Dauntless by Tamara Leigh

Chapter Twenty-One

Her betrothed was gone. A good thing, though Godfroi had wanted to speak with him before his departure, setting aside jealousy for which he alone was responsible and expressing gratitude for all the chevalier had done.

As told by Olivier, Roche and his hunting companions had thwarted an attack on Robine and their sons that could have ended more disastrously than it had. Afterward, greatly the chevalier had aided in holding Valeur together while Olivier healed from injuries that would have been mortal had they not been tended at Castle L’Épée where Robine was deceived into believing her sire was on his deathbed.

When Godfroi had asked who was responsible for sending the false missive, Olivier had glanced at Lady Maëlys who arranged for the evening meal to be served to retainers in the inner bailey, allowing her family privacy in which to reunite. Obviously, he did not wish to discuss the attack in her hearing, but it could wait as had many things these months.

The hermit was also gone, the same as Roche having departed without allowing Godfroi to express appreciation. Johannes’ swift departure had troubled his mother as well, and she had suggested they send a man after him, but when Godfroi revealed how resistant the hermit had been to entering the castle and his greatest desire was to worship the Lord in his cave, she had let it be.

Now she was with Guarin and Cyr in her chamber abovestairs, having scooped the drowsy boys off their sire’s lap where he had sat at the ink-stained high table in conversation with Olivier, the solar curtains parted to allow him to watch for Robine’s awakening that she resisted despite Cat’s attempts to rouse her.

Once Guarin and Cyr were out of sight, just as Olivier had discreetly aided in his lord’s dismount after learning of his impairment and assisted him into the hall, he had delivered the crutches hidden from the boys. Though Guarin had not questioned why his sire, who rarely sat still for long, had not moved from the table for two hours, once the excitement of his father’s homecoming waned, the boy would ask. Hence, soon he must be told of the injury he would understand only somewhat better than Cyr.

Having propped the crutches against the wall alongside the bedside table and unstrapped Johannes’ contraptions that lent rigidity to legs otherwise given to falling from under him when he worked the crutches with his upper body, Godfroi shifted lower on his pillow and looked to Robine on her side of the bed.

It was then he noticed the ring he had given her the day they wed was absent.

Here jealousy again, aimed at her betrothed who was her betrothed no longer. Here restraint again, reminding him acceptance of widowhood and preparation to wed another warranted such.

He settled his regard on her face. It worried she had yet to awaken, but the physician come from the nearest village had assured him though she struck her head when she fell, no damage was done—just enough to conspire with shock over Godfroi’s return to require healing sleep.

She is more beautiful than remembered,he thought as the light of dusk shone down through the high windows and curved around a face visible past dark hair spilled across it. Of course Roche was in love with her—perhaps nearly as much as the barony he would have gained—Godfroi reflected on what was learned from his mother when he asked about Robine’s feelings for the man aided by Herleva in gaining so notable a betrothed.

Though Robine is fond of him, she does not return his love, Lady Maëlys had said with what sounded confidence though she averted her gaze. Then she had said, It is you she loves, my son. Let naught dissuade you of that.

He could not imagine anything having the power to do so, especially now he was better acquainted with his own heart and wanted the love he had shrugged off all these years. But how to tell Robine? And when?

The how could wait, but the when must come after she learned the reason he had not dismounted to hold her close.

She is faithful, he assured himself. She loves me and, in time, I will gain back the great depth of feeling I should not have discouraged. Then I will be hers as much as she is mine.

Though perhaps not as once you belonged to each other, reminded the inner voice. Some feeling in hips, a little below, but will it be enough to love her as this wife of yours enjoys being loved?

Gripped by fear, that undoer of men that could prove the death knell of a warrior, Godfroi closed his eyes. Turning to the Lord as Johannes said he must, preferably before one strength or another failed him, he prayed that even if he never walked again without great support, still he could fulfill his husband’s duty, providing Robine the comfort and joy of intimacy and adding to their family as both wished.

“More children, Lord,” he rasped. “Amen.”

He knew he should sleep, but when he looked to her, he could not resist touching her lids, lashes, lips.

“Godfroi,” she murmured.

“Not a dream, Robine.” He slid his fingers to her jaw. “I have come home to you, Guarin, and Cyr.”

Her lids rose, then sprang wide.

He smiled. “Oui, I am here.”

Godfroi expected a smile in return, but she thrust to sitting and swept her gaze down him as if seeking proof of the infirmity of which she remained uninformed. But perhaps she suspected, which should not surprise considering how whole he appeared for one so long lost following that battle.

“Wife?”

Distantly, Robine heard him as she recalled what the one returned to their marriage bed had spoken beneath the stand that made her drop and now tempted her hand to a belly that would curve before long.

Seeing naught about her husband to support the hermit’s claim Godfroi had been—and still was—on a painful journey, and needing to know the reason for the long months of silence that had enabled her sin, she demanded, “Why did you not come home sooner?”

His smile disappearing, he stared.

She knew she shocked him just as she did herself, but she had the advantage of being acquainted with this harlot who was even more so now she was no longer the widow she had finally accepted.

“Why, Godfroi?”

He sat up slowly and, offense rising in his eyes, said, “I came home as soon as I could—to one who seems not pleased as a loving wife should be. Why is that, Robine? Did you so look forward to wedding Michel Roche my return is a disappointment?”

Feeling slapped, she cried, “Non! More than anything, I wanted you back.”

He set his silvered head to the side, considered her head to toe. “I see no evidence of that.”

Had his gaze lingered on her belly? Or was that only imagining manifested by guilt and dread?

“I am thinking I am right, Wife. Thus, though I wished to thank Michel Roche for what I am told he did for Valeur in my absence, I am pleased he did not linger to bid you farewell.”

She caught her breath. “He is gone?”

His mouth tightened. “Without word to either of us. Does that make your heart hurt?”

Robine threw off the covers, dropped her feet to the floor, stood. “It makes my heart hurt you think I would choose Michel over you when I but did as Duke William would have seen done had you not required it of me—and that you did, Husband!”

You did more than required of you, Harlot! her conscience jabbed.

Bile scorching throat and tongue, she dropped her chin and gulped. Despite Godfroi’s taunting and regardless of his reason for not returning sooner, more greatly he was wronged than she. And much evidence of that would be had in fewer than nine months. Unless…

The thoughts were fleeting, but they so shamed she nearly went to her knees to beseech the Lord’s forgiveness. The first was that if Godfroi and she made love this night, he might accept the babe come early as his own.

Horrendously deceitful, even if Lady Maëlys could be persuaded to keep this secret from her son to save him pain.

Her second thought was perhaps this babe would be lost as were many to women in the early months of pregnancy.

Horrifyingly hopeful.

Forgive me, Lord, she sent heavenward. It is I who sinned. Do not let this child pay any portion of its mother’s sin. Nor father’s.

A cry nearly escaped her at the realization that regardless of Godfroi’s reaction to the birth of this child, her son or daughter would pay a good portion of its parents’ sins. Unless born very late, none would believe it was Godfroi’s. Ever it would be disdained by the heartless, the cruelest naming it Le Bâtard the same as they did Duke William. And the child would be nameless, since her husband would not gift it his surname to make it somewhat easier for its passage through life. But were Michel told, would he wish to claim his child?

For a moment it seemed something of a solution, but not the next. Though this babe was not Godfroi’s, she knew well before it was born it would be inseparably hers, just as Guarin and Cyr had been for being part of her for nine months.

“Robine?” her husband said sharply.

She was surprised he remained abed, having expected anger to bring him to his feet if not her side. Strange he was content to sit there. And how it offended!

Then of a sudden, it did not.

Though understanding was in its infancy, Robine knew when it moved from crawling to walking it might land her on her face.

Godfroi sighed heavily. “Forgive me for harsh words born of unfounded jealousy.”

Unfounded.That word making her quake, she looked to his legs thrust out before him. “You…” She swallowed. “Though pleased to return to me, you remained astride. Though I anger you, you remain abed—no thrusting to your feet, no pacing, no distancing yourself until calm.”

She met his eyes, and it felt her heart would break over what she saw there—that which she would think wariness in any other, and a moment later proof of that when a shift in dusk’s light drew her regard to something past him. Those were crutches against the bedside table. And what were the pieces of wood on the chair?

A sob escaped. “You cannot easily reach me because the long journey home of which the hermit spoke is not yet complete.”

Nostrils flaring, he said, “Come to bed. There are things I must tell…things we must discuss.”

There were things to discuss, but he was unprepared for what he would learn from her, this one thing tenfold worse considering what he had suffered. And—Heavenly Father!—she had dared be angry with him for not returning sooner, as if to cast on him some blame for her sin.

Pain in her hands alerting her to fists, she splayed cramped joints.

“Come, Wife.”

Knees threatening to give out, she walked around the bed and, more greatly feeling his wariness, considered the crutches. They were sturdy for the bearing of much weight and well constructed as if for long use.

Even so, not permanent,she assured herself. There was a good end to her husband’s journey—must be.

Next she looked to the chair on which rested hinged pieces of wood to which straps of leather were attached. She ran fingers over one and, pricked by a splinter, drew back. “What are these, Godfroi?”

He shifted his jaw. “Supports worn under chausses and over hose.”

“Lord! Your legs were broken in battle.”

“Not broken, Robine.”

Why was that more fearful than snapped bones? she wondered. “But you have only to heal fully. Oui?”

Tenser yet, he looked to the supports. “Those were made by Johannes who believes better they will serve and less they will chafe if they are fashioned of hardened leather.”

His answer was indirect, telling what she did not want to know for its ability to shatter her heart. “Surely these wood supports will serve until you are walking well again,” she entreated.

Briefly, he closed his eyes, then extended a hand.

She set hers in his. “Tell me it is so, Godfroi.”

He drew her nearer as if to pull her onto the bed. When she resisted, he said, “Were I to walk well again and soon, they would serve. However, with each passing month, hope dwindles, and now it seems the only way I will walk again is if the Lord deems me worthy of a miracle.”

Dear Lord, a miracle for this man! she sent heavenward. Does he not walk again, all the more his loss will be felt for what I have done. Stand him upright, return movement to his legs. If better it allows him to distance himself from me, so be it. That is deserved, not crutches and leg supports to his end days.

Feeling Godfroi pull, certain he wished to offer comfort she did not deserve and he would regret, she resisted again.

“It was not easy to return to you like this,” he bit. “Indeed, so hard many times I thought it best not to return at all, but I am here.” He drew breath, more calmly said, “I am ready to be a husband and father in every way that remains to me. I know this is grave disappointment. I know much patience and adjustment will be required, but our family will survive this. It is difficult to believe now, as I struggle with myself, but Johannes assures me if we hold to God, we will be stronger for it—me, you, Guarin, Cyr, my mother.”

That he wished to believe, but what of when he learned there would be one more with whom to weather a storm that could last for years—perhaps a lifetime?

Though Robine commanded herself to tell him and begin atoning, it seemed the wrong time. Not that there could be a right time, but there had to be a better one than his homecoming. If not the morrow, then the morrow after, or…

Her knees gave. Had not Godfroi hooked an arm around her and pulled her in, she would have been on the floor and he might have had to call for help to get her abed.

Arms as strong as remembered, he settled her on the mattress, tucked her upper body against his side, and pressed her head to his chest.

As his heart thrummed beneath her ear, she heard herself whisper, “If only.”

He stiffened, then set a hand on her head. “Stay my side, Robine. I know I am not the man you wed, and I am sorry I proved less a warrior than was needed to return to you whole, but I am determined to be worthy of you and our sons.”

She whimpered at the realization he thought her disappointed in him, perhaps even reviled by his impairment, but though she longed to correct him, it would require words best spoken later.

And more imperative that when he said, “These past months, I learned something of myself I wish I had known to tell you sooner.” He bent his head near. “You have my love, Robine.”

This time no whimper. This time a lack of air. Now he loved her? Now when there was far less to love—if anything at all?

“Did you hear me?”

She nodded but did not return his sentiment though surely he expected it after his own profession, perhaps even needed it for assurance she did not love Michel. But why speak words that would be tossed back in her face when the truth of her and her betrothed was told?

She did love her husband, but under these circumstances, that ought not be spoken. More than ever, it must be shown no matter how steep the mountain from whose rocky base she must collect Godfroi’s wife and try to get her back to the top.

* * *

“If only…”she whispered as done several times throughout the night, rousing him from whatever sleep he managed.

Despite this unsettling over things for which he had thought himself prepared, Godfroi continued to hold to her and pray as he knew Johannes would advise. He could not be certain of all that held his wife in its grip, but he must be patient for having allowed her to believe him dead. Too, rather than perseverate on what had felt rejection of his love, he must trust Lady Maëlys was right—Robine had no great feeling for Michel Roche and still loved her husband.

But when once more she whispered amid the dark, “If only,” he was tempted to shake her awake and demand to know—If only what? If only I had not come home? If only you still loved me?

He opened his eyes on the ceiling across which light came and went according to the dictates of clouds with whom the moon partnered this eve.

Lord,he prayed, do not let me slip away from You. Do not let me make worse whatever these months have wrought. I did not know how much I needed this woman and her love. Now I do, and not only because of what I have lost and might not regain.

Though the words were between God and him, he hated how weak they made him feel, but they were truth, and Johannes told that just as no lie was unknown to the Almighty, neither was any truth. One might fool their fellow man, but not God.

A great gift, my son,he had said. Ever someone to listen and inform your heart without the danger of your truths being turned against you.

“There the truth, Lord,” he rasped. “Now, pray, give aid in making good of it.”