Dauntless by Tamara Leigh

Chapter Eighteen

Orne River Valley

Late Summer, The Year of Our Lord 1043

More feeling in his hips. Some encouragement.

Still minimal feeling in his upper thighs. No encouragement.

No feeling at all mid thighs to the soles of his feet. Great discouragement that sometimes made him bellow and tempted him to curse the hermit who believed God might yet work a miracle.

With every passing day that drew Robine nearer to keeping her promise to provide their sons a father, what little hope Godfroi had of returning to his family shrank.

Still, he prayed and attended to the teachings of Johannes that moved him as rarely he had been moved in faith, so passionate was the man and certain he was heard and comforted by the Lord regardless of the outcome of his own prayers.

Throughout, Godfroi exerted himself, anger and frustration demanding it. Though ever his upper body had been strong, more so now. For hours each day, he subjected those muscles to such rigor he would not have been surprised were it blood rather than perspiration seeping from his pores. Too, this past month he had met nearly all his own needs, and could he find a way to hunt without becoming the hunted, he would do that as well.

“Hear that?” Johannes exclaimed and rose from shelling nuts. “And he delivers the impossible.”

He spoke of Fulbert, the novice never seen since the hermit said it was best it appear he maintained his solitary life of prayer, and this time the young man did not come alone as told by a greater number of hooves. So what impossible thing had he obtained for Johannes?

One last time, Godfroi lowered his torso to the stone floor and, with much intention, slowly raised it on arms that felt on fire, then he rolled onto his pallet and watched the hermit stride from the cave.

From the conversation between two rather than three, he learned the impossible was a horse and the novice was pleased with how well he had spent the hermit’s coin—coin one would not expect the cave dwelling man of God to possess. Why and how he came by it was a curiosity, but the greater curiosity was the reason he purchased a horse.

Godfroi considered it might be for him, but if ever he rode again, it would be in the presence of a miracle that saw tossed atop a fire the detestable crutches fashioned for him so he could move from cave to riverbank without crawling.

“You are right, he is a fine one, and this saddle will serve well,” Johannes said. “I thank you.”

Minutes later, there came the sound of four hooves carrying one rider away.

“For what purpose a horse?” Godfroi asked when the hermit returned.

He smiled. “You know the answer.”

Godfroi ground his teeth.

“Oui, my son. Soon we shall have you astride again.”

* * *

Castle D’Argent upon Valeur

No endto incursions on D’Argent lands—villages and travelers attacked, poaching, one crop burnt, a great brawl in a tavern near one of the border fortresses.

Wrongly, Robine and Lady Maëlys had convinced themselves they would weather it until Sir Olivier healed in full. He did heal, but his progress was slow. Hence, a month past the former Lady of Valeur had suggested they accept the offer of aid made by the chevalier who had been among those who escorted Robine and her sons home from Solitaire.

Such was their desperation, for Maëlys had noticed Sir Michel’s interest in Robine. She had not liked it, and yet she liked the man. And more both women appreciated him now that, with minimal direction from Olivier, the garrison and patrols functioned better and training was further accelerated to sooner replace the lost chevaliers.

Both women were aware Robine’s period of mourning was nearing its end and those held at bay would be set loose. For that, weeks ago the names of three noblemen of good age and character were submitted to Duke William.

Robine had cried over that missive, feeling it was acceptance of Godfroi’s death though she yet clung to hope. Now she wanted to cry again over the duke’s answer. None of those the ladies believed acceptable met with his approval nor his advisors’. A husband of fewer years was needed, and Lady Maëlys balked over the ones put forth to become a father to her grandsons. Robine concurred, but there seemed nothing they could do.

“Had I won that wager with Lady Herleva,” she whispered, leaning into the embrasure between battlements, seeking to be soothed by the evening breeze buffeting her face, “perhaps she would intervene.” If William would listen to any, surely it was his mother.

“Lady Robine,” Sir Michel called ahead of his arrival. She was grateful to have time to compose herself, but it proved insufficient.

“You look troubled,” he said. “If I am intruding, I will leave.”

As both she and her boys liked him, she said, “Stay. It is a lovely night, one meant to be breathed in, even though…”

He halted alongside, and she was struck that torchlight was as kind to his attractive face framed by short blond hair as sunlight. “Even though what, my lady?”

She took the missive from atop the embrasure and passed it to him. “From Duke William.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You are sure you wish to share it?”

“Soon it shall be known by all, as will what comes of it. It seems right my captain of the guard, temporary though you are, should know it ahead of others.”

He smiled. “I am honored.”

She turned back into the embrasure.

Since the missive was short, she was surprised he was so long in responding. “My lady, without sounding self-serving, I believe neither of these men would be a good husband to you and father to your sons.”

She knew that. What she did not know was the reason he believed it wrong to speak in honesty. “Lady Maëlys and I concur, but why do you think it self-serving to tell me so?”

“Is it not obvious I would make a better husband?”

She was not surprised he wanted that, only that he spoke it as if it were within reach. Certainly she would wed him ahead of the two approved by the duke, but though he had aided in William’s training at arms and occasionally advised the youth, Michel was no favorite, nor did he rank high enough to overcome that shortfall.

“I agree, but as you see, I have little choice.”

“You agree?” he said with disbelief.

She sighed. “If I must wed again, I would be a fool to become a prize of one known to me only for a reputation that does not impress when I could be the wife of a man of honor who has selflessly devoted himself to my family.”

When he smiled, she held up a hand. “Do not mistake that as love, but know I value you and all you have done.”

He cleared his throat. “A good beginning.”

“It is no beginning at all, Sir Michel. If the duke can be moved from matching me with one of those noblemen, he will make a match with another of benefit to him.” She bit her lip, then determined to remain honest. “Unfortunately, you are not—”

“Non, I am no favorite, nor born high enough, but I have something that could shift all.”

Intrigued, she angled toward him. “What could possibly save me from a marriage of no good account?”

“Two favors.”

Surely he did not speak of bargains made with Herleva, but if he did, could they carry weight with her son who surely had no obligation to pay favor debts run up by his mother?

“Last summer, Lady Herleva entreated me to wager with her. I told her I do not indulge in such. That made her more determined. Eventually, lest I offend one of great influence, I yielded. And twice won ere she was satisfied.”

“I know Herleva,” Robine said, “though I am the one who owes a favor.”

“She likes to gamble,” he said lightly, then seriously said, “You are thinking it must be a small favor owed me, and likely you would be right were it only the one, but to entice me to wager that second time, she assured me two favors from her would be worth bending her son’s ear to a request made on my behalf.”

“Still, it seems too far a reach, Sir Michel.”

“Perhaps, but tell me to reach, and I will.”

She was tempted since he, more than any she knew, would be an agreeable father to her sons. And she was attracted enough to believe it possible to enjoy intimacy with one other than he who was long gone from her.

The chevalier settled in beside her and looked distant, lending her silence in which to ponder.

Finally, she said, “What of your Pilar? It would be wrong to take you from her, Michel.” Only after she spoke did she realize she had not titled him.

Doubtless, it did not escape him. “I care for her, but she is not my Pilar, as I am not hers, meaning you would not be taking me from her”—he paused—“Robine.”

Am I being selfish to want to accept that as truth?she wondered, then asked, “You are certain?”

“I am.”

“Then I shall speak with Lady Maëlys. If she agrees her son’s wife is better wed to you than another, I will tell you to reach.” Seeing his smile waver, she said, “Fear not. She may not show it, but she likes you and is grateful for the aid given us.” She held out a hand, and when he placed the missive in it, stepped near and raised her face. “I anticipate I will like your kiss, but would you prove me right?”

Surely surprised, he was slow to accept the invitation, then he set his hands on her shoulders, eased her against the battlement’s wall, and lowered his head.

His mouth was not the one she wanted, and yet that kiss was almost wonderful. Almost, but it was enough to finally accept Godfroi was lost to her. Once she did that, the intimacy of lips became a tiny slice of wonderful, then she was not the only one receiving. Sliding her hands up his chest and around his neck, she pushed to her toes and pressed her mouth to his.

Lost to me, but still with me,she realized when she was flashed with remembrance of the last passionate kiss shared with her husband. It nearly made her pull back, but since she had only this honorable man to hold to, she did not.

As if sensing what she gave of herself began to retreat, it was Michel who ended the kiss. Pressing a hand to her head, he eased it beneath his chin. “You must know I love you, Robine.”

Love, she mouthed, throat tightening over the one word she had wanted from Godfroi.

“Robine?”

“I am honored, Michel, but as told, I do not love you. I shall wed again because it is required of me by the duke as well as my husband who made me give my word that, in the event of his death, I would provide our sons a worthy father.”

He was silent a time, then confidently said, “I believe love will grow.”

She did not respond, silently accepting that just as Godfroi had not returned her love, this man would suffer the same. But he knew that and seemed willing to settle for hope that great feeling would grow in her just as she had hoped of Godfroi.

Oh my love, she sent heavenward, I do as bid and pray the wagers of Herleva see me joined with this good man I believe will do right by our sons.