"You gilled freak." Alisoun didn't even know who she insulted. Then she did. "You worthless traitor." She'd always known Osbern to be the lowest form of sc.u.m, but David...David she had believed in. David she had thought to be truly a legend, and now he sent a woman to her death to hold his land and her wealth.

"I'm doing the right thing," David said. "Probably for the first time in my life."

"Let me go." Alisoun jerked at his grip. "Let me go!" Freeing herself, she ran around the table and knelt at Philippa's feet. "I promised to keep you safe...I promised, and I failed."

Lady Edlyn released a stifled sob, and as if that signaled the end of restraint, the other maids began to sniffle.

"Nay." Philippa touched the top of Alisoun's head. "Never think so. You are my dearest friend."

One by one the women in the hall broke down, and Osbern snorted in disgust and called his men. "Come on, we're going while there's still daylight to get away from here. Philippa, we're leaving now."

He dragged her toward the outer door while Philippa called back, "You didn't break your promise. Always remember your promise."

And Alisoun's eyes, shut tightly against the tears, popped open. The babe. She'd promised to keep the babe from harm, too, and Philippa was now leaving-without Hazel. Osbern must have forgotten about her in his triumph.

But David didn't remember the babe, either. He just couldn't bear the sobbing. He couldn't believe the phalanx of female eyes that glared at him so disdainfully. Even his dear friend Guy of the Archers, the comrade who knew David's trials, stared at David with a most peculiar distaste.

Mostly, he couldn't sit there and look at Alisoun, a dazed and battered expression on her face, kneeling on the floor before the place where her friend had stood.

"And I sure as h.e.l.l don't trust that b.a.s.t.a.r.d to leave without trouble," he muttered to himself as he jumped to his feet and followed Osbern, his men, and his wife out the door.

The afternoon sun had burned its way through the clouds and David squinted at the tangle of men around his stable. Roger swayed in the saddle, the lump on his head closing one eye, while the rest of them mocked him. The growl of their voices reached David clearly, as did Osbern's command. "Just do as I tell you and ride. I have what I came for."

He mounted his charger and pulled Philippa up before him, settling her without cruelty. Indeed, he played the role of loving husband well, for Philippa smiled tremulously when he circled her waist with his arm.

David found relief in the display. After all, Alisoun could be wrong. Mayhap Osbern had been a little rough with Philippa and the woman had run crying to Alisoun. Mayhap Philippa was like David's first wife, given to exaggeration, and Alisoun had taken a whisper of pain and turned it into a shout. His first wife had been like that. So all women must be like that.

Osbern's voice rang out over the jangle of tack and his men's shouting. "Philippa? Where's the babe?"

The babe. David staggered back against the wall. Where was Philippa's babe?

The sounds of their leave-taking died, and everyone stared at Osbern and Philippa.

"She died, Osbern." Philippa's eyes glistened with tears, but her voice sounded strong and true. "I was weaning her and she got the fever and...she died."

"A real fever this time?" Osbern caught sight of David and prodded his stallion to a brief gallop, then jerked him to an abrupt halt in front of the stairs. "My long-lost wife says our child has died. Tell me, Sir David, is this true?"

Sunshine seemed to dim as David stared at Osbern, so smug and triumphant, and at his wife, pleading and contrite. Firmly, without a hint of indecision, he lied. "Your daughter died but two weeks ago. We all mourn her death."

Nothing about Philippa changed, but David felt her grat.i.tude like a reproach.

"'Tis a shame, indeed." Osbern's eyes gleamed. "But that babe was young and only a girl child. We can always make another child."

Philippa winced.

Shaking her shoulder, Osbern asked, "Can't we, Philippa?"

Obediently, she replied. "Indeed, my lord, we can."

"You did what was right, Sir David, never doubt it." Osbern lifted his hand in farewell, and at that moment, David saw it.

A gold ring, a long oval, with the crest of Osbern's family etched into the metal.

A ram. The duke of Framlingford's crest, David knew, was a ram.

He stared at that ring. The bright yellow burned into his brain.

Osbern rode away. His men followed him. The bailey quieted once more.

And still David saw that ring.

Fingering the latch, he opened the door and stumbled inside the keep. The pa.s.sage to the great hall seemed darker than usual. The noises the servants made clearing away dinner seemed far away and alien.

That ring. That d.a.m.ned ring.

Not even Osbern could have done that to a baby. To an infant. Hazel had not been even a month old when Philippa had fled from Osbern. But Philippa, that adoring mother, had abandoned her child to go with her husband. What other reason could she have than to protect her babe?

The stones rasped his fingers as he groped along the wall. Agony rasped his mind as he groped toward the truth.

Had Osbern taken his signet ring, heated it, and branded the babe on the tender skin of Hazel's rump? Would he be so perverted, so twisted, so cruel?

The opening to the great hall yawned before David. He wanted to be with Alisoun. He needed to comfort her, to wipe that lost expression from her face. He needed to talk to her, to discover the truth and deal with it as he could. He needed guidance, and Alisoun would be the one to give it to him.

But first one manservant hurried past him holding a pile of unwashed dishes, and he spoke not a word to his master. Then a maid hurried past him holding a wad of dirty clothing, and another holding a pile of soiled linen. He might not have been there, for all the interest he generated.

Mayhap he longed to be elsewhere so fervently he had made himself disappear. Absently, he touched his face. He was here, though. Wishing hadn't changed that.

As soon as he stepped into the great hall, he realized the busy servants formed only the edge of a whirlwind. In here, activity spun in ever-widening circles. At the center of the whirlwind stood Alisoun, trunks gaping open all around her.

Did she feel bruised and tattered by the pain of losing Philippa? If so, she showed no evidence of it now. The Alisoun he'd first met had returned: controlled, determined, in charge. As he listened, he heard her direct her maids to pack her trunks for travel, and slowly he digested the fact that she planned to depart.

Depart. Striding forward, he loudly demanded, "Where do you think you are going?"

For one brief moment, the movement in the great hall faltered. Then once again it commenced, more quickly, more emphatically, and everyone, it seemed, pointedly ignored his presence.

Everyone except Alisoun.

"I'm leaving," she said.

"Leaving."

"I hired you to keep me and my people safe, and this you failed to do. I have no use for you now."

The maid who hauled her night soil got more respect than she gave him. Worse, he feared he deserved her contempt, and the faint curl of inner shame translated itself into ire. "You forget, madam, that you are my wife."

She stood without moving, her hands curled loosely at her sides. "Try as hard as I can, I can't forget that."

She made him so angry! All calm disdain while he seethed with questions and dread. In as nasty a tone as he could forge, he asked, "What if I don't let you go?"

"But you're so good at letting people go." She spoke without expression, but somehow she made her opinion of him clear. "Look how well you did with Philippa."

He strode forward, furious at the implied accusation of cowardice. "What would you have me do? Let Osbern destroy my family to protect her?"

"Your family?" Alisoun laughed lightly. "What about your lands, the wealth which I brought you? Shouldn't you mention your anxiety for them?"

"I worked hard for what I have." Dismayed by his own defensiveness, he tried to explain. "I have the right to want to protect it."

That destroyed her equanimity. Fists clenched, eyes sparking, Alisoun said, "Aye, and be d.a.m.ned to the life destroyed when you do."

His fury rose to meet hers. "Who are you to so criticize me? A stiff, humorless, former spinster without a drop of love in your veins to sweeten your disposition."

Her momentary spark faded. "None at all," she agreed.

Her restraint only made him madder, and he lashed out. "I only married you because I felt sorry for you."

"And for the money," she reminded him. "Let's not forget the money."

"d.a.m.n the money." He meant it, too. "And d.a.m.n you!" That he didn't mean, but the words had been spoken and he couldn't call them back.

The slight tremble of her lips, the downward tilt of her brows-aye, on her face for those with eyes to see was evidence of her anguish. "I have broken a vow I made before G.o.d-to protect Philippa. So I am d.a.m.ned, if that gives you pleasure."

"You made a vow before G.o.d to obey me, too." He expected her to defend herself, but Alisoun surprised him.

She declared her independence. "What is one more broken vow?"

"You hold our wedding vows invalid?"

"I hold them as unimportant." Lady Edlyn came out of the solar, holding Hazel, and Alisoun held out her arms for her. "I suppose we should be grateful you didn't remember the babe, or Osbern would have another helpless soul to torment."

"Nay!" But no one had heard him lie to save Hazel, and who among these accusers would believe him if he told them?

Alisoun still handled Hazel as if she were some foreign creature, but David thought Alisoun needed that child's comfort right now more than the child needed Alisoun's.

"I'll send you an allowance every month," Alisoun said. "George's Cross will remain my primary residence, and when I've settled there you might think about sending Bertrade to me."

His gaze shifted to his daughter. She sat on her stool, shoulders hunched, knees drawn up, with Alisoun's kitten in her lap. The gown she'd worn so proudly had twisted sideways until it wrinkled in a tight circle. Guy stood behind her, leaning against the wall, his gaze fixed on the child.

"I offered to take her now, but she doesn't want to go. She still has an affection for you, of course."

"Generous of you," he muttered.

Alisoun dismissed him without a glance and went to Bert. Kneeling beside his daughter, Alisoun spoke softly, petting the cat in Bert's lap until the creature stretched luxuriously. Smiling with tremulous interest, Bert replied, then with a quick glance at him, her smile faded.

Rising, Alisoun commanded, "Do send her when you can. She deserves a proper upbringing."

He wanted to argue that she, with her inexperience, couldn't raise his child properly, but the servants distracted him as they snapped locks on the trunks and bound them with leather straps. This was moving too fast. "You can't have packed already."

"You needed almost everything I brought to Radcliffe, so I'm leaving it here. What I have at George's Cross will suffice me until I can send to market once more."

Ivo and Gunnewate each hoisted a trunk onto their shoulders and strode past him, paying him less attention than they would a c.o.c.kroach.

Desperate to halt this relentless procession, David said, "You need protection on the road and these two have already proved themselves unworthy."

"My men are sufficient for the normal hazards of thief and brigand." Alisoun allowed Lady Edlyn to help her with her cloak. "No one stalks me now." With an unladylike snort, she said, "I suppose you could say you have done what you were hired to do. You removed the threat from my life." She walked past him to the door, her maids trailing after her. There she half-turned. "Good-bye, Sir David. I wish you health, life and happiness in the future."

"Wait!" He hurried toward her and found his way blocked by a gauntlet of irritated maids. Craning his neck, he called, "What about our child?"

"I will send you word when it is born, and if you wish you may come and visit. Beyond that you have no rights."

23.

I hated to stay, but what was I to do? That little girl's world had collapsed on her, and she didn't really understand why. It wasn't as if I liked Bert. A stupid, scrawny thing, all scabby knees and big eyes, but she knew her sire had done something dreadfully wrong.

So when Sir David stumbled into the great hall after Lady Alisoun left, only three people remained to face him. Guy of the Archers, Bert, and me. Without waiting for anyone to speak, Sir David demanded, "What did you want me to do? Let Osbern murder Bert and destroy us all?"

"I didn't say a word," Guy answered, but he didn't have to. He made his opinion clear when he moved away from Sir David's reaching hand.

Sir David hesitated, then his hand dropped. "I didn't have a choice."

"If you don't mind," Guy said, "I have duties in the south tower with the men. The sewage pond is directly below, but even so the stench seems less intense there." He walked out of the great hall and we knew when he stepped outside, because he slammed the door so hard the very stones shook.

"Well, d.a.m.n him, too." Sir David dropped into his chair and looked around. "Bert! At least you didn't want to go with her, did you?"

"Nay." But Bert didn't sound any too certain, and she leaned over the cat in her lap.

Sir David observed the way she petted the animal, and he snorted. "She even left behind the kitten I gave her."

"I asked for it." Bert scratched the kitten under the chin. "It reminds me of my new mama, because it'll scratch if you try to hurt it but it's all soft and clean and cuddly if you're nice."

Looking wretched, Sir David stared at his daughter.

"Daddy?"

Bert whispered, but Sir David heard her. "What, sweetling?"

"Weren't you nice to my new mama?"

"I was just sensible. I thought she liked sensible men, but I hazard I was wrong." His hands curled and uncurled. "What did she say to you?"

"When?"