Chapter Seven
Wal touched his hand to the writ tucked securely into his belt. He’d made sure the ribbon and seal were visible, and so far the guards had ushered him through the gate without so much as a second glance.
Clearly, William Talvas, Count of Ponthieu, expected a response from Henry.
That his father would deliberately hobble him while negotiating with the man who kidnapped his family rankled. No, it did more than irritate him. Midges irritated. His father’s actions smoldered like embers banked for the night. He’d always put his crown first, believing it his duty, his higher calling. He bred children for diplomacy, using his offspring to make or break alliances, placate lords with a taste for maidens or youths, and wrap his influence over Europe like a fishing net woven of bloodlines. Like most of his siblings, Wal had eagerly put himself at the king’s beck and call, desperate for crumbs from the royal table. No longer.
Once his wife and child were safely home, his father would learn a new word: no.
Wal studied the bailey as the guard led him toward the tower. William either had an unholy attraction to fire or he was as cold natured as Cate. Five, no six, bonfires lit the courtyard, silhouetting the solders and servants not invited inside for the traditional Yule feast. The snub didn’t appear to bother them. Shouts and drunken laughs echoed between the high walls of the castle. The curtain wall was built of hewn logs that were twice his height. The guard’s walkway lined three sides of it. The tower, built of wood, provided the lookout for the fourth side of the wall.
Lord, let the wood be as dry as it looked. Otherwise, Cullen’s skill would go to waste.
“The guard at the door will let you in.”
Stifling his surprise, Wal nodded his appreciation for the escort and took the steps two at a time. Inside, the great hall was equally bright; its warmth bordered on hot.
And there she was. Cate.
Ensconced at the head of the table, she sat to the right of William with her cloak drawn tightly around her as if she were impervious to the heat in the room.
He centered himself and looked away. For the next few moments, he had to pretend her fate meant nothing. As a messenger, he was here to please his king.
One of the guards lowered his spear. Wal walked around it. His experiences with the King’s messengers told him they were an arrogant lot, not suffering fools or delays or obstacles, unless bound and gagged in the woods. “I have a message for his Lord, William Talvas.”
He waggled the writ, but kept a tight grip on it.
“The king sent me.”
“Finally.” William motioned him forwarded as if Wal wasn’t already close enough to kill him with a meat knife. “Let me see it.”
Wal put all his effort into not looking at his wife, and failed. Her cloak was the blue of sapphires and decorated with silver thread that echoed the netting banding her hair in a thick rope. She looked more fairy queen than captive, although she was thinner than he remembered. She met his gaze and hope flared in her eyes. His heart surged. If he got her out of this, he was never leaving her behind again.
“The message,” William said.
“I have been tasked with confirming her health. And the health of her son.” And the flaw in his plan presented itself as a gaping hole in his gut. Even if he had the opportunity to grab her and flee, he would have no time to find Joscelin.
“She is unharmed, although her stubborn nature is most trying. I understand why her husband prefers fighting in France to her company. The writ.”
“And the boy?”
The count’s sudden scowl would have been impressive if Wal had a different father. William glowered at Cate, who shifted slightly. A tuft of red hair appeared where her mantle gaped. Good lord, Joscelin’s hair had somehow gotten redder over the last six months.
“As you can see, he is well on his way to being made lame. She does not put him down.”
Praise Christ for that attentiveness.
“The writ.” William held out his hand. The grease on his fingers gleamed in the light.
“The king says you do not want his wrath,” Wal said. “If you wish to regain the march your father forfeited, you must prove your loyalty to the crown. Release them. The king bids you come to Winchester to negotiate your inheritance.”
William leaned back in his chair, glancing at the tables on either side of his. Wal’s breath caught in the back of his throat. He should have demanded to see the count alone, although privacy was impossible to find in a castle. Still, with his friends present and listening, pride would most likely determine what would happen next.
“I told Henry I would send his grandson to him in pieces if he didn’t give me the earldom.”
If any harm came to Joscelin, Wal would see to it that Shrewsbury was burned to the ground and the count’s bones lost amidst the rubble. He stepped even closer. “Do not court the king’s wrath. How will he bestow anything if you do not go to him?”
The count’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. “You think me simple?”
“I am merely the messenger.”
Cate stiffened at the lie.
“You can barricade yourself in this castle, but for how long?” Wal asked. “Until you are declared outlaw and become a target for anyone who wants to try to take Shrewsbury? Until the king tires of this game and sends his men after you?” He lowered his voice. “King Henry does not forgive defiance. He does not wink or nod at disobedience. He does not disregard rebellion. I do not think you a simpleton. I think you reacted out of grief for your father, and now you need to act with reason. What is your goal?”
William drained his cup. His expression was thoughtful, and he glanced around the hall as if to gauge how his guests would react to what might be seen as surrender.
“Your hall is merry this night, my lord. I imagine more than a few will wonder what happened come the morrow.”
The man laughed. “I may wonder myself. Take the child. Tell the king the lady and I will be in Winchester before Twelfth Night.”
Cate jumped to her feet at his words. Wal feared she would climb over the table in her eagerness to hand off their son. Midway around the table, a little face emerged from the shelter of Cate’s cloak. With a cry, Joscelin grinned.
“Da!” His shout echoed through the quiet room. “Da! Da!”
Aw, hell.
William’s face mottled. He jerked to his feet, grabbing for Cate, who neatly avoided his reach. “Guards!”
“William, do not—”
“Guards.”
Wal hurled his knife, which sank into the Count’s chest. Astonishment crossed the man’s face as he slumped back in his chair.
Cate reached his side. “Oh, Wal. I was so—”
“Not now.” He grabbed her arm. “Walk very fast.”
Drunkenness worked in their favor. No one seemed to notice their host was dead until he and Cate had reached the door. He pushed it open. She pulled her cloak around the boy’s head, but he pushed it back to expose him to the eyes of anyone who saw them.
“Few men are willing to shoot an infant. He might be what keeps you alive.” Wal had no doubts about his fate, and luck abandoned them at the bottom of the steps.
Shouts and orders flew over their heads. The guards who had imbibed but were not drunk surrounded them. He pushed Cate behind him, but there was no protected side.
“Stop!” he shouted, and his captors wavered. “The usurper is dead. You can surrender to me without dishonor.”
Behind him someone laughed.
Cate edged closer to Wal, horror and amazement grappling within her. God save them, her husband was brash to the point of lunacy, yet he had almost gotten them free of Shrewsbury Castle. Now, surrounded by a dozen men with swords pointed at him, he invited them to surrender.
Da would have liked you.
Startled by the thought, Cate laughed, which drew the soldiers’ attention to her. “Come back to us, my lady, and you will not be hurt.”
“If you hurt my lord and husband, you hurt me.”
Wal shot her an incredulous look, but quickly turned back to the crowd now gathered in the middle of the castle bailey. “And if you harm her or the child, my father will hunt you like hounds after a hart. You would be wise to put away your swords.”
“Put down the sword,” someone shouted, and Wal’s grip on the pommel tightened. She clutched Jos tighter as fear tightened her gut.
“Do not be a fool,” the man shouted again, and Cate realized he was the castellan, who would be charged with keeping the castle in its lord’s absence. “Put down the sword.”
“Surrender this castle to me and live!” Wal shouted back.
Wal’s brashness was well past the point of lunacy. Cate tried to shush the boy’s screams as he reached for his father. Few men are willing to shoot an infant. He might be what keeps you alive. She closed the distance between them and almost let her son tumble into Wal’s arms. Rather than let him fall, Wal grabbed him with his free hand.
“Are you—”
“Do you know who I am?” Cate moved in front of Wal, and the guards, less drunk than she feared, leaned back.
“Get back here,” Wal hissed. “Take him and get behind me.”
“Do you know who I am?” she demanded a second time.
“His wife,” the castellan said. “That is why you are here.”
“Have you heard of the mad Countess of Narbonne?”
The man frowned. “I do not give credence to a minstrel’s tale.”
“You should,” she said, “because ’tis all true.”
“Fire,” Wal whispered behind her. “Predict destruction by fire.”
She spared him a single glance. What wild rescue had he planned? As if in answer, light suddenly burst through the brazier on the wall and flame arched toward the tower roof. Glee filled her as a second followed, then a third.
A shout rose. Someone screamed, “Fire!”
She twisted back. Flames danced over the tower roof, small but spreading. “You ordered them to fire it?” she asked.
“Aye,” Wal said.
“But your father gave you Shrewsbury. You are burning your own home.”
“I do what I must to protect you.”
She glanced back at him. Wal stood with a sword in one hand, a child in the other, and his face glowing in the light of the fires on the wall surrounding them. Her heart tumbled over the edge of her defenses and into his hands. “I would be all that a wife should be—and more.”
He grinned. “Unfortunately, now is not the moment to take advantage of that, wife.”