Knight's Rebellion. Suzanne Barclay
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swagger so.
Edgar drew himself up to his full height of five feet and five inches, pounded his staff on the floor in the manner of a court herald and bawled, “Lord Ranulf de Crecy, Baron of Eastham, lord of Malpas, Donnerford and numerous lesser holdings, does beg an audience with your grace.”
“I’ll wager this Lord Ranulf never begged for a thing in his life,” Alys muttered.
“I’ll wager he never had to…leastwise not from a woman,” her mother replied with a saucy grin.
“Mother!” Alys exclaimed.
“Well, he is most wondrous to look on. With a sizable estate. Let him be your dining companion and see what comes—”
“Naught will come of it.”
“You will not know till you try.”
“How? If I cannot bear the touch of my own dear family, how could I stomach the touch of a strange man?” Alys shook her head. “It would be cruel to lead him on when I cannot wed him.”
“But if you left your gown and gloves on—”
“Even at night, in bed?” Alys sighed. “What man would want a wife he could not kiss or touch or couple with? No bed sport? No heirs?” She looked over at the handsome Lord Ranulf and then at her equally handsome sire. “Men, even those as wonderful as my papa, have not the patience or self-denial for that.” Still it was hard not to hope, to wish for what could never be.
“Excuse me for not rising, Lord Ranulf,” Gareth said. “But I am just recovering from a broken leg.”
“My condolences. Does it mend well?”
“Very. My daughter is a skilled healer.” Gareth beamed in Alys’s direction, but Lord Ranulf continued to stare at him. “What brings you to Ransford, sir?” her father asked.
“Treason,” Lord Ranulf growled.
“Treason!” The word riffled through the room, stilling the hum of pleasant conversation.
“Against King Richard?” her father asked slowly.
“Nay. This strikes far closer to home. My half brother has taken arms against me and is ravaging the land about Eastham.”
“Ah.” Her father settled back. “How comes it that you bring the matter to me instead of your overlord? Whoever that—”
“James Hartley of Hardwicke.”
“A good man,” Gareth said slowly.
“I took the matter to him some months ago, when Gowain first turned rebel, but Lord James is too busy with his southern estates to heed my troubles,” Ranulf replied, his tone flat.
“What has this Gowain done?”
“Killed the captain of my guard, attacked and burned two farms, pillaged the villages about my castle and raided every convoy bringing goods to me.”
“These are strong charges.”
“And true. Clive,” Ranulf called over his shoulder. One of the soldiers who had been standing behind him, came forward. “Tell my lord earl what transpired the day Gowain returned.”
Clive, a big, beefy man in scarlet livery, bowed to Gareth. “He killed Donald.” The soldier went on to tell how Gowain FitzWarren had struck down the captain, who was attempting to protect Lord Ranulf from harm.
“What provoked this quarrel?” Gareth asked.
“My refusal to turn Malpas Keep over to Gowain.” Ranulf held up a hand before the questions could fly. “Let me go back and explain that Gowain left home some six years ago, after a bitter argument over property with my father. Nearly a year went by before he wrote to his mother to say he’d taken a post with Sir Falsgraff and was part of the garrison defending Bordeaux.”
“You speak of your father and Gowain’s mother.”
“Gowain is my father’s bastard, gotten on the Welshwoman he brought home the year after my mother died,” Ranulf said stiffly. “There was some talk he was not even my father’s get, but old Warren was a soft man and raised Gowain as his own.”
“Your sire is dead, then?”
“Alas, eighteen months ago.”
“And his…er, Gowain’s mother?”
“Disappeared, along with a chest of my mother’s jewelry. I assumed she’d gone back to Wales. Lacking the funds to mount a war over a few baubles, I let the matter rest. Gowain returned in April. From the meanness of his clothes and armor,” Ranulf added, flicking a speck from his fine tunic, “I judged he’d fallen on hard times and come to beg a handout. When I apprised him of our father’s death, he did not grieve, but demanded Malpas Keep, which he claimed was his mother’s dower property.”
“Was it?”
“Though Elen sometimes portrayed herself as Warren’s wife and chatelaine of Eastham, there was no marriage. Thus, no part of my property was hers…or her bastard’s. Had it been otherwise, do you think she’d have run off to live in some hovel in Wales?”
“I suppose not.” Gareth stroked his chin. “I am sorry for your misfortune at his hands, but why have you come to me?”
“I’ve come to you for a ruling in your capacity as magistrate of His Majesty’s court. I want Gowain and those who ride with him declared outlaws.”
“That is a serious step. And this seems a personal matter. Can you not capture him and bring him to trial yourself?”
Ranulf’s jaw flexed. “’Tis not just a personal matter. He has aligned himself with a band of brigands who were hiding in the hills, runaway serfs and soldiers without a lord. They know every acre of land and every hiding hole in the district, and have managed to elude capture. Gowain has turned the experience he gained fighting the French all these years and now preys on his own countrymen. Is that not so, Clive?”
“Aye.” Clive’s hamlike fists clenched at his sides. “He’s a black one, is Sir Gowain, wild and bloodthirsty as any Scots riever, but canny, ye understand. He favors swooping down on unsuspecting merchants, kills the leader right quick, then forces the rest to surrender. We laid a trap for him, with my men posing as merchants. Gowain sent the leader back to us in pieces.”
A shocked silence fell over the hall.
“These are grievous charges,” Gareth said slowly.
“Aye. If you declare him an outlaw and put a writ about, those who have been helping him will cease, lest they be outlawed, too,” Ranulf said quickly.
“He can also be hanged without a trial,” Gareth muttered.
“’Tis no more than he deserves for killing innocent men, women and even children.”
“Children,” Alys whispered, appalled by the story.
“What proof do you have of his deeds?” Gareth asked.
“Proof?” Ranulf scowled. “My storage sheds lay empty, for he’s stolen my supplies. My captain is dead and others with him. Several farms have been burned to the ground.”
“Was Gowain seen perpetrating these crimes?”
“I know he is guilty,” Ranulf growled.
“Hmm.” Gareth stroked his chin. “Still, I’d not act hastily in this matter. Will you sup with us ere I think it over?”
“Of course,” Ranulf said smoothly, but his clenched fists and narrowed eyes betrayed his anger over the delay.
Nor could Alys blame him. “Papa, surely you will grant his request,” she blurted out. “This Gowain must be stopped.”
Ranulf turned and stared at her so intently her cheeks flamed. “Who is this charming lady who