Dauntless by Tamara Leigh

Chapter Thirty-Six

Castle D’Argent upon Valeur

Early Autumn, The Year of Our Lord 1044

What was to have been a momentous day, beginning with the sorrow of Johannes’ departure and ending with the joy of Robine’s revelation was to be momentous in another way, one that might make it best to wait on delivering her tidings. Much depended on how Godfroi dealt with what was being told behind the curtains.

Gaining an audience with Maëlys and Robine this morn, Johannes had asked that he be the one to reveal his identity to his nephew and it be done this day rather than weeks or months following his departure. Disquieted over what none were prepared for, Robine had left the decision to her mother-in-law who, after much thought, agreed.

Unexpectedly, the tale of Jean who became a hermit had stretched to nearly a quarter hour, and after the first minutes it was only his voice heard though no sense could be made of his words. More unexpectedly, thus far his nephew had not erupted, fear of that storm having made Robine grateful Hugh was long gone from Valeur—and now Normandy.

Though Godfroi’s brother had returned to court nearly three months past, upon finding Michel Roche at the duke’s side, he had gained his release from William’s service, secured a place for his wife and son in Herleva’s household, and turned mercenary. In the missive sent to his brother, he had told that once he had amassed a good fortune, he would collect his wife and son and take his place upon Valeur. Not only would he aid in raising Godfroi’s sons into warriors but firmly establish the barony’s renown for training the worthiest of the duchy’s defenders.

Godfroi had been well with that, but less so Robine who, from her brother-in-law’s reaction to the birth of Dougray, thought it unlikely Hugh’s training would extend to the illegitimate son. When she had voiced concern, Godfroi had assured her all his sons would receive training, even were it necessary to replace Hugh. She prayed that would not happen.

Though difficult to be at ease in his brother’s company, she was grateful for restoration of their bond. Even from afar, she had seen it was important to Godfroi to be so well known. And greater evidence was had shortly after Dougray’s birth when she and Chanson watched from atop the wall as the brothers practiced bearing arms astride, over and again altering and testing techniques to accommodate one whose legs were incapacitated.

They had argued. They had compromised. They had criticized. They had praised. They had bellowed. They had laughed. And at the end, they had drawn alongside, clasped arms, and set their foreheads against each other’s.

That sight had made the onlookers catch their breath and exchange tearful looks. For that, much grace and patience Robine would show Hugh and, hopefully, they would find a middle ground.

“Oh blessed, is it so, Daughter?”

Startling over a tone far different from the terse one that had sounded from Maëlys since their meeting with Johannes, Robine followed her mother-in-law’s gaze to the hand she had set on her abdomen.

Spreading fingers over what was once more flat but would soon attain another curve, she smiled. “Ever you know ahead of my husband.”

Grim mouth having softened, Maëlys said, “This past week I sensed a change in you, but I thought it wishful since I did not believe it possible.”

“It is more than possible, Mother. Your son and I have made another child.”

As if the little one beside her was displeased with the tidings, he gave a cry.

Robine leaned toward the cradle and scooped up the babe Michel surely watched from afar. As there was no doubt his missive was inked at nearly the same time as Godfroi’s and the scrolls crossed paths, no further response was given him and neither had he made further contact. Where each man stood was clear, but Godfroi believed eventually it would have to be made more clear and had given his word he would not exclude Robine from offering Michel further assurance of Dougray’s acceptance and future.

As the babe tugged one of her braids, she said, “Fear not, Dougray. You will like this new babe. And for as wee as you are, soon it will seem as if ever he or she has been alongside you the same as Guarin and Cyr.”

Maëlys scooted nearer and touched Dougray’s cheek. “I am thinking you have not told Godfroi he is to be a father again.”

Robine glanced at the curtains, and on the return to her mother-in-law, paused over the table whose ink stain Godfroi had the carpenter sand away, making it appear as if never sullied—just as his love sought to remove the tarnish from his wife.

“Though I had planned to tell him this afternoon to alleviate his ache over Johannes’ departure,” she said, “now I do not know it will be enough, that it may be better to wait.”

“Non, Daughter. Regardless of how he receives what my brother-in-law reveals, he shall need this wondrous news.”

Slowly, Robine nodded. “Then I will tell him and, afterward, Guarin and Cyr.” Both of whom had been sent from the hall with Paulette lest their sire react harshly to Johannes.

“For all the D’Argents have endured,” Lady Maëlys said, “the Lord has been kind to us.”

And to the family I left behind,Robine thought. Aided by Godfroi’s counsel, her brother made progress in establishing his lordship. And of further aid was Delphine’s good behavior with her eldest son fostered away. How long she could refrain from placing the interests of the children of her womb ahead of her stepson’s could not be known, but her greatest test would come when the heir wed two months hence. She would loath being entirely displaced, but as she was aware further betrayal would see her separated from her youngest children and the remainder of her life spent in a convent, she would have to be content with her reduced circumstances. Were she not, surely Solitaire’s new lady, who had been chosen for her maturity and strength of character, would remove her husband’s stepmother from the barony.

“God has been kind to us, indeed,” Robine agreed, then they returned to waiting on what went behind the curtains.

* * *

“Will you not speak, Godfroi?”

It had been a struggle to contain the fire that sprang up upon learning the man he had come to regard as a father was, indeed, kin. And higher its flames when it was revealed Robine and his mother had withheld knowledge of the identity of the man responsible for the death of he who sired Godfroi and Hugh—as if he had not the strength to withstand the truth.

How many times throughout the telling had he silently recited a psalm when Johannes, now known to be Jean, paused for breath?

Let the words of my mouth—he had inserted in that space—and the meditation of my heart—he had slid into the next—be acceptable in thy sight—he had worked into a gap—O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer—he had finished and begun again.

If not for what this man had taught him, that would not have been possible, and had Godfroi been able to refrain from striking him, quickly they would have parted ways.

The tale of his sire’s demise and Jean’s journey of repentance first told to Robine and his mother months past now revealed to him, Godfroi knew there were words that needed speaking. However, sorrow was so intent on displacing anger, he could not think what to say.

As done often throughout the confession, once more his uncle sat forward in the chair angled toward Godfroi’s and clasped his hands between his knees. “Even if after a time you cannot forgive me, do not let the wrong I did you and yours turn you off the godly path you stride far better than most men with legs firmly beneath them. For the sake of those you love, stay the course—”

“I loved you,” Godfroi growled.

Moisture rimming the man’s eyes spilled onto pale cheeks.

“More than the father taken from me, I came to love the one who dragged me off that battlefield, but now that I know him to be Jean…” Godfroi pressed his lips.

The hermit lowered his gaze to fingers so tightly laced they lacked color. “I know, my son—” He broke off and, before he could be rebuked, said, “Forgive me for naming you what must now offend.”

It did, and yet it remained comfortably familiar as the sorrow of him wished in opposition to anger.

Johannes, whom he must begin to think of as Jean, unfolded creaking joints as he rose. “I shall take my leave,” he said and smoothed his robe with quaking hands. “Be assured, henceforth I shall be present in your life only by way of prayer for you and your family.”

Though Godfroi felt a lean toward the crutches propped against his chair, he remained seated. “That will be more than enough.”

The man raised a hand but returned it to his side as if reminded the one before him was no longer receptive to a companionable grip on the shoulder. “As you loved this sinner, I love the one who became as a son to me,” he said. “If ever you have need of anything, you have only to send word.”

Anger nearly voiced itself, but sorrow won out. “If ever I have need, Johannes,” he said, and when the curtains swung closed behind the one who had restored him to life as much as possible and deepened his faith, eased the muscles of neck and back and let his chin drop.

Though struck by the need to pray, he listened for what went in the hall, but the voices of the three were low, then two sets of feet moved the direction of the doors and one toward the dais.

Moments later, Robine entered the solar, as evidenced by her step and the babe’s gurgling.

Pride urged Godfroi to raise his head and sit back, but he resisted. Not only must he be open with his wife above all—though she had not been open with the truth of Johannes—still she would see the vulnerable about him.

She went to the bedside cradle and hushed Dougray down onto his mattress, then crossed to her husband and knelt.

“Will you speak to me, Godfroi?”

The same as with Johannes, he knew there were things to be said, but he lacked words other than those he would regret.

“I know you hurt, and not only for whom the holy man was ere he repented but that we withheld his identity when it was uncovered. Pray, know it was done because of Johannes’ genuine care for his nephew and the belief if he continued drawing you near the Lord, better you would be prepared for the babe’s arrival.” She set a hand on either side of his face, and when he did not reject her touch, urged his chin up. “Deception, oui, but so much love behind it. Can you forgive your mother and me?”

Though emotion continued pressing against his insides, further it eased as he stared into eyes of grey reflecting the love professed. “I do not like it, and yet I understand.” He swallowed. “I would have sent him away and been denied further guidance that has aided since Dougray’s birth.”

“Then we are forgiven?”

He nodded. “Forgiven.”

“I am grateful.”

Thinking how much easier it was to forgive one held in highest affection, better he understood the importance of Jesus’ command to love one another and achingly acknowledged Johannes was not exempt from grace. Indeed, he was worthier than many. So great was his repentance for the accidental death of his brother, he had devoted nearly his entire adult life to aiding and praying for others and asked nothing in return that was not of greater benefit to the giver.

“What are you thinking?” Robine asked with hope as if she knew his thoughts returned to the hermit.

He drew her hands from his jaw and folded his over hers. “I would not have deception wedge itself between us again, but I am the one who should be grateful since I would have rejected what I needed.”

She smiled, but that lovely curve wavered. “Do you think with time…”

He knew what she asked and what the answer must be though more time was needed. “I believe I can come right with Johannes, and I know it is due him, but until then, it is wrong to leave it as it is now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Among the things I learned since the day you believed your last with me is that just as one should not be quick to speak a bad thing, they should not delay in speaking good.”

“Then…?”

“It is possible Johannes has not yet departed.”

“Godfroi!” She flung her arms around his neck. “You make me love you even more.”

He lingered over her embrace, then raised her chin and kissed her. “My mother accompanied him to the stable?”

“She did.”

He set her back and reached for his crutches. “Hopefully, they have much to say ere parting. If not, I will overtake him on the road.”

As Robine rose, the babe began fussing. “Ah, Dougray, you cannot be hungry again.” She was wrong. Hardly had she pulled him into her than he began searching for the breast. “So he is,” she said and, lowering to the mattress, looked to Godfroi who had his crutches under him.

His response did not spring onto his tongue. It crept, giving him time to do with it other than what he did. “That is the D’Argent of him.”

The hand loosening her bodice stilled, then tears filled her eyes.

Inwardly, he groaned. He had wanted to please her in offering further assurance of his acceptance of Dougray, but not so much she cried.

Though these months had not been as difficult as feared, they had not been easy. Following the babe’s birth, ugliness had pressed in on all sides, including those sides nearest his family. The women servants remained loyal to their lady, but other castle folk and those of the border fortresses had cast offensive looks and muttered comments.

Thankfully, all had settled, Godfroi having made his displeasure felt and aspired to appear as accepting of Dougray as of the sons he sired. In the beginning, at times he had resented the effort required of him, but the instinct to protect and defend the helpless had surpassed it. And of course, greatly Johannes aided by rebuking offenders, instructing them in scripture, and commanding them to their knees for prayer.

Robine hiccoughed, quickly put Dougray to the breast, then met her husband’s gaze. “How I hoped one day you would say that of this child as you do of Guarin and Cyr. Is it truth?”

He inclined his head. “First, in between, and in the end, Dougray is a D’Argent.” May she ever smile upon me as she does now, he silently appealed, then said, “I must go to Johannes.”

Her breath hitched again. “When you are done, I would speak with you.”

To further resolve the matter of Johannes, he guessed. But as he moved toward the curtains, she added, “I think the loft a good place.”

Now he was the one to go still. When he looked back, her eyes were all for the babe, but he was certain much of her smile was for her husband.

Was it possible? Following a ride last month, they had gone to the hay loft and loved again. Had they made another child, it might not have happened there since intimacy had resumed in earnest, but it could have. Though those stairs were exceedingly difficult to negotiate for being narrow and steep, it was the place to confirm what lay behind her smile.

“The loft,” he said and parted the curtains with the swing of his lower body and thrust of a shoulder.

Had he reached the outer bailey any later, he would have had to go astride, but Johannes was at the gatehouse, and Maëlys stood alongside his mount with her head back and a hand shading her eyes.

Being the Baron of Valeur, he was accustomed to quickly coming to notice, and now more so for his unnatural means of movement. As he advanced on those whose conversation was interrupted by his appearance, he met the eyes of others openly gazing at him and inclined his head, causing them to respond in kind and resume their duties.

“I am glad you are here,” his mother said when he halted.

“I realized I would regret it were I not,” he said, then to the one whose eyes were shot through with red, “I was unprepared for what you told, but though I need time to reckon with it, there are things I would speak ere you depart.”

Warily, Johannes nodded.

“Know that I believe your repentance genuine, know I am grateful you returned a husband, father, and son to his family, and know I am a better man for the faith you nurtured.”

Momentarily, the hermit closed his eyes. “These things I am glad to hear. No better traveling companions could I have.”

Godfroi smiled tautly. “Your continued prayers for those of Valeur are appreciated.”

“It will be done, my…” He trailed off.

“Son,” Godfroi said. “For your shepherding, I would remain that to you.”

The man swallowed convulsively. “You shall,” he said and set a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Throughout the good of your marriage, hold close the truth only three are needed to overcome all so it is firm around your heart during the bad.”

“God, my wife, and me,” Godfroi recited. “I have been schooled well.”

The hermit straightened in the saddle. “I hope to see you again.”

“I believe you will, Johannes.”

The man nodded at his sister-in-law, then urged his horse over the drawbridge.

As he spurred away, Maëlys said, “He wishes Hugh told as well.”

Godfroi swept his gaze to hers. “I question the wisdom of that.”

“As do I, but he believes your brother is not as ungodly as he seeks to impress on others.”

“Even so, I do not know Hugh will be able to refrain from confronting him.”

“I warned of the same, but Johannes said regardless of the outcome, he would like your brother to seek him out since an apology is due him as well.”

“At best, Hugh’s dislike might become hate, at worst he may slay our uncle.”

“Possible, but I gave my word I will tell Hugh when next I see him.”

Returning his attention to the diminishing rider, Godfroi said, “Then I will be at your side.”

Both turned silent, and when Johannes went from sight, Godfroi closed his eyes. After beseeching the Lord to safely return his uncle to his sanctuary, he lingered over the feeling the place inside him long occupied by the one who returned him to life was now barren.

Not so, he silently corrected, merely less full than when he came alongside, intent on shaping me into one more worthy than ever I have been.

Opening his eyes, he maneuvered around.

“Are you angry with me and Robine?” his mother asked as she lengthened her stride to accommodate the reach of his crutches across the outer bailey.

Though great momentum more quickly delivered him to his destination and required less expenditure of upper body strength, Godfroi slowed in remembrance of her advancing age.

Catching her sigh of relief, he said, “I was angry, but now I am mostly displeased by the omission which you must agree is deception.”

“I do, but you understand why we did it, do you not?”

“I understand, and though good came of it, henceforth you must trust me to do what is right—as I must give you greater cause to do so.”

“That you have done this day,” she said as they neared the stable. “Just as I am pleased you are the Baron of Valeur, methinks the Lord in looking well upon you shall continue to pour out His blessings.”

One of which might be delivered him this day. Reminded of that, he halted and considered the stable.

“Godfroi?” his mother said as she came around and stepped near.

He shifted his regard to her. “It seems wrong forgiveness should be so hard, and yet right for how great the reward when one yields to the skinning of pride and razing of the wall around one’s heart.”

“Indeed, my son.”

“Then you have forgiven your brother-in-law?”

“The actions of the man he was made our lives difficult, but as I believe him transformed by faith, I have settled on forgiveness.” The lines of her brow deepened. “Though I would like to believe in time I could have forgiven him had he not aided you, I am ashamed to say it is possible no amount of prayer would have softened my heart.” She sighed. “Such a blessing the Lord sent him to you during a time of greatest need. Doubtless, do we nurture what he sowed, it will bear fruit for generations of D’Argents.”

“So it will,” Godfroi said, then, “As I believe my wife bears tidings of another blessing, there is something I would have you do for me.”

A smile touched her lips. “What is that, my son?”

“Go to her and tell I await her in the stable.”

She glanced there. “Guarin and Cyr are within.”

“For?”

“As you know, they became fond of Johannes. Thus, Paulette seeks to distract them from the sorrow of his departure by having them decide which horse is best suited to the warriors they shall become.”

Then it was not only the stable lads he would have to send away. “Methinks they are in need of a nap,” he said.

“They are,” she agreed and hastened toward the inner bailey.

When Godfroi entered the stable, the boys ceased feeding grass to the horse reaching its neck over the stall’s gate.

“Papa!” Guarin ran forward, followed by Cyr who nearly overtook his brother.

Having learned to stay clear of the crutches after their enthusiasm nearly knocked one out from under Godfroi months past—a humiliation in the presence of servants but made into a game to ease the boys’ alarm—they halted short of the supports.

“I found my horse!” Guarin said.

“Found mine first!” Cyr proclaimed as Paulette reached them. “It bigger.”

“Non, Cyr, it is not,” his brother corrected. “It looks bigger beside you because you are smaller than me.”

“I am not!"

Not one to argue uselessly, Guarin returned his regard to Godfroi. “It is a very young horse, but that is good. When I am bigger, he will be ready for me as I am ready for him.”

“Me too!” Cyr inserted.

“Certes, we have much to discuss, my sons, but now it is time for your rest.”

Above their groans, the older woman said, “Come, boys.”

“I thank you, Paulette,” Godfroi said and gained a smile as she ushered the boys past.

Almost immediately, Guarin turned back. “Johannes is gone, Papa. Will he come again?”

“That is our hope, is it not?”

The heir nodded, and Cyr singsonged, “Hope, hope.”

Once the stable was clear of all but Godfroi and the beasts in their stalls, with frustration amid starts and stops, he met the challenge of ascending the stairs to the loft. When he lowered to a mound of hay to await his wife’s arrival, he was decided. The stairs were old enough to justify replacing them. Thus, ones less steep and of greater width would be constructed. Of added benefit, it would make it easier for tending the hay.

Robine soon appeared, and when she ascended the last step, so lovely was the glow about her face, Godfroi was more prepared for what she had to tell than he had been for Johannes.

He reached to her, and when she set her hand in his, he drew her down. “Dougray has been well fed?”

Her smile increased. “So well, likely he will sleep an hour, mayhap two.”

“Two would be good,” he said and set his mouth on hers. That could have been the beginning of much more, but he pulled back. “My mother told you of my exchange with Johannes?”

“She did, and I am pleased.”

“Then now seems a good time to tell me of what you wish to speak.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I believe you know exactly what that is.”

“Great my hope.”

She moved his hand to her abdomen. “A fourth child, Godfroi.”

He stared at his fingers on her belly, and just as he had marveled at the ability to make love to his wife despite his injury, thought it wondrous the Lord was beneficent in this as well.

“Another D’Argent we shall raise into a man—or woman,” he said. “What say you? Will four children be enough?”

Her smile turned flirtatious. “As I wish to be loved by you as much as possible, that is for the Lord to decide, but I hope for at least one daughter. Not only do I have a little doll in want of fierce love, but I long to be to a lass what your mother is to me.”

“Then we must pray for a girl who will be to you what you are to my mother.”

“Indeed,” she said, then turned into him, set her hands on his chest, and pushed him back onto the hay.

Godfroi grinned. “Do you think to make love to me, Wife?”

“Think?” she drawled as she braced a hand on either side of his shoulders. “That makes it sound I joined you here only to tell what might have happened the last time we made a bed of hay.” She touched her lips to his, then put her mouth to his ear. “One need not think on what is already known. Now do your part, beginning with my braids.”

That was where he began—teasing out the crossings, pushing fingers through silken strands, winding tresses about his hands. It was a very good beginning and well-matched by hers that saw both divested of garments, allowing hands to touch, trail, and caress.

Afterward, while he held her close with her chest pressed to his and heart resuming its resting beat, she said, “As told, ever this will be my favorite place to be loved by you.”

“I am fond of it as well, though it proved less comfortable than usual.”

She gasped, pressed her hands into the hay, and levered up. “How could I have forgotten the robe?”

“Eagerness, mayhap?” he teased.

She laughed. “That is a good excuse, and though I am sorry for your discomfort, still it is better this than had we not—”

“Non, my love,” he said, “between us, there is no more settling for better this than that.”

She smiled. “Is that so?”

“It is.” He slid a hand around the back of her head, urged her face nearer, and against her lips murmured, “Discomfort or non, naught could be better than this.”