But with peace came the ghostly horsemen: skeletal, pale, and dotted with clots of gore. They drove away the bloodlust and burned into his soul the images of what he had done to mortals like himself. Now the dead men came to him in dreams or, like tonight, slipped out of shadows on lonely walls. That was one reason he had spoken so abruptly to the soldier: he had briefly mistaken him for a ghost.
He paused and walked over to the crenel in the wall. Staring out into the darkness, he forced himself to remember, as Lucas taught him, that it was the sea crashing against the shore, not some giant engine of destruction, and it was the wind howling, not men dying too slowly of unimaginable wounds. Tonight the effort failed. The fear remained and his stomach knotted. Breaking out in clammy sweat, he bent forward and vomited away from the wind.
As usual, God failed to bring him peace.
Hugh sought a sheltered spot under the watchtower and shivered. Soldiers never spoke of these things. When a man’s dreams bled into daylight visions, driving him mad, his comrades called him possessed. He remembered when one had been slain by friends as he swung his sword at phantoms. Afterward, the men claimed they had killed the demon, but Hugh suspected their act had been a kindness. He had never seen any soldier recover his reason when he ceased to distinguish between shimmering bright images and the paler world.
Clutching his body to still his shivering, he cursed and willed himself to other thoughts.
He would not become one of the mad.
This was a fine castle, named Doux et Dur by those who built it. As he knew from years past, the island on which it stood could be sweet in the summer season. Seabirds inhabited the cliffs, some singing like an angel’s choir, while others, the puffins in particular, laughed with the merriment of a king’s fool. The earth bedecked itself with flowers, their colors flashing in the sunlight as they swayed in gentle breezes. On Hugh’s earliest visit here, a spindly-legged boy with spotted cheeks, he had lain with a servant girl in a bed of tender grass and soft petals. She had been his first.
Although he could not recall her name, and he had not seen her on this visit, he held that memory of their coupling in his heart, a tender corner that he kept protectively enclosed, sometimes even from himself. Perhaps she had died of some fever, but he hoped she had married a youth with a sweet smile, one who loved her more than himself.
He backed up to the stones of the watchtower and pressed his head against the rough wet rock.
Yet this place was still a fortress, its stones hard and unyielding, and cast a long shadow on the mainland that only dared touch this island with one bony finger of earth. The man who was now his king argued that it was not unassailable, although Hugh said otherwise. In the end, Hugh had conceded the debate to Lord Edward.
Hugh’s lips turned into a thin smile. Had Edward known that Hugh deliberately lost the argument by twisting his logic into an untenable position? With this king, few ever knew what passed through his mind, including his friends.
“Have the night demons shattered your sleep, Hugh?”
Reaching for his knife, the knight spun around but quickly realized that the shadow bore the hooded shape of Baron Herbert.
He released his weapon back into the sheath.
The baron chuckled, wandered a short distance away, and leaned against the tower wall.
Hugh remained silent.
“Or was sleep banished in favor of time spent swinking my wife?”
“You have no cause to so foully besmirch your wife’s honor, my lord.” Hugh knew he hesitated an instant too long.
“Do I not?” The man rubbed his hand against the stones, then stared at his palm.
“If any man claims she is aught but virtuous, he lies.”
Herbert sighed. “You have never shown skill in the art of deception, Hugh. I learned what happened at supper. Dare you deny your sin when God sees everything we do?”
Hugh’s mouth became too dry for swift response.
The baron waited, then laughed with brittle merriment. “There were once five vigorous sons to prove how hard I rode her before I took the cross. Ah, but she was a fine lass to handle in those days, spirited and eager.” The last words were almost lost in the rising gale.
“No honest man will claim that the Lady Margaret has done other than honor her vows to you at the church door and in God’s hearing.”
The baron spun around, the hood hiding both his face and expression. “She laid her hand in your crotch. Is that what you call honoring vows? If so, then you speak of the Devil’s virtue.”
Hugh grasped his knife, lifting it slowly from the sheath until the hilt was clearly visible. “On this, as it stands for the cross we bore in Outremer, and on the sacred vows we took, I swear that I did not touch the Lady Margaret, nor did she touch me, in any sinful way.”
“Leonel came to me from the supper, and, when I asked how our guests fared, he let slip a hint of my wife’s behavior. I pressed him for details.” Blunted by the wind, the baron’s voice was hoarse.
Hugh’s heart pounded. Although the lady had not fondled him as the baron claimed, nor had he himself attempted any hidden pleasuring, they had excited each other with imagined joys by looks and smiles. Closing his eyes, he recalled how her nipples had pressed against the cloth of her gown. He felt himself stiffen with remembered lust. “He could not have seen what he claimed from where he sat,” Hugh replied, willing his body to a softer virtue.
“You call Leonel a liar?”
“Never, but I believe that he misinterpreted some innocent gesture. As you have lost a son, your lady has also suffered from that death. I sought to amuse her with stories of my travels home and did succeed, for a moment, in lightening her spirit. Once, she tapped my arm and smiled when I told of an especially merry adventure. There was no wickedness in that.”
Herbert said nothing and turned again to look out across the wall and into the darkness.
“Leonel has always been your most loyal liegeman, my lord. He was right to tell you of his concern even if he mistook the intent.”
“I should know you too well to fear that you would put horns on my head, Hugh, and grieve that I have even grown distrustful of my proven friends. As for my wife…” His voice broke. “I pity her. In the name of God’s mercy, she has not deserved…” With that, he fell silent.
Shame enveloped Hugh like fire. Leonel may have been wrong in what he reported, but he had not erred in other respects. Hugh had been Herbert’s comrade in arms, his friend, and yet tonight he had shamelessly wooed his wife. He may not have made the baron a cuckold, but he had reached for the horns.
As for his treatment of the Lady Margaret, he had committed sin enough, walking away from her without speaking as if she had been a whore he had paid to give him a frisson of pleasure. Now he saw the depth of his self-deception and dishonor. He had lusted after the baron’s wife, beguiling her until her frail woman’s nature might have weakened enough to join him in bed. His sole virtue in this disgraceful evening? He had not actually coupled with her.
“Hugh?” Herbert’s rough voice spoke of tears and grief.
“My lord?”
“Ready the priest and physician you brought as I begged you to do. Before the next Office, I shall send Leonel to bring the three of you to my chambers.”
Chapter Sixteen
The light vanished.
Curious, Thomas turned to the soldier beside him. “Did you just see anything in the cove?”
“Demons,” the man said. “I’ve seen them down there before tonight.” He made the sign of the cross, hesitated, then quickly repeated the gesture.
As Thomas left the narrow watchtower window, he was unsure himself about the exact nature of what he had seen. He reached for the pitcher of wine he had brought as a gift and looked back to ask if the soldier wanted more as well.