Stuart, Elizabeth (20 page)

Jocelyn
awoke to
the
cold and the darkness, to the dreary sound of rain drumming against the roof,
and the odd, unfocused feeling that something was wrong. She shifted toward the
center of the bed, instinctively seeking her sister's warmth, but that side was
empty and cold.

With
a sigh, she squirmed back to the narrow cocoon of sheets her body had warmed. For
a few minutes she lay still, trying not to think of what would happen today and
what it would mean, willing herself to go back to sleep, if only for a little
while. But she kept hearing her sister's strained voice.

Jocelyn,
I'm so afraid...

With
a frown, she sat up, shivering, reaching for her heavy bedgown and pulling it
around her shoulders. She climbed down from the bed and found her clothing,
dressing quickly by the feeble light of the tiny night candle. Adelise would
most likely be keeping vigil in the chapel, and Jocelyn didn't want to think of
her sitting there all alone.

But
when she reached Montagne's chapel it was empty and dark and her footsteps
echoed loudly in a stillness that was eerie and black as a tomb. She held her
candle aloft, walking slowly toward the altar, searching the shadowy recesses
on both sides of the nave for any sign of Adelise.

What
she found was a piece of parchment rolled carefully and tied with a ribbon, one
of Adelise's ribbons. Jocelyn stared at the roll, her insides knotting with
dread. Adelise had said she wished she were dead.

"Oh,
God..." she whispered. "Please, God,
no!"

She
snatched
up the page, untying the ribbon with fear-clumsy fingers, her eyes flying along
the scarcely-legible scrawl. It was writ so poorly she could hardly make it
out, but as the words and phrases swam together, she allowed herself to
breathe. It wasn't so bad as she had feared. Adelise hadn't committed such a grave,
unpardonable sin.

But
she had done something almost as bad: Adelise had run away with Edward of
Pelham.

Jocelyn
sank to her knees on the icy stone, rereading the letter, stunned at the
enormity of what her sister had done. As the probable consequences shifted and
whirled through her head, her blood ran cold.

Robert
de Langley would be humiliated before some of the most important men in
England. He had already threatened to kill Pelham. Now, no doubt, he would
follow through on that threat.

And
Adelise...

Jocelyn
shivered involuntarily, remembering de Langley's rage once before. If he didn't
murder Adelise outright,' he would make the rest of her life a living hell.

And
Stephen. Dear God, the king would be furious at Pelham, but also at the
Montagnes. It would put her father and Brian in an extremely difficult
position.

"Oh,
Adelise," she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. "What a
foolish,
foolish
thing you have done!"

She
rose to her feet, still shivering, trying to decide what to do. She should go
to her father. The letter was addressed to him. It would be up to him to break
the news to de Langley.

But
as she pictured that horrible scene, she knew it was wrong. Robert de Langley
deserved to learn of this before anyone else at Montagne, and he deserved to
learn of it from a friend. He deserved the chance to get himself in hand before
tongues began to wag, and the whole country shared a laugh over the proud
Norman Lion being left at the altar by his terrified bride.

Slowly,
Jocelyn retraced her steps from the chapel, turning blindly toward one of the
few private sleeping chambers Montagne boasted. Only a handful of the highest
lords had the luxury of a sleeping chamber, and they were doubled and tripled
there. The rest had to make do with benches and pallets in the side aisles of
the hall or camped outside in the rain with their men.

As
the bridegroom, Robert de Langley had been housed with all honors. Jocelyn had
checked with her father's steward to make sure of that. But she'd never in her
wildest dreams thought she would be visiting the man there in the dark and
chill of his wedding morning to tell him his bride had disappeared.

His
chamber door loomed up long before Jocelyn was prepared. She knocked quickly
before she could lose her nerve.

"Who's
there?" a sleepy voice called out.

"None
you need fear," she whispered. "I've a message for Lord de Langley.
Something he must hear."

She
heard the bolt drawn back. The door opened a crack and a sleepy, suspicious boy
peered out. One of Richard de Lucy's squires. "Let me in," she
repeated, when the boy made no move. "You can see I'm no threat. I've
pressing matters to take up with Lord de Langley."

The
boy inched the door wider and Jocelyn entered, almost stumbling over a pair of
blanketed, sleeping figures at her feet. A half-dozen knights were bedded down
here in the antechamber.

One
of the men woke, grabbing for his sword, but the boy's words stopped him.
"Naught but a woman," he hissed. "And I doubt Lord Robert will
thank you for protecting him from
that!

The
man stared, chuckled, letting the sword fall back to his side. Jocelyn picked
her way across the floor in the squire's wake, screening the candle flame with
the terrible letter. Others were stirring, sitting up, but she doubted they
would recognize her in the darkness. The boy hesitated at the door to the inner
chamber.

"Harry?
God's death... what is it?"

Jocelyn
recognized the voice and a tight, fluttering sensation began in her midsection.

"A
what?"
And then, "Certainly. Let her in."

The
squire peered out, grinned knowingly at Jocelyn and motioned for her to enter.
She stepped through the doorway, still screening the candle. The room was dark
save for a soft orange glow cast by the burning brazier. It was warm, intimate.
Her whole body quickened; her heartbeat picked up its pace.

She
turned toward the bed, but a blur of movement caught her eye, drawing her
attention to the floor. Robert de Langley lay on a pallet beside the burning
brazier. He had pushed up on one elbow, was shoving the heavy, sleep-tousled
hair from his eyes.

She
stared, then swallowed hard, a rush of heat spiraling up from her midsection,
heating her chest, flaming across her throat and face. The man slept naked, a
blanket tangled about the lower half of his body, but his chest and shoulders
and long, muscular arms were bare.

Her
eyes slid over him, looking her fill in the shadowy light before she could stop
herself. He was so beautiful it made her ache.
Oh, Adelise, how could you be
such a fool!

"Well,
madam...?"

Jocelyn
jerked her eyes back to his, trying desperately to steady herself and to find
words to say. In the silence, she could hear the soft, shushing sound of the
rain, the thundering of her own heart. Sweet Lady Mary, how was she ever to
tell him this?

"I
would like to believe, as that boy did, that you were so eager for my company
you couldn't resist coming here." De Langley's smile was obviously forced.
"However, since it's you, Lady Jocelyn, I assume the lad erred, and you've
come on urgent business instead."

"Yes."

Even
the pretense of a smile faded. "Come, madam, it can't be so bad as
this."

Jocelyn
swallowed again. "I'm afraid my sister has done something incredibly
foolish."

"Tell
me."

"Adelise
has... has run away. With Edward of Pelham."

At
first, he didn't speak. His chest rose and fell with his breathing. She saw his
fingers flex once against the blanket, then curl tightly into a fist.

For
a moment longer his eyes held hers, then they dropped to the parchment she
held. "I assume that is a communication from that fool of a girl."
His hand shot out. "Give it to me."

Jocelyn
stepped forward and bent to hand him the note, her candle bathing him in a
circle of golden light. He glanced at the paper and frowned. "But this is
to your father," he said, looking up, "from Pelham."

She
nodded. "I found it in the chapel when I went in search of my sister. I
thought she was only keeping a vigil."

She
watched him read, watched the heavy downward sweep of his lashes, the jutting
angle of his cheekbone, his firm and angry mouth. He shifted forward, frowning
over the page. She saw the muscles flex and tighten across his shoulders,
watched them ripple down the long, graceful curve of his back.

And
despite the urgency of the situation, despite her own fears, something shifted
and tightened and throbbed deep inside her. He was sleek and athletic and
beautiful, just as she'd imagined. If she touched him, she knew, his skin would
be smooth and warm beneath her hand.

"If
Pelham fights as poorly as he writes, I'm in luck," de Langley said
grimly. "I'll send a squire to the camp to ready my men. I don't suppose
this will take long."

"The
man's a fool, but that doesn't mean you have to be."

Jocelyn
gasped and almost dropped her candle as a pair of long, naked legs swung from
behind the bed hangings. She averted her eyes as a figure that was obviously
male grabbed up his hose, drawing them on beneath the heavy linen shirt he had
slept in.

She
glanced back as Richard de Lucy dragged on his boots. She recognized the man,
though they had never been introduced. She had tried to stay out of his way
after learning it was the king's powerful justiciar she had rebuked that day at
Belavoir.

"I
heard everything," he said shortly. "We must think, now, on how best
to salvage this mess."

"Thank
you, Richard, but I know
exactly
what's to be done."

"Do
you? Then you're ahead of me. You can't go after Pelham, even if it is your
right. If you kill him, his father will come after you. Stephen will want to
stand by you, but he can't afford to have the earl of Colwick go over to
Henry's supporters. Things have been quiet these last few years, but that
doesn't mean the sentiment for Henry has died out."

De
Langley had rolled up the parchment. Now he tapped it thoughtfully against his
bare chest. "Pelham's no fool, of course. I suppose he was counting on
that to protect him." He hesitated, smiled sardonically. "What a pity
to have to disappoint him... and Stephen."

De
Lucy frowned. "If Colwick goes over to Henry, a huge section of the east
will go with him. Much of the coast will be vulnerable to a landing by Henry's
Angevins. Don't tell me you want to restart these damned wars over a hen-witted
female who doesn't have the sense to stay out of the rain? We can do better
than that, I believe."

Unexpectedly,
de Lucy turned, pinning Jocelyn with a glare. "Just what does your father
have to say about this, madam?"

Jocelyn
felt a sudden warmth spread over her face. "My father doesn't know."

De
Lucy's gray eyes narrowed. "I see," he said, and Jocelyn very much
feared that he might. She forced herself to hold his gaze, to enlarge hastily
upon her answer. "I thought Lord de Langley should be the first to learn
what had happened," she said. That much was true. "I thought,
perhaps, he could give me an escort of men. If I can catch up to Adelise,
perhaps I can convince her to come back. Then none but those involved need be
the wiser."

Jocelyn
didn't dare glance at Robert de Langley. The plan sounded foolish, even to her,
though she had actually thought of it in those first panicked moments in the
chapel.

"A
worthy thought, madam, but I doubt it is practical," de Lucy said.
"Since Pelham has a head start, it would be odd indeed if you should catch
up to them, or persuade anyone to a change of plan if you did."

Jocelyn
nodded. If she said more, she would make it worse.

"I
thank you, Lady Jocelyn, for your efforts," Robert de Langley murmured.
"You have stood my friend in this. I won't forget it."

"Then
I would beg you to forgive my sister," she said. "She has done the
unforgivable, I know, but not from malice. She feared you so, I did wonder for
a moment tonight if she might not have taken her life."

De
Langley lifted mocking eyebrows. "Naturally. An eternity of damnation was
preferable to a few years spent with me."

"Of
course not! But Adelise isn't always... always..." Jocelyn floundered for
a word that wouldn't be damning. "Sensible."

To
her amazement, Robert de Langley began to laugh. She stared at him, feeling an
immense rush of relief. She had expected anger, the white-hot, blistering rage
she had seen following his fight with her father. She had certainly never
expected to hear him laugh.

"Sensible.
Aye,
madam, a good way to put it. I believe I've told you before you would do well
at court."

He
held out the parchment, smile fading. "You'd best go now. It'll be dawn in
another hour. Take this to your father, no need to tell him you came here
first. I can assure you no man in these rooms will speak of it. I'd not have
you suffer his wrath on my account."