Читать книгу Knight's Rebellion - Suzanne Barclay - Страница 11

It was an hour before sunrise when Ranulf spurred his tired horse across the drawbridge and through the gates of Eastham, what remained of his men straggling along after him. The castle keep was dark when he reined in before it and slid from the saddle. “Where the hell is everyone?” he screamed.

The steward rushed down the stairs, hair disheveled, still struggling into his tunic. “M-my lord. Welcome home. We didn’t know when to expect you, but I can have a meal in—”

“Silence!” Ranulf backhanded the man, sending him sprawling in the dirt. “How can I think what to do with you posturing and babbling?” He stepped over the cowering servant and stomped up the steps, pulling off his gloves as he went. They were stiff with blood. “Pity it is not that bastard Gowain’s.”

“Aye, milord, that it is.” Clive hurried after him. “What will you do now?”

“Do! Do! I’ll wipe him out, that’s what I’ll do.” Ranulf tossed aside the gloves in disgust. “A hot bath…in my chambers. At once,” he bawled over his shoulder as he threw open the doors to the great hall and stalked in.

The wooden doors struck the wall with a resounding crack. The sleep-rumpled servants jumped, then froze in the act of setting up the tables. Several clung together, whimpering. An old woman crossed herself and tried to slink away.

“You, there, bring wine.” Ranulf threw himself into the massive chair before the hearth, where a new fire struggled to get started. “Curse the luck,” he growled, for the hundredth time in the long hours since the disastrous rout. “If he hadn’t had so many men…if I hadn’t had to protect Lady Alys…” Ranulf moaned and buried his hands in his face. “Damn. I came so close to having her to wife… daughter of an earl…heiress to a fortune.”

“Poor Lady Alys.” Clive gingerly leaned his tired shoulder against the mantelpiece. “Do we go after her?”

“What use?” Ranulf raised his head. “Where the hell’s that wine?” he bellowed.

The steward materialized at his elbow. A livid bruise marred his cheek. His hands trembled as he offered a silver cup engraved with the de Crecy arms. “W-will you break your fast?” he asked.

“Can you not see I am too overset to eat? My dear betrothed torn from my arms by that bastard who dares call himself my kin.” Ranulf gnashed his teeth, then drank deep of the wine.

Clive licked his parched lips, but dared not upset the delicate balance of things by asking for a drink. Then he spied Janie, a skinny wench who’d warmed his bed of late, bravely holding out a wooden cup. Clive thanked her with a nod and gratefully downed the sour ale Ranulf purchased for the servants. Then he waited for his lordship to make his will known.

“Wine!” Ranulf commanded, holding out the cup. “Must a man who’s risked death to save his love, then rode half the length of England with a broken heart, die of thirst in his own castle?”

The only things Ranulf had loved about Lady Alys were her name and her money, Clive thought. “I could take out a fresh troop, milord, mayhap find their trail and follow it to their hiding place,” he added. The time for that was hours past. Coward that he was, when the tide of battle had turned against them, Ranulf had fled with nary a thought for poor Lady Alys.

“What makes you think you’d have any more luck finding their camp than you have before?” Ranulf sneered. “The whole country hereabouts is behind him. The peasants wipe out his tracks when he passes and send us looking in the opposite direction from the one he has taken. You know that for a fact.”

“Aye.” Clive had stood by as Ranulf’s executioner tortured a young farmer into confessing just that.

“What I need to do is turn them against him. I need to make them see he is the villain, not me.” Ranulf drained the cup the steward had refilled, then stared into the fire. The leaping flames cast wild images across his face, igniting an odd light in his dark eyes. “If only Lord Gareth had been willing to declare him an outlaw, but no, he wanted more proof. But now…” Ranulf sprang from his seat, the silver cup rolling across the floor and into the ashes. “That’s it!”

“What is?” Clive retreated a step, for Ranulf was known to kick out at those about him when something went amiss.

“Her father will be only too quick to sign a writ when he learns how his daughter was killed by that heinous criminal.”

“Killed? But we do not know that, milord. It is possible she was taken prisoner.”

“She’s as good as dead to me,” Ranulf snarled. “Think you I’d wed with her after Gowain has used her? Nay, but…” He stroked his grimy chin and began to pace. “You are right about one thing, though. We must convince her father she’s dead.”

“Wouldn’t it work just as well if he thought her kidnapped?”

“Rumor has it these Sommervilles are soft where family is concerned…even their womenfolk. I saw for myself that he’s the type to talk his way around a problem. He’d send messages to Gowain offering to ransom the girl.” Ranulf shook his head. “Besides, there isn’t time. The next shipment of Blue John is due to leave Malpas in a month’s time, providing the roads are safe and we get more workers for Bellamy. Have you seen to it?”

“And where am I to get them?”

“Raid the farms. Clear the streets of Eastham village.”

Clive frowned. “If we take people so close to home, questions will be raised.” The mining of a rich vein of costly fluorspar had remained secret thus far because they’d sealed off all communication with the keep and village. The gemstones were worth a fortune to Ranulf, and he’d promised Clive a fat bonus. “If we took folk from hereabouts and one alarmed relative followed our men, they’d know what we were doing.”

“All right.” Ranulf raked a hand through his fair hair, grimacing at its sweatiness. “Send a patrol to the west of here. They’re to attract as little attention as possible. Raid what farms they can and bring back every able-bodied youth for immediate transport to the mines.”

“What if they run into Gowain’s men? They may look like an undisciplined mob, but they fight like seasoned warriors,” Clive said with grudging respect.

“Damn. He is a continual thorn in my side. He not only starves us by stealing our supplies, he threatens my plans. Well, I won’t have it,” Ranulf snarled. “I’ve worked too bloody hard at this scheme to let that bastard ruin it.”

“Shall I hire more men to guard the roads?”

“Nay. There’s no time. Find me a body.”

“A body?”

“Aye. Young, slender and blond. It will have to be suitably marred, of course, so no one will realize it isn’t Lady Alys.”

“What isn’t?”

“The body in the casket, you idiot.” Ranulf whirled and studied the cowering servants again. “You there, all who are between the ages of thirteen and twenty and fair, step forward.”

No one moved.

“Clive!” Ranulf growled, fixing him with that wild, piercing stare of his. “See to it.”

Clive looked from his lord’s implacable expression to the servants’ terrified ones. He couldn’t do this. But he’d not live if he didn’t. Well he recalled the long, lingering death of the man who’d been reeve of the mine before Bellamy. Black Toby had foolishly thought to skim off a bit of Ranulf’s mine profits and been skinned alive as punishment. Clive’s own back crawled, then he recalled Janie weeping over the death of a childhood friend. “I have heard that a young woman died in childbed a few days ago,” he murmured. “Let me go into the village to ask the priest what she looked like and if she has yet been buried.” Lowering his voice further, he added, “Why deprive yourself of a servant if a body is to be had?”

Ranulf nodded. “Aye, I’ve few enough to serve me as it is, what with those faithless jades who’ve run off to join him.” His fist clenched. “Gowain must be eliminated before he grows stronger. Go at once to the village. When I’ve washed away this filth and rested, we’ll make plans for the sad journey to Ransford to inform Lady Alys’s family of her unfortunate demise.”

Alys tucked the rough blanket under Dickie’s chin and sighed. He looked so still and fragile.

“You’ve done all you can for him, Sister,” Bette said.

“Pray God it was enough.” Alys stood, arching her back against the ache put there by hours of bending over her patients.

“Ach, you’re that done in, up most of the night. Let me show you to your bed,” Bette said. “Bab, that’s my oldest girl—” she nodded in the direction of a capable young woman sitting beside Martin’s pallet “—she and Dame Dotty will watch the lads. If only there was some way we could show our gratitude,” she went on. “But our caves are short on comfort, I fear. Still, you’ll have a chamber to yourself with a brazier to warm it.”

“Thank you.” Alys smiled at the woman who’d stayed by her through it all. Primitive the caves certainly were, but the womenfolk who’d helped her tend the wounded had been unbelievably kind and compassionate. Not at all the rough criminal lot she’d expected. Their clothes were worn, their supplies limited, but their capacity for giving had surprised her.

“Come, I’ll show you the way. These tunnels are so vast and winding even I sometimes get lost.” Bette shoved aside the blanket that served to cover this chamber’s doorway.

Numb with fatigue, Alys ducked under it and into a gloomy corridor, lit only by a single torch. The rough stone seemed to ooze damp chill. Shivering, she chafed at her arms. “What I’d really like is a hot bath.”

Bette brightened. “That we can supply.”

“Really?” Alys glanced down the dank hall. It stank of smoke and past meals and too many people living close together.

“Hot springs within the mountain. Gowain discovered it shortly after he joined us. ‘Twas he decided ‘twould make a good place for us to wash clothes and such. He and Darcy like to soak in them,” she added as she lit a torch from the one on the wall and started down the hall. “Me, I’m not much for such things.” Light flickered as she shivered.

“The others must share your opinion,” Alys said dryly.

Bette chuckled. “It does smell a bit ripe when you come in from the outside, but after a bit, the nose gets used to it.” She tromped on in silence through the complicated maze of tunnels.

“Do you know what time it is?” Alys asked.

“Near midnight, I should guess. Without the sun, it’s hard to gauge. We’ve a sand clock in the great hall. Bertram, that’s my. husband, he’s in charge of turning it. He was headman in Eastham village before Ranulf took over and put in his own man.”

“Is that why you came here? Because he lost his post?”

Bette paused, her round face creased with pain. “’Twas more than that. Osbert—that was the new bailiff—he took all we had. Our cottage, our garden plot, even our animals and household things.” She shook her head, eyes watering. “When I think of that man eating his swill out of me mam’s best bowls…”

“Couldn’t you protest to the manor court?”

“Lord Ranulf is judge and jury there, Sister, and ‘twas by his leave that Osbert ran us off.”

“That is monstrous!” Alys exclaimed.

“Aye.” Bette gave her a watery smile. “But worse than that was done to other folk, so I can’t complain overly. Come, you’ll catch a chill standing here listening to me blat on.”

Alys followed, her mind in turmoil. True, it was no crime for a lord to deal with his people as Ranulf had Bette and Bertram, but a Sommerville would never condone such callous, heartless behavior. Her parents had taught her an overlord owed his people protection, justice and honesty.

“Mind how you go,” Bette said as they mounted a set of stone steps. “This here’s a natural bridge.” She started across, holding the torch higher. Its pale wash revealed a steep drop on either side of the span, into a seemingly endless pit so dark it swallowed the light.

“Oh, my.” Alys hung back.

“Don’t worry. It’s strong and sturdy. Gowain made sure of that before he allowed any of the rest of us to use it.”

Alys gingerly crossed the bridge, certain to stay in the center. “How can decent people like yourself stay with a murderous rebel like Gowain?”

At the other side, Bette turned and waited for her. “Gowain’s no brigand. Leastwise, not like you mean. Oh, he’s done his share of fighting, but in a just cause. If not for him, the rest of us would surely have starved to death, or been caught by Ranulf’s men and butchered like the others.”

“What others?”

“The ones who stayed in Eastham village…the farmers who resisted when Ranulf ordered them from their land or tried to take their children away.”

“What would he want with farmers’ children?”

“To serve at the castle, he said, but the maidens were made to entertain his guests, and the lads were never seen again.”

“Dear God.” Alys shivered, and not from the cold.

“Just so. Bertram and I fled in the night with our young ones, taking only the clothes we wore. Others did the same, Letice Cardon, the brewmistress, Percy Baker—who’s wed to my Bab—Henry and Ralph Denys, Velma, Maye and her wee Johnny.” Bette shook her head. “Each one has a sad tale to tell, but—” she straightened her shoulders “—we’ve survived. Thanks to Gowain.”

“Hmm,” Alys said noncommittally, not ready to elevate a ruthless brigand to sainthood. Mayhap he needed an army to fight his battles and saw a way to gain one by helping these people.

“Here we are.” Bette ducked through an archway, then stood, torch aloft. Light glinted off the vaulted stone ceiling, danced on the dark surface of the bubbling water below it. The warm air smelled damply of sulfur and other minerals. “The water’s deep at the far end, but shallow over here.” She led the way down a narrow, boulder-littered path along the water. “We beat our clothes upon these flat stones, and rinse them in this pool. I’m told it’s the best for bathing, too, for there are rocks below the surface where one may sit without drowning.”

“I can swim,” Alys said, though at the moment she doubted she had the strength to paddle far. “Are there soap and towels?”

“Aye.” A ledge had been turned into a storeroom, with bowls of soap and lengths of linen toweling. “Help yourself to what you need. I’ll give you a bit of privacy while I go and make certain the brazier in your chamber is filled with coals, then I’ll return to show you the way back. Can I bring you anything from your saddle pack?”

If only she had her chests of clothes. All she had in that saddle was a fresh chemise, gloves and her precious herb books. “Thank you, no. I’ll put this robe back on when I’ve washed and sort through my things when I get back to my room.”

The moment Bette left, Alys ducked behind a large rock and shed her clothes. The boots came first. She wriggled her aching toes, and set the woolen hose aside for washing. It was a relief to remove the soiled robe and confining headdress. On the morrow, she’d find a way to clean both. Beneath the linen coif, her coronet of braids felt matted and untidy. She longed to unplait her hair and wash it, but the hip-length mane took hours to dry, so she merely reseated the wooden pins.

Clad in her chemise—for the thought of bathing nude in foreign surroundings made her uneasy—she sat on a smooth rock and dipped her toes in the water. “Ahh.” The seductive warmth chased the chill from her feet and moved up her legs. Sighing again, Alys slid onto a lower rock and submerged up to her chin. It was a bit hotter than her usual bath, but she welcomed the burning sting to banish her aches, soon grew used to it, in fact.

“How delightful.” Slithering around, she rested her back against a warm rock and soaked up the heat. Eyes closed, she let her arms drift in the buoyant water. Her mind drifted, too, mulling over all that had happened since her departure from Ransford. It seemed weeks, not a day and night, had passed.

Getting home again was her first priority, but she was loath to leave until she knew Dickie and the others were out of danger. Once they were well, would Gowain honor his promise and escort her to Newstead? Impossible to tell.

What a curious man he was, she thought, shifting uneasily as his face swam in her mind. Though she sensed volatile passions simmering beneath his cold, hard exterior, he masked them with a control she greatly envied. How did he do it?

Bah! Likely fear and weariness had made her mistake the matter. Either that, or he was the one person in the world whose emotions she could not read.

Alys sighed and forced herself to relax, to think of something besides her enigmatic captor. The hot water bubbled around her, tickling over her skin like a hundred tiny touches. Or a hundred hugs. The comparison made her wistful. It had been so long since she’d felt anything like this. The sensation was soothing, yet oddly sensual. A lover’s caress.

Why had she thought of that, when she’d never been closer to a swain than the lines of a romantic ballad? Nay, but she’d dreamed of them. Dreamed of being held and kissed and cuddled. The bubbles prickled and tickled and enticed. She began to imagine what it would be like to—

Alys sat up abruptly, ending the sweet yearning for what could not be. “Stop tormenting yourself,” she whispered.

She stood, scattering water, and waded the two steps to the bank of the pool. Quickly stripping off her chemise, she dried her trembling body, her movements stiff, brisk and practical. Her gown felt grubby and unappealing. She was just belting it when she heard the sound of a voice in the tunnel outside.

Bette?

Nay, the voice was deep, male.

“Trust me, sweetheart, you’ll enjoy a hot soak,” it said.

Gowain!

Alys gasped, her heart racing beneath her clammy clothes.

“Here we are. See. Is the pool not lovely?” His voice was soft and crooning. A lover’s voice.

Alys didn’t wait to hear the woman’s reply, certain it was Maye. Just as certain she’d die of embarrassment if forced to face the trysting pair. Instinctively she backed away from the bathing pool, scrambling to hide in the rocks behind it.

“We’ll sit over here.” Footsteps scraped on the stones, coming closer, pausing at the spot she’d recently vacated.

Alys held her breath, dying inside. If only she could sneak out without being seen, but Bette had said there was only one entrance. Gowain and Maye were between her and that doorway.

“Shh. Easy, now, dearling,” he crooned. “First let us get your clothes off.”

“Oh, no,” Alys mouthed.

Muffled rustling followed, accompanied by Gowain’s gentle murmurs. “How does that feel?” he asked.

“Mmm,” said a small, sweet voice. Alys groaned and tried to cover her ears..

“Sit here, put your feet into the pool,” he urged.

“Oh!” someone gasped.

“It feels hot at first, but you’ll grow used to it. See?” A splash marked the entry of a big body into the water.

Alys shivered, trying not to imagine what those wide shoulders and broad chest would look like without chain mail. She’d seen her father and brothers shirtless, but some inner sense told her this wouldn’t be the same. The soft voice of Gowain’s companion reminded her he wasn’t alone. Wasn’t for her.

“Ready, sweetheart? Let me lower you into the water,” Gowain coaxed. “That’s it.”

A breathless feminine squeal followed, chased immediately by a rumble of male laughter. Water splashed, chuckles ensued, and Alys’s imagination flitted down amorous paths. She’d seen lovers dallying in Ransford’s gardens. Seen and envied them the lingering touches, the closeness forever denied her.

“Your skin is so soft,” Gowain said. “Especially on your belly. Mmm. Does it feel good when I rub it?”

Alys bit her lip to keep from groaning aloud in shame and misery. She had to get away before things went farther.

“Sister Alys,” Bette sang out.

Alys did groan then and scrunched down.

“Oh, Gowain. I didn’t know you were here,” Bette said. “Sorry to intrude, but I am looking for Sister Alys.”

“Here?” Gowain growled.

“Aye. She spent the whole night tending the wounded. I thought a soak might ease her aching muscles.”

“I did not see her when we arrived.” He sounded wary.

“Oh, dear. I hope she didn’t come to some harm. She said she could swim.” Footsteps came closer. “Sister Alys?”

There was no help for it. Better to stand and face trouble than to be found cowering like this. Generations of proud Sommerville breeding stiffening her nerve, Alys got to her feet. “Here I am, Bette.” She kept her gaze on the woman for fear she’d see more of Gowain and his mistress than she wanted.

“Sister, whatever were you doing back there?” Bette asked.

“Er, lacing up my boots.”

“They must reach to your knees,” Gowain dryly observed, “for we’ve been here a goodly time.”

Alys’s eyes flicked toward him, then away. It was enough to see he stood in waist-deep water, torchlight emphasizing the planes and hollows of his heavily muscled chest. Something fluttered in her midsection. She prayed it was nausea. “I am ready to go back, now, Bette.” She sounded strained.

“Of course.” Bette smiled at her, but bent toward the pool.

“Are you enjoying your bath, lovey?”

“Hot,” said a small voice.

Alys glanced down and saw a tiny sprite of two or so sitting bare-naked on the hollow rock where she herself had rested.

“My daughter, Enid,” Gowain said.

“Oh.” Heat crept up from the neck of Alys’s gown, burning her cheeks. “I thought—”

“Did you, now?” he asked archly. “Shame on you, Sister.”

“Aye, well…” Thoroughly mortified, Alys nonetheless raised her chin and left with as much dignity as she could muster.

“Good night, Gowain,” Bette said. “Wait, Sister, or you’ll get lost in the tunnels.”

“I hope so,” Alys muttered under her breath.

Gowain’s chuckled. “Don’t be shy, Sister Alys, you’re welcome in my bath anytime.”

Alys fumed all the way back to the sleeping chambers. When she saw the one assigned to her, her smoldering temper erupted. “I cannot stay here.” Her horrified gaze moved over the damp, mossy walls and the thin pallet spread on the stone floor. A brazier glowed in one corner, but it didn’t take the chill or the smell of mildew from the place.

“‘Tis the best we have,” Bette said, wringing her hands. “Gowain’s own, in fact.”

“His?” The heat drained from Alys’s face. “Surely he does not expect me to share his bed.”

“Nay!” Bette exclaimed. “He moved his clothes and the trunk with his papers into his counting room so you might have the largest chamber…and the brazier to warm you.”

The lump in Alys’s throat thickened, a tangle of fatigue, misery and, aye, fear. If only she hadn’t dismounted to aid Dickie. Nay, she’d had no choice in that. Nor did she have a choice now, it seemed. Swallowing hard, she managed to nod. “I—I am sorry to seem ungrateful, but at home…” She swallowed those words, too. Kind as Bette had been, ’twould not do to let these brigands know her father would pay all he had to ransom her. She’d gotten herself into this. She’d get herself out. Tomorrow. When she was dry and rested. “I am just tired, is all.”

“‘Course you are.” Bette laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. The purity of her compassion seeped through the fine wool to soothe Alys’s troubled heart. “You’ve had a rough day and night, but you’ve naught to fret about. You’re safe here with us. Gowain will not let any harm befall you.”