His Enemy's Daughter (10 page)

They'd promised to be at his back when he needed them and he had pushed them and their advice away when they'd tried to offer it to him. Now he wished they were here, for they would understand his dilemma—neither of them had wanted the woman they married, yet each now was happy in his marriage.
Certainement
neither had planned to kill the woman as he had, but he had his reasons. Valid reasons, or so they seemed to be until this night and that kiss.

Confused more than he wished to admit even to himself, Soren tossed and turned all through the night, plagued—as he knew he would be—by thoughts and memories of the tender kiss he'd shared with Sybilla.

 

By morning he knew two, nay, three, things: first, he still did not know if he would or could keep her as his
wife; second, the worst of her journey towards survival was yet to come. The third was the hardest to accept of all—it had been easier existing in the blinding haze of vengeance than trying to live as the man he'd always wanted to be.

‘I
do not understand, Aldys.'

‘Lord Soren ordered it so,' her maid explained.

It made no sense to her. She could do nothing outside this chamber and very little in it. She had no wish to disgrace herself before those who had served her and her family for years and she especially did not want to be with people when she could not tell who or how many were there around her.

‘I cannot do this,' she finally admitted.

‘My lady, you must. I fear what will happen if you remain here.'

Sybilla was trying to ascertain the reason for this need to leave her chambers when a knock came at her door. Both maids gasped loudly and she trembled at the sound. What did they fear would happen to her? She heard Aldys greet whoever stood outside in a very quiet voice and usher them in.

‘Good morrow to you, Lady Sybilla. 'Tis I, Guermont,'
he added, to let her know who stood before her. Tactful and discreet, as was his way it seemed.

‘Guermont,' she greeted him with a nod.

‘Lord Soren bids you come out into the yard and enjoy the warmth of the sun while the day is clear,' he invited.

‘I cannot, sir. Please inform your lord so,' she said calmly, or in what she hoped was a calm voice. Her hands began to shake then, and the parchment she held crinkled in her grasp.

‘Lady, I fear I cannot go to him without bringing you with me,' he explained quietly. ‘Those are my orders.'

‘Aldys, please explain to Guermont why it is not possible to do as he says. I cannot see. I cannot make my way down the steps or outside this room.' She could hear the desperation in her own voice—did they? ‘Ask your lord to allow me to remain here until my vision returns.'

The silence around her told her more than words could have. None of those present believed her sight would return. She could not, indeed, would not, think about such a possibility. Shaking her head, she refused to budge.

‘Lady, I would ask you to walk at my side and let me guide you on the steps. But if you refuse, I will carry you down, whether silent or screaming. The choice is yours.' The quiet tone belied the serious intent of his words.

Sybilla was terrified into wordlessness. Why did Lord Soren want to humiliate her in this way? Was it his punishment for daring to ask to leave him? Was he so disgusted by her zealous reaction to his kiss that he would now disgrace her in public?

‘Here, Lady Sybilla,' Guermont said as he took the
parchment from her shaking hands and placed them around his arm. ‘Let me escort you.'

The chainmail dug into her skin as she clutched him tightly. He wore his protection even now when the battle was long finished. Did Lord Soren as well? She lost track of their path until Guermont brought her to a stop.

‘Lady, we will go down only one step at a time. If I am going too quickly, just give the word and I will slow our pace,' he offered.

The steps that had never slowed her down now loomed as an abyss before her. Sybilla felt as though she were suspended over a black well, waiting to fall into its depths. Then, all at once, he took the first step, dragging her at his side.

‘Mayhap we should count as we descend so that you know how many steps there are?' he asked quietly.

‘The lady has lived here her entire life!' Aldys snapped at him from behind them. ‘Think you she knows not how many steps there are?'

But Sybilla had never needed to know how many steps separated her chambers from the main hall before. Unable to speak, for fear had clogged her throat, she nodded, hoping Guermont was watching. When he began counting to her with each one, she knew he had been. He had counted out a score and they stopped. Out of breath from both the exertion and the fear of walking into the blackness before her without being able to see, Sybilla drew in a ragged breath, waiting for the next step.

‘The hall has been cleaned of rushes and the tables moved aside to form a straight pathway to the door, my lady,' Guermont reported. ‘There were twenty steps on the stairs, but I suspect it will take us twice that many
paces to reach it from here.' He was giving her clues about their path and the layout of the hall now, alerting her to changes made since the Normans' arrival. ‘We will walk slowly as you gain your bearings, my lady.'

And then they were off. Guermont placed his hand over hers on his arm and guided her, counting out their paces under his breath so that she, but no others, could hear them. They had only taken a pace or two when it began.

First, a collective gasp went up from those in the hall as they saw her. Then, her name was murmured through the room, echoing as it got louder. She stumbled as she listened to it.

‘They are pleased to see you, Lady Sybilla,' Guermont said.

‘Do they…do they know I cannot see them?' she asked. Aldys and Gytha never mentioned what had been told about her to the people. She did not know if they thought her a prisoner, dead or something else.

‘Aye, my lady. They know of the extent of your injuries. Indeed, many have been offering prayers in the chapel for your recovery.'

Her breath caught then, her unseeing eyes filled with tears. She had feared they would blame her for their situation. If she had not stupidly allowed Gareth to resist the Norman lord, they might not be mourning their dead. Sybilla blinked, trying to stop them, but she felt the first of many trickle down her cheeks. When someone touched her gown, then another touched her arm, whispering her name as they walked by, she let them flow freely. Guermont yet counted out their paces and when he called off forty-and-three, they stopped.

‘A few more than forty, my lady, and we are at the doorway to the yard. Do you need to catch your breath before going further?'

She brushed the tears off her cheeks and cleared her throat. Sybilla had never expected this reaction—from her or from her people. Her heart ached inside her chest and she shook her head.

‘Nay, Guermont, I am ready. Lead on,' she said.

‘Just so, my lady.'

The door creaked on its hinges as it was swung open and she stepped outside for the first time since the attack. Summer had blossomed in full and she felt the warmth of the now-midday sun on her face.

Sybilla paused there, waiting, praying, hoping, begging God to allow her to see the sun's light as she left the shadows of the hall. To let her notice any difference in the darkness in which she now lived. Even a flicker of some change in the unrelenting blackness would satisfy her.

‘My lady?' Guermont asked gently, as though he understood the reason for her pause. But he could not know.

Nothing.

Nothing spread out before her.

No light. No change. Nothing.

Sybilla let him lead her forwards into the yard. People were there; she could hear the voices of men, women and even children, as they worked around her. The smell of blooming honeysuckles filled the air and she inhaled, trying not to think about her disappointment. The earth beneath her feet and the trees and flowers all added to
the wonderful cacophony of scents that filled her lungs with the fresh air.

‘There is a bench under the tree near the wall,'

Guermont said. ‘You can feel the warmth of the sun there, but be shaded by the tree, my lady. It looks to be another forty or so paces.'

He guided her well, making their walk appear smooth. A soft word when the ground grew uneven. Another when they needed to avoid a puddle of mud, and so on until they reached the place he'd mentioned. Guermont lifted her hand from his arm, turned from her side and helped her to sit. Aldys spoke from behind her, letting her know of the maid's presence.

Sybilla tried to catch her breath again, surprised by how quickly she'd lost it during their walk here. She usually traversed this path and more many times a day, never feeling winded at all. But she'd sat unmoving in her chambers for so long that this small activity tired her. Though getting here had been a struggle, Sybilla tried to prepare herself for the next challenge—facing Lord Soren after last evening's débâcle.

Hoping he would not humiliate her where everyone could witness it, she accepted a linen from Aldys and wiped her face with it. For the first time in many days, she grew thirsty and realised her maid had not pressed food or drink on her this day. She would have asked for something, but a disturbance began on the other side of the yard. It grew in volume and strength and Sybilla knew Lord Soren must be approaching.

Orders were called. Soldiers moved to obey. People screamed and called out her name. 'Twas like reliving
the day of the attack, only worse, for now Sybilla could see nothing.

‘Is it Lord Soren?' she asked. When no one answered, she asked again in a louder voice, ‘Pray thee tell me what goes there?'

‘Some of the prisoners are trying to break free and come here,' Guermont said. ‘The guards are trying to keep them contained.'

‘Prisoners?' she asked before realising he spoke of her men, her soldiers, her people. ‘Aldys! You must tell them to cease before he—' She did not finish the words, for
his
voice interrupted.

‘Stephen!' Soren called out. ‘Let them go to her.'

He capitulated again in her presence, something be coming a habit, it seemed. Soren nodded to Stephen, who ordered the guards to release the prisoners. At first they hesitated, probably fearing retribution for their acts of disobedience, but then Gareth led them across the yard to where Sybilla sat. Within moments, a crowd surrounded her, speaking her name and trying to touch the hem of her gown or her hand.

Guermont stood at her side, never moving from it, so he feared not for her safety. Not that he worried about her at all, but men held prisoner could not be trusted in their actions if it meant their freedom from chains. Gareth, he noticed, knelt before her, never moving as others came, gave greetings and moved aside for others to come closer. Soren continued to watch from his place near the stables.

‘A wise exercise of power,' Larenz said as he walked closer. ‘And a good one.'

Surprised by his approach and by his comment, Soren
turned to look at him. Larenz had trained him in many skills a knight needed to fight and win on the field of battle. Simon, now Count of Rennes, had allowed him the freedom to swear allegiance to one of the three in honour of his many years of service to the House of Rennes. For some reason, Larenz had chosen him.

The old man had remained with him after the battle and through his terrible ordeal. Larenz had seen him at his best, at his worst and now at some crossroads Soren did not yet understand completely. Uncomfortable at such realisations, Soren changed their topic of discussion.

‘How is the boy?' he asked.

‘He's a good one, Soren,' Larenz answered, turning to face the ongoing scene at the other side of the yard. ‘Another of your good decisions.'

‘Where is he? I have not seen him since yestermorn.' Larenz laughed and Soren faced another moment of truth. ‘You knew he gave the wrong message to her?'

‘Aye, Soren. I knew.' Larenz glanced over towards the stables and nodded in that direction. ‘He hides from your wrath.'

Soren let out a breath and glared at Larenz. Did everyone believe he would torture a child?

‘You have not been known for showing or being interested in mercy these last few months, Soren. Everyone who now serves you is aware of your plans and your methods of carrying them out.'

‘You dare much, old man, if you believe your own words,' Soren threatened. He clenched his fists, angry that this man knew and allowed the situation to happen without warning him. ‘Why did you not tell me?'

‘It was time, Soren,' Larenz said quietly. ‘It is time for you to make her your wife.'

In anything else, he would take this man's counsel, but in a matter so personal and so important, he wanted it not. Torn between striking out and walking away, Soren stared at the woman sitting in the midst of an adoring crowd. He hardened at even the thought of her now and as much as he'd like to blame the months of abstinence for it, Soren knew that had little or nothing to do with it. But simply because his body agreed, did not make it the right thing to do.

‘Look past the vengeance you seek against her father. Look back to the young man who took the field with William that day. Think of the plans you three had and the futures you fought for. Is this to be the way of it for you instead?'

‘You risk much, Larenz,' Soren said through clenched teeth.

‘Nay, not much at all,' Larenz replied. ‘Gautier would haunt me if I did not speak my piece to you at a time such as this.'

Being reminded of his foster father, a man they both held in high esteem, took the anger out of him. Facing Larenz, Soren saw a likeness he'd never noticed before. ‘You sounded just like him then.'

‘It should not surprise you, Soren. He was my brother.'

Surprise did not describe how Soren felt after this revelation. Never had he suspected such a thing. And if it was not something spoken of openly, it meant one thing.

‘We shared a father, though many years apart.'

That explained much to Soren—Larenz's request to serve with them and his willingness to train three bastards with claims to nothing. Before he could reply, Soren was called to by Stephen and nodded his consent.

Stephen and the men began herding the people away from Sybilla and back to their duties and tasks or work. All but one followed the orders. Gareth remained on his knees in front of her as she bid farewell to those with her. Stephen took hold of him and began to drag him back to work, but he fought against leaving. Soren watched as Guermont stepped forwards and then the two of them looked to him.

‘Do they seek to plot against you, Soren?' Larenz asked.

‘Nay, I think not,' he said, shaking his head.

He suspected that Sybilla had not yet been able to have someone read the list that Gareth provided and she would ask him about it. But she would not ask him for leave for such a thing. This gave her the opportunity to find out the truth without having to lose too much pride to do it.