Once a Knight (28 page)

Osbern stared into his cup as if he could read the truth in its depths. “Nothing could change the course of her emotions. Not the dictates of a mere man, not the dictates of the king, not even the dictates of God. She would make a dread enemy, for if she hated she would hate until she had harried you from the face of the
earth.” He looked up at her, his eyes gleaming. “Or for a good friend, she would sacrifice everything.”

Controlling her expression, she said, “You see something that is not there, my lord.”

“Do I? Perhaps.” He traced the lip of the cup with his long finger, and his stacked rings glistened in the firelight. “Still, I think a husband will do well for you. After all, any husband who married you worked for his position through stealth and boldness, through bravery and cunning. He'll not want to lose the fruit of his labors for any reason.”

Osbern always knew where to strike the telling blow. For her, he mocked her with the fact she'd been tricked by a master into marriage, and for her fortune only. For David, he suggested that her scheme to protect Philippa would result in the loss of that fortune.

Philippa. Alisoun had to maintain control of herself for Philippa. “You never told us why you are here.”

“Ah. Lad, help me remove my armor.” Eudo came at once to Osbern's aid while the man continued, “I had a fancy to travel about the countryside and found myself at George's Cross with my troop. There I found a most interesting arrangement. Sir Walter lay in bed, beaten mindless, advising that young man…what's his name?”

“Hugh,” David said.

“Hugh,” Osbern repeated. “Sir Walter was instructing Hugh in how to direct the operation of the castle. I found it fascinating that Lady Alisoun would leave her most valuable stronghold in the hands of a youth and someone so damaged.”

“That was my decision,” David said. “I've sent four messengers and received as many from them, and all seems to be well. Is that not the truth?”

“Your decision! Of course. I admired the wisdom of
the arrangement, especially since it gave you the freedom to come back to your stronghold at Radcliffe.”

“So all is well at George's Cross?” David insisted.

“Very well. They served me an admirable meal.” Osbern glanced at the table the servants had prepared for them. Although they had been unprepared for guests, Alisoun always assured herself a proper table had been set.

Osbern continued, “Sir Walter was not yet able to sit up and eat, but young Hugh kept me company, and entertained me highly, too.”

Alisoun warmed to his praise. “Hugh is a youth of which any foster parent would be proud.”

“Aye. It was he who told me you'd been married, and of all the wild rumors surrounding the ceremony's hurried occurrence.” He looked pointedly at Alisoun's waist. “Have we a reason to congratulate you, Sir David?”

“Would you not always congratulate a bridegroom?” David parried.

Osbern took the rebuke with smiling good humor. “True, true.”

His knights and his squire strode in with Guy on their heels. David's steward walked stiffly, annoyed about something, and he came at once to David's side. He spoke quietly, but Alisoun heard him. “Cheeky whoresons. They act as if they own Radcliffe.”

Osbern must have heard, too, but he took no obvious offense. “Guy of the Archers, is it not?”

“My lord, the duke of Framlingford.” Guy bent his head in reluctant homage. “I'm honored that you remember me.”

“I never forget a good fighter, nor one who refused service with me.”

Alisoun's respect for Guy rose.

“I could never leave Sir David's service.” A commo
tion attracted Guy's attention, and he yelled, “Hey there. No fighting!” Roger and Ivo had dropped into an attack crouch. Guy swore and started into the circle which formed around them, but before he could reach them, Ivo dropped Roger with a single blow to the face.

Osbern cackled. “Stupid sot.” Following Guy, he reached Roger and gave him a casual kick in the ribs, then told his other knights, “Two of you! Take him out and leave him in the stable. Let him sleep with the horses. The rest of you—we're guests here, and you'll make conversation with the lord's people, and show some deference for your hosts.”

His knights obeyed without question, and as they mingled Alisoun realized Osbern might have a plan. Radcliffe's people were decent folk who saw no reason for subterfuge. If Osbern's knights spoke courteously, the men-at-arms and the maids would speak freely to their new comrades, and might they not tell of their special instructions to watch for strangers? Alisoun had done her best to keep her secrets, but too many others knew at least parts of them. How could she expect others to remain silent, especially when they didn't comprehend the hell of Philippa's experience?

“Come and sit in the place of honor, my lord.” Alisoun indicated the place before the salt, and Osbern took it with an ease that showed how seldom anyone else took the place of honor before him.

“Daddy?”

At the sound of Bertrade's voice, Alisoun almost lost her fragile hold on her composure. What would Osbern say when he saw her stepdaughter's bizarre outfit and bearing? How would he mock her?

Sir David smiled. “Bertrade. How lovely you look.”

The child stepped up beside him and tucked her hand into her father's, and Alisoun glanced at her
quickly. Then she looked again, a lingering gaze, and her head buzzed with relief.

Bertrade had washed. She had brushed her hair. She had dressed in a gown. She looked like a girl, and she grinned at Alisoun in a manner that reminded her of David at his most mischievous.

Alisoun smiled back feebly, then noticed Lady Edlyn as she hovered in the background. She had helped the child, Alisoun guessed, and she smiled gravely when Alisoun mouthed her thanks.

Then Osbern spoke. “You have a daughter! Sir David, a daughter. How charming.”

Something about his tone, his obvious pleasure, made Alisoun's stomach roil and David's smile disappear. Bertrade observed Osbern with her sharp gaze, then she bobbed a curtsy and moved to her place between Lady Edlyn and Guy.

Osbern ignored Bertrade thereafter, but Alisoun knew he hadn't forgotten her existence—and David had been reminded of his daughter's vulnerability.

The serving folk brought food, seated themselves, and dinner began in an atmosphere of conviviality.

False conviviality. Alisoun watched for Philippa. Osbern watched Alisoun. And David ate with every appearance of self-possession.

When had David learned her strategy?

Once their hunger had been sated, Osbern made random conversation—but with Osbern, nothing was unplanned. “Hugh told me a great deal about the people who accompanied you here. He spoke highly of your men-at-arms, Lady Alisoun. Also of your squire. What's his name?”

“Eudo,” David said. “His name is Eudo.”

“Is he the lad who helped me disrobe?” He indicated Eudo as the boy carried a large platter covered with
sliced meat. “That boy? A good lad, indeed.” When his own squire stuck out his foot and tripped Eudo, Osbern smothered a grin. “But he is clumsy.”

Alisoun had seen it time and again. Osbern forgot, sometimes, that he played the part of benevolent duke. He never really thought anyone could stand in the way of what he desired.

Eudo picked himself up, stacked the meat back on the plate, and turning, knocked the heavy platter hard against the strange squire's leg. The platter rang with the chime of silver against bone, and the meat slices splattered into the squire's lap.

“What Eudo lacks in grace he makes up in guile.” David answered Osbern as the two adolescents rolled on the floor in sudden, furious combat. “It is a trait which I require in my squires.”

“An admirable quality.”

Osbern seemed sincere, even when his squire groaned and curled up into a miserable ball. This man who had power, who had wealth, and who should have no need of guile, did admire it. He enjoyed watching others use their guile on him, and enjoyed more crushing any feeble schemes to influence him. Osbern wanted those around him to be nothing more than scurrying bedbugs, coming to him for sustenance yet fearing the swat of his hand.

Alisoun signaled to the manservants, and they hurried to the scene of the spill and helped Eudo clean the mess.

“Why don't your dogs eat it?” Osbern asked.

In her piping voice, Bertrade said, “My new mama doesn't allow us to feed the dogs during the meal. She says it's uncivilized.”

“Really?” Osbern drawled. “And do you like your new mama's rules?”

Bertrade inspected him in the confident manner of a well-loved child. “Not all of them, but my daddy says we'll indulge her until she doesn't remember anymore.”

A ripple of laughter swept the hall as Alisoun glared briefly at David.

Smiling that pleasant, toothy smile, Osbern said, “Sir David, I see you have the knack of handling Lady Alisoun.”

“There's little hope of that—” he stared at his daughter, “—now.”

“It seems I did know Lady Alisoun forbade the feeding of the dogs during the meal.” Osbern wiped his knife clean and tucked it into his belt, signifying he had finished his meal. “Young Hugh told me when I visited George's Cross.”

The page who collected the gravy-soaked trenchers for the poor came with his large container and held it for Osbern's offering.

“Your wife has made this place a home.” Osbern lifted the trencher of bread which had held his stew. It hung, heavy with gravy, and he tossed it to one of the huge mastiffs at the rear of the hall.

Alisoun flinched as the other dogs pounced, trying to get a share. Their snarling disrupted the even tenor of conversation, and Osbern's contempt for his hostess and her rules brought an awkward silence.

“I don't like that man.” Bertrade's voice echoed clearly through the hall, and Lady Edlyn shushed her.

Osbern seemed oblivious as he said, “Hugh told me so much about you, Lady Alisoun. He should probably be warned that not all visitors have benevolent intentions before he reveals some secret which you would prefer to remain unknown.”

Hugh. Of course. He knew a great deal about fighting and almost nothing about people, and Osbern could
have led the conversation until he learned just what he wished. Had Hugh mentioned Philippa by name? Alisoun wondered.

“Aye, Sir David, how I envy you your clever daughter, your perfect wife, your many homes, your people who love you.”

Hugh had. Aye, that explained Osbern's sudden visit, and the threats that grew ever more bold. He planted the arrows of doubt and fear successfully, striking at David's heart.

Even as he spoke, the servants and squires who belonged to David and Alisoun glanced at each other, at their plates, or at the floor. That threatening tone projected well, and everyone understood too well how Osbern's power could be turned against them.

“So many people who depend on you, Sir David.” Osbern smoothed Alisoun's hand before she snatched it out of reach. “What would happen to them if you were challenged to combat and you died? What would happen to them if someone discovered that you harbored a fugitive against the rules of God and king? I shudder to think—”

A dim, solitary figure appeared in the shadowed doorway of the solar, and before Alisoun could move, Philippa spoke. “I'm here, Osbern.”

Alisoun jumped to her feet
, but Osbern moved more quickly. He shoved his chair back and cried, “Dearest!”

She moved to intercept him, but he jumped the table.

David grasped her arm. “Let him go.”

“He'll hurt her.”

Osbern reached Philippa and gathered her into his arms.

“He isn't hurting her.”

“Not now.”

After a brief hesitation, Philippa embraced Osbern and buried her face in his chest.

Guy hurried from his place to their sides. “What's happening?”

“Can't you see?” David asked. “Osbern found his long-lost wife.”

“Philippa?” Guy paled. “Philippa is married to that lout?”

David nodded. “So it would appear.”

Someone might have been strangling him, so garbled was Guy's voice. “We must rescue her.”

“She came out on her own,” David said.

“My wife!” Osbern turned Philippa toward the great hall and wiped a tear from his eye. “The wife I thought dead has returned to me. 'Tis a miracle. A miracle!”

Osbern's men cheered and a smile quivered on Philippa's lips.

“That's why he's been talking so loud,” Alisoun said. “He knew she was hiding here somewhere.”

“Probably.” She tried to move toward them again, but David jerked her so hard he bruised her. “But she made her decision.”

“Of course she came out.” Alisoun could scarcely speak for fear and indignation. “She's my friend, and he threatened us.”

“I'm not deaf.”

Anguished, Alisoun said, “We can't let him take her.”

“She made her decision,” David repeated, and he lost patience with her at last. “Do you think we can keep a man from his wife?”

With a groan of defeat, Guy backed away toward the shadows by the stairwell.

David continued relentlessly. “And Osbern's not just any man. He is the king's cousin. He's a great knight.”

“He almost killed her.”

With gestures and smiles, Osbern indicated his delight in recovering his wife. If Alisoun hadn't known him as a slippery worm, she might have even been convinced.

“If what you told me in the herb garden is true, Philippa is one of the king's heiresses. Osbern wouldn't risk the king's anger by
killing
her.”

“Oh? He'll only beat her senseless, and that's acceptable?” Furious with his stupid, unfeeling logic, Alisoun cried, “And who's going to know if he kills her? Who's going to care? The women all know the truth about Osbern, but the men are too stupid or too unsympathetic to notice.”

“Daddy?” Sensitive to the anger and pain in the hall, Bertrade had crept close. “What's wrong? Why are you fighting?”

“We're not fighting, sweetling.” David hugged her to his side, but still he kept his grip on Alisoun's arm. “Your new mama is just going to miss her maid, that's all.”

“Lady Alisoun…” Edlyn whispered the name as if it were a talisman. No girl who had been betrothed had any business witnessing such a scene, but Alisoun had no tenderness left over with which to comfort her. All Alisoun's emotions bubbled in a brew of anguish for her dear friend Philippa. For the friend she would never see again.

Philippa and Osbern stood before the table, and Philippa said, “Alisoun? I'm going back with him.”

Turning to David, Alisoun demanded, “Challenge him.”

David flushed ruddy red. “I can't challenge him.”

“This is what I hired you for. The time has come to earn your wages. Challenge him.”

“It would do no good.”

Osbern chuckled, a sound that slipped and congealed and clogged Alisoun's desperation. “Don't you know, my dear?
I
am the king's new champion.”

“What do you mean?” Such a stupid question, but Alisoun couldn't have understood him correctly.

“I mean that your Sir David and I fought before the king, and I defeated Sir David in combat.”

It wasn't possible. It simply wasn't possible.

But David shook her arm. “I told you I was defeated. You didn't care. You insisted on hiring me.”

“You never told me.”

“You didn't identify
your
enemy. You wouldn't tell me who tormented you. If you had, my lady, I would have spoken at once. My defeat at the hands of the duke of Framlingford is not easily forgotten.”

So her clever plan had been doomed from the very beginning, and all because she hadn't investigated properly. She'd fixed her mind on the legendary mercenary Sir David, and now Osbern would take his wife and baby away and no one would fight for her. Helpless rage swelled in Alisoun, and she said to Philippa, “Forgive me.”

“There's nothing to forgive,” Philippa said. “You sheltered me, but I'm going back with him now.”

Osbern gloated. “She loves me, Alisoun.”

“I'll be a better wife to him this time,” Philippa said hastily.

“You were always a good wife.” Alisoun's voice rasped in her throat.

Osbern continued as if the women had never spoken. “I hold no grudge against you, Sir David. I recognize your wife's hand in this, and I'll not bring siege or have the king strip you of the lands for which you labored so desperately—as long as nothing else like this ever happens again.”

“That means much to me.” David acknowledged Osbern's words as if they were a boon.

“You gilled freak.” Alisoun didn't even know who she insulted. Then she did. “You worthless traitor.” She'd always known Osbern to be the lowest form of scum, but David…David she had believed in. David she had thought to be truly a legend, and now he sent a woman to her death to hold his land and her wealth.

“I'm doing the right thing,” David said. “Probably for the first time in my life.”

“Let me go.” Alisoun jerked at his grip. “Let me go!” Freeing herself, she ran around the table and knelt at Philippa's feet. “I promised to keep you safe…I promised, and I failed.”

Lady Edlyn released a stifled sob, and as if that signaled the end of restraint, the other maids began to sniffle.

“Nay.” Philippa touched the top of Alisoun's head. “Never think so. You are my dearest friend.”

One by one the women in the hall broke down, and Osbern snorted in disgust and called his men. “Come on, we're going while there's still daylight to get away from here. Philippa, we're leaving
now
.”

He dragged her toward the outer door while Philippa called back, “You didn't break your promise. Always remember your promise.”

And Alisoun's eyes, shut tightly against the tears, popped open. The babe. She'd promised to keep the babe from harm, too, and Philippa was now leaving—without Hazel. Osbern must have forgotten about her in his triumph.

But David didn't remember the babe, either. He just couldn't bear the sobbing. He couldn't believe the phalanx of female eyes that glared at him so disdainfully. Even his dear friend Guy of the Archers, the comrade who knew David's trials, stared at David with a most peculiar distaste.

Mostly, he couldn't sit there and look at Alisoun, a dazed and battered expression on her face, kneeling on the floor before the place where her friend had stood.

“And I sure as hell don't trust that bastard to leave without trouble,” he muttered to himself as he jumped to his feet and followed Osbern, his men, and his wife out the door.

The afternoon sun had burned its way through the clouds and David squinted at the tangle of men around his stable. Roger swayed in the saddle, the lump on his head closing one eye, while the rest of them mocked him. The growl of their voices reached David clearly, as did Osbern's command. “Just do as I tell you and ride. I have what I came for.”

He mounted his charger and pulled Philippa up before him, settling her without cruelty. Indeed, he played the role of loving husband well, for Philippa smiled tremulously when he circled her waist with his arm.

David found relief in the display. After all, Alisoun could be wrong. Mayhap Osbern had been a little rough with Philippa and the woman had run crying to Alisoun. Mayhap Philippa was like David's first wife, given to exaggeration, and Alisoun had taken a whisper of pain and turned it into a shout. His first wife had been like that. So all women must be like that.

Osbern's voice rang out over the jangle of tack and his men's shouting. “Philippa? Where's the babe?”

The babe. David staggered back against the wall. Where was Philippa's babe?

The sounds of their leave-taking died, and everyone stared at Osbern and Philippa.

“She died, Osbern.” Philippa's eyes glistened with tears, but her voice sounded strong and true. “I was weaning her and she got the fever and…she died.”

“A real fever this time?” Osbern caught sight of David and prodded his stallion to a brief gallop, then jerked him to an abrupt halt in front of the stairs. “My long-lost wife says our child has died. Tell me, Sir David, is this true?”

Sunshine seemed to dim as David stared at Osbern, so smug and triumphant, and at his wife, pleading and
contrite. Firmly, without a hint of indecision, he lied. “Your daughter died but two weeks ago. We all mourn her death.”

Nothing about Philippa changed, but David felt her gratitude like a reproach.

“'Tis a shame, indeed.” Osbern's eyes gleamed. “But that babe was young and only a girl child. We can always make another child.”

Philippa winced.

Shaking her shoulder, Osbern asked, “Can't we, Philippa?”

Obediently, she replied. “Indeed, my lord, we can.”

“You did what was right, Sir David, never doubt it.” Osbern lifted his hand in farewell, and at that moment, David saw it.

A gold ring, a long oval, with the crest of Osbern's family etched into the metal.

A ram. The duke of Framlingford's crest, David knew, was a ram.

He stared at that ring. The bright yellow burned into his brain.

Osbern rode away. His men followed him. The bailey quieted once more.

And still David saw that ring.

Fingering the latch, he opened the door and stumbled inside the keep. The passage to the great hall seemed darker than usual. The noises the servants made clearing away dinner seemed far away and alien.

That ring. That damned ring.

Not even Osbern could have done that to a baby. To an
infant
. Hazel had not been even a month old when Philippa had fled from Osbern. But Philippa, that adoring mother, had abandoned her child to go with her husband. What other reason could she have than to protect her babe?

The stones rasped his fingers as he groped along the wall. Agony rasped his mind as he groped toward the truth.

Had Osbern taken his signet ring, heated it, and branded the babe on the tender skin of Hazel's rump? Would he be so perverted, so twisted, so cruel?

The opening to the great hall yawned before David. He wanted to be with Alisoun. He needed to comfort her, to wipe that lost expression from her face. He needed to talk to her, to discover the truth and deal with it as he could. He needed guidance, and Alisoun would be the one to give it to him.

But first one manservant hurried past him holding a pile of unwashed dishes, and he spoke not a word to his master. Then a maid hurried past him holding a wad of dirty clothing, and another holding a pile of soiled linen. He might not have been there, for all the interest he generated.

Mayhap he longed to be elsewhere so fervently he had made himself disappear. Absently, he touched his face. He
was
here, though. Wishing hadn't changed that.

As soon as he stepped into the great hall, he realized the busy servants formed only the edge of a whirlwind. In here, activity spun in ever-widening circles. At the center of the whirlwind stood Alisoun, trunks gaping open all around her.

Did she feel bruised and tattered by the pain of losing Philippa? If so, she showed no evidence of it now. The Alisoun he'd first met had returned: controlled, determined, in charge. As he listened, he heard her direct her maids to pack her trunks for travel, and slowly he digested the fact that she planned to depart.

Depart. Striding forward, he loudly demanded, “Where do you think you are going?”

For one brief moment, the movement in the great hall faltered. Then once again it commenced, more quickly, more emphatically, and everyone, it seemed, pointedly ignored his presence.

Everyone except Alisoun.

“I'm leaving,” she said.

“Leaving.”

“I hired you to keep me and my people safe, and this you failed to do. I have no use for you now.”

The maid who hauled her night soil got more respect than she gave him. Worse, he feared he deserved her contempt, and the faint curl of inner shame translated itself into ire. “You forget, madam, that you are my wife.”

She stood without moving, her hands curled loosely at her sides. “Try as hard as I can, I can't forget that.”

She made him so angry! All calm disdain while he seethed with questions and dread. In as nasty a tone as he could forge, he asked, “What if I don't let you go?”

“But you're so good at letting people go.” She spoke without expression, but somehow she made her opinion of him clear. “Look how well you did with Philippa.”

He strode forward, furious at the implied accusation of cowardice. “What would you have me do? Let Osbern destroy my family to protect her?”

“Your family?” Alisoun laughed lightly. “What about your lands, the wealth which I brought you? Shouldn't you mention your anxiety for them?”

“I worked hard for what I have.” Dismayed by his own defensiveness, he tried to explain. “I have the right to want to protect it.”

That destroyed her equanimity. Fists clenched, eyes sparking, Alisoun said, “Aye, and be damned to the life destroyed when you do.”

His fury rose to meet hers. “Who are you to so criti
cize me? A stiff, humorless, former spinster without a drop of love in your veins to sweeten your disposition.”