Dauntless by Tamara Leigh

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Though Robine did not know how long she slept, she had only a moment to be grateful for comfort given by Mary and the others who had seen her abed before realizing what awakened her—feet scattering rushes, frantic voices, the hermit shouting for all to stand aside and Mary to show him the way.

The way?Robine wondered, then gasped at the possibility ill had befallen one of the boys. However, as she swung her feet to the floor, she saw they napped on their pallets, Paulette surely having settled them there while their mother slept.

Then something had happened to Godfroi? She ran, but when she exited the solar, saw Brother Johannes near the top of the stairs with Maëlys in his arms, Mary and another servant leading the way.

“What happened?” she exclaimed and would have followed had not her husband appeared on his crutches at the hall’s rear entrance alongside Sir Olivier. “Godfroi?”

“My mother collapsed. I have sent for the physician. Pray, attend her until he arrives.”

Such distress in his voice, and she knew it was greater for how helpless he felt being unable to carry Maëlys inside and that still he struggled to work his crutches on steps.

When Robine reached the lady’s chamber, her entrance caused the hermit to halt his retreat. Seeing Mary and the other woman arranged covers over Maëlys, Robine paused before the man who showed much interest in the hands clasped before him as if discomfited over being in a woman’s bedchamber.

“Did you see what happened, Brother?”

When he looked up, she saw fear in his eyes. Because he believed the lady lost to her family or nearly so?

“Your husband and I were at prayer in the chapel when we heard disturbance outside. I exited first and saw your mother-in-law on the ground.”

“Then you do not know what caused her collapse?”

Greater fear lighting his eyes, he said, “God knows.”

That seemed a peculiar response, but he was a holy man. “I am sure the physician will tell us soon,” she said and hoped the man would not be long in arriving.

Hearing Lady Maëlys speak, Robine said, “You have been of great aid. Now, pray, go to my husband and tell his mother rouses.”

He inclined his head and stepped around her.

As Robine crossed to the bed, she asked the hovering women to go for basins of water, hand towels, and drink and bread. When they departed, she lowered to the mattress. “I am here, Mother.”

Maëlys groaned, and when she spoke what sounded nonsensical words, it occurred it was because they were slurred as of one who suffers a tear in the mind that incapacitates one or both sides of a body, but then she said clearly, “Cain and Abel…Abel and Cain…”

That took no pondering. In her delirium, she recalled the loss of her husband.

“Guarin,” Maëlys murmured. Robine thought she referred to her grandson, but when she added, “Jean,” it was confirmation she spoke of her husband and his brother, the former likely murdered by the latter.

Pained that she remained tormented by widowhood, knowing the same could have been her own fate, Robine set a hand on the lady’s brow. “I know it hurts, but it is in the past. Still you have your sons and now grandsons—”

“Hugh must come home.” Maëlys opened eyes. “In that he is right.”

“Who is right, Mother?”

“He whose voice sounds like Jean’s.” At Robine’s gasp, the lady shook her head. “It only sounded that, could not have been his.”

Robine brushed hair out of her eyes. “Whose voice sounds like Jean’s?”

Though Maëlys’ smile was sickly, there was sheepishness about it. “I should not have slipped into the chapel to listen in on his conversation with Godfroi. It was wrong.”

“You speak of Brother Johannes?”

“Oui, the hermit. Only a hermit, naught else.”

Robine nearly accepted that, but something bothered, asking to be led into the light. “You have heard the holy man speak before. Why only now does he sound like Jean?”

She moistened her lips. “As you know, he is a quiet man, and when he speaks, it is little and low, but this day in counseling Godfroi…” Her eyes skittered away as if she sought to recall what was overheard. “So much passion, Robine. Never in my hearing have so many words spilled from him and with such volume. But it was godly wisdom.” She nodded. “He only sounds Jean.”

The same as Maëlys, Robine was nearer to believing that than not, but she longed to look closer on the matter.

Moments later, footsteps caused her to peer over her shoulder. As expected, the women returned with the requested items, and as they set them about and exclaimed over their lady’s return to consciousness, more footsteps and the sound of crutches.

Though the advance warning prepared Robine for her husband’s appearance, it was hard to hide surprise he had conquered the stairs.

His mother proved lucid enough to note it herself when he entered followed not by the hermit but Sir Olivier. “Had I known a little fall would get you up those steps, my son, I would have played the swooning damsel sooner.”

After dismissing the women servants, Godfroi swung his body across the chamber. “Would I could own to that achievement, Mother.” He halted alongside the bed. “But Sir Olivier aided your son who set aside pride to be carried up the steps.”

Hurting for how difficult that must have been in sight of others, Robine longed to reach to him.

Godfroi looked around and thanked the chevalier, and when his man departed, continued, “Unfortunately, I do not think Guarin was impressed.”

Having assumed the nap prevailed over the commotion, Robine caught her breath, drawing his gaze and earning a strained smile. “But now better he understands how breakable humans are and the importance of strengthening one’s body and protecting it as best as possible against all assaults.” He sighed. “How do you feel, Mother?”

“Weak and tired, but I am well.”

“Do you know what caused this?”

“I have not been eating nor sleeping as much as I should. As you know, that is my greatest weakness.”

He nodded. “Usually brought on by stress, though it is many years since you have succumbed.”

I am responsible, Robine thought, having witnessed only one such spell though dizziness had been corrected by lowering quickly and resting.

“Will you sit, my son?” Maëlys gestured at a chair, and Robine drew it near.

As he lowered, Robine poured drink for her mother-in-law, and when the lady had her fill, said, “If there is naught you require, I will give you time alone.”

“You may remain if you wish,” Maëlys said.

“I thought I would seek Brother Johannes to thank him for—”

“He has departed,” Godfroi said.

“Departed?” Maëlys exclaimed.

“Worry not, Mother, just as I know I am not done with his good work in me, he knows. I speak of him going from the hall to the chapel.”

“But you were just there. I…saw you enter.”

“Oui, but likely he is unsettled by carrying my lady mother to her chamber.”

Maëlys gasped. “He carried me?”

“Though he is of an age, having been a warrior ere committing his life to the Lord, he remains of good strength.”

Robine’s glance at her mother-in-law revealed this new insight bothered her as well.

“Oui, go to him and thank him for me, Daughter,” Maëlys said, but in the next moment amended, “Non, I will do it. Tell him when his prayers are done, I wish to speak with him.”

A glance at Godfroi confirmed he sensed something not present earlier. Wondering if he would question his mother, Robine said, “I will deliver word.”

When she stepped into the hall, Guarin was on the floor near Paulette’s bench, assembling the soldiers Johannes had carved for him, Cyr’s absence evidencing the littlest yet napped. Catching sight of her, Guarin jumped up and ran to her.

Robine paused to assure him his grandmother was only tired, and in answer to the other question that pinched his face, said, “We must continue praying for your papa’s healing and trust God knows best.”

He agreed reluctantly, then returned to his soldiers.

Shortly, Robine opened the door of the inner bailey’s chapel. Only the hermit was present where he hunched over a kneeler before the altar. Though no weeping was heard, his shoulders convulsed.

Lord, it cannot be him, she silently entreated. And if it is, what to make of tears I do not believe feigned for how quiet my entrance?

She hesitated, then firmly closed the door to alert him to her presence.

His head came up and mostly he stilled, but there remained some quake about him.

“Brother Johannes?” she said when she halted beside him.

Eyes on the wooden cross above the altar, he said huskily, “My lady?”

“Much gratitude for aiding my mother-in-law.”

“None needed. How fares she?”

“She has roused. Though weary, she seems well.”

He nodded. “I thank you for the tidings. Now best I return to prayer.”

She lowered to the kneeler beside his. When he looked around, revealing sorrow in moist eyes, she asked, “Do you pray for my husband’s mother?”

“I pray for many, but that lady numbers among them, and more so this day.”

“And much you pray for my husband.”

“Always, and you and your boys.”

“And Hugh?”

More warily, he said, “And Godfroi’s brother.”

“We are grateful, but…” She moistened her lips. “Kindly, you call my husband your son. Though I know that is what those of the holy order name men they shepherd, it feels something more than that.”

It seemed he stopped breathing, then he looked down and murmured, “Lady Maëlys.”

Was this acknowledgement of suspicions the woman had voiced as she moved toward consciousness? “Oui,” Robine said, then ventured, “Are you my husband’s uncle?”

Though nearly certain his silence was admission, the pain he exuded made her await verbal confirmation.

“God help me.” He returned his regard to her. “I am Jean, though long I have been Brother Johannes.”

Gripping her hands atop the kneeler’s upper support, she gasped, “Heavenly Father!”

After some moments, he growled, “And God help you, Lady Robine, for not heeding the voice that must be telling you to run.”

Remaining kneeling, she raised her gaze from brown eyes unlike her husband’s and considered hair not as silvered as that of the much younger Godfroi. “If you wished to harm me, it would have been done long ere you confessed.”

He sighed. “Still, precarious this, Lady. I know I mean you no harm, but you cannot be certain, especially since I believe you are acquainted with the sin leveled against me.”

“Only leveled?”

“I know suspicion was cast on your sire for my brother’s death, and much I regret that, miscreant though often he proved.”

“Then it is so. You…?”

“I am not Cain, but the result was the same for my brother as it was for Abel of the Bible—death to the worthy son. No matter it was unintentional, I am responsible for the loss of our sire’s heir. You know I was the eldest, oui?”

“I do.”

He touched his beard and hair. “No silver as a young man, and I wanted it to prove I was of the same blood. Despite the whispers of others, our sire said it need not be proved, that though most of our line were born to silver ahead of great age, not all. However, when I saw he favored my brother, I feared it was because I lacked the silver, that though he had good regard for his wife, he thought himself cuckolded. I refused to believe the wrath I earned was due to fondness for drink and a temper that often led to rages. Thus, the day our sire awarded all to my brother, which allowed him to gain a wife such as I could never have, I thought it proof of all I feared.”

“Then you wanted Lady Maëlys for yourself?”

His chuckle was nearly scornful. “Not specifically her but a noblewoman of note and beauty. As an accomplished warrior, I could have made a good life for myself the same as Hugh has done, but I was too bitter and more tightly clung to the balm of drink. Thus, my brother paid the highest price when I came here that day.” He frowned. “Strangely, during the ride, over and again a voice that seemed not my own told me to turn aside, and I wanted to, but I kept coming and…”

“You argued with Lady Maëlys.”

“Oui, and she shamed me as I deserved.” He closed his eyes as if to view memories of that. “If only my brother had not come after me. I know I can never make amends, but I have done all I can to fix what is broken with Godfroi that might not have been had his sire raised him to manhood.” He went silent, then said, “You do not ask how my brother died.”

She wanted to, but it seemed wrong for him to tell her what should first be known to those who had lost husband and father. “Methinks that best saved for Lady Maëlys who wishes to speak with you when you are done here.”

“Though the coward of me wants to depart Castle D’Argent immediately,” he said, “I know I will look back and regret not facing her and…”

“Godfroi,” she whispered.

He swallowed loudly. “I dread seeing respect and friendship become the hatred of an enemy, but I pray you do not think me a coward for asking the truth be withheld from him as long as possible.” He angled toward her. “As I am well acquainted with his pain and struggle, I believe it would be detrimental to his healing to learn who I really am to him. He needs to be told, but not now.”

Relief gripped her. “This I know, just as I know his circumstances are worse for my sin and you are what he needs.”

“What he needed, my lady, for I must depart after I speak with your mother-in-law. Though I intended to remain longer in the hope of further strengthening Godfroi’s relationship with the Lord that will aid him through the remainder of your pregnancy and prepare him for what is to come, his mother will not allow it. Hence, I will seek to persuade her to await a better time to reveal the uncle who became a man of God once he saw what he had done.”

Though likely it was for the best, hiding this from her husband seemed betrayal, and Robine knew she could do so only if instructed by Maëlys. But of greater concern was Godfroi losing the influence of this man who, having brought him this far, surely could not have intentionally slain his brother.

She nodded. “You will return to your cave in the north?”

“Oui, and should Godfroi wish to confront me, I will come out and talk to him, else answer his summons if he would have me do so here.”

What would her husband do? she wondered, knowing how greatly he would be disturbed and angered at being dealt another blow. Would all the progress made be for naught? Would revelation Johannes was Jean push him back to the edge, even over it?

“We should speak with Lady Maëlys,” the hermit said.

She blinked. “We?”

“I think you should be there.”

He was right. “We can try, though Godfroi may still be with her. He had Sir Olivier aid him in getting abovestairs.”

Another sorrowful smile. “More progress with my pupil.”

“Your nephew,” she corrected.

“Undeserved, but he is that.” He rose, staggered, then as if donning the warrior, stood taller and set his shoulders back.

* * *

Enteringthe hall ahead of the hermit, Robine saw Godfroi sat at high table, quill in hand, parchment before him.

Beside him was Guarin, knees to the bench as he considered two fronts of wooden soldiers lined up on that portion of the table stained by ink spilled the day a hermit appeared at Castle D’Argent.

“This one the duke’s side, Papa,” he said.

Godfroi moved his gaze from those returned to the donjon to the little soldiers. “Where are you among William’s men?”

Guarin grunted. “Mayhap the other side. I do not like the duke.”

The same as the man coming behind her, Robine halted her advance on the stairs.

“Why?” Godfroi said.

Their son raised his chin with what seemed defiance. “You helped him win and you got hurt, not him.”

“True, but a good leader must be protected, even at the cost of great injury, even one’s life.”

Guarin thought on that, then set an elbow on the table and his chin in his palm. “Is Duke William a good leader?”

Hesitation. “He is still young, but he has great promise. Given the chance, likely he will be exceedingly capable of protecting Normandy against its enemies.”

The little boy grunted. “Then I might fight for him.”

“Since one day you will be Baron of Valeur, that will be your duty, Guarin.”

“What if I do not want it? Can I give it to Cyr?”

Godfroi ruffled his hair. “You have many years and much training ahead to become a warrior before you are a lord. Then my heir will be confident of the direction to point his feet.”

Guarin nodded and returned to his soldiers.

“Husband, I have brought Brother Johannes to speak with your mother,” Robine called.

“She awaits him,” he said. “Though I would have remained longer, she insisted I begin the missive to Hugh.”

She caught her breath.

“Oui, Wife, it is time he call here.”

Past time, she thought, though likely Maëlys’ wish for a private audience with the hermit prompted her to bid Godfroi to compose the missive now.

“I know you will bless my mother, Brother Johannes,” he said and returned to ink and parchment.

Shortly, Robine entered the chamber ahead of the hermit and found Lady Maëlys sitting upright, pillows at her back. There was color in her face—and steel in her eyes as if far more she leaned toward her suspicions, and when she looked to the one coming behind, that steel brightened.

When Robine halted at the foot of the bed, the lady gestured at the chair earlier occupied by her son. “Sit beside me, Brother.”

Johannes, formerly known as Jean, lowered. “My lady.”

She studied his face, then looked to her daughter-in-law. “I think you know what I believe I know.”

“I do,” Robine said.

Maëlys breathed deep. “And Godfroi remains unaware.”

Though it was a statement rather than a question since both knew the hermit would not be here otherwise, it begged an answer. “Oui, lady mother.”

The older woman set a hand on the opposite side of the bed. “Sit here, Daughter.”

Robine did as bid and, seeing Maëlys’ hand remained atop the cover, closed her fingers over it and felt a tremor.

The woman swallowed. “The reason I give audience to one who calls himself Brother Johannes is because of what he has done for Godfroi and that no matter which way I turn it, I see only genuine care for my son.”

Face pale above whiskers, he said, “You see well, my lady. And now I will tell the tale you wish and seek forgiveness of one who may not be forgivable in your eyes.”

She inclined her head. “Begin with what happened after the drunk of you forced me to draw dagger and my guard to beat you. Tell what came of my husband who pursued you across Valeur.”

He lowered his forearms to his thighs and clasped his hands. “I was overtaken and, not being right of mind to properly guide my horse to evade my brother, lost the saddle and had only enough time to regain my feet and draw sword.”

“You are saying my husband drew sword on you?” she asked sharply.

“Non, I have not that excuse. Remaining astride, over and again he cursed and berated me while circling, and I could hardly keep him in sight for how much it made my head reel. Next he said he should slay me and perhaps would.”

“Then he drew sword?”

“Non, but tighter his circling until I tried to run. He blocked my way, and I fell. Closer he came, and fearing he would trample me, I did the only thing I could think to stop him. I got my knees under me and swung at his horse’s legs.” He shook his head. “I was no warrior that day. I was a boy with a blade, the flat of it striking rather than the edge. Still, it caused the animal to rear.”

He lowered his chin. “My brother shouted and hit the ground hard. I heard no crack of bone, but it was surely there, no movement about him and his head at a strange angle. I crawled to him, all the way beseeching the Lord to spare him, even if my brother worked trickery that saw me dead.” He raised his head. “As you know, it was not trickery. I did not mean to kill him, but I did. Had I not drunkenly raged against you, likely he would have raised your boys to adulthood and Godfroi would yet be whole regardless of the outcome of that accursed contest.”

Feeling Maëlys’ hand quake harder, Robine looked to her and saw tears overflowed.

“My lady, I have no way of proving what I tell is true. Only God bore witness, just as only He knows the state of the heart I have struggled to make right.”

Her nostrils flared. “Tell exactly how my fallen son came into your hands.”

He sat back. “It began with the longing to look upon the nephews I caused to be raised into men without a father. My dwelling fairly close to Falaise, I heard the young duke came with liegemen from across Normandy to take back what the rebels held, and so I ventured there and moved among those preparing to lay siege. The two I hoped to find were present. Just as seen when I attended the contest—”

She gasped.

“Oui, I was there,” he said, then continued, “Able to draw nearer, I looked close at those of same face that bore a good likeness of their sire and hair too soon silvered and saw they were even more formidable. When I returned to my cave, I prayed for both. Then came the day I heard battle in the distance that told whatever had come of the siege, that conflict had moved from Falaise.”

He cleared his throat. “What caused me to once more depart my sanctuary was a nudge as of the Lord sending me to do His work. It was dark when I arrived at the place one of the battles was fought. Though I did not know where to begin with so many fallen and the dying near to joining the dead, I searched among them for D’Argents I hoped not to find.” He nodded. “Then I saw one with a face too young for such silvered hair. Bloodied and broken, he stared at the heavens as if life had fled, but when I bent to close his lids, he spoke.” The hermit moved his gaze to Robine. “Your name, my lady. Then he spoke what I believed my brother’s name and that of Lady Maëlys’ brother.”

“Our sons named after them,” she whispered.

“Fine boys you have given your husband,” he said and looked back at Maëlys. “Beneath these simple garments what remains of the warrior enabled me to deliver Godfroi from the battlefield. I did not expect to get far ere a grave must be dug, but the Lord answered my prayers. Though it seems a part of your son died fighting for the duke, the greater part of him lives.”

“And now you believe we are beholden to you?”

“I do not, though I hope returning Godfroi as whole as possible makes some amends for the one I could not return to you.” When she did not respond, he said, “Have you any questions?”

She shook her head.

“Then we are nearly done.”

“Nearly done?” she exclaimed.

“Lady Robine and I discussed my departure, and I think you will agree I should leave immediately. Too, until Godfroi’s faith is strong enough to sustain him through what lies ahead, it is best you withhold the truth of this sinner who does not deserve to love him like a son but does.”

Lady Maëlys sucked breath between her teeth, with accusation said, “You fear his wrath.”

“It will hurt my heart, but I will not deny him his anger and bear it whether he comes to me or summons me.” He stood. “Though tempted to slip away in the night, I will tell him it is time—”

“Non! I want you gone from here—I do!—but you will stay and finish this so better he is prepared for the months to come.”

“Lady Maëlys—”

She raised a hand. “You will leave when I say he is whole enough, and while you remain, he will not know who you are in truth.” She looked to Robine. “You will not like holding this close, but I insist and will take responsibility if need be.”

Though Robine risked much, this deceit possibly proving one trespass too many despite being commanded to it, she believed greater the risk to Godfroi were he denied the guidance of this sinner-turned-holy man. With a glance at a belly that had more growing to do, she said, “I will hold it close.”

“Continue the same as before, Brother,” Lady Maëlys said, “then you can go home to your cave. If that is not the end of this, God willing my son can do later what I fear him less capable of now.”

“As you will, my lady.” He turned and departed.

For some moments there was silence, then a sob.

Robine drew Maëlys into her arms. It was a storm the lady loosed, causing her to shake and tears to moisten Robine’s gown, but it was short-lived.

Drawing back, she wiped her eyes. “I thought I was stronger than this, but to finally know after accepting I would never know…to have him here…to want to hate him for the loss of my husband and continue to love him as I have done for deliverance of my son…” She shook her head. “I am all astir.”

“One more blow among many, Mother.”

“Am I a fool to trust him, Robine?”

“If you are, I am, for I believe his remorse genuine. Though there is risk in trusting him, methinks it could prove more to Godfroi’s detriment were he to lose Johannes now.” She set a hand upon evidence of her babe. “Because of my sin.”

It was rare the lady looked there, and she did not now, but Robine could not be offended even had Maëlys been unkind. The lady ached over what hurt her son and all the hurt to come.

“Pray with me, Daughter,” she said, “then let us see what our hearts tell of my decision, having every faith the Lord will reveal if I have erred in not sending him away.”