Margaret Moore - [Maiden & Her Knight 03] (26 page)

Alexander sheathed his sword, stood up and stretched. “I don’t care if she’s eaten or not.”

“
Non
, of course not. How silly of me to suggest that you care about anything the lady does.” Denis sat down on his folded blanket and regarded Alexander gravely. “Before you run away from me—”

“I’m not running.” To show that he was not, Alexander sat down again.

“Very well, you are not. Alexander, my friend, when we leave this place, I want to ask Kiera to come with us.”

Alexander nearly groaned out loud. He had hoped he was wrong about Denis’s growing affection, seeing emotions that were merely the inward reflection of his own for Lady Allis.

Perhaps he should have spoken of this sooner, to spare his friend the pain of the inevitable. “She won’t. She’ll stay with Osburn to the end, whatever it is.”

From his expression, Denis obviously did not agree. “You cannot judge all women by your mother, Alexander. At present she may feel trapped, and as if she has no choice. If she is given one, I think she will come.”

“If she persists in thinking that he loves her, she won’t.”

“I do not know if she believes that, or not.”

Alexander studied his friend. He wasn’t sure how to proceed without hurting Denis, but if Denis must be hurt, better he should do it fast and clean, like the cut from a sharp weapon compared to the tear of a dull one. “Denis, do you think she feels any affection for you in return?”

His friend flushed and did not meet his gaze. Instead, he picked at the frayed edge of his blanket. “The important thing is to get her away from that brute.”

“I don’t disagree,” Alexander replied. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up, only to see them dashed if she doesn’t care for you that way.”

Denis stopped fiddling with the thread. “I know you mean well, my friend, but I cannot help how I feel any more than you can. If I am not successful, we can console one another, eh?”

Alexander got to his feet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

With lithe speed, Denis was at the door before Alexander, who couldn’t believe the intent look on his friend’s face. “If I have a hopeless passion, I am not the only one. You can lie to yourself all you want, Alexander, but I know that you care for that woman.”

Angry at Denis for guessing his innermost feelings, and angrier at himself for still having them, Alexander shoved Denis, sending him staggering back. “What does it matter what I feel? She has to go back to her husband, and that’s the end of it!”

As Alexander strode out of the tower, he heard the Brabancons crying out a challenge to a party on the road beyond the castle. He came to an abrupt halt.

Was it friend, or foe? Had Sir Connor hunted them down, after all?

He prepared to draw his sword, then he heard the answer to the guard’s challenge. It was the voice that had talked him into this disastrous affair—that of the traitorous and deceitful Lord Oswald himself.

Alexander’s blood burned with anger. At first he had been so thrilled to meet this man, who had offered him a form of justice; now Alexander wished he had never seen him. He wished he had commanded Oswald to take himself off the moment the man had spoken of his father.

A party of at least twenty soldiers heavily armed and clad in chain mail entered the courtyard through the large wooden gate. At the head of them, riding a fine mare that seemed a delicate creature to carry one of his girth, rode Lord Oswald.

One of the serving wenches who had been watching by the well rushed into the hall, no doubt to alert Osburn and the others that they had visitors. The Brabancons who had been lounging around the courtyard in the sun recognized a man of power and position, even if they might not know exactly who he was, and snapped to attention or tried to look busy. Some disappeared inside the closest building. The men on the wall walk suddenly peered out beyond the castle as if an attack were imminent and they were seeking the first sign of enemies moving closer.

Lord Oswald wore a cloak against the damp sea air. As his escort reined in their horses, he threw it over his beefy shoulder prior to dismounting. His men also dismounted, and the noise of the jingling bridles and mail filled the yard.

Ignoring the commotion, Oswald’s gaze scanned the courtyard and lighted on Alexander. “Alexander, my friend!”

The man was here and that could not be helped, but Alexander was not pleased to see him, and he would not pretend otherwise. However, a summons was a summons, so Alexander went toward the former nobleman. As he did, he saw that Oswald’s clothes, which had once been very fine, were showing definite signs of hard wear. The bright green cloak was mud stained, and the fur lining had come away in some places. His boots were scuffed, and his long tunic was frayed at the hem.

Perhaps Oswald needed the ransom money as much as he did, or even more. Alexander, after all, was used to living frugally.

He inclined his head. “My lord.”

“You have the lady?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Oswald’s broad face, which was thinner than Alexander remembered, beamed with delight, while his eyes brightened with a greed that was very like his son’s.

To think he had once believed Osburn to be a better man than his father.

“I hope she has not given you too much trouble,” Oswald said, regarding Alexander as if he were truly concerned.

“It would have been beneficial if we had been told of her courage and spirit,” Alexander replied. “She tried to escape more than once.”

“Well, I knew you would be a match for her.” Oswald clapped a plump hand on Alexander’s shoulder, making him wince, and not with pain. He didn’t want the man touching him, or even standing that close. When Oswald steered Alexander toward the hall, Alexander wordlessly pulled away.

“Your father would have been a match for her, too,” Oswald said, “if he hadn’t been so besotted by her. Where is she now?”

“In her chamber in the tower.”

The man slid him a sly, yet searching, glance. “I trust you have been immune to her considerable charms.”

“Yes.”

“And my son?”

“He has other amusements to keep him occupied.”

Oswald’s chortle rumbled out of his barrel chest. “I daresay he does! But I am glad to hear it nonetheless. Lady Allis could probably charm Richard into making her his queen, if she wished it—and if Richard liked women.” Oswald looked around the battlements, and not simply to see the gulls wheeling overhead. His beady-eyed gaze was far too shrewd for that. He was surely checking the fortifications as well as the men guarding them, as the lady had.

“Osburn should come out to greet me,” he noted after a moment.

“It is early in the day, my lord,” Alexander answered. “Perhaps he is not yet out of bed.”

Oswald laughed again, but this time, beneath the apparently jovial acceptance, Alexander heard disgust. “He’s probably drunk again. It’s always wine and women with him.”

“You might have warned me about that, too, my lord.”

Oswald didn’t seem to hear as they reached the door to the hall. He waited expectantly until Alexander opened it for him, then he led the way like a conquering hero, leaving Alexander to follow like a faithful acolyte.

Alexander had never been more tempted to stab a man in the back in his life.

Surprisingly, not a single Brabancon or serving wench was in sight, until Kiera peered around the screen. Her face was still bruised, and her cut lip looked sore.

Without a word, she ducked behind it again.

“Osburn!” Oswald shouted, and this time, there was nothing at all jovial in his tone.

His son came stumbling around the screen, and Alexander smirked at the sight of Osburn’s cheek bruised by his blow. It was no more than Osburn deserved for his treatment of both Kiera and Lady Allis, and even considerably less. Still, it was some measure of retribution.

He watched with undisguised scorn as Osburn came to a tottering halt before his father, straightening and pulling down his tunic. Alexander suspected the only reason he was dressed at all was because of Kiera’s efforts, for it was clear the man was still too dazed from sleep and drink to do much for himself.

“Father,” he said, bowing. Then his pale face contorted with agony and he lurched to the hearth, where he threw up.

“My son.” After his sardonic greeting, Oswald went to the nearest chair—furthest from the hearth—and sat. Alexander stayed near the door.

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Osburn faced his father. “I-I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“Obviously.” Oswald nodded at the chair opposite him. “Sit before you fall down.”

Osburn did, gratefully slumping into the chair.

“Aren’t you going to offer me some wine?”

Alexander thought Osburn was going to be sick again at his father’s suggestion, but he managed to control himself, or at least his stomach. “Kiera!” he bellowed, sounding very like his father. “Bring us some wine!”

The girl appeared and scurried toward the kitchen without raising her head, like a mouse frightened out of its hole. Oswald glanced at her but said nothing about her as he turned his cold, beady eyes back onto his son. “What news of Sir Connor and the ransom?”

“He’ll pay.”

Oswald smiled. “I thought he would.” Then he sobered, and his heavy brows furrowed. “Where is Heinrich?”

Osburn’s voice was very faint as he answered. “He is dead.”

His father started, then stared.
“Dead?”

Osburn nodded, and his voice was even softer when he said, “Lady Allis killed him.”

Oswald fell back against the chair, making it creak dangerously. “
She
killed him? How?”

“With a rock. She hit him on the head, from behind. To protect
his
friend.” Osburn pointed an accusing finger at Alexander, who kept his expression blank.

Oswald looked at Alexander and raised an inquisitive brow. “Is that so?”

“Denis was defending himself, and the lady came to his aid.”

To Osburn’s obvious chagrin, his father started to laugh until his prodigious belly shook. “Poor Heinrich! What a way for a Brabancon to die! The shame would have killed him if the blow hadn’t.” When he stopped laughing, he again regarded his son, and all trace of good humor disappeared. “Still, the man was a valuable asset.”

“Y-you won’t have to pay him the rest of his fee,” Osburn said, his voice so high with anxiety that he sounded like a rat with its tail caught in a trap.

“That’s true,” his father answered, apparently somewhat mollified. “And I see the other Brabancons are still here. What of Ingar? I hope the Lady Allis didn’t scuttle his ship and send him to a watery grave, or we’ll have his whole family after us for denying him Valhalla.”

“No, no, Father,” Osburn answered. “He and his men are camped on the beach. He’s not happy about staying on land during the summer season, but he’s still here.”

“Thank God for that, at least.”

Kiera appeared with the wine. The dented silver carafe and two silver goblets rattled on the tray as she carried it in trembling hands and set it on a table. While she poured out wine for the two men, Oswald ran a measuring gaze over her. “So, this is how you’ve been spending your nights, is it, my son. She’d be pretty if not for the bruises.”

Kiera blushed bright red, and Alexander was sure he saw her eyes shine with unshed tears of humiliation. “That is your son’s handiwork,” Alexander said.

As Kiera handed him a goblet, Oswald stopped looking at her to glance at Alexander.

But he said nothing about Kiera’s injuries to his son. Instead, he spoke to Kiera. “Fetch Lady Allis.”

A
lexander heard the lady’s footsteps before he saw her. Steeling himself, he turned to see her scan the men gathered in the hall. For a brief moment, her shining gaze met his and held it until he looked away.

He wouldn’t look at her again if he could help it, he vowed, as his feelings for her struggled back into his consciousness and demanded that he heed them.

Trying to subdue them, he focused on the nobleman and his son—and got the greatest shock of his life. Lord Oswald was staring at Lady Allis as if she were a ghost. Then his face reddened almost to purple, and he slowly got to his feet.