The Falcons of Montabard by Elizabeth Chadwick Read Free Book Online

you know the tale of what happened at Barfleur,' he said. 'Do you not think it was dishonourable of me to steal King Henry's mistress from beneath his nose?'
    'I think it was foolhardy,' she said. 'And you both paid the price: she with her life and you with your conscience. Hold out your hand.'
    Again he hesitated, but then did so, leaving his left one clutched around the wine. She broke the wax seal on a fresh pot of marigold salve, dipped her index finger and lightly anointed the abrasion caused by the manacle. He did not flinch, but she saw his eyes widen slightly.
    'Even so, I am a disgrace to the household and the name of my father ... or so Prince David says.'
    'Do you want me to condemn you, or condemn my husband for his opinion?' She wiped her finger on a soft strip of swaddling cloth and then bound it around his wrist, securing it with a silver wimple pin. 'Do you consider yourself a disgrace?'
    She released his hand and he withdrew it. 'I think it a little late in the day to seek my opinion,' he said. 'It has never mattered before, so why should it matter now?'
    Matilda sighed. He had raised a thorny barrier around himself. She recognised that she was responsible for many of those thorns. And David too. The hedge was not entirely of Sabin's making. 'Helisende made a suggestion to me about your future while the guard was bringing you from your cell.'
    'She wants to marry me?' The mocking tone was back. Sabin tipped a fresh measure of wine into his cup.
    Matilda struggled with her temper. 'How can I help you if you will not help yourself?' Her voice grew stronger, less modulated.
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    'You stand in danger of being accused of taking a man's life. You could lose your own . . . and while you think that it would be no loss to anyone, most of all yourself, you would be terribly wrong.'
    She waited for the bored expression, for the raise of a scornful eyebrow, but something must have reached him, for he lowered the cup and gave her a direct look filled with knowing. 'I suppose you would have failed in your duty,' he said.
    'Yes, I would.'
    'I am not sure about the loss to myself,' he murmured, taking a swallow of wine, 'but I suppose I owe you for the years you have tried and tolerated.' A self-deprecating smile crossed his lips and was gone. 'So what does Helisende have in mind for me — a gibbet?'
    'No,' Matilda said. 'A cross.'
    A what?' Horrified astonishment filled his eyes. 'She wants to make a monk of me? Or a hermit?' He laughed without humour. 'At least if the latter I'd only have my own company to bruise and damage.'
    'No, a crusader's cross.' Matilda clung white-knuckled to her patience. 'Edmund Strongfist is leaving us to take service with King Baldwin of Jerusalem. As a trained warrior, you will be useful company. You can pray for your sins at the Holy Sepulchre and use your skills in the name of God.'
    The astonishment remained and the laughing mouth closed to a straight line. His expression was so similar to his father's that it was like a sharp blow in the soft space beneath her heart.
    'It is a clever thought,' he acknowledged after a moment. 'I will be safely out of the way and engaged in business of which for once the Church approves. When folk ask of me at home, you can tell them my whereabouts with pride, instead of looking over your shoulder. I won't be here to be a bad influence on Simon either, will I?'
    The light in the sconces set a golden gleam on his hair. She thought how vulnerable he looked, how exhausted and young beneath the bravado. 'Indeed that is true,' she answered steadily. 'Do you blame me for such thoughts?'
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    He shook his head. 'Doubtless in your position I would be thinking them too.'
    'Your father took the cross, but he had to turn back at Dorylaeum because of a leg wound,' she said. 'And when he took it a second time, he knew he was dying and his strength only got him as far as Normandy. I thought that you might complete the pilgrimage in his name.'
    'Purpose upon purpose,' he