Lady At Arms, page 23
Gilbert held Wardieu’s stare a moment longer, then bent over his sister and gently lifted her from the chair.
She grasped a handful of his tunic and nudged her face against his chest as if seeking his warmth. But it was not his warmth she sought, Gilbert knew, and a moment later it was confirmed when she murmured, “Ran.”
Jealousy crept through him. After their father’s death, never had she called for anyone but her brother, but now there was another in his stead.
As it should be, he told himself, as I feared it might never be for her.
During the long night, Gilbert had discovered there was something very different about his sister and grudgingly conceded it seemed right. It was as if time had turned about, reversing some of the effects of that nightmarish night they had shared four years past. Disturbingly, though, he was unsettled by the loss of its burdensome familiarity, having too long lived with it.
What had happened between Lizanne and this man? he wondered, as yet having no explanation from her. The only thing he knew for certain was that she cared deeply for Wardieu, perhaps even loved him. And it infuriated him. Wardieu was still the enemy and would be until it could be proved otherwise.
Gilbert walked to the other side of the bed and carefully lowered his sister to the mattress. “She has not left your side since you were brought here,” he said as he flipped the coverlet over her and tucked it around her.
He straightened and returned to the chair she had slept in. Settling into it, he leaned back and clasped his hands on his chest. “If you are up to it—and you appear to be—I would hear from you the circumstances that led you to take my sister from Penforke.”
“She has not told you?”
“Nay, though I do have it from my people that it was not unprovoked. She abducted you from Langdon Castle, did she not?” He could not help but savor the glimpse he was afforded of Wardieu’s shame at having been bested by a woman, and resented that it did not linger longer upon his face.
“That is how it began,” Wardieu said low. “I do not think, though, now is the time or place to discuss it.”
“My patience is worn nearly through, Baron Wardieu.” Gilbert sat forward. “What is it? You fear you may not be able to control yourself?”
Wardieu ground his jaws. “Methinks neither of us will be able to control ourselves once started.”
Gilbert stared the man down—or tried to, for Wardieu was obviously in no mood to be intimidated.
Gilbert heaved a sigh and dropped back in the chair. “Then we will wait until Lizanne awakens,” he said and began the habitual kneading of his leg muscles.
When Lady Zara, accompanied by Wardieu’s man, Sir Walter, entered the solar a few minutes later, Gilbert rose and crossed the chamber to stand with his back to the fireplace.
“Leave, Baron Balmaine,” Wardieu said, pinning him with his black glare. “I would have time alone with my mother and Sir Walter.”
Gilbert shrugged. “When we have settled this matter between us, you will have your privacy, not before.”
“Then let us settle it now.” Wardieu flung the covers aside and was off the bed so quickly it was hard to believe he had suffered as great an injury as he had. However, as he pushed past his mother, his stride broke and he slammed a hand to the end bedpost to steady himself.
“Ranulf!” Lizanne sat up, sprang across the covers to the foot of the bed, and dropped down beside him. “You should not be out of bed,” she said, gripping his arm.
He jabbed a finger in Gilbert’s direction. “I want you out of here. Now.”
Gilbert started to smile, but as he sized up the man whose torso was bare but for the bandages covering his injury, he found himself more given to a frown. “The scar,” he said, staring at Wardieu’s unmarred abdomen.
Lizanne swung around. “I have told you, Gilbert, ’tis not him.”
She had been explicit in every detail of her assailant, down to that telling scar. But Wardieu bore no evidence of it.
“We can talk while Lady Zara visits with her son,” she said and turned back to Wardieu who shook off her hand and returned to the bed.
“What goes?” Lady Zara demanded. “Of what scar do you speak, Baron Balmaine?”
Gilbert glanced at the woman, looked back at Wardieu as he lowered to the mattress and Lizanne stepped near to draw the covers over him and satisfy herself he had not further injured himself.
Shortly, Gilbert and Lizanne withdrew from the chamber. After giving instructions to the two guards posted outside, he grasped his sister’s elbow and guided her down the corridor.
Without warning, she halted and, when he turned to her, launched herself into his arms and began to cry.
Bewildered, for he had not seen her in such a state in a long time, he smoothed a hand over her hair. It was some minutes before she quieted and lifted her flushed face to his.
“I am sorry.” She unclasped her hands from his waist. “This is all my fault. I was foolish to act so rashly, should have waited for your return before—”
“Shh,” he hushed her. “Let us walk outside, and you can tell me everything.”
Lizanne nodded and took the arm he proffered.
The castle’s garden was lush with the scent of roses, and there was every shade imaginable, from the deepest to the palest.
“’Tis the work of Lady Zara,” Gilbert explained as Lizanne looked about in wonder.
“How?” She buried her nose in a full bloom that was just beginning to shed its abundance of soft, velvety petals.
Gilbert shrugged. “I do not know how she does it, but surely as you have a gift for healing, she has a gift for flowers.” Over the past days, he had come to admire the strong-willed woman who was Wardieu’s mother. She was fire, this small lady. In fact, were she younger, he thought he might have considered taking her to wife.
Eyes bright, Lizanne moved bush to bush, smelling and touching. “Even the king does not have roses as fine as these,” she exclaimed.
Only when she had been a girl had Gilbert seen her take interest in such things, so he was surprised by her enthusiasm over something that had nothing to do with weapons or strategizing.
“You have changed,” he said, feeling a loss that he knew was rooted in selfishness.
She looked around. “Have I?”
He stepped forward and placed a hand against the small of her back. “Come, we will walk, and you will tell me of this Ranulf Wardieu.”
Though the garden was not large, they spent the next hour covering every inch of it as she poured out her tale, beginning with her encounter with Wardieu at Langdon Castle and ending with how she had wrested Squire Roland’s mount from him in order to disrupt the duel.
“Oh, Gilbert.” She shook her head. “Why the dramatic gesture of sending a lock of Lady Zara’s hair? It so infuriated Ranulf.”
“I thought it might.” He nearly smiled in remembrance of how he’d had to steal upon the lady to clip a piece free. Discovering too late what he had done, she had turned her wrath upon him with the force of a sea-blown storm. Narrowly, he had escaped the kick that had aimed to unman him.
“’Twas cruel of you,” his sister said sharply.
Gilbert stopped and pulled her in front of him. “I was taking no chance of Wardieu running with you.”
“But he—”
“I had to get you back. The thought of failing you again…” Realizing how quick his breath was coming, he dropped his hands from her, closed his eyes, and determinedly slowed his breathing.
Lizanne stared at her brother. She felt his pain and knew he had too long carried this burden as she had allowed him to do with nary a protest. And she was deeply ashamed. The king had been correct in his estimation of her.
She laid a hand on his arm. “You did not fail me, Gilbert. There was naught you could do to prevent what happened.” She steeled herself for his reaction to what she would next tell. “And I no longer regret it—at least not where I am concerned.”
He opened his eyes, barked, “What say you?”
She squeezed his arm. “If not for that night, I would now be married to Philip. As I discovered at court, he is not a kind man. Indeed, there is something quite cruel about him. He…” She lowered her gaze. Should she reveal what the man’s final words had alluded to?
Gilbert lifted her chin. “What are you not telling me?”
“Philip,” she croaked. “Methinks ’twas he who ordered the attack upon our camp. I am nearly certain of it.”
Gilbert stared at her, slowly shook his head. “You speak nonsense. Who has filled your head with such outrageous lies? Wardieu?”
“Nay, not him. Philip Charwyck himself.” In a rush, she told him of that last audience with the man who had been determined to make her his leman and the words he had spoken that had caused everything to go dark. When she finished, the fury upon her brother’s face made her flinch.
“He is the one responsible,” Gilbert ground out.
“Certes, he knows of the man who…” She swallowed hard. “…resembles my husband.”
“Has Wardieu a brother?”
She blinked. “This I do not know. He has spoken little of his family. And, truly, I did not even consider the possibility.” And for that she was ashamed, for it seemed the only solution.
“Then we shall ask him.” Gilbert turned and strode away.
Though Lizanne’s legs were long, their reach could not match his. However, with a bit of running, she caught up with him and accompanied him back inside the donjon.
Lady Zara and Walter were leaving the solar when the two of them stepped off the stairs.
Without explanation, Gilbert took Ranulf’s mother by the arm and pulled her with him past the guards stationed on either side of the chamber.
Lizanne threw an apologetic look at the stupefied Walter and followed her brother inside and closed the door. Almost immediately, a ruckus commenced in the corridor outside and, a moment later, Walter burst inside.
“What is this?” Ranulf thundered, though not from the bed where he ought to be.
Lizanne followed his voice to where he was seated in an armchair before the fire, but before she could order him to return to bed, her brother spun around and shouted, “Out!”
“I will say who is and is not permitted in my chamber!” Ranulf growled.
Gilbert looked to him. “’Tis a private discussion I mean to have. I want no interference from that one.” He pointed at Walter who was struggling to free himself from the guards who had taken hold of him.
“He may stay,” Ranulf said in a dangerously level voice.
“He will go,” her brother countered.
With growing trepidation, Lizanne watched as Ranulf’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I have said he will stay, and he shall.”
Knowing that, regardless of her husband’s injury, it was only a matter of time before blows were exchanged, Lizanne stepped to where her brother stood with Lady Zara. “It can do no harm to have Sir Walter present,” she said. “He can be trusted.”
The determined set of his jaw told that he was not about to waver.
However, Lady Zara was not put off. “Let him stay,” she said softly and touched Gilbert’s hand.
Lizanne looked sharply at the woman and, when she caught the strangled sound behind her, glanced over her shoulder at Walter whose face reflected rage.
“Very well,” Gilbert said and dismissed the guards with a nod. Then, Lady Zara on his arm, he advanced on Ranulf.
Lizanne waited for Walter to draw alongside her before following. Noting his dark scowl and recalling the advice he had given her at Westminster, she murmured, “Where Lady Zara is concerned, do you lead with your heart?”
The man startled so violently, she thought he might be having a seizure. However, he quickly recovered and turned remorseful eyes upon her. “Too often my head,” he said.
Pleased at having solved the puzzle, she nodded and went to stand beside Ranulf who now wore a thick robe. “You are feeling well?” she asked.
“I was,” he said, mouth set thinly as he stared at Gilbert.
Gilbert seated Lady Zara in the chair opposite Ranulf, then stood beside her. Rather forlornly, Walter positioned himself to the side and between the two chairs, but his eyes never left Ranulf’s mother.
Gilbert broke the uneasy silence. “Have you a brother, Baron Wardieu?”
Ranulf blinked, looked to Lady Zara who had gone rigid. “I have no siblings—that I know of. Why do you ask?”
Gilbert folded his arms across his chest. “There is the matter of the man who committed an atrocity against my family for which, it seems, you have borne the blame. Though my sister says it cannot have been you, you match her description in every way.”
“Except the scar.” Ranulf’s eyebrows rose into the hair brushing his forehead.
“Aye, except that.”
“Lady Lizanne,” Lady Zara leaned forward in her chair and pinned her new daughter-in-law with eyes as black as her son’s. “You are saying there is another who resembles my Ranulf?”
“Aye, so nearly identical that I mistook my husband for that one, which is why—”
“Tell me of this encounter,” Lady Zara urged.
Lizanne drew a sharp breath, gripped the back of Ranulf’s chair. “I do not wish to speak of it. Suffice it to say there is another.”
The lady stared hard at Lizanne, then sat back. When next she spoke, her voice knew sorrow. “I gave birth to twins.” Her eyes moved to her son. “Ranulf was firstborn, Colin second.”
Feeling herself sway, Lizanne held tighter to the chair.
Anguish etched Lady Zara’s face. “Mayhap, ’tis Colin.”
“Colin is dead, Mother,” Ranulf said sharply.
She clasped her hands before her face, nodded. “He died within hours of his birth.”
“Then what is this nonsense about it being Colin?” Ranulf demanded.
His mother shook her head, then reached to Walter. Immediately, her son’s vassal was at her side, grasping her small-boned hand in his larger one.
“I never even held him,” Lady Zara said, more to Walter than anyone else, eyes awash with unshed tears. “Byron said the child was diseased, but mayhap ’twas not Colin after all.”
Loathing the pain this conversation was causing his mother, Ranulf decided he’d had enough and shoved to his feet. “Ridiculous speculation! I will hear no more of it.”
“But ’tis possible,” his mother protested. “Do you not see?”
“What I see is that you are becoming distressed for naught.”
“Nay, mayhap Colin was stolen from me.”
Silently cursing the weakness that washed over him and the wound that throbbed alarmingly, Ranulf shook his head. “Who would dare such a thing? Be sensible, will you?”
“Know you of any other children born before or shortly after yours, Lady Zara?” Gilbert asked.
“Enough!” Ranulf shouted and took a stride toward the other man, one that caused him to sway and threatened to send him crashing to the floor.
Once again, Lizanne set herself between them. “Pray, Ranulf”—she turned a hand around his arm—“sit down ere you fall down.”
Since collapsing before the insufferable Gilbert Balmaine was the last thing he wished to do, Ranulf warned the other man, “I have not finished with you,” and allowed Lizanne to urge him back to the chair. However, before she could move to stand beside him again, he caught her wrist and pulled her down onto his lap.
Amid her protests, he said, “You are where you belong, Wife,” and looked to her brother whose nostrils flared and color ran higher. “All right, Mother.” He turned his attention back to her. “Let us end this speculation. Were there any other children born during the same time?”
Lady Zara nodded. “Aye, Byron fathered another—on my illegitimate sister, Mary.”
Ranulf stared, wondered how many more blows he might be made to suffer this day. He had known of his dead twin, but never had he heard of his mother’s sister.
“When I discovered her betrayal, and Byron’s, I demanded she leave Chesne.” She sighed. “But she had no place to go, and Byron convinced me I should let her remain until her babe was born. He promised that then he would send her south. She hated me, though I did not know it until after she had lain with my husband and got herself with child. ’Twas torment day in and day out to see her about the castle. She flaunted her pregnancy and openly speculated on which of us had been impregnated first…whose child would be Byron’s true heir.”
When she dropped her face into her hands and began to cry, Walter moved nearer and laid his other hand on her shoulder. It was some minutes before she offered him a weak smile of gratitude and continued.
“Mary birthed a son the day before Ranulf and Colin were born. As promised, she was gone from Chesne when I recovered sufficiently to see my Colin given a proper burial.”
Lizanne was the first to break the silence. “Lady Zara, forgive me, but do you know the name Mary gave her son?”
“Of course.” She gave a bitter laugh. “She named him for Byron’s father, D—”
“Darth,” Balmaine supplied.
Lady Zara gasped. “That was his name.”
“’Tis him,” Lizanne breathed. “The name of the one who led the raid against our camp.”
“Then it was Mary’s son you buried, Lady Zara,” Balmaine concluded. “She who likely took your second-born with her to Medland, Charwyck’s home.”
That man’s name snapped Ranulf back to the present, and he sat forward so suddenly he nearly dumped Lizanne off his lap. “Charwyck? What has he to do with this?”
Balmaine looked to his sister. “You have not told him?”
Ranulf pulled her chin around. “’Tis the reason you collapsed at the palace, is it not? What have you withheld from me?”
She tried to pull free, but he held tight—until her struggle caused her elbow to bump his wound. At his groan, she stilled and slumped against him. “I could not tell you. I had to first sort it out.” She twined her fingers in her lap and stared at them. “Philip was not explicit,” she continued in a voice so low Ranulf was not sure how much the others heard. “He simply said you bore a resemblance to another—a common villein—and then he disappeared. ’Twas so confusing and frightening to think he might have been responsible for the attack, to think he would go to such lengths to avoid wedding me.”
