Chapter Thirteen

T he look of anguish on the youngest of Augustin’s guard surprised Patrick. If he did not know better, he would think the young warrior had very deep feelings for their mistress.

“Guard her door with your life,” Patrick ordered.

The warrior did not hesitate, “Aye.”

At that moment the door to the solar opened, and Jillian walked out shaking her head.

“Is it bad?” Aimory asked stiffly.

Jillian turned her head to look at the knight and softly replied, “Nay. She just needs to rest.”

Patrick watched the man nod to her before resuming his position as guard.

Jillian pulled Patrick out of the Norman’s range of hearing and whispered, “Were you there when he hurt her?”

“Just after.”

“You know she will pull through. She is suffering mostly from shock and indignation,” Jillian added.

“It never should have happened! Two of Augustin’s guards were standing right outside of the bathing chamber when I arrived. They did not heed her calls for help. They failed her… Augustin failed in his duty to her. For that he will pay,” the Irishman promised.

“She saved my life,” Jillian said softly. “Were it not for her protection, I would have been beaten to death when Harald’s men captured us.”

“Do not forget Owen’s men,” Patrick warned.

“Aye, but it was Winslow and yourself who came to my aid that time.” Jillian smiled up at the warrior, gratitude shining in her eyes.

“The ladies of Merewood have much in common,” Patrick said softly. “Particularly their inner core of pure iron.”

Lady Jillian turned to look back at the chamber door then up at him, “Did you find Garrick?”

Patrick shook his head. “He is on patrol with Augustin and a few of the men.”

“Augustin left our home when he has guests?”

“Aye. Apparently de Jeaneaux insisted Augustin go about his duties while they washed away the dust of their journey.”

Jillian’s eyes narrowed, “As soon as my husband returns, I want you to tell him and Dunstan together.” She paused as if considering, “Mayhap Dunstan will be able to hold Garrick back.”

Patrick nodded. With Dunstan’s aid, they should be able to hold Garrick back, though he knew the brothers would want to tear Augustin apart for failing to protect their mother.

“I’ve posted a guard outside the chamber,” Patrick said in a low voice. “Go back inside,” he ordered, “If you need anything, Kelly or Aimory will help you.”

The two warriors stood at opposite ends of the short passageway, their expressions grim-faced. Their stance identical… imposing.

Jillian nodded first to Kelly and then to Aimory before slipping back inside the solar.

*

“The southern meadow has been allowed to lie fallow,” Garrick said, as they rode past a field that had been turned but not planted.

“When will you plant?” Augustin admired the beauty of the lush, green land surrounding him.

“My brother, Dunstan, has a plan,” Garrick said; “I am not the one to ask about crops or harvests.”

Augustin nodded, appreciating the younger man’s candor. As for himself, he probably would not have admitted that he did not understand what to plant and when to plant it.

The more he was in Garrick’s company, the more respect he had for the younger warrior. Garrick treated Merewood’s people like family. Not only the warriors, but the servants and their families as well. He always made time to listen to the problems brought to him, no matter how small. Mayhap he would not have to install one of his men to oversee Garrick’s movements. So far, the warrior had been trustworthy. Time would tell.

Lost in thought, Augustin had not noticed Garrick had slowed the pace until he pulled back on his destrier’s reins and raised his hand for silence. Augustin followed Garrick’s lead, and tilted his head to one side to listen.

“This way,” Garrick rasped. “Someone is in trouble.”

Augustin and their men followed along behind Garrick, riding toward a more dense section of forest. Though the path was littered with small loose rocks, and the ground uneven, they forged ahead, all the while the call for help grew louder.

Garrick pulled his mount to a stop, then threw his leg over his horse, sliding from the saddle. He ran nimbly across the loose rocks and leaves. Augustin hard at his heels, and on unfamiliar ground, slipped and stumbled to a halt beside the shallow ravine.

Augustin looked down into a young boy’s dirty face. It was tear streaked.

“Stephan!” Garrick cried out, kneeling next to the boy. “Where are you hurt, lad?”

Augustin bent down to get a closer look.

Stephan’s eyes widened, before he nodded down at his leg, “My foot’s caught.”

That the boy was in pain and trying to hide it was obvious. But Augustin understood all about a young man’s pride. ’Twas not so very different from a warrior’s. Neither would easily accept a blow to it.

Garrick pushed leaves and bits of twigs and rock away from Stephan’s leg. The way it was twisted, it had to be broken. Augustin grimaced; it was a wonder the lad had not passed out from the pain.

“You hold him steady.” Garrick’s voice sounded calm. “He’s caught between two large stones here. I need to move them.”

The look of panic the young lad flashed at Augustin had him shaking his head. “Nay,” he said, nudging Garrick so that the warrior had to turn and look at him. The flash of understanding in Garrick’s gaze was yet another reason to give the younger warrior time to prove himself worthy of running the holding. His ability to sum up situations quickly would help Augustin learn more about their people.

“Augustin, mayhap if you move the stones, I can brace young Stephan.”

The boy nodded and relaxed. Augustin did not waste any time, not wanting the boy to suffer any longer than was necessary. He moved the stones, and Garrick lifted Stephan into his arms.

Augustin watched his wife’s son with interest as they made their way back. He treated the stable lad as if he mattered. Augustin knew many an overlord who would not have bothered to stay to help one of his servants. He would like to think that he would have offered aid to the young boy, even knowing he was a servant. It had been years since Augustin had stayed in one place long enough to get to know who took care of his household. He was loath to admit that there was a chance he would have sent a servant back to aid the boy.

“Garrick!”

The sound of pounding hooves accompanied the shout. A small group of warriors crested the rise below the keep and rode down toward them.

“Patrick?”

Augustin heard the concern in Garrick’s voice and spurred his horse to follow. Although Garrick’s vassal had not uttered a word, the look on the man’s face had Garrick tearing up the rise after him.

The feeling that something dire had happened seeped into Augustin’s bones. He shortened the distance between them and rode into the bailey in time to see Garrick pass Stephan off to one of his men. “His leg is probably broken. I’ll send my mother to tend him.”

Before Augustin could dismount, Garrick and Patrick were running toward the hall. Augustin heard the words de Jeaneaux and Eyreka. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and dread filled him, roiling in his stomach. His left hip was stiff from the day’s ride patrolling the vast acreage, but he ignored it, running after them.

Angry shouts filled the hall. Augustin paused on the threshold and heard his own name used as if it were a curse.

“What goes on here?” he bellowed.

The sound of his voice cut through the mayhem, and for a heartbeat all eyes turned toward him. He sized up the situation quickly. A group of servants huddled near the buttery wringing their hands, and a handful of Garrick’s men looked as if they were restraining the warrior from leaving the room. Something had angered Garrick, and it involved his mother.

Shaking free of the men that held him, Garrick lunged across the room shouting, “Norman dog.”

“Garrick.”

Augustin turned his head, unbelievably the hard tone in Dunstan’s voice stopped Garrick dead in his tracks.

“Have you seen her?” Garrick’s voice broke.

Dunstan nodded, a bleak look filling his gaze.

“And yet you bid me stop?”

Augustin had had enough. “What goes on here?” he demanded striding toward where Garrick had stopped.

“Have you seen your friend de Jeaneaux?” Garrick’s clear-blue eyes iced over.

“He was headed toward the bathing chamber, why?” Augustin did not understand what Phillipe would have to do with Garrick’s obvious anger.

“Do you dare pretend not to know what he did?” Garrick placed both hands on Augustin’s chest and shoved hard, forcing him back a step.

Augustin could feel his own temper begin to flare. He would relinquish his claim to Merewood before he let an insolent young warrior treat him thusly in front of his people. He gave as good as he got, pushing Garrick back. Before the young man could fire another accusation at him, Augustin spoke, “How could I know what he did, when I was on patrol with you?”

“By God, ’tis your responsibility to protect my mother!” Garrick shouted and leapt for Augustin’s throat with outstretched hands.

The verbal blow to Augustin’s honor and his pride stung, but he was no longer a young hot-blooded warrior who could be taunted into fighting. Augustin side-stepped Garrick’s maneuver and looked over at Patrick, “What happened?”

Patrick glared at him and turned his head away. At that moment, Jacques limped into the hall and walked toward him. “’Tis my fault,” he said, anguish filling his gaze.

“Just tell me what happened. Where is my wife?”

Jacques nodded and relayed the events. Anger flickered, though he did not interrupt until each and every detail was repeated. The flicker caught fire and his rage burned. He could picture his wife alone in the bathing chamber, not even suspecting that anyone would harm her in her own home—or that her husband’s guard would not heed her cries for help. Mon Dieu! It was his fault.

He turned to Garrick; “I have failed in my sworn duty to protect that which is mine.” Thus said, he turned to face Garrick’s men, “I cannot undo what has been done, but I can promise you that from this day forward, no woman… noble or servant… Norman or Saxon, shall have to fear such treatment while living under my protection.”

Augustin turned and strode from the room, his booted steps ringing on the planks of wood in the echoing silence. He could not understand why the men he left to guard his wife had not done their duty. At the top step Henri’s earlier words filled him with dread, I protected your wife until the day she died. Eyreka was not truly his wife. How could he expect his guard to protect her as she deserved when he treated her as little more than a highly regarded stranger.

As his steps led him closer to the solar, the self-revulsion he felt began to burn a hole in his stomach. His readiness to accept Lady Eyreka’s terms, and put off their joining, had let him feel that he had some modicum of control over their situation. He had been a fool to believe it so.

The look of hatred the warrior guarding the door turned on him was palpable. He dismissed the man with a look and turned toward Aimory. The anguish in the warrior’s gaze made his heart stop in his breast. But was it guilt, or fear, that worried the young knight? He would see for himself.

His hand was firm as he pushed open the door to the solar. As he approached the bed where his wife lay, his breath caught in his throat.

“She’s sleeping,” he heard a soft voice say.

Augustin closed his eyes and drew in a fortifying breath. Mon Dieu —no one deserved such treatment. When he opened them again, he noticed Garrick’s young wife, Jillian, standing before him. Her gaze was filled with understanding. He had not realized until that very moment how much he actually cared for the battered woman lying before him.

“Is she in much pain?” he rasped.

Jillian shook her head, “I gave her a strong sleeping draught.” She paused to brush a strand of silver white hair from Eyreka’s brow. “She was cruelly beaten, but Reka is strong. With sleep, she will heal.”

Augustin stood next to the bed, anger surging through him. He would hear from de Jeaneaux’s own lips why the man he used to call friend dared to strike Eyreka. Her jaw was bruised on one side and her lips swollen. The woolen bed covering had slipped down to her waist, and the low neckline of her sleeping gown left nothing to his imagination. The details that he had stood still listening to were brought to life in the purple marks left behind marring her milk-white skin.

His anguish quickly turned to rage at the sight. De Jeaneaux would pay for defiling his wife this way. He clenched and unclenched his fists while his breathing turned ragged. The fact that he had failed to protect his wife from one of his own countrymen left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Lady Jillian’s touch on his forearm nearly shattered his control. He blinked away the moisture and ground out, “He shall pay for this.”

“He already has,” Jillian answered.

“Then he shall pay again.” Augustin spun about on his heel and strode for the door.

*

Garrick and Dunstan stood shoulder to shoulder, flanked by their Irish mercenary guards. Augustin was not uneasy; in fact, their anger soothed him. They shared a common goal at last. Justice would be served, he thought looking at the despicable Norman who stood before them. The man’s torn lip, bloody nose, and blackened eyes reminded him of what had occurred. His gut twisted; how could Phillipe betray him like this? Merde , Eyreka was his wife. A murmured phrase whispered through his tortured mind, “She’s not truly your wife, Monique was.”

God’s eyes, what if Phillipe overheard his men talking about his relationship, or lack of one, with his wife? The thought was sobering.

“Why did you attack my wife?” he demanded. “Why did you betray my trust?” Augustin asked. “I counted you a friend.”

Phillipe tried to sneer, but the motion opened the scab forming at the corner of his mouth. He grunted instead. “I know you. You would never accept a Saxon woman as wife.”

Augustin’s gut continued to roil and burn. He started to reign in his temper, but saw no reason to. The man before him did not deserve his consideration, or his time. He deserved to be beaten.

Augustin’s fist connected with Phillipe’s jaw, and the warrior dropped like a stone. Garrick grunted and Dunstan smiled.

“What will you do with him?” Garrick asked.

“Tie him up and take him to the empty shed by the back of the stable, until I have decided on a suitable punishment.” He paused then added, “Post three guards outside.”

Dunstan laid a hand on his brother’s arm as Garrick stepped forward, inches away from Henri and Jean.

“What about these two?” Garrick bit out. “Will you have them flogged?”

“Aye,” Augustin answered, his stomach icing over. A woman had come between him and his men; if he let the feelings fester, he could learn to hate her for it. But that woman was his wife, and as such deserved his protection and regard, not his disdain.

“Bring them to the lower bailey in an hour,” he ordered, stalking away. He had to speak to Eyreka.

*

“Nay husband,” Eyreka begged, sitting up straighter in bed. “You cannot! Henri is one of your oldest friends and Jean is so young—”

“Henri made a vow to protect you,” he bit out, “and Jean will be thirty summers.”

Eyreka wrung her hands in agitation. Her jaw throbbed and her hands ached, but she had to make her hardheaded husband understand the ramifications. “They have made an error in judgment.”

“A grievous one,” he interrupted.

“To have them publicly whipped would satisfy your own need for justice, but what of my needs?”

Augustin turned toward her and took a step closer. His gaze swept from her face to her collarbone. She knew he could see each and every bruise, but she did not try to cover herself. She needed to make him understand.

“Your men would grow to hate me, blame me for their humiliation.”

“They should have acted on your behalf and stopped Phillipe.”

“Why would they?” she asked quietly, “’Tis obvious they think you have little regard or feelings for me.”

Augustin reached out a hand toward her, fisted it, and let it drop back to his side.

“You cannot help the way you feel, Augustin,” she said softly. “You did not ask to have a wife thrust upon you.”

His pained expression changed to one of distrust. Still he said nothing.

“I know you do not trust me, though I have tried to give you reason to. But I think you must first hear my reasons for wanting to wed.”

Eyreka’s throat tightened, and she could feel tears burning behind her eyes. “I overheard my sons discussing the king’s missive and knew you were to become the new Lord of Merewood.” She cleared her throat and swiped at a tear. “I thought if you agreed to marry me, my sons would not have to leave our home. Our people would not have to suffer while they learned to live under Norman rule.”

Augustin raked a hand through his hair and started pacing again. “You knew.”

“How else could I have come up with a solution that would benefit all?” she asked, totally exasperated with the obtuse man pacing before her.

“Best for me and my men?” he growled.

“Aye, what do you know of our crops or our livestock?” she asked. “Did you know that when given the choice, the king seeks our mead above all others?” He started to speak, but she ignored him. “Garrick knows the lay of the land and how best to defend our holding, and Dunstan knows when the ground is ready for a change in the grain planted. Do you?” she asked pointedly.

He stared at her—speechless. Good, she thought, maybe he would begin to understand that her decision had little to do with them and all to do with those that depended upon them.

“We will speak of this again,” he said, walking toward the door.

She threw back the linen cover and ran toward him. At her touch, he stopped, “Will you reconsider Henri and Jean’s punishment?” She could not hold back the tears.

“You truly care.” He seemed stunned by the realization.

“Aye, for the good of all concerned. Your men and our people.”

Augustin inclined his head and rasped, “They shall be confined in solitary, with the barest of sustenance for two days.”

Eyreka didn’t smile; she was already planning how to sneak food in to the two warriors.