Chapter V
THE SOLDIER his head slowly as if to deny it. “That isn’t possible. You were—I saw your flow. You were having your monthly bleed.”
“The blood was for another reason. I was a virgin. There is no need to look cast down, my lord. I gave myself to you that night for my own reasons. Perhaps it was to conceive this child. I do not regret what we did—do you? What do you mean to do with us, Broderick?”
He was about to answer her when a loud pounding at door stopped him.
Tess froze and met Broderick’s copper eyes. He pressed a finger to his lips and handed her the sleeping babe. “Lie down, put the cover over you and do not make a sound,” he said in a low whisper.
“Lord Broderick! What has happened? We heard you cry out.”
His man, Davey.
Broderick pressed his hand over the cut on his shoulder to staunch the flow of blood. He was weak from shock but he had been wounded before; he knew the spell would pass.
“Broderick! For God’s sake, man, answer me else I break the door down!”
He hurriedly pulled the embroidered robe over his nakedness, hiding his bloody wound, and flung open the door. “Have you never heard a man climaxing inside a woman before? I am fine, you miserable ass! What do you think—that I should be murdered in my bed by a slip of a girl?”
Davey snorted and peered into the room. “Where is she now?”
“Asleep in my bed, where else should she be?”
Broderick joined the man in the hall and closed the door behind him, silently praying that the babe would not cry out.
“I might’ve expected it, but even I could not credit you with fucking the wet nurse! You’re as randy as a goat. Here is a coil! We’re for it now—”
Broderick cut him short. “What ails you man? You’ve seen me bed a girl before. Spit it out for I am in the middle of something.” Blood from his wound was dripping down his side and about to splash on the stone flags.
“A piece of intelligence has come our way from a noble who switched allegiance after Lord Harald’s arrest. Lord Deward had been presented to Lady Tess as a suitor two years ago. She was unmarried and likely to remain so for no nobleman was good enough for the bitch, or so his story goes; she rejected his suit at any rate. But mark you this—Lady Tess is described as a great beauty with long raven-black hair. But here is the most significant part—he said she had strange silver eyes and in attendance at their meeting was her lady’s maid, a girl who was mute!”
Broderick controlled his response. She lied to him! Posing as her maid instead of the other way around—it was a clever ruse—it had certainly fooled him. Now they were all in danger. “An astonishing tale,” he said coolly.
“Your lordship,” Davey whispered furiously. “You cannot ignore the similarities. She pretended to be mute and cut her hair but she could not change the colour of her eyes. This girl we have captured—this girl you have made free with—is an Earl’s daughter and King John’s prize! What are we to do? We can’t send her back for ransom in this condition. Her ladyship has had a child—God only knows what tales she’ll have for King John. The king has come under sharp criticism for employing mercenary soldiers to do his dirty work. The nobility are up in arms. When the news reaches London that a lady of the court was violated and made to wet nurse a soldier’s son—our heads will be on a pikestaff before Christmas night!”
Broderick rubbed the back of his neck. His wound throbbed. He would have to sit down soon before he fell down. “How many know about this from our company?”
“Only Charles and myself. We were careful to keep it from the rest. Broddy, it is only a matter of time before the news spreads. What then? Charles is for handing her over to King John in the hope of saving our necks.”
“The cowardly bastard! My son took the lady’s breast when he would take no other and was near to dying. It is a miracle that she is here at all.”
“What then?” Davey leaned forward. “We are dead either way but perhaps we are less dead if we let her go to meet her fate on the high road.”
“It is too risky,” said Broderick. “The roads are busy with the tenants arriving at Castlemuir for the Christmas festival. Lady Tess is not without support here; we risk an uprising if she is harmed. Her father still lives. Perhaps he has proven his usefulness to King John. The lady might be worth something yet. We could have a prize in our midst; we would be fools to let it get away from us before we’ve calculated its value. We’ll wait until after Christmastide, twelve days from now, to decide what to do with her.”
Broderick dismissed Davey, knowing he would relay the message to Charles and the men. The diversion only bought him time. Broderick would have to produce Tess for ransom twelve days from now. If he did not, he would lose control of his men.
He returned to the room and met her eyes as though waking from a dream.
“You must tell me the truth or I will not help you. Do you know where the Lady Tess is hiding? Your answer may save you.”
“I am Lady Tess.” Her face was streaked with tears. “Tess, the Traitor, as I am called at court. My son is the bastard child of the king’s trusted right hand, Lord Broderick.”
She met his eyes. A shadow crossed her face as she realized the danger.
“Whatever you mean to do with me, I accept. But you must protect our son. Tell your men he is the offspring of one of your whores. It will not be far from the truth.”
“You are not my whore.”
“What am I then?” She rose shakily to her feet, clutching the baby to her breast. “Look at me! The great Lady Tess of Castlemuir with her bastard son, sired by the usurper—a mercenary hated by her people. I do not fault you—how can I?” Her voice broke. “I wanted you that night. I don’t know why. I want ... I love you even now.”
“That was my man, Davey. They know who you are, Lady Tess.”
Tess laid the baby gently on the bed and pulled the fur over her naked shoulders.
“I have to go.”
“I have persuaded him to wait the twelve holy days to hear what I mean to do. I will not see you arrested and hanged, Tess,” Broderick said in a low voice. “I can persuade them you are no threat to King John. You shall not hang.”
“Do you imagine you can stop them?” She shook her head. “I will hang. And so will my father. Our days are numbered. If you want to help me, give me a horse and let me take this dagger. I’ll leave tonight during midnight mass. The household will be too occupied with the Christmas feast after that to mark my absence. Say nothing to anyone. Only keep my boy safe.”
“And what about my son?” Broderick caught her arm fiercely. “He’ll die of starvation without you. You cannot live as you have been, running from King John, hiding out in the forest like an outlaw. You are needed here at Castlemuir!”
Her eyes blinded with tears. “Explain that to your men! Explain to your king that your sons need a mother! I am tired of running! I am sick of cold and hunger and the spectre of death. But if that is your only reason for wanting me to stay—if my services as a wet nurse are all you require of me—I cannot. I’m sorry.” She turned away.
“What reason could be more important than the lives of two infants?”
She would not answer him. She held the answer on the tip of her tongue but she would not answer him. Broderick had to return to love himself. He had warned her he had changed. Tess saw that this was true. The soldier she had met in the forest had loved her. The lord she saw before her did not.
Her peasant clothes were behind the tapestry screen. She dressed quickly, her eyes blurry with tears. “You and the boys will be safe when I am away. Tell my son I am dead. Do not let him come to harm or send him out to be a soldier. Promise me!” Tess emerged from behind the screen, dressed as a peasant boy and ready for flight. She belted the dagger to her waist. “I’ll not have my son killing and burning at the whim of the king.”
“How will you live? How will you make your way?”
“I’ll
steal. And when there is nothing left to steal, I’ll hire out my sword.”
“We have switched roles it seems,” Broderick said with a grimace. “I am the law and you are the mercenary.”
She set her jaw. “Order a horse to be brought round to the west gate. I’ll escape through the passageway. Do not raise the alarm until I am well away. You owe me that much.”
“Wait—what is the boy’s name? What will I call him?”
Tess thought for a moment and then:
“Kyle. His name is Kyle.”
And then she was gone.
Kyle.
Tess’s reason for naming her son after his dead wife was not lost on Broderick. His lover was asking forgiveness of Kylie, extending her hand across the boundary of death. The child Kylie had died bringing into the world still lived thanks to her rival. Yet he sensed Kylie was glad to have it so. The ways of women was baffling.
His wife had forgiven Tess. Had she forgiven him?
Tess had the courage to seek Kylie’s forgiveness. Broderick could not.
But Kyle ... Kyle had pierced his heart. Broderick fought tears and the rise of gratitude as he carried his son to the nursery. He laid the boy side-by-side with his brother in the basket. The babes were the picture of innocence and peace. No past dishonour marred their perfect features.
Snow continued to fall in fat white flakes, but the fire on the hearth kept them warm.
“This is the place for you, my son,” Broderick said gruffly. “You will grow up beside your brother. There shall be no separation between you in this house. I swear.”
He wiped his eyes and straightened. The old serving woman who had assisted Tess with hiding her baby in Castlemuir hovered, clearly terrified. Her master was hard and ruthless. She had every reason to be afraid.
“They are motherless now. Give them a drop of ale if they’ll take it—enough to ease their hunger pangs. And guard them as though your life depended on it.” He added: “It does.”
♠
THE GREAT HALL was ablaze with candles and laughter rang to the vaulted ceiling. Dumas, the Jester was entertaining the kitchen maids with his clowning. He was juggling the dried fruit they needed for the mince pies and their squeals of gleeful protest spliced through Broderick’s skull like the blade of an axe.
“Enough!” he roared. “Do I not give you enough work to do? Christmastide begins tomorrow morning, not the night before! I daresay it will be a sorry feast if this is how you’ve been amusing yourselves. Get back to work!”
He was being overly harsh. The season was a blessed relief from their toil and the servants made the most of it. The savoury smells of baking and roasting had been wafting from the kitchen for a week.
When the maids had run off, Broderick slumped to the carved oak seat at the head of the Great Hall. The seat of a nobleman, the lord of the manor. A title not his by right, but one he’d seized by might. For all the good it had done him, Broderick thought morosely. He’d had nothing but trouble and grief since becoming the Lord of Castlemuir.
“My lord, if I may.”
Dumas approached, grinning like the fool he was. His red and green cap was askew, resembling a flaccid crown. The man was born with a hideous hunch on his back and an acidic tongue in his head. He had put both to use, travelling the country in a caravan with his servant boy, performing at castles and manor houses for pennies and food.
Broderick groaned. “I am in no mood for clowning, Jester.”
“A poem then to distract you from your troubles: Lady Tess must live, mother’s milk to give; but the babies will perish for Lord Broderick sulks, his temper to cherish.”
He lunged for Dumas, catching him by the collar. The clown’s serving boy darted from the shadows to help his master.
“Dumas!”
“It is all right, boy, I am not hurt. I only wanted to distract his lordship and it appears to have worked. He has forgotten his sorrow in his desire to wring my neck.”
Broderick shook Dumas violently. “How do you know about Lady Tess?”
“Your servants recognized her, though none could say for sure.” The clown was out of breath from the strangling hold Broderick had on him. “It has been almost a year since she disappeared from Castlemuir. But the wine steward said he would know their lady anywhere. They talk, my lord, and their talk could be troublesome if you take my meaning. One cannot hang one’s entire household for gossip.”
He slung the jester away from him. “Your poem was for naught—she would not be persuaded to stay. She said she would hang and there is nothing I can do to stop it.”
“Nothing at all,” the jester said with a mournful leer. “Nothing could persuade the lady—no earthly force. If only there was a man willing to claim her for his own ... a champion ... a lover....”
“Take care, Dumas, not to provoke me past my patience. You forget what I have suffered.”
“Forgive me, my lord but I would not speak so if I did not see a gleam of hope in this tragedy. Though I am grossly disfigured and shrunken in size—we have much in common, you and I. We are survivors, living by our wits. Our first lesson from the cradle was this: give our rulers anything they want and we will rule them. The trick is in knowing what they want.”
“You are talking in riddles. King John wants Lady Tess arrested and hanged. Is it your advice I should turn her in?”
“King John wants nothing of the sort,” Dumas snorted impatiently. “King John is a tax collector at heart; he loves money, not power. He wants the ransom paid or he wants her dead. One or the other, he is not particular; though I wager he’ll choose ransom nine times out of ten....”
Broderick lifted his head and peered at the Jester. “The ransom ... a ransom would have been demanded of her father if she had been captured.”
“Aye, so capture her and pay the ransom, my lord. It does not signify who pays—King John will not quibble if it is your gold or her father’s that is deposited in his treasury. Only that someone has paid for her release.”
Broderick leapt to his feet.
“My lord!” Dumas shouted after him in a hauntingly powerful voice. “The Lady Tess is a young lady of courage, and proud. Offering to buy her freedom will not be enough to induce her to return. You must give her what she needs.”
The soldier nodded. “I understand.”
The question gnawed at his gut as he mounted his horse. Did he have the courage to offer Tess what she needed from him?