The Norman's Heart Page 14

  “Two Sundays hence, after mass,” Lud said. “Care to join in?”

  “No, thank you. I don’t want somebody to mistake my head for the ball. Good luck, though, to you all!” Albert replied, raising his ale. He took another drink, noting how warm his throat felt when he gulped the golden liquid. When he had finished his first, Moll appeared with a second. Albert decided it might be taken as a discourtesy if he got up and left, and he was by now rather interested in the decision regarding boundaries, so he sat and listened.

  Besides, he thought as he reached the end of the second ale and accepted the third mug Moll offered, if Roger had gone someplace to sulk, he wouldn’t be in a suitable frame of mind to listen to advice anyway. Sometimes it took days for him to calm down.

  Albert found himself nodding in agreement as each group loudly and forcefully offered reasons for their particular choice. The bell tower was more uphill than the oak, but the ground around the oak was more uneven. Either one would make it difficult for the opposition.

  This ale was certainly delicious, Albert thought as he reached for a fourth mug. And how delightful it was to be thinking of nothing more serious than a foot ball match. It had been too long since he had appreciated the simpler life of the Saxon peasants, and since he had tasted such a delightful beverage.

  By the time the discussion ended, the bell tower had been noisily proclaimed the northern boundary, and Albert was too drunk to see straight or stand without staggering. For his part, he felt in rare good humor, the friend of all mankind and the potential savior of Roger’s marriage.

  “Here, let’s give you a hand,” Moll said cheerfully, putting her shoulder under the nobleman’s arm when Lud realized it was time Sir Albert was safely tucked in bed.

  “That’s. . .thank. . .you’re marvelous,” Albert slurred, bestowing what he thought was a gracious smile upon Moll.

  Moll had seen many men drunk and recognized the lopsided grin for what Albert meant it to be. “Do you think you’ll be able to get to the castle all right?” she asked kindly as she opened the door.

  “Shertainly,” Albert said. He took a large step in the wrong direction. Moll put her hands on his shoulders and gently faced him the right way. “I thank you, kind lady!” Albert said, bending to bow and almost tipping over.

  “God’s teeth, what is this sight before my eyes!” Sir Roger exclaimed, coming out of the darkness like an avenging angel.

  “It’s only me,” Albert said with another ridiculous grin.

  “I see you were not lost, after all,” Roger remarked sardonically. “Were you hiding in the alehouse all day?”

  “No. I was trying to find you. I thought you might be here. But you weren’t,” Albert said, his tone between accusation and satisfaction. He started to weave precariously.

  “He’s a bit...” Moll began apologetically.

  “So I see,” Roger remarked, raising one eyebrow, his mouth grim.

  “Now don’t look like that, you grumpy old bear!” Albert cried, weaving even more as Moll withdrew her support. “The ale’s marvelous, and Moll’s marvelous and I feel marvelous! Everything’s marvelous!” He wrapped his arms around his body as if embracing somebody, or anybody. “Mina’s marvelous, too!”

  Then Albert frowned deeply and jabbed his finger at Roger. “And you’re not, you knave!”

  “Really?” Roger crossed his arms and frowned just as critically.

  “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I’ve got things to do,” Moll said, hurriedly decamping. If Sir Roger was going to start shouting—and judging by his face, that seemed not unlikely—she wanted to get far away.

  In reality, Roger wasn’t angry. At least, not at Sir Albert, the sight of whom struck Roger as rather harmlessly comical and reminded him of the first time they had met. Albert had been lying in a gutter, his hand clutching a mug. Even then, there had been a serene dignity in his demeanor that Roger had found interesting. He had carried Albert back to the barracks of the castle he was visiting and waited for the fellow to sober up. On this rather unusual basis, their long friendship had begun.

  However, right at the moment Roger wasn’t pleased to hear his wife’s name spoken so loudly in the streets of the village, even if Albert was making a compliment. “Come on, Albert, time for bed,” he said, going to help his staggering friend.

  Albert dashed Roger’s hand away and glared, the effect hampered by his obvious inability to focus. “I don’t want your help! You’re a fool! A slimp...shrimp ... fool!”

  “You’re talking like a fool yourself,” Roger observed patiently. He grabbed Albert’s arm and put it over his shoulder. “You’re going to fall on your face in the mud in another moment.”

  “So what of that?” Albert cried, pulling away and stumbling. He managed to right himself. “What do you care? You only care about yourself, Roger, like a babe. A child. A bully!” He flung his arm wildly toward the castle. “You’ve got a beautiful wife who’s better than you deserve up there, and you’re down here with some wench in the alehouse!”

  “No, I wasn’t and that’s quite enough, Albert,” Roger said firmly. “Let’s go.”

  “Oh, no! I’m not goin’ with you. Not till you tell Mina you’re sorry. I don’t know what you argued about, but I’m sure it’s all your fault.”

  “She’s not here to apologize to, is she?” Roger said, getting more desperate to get Albert out of sight and into bed where he could sleep off the effects of the ale. And where he would be quiet.

  “Oh,” Albert said, slightly befuddled. “She isn’t?” He looked around. “She isn’t.” He straightened, and as with the first time Roger had seen him intoxicated, there was a certain semblance of dignity to his disheveled appearance. “Very well then, my lord. Let us depart.” He took a step forward and fell flat on his face.

  Roger bent down and rolled him over, examining his friend’s muddy countenance. “Are you hurt?” he demanded.

  Albert blinked bloodshot eyes. “You know what the trouble with you two is?” he asked thickly. “You’re exactly alike! Two slub...shub... studd—” he took a deep breath, “—thickheaded fools who can’t see that they’re perfect for each other! Like Winifred and me.” Albert blinked, then moaned and covered his face with his filthy hands. “Oh, Winifred, where are you now?” He pulled away from Roger and curled up in the mud, his chest heaving and his sobs heart wrenching to hear

  Not sure what to do but not willing to leave his friend, Roger patted him on the back. “Come on, Albert,” he said softly. “Let me help you home.”

  “I don’t have a home,” Albert groaned disconsolately.

  “As long as I live, you have a home with me,” Roger said. With compassionate care, he assisted his friend to his feet. Albert grew quiet and Roger realized he was nearly unconscious.

  Gently Roger hoisted Albert over his shoulder and carried him to a quiet place in the castle stables where no one would disturb him. He set him down in a pile of straw and tucked a blanket around him. Then, sure that Mma would not welcome his company, Roger lay down a short distance from Albert and tried to sleep.

  Without much success, although his legs ached from exhaustion. He had been walking over the fields and about the village ever since he had returned from the hunt and discovered that Albert had gone out searching for him as if he were a child needing tending. He was glad Albert was unharmed, of course, and in truth had almost welcomed worrying about his friend instead of his wife.

  Now that Albert was here, however, his thoughts returned to Mina’s deception.

  The shame she had caused him had been corppletely unfounded and unnecessary. She had made him feel like a savage brute, and then an easily duped fool. Her lie was completely inexcusable and unforgivable.

  And despite Albert’s observations on their respective characters, they were not ahke at all. He could never deceive anyone, as she had deceived him.

  Albert would never understand. His experience of love had been chaste and pure, and if he had been disappointed, it
was because of the woman’s sense of honor. Not a lack of it.

  When Albert awoke the next morning, the first thing he saw, once he could force his eyes open, was Roger sitting with his back to the wooden slats of the stable walls, the sunlight streaming in around him so that he looked like one of the sterner disciples in a stained glass window.

  “What did I do?” Albert moaned, sitting up very slowly.

  “You got drunk,” Roger replied evenly.

  “God’s holy heaven, I did?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was looking for you, and I went to the alehouse ... were you there, after all?”

  “No.” Roger stood up, brushing stray wisps of straw from his clothes. “It’s a good thing I happened by, or I might have had to drag you from the gutter again.”

  Albert looked at his soiled clothes ruefully. “I take it I was in just such a location? God save me, my head aches!”

  “Only for a short time, and the sore head serves you right. You were making enough noise to rouse the entire village.”

  “I was?”

  “You were. Why were you looking for me? There was no alarm at the castle. Everything was quiet when we got back.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about Mina.”

  “Again?” Roger asked skeptically. “Spare yourself. You said enough about her last night.”

  Albert’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Something else has happened between you. What is it this time?”

  “I think that is between my wife and me.”

  “She’s a lot like you, you know,” Albert said pensively, rubbing his temples.

  “So you announced to the whole world.”

  “I did?”

  “You did.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Roger, I suspect she doesn’t talk about what’s troubling her, either. That’s what you two need to do, talk.”

  “God’s wounds, Albert!” Roger cried, releasing some of his pent-up frustration, “we have talked! That’s the whole bloody problem—what she told me! Since you seem unwilling to let me keep some matters to myself despite my best efforts, I will tell you — but once and only once. Mina lied to me. I never touched her on our wedding night, except for one kiss!”

  “One kiss?” Albert said incredulously.

  “One kiss. She doctored my wine. I passed out. I never hit her.”

  “Thank God for that!” Albert said fervently. “I didn’t want to believe you capable of such a thing.”

  “But now you see what she is capable of.”

  “Why did she do it? Was she afraid?”

  Roger looked away. He had said enough; there was no need for Albert to know about his conversation with the baron, since Mina was in the wrong. “It doesn’t matter why. She told a base, evil lie, and for that I will not forgive her.”

  Albert’s brow furrowed with doubt and his eyes were sorrowful. “That’s a harsh judgment, Roger, and it sounds final. Perhaps if you let her explain—”

  “No! We’ve talked more than enough! There can be no justification for what she did.” Compelled by Albert’s compassionate face, Roger finally revealed the true cause of his distress. “For what she made me believe about myself.”

  Albert slowly nodded. “What are you going to do?” he inquired despondently, and Roger was relieved that Albert at last understood. “Annul the marriage? Surely if you slept alone on your wedding night, the marriage wasn’t consummated. And then we went to your other estate—”

  “The marriage has been consummated since then.”

  “Oh.”

  “So she is my lawful wife, for the rest of my life.”

  “I’m so sorry, Roger.” They sat in sympathetic silence together, then Albert spoke. “Roger, I have to confess that I don’t see why Mina would do that to you. There must be some kind of explanation, if only—”

  “Albert, is your loyalty to her, or to me?” Roger demanded, dismayed to think that even after all he had divulged, Albert was still willing to exonerate Mina.

  “To you, of course, Roger,” Albert replied staunchly. “First and always, to you.”

  “Then you will please have the goodness to stop talking about Mina. I don’t want to discuss my marriage with you, or anyone else, ever again.”

  Before Albert could respond, they heard a loud cry from the battlements. Without saying a word, the two men rushed to the door of the stable just as the enormous gate to the inner ward swung open.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As Roger and Albert stepped out into the bright light of midmorning, they saw a beautiful young woman dressed in extraordinary finery enter the yard, mounted on a pure white horse. She was followed by a woman—obviously her servant—riding a mule, and by a troop of well-armed men.

  “Who is that?” Albert asked, instinctively straightening his garments and running his hand through his disheveled hair.

  “I don’t know,” Roger replied, automatically brushing the last of the bits of straw from his clothes. “But she’s not a pauper, by the looks of it.” He strode forward, a welcoming smile on his face. “Welcome to Montmorency Castle,” he called out.

  When he was closer, Roger halted and looked up at the stranger, noting her pale, smooth skin, long slender neck and gleaming blue eyes. In many respects, he realized, this woman represented the epitome of female beauty combined with the trappings of rank and wealth. Yet her attributes left him curiously unmoved, especially when the persistent image of Mina, her hair spread over the pillows, her face filled with blatant desire, intruded upon his thoughts.

  Where was that sense of challenge a beautiful woman used to inspire? Before he was married, he would have been determined to get this lovely creature into his bed. Now, he simply wondered who she was and what she was doing here.

  The young woman gave him a smile as beautiful as the rest of her delicate features. “I must beg your pardon, Sir Roger,” she said in a soft, breathy voice. “And your indulgence for this intrusion. Perhaps you will not be angry when I tell you Baron DeGuerre has sent me.”

  “Baron DeGuerre has let such an exquisite woman escape his castle without marrying her?” Roger asked, smiling.

  The young woman emitted a fluttery little laugh. “Oh, you flatter me, Sir Roger!” Then she looked around, her finely shaped eyebrows knitted into a slightly worried expression. He caught her unspoken message and quickly offered his hand to help her dismount, all the while keeping a knowing grin from his face. Roger had been the object of many a lady’s wiles and he knew them well. This calculated, affected inability to get off her horse without assistance was one example.

  Dudley came bustling out of the kitchen and halted in midstep, his mouth falling open at the sight of the stranger and her entourage. “We have a visitor,” Roger announced somewhat unnecessarily. “Please tell my wife.” Dudley nodded and wordlessly trotted into the hall.

  Roger turned back to his unexpected guest, offering his arm to escort her to his hall. “It isn’t fair, my lady, that you know my name, and I do not know yours,” he said, noting that the hand she placed upon his forearm was rather reminiscent of a limp fish.

  “Oh, pray forgive my forgetfulness, too!” she cried with an alarmed little squeak. “I am Lady Joselynd de Beautette. My father is Sir Ranulf de Beautette, cousin to the baron.”

  Roger introduced Lady Joselynd to Albert, who had waited silently. The knight nodded in response, but his greeting was definitely lackluster, probably because he was still feeling the aftereffects of his nocturnal activity.

  Roger looked at his guest with a warm smile and a renewed resolve to act as he always had as he led her to the hall. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

  Lady Joselynd didn’t have time to answer before Mina came hurrying out.

  His wife halted awkwardly, made a swift survey of their guest and her cortege, then glanced down at her own garment in a gesture that was both self-conscious and startling for its unexpectedness before
she clasped her hands behind her back.

  Roger had never seen Mina concerned with her garments before. She always seemed above vanity, as if her appearance was of little import, quite a contrast to Reginald, and to this woman.

  Perhaps the comparison would do her good, Roger thought spontaneously making his own. This Joselynd was like pale moonshine compared to Mina’s fiery sun.

  But a fiery temper was not a good attribute, he reminded himself.

  Mina’s shrewd gaze scanned the entire crowded yard, then came to rest on Lady Joselynd’s hand upon her husband’s arm. It was at that moment she again became the strong-willed, confident woman he knew. The infuriating, fraudulent woman he knew. “Lady Joselynd de Beautette, may I present Mina,” he said with a touch of defiant grandeur. “My wife,” he added after an appropriately insolent pause.

  Mina did not look directly at him. She knew what he was trying to do. He was attempting to humiliate her by acting as if she were not nearly so important as this pale, overdressed, simpering noblewoman who had probably been coddled and cozened all her life.

  Mina smiled a satisfied smile, one with more than a little superiority. A person like Lady Joselynd probably would never have survived Mina’s upbringing, and that knowledge strengthened her.

  She needed that strength, because despite all her vows and resolutions, the sight of Roger brought back a flood of memories that threatened to weaken her again, just as the sight of that woman’s hand upon him filled her with rage. She struggled to control her emotions, and when she spoke, her voice was as sweet as honey. “Do tell us how we come to be so honored with your presence.”

  “Well, it’s a bit embarrassing,” Lady Joselynd said with an adroit show of shame complete with stutter and suitably lowered eyelids that didn’t fool Mina for one moment. She doubted there was very much at all that would embarrass this vain, artful young woman who was holding on to Roger’s arm too tightly, and at whom Roger was smiling with more friendliness than he had ever bestowed on her. “I would rather tell you about it inside.”