Dauntless by Tamara Leigh
Chapter Five
Castle D’Argent upon Valeur
Out of his hands. At last. Into his mother’s hands. Regrettable.
Alerted to Godfroi’s return as he and his men rode past the few parties yet to break camp, Lady Maëlys had awaited him before the donjon. Though there had been the stern about her, as expected of one whose son had twice on a night of greatest import disappeared and the second time with his bride, he had also glimpsed concern that made him further regret his actions. But at least he had rectified his error before great damage was done.
Several times throughout the ride, Robine’s head had bobbed, but she had fought off sleep. Hopefully, her fatigue would make easier the task Lady Maëlys had taken on herself—putting her daughter-in-law to bed and doing something with the cat Robine would not relinquish to a servant.
Certes, Godfroi would learn the result of that when what required his immediate attention was completed and he presented himself to his mother who was due an explanation for the reason his wife remained a maiden, he had sought to return her to her family, and why that endeavor failed.
Not a good beginning to your lordship, he told himself. You will have to do much better lest all believe you unworthy.
“My lord!”
Hands loosely clasped behind his back as he awaited formation of the garrison in the arena where victory was gained on the day past, Godfroi considered the one approaching from the right. “Chevalier?”
Olivier halted. “The messenger has returned. Still your brother is at the inn.”
Godfroi did not know if that was good. Was Hugh’s time there a balm to his loss? Or did he remain because it was no balm and he was determined to make it so?
He inclined his head. “I thank you.”
“Forgive me if I offend, my lord. You look in need of rest.”
And yet more he was in need of redemption for what was surely said of him. Since even had he consummated his marriage last eve he would be here addressing men who now answered to him above all, here he was though his head felt like rocks packed in wool.
“You do not offend, Olivier. What you speak is fact.”
Sympathy—or was it disgust?—deepened the fine lines of the man’s face.
Godfroi started to turn his attention to the chevaliers and men-at-arms crossing to the arena in orderly rows as trained into them, but again, he humbled his pride. “Are you disappointed I won?”
Olivier ducked back his chin. “Why would I be?”
“You are closer with my brother.”
The man raised his eyebrows. “I have occasion to spend more time with him since he has a greater penchant for drink and the intrigues of women, but that does not make us close. Non, just as I would not be disappointed had Hugh won, I am not disappointed it was you. As your sire devised, his title went to the worthiest.”
But am I that?Godfroi silently questioned.
As if he had spoken aloud, the chevalier said, “Though your sword failed you, you did not fail it. That is much, Baron. That is worthy.”
With the garrison filing into the arena, there the discussion ended, causing Olivier to turn away.
“Stand my side,” Godfroi said.
“Baron?”
“My right side is for Hugh. If you wish, the left is yours.”
The chevalier’s frown became a smile. “I am honored. Be assured, even unto death I shall stay your side, my lord.”
Now for Hugh to stay my other side,Godfroi thought as Olivier took his place.
But will you, Hugh? the question plucked at the slack strings of a weary mind. Will you be here for me as I would have been for you? Or does a chasm grow as did one between our sire and his brother?
Godfroi sent up a prayer, then turned his attention to the men of the Baron of Valeur.
* * *
As evidencedby her slight figure curled beneath the cover, she slept. Now so might he.
The wine consumed during his audience with his mother taking the long way through his veins as usual, all Godfroi wanted was to sleep away the past two days and start anew at dawn—perhaps even mid-morning, he considered as weighted feet carried him farther into the solar. But then what would his men think of him?
Weak,he denounced, and increasing his stride, gained his trunk alongside Robine’s and removed his belt.
He paused over the studded leather from which two scabbards hung. One sheathed the dagger awarded him when the squire became a chevalier, in its hilt a blue gem the same as the dagger bestowed on Hugh, while the other sheathed the sword of which there was only one. It having belonged to their sire, its hilt was set with a blue gem as well, this one twice the size of the dagger’s.
Godfroi had proven worthy of it in the arena, but it did not end there. Ever he would have to demonstrate the worthiest son had prevailed.
He propped the belted sword against the trunk, and as he lowered to the lid to remove his boots, he heard a growl that became a hiss.
The cat was under the bed. As his mother had told, there had been no parting it from Robine, but Godfroi would see it done. For appearance’s sake, he must share the solar with his wife, but not her pet. Like all other cats here, this one would control vermin outside the donjon and inside only when the vilest of creatures infiltrated these walls as his mother could not abide. And a favor that would be to the cat since the hounds permitted the reach of the hall would put a quick end to the creature.
It growled again, and he wished he were not too fatigued to expel it. The morrow, he assured himself and dragged off one boot, then the other. Tunic and chausses followed, both cast on the rushes as was not habit, but he was weary.
“Almighty!” he rasped, then though he meant to exchange his undertunic for a fresh one, propped his forearms on his thighs and dropped his head forward to relieve his strained neck.
It was not the first time he had gone days without sleep, but never had he felt incapacitated, and he resented it. Though he had known much would be required of him following his victory, he was unprepared for the burden of Robine he had made worse in seeking to rid himself of one who insisted she did not play with dolls.
His thoughts staggered back to his exchange with his mother abovestairs in a chamber that seemed an insult to the lady who had held all together these years and brought to fruition what her husband said must be done to install his heir.
Godfroi had revealed most of what transpired on his wedding night and seen the soft of her again in a room that must be better furnished for the Lady of Valeur—a title she had reminded him belonged to Robine now.
When his expression had revealed distaste, she had been firmer in bestowing that honor on his wife, making it more difficult to broach the matter of what was needed for Robine to be as worthy of her title as he must be worthy of his—so difficult he might not have spoken it had not his mother done so, assuring him she would take Robine in hand to ensure D’Argent blood was not tainted by L’Épée in the children born to them.
That had returned them to the matter of consummation. His mother had agreed it was best to wait, not only to mature Robine’s mind but give her body time to attain a size more conducive to birthing. Where they had differed was how long that would take.
Lady Maëlys believed a year—perhaps a little more.
Godfroi believed thrice that—perhaps more.
That had made her laugh, then she had pointed out that though Robine was small for her years, her body curved prettily, meaning before long there would be no question it was fully woman even if the girl yet flitted about her mind.
Next, she had reminded him that though he was not as given to dalliances as Hugh, he was no monk. Thus, if still he wished to decline his marital rights a year hence, he was not to be tempted elsewhere—must remain faithful to his wife the same as his sire had been to his mother. And no solution was it to have separate sleeping accommodations. It would be difficult to keep secret a chaste marriage when husband and wife shared a chamber, impossible if they slept rooms apart.
What his mother would not consider, though he argued it, was he would be too occupied with matters of import to do more than think on marital relations in passing.
She had laughed again and said not only would he have Hugh to ease his burden, but a warrior’s mind and body were refreshed and strengthened in the arms of a devoted wife.
Now, digging his elbows into his thighs, Godfroi thrust his hands in his hair, clasped them at the back of his head, and growled in response to the growl of the beast beneath the bed. Then though he urged himself to gain the greater portion of the mattress that was his due, he closed his eyes and let his mind drift.
Just from one side of this pond to the other,he told himself, and perhaps a return trip. Then I will join her in the marital bed that will be no marital bed until she is grown and I have time for her.
* * *
As ever,the storyteller accommodated, granting Robine’s wish to remain its audience by pulling into this tale what did not fit the swift horse beneath her, the muscular arm holding her against a broad chest, and the whiskered cheek alongside her smooth one. But the growls that sounded feral one moment, human the next, were such a poor fit that the beguiling took a turn toward menacing.
No longer wishing to stay for the tale in its entirety, Robine turned her cheek aside, wrenched the arm from around her waist, soared off the horse, and dropped to the ground.
It was much softer than expected and smelled of roses, meaning she was awake and had only to open her eyes to confirm this was the bed across which Lady Maëlys and Herleva had scattered petals. A marital bed not yet that.
Robine sighed, then frowned in remembrance of growls that had crossed from this side to the dream side. Cat had to be responsible for the feral, but the other…
She opened her eyes on the solar lit by a candle, and seeing naught of her husband where she lay on her side, eased to her back. She had only to look as far as the foot of the bed.
Sitting on the largest trunk, bent forward with hands clasped at the back of his head, the silver in his dark hair gathering as much light as could be had, was the man whose shoulders strained the seams of an undertunic.
Having cast off the weightier outer tunic and possibly his chausses, might he sleep? Like that?
Once more, offense made a place beside her. However, another feral growl reminded her she began to like Godfroi, and not only for allowing her to bring Cat into his home. More, that though he could have left her with her stepmother and not come again for years, something good in him had made him return for her.
Though Robine told herself to once more seek the storyteller, since she had slept away the day, she was fully awake. Too, it was wrong for her husband to rest atop a hard trunk when there was a soft, scented bed with room aplenty.
She sat up and turned back the covers. Knowing how much her sire disliked being stolen upon—even playfully—and having been warned one should think twice before surprising a warrior, she meant to swing her legs to the floor and make hers a wide approach. However, the longing to touch silvered hair, supported by reasoning she could not truly surprise Godfroi should he rouse since he knew she was here, made her rise to her knees and walk them to the end of the bed.
When he remained unmoving, she reached to hair brushing his upper back beneath interlaced fingers.
Whether he was stirred by Cat’s meow or what Robine believed an imperceptible tug on those strands, the end was the same. One moment she leaned forward, the next her upper arm was gripped and she was swept off the bed.