LITMIR.BIZ

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Some other brothers are already digging the graves in our cemetery.”

      “Oh.” So de Balleroy was as good as his word, Gisele thought, warmed by the idea that he had been up and about and fulfilling his promise while she had still been deep in slumber.

      The party returned at midday. Gisele, waiting just inside the gate, saw a grim-faced de Balleroy riding behind the mule-drawn cart with its ghastly load.

      “Make ready to leave, Lady Gisele,” he said as he dismounted.

      “But may we not remain until they are buried? Fleurette—” she began, her voice breaking as she saw the monks begin to unload the sheet-wrapped, stiffened forms. She could not even tell which one was her beloved nurse.

      “Is at peace already, my lady, and if we stay for the burial we will have to spend another night here. We will have to pass one more night on the road as ’tis, and I think it best to get you to the empress as soon as I can. Do not fear, the Benedictines will see all done properly.”

      She could see the prudence of that, of course, but nevertheless, her heart ached as she rode away from the priory within the hour, once more riding pillion behind de Balleroy.

      The next day, as the distant spires of London came into view ahead of them, de Balleroy turned west.

      “We do not go directly to London?” Gisele questioned.

      “Nay. The empress resides at Westminster, a few miles up the Thames, my lady,” de Balleroy told her. “But you’ll see the city soon and often enough. Now that Matilda has finally been admitted to London, and will soon be crowned, she likes to remind the citizens of her presence.”

      Gisele nodded her understanding and reined her palfrey to the left, where the road led over marshy, sparsely settled ground. Though her ankle was still slightly swollen and painful, she had insisted she would sit her own horse this morning, not wanting to arrive at the empress’s residence riding pillion behind the baron as if she had no more dignity than a dairymaid. It was bad enough that outlaws possessed every stitch of clothing she owned, except for what she had on her back. Seeing her in the enforced intimacy of this position, however, someone might take them for lovers. Having her good name ruined would not be a good way for Gisele to begin her new life!

      Perhaps de Balleroy had guessed her thoughts this morning. Instead of arguing about her ankle’s fitness, he had lifted her up into her saddle as if she weighed no more than an acorn, sparing her the necessity of putting her weight on the still-tender ankle to mount.

      Gisele took the opportunity to study de Balleroy covertly, an easier task now that she was no longer sitting behind him. The sun gleamed on his chin-length, auburn hair. Somehow she had not expected it to be such a hue; his dark eyes and eyelashes had given no hint of it, and she had never previously seen him without his head being covered. This morning, however, he had evidently felt close enough to civilization to leave the metal coif draped around his neck and shoulders.

      “Faith, but ’tis hot this morn,” he murmured, raking a hand through his hair, an action which caused the sun to gild it with golden highlights that belied the dangerous look of his lean, beard-shadowed cheeks. “I believe the sun is shining just to welcome you to court, Lady Gisele.” He flashed a grin at her, making her heart to do a strange little dance within her breast.

      Firmly she quashed the flirtatious reply that had sprung ready-born to her lips. She owed this man much for her safety, but it would not do to let him think his flattery delighted her, after telling him before that such things were unimportant to her. From the ease at which such smooth words flowed from his lips, she supposed he had pleased many women with his cajolery—but she was not going to join their number!

      “I believe too much sun has addled your brain, my lord,” she said tartly.

      “Just so, Lady Gisele,” Maislin agreed from behind them. “From the color of his hair, ’tis obvious his skull must have been singed at one time or another, and his brain beneath it, too!”

      Apparently, however, de Balleroy took her retort for bantering. “Ah, Lady Gisele, you wound me to the heart with your dagger-sharp tongue. I’ll be but a shadow of my former robust self by the time I bid you farewell at Westminster.” His merry smile didn’t look the least bit discomfitted, however.

      “Oh? You’re not remaining?” she said, then wished she could kick herself, for his smile had broadened into a grin. But she was dismayed at the thought she would have to navigate the strange new world of Matilda’s palace without the presence of even one familiar face.

      “Ah, so you will miss me,” he teased. “I’ll be back at court from time to time, never fear.”

      “Oh, it’s naught to me, my lord,” she assured him with what she hoped sounded like conviction. She made her voice casual, even a trifle bored. “No doubt the empress will keep me so busy I should scarce know whether you are there or not. Do you return to a fief in England? Or mayhap you have a demesne and wife in Normandy?”

      “Mayhap,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

      His evasiveness, coupled with her nervousness about the new life she was about to take up, sparked her temper.

      “You’re very secretive, my lord. I was merely making conversation.”

      “If you wanted to know if I was married, Lady Gisele, you should have asked me,” he said with maddening sangfroid.

      Devil take the man! “As I said, ’tis naught to me,” she replied through clenched teeth. “I was just trying to pass the time. And after all, you know much about me and I know virtually nothing about you.”

      She could read nothing in those honey-brown eyes, neither anger at her sharp tone nor amusement at her expense.

      Finally he said, “I’m sorry, Lady Gisele. The responsibilities I bear for the empress have required that I keep my own counsel, and ’tis a habit hard to break.”

      She averted her face from him. “Well, do not feel you must change your habit for me.”

      “I am not wed,” he continued, as if she had not spoken. “I am the lord of Balleroy in Normandy, and in addition, hold Tichenden Castle here in England. I have a sister two years my junior, who acts as my chatelaine at Tichenden, two younger sisters being educated in a Norman convent—perhaps one of them will take the veil—and the youngest is a brother still at home. Our parents are dead. Is there aught else you would know?”

      She refused to express surprise at the sudden flood of information. “Where is Tichenden? In the west, I assume, where the empress’s forces are strong?”

      “Nay, ’tis on the North Downs.”

      “But I thought Stephen’s adherents held that part of England?”

      “And so they do, for the most part.” She saw that shuttered look come over his eyes again, and knew she must not delve further in this particular subject.

      After ferrying themselves and their mounts across the Thames, they arrived at Westminster just at the hour of Sext. De Balleroy had just assisted Gisele to dismount and their horses were being led away by a servitor when Gisele’s stomach growled so loudly that even the baron heard it.

      “Ah, too bad,” he mocked, “for I fear we’ve missed the midday meal, and ’twill be long till supper. Shall I take you first to the kitchens for something to fill your empty stomach?”

      “That won’t be necessary,” she told him, wishing he’d allow her to keep her dignity, at least until she’d been presented to Matilda! “If you would direct me in finding the empress, or someone who knows where she may be found—”

      Visibly making an effort to smoothe the teasing grin from his face, he murmured, “Very well, follow me, my lady. Maislin,” he called over his shoulder as he led her across the courtyard, “see that Lady Gisele’s palfrey is given a good stall, and all our mounts grained and watered, but tell the stable boy yours and mine are to be kept in readiness. We’ll likely depart by midafternoon.

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