brothers appeared!

Perhaps Reynold yearned for such a fate, but Robin did not, and he would be taken for a fool before he would just sit around waiting for his own ruin. The more he thought about it, the more determined he became. With or without help, he was going to try to discover whatever bedeviled the de Burghs before it was too late. Drawing a deep breath, Robin knew a powerful surge of resolution, only to feel it flag as he came to a disappointing realization.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know a thing about curses or how to remove them. The earl had raised his sons to be educated and enlightened, and they scoffed at witches, sorcery and the like. Although Robin had always been more inclined than the others toward the power of charms and talismans and relics, he had no idea where to find a totem to ward off weddings. As far as he knew, there was no patron saint of bachelors, unless one counted monks, and Robin had no desire to take a vow of chastity.

Quickly, he dismissed the Church as a source of aid in this matter, for its views on marriage were well known. No, he needed someone who possessed expertise of a more mystical nature. Robin racked his brain, but the only people he suspected might be familiar with such things were the l’Estranges, Stephen’s new wife and her relatives. The hall had been buzzing with vague gossip about them ever since Robin had arrived. But somehow he didn’t think the bride would appreciate it if he accused her, however obliquely, of being part of a scourge upon the de Burghs.

Robin frowned thoughtfully. Although he couldn’t approach Brighid, she did have aunts, and they were rumored to have a knowledge of healing and other unusual skills. Perhaps, if he didn’t seek to redress the wrongs of his older brothers, already lost to their wives, but sought strictly to prevent his own impending doom, Robin could coax them into helping him.

Taking a fortifying drink, he rose to his feet, immediately regretting his abrupt movement as he became slightly light-headed. With a grimace, he set his empty cup down, unwilling to replace Stephen as the drunkard of the family. He had always been his own man, neither envious nor imitative of his brothers, and he was not about to start now. Drawing a bracing breath, he headed through the festive crowd in search of the Mistresses l’Estrange.

They were not hard to find, for they wore very colorful costumes that stood out in the throng. The shorter, plump aunt even had some kind of little bells sewn on her sleeves, an obvious sign of eccentricity, if not otherworldly abilities. Robin grinned, feeling a renewing surge of his innate confidence. Surely, she could help him.

“Mistress l’Estrange?” he asked, and was rewarded by a jingling as the small, white-haired woman turned to greet him, a welcoming smile upon her face.

“My lord!”

“Please call me Robin, Mistress,” he said, inclining his head graciously.

“Of course! And I am Cafell. Have you met my sister Armes?” she said, gesturing toward a taller, more taciturn woman.

Robin nodded again. “Mistress.” He had intended to begin with the less dour one. Although not possessed of Stephen’s reputation, he could play the charmer as well as any other de Burgh, and she looked more agreeable than her sister. But having gone this far, he didn’t want to wait. It seemed imperative, suddenly, that he take some action.

He flashed them one of his best grins. “May I say what a pleasure it is to welcome you into our family.”

“Why, thank you, my lord Robin,” Cafell said, preening happily.

“Robin will do,” he said, inclining his head once more as he subtly tried to maneuver the older woman to the side. Unfortunately, her sister followed, so he was forced to address them both.

“Indeed, I count your arrival as a stroke of good fortune for myself since I am in dire need of your special talents,” he said smoothly.

Cafell’s brow furrowed. “You have an injury that requires healing?”

Robin laughed. “No. My problem is a bit more unusual than that.” He lowered his voice. “A most delicate matter, really—”

Armes cut him off with a sharp look. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the heritage of the l’Estranges, would it?” she asked.

Robin drew up short. Perhaps there was some sort of protocol involved here that he knew nothing about. “Well, yes—”

“Oh, good!” Cafell said, clapping her hands with glee, despite her sister’s admonishing look. Robin glanced from one to the other in question. Although Cafell appeared delighted by his request, Armes remained rather forbidding. He wondered just what abilities she had and whether he was going to end up with even more trouble. He was already fending off one curse; he did not care to have another laid upon him.

“Tell us! What can we do for you?” Cafell said, interrupting his gloomy thoughts.

“Sister, I hardly think—” Armes began.

Cafell waved her arm in an airy gesture that produced little jingling sounds. “Oh, Brighid can hardly complain when she—”

“But he is a de Burgh!” Armes protested, while Robin swung his gaze from one sister to the other, trying to follow the conversation.

“All the better!” Cafell said, rubbing her hands together in a manner that began to alarm Robin. He started to reconsider his plan and stepped back a pace, only to feel the little woman’s touch upon his arm. “Don’t go, Lord Robin!” she admonished before turning to her sister.

“Armes, we must at least hear him out, for the sake of common courtesy, if nothing else. We are related now, after all,” she added, which didn’t hearten Robin one bit. She turned back to him brightly. “Come, now, tell us what troubles you.”

“Well,” Robin began. He eyed Armes warily, but she finally gave him a stiff nod, which he interpreted as a gesture to proceed.

“Go on, dear,” Cafell urged.

“Well, I was thinking about all these weddings,” Robin said. Warming to his subject, he drew a deep breath and plunged onward. “I find them all odd, following so closely on one another, when just a few years ago, we de Burghs were all bachelors.”

Armes frowned. “What’s so odd about it? Seven healthy young men of marriageable age are bound to seek out spouses, especially lords from such an important family.”

“To carry on the dynasty!” Cafell noted, gleefully.

“Perhaps,” Robin admitted, though privately he didn’t accept that explanation. His brothers had never seemed intent upon reproducing until after they were wed. And why all of them at once? Dunstan had married late, but the others were doing so younger and younger. “Could it be that someone has put some kind of, ah, spell on us all?”

“Probably your own sire,” Armes muttered, and Robin blinked, wondering if he had heard her aright.

“Oh, he’s jesting, aren’t you, Robin?” Cafell said, playfully striking his chest. “Your brother warned us that you were a trickster.”

Robin felt his hopes ebb. Perhaps he was known for a few pranks here and there, but he was deadly serious, and he didn’t know how to impress his urgency upon the eccentric l’Estranges.

“I think he means it,” Armes said, and they both studied him with renewed interest.

“Why, Sister, I do believe you’re right! But, why would you want to—”

“He’s worried about himself,” Armes said in a rather disgusted tone that made Robin straighten, though he could hardly take offense at what was the truth.

“Oh, you poor boy!” Cafell exclaimed, patting his arm, which produced more little bell sounds. He glanced around, uncomfortably, but she only leaned closer, as if to impart some secret. “I wish we could look into your future, to reassure you, but Brighid frowns upon those things, you see. Although I admit she is growing more open-minded of late.” Cafell looked a question at her sister, who firmly shook her head.

“I do not think she would appreciate that sort of interference with her new family,” Armes said.

Robin felt his shoulders droop in disappointment. He didn’t want a bit of soothsaying; he needed a curse lifted. And even if these two were willing to help, it didn’t appear they had the necessary skills. Abruptly, he brightened as a new course struck him. “Perhaps there is someone else you know, in the same line of trade, so to speak, who might be able to consider the problem?” he asked hopefully.

Armes sniffed. “’Tis not as though we belong to a guild, young man!”

“We really know of no others with such talents beyond our own family,” Cafell explained gently. At Robin’s crestfallen expression, she patted him again. “Now, don’t despair. We shall think of something!”

The two women exchanged glances, then Cafell frowned pensively. Finally, she said, “Well, there is Cousin Anfri.”

“A complete charlatan!” Armes sniffed.

“How about Mali?”

“Dead,” Armes replied. “The l’Estranges are not blessed with many progeny.”

Robin wondered if the union with Stephen would change that, but Cafell suddenly yelped, startling him. “What about Vala?” she said.

“Oh, poor Vala, she was quite the beauty, and so gifted,” Armes said.

“Didn’t she marry one of the Welsh princes?” Cafell asked.

“Yes,” Armes replied. “What was his name?”

“Owain ap Ednyfed?”

“I believe so,” Armes said with a nod. “But I understood that she died not long afterwards.”

“Did she? I was of the opinion that was not certain, but it is possible,” Cafell said. “So much fighting over there through the years, you understand, one prince against another or Llewelyn himself, and, of course, against the king. We were lucky to be well away from it all.” She paused. “But I thought there was a daughter.”

Armes frowned. “I don’t recall. That was a long time ago, and there was only hearsay—”

“Perhaps, Lord Robin could go and see!” Cafell suggested. She leaned forward, whispering confidentially, once more. “Vala was very gifted.”

Robin perked up at this news. “Where would I find her?” he asked.

“Why, in Wales, of course. That’s where most of the l’Estranges are, except us, of course.”

Robin stared at the two women, who were smiling benignly, and stifled a groan. Stephen and his bride had returned from Wales with rumors of war at their heels, the Welsh princes seizing lands and rousing the people against Edward. Were these two gentlewomen trying to get him killed? Having no intention of marching into a country in the midst of battle, Robin eyed them askance.

The l’Estranges seemed to be oblivious to such danger, however, and they waited expectantly for his answer, so he choked out a polite thank you and excused himself with a nod. As he walked away, Robin realized he had reached an impasse in his efforts to lift the curse.

But his lack of success was hard to accept, for if he did nothing, then surely he would find himself wed. And soon.

Robin watched his host raise a cup in salute to the de Burghs and wondered, not for the first time, what on earth he was doing on the Marches while unrest was abroad in the land. Whether prompted by concern for his way of life or drunk on too much wine or just eager to escape the press of people at Campion, he had left his family home in search of the mysterious Vala, against all tenets of good sense.

Arriving unannounced, he had nonetheless been welcomed by the lord and lady, who proceeded to hold a feast in his honor, a celebration with which Robin was vaguely uncomfortable. From the veiled hints, he gathered that they thought his unexpected arrival, coming so soon after Stephen’s, meant that he and his brothers were engaged in some sort of covert mission for the crown. Robin would have laughed aloud, if it were not for the tense atmosphere that hung thick over the castle.

It wasn’t until late, after he had been regaled with the transgressions of Llewelyn and his brother David and their followers that Robin finally approached the topic that had sent him recklessly to the boundary between England and Wales. He leaned back in a casual pose and tapped the edge of the table.

“So, tell me, do you know anything of a prince named Owain ap Ednyfed or his wife, Vala?” Robin asked.

The lord and lady exchanged glances. “What of them?”

Robin smiled benignly. “Relatives in England were asking about her.”

The lord frowned. “She died long ago.”

Something about his curt reply made Robin alert, and he shook his head as a servant offered him more wine, for he needed his wits about him. “Was there a child?” he asked.

Again, the surreptitious looks were exchanged, and he could feel the lord’s eyes boring into him, probing him for secrets. No doubt, they thought him privy to knowledge of an uprising or the fate of their holdings. Little did they guess that his query had more to do with a dotty pair of so-called soothsayers than any questions of Welsh independence.

Somehow Robin didn’t think they would find his quest amusing, and so he gracefully retired early. He was no warmonger like his brother Simon, and this visit had made him determined to turn around and hie himself back to safer ground as soon as possible.

Unfortunately for the remaining de Burgh bachelors, it appeared that he had met not just an impasse, but the end of his road. Idly, Robin wondered what the lord would say should he ask the direction of a local wise woman, perhaps some ancient Celtic practitioner, and he snorted to himself. The whole idea of finding someone to lift a curse seemed absurd now that he was well away from Campion Castle and the l’Estrange aunts.

He was too easily swayed. How often had his brothers traded on that trait, especially Stephen, who had sold him plenty of counterfeit religious relics in his youth? And, apparently, age had made him no wiser. Desperate to avoid the same fate as his siblings, he had latched on to the first scheme presented to him, no matter how foolhardy, when he would do better to pursue more traditional avenues.

A true relic might counteract the curse, Robin mused. Perhaps he should approach a priest or even make a pilgrimage to some shrine, though he had no idea which one. Saint Agnes was the patron saint of purity, but since it wasn’t really purity he craved, Robin dismissed that idea with a grunt.

The sound, followed swiftly by another, echoed off the castle walls and Robin slowed his steps. Although full of rich food and wine, his de Burgh senses were still as sharp as ever, and as he reached the dark passage before his assigned chamber, he felt the presence of another.

The local situation being what it was, Robin slipped a hand to the dagger he kept tucked at his waist. Larger and more lethal than the usual dining knife, it could be silent and deadly when wielded with his skill. His fingers closing around it, Robin turned slightly, just in case a cudgel was poised behind him, a distinct possibility considering that everyone here thought him a spy.

But when he pivoted to glance around, Robin saw that no assassin stood there, only the man who had served him at table. Still, the fellow had a furtive air about him that kept Robin alert. “My lord,” he whispered, looking back over his shoulder as if he would speak in secrecy.

“Aye?” Robin answered, though he had no wish to be further embroiled in the problems of the Marches.

“She did not die, but fled,” he said.

“Who? Vala?” Robin asked.

The man gave a stealthy nod. “And there was issue, a daughter who lived, though all would deny it now. I saw her myself!”

Intrigued, Robin stepped closer. “Where are they now?”

But footsteps rang out in the passageway behind, and the man grew wild-eyed, edging past Robin hurriedly.

“Wait!” Robin called after him.

“Look to a refuge for women in your own land, my lord, one for those burdened by sorrows!” he said. Then he disappeared into the darkness, leaving Robin to contemplate the whole curious episode with a jaundiced eye. Just when he thought the road had ended, instead it opened up in all directions.

But did he care to follow?

Robin moved restlessly atop his massive destrier and wondered what on earth he was doing poised outside a nunnery. And not just any nunnery, but Our Lady of All Sorrows.

It had been a long, strange ride. Although he had seen no further sign of the servant who had spoken to him so clandestinely, Robin had bid goodbye to his host, determined to forget all about the woman who had married a Welsh prince. But somehow, once he left the border, Robin had ended up at the nearest abbey, the only place he would deem a refuge for women, and there he had inquired about other such houses. And when he heard the name of Our Lady of All Sorrows, he knew a sudden urge to travel there.

Robin told himself that simple curiosity drove him, for the conflicting tales of Vala’s fate would interest anyone. And he had always loved a good puzzle. In addition, he might well provide a service for Stephen’s wife’s family, who, no doubt, would be happy to learn their kin still lived. Perhaps even a reunion could be arranged.

Yet, despite these smug assurances, Robin was aware of some other, deeper compulsion urging him onward. Whether it was concern for his own future or a simple desire to put the matter to rest, he wasn’t sure. But when he discovered that the nunnery lay not far from Baddersly, he returned to his brother’s demesne in good time. There he left behind his men-at-arms, so that he might continue alone on the last stretch of a journey that even he was beginning to view as bizarre.

And so he found himself on this bright early-spring day looking upon the gatehouse to a small abbey surrounded by groves of tall elms. And faced with his destination at last, Robin felt a twinge of shame at what had brought him here. His selfish desires to avoid marriage, which the Church so encouraged, seemed a blaspheme upon this sacred house.

Our Lady of All Sorrows obviously was a place of peace, of quiet women, pure of soul and body, devoting their life to worship. And, for a long moment, Robin remained where he was, hesitant to enter the sanctuary that lay within, to disturb the stillness, broken only by the soft call of birds among the branches above him.

It was while he was considering his course that the cry went up, rising from within the walls to drift upon the wind and reach his ears, faint and frantic. At first, Robin could hardly think he heard aright, but soon the words came to him loud and clear. Although he had never imagined such issuing from a holy house, he could no longer ignore the astonishing plea.

Robin charged through the gates even as “Help! Murder!” rang in his ears.