Shields of Pride Read Online Free Page B

months later he had returned unscathed, bringing with him a contingent of Breton mercenaries to garrison their castle. He had also brought a woman, the sister of one of the mercenaries. The glow of early pregnancy had been upon her, making her shine like a candle among common rush dips. She had been dark-haired, green-eyed and regal of bearing, and she had given William his first son to replace Agnes’s own stillborn baby boy. It was then, seeing the blaze of joy, triumph and naked love in William’s eyes, that Agnes had begun to learn hatred.
    Three sons she had given him since then but her success was tarnished. The shadow of Morwenna and her bastard had made all her own efforts dross. ‘There is always trouble when Joscelin shows his face,’ she said bitterly.
    William rounded on her with angry eyes. ‘Watch your tongue or you’ll be wearing a scold’s bridle to curb it,’ he growled.
    Compressing her lips, she turned from him and marched angrily across the yard and up the exterior stairs to the upper floor of the house. She would not go into the hall, for that would have meant acknowledging Joscelin. A maid opened the door for her but it was Agnes who slammed it shut, the sound reverberating across the soft summer dusk.
    William’s eyelids tensed. He knew he was not being fair but he didn’t care enough to change his attitude. When he entered the hall, Joscelin was lounging on a bench before the central hearth. His squire sat on a foot-stool nearby, fair head bent over a dagger grip he was rebinding with new strips of hide. A different dagger twisted in William’s heart as he approached the fire and his eldest son raised his head. God’s life, he was so much like his mother. The green-hazel eyes and the expression in them were all hers and flooded Ironheart with unbearable bittersweet memories.
    Joscelin sprang to his feet and engulfed his father in a bone-crunching embrace. They were of a height and similar build, for William still had a tough, muscular body on which no softness had been allowed to encroach.
    ‘I swear you grow more like a plough ox every time I see you!’ Ironheart gasped and, thrusting his son aside, prowled to the hearth. The squire scrambled to his feet in deference, blue eyes wary.
    ‘Fetch wine,’ William commanded, ‘two cups.’ He glanced at the cloak spread upon the chair and spilling to the floor. ‘I trust you’ll stay to drink a measure with your old father?’
    Joscelin’s colour heightened. ‘Of course, sir. I was waiting for you.’
    William grunted and gave him an eloquent stare but said nothing. If Joscelin intended going out into the city at night it was none of his business but, nevertheless, he was curious. Joscelin was not usually one for the vices that were to be found in the alehouses and stews on the wrong side of curfew.
    The squire returned with the wine.
    ‘Was your journey free of hazard?’
    Joscelin looked at the floor for a moment before raising laughter-bright eyes. ‘How do you always know where to strike a nut to crack the shell and come to the meat?’
    ‘Call it grim experience.’
    For the second time that evening Joscelin related the tale of his encounter with Giles de Montsorrel. ‘It stinks like a barrel of rotten fish,’ he concluded. ‘Why should he want to bring his worldly wealth all the way to London?’
    From the upper floor came the muffled sound of women’s voices and the loud thud of a coffer lid opening and slamming. William flickered an irritated glance aloft. ‘He’s related to Robert of Leicester, is he not? And Leicester has obtained de Luci’s permission to sail for Normandy in the next week or so with men and money to succour King Henry, or so Leicester would have us believe. Myself, I’ve heard more truth in a minstrel’s lay.’
    Joscelin nodded thoughtfully. ‘And Montsorrel is contributing his bit to Leicester’s endeavor. From what I know of Giles, if he was going to take sides I would say that he would choose