Guy's lips twitched and he gave one last hate-filled gurgle as the ground around him saturated with his blood. Then his throat and eyes closed forever.
Drenched with sweat, blood dripping from his blade, his blood pounding in his ears so loudly that he could hear nothing else, Adrian stared down at his enemy. Now that justice was done, his madness began to subside, leaving him weak with reaction. Instinctively he looked toward Meriel, craving her loving sweetness to soothe his shattered spirit.
Instead he found revulsion. His wife had retreated to the farthest corner of the alley, one of her slim hands clenched against her midriff as if she fought physical illness. In her white face was not love but horror, as if he were the loathsome spawn of the rankest pit of hell.
Soul-deep despair swept through him as he realized that in the process of defeating Burgoigne, he had lost Meriel. In that moment Adrian wished that Guy had dealt him a mortal blow, for he would have welcomed death as a cherished friend.
Then a hoarse muttering from the men-at-arms drew his attention. Adrian realized that there was no time for despair, for danger still surrounded them and he was not, after all, quite ready to welcome death.
Warily he scanned the circle of soldiers before him. Even though Guy's men were hardened fighters, their expressions registered shock and revulsion at their lord's mutilation.
Slowly Adrian stepped back from Guy's body, his gaze flickering around the frozen faces. He was so drained physically and emotionally that the tip of his sword wavered and every breath was stabbing pain. Probably some ribs had cracked when Guy fell on him, but there was no time to notice pain, not if there was to be any hope of getting Meriel safely away.
"He has murdered your lord," Sir Vincent snarled as he raised his sword in the air, then slashed it down. "Kill them—kill them all!"
Some soldiers hesitated, but others drew their weapons and moved forward, their expressions fierce as a pack of hungry wolves. Aching with grief that Meriel and her brother were to die for his sins, Adrian summoned the last of his strength for a final desperate effort. He and Alan could never defeat a whole crowd of determined men, but they would sell their lives dearly.
Grim-faced with the same knowledge, Alan came to his side, his own blade ready.
Then a woman's voice cut through the tense, deadly silence. "No, damn you!" Lady Cecily shouted, running down the stairs from the wall walk, her veil lifting behind her. She raced across the ward, then fearlessly elbowed her way through the crowd of soldiers. "It is finished!"
Breaking through the front line, she whirled on the men-at-arms. "Guy is dead, and now I am Chastain. Many of you were my father's men. You know he would never have countenanced treachery against a man who won a fair fight."
She caught her breath. "Nay, 'twas not even a fair fight, for Lord Guy set out to butcher Warfield. Instead he brought death on himself. Guy slaughtered Warfield's family and abducted his wife. Warfield had the right to seek vengeance, and God lent him the strength and skill to win."
Her gaze scanned the circle, catching first one man's eyes, then another. "Ranulf, Edric, Odo, attend me! You were my father's men. You know what honor means."
There was no trace of the defeated woman she had been. Tall and full-bodied, Cecily blazed like an ancient British war queen as she proudly took up her inheritance. "Hugo, Jehane, Edward, sheath your swords!"
Their heads lowered in shamefaced silence, the men she had named did as she ordered. A moment later, the rest of the soldiers did the same. What had been a dangerous mob was now a troop under their lady's command.
Cecily gestured to one. "Hugo, as captain of the guard you have done an honest job under difficult circumstances. I wish you to serve me as well in the same position."
She nodded at another man. "Edric, go you now to the main gate and tell Richard FitzHugh that his brother is well. Lord Guy is dead, and that FitzHugh and his men are welcome to enter Chastain if they come in peace."
Cecily's expression became frigid when she turned to Sir Vincent de Laon. "You, Sir Vincent, will collect your belongings and be out of Chastain within the hour. Do not ask me for arrears of your pay, for I know you've been stealing from the seneschal's accounts." She turned to the man who had tripped Adrian. "And you, Hubert, is it? A man without honor is not welcome at Chastain. Get your arm bound and depart."
She beckoned two more of her father's men forward. "Accompany Sir Vincent and make sure that he steals nothing more that belongs to Chastain. If you have any doubts about what he claims, come to me."
Then she lifted her hand. "The rest of you may go and break your fast. Jehane, before you eat, send Father Anselm here to attend the dead."
Swiftly the group dispersed, leaving four living and one dead. When the men-at-arms were out of sight, Cecily crossed the court to where the mortal remains of Guy of Burgoigne lay. There was a long silence as she stared down on the man who had shared her bed. Then she spat on her husband's body and turned away.
Weak with pain and relief, Adrian had leaned against a helpful stone wall, but now he pushed himself upright. "Lady Cecily," he said unsteadily, "I hope we will be friends, for I would not like to have you for an enemy."
She smiled a little, but the fiery conviction that had carried her through the previous scene was beginning to fade, leaving anxiety in its wake. "I ask that you not hold my husband's crimes against Chastain. Will you support me as I establish order among my vassals and redress the injustices my husband wrought?"
"Of course. I owe you any aid you desire." Adrian thought a moment. "If you wish, I will ask my brother, Richard, to stay with some of his men until you are secure in your position."
Cecily's brows drew together before she gave a decisive nod. "Very well. It’s said your brother is an honorable man."
Before more could be said, there was a thunder of hooves and Richard himself galloped up at the head of a dozen men. He threw himself from his horse and gave Adrian such an enthusiastic embrace that the earl nearly fainted from pain.
There followed a confusing period of introductions and explanations. Though Adrian's attention faded when he moved too suddenly and his ribs stabbed, he managed to keep track of events. He welcomed the pain, welcomed the confusion. Anything that would keep him from thinking about the shuddering revulsion he had seen on Meriel's face.
Just as he had had a tingling awareness that she was behind him when he fought, he knew now that she was gone, though he had not seen her and Alan depart. He was too much a coward to seek her out, but even cowardice was no protection, for a few minutes later Meriel came to him. She rode the sorrel mare, Alan mounted beside her on his own horse.
Meriel's night-sky blue eyes were the only color in her stark face as she reined the mare in. "My lord, imprisoned in the castle are the Jewish merchant Benjamin l'Eveske and his household. Guy was holding them to ransom. They helped me when I was lost and ill in the royal forest. I beg that you will see they are released and their possessions restored."
"It will be done." Adrian would have given all he owned to take her hand and not have her pull away, but he dared not touch her. Meriel's expression was bitter proof of how much she feared and loathed him.
"Thank you, Lord Adrian." Meriel hesitated as if considering further speech before turning to Lady Cecily. "My lady, from the bottom of my heart I thank you for what you have done for me. You are a brave and honorable woman, and I shall pray that your future brings all the happiness you deserve." Then Meriel collected her reins and turned toward the main gate.
"I have never seen a warrior your equal," Alan said soberly. Rather to Adrian's surprise, Alan offered his hand. After a firm shake, he wheeled his mount and rode after his sister.
As Meriel disappeared from view, Adrian felt his heart tugging after her as tangibly as if a rope connected them. Strange to think that a heart could be pulled from one's breast, yet leave one living, an empty shell.
Puzzled, Lady Cecily glanced from Meriel to Adrian. Then she looked away, embarras
sed by what she'd seen on his face.
Richard was less tactful. "For God's sake, Adrian, don't let her ride away," he said roughly. "Meriel is your wife! In the last twelve hours you risked your life a dozen times over to save hers. Let me bring her back so that you can talk to her."
Adrian shook his head. On his face was an expression of such raw, primitive pain that it hurt Richard to see it.
Before he turned away to take up the duties that awaited him, Adrian said so softly that the words were almost inaudible, "If she were truly mine, she would come back of her own free will."
Chapter 22
The most important of Adrian's tasks was Benjamin l'Eveske. It was several hours later that they met in the solar, which Lady Cecily had put at the earl's disposal. Adrian stood when the old man entered. "Good day, Master Benjamin. I hope that no one in your household was seriously injured?"
"No, we were fortunate." Benjamin's clothing was torn and soiled, but he was admirably calm for a man just released from captivity. "Lady Cecily has directed that all of our possessions be returned, including the captured arms of our guards, and my wife is now supervising the repacking of our wagons."
Wincing, the earl sat down again and gestured to the merchant to do the same. "Please, help yourself to the wine."
Benjamin poured himself a goblet full. "Did you take some injury in the combat with Lord Guy? I'd heard you escaped unscathed."
"A few cracked ribs, and not the first time that has happened." Adrian shrugged dismissively. "After you and I have finished our discussion, I will find someone to bind them up."
"If you wish, I can send my household physician." Benjamin stopped, then gave a dry little smile. "I'm sorry, I forgot that for a Christian to seek medical aid of a Jew is to endanger his soul.''
A corner of Adrian's mouth quirked up. "At the moment, I would welcome the devil himself if he were an experienced bonesetter. Please send him to me." He took a sip of his wine, then leaned back in his chair, his face gray under his pale hair. "Lady Cecily and I have conferred. As compensation for her husband's transgressions, she wishes to give you the house in Shrewsbury that Sir Vincent had offered to lend you."
Benjamin's bushy brows rose. "That's very generous of her. I'll be able to rent it for a sizable sum."
"If you still wish it, and I will certainly understand if you do not, you may settle in Shrewsbury with your household," Adrian said with some diffidence. "I offer my personal support and protection to you and any other of your people who wish to settle here. After I speak with the mayor and my sheriff, I don't think you will have any problems."
The old merchant was too startled to be tactful. Acidly he asked, "Are you no longer concerned that we will threaten the souls of the good Christians of Shropshire?"
Adrian said obliquely, "Jesus taught a parable of a man who fell among robbers who stripped and beat him and left him for dead. A priest came by and passed on the other side of the road, pretending not to see. A Levite, a holy man, did the same. Then came a Samaritan, a member of a despised race, who bound the man's wounds, took him to an inn and tended him, leaving money to pay the innkeeper until the man was well."
Adrian raised his gaze to Benjamin, his eyes stark. "You helped Meriel. The people of Shrewsbury will not be threatened by the actions of a good man. I was a fool to forget that what matters most is what is in a man's heart."
"No man of woman born is not occasionally a fool." The old merchant smiled reflectively. "You are an admirable man, Lord Adrian. It takes courage and humility to admit fault."
That was perhaps too honest a statement for a man of a subject race to make to another who held great power, so Benjamin moved briskly to the next point. "I shall confer with my wife, but I think she will agree that it would be an honor and a pleasure to accept your invitation."
"I hope so." The earl raised his cup in a salute. "I should like to engage in theological discussion with you sometime. That would doubtless be excellent for my humility."
Benjamin laughed and lifted his own goblet, then drank deeply. At times like this, it was possible to believe that someday men might live together in peace.
* * *
After Benjamin's physician bound his ribs, Adrian lay down and slept like the dead, not waking until the next morning. The castle had an almost festive air, for Lord Guy's demise had been greeted with near-universal relief. Lady Cecily and Richard had the situation well in hand, so there was no reason for Adrian to stay at Chastain.
But he found that he could not yet face returning to Warfield, where every chamber was haunted by images of Meriel. When she had first recovered her memory and run away from him, he had clung to the faint hope that when she had had time to reflect, she might accept the marriage.
Now that hope was gone, as was the marriage.
Taking only two of his men, Adrian rode to Fontevaile Abbey. For years he had been a regular visitor, but never had he so much craved the abbey's peace.
He stayed three days, immersing himself in silence and worship, until he knew that he had survived the crisis. Proof lay in the fact that once more he was able to pray as simply and directly as when he was a boy. During one of his meditations he had a brief vision of the silver chalice that was his symbol for his soul. There were a few dents in the metal that would never come out, but the surface shone bright and untarnished again. While he would never cease to mourn losing Meriel, he had no doubt that letting her go had been the right thing to do.
The evening before returning to Warfield, he went to the abbot's study after vespers and asked William to hear his confession. Adrian had not confessed since Meriel had entered his life, because he could not be shriven of sins which he had been unwilling to stop committing. But now Meriel was gone, and it was time for penance and absolution.
Making formal confession eased some of his tension, though it could not touch his deepest grief. Then, because William was friend as well as priest and abbot, Adrian went on to explain the full story of what had happened over the last months: not just what had happened, but why.
When his tale was done, he rose to his feet and drifted across the study, not looking at the older man as he spoke of something that had been much on his mind. "I would never have left Fontevaile had it not been for the massacre of Warfield. You know that I swore then to rebuild my patrimony and to revenge my family."
Adrian stopped in front of the finely carved crucifix that hung on the wall. The Man of Sorrows looked back at him with a face that knew all there was to know of pain. "Those vows have been fulfilled. Now it is time to return to Fontevaile and swear a vow of service to God."
There was a rustle of coarse woolen fabric behind him as the surprised abbot shifted position. "You will abandon your patrimony? There is more than one way to serve God, and you have served him well as lord of Warfield."
Adrian turned to face William. "Richard can have Warfield, and welcome. He will rule it better than I, and his position will be so strong that no one will dare challenge him on the grounds of his illegitimacy."
The abbot knew Adrian well, perhaps better than any other man alive. "What of your wife? If Lady Meriel had returned to you, would you still wish to become a monk?"
William's words triggered an instant image of Meriel as she had been in the handful of days when they had been truly wed. Adrian could hear her gay laughter, feel her silken skin under his fingertips. As his body tightened in response, he said harshly, "She did not come back, so I have no wife."
"When you were a novice here, I thought that you had a true vocation for the religious life. Perhaps then you did." The abbot shook his head. "But you are no longer that lad. You may rest at Fontevaile for as long as you wish, but I will not permit you to take binding vows."
"Why not?" Adrian demanded, feeling his fragile peace dissolve beneath his feet. To become a monk had seemed the perfect, the only, solution. "Is it because you prefer me as a wealthy patron rather than an impoverished monk?"
Abbot William's mouth curved
with amusement. "Not a very Christian remark, Adrian."
Adrian flushed. "I beg your pardon, Father, I know that is not so. But I feel compelled to enter the religious life, and if you will not have me at Fontevaile, I will find another house that will accept me."
"I'm sure that you would have no trouble finding an order that would be delighted to have you. But, Adrian, by the affection we have for each other, I beg that you consider long and hard before you take such a step.
"Too often monastaries are used as refuges from the world. That's not always a bad thing, but I would grieve to see you take vows for the wrong reasons. Can you truly say that you would be entering Fontevaile with a full and joyous heart, because you can imagine no better life? Or would it be because you wish to flee a life that at the moment is intolerably painful?" William smiled. "My guess is that if you had a choice between living with God or with your wife, you would choose your wife. A man who feels that way should not become a monk, for it is not right that God be second choice."
After a long silence, Adrian gave a twisted smile. "I had not thought of it in those terms, but you are right. In truth, even as a lad, part of the reason I came to Fontevaile was to flee from myself and my own potential for evil. God deserves better than servants who come to him from fear rather than faith."
"It is not a question of faith, but of works. You've done much good as an earl, and can do much more, for there are few lords who have your faith and justice." The abbot stood and offered his hand.
As Adrian kissed it, William said softly, "If the day ever comes when you can say from the bottom of your heart that God is your first and only choice, I will welcome you here as a brother. Until then, I shall pray that you find peace."
* * *
The Avonleigh garden had been neglected in Meriel's absence, so she worked there every day in the fortnight after she returned home. Ruefully she reflected as she cut dead blossoms from a rosebush that she needed the flowers more than they needed her, for it was very healing to be in a garden.