Dauntless by Tamara Leigh

Chapter Nineteen

Orne River Valley

Early-Autumn, The Year of Our Lord 1043

Godfroi laughed. When was the last time he had done so with heart?

Fool question, since often he relived his departure from Castle D’Argent when he told his heir he would return before the boy thought to miss him and Guarin said already he missed his sire, then had come Robine with Cyr.

My Robine, he thought as he reined around to follow the boar he had speared and might need to spear again to finish him.

Wrenching tight one of several leather straps belting him into the saddle of which Johannes had cause to be proud for all the modifications required to carry one whose legs remained mostly unresponsive, better he secured his seat for the last of the chase. Then bending low over a horse that was no great prize but worthy of a chevalier, he snapped the reins twice against its neck in lieu of the press of legs and followed the ugly beast likely to run farther than the deer taken by arrow a sennight past.

It did run farther, but in the direction Godfroi forced on it, meaning the longer it resisted yielding, the nearer to the cave and less the distance the hermit would have to pull his cart to collect it. When the boar began weaving drunkenly, indicating it was near collapse, Godfroi slowed his mount.

It was then his prey came around and charged. Unsurprised it would go down fighting, Godfroi reined in, retrieved another spear whittled by the hermit, and threw.

The boar gave a squeal of rage and lurched. As Godfroi urged his horse forward, the beast dropped, its sides heaved, then it groaned and breathed no more.

Godfroi’s laughter had been impulsive and born of satisfaction. Now he felt something else—dread. He had worked hard for this, but the achievement had meaning beyond that of a man providing for his family.

When Johannes had revealed his plan to get his patient back in the saddle, he was met with scorn. Then he had been issued the challenge that if he could make Godfroi more than a passenger who might as well be tied over the horse’s back, this half a man would consider returning to his family.

Johannes had thought on it several days then come to Godfroi who had left the cave to take in the sun near the water’s edge. The hermit had proposed that if he could make it so the Baron of Valeur rode well enough to hunt—and Godfroi must give his word to cooperate fully—not only would his pupil be open to deeper discussion and prayer over returning home, but permit Johannes to enlist Fulbert in making discreet inquiries about those left behind.

However, if he failed to make a rider of Godfroi, he would continue to pray for him and give counsel only when sought—no more unsolicited comments nor prompting.

Godfroi had surprised himself by accepting and without alteration to the proposal, and had also accepted it was what he wanted—rather, what he needed with Robine’s six months nearing their end. He had not known what he would do with whatever came of it, but it was movement forward rather than standing still or going backward.

Now that the boar was taken, better the hermit could make his case for the crippled baron’s return to Valeur. Godfroi longed for his family and home, but though he could ride again, in a manner of speaking, still the question was—like this?

He looked down his lower body that was all deception owing to what was concealed beneath chausses—Johannes’ clever system of wood plates and belts that encased legs whose feet Godfroi’s hands had to push into stirrups. Ever the hermit was adjusting his contraptions and muttering over how one such as he had become little more than a saddle-maker. Once he had answered himself with a single word—penance—that again roused curiosity over who he had been before choosing a simple life.

Godfroi sighed. The hermit had delivered and now the Baron of Valeur must, and he had little time in which to decide what came next for him and his family. If only he knew he would be welcomed home, that he was certain even half of him was better than none at all. If only he did not care what others thought and spoke of one no longer the warrior who had bested his brother to gain a barony.

“Oh pride, your claws sink deep,” he muttered. Then determining it was time to give Johannes his due, he reined around. Minutes later, he nearly crossed paths with the novice heading opposite. Though he could not look near upon Fulbert, one thing was certain—the youth was the size of many a grown man. Of greater note, his visit came two days early.

It was good Godfroi had seen Fulbert, for when he arrived at the cave, no time was wasted on talk of collecting the boar.

“What tidings did the novice deliver?” he asked as he halted near Johannes who sat his haunches before the cave as if struck by fatigue that required immediate rest.

The hermit squinted up at the one with the sun at his back. “What we both knew was coming.” Godfroi was near to understanding when he continued, “I know I agreed you would take a boar ere I inquired about your family, but after you brought down the deer, I knew the next time it would be that dangerous beast.”

As Godfroi’s anger rose, the man considered the horse. “Two spears gone. Oui, boar.”

There being no need—nor patience—to confirm it, Godfroi said, “Speak the tidings, Johannes!”

He rose, and as he stepped alongside, gave a grunt of discomfort and pressed a hand to his chest as Godfroi had seen him do several times of recent. Poor digestion, he had named his affliction. Hopefully, only that.

“Two things,” Johannes said, “the first that your brother has not returned to Valeur to give aid.”

Godfroi had expected Hugh would return, whether summoned or he appeared of his own accord. Why had he not? Because his aid was rejected? Or was no offer given due to his obligations to the duke as well as the family made with Lady Chanson?

Telling himself it mattered not, he said, “The second thing?”

“Lady Robine is betrothed, surprisingly to a man of her choosing and of little standing among the nobility. She weds in less than two months.”

It shocked as Johannes had known it would, but then came things out of the deep and dark. First jealousy, then a sense of betrayal.

“Godfroi!” His name was spoken with warning. “Forget not you allow her to believe you dead. And recall the vow required of her for the sake of your sons. Were you now above looking below, you would be glad it is a betrothal and not a wedding forced on her by way of abduction.”

He was right, and more so since Godfroi had yet to decide whether to return home—was only willing to give it greater consideration and prayer. He did not understand how his wife was able to have a say in whom she wed and how it came to be a nobleman of little account, but she did as agreed. Still, the ache—

“Lord!” Godfroi rasped, recognizing what he had not before. Or perhaps refused to. What he felt for Robine must be that which she had wished a match for her own feelings—love he had so discouraged that over the years he had sensed her reeling it in, what remained of it mostly felt when she was in his arms following wondrous intimacy. Meaning more easily she would wed again than had he not denied her this…

“If you must be angry with someone,” the hermit misinterpreted Godfroi’s emotions, “be so with me for deceiving you, but grateful as well since my deception provides extra time to prepare you to go home should you decide to take back what belongs to a D’Argent and no other.”

Godfroi sat taller in the saddle. “It is decided, my friend. More work to be done in the weeks ahead, but what remains of me returns home. Thus, I give myself full into your hands—and the Lord’s.”

* * *

Castle D’Argent upon Valeur

It should bewondrous to be loved. Though it felt good, something was missing—loving in return.

Every day, Robine grew fonder of her betrothed, but he who had received Lady Maëlys’ approval and spent well Herleva’s favors deserved more.

“And I want more,” she whispered, then rebuked, “You who ache at the thought of replacing the name D’Argent with Roche are greedy. You must get past what is in the past.”

But what if it is not in the past? whispered the voice that had come up out of the dream with her. What if it is still here? Are not all things possible with God?

Tempted to return to sleep as twice done in the hope the storyteller who had her run from the donjon to the drawbridge would reveal more of the one riding on Castle D’Argent, Robine nearly drifted again.

Non,she told herself. Were it Godfroi I saw, all that remains of him is a dream. Accept it.

She turned onto her back, causing Cat to leap from where he had curled behind her knees.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I long for him. You as well?”

The aging feline stepped lightly to her side and butted his head against her hand.

As Robine stroked him, she stared at the ceiling lit by daylight as was not usual since she was given to rising at dawn or earlier. The storyteller, aided by Paulette who had quietly taken the awakening Guarin and Cyr from their pallets, was responsible.

Commanding herself to rise and lose herself in all that needed doing this day that would be busier for the late start, she sat up, kissed Cat’s head, and swung her legs out of the bed.

She stilled, held her back to that lonely place, then looked over her shoulder and imagined Godfroi on his side of the mattress crossing to hers—as often she had crossed to his. There his pillow that had not cradled his head since the day he left her with the hope she would have another babe within when he returned. There in that space and upon that pillow, her betrothed would settle once he became her husband. Though Michel was a good man and she was glad Duke William allowed him to redeem Herleva’s favors so Robine and her sons would not suffer a disagreeable marriage, she could not imagine crossing to his side. But he would cross to hers.

Lest a sob escape, she pressed her lips. Though it seemed a violation to share this bed with one other than Godfroi, it would be done.

“But never the loft,” she breathed. “Ever and ever that is ours alone, Godfroi.”

That should have been the end of her miserable musings, but late that afternoon, as she returned to the donjon following inspection of candle stands the smithy fashioned for the great hall, sidelong she looked at the stable. And breathed deep and veered from the inner portcullis.

How long she stood inside the doors staring up at the loft and struggling against climbing the steps, she did not know. How long she would have ignored the curious stable lads had she not been joined by another, she did not know. What she knew was she did not want him here.

Michel touched her arm, and when she turned to him, said, “What is amiss?”

She nearly said he was amiss, but it was unkind. He loved her and would make a good husband—more importantly, a good father.

Forcing a smile she hoped he would not think a poor fit for her face, she said the first thing come to mind. “I was thinking how long it is since I rode for pleasure alone.” No sooner spoken than she regretted it, the light in his eyes portending an offer she did not wish made.

“Then this day I will take you riding, my lady.”

“That is kind, but soon it will be dusk—”

“You work too hard, Robine.”

Laughter escaped her. “Then you do not know I slept in this day.”

A corner of his mouth rose. “I cannot know it—yet.”

But soon, she thought as what seemed dismay shone from his eyes, evidencing he glimpsed her own and regretted the attempt to lighten her mood with suggestive words.

“Forgive me, Robine. That was inappropriate.”

Even so, it was true. Once she was his wife, intimately he would know her days and nights. And she was glad Michel, rather than one chosen by William, would mark those hours—he, a man who deserved love that would have been gifted him by Pilar, the unknown lady Robine did not doubt was heartbroken.

Because of me, she thought. “What you speak is true,” she said. “I dare not fault you for that.”

“I thank you, my lady. Now allow me to take you riding so I may show you something for which an opportunity has eluded me this past sennight.”

This time, Robine’s smile was genuine. “I am all curiosity. How could I refuse?”

His show of teeth like sunshine after a moonless night, she silently acceded, I come to love his smile. And that is a good beginning.

“Albeit on short notice, I must confess to planned curiosity,” he said.

Impulse nearly made her kiss him. Remembrance of Godfroi here with her made her say, “Order the horses saddled. I shall await you at the gatehouse.”

* * *

He madeher want to know him better. He made her want him to know her better. He made her laugh. He made her forget what was behind. He made her look forward to what was ahead. And he nearly ruined all when they dismounted at the river and he took something from his purse.

“This will make you mine forever, Robine.”

She stared at that which the light of dusk softly rimmed—a gold band etched with flowers. It was lovely and appropriate, but it caused the ring she yet wore to be painfully felt. Here its replacement that would refuse to share that finger with the one that was to have graced it to her end days.

“Oh,” she breathed.

“Do you like it?”

She nodded. “It is quite fine.”

“Would I could take credit for it, but after I sent Lady Herleva a request for aid in purchasing your wedding band, she returned my coins with this and said it is a favorite of hers, and I am to tell she is ready to collect on the favor gained from you.”

Robine met golden eyes. “How so?”

“By wearing this well as the wife of Michel Roche and remembering you are the greatest prize—of which no man is worthy does he not acknowledge it.” He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. “I acknowledge you as my greatest prize, Robine.”

Stay, she told this body tensing for flight. You like his kiss. You like his arms around you. You want to be his greatest prize. You want to make a new life with him. You want him to be a father to your sons. Hearing herself swallow, she commanded, Let go of Godfroi. Let go now, else you will hurt this man who deserves it not.

“Robine?”

Finding he had drawn back, his face grave, she said, “Oui, Michel?”

He shifted his jaw. “I have sensed uncertainty about you—about us—and more so this day. It feels I am losing you, which may be laughable if what I believe I have is far less than thought. Do you wish to wed me still?”

Another swallow. “I do.”

“Because I am the lesser of evils?”

“Non!” She stepped forward. “You are a very good man, and I am grateful for all you have done to set our world aright.”

“Grateful,” he murmured.

She gripped his arm. “And honored I shall be your wife.”

“What else? What other feelings have you for me?”

“I…”

He raised the ring between them. “I appreciate your honesty in telling you do not love me, but can you give me no hope for more?”

Lord, I feel his ache, she silently bemoaned. I know it well. But what to do? I cannot speak what I do not yet believe, especially with this ring on my finger feeling like a belt cinched tight.

There the hope he seeks! she told herself. And it is the least owed him. Lifting her hand, she began removing Godfroi’s ring. It resisted traversing the knuckle, but it came off, and she opened her purse and dropped it inside.

“Robine,” Michel rasped.

She touched his ring. “When you place this on my finger, proudly your wife shall wear it and do all in her power to make her husband happy.” She stepped between his feet, pushed to her toes, and put her mouth on his.

“My love,” he groaned. “My fiercely sweet love.”

They had shared passionate kisses, but always there was some control about them, both knowing nothing more could come of that intimacy until they wed. But did both know it now? Robine questioned as she began drowning in him, though not as once she had drowned in—

Non, he is gone from you!she rebuked. Stay here!

She obeyed, pushing hands into hair far from dark and silvered as his hands began moving places they had not ventured before and ought not now. But…

Just a bit further, she told herself as dusk moved toward night. Not only for he who gifts you with love but for you whose body tires of its long sleep. Just a bit further…

* * *

She had not criedafter they made love on the river’s bank and he held her close as though she were, indeed, his greatest prize.

She had not cried during the swift ride back to Castle D’Argent when night’s cooling air dried moisture seeping from her eyes.

She had not cried when he lifted her down from her mount in sight of the stable lads and gently squeezed her hands.

Robine had smiled a smile felt only as far as her teeth, then watched him stride opposite in response to a man-at-arms who told Michel was needed to receive a report come from one of the border fortresses.

But now that she was alone in the loft…

She dropped onto her back, turned and buried her face in prickly fodder more fit for horses than tears.

“What did I do?” she rasped.

But she knew what she had done—what they had done. Though they were to wed, it was wrong in the absence of vows and bestowal of the ring Herleva had given Michel.

A harlot. That was what she had let herself become. And what did that make him? She knew it was more acceptable for a man to yield to carnal appetites outside of marriage, but not so in the eyes of the Lord.

“We sinned,” she whispered. “Lord, forgive us. Let it not taint our marriage. Let no evidence of our sin show itself to the world.”

She slid a hand between hay and abdomen and prayed that just as Godfroi had not made a child on her when last they were one, neither had Michel.

“Not yet,” she whispered. “Not for a very long time.”

Tears squeezed from beneath her lids, and sobs that sought to be loud and wrenching fought attempts to muffle them, causing her to shove her face deeper into hay.

“Harlot.” She nodded. “The only thing for which you have to be grateful is you did not betray your husband.”

Or did she? Such behavior was unworthy of the woman he had made the Lady of Valeur. His lady, even though never again.