The Norman's Heart Page 20

  Not to be outdone, Albert ran toward the ball and got it away from his lord. With amazing dexterity, he wove through the line of opposition, followed by Roger and his men. Roger gritted his teeth, determined that Albert should not have the glory of achieving this victory. When he drew near to him, Roger suddenly elbowed Albert viciously, sending him sprawling into the mud.

  Lud and a group of ten fellows, slow but nearly equal in size to the reeve, had caught up to Roger by then. Forming a guard, they surrounded Roger, neatly intercepting any challengers. In that manner, Roger was able to get the ball the final few yards to the church.

  When the ball touched the wall, a great cheer went up from Roger, Lud and the others.

  It was only after the cheering and shouting had died down that Roger realized Albert had not gotten up.

  “You’ve done another fine job,” Mina said to Dudley as she surveyed the inner ward. In preparation for the end of the game, trestle tables had been brought out of the hall and set up there. Great barrels of ale stood ready to be tapped, for Mina had decided that win or lose, the Montmorency participants would be thirsty men and should be rewarded for their efforts. If they won, the townspeople were ready to haul more barrels inside the yard.

  An air of expectation had descended on the castle when the ball moved out of sight from the battlements. Those who had wagered against Montmorency, a small minority, had already deserted their posts and gone to console themselves at the alehouse. Those who had placed bets on their comrades had quieted into hopeful silence.

  Hilda was nowhere to be seen, having been hastily and angrily pressed into the service of Lady Joselynd, who was making noisy preparations to depart. Her obvious displeasure didn’t bother Mina. She would be happy to have the woman gone.

  There was a sudden delighted shout. The minstrel, who had taken Mina’s place on the battlements, called out, “We’ve won!”

  All over the castle, excited babble broke out. Even Dudley, whose main concern was for the celebratory preparations, joined in the cheering.

  Mina drifted away from the inner ward toward the relative silence of her garden. Soon Roger and the others would be here, laughing and talking and drinking. They would not notice her absence.

  Sinking down onto the stone bench, she laid her head in her hand and stared at the blooming flowers. She had come into this marriage without a lot of girlish hopes or foolish delusions, and, indeed, if Roger had made it clear he intended to bed other women right at the start, she probably would have accepted that as part of the marriage contract.

  However, he had not. If anything, she had been rather sure that he would remain true to his vows of faithfulness. In hindsight, that might have been stupid. Nevertheless, she had, and now the pain of knowing he had tried to seduce the insipid Joselynd was horrible, especially after his reproaches about loyalty and honesty. He was a dishonorable, deceitful scoundrel.

  But there was nothing she could do. The marriage was consummated, and she had nowhere else to go.

  Worst of all, she wanted the fortitude of hatred, and felt only the frailty of her hopeless love.

  “My lady!” Dudley suddenly exclaimed from the inner ward, his voice filled with distress.

  Mina lifted her head and rose apprehensively as the garden gate burst open. “What is it?” she demanded fearfully, thinking of some of the tumbles she had seen the men take. “Roger...?”

  “No. Sir Albert.”

  That revelation provided some small relief as Mina ran toward Dudley and looked at the crowd jostling their way through the gates. At the front of the subdued mob came Roger, carrying an unconscious Albert in his arms.

  “What happened?” she cried, hurrying to her husband and walking rapidly beside him.

  “He fell and struck his head.”

  Albert moaned softly, and to Roger’s surprise, Mina smiled. “A good sign. Take him to the hall,” she ordered. “Dudley, I need warm water and clean cloths. Is there an apothecary in the village?”

  “No, my lady,” Dudley replied weakly as he caught sight of the blood trickling down Albert’s forehead. “He visits regularly, but—”

  “Get the water and cloths.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Dudley bustled off toward the kitchen.

  “Carefully, now!” Mina adjured as Roger turned sideways to make his way through the entrance to the hall with his burden.

  Hilda saw them and gasped. “Help Dudley,” Mina ordered. “He’s in the kitchen.” Hilda nodded and disappeared.

  Roger bent down to lower a groaning Albert onto one of the benches.

  “No, not here,” Mina said decisively. “Take him to our bedchamber.”

  Roger glanced at her sharply.

  “It will be quieter there, and the bed is softer.”

  Without a word, Roger lifted his friend and followed her. He laid Albert in his bed and stepped back as Mina pushed him out of the way. With her gentle hands she carefully brushed back the blooddampened hair on Albert’s scalp. “A rock?” she asked as if Roger were no more than a servant.

  “Yes,” he replied, too concerned for Albert to take much offense. This was his fault. He had shoved his friend, pushed him down, made him strike his head.

  “Albert, can you hear me?” Mina asked.

  Mina heard a whispered yes, and nodded. “If he is conscious, the injury might not be very severe. Unfortunately, I have little knowledge of such wounds. My experience has been cuts from a switch or bruises. A head wound will be beyond my skill. Is there no one who has a knowledge of medicine here?”

  “Bredon,” Roger replied immediately.

  “The huntsman?” she asked, turning from her ministrations and eyeing him skeptically.

  “He will know how to stop the bleeding and prevent infection. For the rest...”

  Mina frowned, then muttered, “Where’s Dudley with that water?”

  “Here, my lady,” Dudley called from the corridor.

  Mina returned her attention to Albert, Roger seemingly forgotten.

  Father Damien shuffled into the room and at once fell to his knees near the bed, his hands clasped and his eyes pressed tightly shut. He began to mumble in Latin, obviously praying with his whole heart.

  Roger brightened suddenly. “Father Gabriel! The abbot at the monastery of St. Christopher. He tended me when I was similarly wounded. He will know what to do.”

  “But that is far away,” Mina protested. “It will take too long.”

  “Not if I go at once on Raven, with another swift mount for Father Gabriel. He is a good, kind fellow who knows Albert. I’m sure he’ll come.”

  “Then waste no more time here.”

  Roger anxiously watched as Father Gabriel, whose gray eyes were as mild as Mina’s could be severe, carefully examined the wound on Albert’s head, which he had unbandaged. Mina stood near the head of the bed, chewing her lip with more show of concern than Roger had ever seen her display before.

  She looked exhausted, too. Dudley had reported that she had rarely left Albert’s bedside.

  He didn’t fault her for that. He would have stayed there, too, had he not been certain that it was more important to fetch Father Gabriel from the monastery some miles to the south.

  During his frantic journey, he had contemplated the state of his emotions. After the accident, he had been horrified by his own cold-blooded viciousness. Albert had been his best and dearest friend for many years, and he had behaved in a cowardly, despicable manner. He did not excuse Albert for the adultery any more than he excused Mina, if indeed it had happened, yet he had come very close to doing murder and with no real proof of any wrongdoing.

  “A most competent job,” Father Gabriel muttered. He bent down closer and sniffed. “No sign of infection at all, although I must confess I am not familiar with this poultice.”

  “I made it up myself,” Bredon said from his place in the corner. As always, there was a dog nearby, sitting quietly at his feet. “I tried it on Daisy here when she got caught in some brambles,”
he explained, pointing to the large hound who looked rather fierce for such a floral name. “Worked like a charm, it did.”

  “You must describe the ingredients for me later,” the priest said. He smiled at Mina as he rose from the bedside. “A severe wound, but not life threatening,” he said quietly. “He has regained consciousness several times?”

  “Yes, and answered my questions correctly.”

  “Good. Keep waking him every few hours, but I am confident that the worst has passed.”

  “Are you sure?” Mina asked, a hint of quiet desperation in her voice that cut Roger to the quick.

  “Quite sure,” Father Gabriel said. “No more serious than the wound your husband received in the spring, and I’m sure you will agree that he is quite recovered. It will take some time, however. Sir Albert is not quite as virile as Roger. He will need to rest and keep quiet for a few days—and I do hope, Sir Roger, that you will ensure he abides by my recommendations better than you did under similar circumstances.”

  “I will see to it, Father,” Mina said. “Now you must be weary after your long journey. Roger will take you to the kitchen for some food, since it is awhile yet before the evening meal.”

  It was on the tip of Roger’s tongue to ask Mina to accompany them, but in the end, he didn’t. She would probably refuse anyway. Besides, he liked Father Gabriel and would enjoy some time in the man’s company without worrying about what his wife was thinking.

  “This way, Father,” he said, leading the way out of the room. “Bredon, you are excused.”

  “Aye, sir,” the huntsman said. He gave a low whistle and Daisy lumbered to her feet, following along behind them, leaving Mina and her lover alone.

  When they reached the kitchen and Father Gabriel had been given plenty of hearty stew, a small brown loaf and a measure of ale, the priest turned his kindly yet shrewd gaze onto Roger, who joined him at the table. Around them Thorbert, Hilda and the other servants bustled about preparing the meal, which didn’t seem to disturb Father Gabriel at all. “So, tell me, my son, does your head still trouble you?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Something else?”

  Was it that obvious that he was deeply distressed? Roger thought. He would have to do better. “Why do you ask?”

  “You look tired. Perhaps the worry about Albert...?”

  “Yes. Will you be able to stay for a visit?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I have to return to the monastery at once. It was only because of my affection for both you and Albert that I decided to come.”

  “We appreciate it very much.”

  Reginald strolled into the kitchen, saw Father Gabriel sitting at the table and exclaimed, “You! What are you doing here?”

  “He came to see Albert, who, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know, is not mortally wounded,” Roger replied.

  “Indeed I am. Forgive my lack of manners, Father,” Reginald said, sliding onto a bench opposite them. “I was startled, that’s all. You must admit, the last time we met, the circumstances were not overly pleasant.”

  That was putting it kindly, Roger thought. The last time Father Gabriel had seen Reginald, the young man had just been released by a band of Welshman who had kidnapped him so that Dafydd ap Iolo could take Reginald’s place and marry Madeline.

  “So, Albert is going to get better?” Reginald asked solicitously.

  “It will take time, but yes, I believe so.”

  “How long will you be joining us?”

  “I should return to the monastery tomorrow.”

  “Oh, how unfortunate. So many comings and goings. The baron, Lady Joselynd and now you. I was hoping you could stay longer.”

  Hilda sauntered by, a linen cloth for the high table draped over her arm. She went out the corridor toward the hall. “Well, I must be going,” Reginald said quickly. “I trust we’ll see you at the evening meal?”

  “Of course, my son.”

  With a jaunty smile, Reginald wandered out of the kitchen, taking the same route Hilda had moments before.

  “That is a changed young man,” Father Gabriel remarked.

  “The power of love,” Roger said with more scorn than he had intended to show.

  “It is a very influential emotion,” Father Gabriel agreed.

  Roger didn’t want to talk about love. “Tell me all the news of the monastery, Father. Is Jerrald still a thorn in your side?”

  Father Gabriel gave a rueful chuckle. “Indeed he is, my son, indeed he is. I was really quite delighted to leave him in charge. Perhaps that will content him for a little while.”

  “You could say something to the baron. I’m sure he could get Father Jerrald sent elsewhere.”

  “Oh, there is no need for that. Jerrald has his good qualities, if he does occasionally let his ambition come to the fore.”

  “You are much more patient with him than I could ever be.”

  “I am patient with him because I know all men are weak in their own way,” Father Gabriel replied. “Even you, my son.”

  Roger shot the priest a startled glance.

  Father Gabriel continued to eat as if nothing were amiss. After a few moments of silence had passed, he said, “You have a most fascinating wife, Roger.” He smiled when he saw his companion’s face. “Does it surprise you to hear a man of God say so? A priest I may be, to be sure, but I am also human. She is not quite the kind of woman I envisioned you choosing, for I think her qualities are not so readily apparent. I must say I am most pleasantly surprised.”

  “Her ‘qualities’ are no reflection of my discretion. It was an arranged marriage, Father, to join our families when Madeline decided to marry Dafydd.”

  “Ah. You sacrificed yourself, then, for your sister’s sake?”

  “Yes.”

  “Love can show itself in many ways, but selfless sacrifice always impresses me. You made your sister very happy, Roger.” Father Gabriel lowered his voice. “But what about you? Are you not happy with your decision?”

  Roger kept his eyes on his index finger as he moved it back and forth in a circular pattern over the battered surface of the table. “Of course. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

  “You must forgive my impertinent questions, Roger,” the priest said kindly. “I ask only because of my concern for your happiness. Do you think you will come to love her, this arranged wife of yours?”

  “Enough to make a selfless sacrifice?” Roger asked, trying to sound sardonic.

  “Yes,” Father Gabriel said.

  Roger looked away. “Perhaps,” he murmured.

  Then he turned back to the priest with a grin. “Now you must tell me the news from the south, Father. I know you priests at St. Christopher’s hear all the gossip.”

  Father Gabriel, whatever else he thought, realized that the subject of their conversation had been irrevocably changed, and was no longer to deal with the relationship between Sir Roger de Montmorency and his bride.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nearly a fortnight later, Mina sighed and looked around the bedchamber. She could tell from the disarray that Roger had been here and changed his clothes. She reached for his discarded tunic, reflecting that this was about as close as she ever got to her husband these days.

  He avoided her whenever possible and spent his days on other parts of his lands. When he did return, he was gruff and abrupt to her, and to others, as well, with the exception of Dudley.

  She had not confronted him about his possible dalliance with Joselynd. Upon calmer reflection, she had decided that it was possible Roger was not as guilty as Joselynd had implied. After all, Joselynd had been angry and upset, and perhaps had misinterpreted Roger’s words or actions.

  She had spent several fruitless hours trying to decide just how Roger felt about her, but usually gave up in frustration. Sometimes, in her blackest moods, she wondered if he was so surly because Lady Joselynd had packed her baggage and gone, or if he had simply reverted to his usual state.

  Mina folded th
e tunic and put it back in the chest. She sighed wearily, glad to have her bedchamber back although she was once again a solitary inhabitant of the room. Sir Albert had steadily improved and would soon be completely well again. She had tended him with all the time and care she could manage, finding such activity both a refuge and an excuse to stay away from Roger. Feeling as she did now, it was painful to be in his presence, always wondering how he compared her to Lady Joselynd and sure he found her lacking.

  No matter how Roger felt about it, the departure of Lady Joselynd was cause for relief to his wife. The aggrieved lady had insisted upon leaving immediately, and neither the celebration of the foot ball victory nor any concern for Sir Albert seemed to affect her determination to follow through with her abrupt change of plans.

  The celebration itself had been somewhat subdued, since most of the men of the village liked Sir Albert. Upon hearing Mina’s opinion that the wound would not prove fatal, things had gotten more merry. Rumor had it that Reginald had done an astonishingly accurate impression of the hard-toplease Lady Joselynd that had the castle servants rolling on the ground, helpless with laughter. She had also heard Hilda had done a similarly accurate impersonation of Roger, which she wickedly wished she had seen. No one told her if anyone had made sport of the lady of Montmorency Castle. Mina suspected that they probably had, and she hoped she had been portrayed with some kindness. The peasants treated her with deference, respect and genuine affection, something she had yearned for all her life. She would have to learn to be content with that.

  Mina adjusted her wimple with swift gestures. As for other aspects of her life, she was used to being alone. It was only since her marriage that she had learned to enjoy company. She had even been pleasantly surprised to discover that Reginald was not a complete simpleton. He had merely been extremely unsure of himself and, therefore, did whatever he was told. He was still rather vain, but she guessed that his concern for his clothes and hair had come from a need to ensure that his outward coverings hid his inner insecurities. Assured by Hilda’s good regard, he rarely fretted about his garments these days.