Knight for a Husband Page 2

  "It would." She couldn't afford to trust him. But she wanted to, wanted to believe that she was safe. Or that Will was safe, at least. If he didn't know who she was.

  "Come, lady Rowes," Hugh said. "Give yourself and your son into my care."

  So much for that hope. "I can't," she said. But her eyes strayed to the corpses on the ground. So quick it had been, one moment alive and the next one dead. She'd expected screams and suffering. The sudden change shocked her. And the thought that Will -- her fingers clenched on him again. He writhed in her grip.

  "Last chance," Hugh said. He looked stern now, a tall slouching man clad in leather, with a grim set of his jaw. "I mean what I say. You and the boy I will have, by force if necessary. Come now, come willingly, and I give you my word that you won't be harmed."

  "I don't believe you." Mary raised her chin. She would end this now, so quick it might be. "The only reason you'd want us is to use us against my lord."

  "Of course," Hugh said. "But there are ways and ways. Besides, it may not prove necessary. I think we've won the day. But you will come into my care, and I will serve you up to the king, and he'll be glad of that, I think. A pretty woman to dangle at one of his loyal men, along with title and lands."

  Mary caught her breath. "You'd never."

  "Oh, not for myself." He gave a negligent shrug. "Someone far higher in his favour than me, I should think. But you'll be a fair prize, and the boy a surety for your good behaviour. It's the way these things are done." He straightened abruptly and strode towards her. "Now, if you please."

  Mary swung around, with Will bodily in front of her. But it was too late, she was surrounded. Men on all sides now, lazy and confident.

  "Come." Hugh's hands closed on her arms. She shook him off, or tried to, but his grip tightened so hard she yelped. "No more trouble. It won't be the first time I've whipped a woman. Or a child either."

  "Don't you dare." She fought against him, he was strong as rock. "If you touch my boy -- "

  "Then do as I bid you, for the last time."

  She slumped in his arms. She'd lost before ever he spoke to her, and she knew it. "Provided I have your word." For what good that would do, she had no reason to trust him, no reason to think he stood high in favour with the king. From his own words, rather the reverse. His guarantee was a weak and feeble thing, she dared not place her faith in it. But she was caught, she and Will both, and if her obedience secured Will's good treatment, that would be enough.

  "You do." His grip eased, enough that the pain dripped from her arms. He pulled her towards him, not too hard, more encouragement than command. She yielded to it, let him lead her away, shushed Will when he complained.

  "A fair catch," Hugh said as he led them back onto the charred ground, and circled around to the rear of the force. "I wish all my hunts were as speedy and successful as this."

  ***

  "Worth a try," the king said.

  He was a slight man, she'd expected someone taller, someone with the commanding physical presence of her captor. But she liked him, she admitted that, at least she might like him if she wasn't so frightened. He grinned at Will, who relaxed under her hands and tossed his head up to check if he was allowed to grin back.

  "Sweet boy," the king said. "How old is he?"

  She had to answer, if she proved compliant perhaps he would stand her friend. "Five years old."

  "Almost grown," the king said. "I dare say I'll have the pleasure of knighting you myself, young man."

  Will bowed, she'd taught him that, his father liked him to show respect. "I would be honoured," he said.

  The king laughed, so did the men around him. Even Hugh deigned to smile. "We have a young man of fine breeding among us," the king said. "Let us hope for many years to come." The grin faded, abruptly. He turned to Hugh. "Send word within. It might bring them to reason. If not -- "

  They looked at Will again, all of them. No smiles or laughter now, just cold calculating stares. Mary grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him close.

  "I'll go myself," Hugh said. He strode off, a tall loose-jointed figure with a long easy stride. She watched him disappear through the broken wall, heard the silence ring as the battering stopped. Held her breath as she waited, until her ears began to ring and the men around her turn grainy and dark. Then she breathed, she had to, though it was against her will. Her body decided, it wanted to survive.

  "Let us hope for a good outcome," the king said. "With such a charming family, any man would be a fool not to comply." He gestured to some of the men, and they took her by the arms, lightly, and led her away.

  She could have fought, she wanted to, but those cold stares cut through her still. She had Hugh's word, but only his, and he was no longer here. She trusted him, she couldn't say why, she knew he would stand between her and danger, he'd defend her if he could. She knew it -- or hoped so fervently that it felt the same as knowledge.

  But he wasn't here. There was only herself, and Will, and the hands of ruthless men under the command of the king. Who was her husband's enemy. And so she must comply, she must do as they bade her, and wait, and pray.

  ***

  "I can take another wife," William of Rowes said. "Father another child, too. Plenty more, come to that. Kill them if you like, it makes no difference to me."

  Hugh scrutinised his enemy. A tall, rough man, bearded but with shaven head. Blank eyes that betrayed no emotion at the thought of his wife and son dying within his sight.

  "That is your answer?" Hugh probed. He would be clear on this, he didn't care to take a bluff or an impulse back to his lord. Not with a woman's life at stake, and a child's. The boy was in greater danger. The woman might be sold, or given as reward, he'd take her himself if he had standing enough -- which he didn't, he'd told her truth there, he wasn't high enough in the king's favour to be worth a reward. But she looked pleasant enough, soft pliable body, pretty face, a certain spark in her eyes that he treasured. Not defiant, not outright, she wasn't that much of a fool. But she had her own mind and her own will, and thought matters through before answering. He liked that in men, better still in a woman.

  But she'd go to some great lord or other, as ward or as wife. Her son with her, if the king was inclined to be merciful. He usually was, Hugh would stake money on it if this were an ordinary day. But as hostage for the manor of Rowes and its castle, the child would serve better threatened, or screaming, or at the point of death.

  He didn't want that. He'd seen it once, taken no hand in it until the last, when with apparent carelessness he'd slit the boy's throat and killed him. Ended a suffering that should never had been wrought. He'd kill the man who ordered it, too, one day. Not now, John de Bois was still too high in the king's favour for a lowly knight to mess with. But one day. When Hugh had standing enough, and men enough, and castles enough, to risk the wrath of the king.

  But not today.

  "You heard me," William of Rowes said. "Leave before I have you chained to the walls and cooked in boiling water, in sight of your friends out there."

  Hugh gave him a curt bow. He might make good on the threat, there were men who would, Hugh had seen enough to know. Parley was over, he had his answer, he could only withdraw. Men escorted him to the door, slammed it shut behind him, he heard the scrape of bolts and heavy things. Tables lay overturned within, he passed them by with a brisk step, there had been stones there too. Wood and rock as weights to block approach, even if the attackers forced the door. Which they might do yet, he'd had a chance to see the damage, swift as he'd been ushered through. Thin jagged cracks through the stonework, he liked the look of that. Hinges bent, too, the door stuck as it opened and it took three men to free it. The wood itself, thick and tough, but splintering. One more go with the ram should do it. There was no need to urge surrender, no need to kill the child. The castle was on the point of falling.

  So he told the king, once he'd reached his own force, and Stephen watched him with a thoughtful stare and nodded agreement.


  "Well, then," the king said. "We force the door, bring down the castle, secure it for ourselves. Then give thought to Robert of Gloucester's approach. William!" And he turned to his Flemish mercenary captain, gave clear brisk orders that were as briskly obeyed.

  "I'll take charge of the woman" Hugh said. He couldn't see her, it worried him, he didn't care to think how she might be treated. "And her boy."

  "Do that, if you like." Stephen's mind was already elsewhere. "Keep the place surrounded, though. If they run for it, I want them chased down and killed. Every man."

  "I have plenty of men out there," Hugh said. "They know your orders." But he should go himself, he'd done what was needed here, now his place was with his own troops.

  "Good man." Stephen turned to watch the ram as it was brought to bear. Arrows flicked from the slits high up in the walls of the keep, thudded into wooden shields. Hugh stood irresolute. He ought to go, his place was with his men, but there was a fascination in this, in being here to see the final breach. The satisfaction of an ending.

  "I had her sent to the rear," Stephen said absently. "You'll find her by the baggage. See that she's well held and the boy with her. No mistreatment unless I give word. Then go about your duties."

  Hugh bowed and retired. He'd do as ordered, and then return to his post as he should.

  ***

  He was back. She'd missed him, in some odd and unreasonable way. It wasn't fear, or not entirely, she was afraid of these men but that hadn't changed. It was his presence that reassured her, just seeing him and knowing that he was there. As if he could shelter her from the storm, protect her from the king's vengeance, shield her from sharp blades. Which he couldn't, not against all of them, she understood that. He might not even want to. It wasn't as if he cared for her and Will, they meant nothing to him, she understood that too. Yet she hoped.

  "You've been treated well?" He was brisk in manner, not oddly cheerful as he had been in the forest. Maybe he was one of those men who enjoyed a kill. Her husband was one of them, she knew that, she'd seen the light in his eyes after a successful skirmish. He lounged near her, not two steps away, a great towering shape all leather and muscle and mud.

  "Yes," she said. "Thank you." Will flipped a conker, span it like a top, one of the men had found it for him, she was grateful for that.

  "You understand," Hugh said, "that you are both in a great deal of danger."

  "I do." She couldn't hide that from him, it would be a lie.

  "Good. It may not come to it, but if it should -- " He broke off. Watched her, arms folded, with an expression she could not read. "I'll be there," he said at last. "Nearby. If it becomes necessary."

  "Thank you." She didn't understand what he meant, but she could sense he was trying to tell her something. A secret something, that the guards must not hear.

  "Your best bet for the moment," he went on, "is to behave. Both of you. Give no one any trouble. We'll force the keep now, it should all be over soon." He paused. "I am sorry for the loss of your husband."

  Chill gripped her heart. "He's dead?"

  "Not yet," Hugh said. "Soon. Within the hour, I should think." He swung away and stalked off across the rutted ground, black with charred vegetation, churned by boots and wheels.

  Will span his conker top. "Is he a nice man?"

  "I don't know," Mary said. "I hope so." She wondered why he'd been given charge of them, especially when he'd claimed not to be high in the king's favour. Though she supposed they were of no great account, in the scheme of royal interests.

  "I'm hungry," Will said.

  Mary glanced at the nearest guard, who shrugged.

  "You'll have to wait," she said. "Everyone is busy." She'd been bundled out of the castle so quickly, she didn't have anything with her. Food or water or rags -- she'd need those, she realised suddenly, she was about to bleed through. Carefully she eased herself onto the ground, skirt raised and draped around her, so that the blood might soak directly into the soil. And played with Will's conker, and told him a tale of fairy folk, and composed herself to wait.

  ***

  They were coming through. They were coming through, the bastards, he could feel it. The door bulged and tensed and broke at last, a shatter of splintering wood. Tables and stones scraped across the boarded floor, he'd done what he could but that wouldn't hold them long. Back, then, towards the inner door that led to the stairs, and they'd hold off the invaders there. "Bows!" he yelled, and his few remaining archers readied themselves in the galleries. "Swords!" And he was ready now, he felt the surge of bloodlust through his veins, he loved this part of battle. Not the waiting, that bored him, the endless hush of expectation. Not the fight itself so much, there was no time to think or feel then, it was all naked rage or fear or hate. But the moment before the fight, when his blood was up and victory stood before him, a temptress of lush curves and naked skin, and he could believe that she was his, that he would have her, if he could only hold out long enough -- that sensation he loved.

  "Here they come!" And they did, he was first man on them, swung and hacked and stabbed. Men fell in a wash of screams and groans, the sticky smell of blood clogged his nostrils. He loved this part, one moment more before he submerged under the blank unthinking ferocity of the battle itself.

  A tall man loomed before him, clad in leather armour, loose-jointed and with a wide easy swing. Some overgrown peasant brought in from the fields, except that he was knighted, he carried a sword. William slashed at him, strove to bring him down. But the man was stronger, whacked his blade aside and thrust his own deep into William's chest. He felt it right through him, a strange hard alien thing that cramped the breath out of his lungs and robbed him of speech. He could see the man's face, eerily calm in this moment, with fierce blue eyes and a tumble of chestnut hair that fell forward like a deluge of mud. And then darkness, abruptly, and the sense of falling, forever falling into some eternal abyss, where there was no light at all.

  ***

  Hugh pulled out his sword, swung it at the next man, and the next. Good sharp blade, it sliced through leather and ringmail both, he had the strength to power it through. He'd never been so glad of that in his life, it was butchery here, blood gushed and limbs flew and men tumbled. Arrows whirred past him, he glanced up to see archers in the galleries, yelled at his men to get them. Ran for the steps himself, took them three at a time, stormed out onto the wooden boards. Slashed at raised bows, they'd tried to bring him down but they wouldn't have him, he swore that, he'd slice every man of them apart. Dead they'd be, rotting into charred ground, he'd get them for all they'd done to his friends and to himself. And he loved to watch them fall, the blank understanding in their eyes as they died, it warmed him.

  Few of them and he'd got them all, at least on this side, they were down every man. Across, men still fought, his own men, and it was all over there as well. Down the steps, one by one this time, to find men massed by the inner door, clangs and shouts and screams. He couldn't do much from here, it was just a matter of waiting until the bottlebung cleared, he took a moment to steady himself, breathed in deeply, shook tension from his limbs. The pressure eased, men burst through whatever obstacle had held them from the door, they were in. And it was over, in truth it was all over, they had the keep. The castle was theirs. They'd won.

  The thought of lady Rowes and her son flickered in his mind. No need to kill them now, they'd be safe enough. Until some man of the king's got his hands on them both, maybe one who'd lost men or limb or sight in this battle. Or in others. Men made women pay for their own misfortune, children too, Hugh knew that all too well. But he couldn't prevent it. He'd done his part to keep them safe. Or alive, at least.

  "Send word to the king," he said, then turned to find Stephen striding through the broken door, sword in hand. "We have the keep, far as I can tell."

  "Good work." Stephen clapped him on the shoulder. "I won't quarrel with you for being in the wrong place."

  "My men can handle matters outside.
"

  "Always keep loyal servants about you," Stephen said. "Glad you can trust them, but don't trust too far."

  From within came crashes and bangs, but no screams.

  "Should settle them down," Hugh offered. "Before they smash up the place completely. Your Grace will wish to be comfortable."

  "Do that," Stephen said, then changed his mind. "No. I will." He strode towards the inner door. Hugh maintained a respectful distance, then followed.

  ***

  Mary huddled close to Will. They'd been shoved into a corner of the antechamber, caught between the king and some grim-faced men whose allegiance she did not know. Not Hugh's, she thought, she hadn't seen him for many hours, not since before the castle fell. And these were Flemings, they spoke together in grunts and croaks, eyed her in a way that made her skin freeze. She clutched Will to her and sang to him, tried to take his mind off hunger. One of the Flemings had tossed her half a loaf of bread, Will had eaten most of that, they had a flask of water between them. She'd even been allowed to use the privy, cleaned herself as well as she could and packed her cloth with moss and straw. Now she sat here, waiting for some fate she did not know.

  A man strode out from her husband's chamber, the king's own chamber now. He stopped in front of her, just stood there and stared, until she forced herself to raise her head and meet his eyes. Blank eyes, like her husband's or those of the Flemings.

  "Get up," he said.

  She obeyed, she had to, there was nothing else she could do. Cajoled Will into submission, too. This was not a man to be defied, she knew that instinctively, her body cringed with fear.

  "Come." He led them down the stairs and into the great hall, past the upper table and into the chamber behind. She'd shared that with her husband, until the siege began, when they'd all moved upstairs to let their room be made into an armoury while the men slept in the hall. Now it was empty, save for a pile of straw in one corner and a bucket of water.

  "You'll lodge here," the man said. "Guards on the door, don't even think about setting foot outside. They'll beat you and the boy too, they have my orders to do so. If you want to see your husband's corpse, say so now. Else we'll tip it in with the others."