In truth, Hugh had faintly envied Guy's happy contentment and his desire to settle into his estates and concentrate his efforts at building a family. Hugh was a knight bachelor and possessed no holdings of his own; he was certainly not yet sought after as a husband. Indeed, it was only of late that he'd even begun to think of gaining a wife.
"I should have been here." Guy's mouth twisted as he sucked in a harsh breath. "God damn it, I should have been here!"
His violence stunned his men-at-arms. They glanced uneasily at each other and wisely moved away, leaving the two knights alone.
Hugh was the only one who was not startled. "Do you think I have not said the same a thousand times since?" he replied unevenly. "We cannot alter the course of our live. We cannot change the past."
"And I," Guy ground out tightly, "cannot forget!"
"You had no choice but to honor the call to arms."
"The call to arms?" Guy's laugh was bitter. "My friend, you and I have been gone from this land for three harvests! Half of that time was spent in that bloody dungeon in Toulouse!"
And it was there that Guy discovered the existence of his son Peter. It was there he was also told of his wife's murder. Guy had been so shocked— he'd had no idea Elaine was even with child—and then wondrously elated at the news of his heir. From the heights of happiness. . . to the dregs of hell. . . in the blink of an eye.
"Had we not been there," Hugh reminded him, "we might never have run into Henry's forces when we were finally able to escape. And methinks it less than wise to be on the opposite side of our new king."
"True indeed," Guy agreed with a grim smile. "I had no choice but to pledge my sword to Henry."
Hugh's shaggy brownish-gold eyebrows shot up. "You regret it?" he asked in some surprise.
Guy shook his head. "Nay," he replied. "Henry strikes me as a man of many faces. But I think 'tis well that with Stephen's death Henry has reclaimed the throne of England. I suspect 'twill not be long before this land is on the road to recovery." He fell silent for a moment. "And I gained Henry's sanction to recoup that which was taken from me."
"Which you have done."
"Which I have done."
Guy's gaze flitted to the gates of the keep. His tone was harsh, even bitter. Hugh watched as a mask of hardness settled over his handsome features. Seeing it, Hugh suffered a prickly sense of unease. He knew Guy as well as anyone—better than anyone—yet in that moment he felt he knew him not at all.
Guy caught his friend's uncertain expression and gave a twist of his lips. His next words were not what Hugh expected.
"Your brother-in-law Thomas served me long and well in holding this keep, my friend. Now he is gone, and your sister as well. 'Tis time you were rewarded for your loyalty, Hugh. Therefore I offer Ramsay Keep to you—though not to hold this manor and lands for me and mine—but as your own, to do with as you will."
For just an instant Hugh was stunned. Ramsay Keep was a fine and wealthy manor—not nearly so grand as Sedgewick, but it was all he had ever dreamed of. And yet...
"May I speak plain, my lord? Not as your servant, but as your friend?"
"I would have it no other way, Hugh. You know that."
Hugh smiled slightly, but it was a smile that held no small amount of sadness. "Your generosity overwhelms me, Guy. Would that I could accept it. But mayhap 'tis just as you said. Claire died here, and 'twas here that Thomas and your lady Elaine were slain most cruelly." He hesitated. "I fear I could never forget the evil that was done here."
Guy was silent for a moment. "Then you are with me?" he said finally. "I need you now more than ever, Hugh. But only if you are willing."
There was no further need for talk. Guy turned and strode into the circle of stampeding horses and fully armed men. He paused only for one last glance at Ramsay Keep.
His eyes squeezed shut. Elaine, he thought desperately. So sweet. So gentle and tender... Elaine! He screamed her name in silent anguish. Pain ripped through him like a sword from throat to groin. He saw her as she had once been, golden and gloriously beautiful, her spun-gold hair spinning about her, laughing in that lilting musical voice of hers. He had always teased her that she had been crafted by the angels in heaven... and it was there she now dwelled.
It was terrible, my lord . .. horrible!
The words Gerda sobbed out upon his arrival back at Sedgewick took the form of vivid, horrible images in his mind's eye.
Richard and his men came in the name of peace. Then they raped and killed and butchered... They spared no one, not women, not children. They showed no mercy, my lord. No mercy at all!
The vision in his mind shifted and twisted, like a windswept fog... He saw Elaine as she must have died, lying bruised and violated in a crimson pool of blood.
He felt he'd been catapulted once again into the wild foray of battle, seized by a red mist of rage deeper than anything he could ever remember. His head, his blood pounded with the heat of his wrath.
His eyes opened. His wide unblinking gaze took in the final resting place of his wife and the many others who littered the grassy hillside.
"Your death will be avenged, my love," he murmured aloud. "This I promise. This I vow, by all the saints."
Hugh nudged his destrier beside him. "It does not end here, does it?" he said quietly.
Guy's silver eyes glittered like steel. His face had taken on an expression which would have frightened many a brave man. Guy de Marche was not a man given lightly to revenge; he fought when the need arose, to protect and defend, but he was not a cruel man. Yet Hugh did not pretend to misunderstand the bent of Guy's mind at this moment, the raging storm roiling within him, swirling and growing stronger by the second.
"Nay." Guy stared straight ahead. Never had a single word sounded so ominous and deadly. "It only begins."
He wheeled his mount to face his men-at-arms. "We ride for Ashbury!" he shouted. Sunlight glinted against the steel of his sword as he ripped it from his scabbard and held it high above his head. A raucous cheer went up from the men. With the thunder of hooves shaking the earth, they raced madly after the Earl of Sedgewick.
Thus began his quest for vengeance.
The great hall at Ashbury Keep boiled with life like stew in a kettle, but the ladies' bower was calm and peaceful. Several serving girls sat beneath the window, winding wool into long skeins. Another sat spooling thread onto bobbins. The rhythmic clack of the loom in the corner filled the air, a soothing backdrop to the talk and laughter exchanged between the servants. Another woman, daintily blond and beauteous, smiled and nodded and occasionally joined in the chatter.
From her place near the doorway, Kathryn of Ashbury fixed brilliant green eyes upon her sister, her expression disturbed. How, she wondered silently, would Elizabeth take the news? Would she cry? Pretend she understood and then run into her room and weep silently into her pillow? A feeling of guilt wound through Kathryn. Either way, she wasn't sure she could stand it.
Elizabeth was happy here, happy and content. The bower was a place of privacy, where Elizabeth was able to relax and be herself; she was neither timid nor fearful, or plagued by the memories of a past that seemed to never drift out of reach.
A pang swept through Kathryn. In the four years that had transpired since their parents' death, she had done her best to shield Elizabeth from further hurt. And now, all was well. All was quiet and serene and settled in Elizabeth's small world. But with what she was about to tell her...
She stepped into the bower. "Leave us, please," she said briefly to the three serving girls. Two scrambled to their feet immediately. But Helga, the eldest of the three, complied with far less haste.