Dauntless by Tamara Leigh

Chapter Thirty-One

Castle D’Argent upon Valeur

Early Summer, The Year of Our Lord 1044

Oh!” The missive slipped from her fingers, drifted to the rushes. The first of the words had made her tremble for being the opposite of what was expected and for the depth of grace shown her, but what followed…

“My lady!”

As Robine sank to the floor with her hand to a belly that was two weeks from delivering a babe, she realized the one who brought her the scroll had not withdrawn. The woman had paused and, as evidenced by kindnesses shown Robine all these months by servants who might prove her only friends for the outcast the Lady of Valeur had become, here more kindness.

When Mary had yielded the missive, there had been concern about her as if she feared it sent by one who should have no contact with her lady. However, surely informed as to the sender and, guessing its content, she had turned protective. Certes, she could not know all that was written there, but she knew what was unwelcome ahead of other words her lady had yet to read.

“Oui, he is dying,” Robine said as Cat settled beside her and Mary neared as if to put arms around her lady. And welcome that would be—or would have been had not the sound of crutches on the dais swung the woman opposite.

Moments later, Godfroi parted the curtains and halted at the sight of Mary. When his gaze swept past her to his wife, the concern on his face was so great Robine’s tears overflowed. “What is—?” He said no more, that which lay near her coming to notice.

Concern extinguished, face darkening, he said, “Leave us, Mary.”

“Oui, my lord.” With a glance at her lady, she departed.

Seeking to lean hard on Johannes’ teachings, Godfroi tried to think how to deal with what felt betrayal, and worse betrayal for the tears his wife shed.

She retrieved the missive. “Godfroi, it is not—”

“I trust had I not entered, you would have shared it with me as agreed,” he said sharply.

She faltered, then as she raised her unwieldy body, causing Cat to leap onto the bed as if for fear she would unbalance and step on him, said, “Were that what this is, I would.” She crossed to him.

Bracing his crutches beneath him to free his hands, he accepted the missive and released a breath of relief when he saw it was not Robine’s name inked by Roche but a title of kinship inked by her sire. Guessing here Baron L’Épée’s rebuke after months of silence from her family who had to have learned of her scandalous pregnancy, Godfroi set his teeth. But there was no rebuke, only words of sorrow and forgiveness for her great shame, as well as assurance of prayers for her and the family made with Godfroi D’Argent.

He wanted to ask if she was certain this was written by her father, but the next words explained more of a man changed enough to try to make things right as begun during his daughter’s unexpected visit when L’Épée wished to meet his grandsons. The D’Argents’ old adversary had crossed the line to dying, and he believed only days remained before he was put in the earth.

Though there was more written here, Godfroi looked up. “I am sorry, Robine.”

She swallowed. “Would you tell me what else he wrote? I did not get past that.”

He started to read it aloud, but a name written there and that she was so vulnerable in nearing the birthing stopped him. With mounting anger, he read it through, and when he came to the old man’s signature, foremost in his mind was the trap Hugh and he had assembled that required several unknowns to become known to catch their prey. Providing this was no trap, and mostly Godfroi believed what L’Épée told, no longer was a trap needed, their prey having come to them more than halfway.

“What does it say?” Robine asked.

On the way to meeting her gaze, he paused on her hand curved over the underside of her belly. At Johannes’ prompting, no longer did Godfroi avoid looking close on his burgeoning wife, and it helped as he had not believed possible, growing him accustomed to her advancing pregnancy such that sometimes it was with wonder he stared as if the child within was the third gifted him.

“Husband?”

And no longer did she snatch her hand away, Johannes having confessed to counseling her. In this the hermit was right as well. It had required adjustment on both sides for Robine not to suppress or correct what was natural, but it was better Godfroi feel sorrow than anger over guilty behavior.

Of a sudden the missive was out of his hand, returning him to this moment he should not have left.

“Robine!” He reached to take it back, but she stepped into light come through an upper window. Though he had become exceedingly proficient at working the crutches and could ascend steps now, he was unable to gain her side in time to prevent her from glimpsing that name.

“Fitz Géré! What has he—?”

Again he sought to retrieve the missive, but once more she evaded him despite the bulk going before her.

“Give it to me!” he commanded, causing the rat catcher to hump its back and hiss.

“Non!” Robine said, and his anger flared when further she took advantage of his impairment by going wide around him to the opposite side of the solar.

Though he knew he could catch her before she read all, since much was already known, he settled in and seethed.

“Delphine!” She lowered the missive. “That—” She pressed her lips, looked to Godfroi. “Do you think it is true?”

True that woman, with her husband firmly abed, had taken control of Solitaire with the aid of retainers loyal to her? True she sought to replace her husband’s eldest son with the son made with her and do so with aid from Arn fitz Géré who was promised marriage to Robine’s half-sister and a portion of Solitaire’s lands?

“It cannot be known for certain,” Godfroi said, “but soon it will be.”

“Then as my sire beseeches, you will send Hugh with men to give aid?”

That was what Baron L’Épée asked—that his daughter prevail on her husband to send his brother and men to enter his walls by way of a postern gate a loyal servant would ensure was unguarded and unlocked this eve.

“I am certain my brother will agree since much time we have spent plotting Fitz Géré’s downfall.”

She gasped. “You have?”

“Oui. Of those who may be responsible for the attack on you and our sons and the raids on Valeur’s borderlands, Fitz Géré is the likeliest.”

She returned to his side. “I do not believe my sire deceives, but that does not ensure this is no trap for a D’Argent.”

“I know, but with utmost caution we shall rid your sire and brother of Fitz Géré and your stepmother’s machinations.”

Her eyes widened. “We, Godfroi? Surely you do not—”

“I am no longer the warrior Hugh is,” he snapped, “but this is my fight—my family and people set upon. I will not sit at high seat and wait for tidings of the mission’s success or failure to come to me. Astride, I will be there giving what aid I can.”

Emotions rearranging the smooth of her face, she stepped almost close enough her belly touched him as avoided these months. Not that Godfroi was unfamiliar with that curve, having several times awakened at night to find sleep had moved her across the space between them. And just as many times, he had yielded to the longing to set a hand on the child just as done with Guarin and Cyr. The last time was a fortnight past.

After feeling great movement as if the babe searched for a way out, he had turned his back to his wife, grateful he had not awakened her since he could not explain what he did not understand. The one time he had spoken of it to Johannes he was told the Lord worked in him, preparing him to be a father to this child who would be in greater need of one than his own sons, but he did not like that for what it would take from Guarin and Cyr. Though committed to doing his best for the child who would soon further disrupt his life, it seemed impossible he could be a father in any great measure.

Impossible, and yet did you not tell your brother that faith in God made what appeared impossible possible?reminded the voice within.

He believed that, but questioned if he had—or would ever have—faith strong enough for this.

A hand on his jaw returning him to his wife, further his anger stirred over time wasted that must be spent elsewhere.

“I know this is your due, Godfroi, but…” Momentarily, she closed her eyes. “…once was too many times to lose you. I could not bear it if—”

“Spare me your great confidence!” he shouted, and more regretted it for her pained expression than that those in the hall had to have heard. But time was wasting, the ride ahead long and many preparations to be made.

He breathed deep. “Forgive me, but there is no more to be said, Robine.”

“You are wrong.”

“If so, it will have to wait until my return—unless that proves too late, as you fear.”

Eyes bright, she stepped back. “Then I have only the hope of prayer you will return to me.”

He growled low, rumbled, “And my ability, Wife!”

Throat bobbing, she nodded, and again he regretted being harsh, but—Heavenly Father!—she sought to turn him from his purpose.

With determined control, he said, “Though it is possible what must be done will be accomplished quickly, allowing us to return on the morrow, I shall send a man to fill a pack.”

“I will aid however I can,” she said with a note of resentment.

He hated this disruption of their peace, but there was naught for it. Turning on crutches less fluidly than once he had turned on his heel, he left without expressing hope she was not so hurt as to forego seeing him away.

She would not do that,he told himself. Not my Robine. Then he steeled himself for Brother Johannes who was the first to approach him when he descended the dais.

Unsurprisingly, the hermit came to Robine’s defense before being told what caused Godfroi’s loss of patience, and once again he advised that husband and wife pray together. For the first time, so great was the longing to do so, Godfroi nearly returned to the solar.

But here came Hugh, and there was much to be done.

* * *

It never occurred notto see him away, and yet Robine glimpsed surprise—or was it relief?—when she appeared in the bailey as Godfroi and Hugh urged their mounts from the stable, Cyr one side of her holding her hand, Maëlys the other side holding Guarin’s hand, and Chanson and his cousin beside him.

Of course I am here,she longed to say. Naught could keep me from you, not even memories of when last you departed to do battle and for too long allowed me to believe those my final memories of you. I am frightened, I am disheartened, I am angry, but I love you no less.

But since her husband did not wish to hear that, he would not suffer it.

As Chanson veered toward Hugh, their son babbling and tugging on one of her braids, Guarin called, “Papa!” and tried to free himself, but his grandmother held tight, fearful of loosing little ones near horses. And there were a great number before the gatehouse, on their backs chevaliers chosen to ride to Solitaire.

Of the warriors, over half were long of Valeur, the rest recently added by Hugh, leaving enough behind under Sir Olivier’s command to ensure Castle D’Argent remained well defended.

Looking from the captain of the guard who inspected each rider to Castle D’Argent’s priest and the hermit who offered prayer, Robine’s heart swelled for the uncle who remained unknown to Godfroi. Once Jean had become known to Robine and Lady Maëlys, he had proven even more faithful and to greater numbers, causing the priest to complain the hermit sought to render him obsolete. But still the priest had the loyalty of the former Lady of Valeur who, though she kept a sharp eye on her brother-in-law, could find no fault nor falsity about him.

“Wife,” Godfroi said as Robine halted alongside.

She offered a smile she hoped looked genuine despite her fear. “Husband.”

He smiled tautly in return, but before anything further could be spoken, Guarin entreated, “Lift me up, Grammy.”

As Lady Maëlys did so, Cyr cried, “Me too!” and once more she did the lifting for Robine.

When the youngest settled on the thigh opposite the eldest, the older woman touched Godfroi’s arm. “My prayers are with you, my son.”

“I thank you, Mother.”

With trembling jaw, she said, “I must speak with Hugh,” and crossed to where Godfroi’s brother conversed with Chanson who stood alongside with Maël on her hip.

The sight made Robine hurt for the lovely young woman and their son. For this parting, Godfroi had not come down out of the saddle, but unlike Hugh, he had an excuse. Recalling her husband’s departure for Falaise, she thought, I gained the worthiest D’Argent, and sent heavenward, I thank You for knowing better than I, Lord.

Godfroi stared at the emotions shifting across his wife’s face as she considered Hugh and his little family. It was obvious she cared for Chanson and likely felt for the young woman as once she must have felt for herself before her husband warmed to his L’Épée wife. In time, would Hugh warm to the woman he had wed? It was possible, but first he must tame his roving eye.

“Already I miss you, Papa,” Guarin declared, making Godfroi’s throat tighten for having offered no assurance of his timely return as done the last time they were here—and that this time his heir had greater mastery of speech.

“Miss more!” Cyr poked his chest.

Godfroi wanted to tell them he would be home by the morrow, but he said, “As already I miss both of you.” He drew them in, held them close until the littlest began wiggling, then ruffled their hair. “Now Papa must ride.”

One at a time, he handed them down to Robine, and when Guarin held to her skirt as instructed and Cyr settled on her hip, she said, “Come back to us soon.”

He inclined his head, but as he started forward, glimpsed sudden movement and followed it to the hand gripping his knee.

Wishing he could feel her touch, he was jolted when she removed it as if fearing she trespassed. Godfroi caught her hand back, returned it to his knee, and said, “Tell me, Robine.”

She moistened her lips. “I love you. No matter what comes, ever I shall.”

He did not realize how much he needed to hear that until now, but though he wanted to say the same, all he could manage was, “We will overcome, Wife.”

Her smile was all bravery, and when he released her, she took hold of their eldest son’s hand.

Godfroi looked between the three he told himself he was nearer to accepting as being four, then urged his horse past.

Before riding out of sight of Castle D’Argent, he looked back, raised a hand and, when they raised theirs, sent heavenward, Lord, let me not regret not speaking what she needs to hear as well.

Then the warrior left to him set his mind on what lay ahead.