Runaway Lady, Conquering Lord. Carol Townend

Count was drilling the men and his horse threw him. You know how he was.’

      Richard nodded. ‘He would have to take part.’

      ‘Exactly so, my lord. The Count fell and dislocated his shoulder. At first we thought that was the sum of it. But sadly…’ Sir Jean spread his hands ‘…sadly it appears there were other, hidden injuries.’

      ‘Internal ones?’

      ‘There must have been. The Count died a week since. And in the absence of heirs, you, my lord Count, have inherited the title.’

      Gesturing for Sir Jean and his men to follow, Richard strode across the bailey, the Beaumont pennon crushed tight in one fist, his tunic and chainse in the other. ‘No children? I would have thought it possible that he and Lady Aude—’

      ‘My lord, they were not yet married.’

      Richard blinked. His cousin and Aude de Crèvecoeur had been betrothed since she was still a child and Martin had worshipped her. ‘He never married Lady Aude?’

      ‘No, my lord.’

      ‘Why the delay?’ Aude de Crèvecoeur was not to Richard’s taste, and if it had been he who had been betrothed to the woman, then he would have delayed, till Doomsday. But, chacun à son gout, Martin had adored her…It made no sense.

      ‘I do not know, my lord. The Count did not confide in me regarding his marriage plans.’

      ‘It happened at Beaumont?’

      ‘My lord?’

      ‘The accident happened at Beaumont?’

      ‘Yes, my lord.’

      ‘Are you certain no foul play was involved?’ Entering the hall, Richard lowered his voice. ‘Both my lords of Alençon and Argentan have long had their eyes fixed on Beaumont.’

      ‘The thought crossed our minds, too, my lord. But, no, the Count died of injuries from the fall, there was nothing more sinister.’

      Reaching a trestle, Richard dropped the pennon on the table and dragged on his chainse. Geoffrey busied himself with serving wine. ‘It’s a damn waste,’ Richard said. ‘Martin was a fine man, a fine count.’

      ‘Yes, Lord Richard. But I am sure that you, as heir to your cousin’s estates, will also make a fine count.’ Sir Jean gave him a direct look and spoke with a new intensity. ‘If I may speak plainly, you are needed in Beaumont. As you say, Alençon and Argentan are on the prowl. How long will you need to settle your affairs in England?’

      Richard took a cup of wine from Geoffrey. ‘That will depend on King William. As Duke of Normandy he will have to approve my inheriting the Beaumont estate. It is his right.’

      ‘Of course, my lord, but surely he is bound to agree? William needs good men in his Duchy, as well as in his kingdom here.’

      ‘That may be so, but in the past he has shown a marked reluctance to let me leave England.’

      Confidentially, Sir Jean leaned closer. ‘That must change, my lord. Beaumont’s position is of strategic importance to him, which is why both Alençon and Argentan would like to get their hands on it. The Duke must agree to your accession and soon. Delay could be disastrous for his interests in Normandy. We have tried to keep news of Count Martin’s death from both Argentan and Alençon, but it is only a matter of time before they hear the news. And then…’ His expression darkened.

      ‘I understand. Nevertheless, I need King William’s permission before I can leave England. And until then, I remain Sir Richard of Asculf.’ He lifted his wine-cup to his lips.

      ‘Of course, my l—sir. And I must mention a further pressing matter. May I ask, will you now take the Lady Aude as your wife?’

      Richard all but choked. ‘Marry Aude de Crèvecoeur? Lord, man, why the devil do you ask me that?’

      Sir Jean cleared his throat. ‘Her brother, Count Edouard, may expect it.’

      ‘Expect it?’

      ‘Lady Aude was betrothed to your cousin some years ago. She has been brought up to be Countess of Beaumont. Since you will be Count in your cousin’s place, her brother may hope you will honour the arrangement.’

      ‘He can hope away,’ Richard spoke bluntly. ‘I do not wish to marry her.’

      ‘There may be trouble, L—Sir Richard. At home there are pressures…’

      Holding up his hand for silence, Richard stared blankly into his wine-cup. He didn’t need to hear any more. Truth be told, he needed time to think. Martin was dead, dead. And if King William agreed, hewould indeed be Comte de Beaumont. It was hard to credit. ‘I have long wished to return home,’ he murmured, ‘but not this way, not at the cost of my cousin’s life.’ And he would be damned before he married Aude de Crèvecoeur.

      ‘No, sir, of course not.’

      Gathering his wits about him, for it would not do to appear indecisive before these men, knights of Beaumont who had been loyal to his cousin and would soon, he hoped, swear fealty to him, Richard gestured Geoffrey over. First, the King must be informed of events in Normandy. ‘Geoffrey, be so good as to fetch a quill and ink to the solar.’

      ‘Yes, sir!’ The boy was beaming from ear to ear. There was a world of difference in being squire to a knight and being squire to a count, and this unlooked-for promotion clearly delighted him.

      Richard shook his head, but he could not find it in his heart to blame him. Geoffrey had scarcely known his cousin—how could he be expected to mourn him?

      Halfway to the door, Geoffrey turned. ‘Shall I fetch a scribe, too, my lord?’

      ‘No, this is one letter I shall write myself.’ Sir Jean was in the right; until they reached Normandy, the fewer people who knew about his cousin’s death, the better.

      ‘Very well, sir.’

      Richard fixed a smile on his face and turned back to Sir Jean and the knights who had travelled from Beaumont to bring him this news. ‘It is time, I think, for some introductions,’ he said, indicating a fellow with a crest of fiery hair who stood at Sir Jean’s elbow.

      The following day, Richard was back in the castle stables rubbing Roland down after an early gallop through the water meadows and around the city defences.

      Richard was uncomfortably aware that tending to a destrier clad only in one’s chausses and boots was perhaps not an undertaking for a count. However, at the moment the company of animals was preferable to the company of people. Neither Roland nor the hounds minded how much exercise he took, nor did they think any the less of him if he took time to think and plan. Besides, Richard was damned if he was going to break the habit of a lifetime, caring for his animals himself, simply because poor Martin had died. And in any case, only a handful of trusted men knew of his elevated status.

      His letter to King William had been despatched, but no reply had been forthcoming. Yet. He was impatient to be back in Normandy.

      The regular tock, tock, tock of chisel on stone told Richard that the masons’work on the gatehouse was not yet completed. He heard the occasional shout from the overseer and the creak of their hoist.

      In the orchard just outside the city, a cuckoo was calling, its voice floating clearly over the castle walls. Spring, thank God. It had been a hard winter. Perhaps this year he would be celebrating Easter in Beaumont…

      A shadow fell across the stable floor. ‘There are two women to see you, sir.’

      Richard glanced up with a grin. He was expecting one woman, Frida from the Staple. ‘Two? Geoffrey, you flatter me.’

      Despite the exercise Richard had been taking, sleep remained elusive. Which was why he had decided to add another, more pleasant, form of exercise to his regime. It had been too long since he had had