Jacq's Warlord (30 page)

“Father Haskell, as much as I’ve enjoyed my time here, I’m not from this century or country. I don’t belong here.”

“How can you be so sure you do not belong here? I believe the Lord knew what he was doing by answering my prayer and sending you to Rathburn.”

“How can I help Rathburn, or Rufus, when he refused to take me with him?” She gave voice to her anger at the remembered hurt.

“Perhaps you are meant to use the skills I’ve heard you possess to help the people of Rathburn, right here,” he said, his voice calm. “Don’t you see? The Lord wants you to be in this place, in this time, for a reason.”

“If I knew what it was I was here to accomplish, I’d do it. But I’m not able to do more than any other chatelaine would do. Sir Geoffrey guards the keep, and the battles will be fought away from here. There’s no purpose for me here.”

Father Haskell’s serene smile didn’t waver. “My lady, you must keep your eyes open to learn your path.”

She sighed. Never overly religious, she had a hard time accepting on faith that she’d have to wait to learn her purpose. “But what about me? I have a father who must be frantic with worry over my disappearance and I miss him.” She saw regret cross the 165

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priest’s face and pushed her point. “He needs me just as much. He’s been sick and I need to get back to him.”

“Lady Jacq, stay until you know your purpose here,” he entreated. “At least stay until Lord Rathburn returns.”

The priest said what was in her heart. How could she refuse? Then again, her father meant so much to her. And she’d hate herself if the strain of her disappearance caused a relapse. But the chance to see Rufus one more time…to know he was safe…

“Okay, I’ll stay until Rufus returns.” Her gaze met his steadily. “But I want that book when I get ready to go home.”

He nodded and straightened his round shoulders. “I promise to help you in every way I can to get you where you want to go—once Lord Rufus returns.”

“Very well, I’ll hold you to that. Where is the book?”

He eyed her with suspicion.

Frowning her annoyance, she said, “Look, you expect me to go on trust that I have to stay here. The least you can do is give me the same courtesy.”

He sighed deeply and stood. “You are right. You should know in case anything happens to me. I’m not a young man.”

He walked across the chapel to a corner hidden in shadow and Jacq followed him.

Recessed into the wall was a cupboard with a wooden door. While the priest fumbled for his keys, Jacq studied the cupboard. She knew the book was within. She felt it as a certainty.

“This is the one.” He held a key up to the dim light, and she smiled and closed her hand over his.

“I don’t need to see it. It’s enough I know where it is, for now.”

Jacq paced the length of the little chapel, stopping to peer through a narrow window. Out in the bailey, Annie and a couple of older boys were batting a rock around the ground with a stick. They played and laughed like children of any century. Yet they lived surrounded by danger, disease and famine. How could she ever leave when these people might benefit from what she knew? Could she turn her back on them and walk away when this was over?

Having lived a life sheltered from deprivation of any kind, Jacq wasn’t accustomed to making life-changing decisions. If she stayed, her father could die a lonely man, grieving for the loss of the last of his family. Or he could have a relapse of his cancer.

He’d have no one to see him through the grueling treatments. The thought tore at Jacq’s heart. She stood staring out the window at the children, visualizing her father sitting in his recliner next to the telephone.

She heard the priest’s approach. “You know, Lord Rathburn asked that I watch over you while he was gone. He holds you in high regard.”

“As his possession,” she said cynically.

“No. As one he cares for.”

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Jacq turned and pinned the priest with a hard stare. “Did he tell you that?”

“No, but he wouldn’t have asked for me to watch over you if he didn’t care.”

“He doesn’t care about
me
. I’m a convenience.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth her cheeks burned.

“I believe he cares, but whether he realizes why he cares—I suppose you will have to ask him yourself when he returns.”

“Maybe I will,” she replied softly.

Having made her decision to stay, Jacq straightened her spine. She wouldn’t sit by idly, waiting for whatever was going to happen or for Rufus to return. There was work to be done. “Then, so be it. I must get to work. I have a castle to clean, and while I’m at it I’ll look at reinforcing defenses.”

The priest shook his head and barked once with laughter. “I fear Sir Geoffrey’s life will never be the same.”

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Rufus pushed his men to keep well ahead of Braxton’s forces as they marched toward Henry’s army. Another day of rain fell and he was glad he wasn’t burdened by the wagons, which surely would have become mired in mud and slowed their progress.

The miserable conditions also reinforced his belief he had been right to leave Jacq behind.

Still, he missed her. It was odd how quickly she had become part of his world. Now there was distance between them, he thought of all the things he wished to tell her about himself and his life, and all the questions he had about her life in the future. And there was the matter of eight hundred years of progress to learn about.

Cold, wet and road weary, Rufus and his men reached Duke Henry’s encampment at dusk on their third day from Rathburn. After instructing his men to remain where they were, he and Donald followed a self-important little man, one of Henry’s courtiers, through a maze of tents.

Donald snorted his distaste for the man’s appearance. Attired in a peacock blue tunic trimmed with fur and leggings a ghastly shade of green, he was a bizarre sight in a rough soldier’s camp.

Donald elbowed Rufus in the belly, and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Whatever you do, don’t leave me alone with this one. I’m afraid for my virtue.”

Rufus chuckled, wondering where Donald found the energy to make a joke. “What virtue have you left to save?”

The overdressed little man halted before one tent that looked no different from any other, and certainly not grand enough to house the future King of England.

“Wait here, while I announce your presence,” he said imperiously as he ducked inside the tent.

Donald raised his eyebrows in question, and Rufus shrugged. “Perhaps we have to see another member of his entourage first.”

Donald grimaced. “Bloody hell! My ribs are rubbing against my spine I’m so hungry. I hope we haven’t a long wait.”

Rufus heard voices inside the tent. “Shhh.”

The tent flap was flung outwards, and a stocky, barrel-chested young man strode out. He was plainly dressed and not particularly attractive—his red hair was cut short, and brown freckles warred with his ruddy complexion.

He was followed by the peacock who appeared flustered. “Your Grace, Lord Rufus of Rathburn desires an audience with you.”

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Stunned, Rufus dropped immediately to one knee and pulled Donald down beside him. “Your Grace, my pardon.”

“Stand up, stand up!” Duke Henry barked. “You’re probably weary and wanting nothing more than to pitch a tent somewhere in this morass. Walk with me while we seek a likely spot for you and your men to quarter.” Henry walked away without looking back.

Rufus and Donald rose to their feet to follow as the duke strode straight up the hill.

It appeared Henry did everything in a hurry.

“Which one of you is Rathburn?” he shouted over his shoulder.

“I am, Your Grace.” Rufus drew abreast the shorter man.

“Clever plan that—poisoning Braxton using Stephen’s own ale.”

“You have heard of it?” Rufus asked, surprised.

“I have spies among Stephen’s people. Seems Braxton has been whining of foul play.” The duke grinned broadly. “Bloody brilliant plan, if you ask me.”

“We weren’t left the choice of a head-to-head battle. We lost nearly half our force to Braxton’s army.”

“Heard about Sedgwick, too—nasty piece of work there. Needs to be strung up by his ballocks. The poison was a nice bit of revenge.”

Rufus felt dizzy trying to keep up with the duke’s fast pace and faster conversation.

“Your Grace—”

“Henry. I’m the duke to snot-nosed courtiers. Call me Henry.”

“Yes, Your Grace—Henry. My point is I haven’t brought a great force with me.

Would that I had more men—” Rufus broke off his conversation with Henry when the duke came to a sudden halt.

“Look, Rufus.” His arm was outstretched. Below them in the valley spread an ocean of tents as far as he could see, marked by the colorful pennants of their owners. “See you any lack of warriors?”

“No, Your Grace—” He faltered at Henry’s glare. “Henry.” Looking out at the valley, he felt the rightness of his choice. “How can King Stephen hope to win against such a force?”

“He won’t.” Henry’s statement wasn’t a boast. Confidence gleamed in his eyes.

“Henry, my men and I—small force that we are—are yours to command.”

Henry stood still for a moment, studying Rufus intently. “Rufus, you could have returned to your home when you sustained your losses and no one would have faulted you. Instead, you proved resourceful and courageous.”

Rufus felt uncomfortable with Henry’s praise, but he could hardly admit to the future king a woman had shared responsibility for the plan. “Henry, I am sworn to serve you. I cannot return home until the rightful king assumes command.”

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“You are an honorable man as well, and you have a fierce reputation among your peers. I would gladly have you and your men among my personal guard.”

His personal guard? All the weariness of three days’ travel melted away as Rufus’

chest swelled. “I would be honored, Your Grace.”

“Well, give me your obeisance and let’s get on with finding you a place to flop down for the night.”

In the mud and drizzle, Rufus knelt before the duke and swore his fealty and his future to the next King of England.

* * * * *

“My aching back.” Enid rubbed the small of her back as the women stood admiring the newly cleaned solar.

Gwen flopped down onto a bench and toed off her shoes. “If I never see another broom, it will be too soon.”

Jacq smiled tiredly at her two companions. Over the past weeks they had forged a friendship.

Enid, a middle-aged lady with a big heart and broad hips, had no children of her own and mothered anyone who stood still long enough for her to fuss over. She oversaw the beautification efforts. She’d supervised the whitewashing of the hall walls, and the gathering of sweet-smelling herbs to lay down with the fresh rushes on the floor. She’d also known the best way to tame the stench of the garderobe. For all her knowledge of wifely tasks, she was content to take orders rather than issue them.

Gwen on the other hand was a natural-born general. Wherever there was work to be done, Gwen ruled the servants with a teasing comment, praise, or when necessary, a blast of arctic rancor. Whatever their previous opinion of her, the people took their cues from watching Jacq’s easy acceptance of her.

Without the jealousy Jacq had suffered over the woman’s past relationship with Rufus to cloud her opinion, she found she enjoyed the woman’s acerbic wit.

Jacq pulled a stool near the bench and sank onto it, grateful to rest her feet. “I never realized how much work it was keeping up one of these old relics. We wouldn’t have made a dent in the work without everyone pitching in like they did.”

“They did not have much choice.” Gwen grinned wryly. “You bark orders as well as his lordship—you had everyone hopping.”

Enid laughed. “They’re scared all right. I will lay odds you won’t find a single living soul below. They were all probably running for the gate as soon as we headed up the stairs.”

“That’s right,” Gwen said. “They are afraid for their lives you will find one more thing requiring attention.”

Jacq wasn’t concerned. “Well, they’ve earned a rest. Besides, we’re finished with the inside.”

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“So what will we you be doing next, Jacq?” Gwen asked, a wry smile curving her lips. “I know you won’t be joining Enid to work on the new cushions for the chairs at Lord Rufus’ table. And you have that look in your eye again.”

Jacq pretended innocence at Gwen’s perceptive comment. “Tomorrow’s soon enough to turn my attention to the exterior of this keep.”

Gwen groaned, appearing dismayed. “You are not going to clean the exterior walls are you?”

“Although they probably need it, that wasn’t what I was referring to. I am concerned about our defenses. I need to study the matter.”

“But, Lady Jacq, that is not woman’s work. Why will you not leave the defenses to my husband and his men?” Enid sat beside Gwen with a long-suffering sigh. “Besides, I cannot see Geoffrey allowing you to interfere. His lordship was quite adamant about Geoffrey’s being left in charge of your safety.”

Jacq knew this would be her biggest challenge—convincing the people of Rathburn the lines between women’s work and men’s work were not cut in the same stone as the castle walls. “I don’t care whether it is men’s work. My only concern is that we are well protected and can defend ourselves against enemy attack. We have only fourteen soldiers to guard the entire keep. If we were to be attacked could those fourteen men prevent a determined enemy from taking over?”

“Not for terribly long,” Enid admitted, frowning.

“That’s the point. Do you know how many women would come inside the walls if we were under siege?”

“Probably thirty or more. The rest would take their chances in the hills.”

“With thirty more people manning the walls to defend against attack, we would stand a better chance of holding the enemy off until help came.”