Chapter Four

R anulf did not remove his helmet until he had entered the Great Hall and saw that it was filled with only women and children. It still made him uneasy, however, a place so big, with so few men. He could not help thinking there must be an army of soldiers yet hidden away, waiting to decide if he were friend or foe ere they showed themselves.

From what he had seen thus far, there were more servants than soldiers here, which likely explained the pitiful display of defense he had witnessed on arrival. The castle had nearly been taken, and by a ridiculously small number of men, without even a knight among them. But even so, those outer walls alone should have taken weeks to be breached, if it were possible, and that only with every available siege engine brought into use. Whoever was in charge of the defense either was an imbecile or had been slyly losing the battle apurpose.

“If…if you will wait here, my lord, the lady—Lady Reina—will soon make you welcome.”

Ranulf eyed the young man, who appeared no older than Kenric. Aubert Malfed, he claimed to be, squire to Sir William Folville, whoever that was. Malfed had met Ranulf and his men inside the inner bailey and had led them straightaway into the keep itself without asking so much as a single question. Ranulf was used to intimidating men, but this was ridiculous, and he itched to take the boy to task for his foolishness in literally turning the keep over to them. But then that would be defeating his own purpose.

He had intended to ask for Roger de Champeney, Lord of Clydon, as if he were unaware that the man was dead. His business could have been anything to do with the lord, and would have kept his true reason for his presence here from being suspected by the lady. But that was if he had come in alone, with only a few men as retinue, as he had planned to do.

Arriving to find Clydon under attack changed things considerably. Having to bring in his own troop of thirty men-at-arms, as well as Rothwell’s fifty, made his presence threatening, and if he was not to alarm the lady into hiding, he needed a new reason for being there.

At the moment, he was being made to feel most welcome, after sending the besiegers on their way. But to say he was just passing by and, as a lark, decided to come to Clydon’s defense was not likely to be believed. Knights did not travel with so many men without a military purpose, and so being, they did not stop to join a war they just happened across.

The squire was too nervous by half, rambling on about some neighbor named de Rochefort being in league with some outlaws nesting in Clydon’s woods, supposedly the besiegers. What he was doing was stalling, it seemed, talking nonstop so that no questions could be asked. The lady of the castle should have been there in the hall to greet them, and Ranulf had to wonder why she was not, or had not come by now. Was she at that moment being spirited away, out of his reach?

Ranulf at last held up a hand to silence the squire. “Where is your lady, sirrah? I would know that she is safe.”

“Ah—she is safe. The last I saw…ah…where she is now, I am not sure.” That was no answer to relieve Ranulf’s mind, and his resultant frown half terrified poor Aubert, so that he added quickly, “I will find her,” and practically ran from the hall.

“What do you make of that, Ranulf?” Walter asked thoughtfully beside him as they watched the young squire disappear up some stairs in a corner turret. “Think you the lady’s chambers are up there?”

“This keep is so big, there is no telling what is up there, so keep your eye on that stairwell.” His own eyes moved to scan the hall, passing over the women briefly, marking one beauty in particular for later consideration, before turning to the others with him. “Eric, go and—Eric!” The lad had to be jabbed in the ribs before he tore his eyes off the same stunning blonde Ranulf had noted. “This is no time to be ogling the wenches,” Ranulf growled low.

“Aye, but God’s wounds! Did you ever see such a—” Eric grunted to a stop when Searle jabbed him from the other side, and he finally noted Ranulf’s darkening scowl. “Ah, yes, sir?”

“Go and set a man at each gate. I want no women leaving the castle, not a single one.” As Eric left, Ranulf turned to Kenric. “Go and ask the servants where the lady is,” but when Kenric headed straight for the blond beauty, Ranulf called him back. “Give me an excuse to cut it off and I will. We attend to business before pleasure.”

Kenric blanched, his hand going protectively to cover his groin, but he nodded before starting off again. Walter and Searle laughed to see him steer a wide circle around the blond wench this time.

“Come, Ranulf, if we must wait, let us at least sit down,” Walter suggested, pushing one of the stools in front of the hearth at Ranulf before seating himself on another. “Lanzo, see if you can locate the steward or someone who can fetch us some ale. I could use a drink after our little sport, but as usual, everyone is too afeard of our leader here to approach us with refreshment.” Walter grinned at the sour look Ranulf turned on him. “You know ’tis true, brother. The women might crawl all over you once they know you are not as dangerous as you look, but not before then.”

“You are mad, Walter, to tease him now,” Searle said in a whisper, though Ranulf did sit down.

“Not so,” Walter replied just as quietly. “If I do not, he is like to lose his patience waiting on the lady, and woe betide her if that happens.”

“It has already happened by the look of him.”

“Nay, not yet.” Walter grinned. “But she had better appear right quickly.”

Unfortunately, Kenric returned to say no one had seen Reina de Champeney since dawn, and Ranulf did explode then. “Christ’s toes! She flew before the attack began. She has escaped!”

“Nay, Ranulf, be easy. ’Tis as like she wisely hid herself and no one has yet told her ’tis safe to come out.”

“Aye,” Searle added. “’Tis her ladies would know where she is and should have been asked. I will find one and…thank the Blessed Mother! Here is the lady now, Ranulf.”

Ranulf turned around to see Aubert Malfed return ing, following behind a young girl who was indeed a lady, garbed richly in blue samite, with copper-colored hair neatly tucked beneath a sheer while veil. She was much younger than he had somehow imagined she would be, no more than twelve or thirteen, he would guess; but as that was the age at which most heiresses were married off, he could not feel any but the slightest aversion to be taking her for Rothwell, and that only because she was so young, and lovely as well.

It was too common a happening, the old lords taking children to wife, and he had already grappled with his conscience about taking any wife to someone like Rothwell, deciding a man in his position could not afford to involve himself with the right or wrong of it. If he did not take her to the old man, someone else would, so why should he give up five hundred marks simply because Rothwell personally disgusted him? If he had been dragging his feet over the whole affair, ’twas only because of his own reluctance to actually have to deal with a “lady.” Personal experience had taught him well that they were not what they seemed to be.

This one, for all her look of sweet innocence and nervousness, too, as she approached him, could be as vicious and cruel as any other he had known; reminded of that, Ranulf gritted his teeth now that he must actually speak with her. ’Twas sheer perversity that he did not rise for the sake of chivalry, or even because her rank was so far above him. Ladies had long been calling him brute and churl because he did not hide his contempt for them. But because he must deal with this one, he schooled his features to a blandness that did not reveal what he really felt.

She, in fact, curtsied before him. Well, why not? He was accustomed to being called lord by servants or anyone who did not know he was no more than a landless knight undeserving of that title.

“I bid you welcome to Clydon,” she said as she rose, her voice soft if a bit hesitant in her nervousness. “Do forgive us for not greeting you sooner, but we all thought our lady would have met you in—”

“Your lady? You are not Reina de Champeney?”

“Oh, nay, my lord. I am Elaine Fitz Osbern of Forthwick. ’Tis my honor to be fostered here at Clydon with my father’s overlady.”

“Now, Ranulf…” Walter began as he saw his friend’s expression darken dangerously, but he was too late.

“By Christ’s holy blood!” Ranulf bellowed. “I will know why the lady will not receive me, and I will know it now! You, Malfed, were sent—”

“My lord, please!” Aubert cried, fearfully backing away even as Elaine Fitz Osbern was doing. “My lady was not where I thought she would be, but she means to make you welcome, I swear!”

“Five minutes, sirrah, or by God—”

He did not have to finish. Aubert turned about and ran away again, this time toward the bailey. Ranulf then fixed his eyes back on Lady Elaine, who began to stutter.

“May—may I—offer—” With a tiny gasp, she gave up and fled, too.

“Well, there goes our refreshment, thank you very much,” Walter grumbled. “And that thunder of yours has frightened away everyone else as well. I suppose I could try to find the buttery myself, but God’s wounds, it might take days to locate it in a place this size.”

Ranulf’s reply was curt and to the point. “Searle, stuff something in his mouth if he says another word.”