Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The hissing increased as I felt a shock of cold on my skin, and I opened my eyes. The lower half of my gown was dripping wet, the fire almost out, wisps of steam ascending from the wood at my feet. I cast my gaze over the crowd who had fallen silent.
Then a deep, stentorian voice echoed around the courtyard.
“Stop this! Douse the fire again. Quickly!”
The king had risen to his feet. A party of about ten men on horseback wearing identical livery stood in the yard.
The man who had spoken sat astride an enormous black destrier.
Two men in the same livery stood beside me, holding empty buckets.
A third ran toward the platform with a bucket full of water which he poured onto the wood at my feet, extinguishing what remained of the fire.
“Release her.”
The executioner untied my wrists then offered his hand. I took it and climbed off the pyre. Pain scraped along my legs and I let out a groan. The lower half of my skirts had burned away, revealing my feet, which were charred and blistered.
The king rose, then addressed the man atop the stallion.
“What is the meaning of this, de Beauvane?”
So, that was de Beauvane. I cast my gaze over him. About two score years with dark hair graying at the temples, he had an imposing face, a strong brow, straight nose and a large, square jaw. He met my gaze and his expression hardened.
“This woman is innocent.”
The king’s mouth curved into a scowl. “What are you about, de Beauvane?” he said. “To interrupt the execution of a traitor is a punishable offence. Explain yourself.”
“I can vouch for her personally, my liege,” de Beauvane replied. “She is not a traitor.”
“Then what is she?”
“My mistress.”
I caught my breath and the executioner tightened his grip on my wrist.
The king gestured toward me. “Is that true, woman?”
I shook my head but de Beauvane continued.
“Take no heed of her,” he said. “Whatever she may tell you, she is my mistress. Only her modesty prevents her from admitting it before her king.”
The king let out a sharp huff. “My patience wears thin, woman. Are you Sir Roger’s mistress?”
“Aye she is,” de Beauvane interrupted. “She has borne me a son.”
“I have not…” I stuttered but de Beauvane continued, his eyes staring right at me.
“His name is Geoffrey Valentine.”
I caught my breath.
Geoffrey…
De Beauvane dismounted and strode toward me.
“Tell him,” he said, a hard edge to his voice. “Tell him who you are.”
I nodded. “I-I am as he says.”
De Beauvane curled his gloved hand around my bandaged arm.
“Why did you say nothing of this during your trial?” the king demanded. “I fail to see why I should still not have you executed for treachery.”
“If I may speak,” de Beauvane said. “Permit me to assume responsibility for this woman. She has given me no occasion to doubt her loyalty to me—or to you. She has always supported your mother’s claim to the throne. I took her under my protection when Lord Mortlock was killed.”
“Then why was she not under your protection?” the king said.
De Beauvane cast his gaze over me, lowering it to my blistered feet, then slowly lifting it to my face. My stomach fluttered with apprehension at the intensity in his eyes.
“My liege, she was foolish enough to venture out unaccompanied and de Tourrard took her. Naturally, I shall punish her for such disobedience. You may doubt her loyalty, but do not doubt mine. Be assured I will treat her harshly and deliver her unto you if she gives me the slightest cause to doubt her loyalty.”
“You speak fine words, de Beauvane,” Henry said. “But I would hear an explanation from the woman’s lips if she is to receive my mercy.”
De Beauvane’s grip on my arm tightened.
“Speak, if you wish to live,” the king added.
“F-forgive me, sire,” I said, my voice hoarse from the smoke in my lungs. “I had no wish to bring disgrace on my…” I hesitated, glancing at the tall man beside me, “…my lover.”
“Mayhap I will release you,” Henry said, a casual tone to his voice, “though I am minded to continue, to ensure England is purged of traitors.”
De Beauvane wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. “I would beg you to be merciful, my liege,” he said, “and generous. Grant your loyal servant this one wish.”
He dipped his head as if to brush a kiss on my neck and whispered harshly in my ear.
“Madam, you must play the part of the loving mistress lest Henry change his mind. With the throne he inherited a legacy of treachery. He is not known for a forgiving nature, or a gentle disposition. Do as I say or you’ll never leave this place alive.”
“But…” I began, but he tightened his grip once more and I groaned as pain seared through my bones.
“Your arm hurts does it not?”
I shivered at the coldness in his voice, which carried a note of pure steel. No wonder Papa and de Tourrard had been afraid of him.
“Obey me,” he said, “or I shall abandon you to your fate here. I pray to God you are worth the risk I take today. I dislike the notion of wagering the lives of good men to save that of a treacherous whore.”
“I am no…” I began indignantly, but he silenced me with an angry word.
“Desist!”
The king let out a chuckle. “Having trouble disciplining your mistress, Sir Roger?”
The man who believed himself my savior, but who I only saw as my new tormentor, replied with equal amusement.
“Of course not.”
“But,” the king continued, “she must have some appeal for you if you’re willing to defy me to claim her. If she’s worth your trouble, perhaps I might keep her for myself. Would you give her to me?”
“If my lord wishes.”
The two men exchanged more words, their discussion growing more cordial until de Beauvane let out a shout of laughter. I hated them for bartering over me as if I were a vat of wine to be consumed casually as they saw fit. But, eventually, the king relented.
“Very well,” he sighed, “she’s not particularly pleasing on the eye, so you may keep her. Take her away.”
“Put your arms around my neck,” de Beauvane ordered. He lifted me into his arms as effortlessly as if I were a babe, and carried me to his horse. Then he handed me to one of his men while he mounted. At his nod, I was lifted like a sack of grain onto the saddle in front of him.
“To me!” he cried to his men, then he bowed to the king, and rode out of the courtyard.
Yet another man had claimed me as his property for a reason I did not know.
After riding several miles, de Beauvane ordered the party to stop. He motioned to one of his men who drew his horse alongside us. De Beauvane handed me over to him. The man’s horse was smaller than de Beauvane’s, and he took my arms to prevent me from falling.
“Have a care of her arm, Oliver,” de Beauvane said. “’Tis broken.”
“Aye my lord.”
Oliver smiled, and I recognized him.
“Father!”
“I’m afraid not, my lady,” he said. “Forgive my deception.”
We resumed our journey, de Beauvane leading the party.
“Who is de Beauvane?” I asked.
“He’s one of King Henry’s most trusted warlords,” Oliver replied, pride in his voice.
“You admire him.”
“How could I not? He is renowned for his loyalty, having never changed his allegiance, even though it risked death. He fought for Matilda under Stephen’s reign.
Since Henry came to the throne, de Beauvane has thwarted several plots against him, infiltrating traitors with his network of spies.
He’s a great warrior and a brilliant strategist.”
“Did he know of de Tourrard’s plot to place Stephen’s son on the throne?”
“He suspected it,” Oliver said. “He never trusted de Tourrard’s betrayal of Lord Mortlock, believing it a ploy to divert the king’s attention.
And he was proven right. He masterminded the siege at Shoreton.
Henry’s enemies will be reluctant to conspire against him now.
De Beauvane’s reputation for destroying traitors is unmatched. ”
“If he’s a destroyer of traitors what does he want with me?”
“He…” Oliver began, but de Beauvane cut him short.
“Woman, you will hear nothing until we reach our destination,” he said. “Do as you are bid and be silent.”
“Why?” I replied. “I know nothing of you. You may have deferred my execution, but how can I be assured that life in your custody will be any better?”
“I would ask you to trust me.” The anger in his voice had lessened but still he spoke gruffly.
“How can I trust anyone?” I said. “I’m a condemned traitor—a woman with no power over my fate. You would have my gratitude if you could spare a few words to assure me that I’m safer in your hands than I was in de Tourrard’s.”
His expression softened, and he reached out a gloved hand to my face where de Tourrard had broken my nose, his eyes narrowing as I flinched.
“Wise words,” he said. “I assure you that I am nothing like de Tourrard, but I can understand your mistrust. Perhaps the name Tarvin de Fowensal would make a difference?”
“Tarvin?”
He nodded. “Aye. Tarvin. But speak no more of it. I shall explain all, once we arrive at my home. I am anxious to reach there lest the king change his mind. Until then I would ask you to do as you are bid and only speak when spoken to.”
“Am I to be your mistress—as you told the king?”
He tilted his head to one side. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. In due course I shall decide what is to be done with you.”
For the remainder of the journey, I did as de Beauvane asked and remained silent. The men largely ignored me with the exception of de Beauvane himself, who occasionally inquired after my health, and Oliver, who he had assigned to me.
Each time we made camp for the night, the young knight took care of me, tightening the bandage on my arm after it had worked loose during the ride.
The first night we stopped, he bound my feet, which were becoming increasingly painful from the burns, and assured me that we’d arrive at Beauvane Castle soon, where I would be tended to properly.