Margaret Moore - [Warrior 13] (16 page)

“People are looking at us. I think we should stop holding hands.”

A swift glance along the road and around the market proved that her observation was, regrettably, correct. The people buying and selling turned away quickly and suddenly became intent upon their bargaining.

He sighed with resignation and did as she suggested. “Aye, you’re right. The way rumor and gossip fly about the village, my father might hear of our hand-holding before we even get to Mary’s. But after I’ve told him, and Mother, too, I’m going to hold your hand every chance I get.”

Anne blushed, and she still looked worried.

“Have no fears or concerns, Anne. Everything will be fine.”

“I hope so.”

She spoke so softly her husband didn’t hear.

Trying not to make it look obvious that she was searching for someone, Anne walked slowly through the village. She had waited until Reece had gone from Mary’s to round up any of the youths who had come to the village before she left Lady Fritha, saying that she wanted to return to the castle to mend a shift.

Her shift did need mending, but more importantly, she needed to speak to Benedict.

She had spotted him in the alley near the tavern on the green. Her first reaction was a flinch of fear, but that quickly gave way to triumphant exaltation. She would tell him to go back to Damon and inform her half brother that she would not be spying for him. If
he did not like that, let him try to take her, and Piers, away from Castle Gervais. Her beloved husband would surely never allow that to happen, and so Damon’s threats would be meaningless.

Benedict’s familiar bulk slouched in the shade of the smithy as if he was half in his cups. She slowed her steps until she was sure he had seen her, then she gave him a pointed look and headed toward the alley between the smith’s and the chandler’s. The chandler’s shop was shuttered now and the smithy’s business concluded for the day.

Benedict appeared at the alley’s entrance, swaying like a sot. “Well, aren’t you the lovey-dovey little woman?” he sneered, his words slurred. “Have you managed to get that eunuch to bed you at last?”

He wasn’t half-drunk. He was nearly insensible. She could smell the ale on him from here.

She had to be careful. A drunk Benedict was a mean Benedict. She made sure her back was to the wall and noted how far it was to the end of the alley as she calculated how to get past him.

Thank God a drunk Benedict was also a slow Benedict.

“Keep your voice down!” she commanded in a harsh whisper as he came to a swaying halt. The last thing she wanted was for somebody to discover her with him.

He flushed and came closer still. “Shut your mouth!” he snarled.

“You have no right to order me. Neither does Da
mon. I am the wife of Sir Reece Fitzroy—in every sense of the word, as you guessed—so Damon has no power and no rights over me. Therefore, you will leave this place and when you return to him, you will tell him that there will be no information about the Fitzroys and their friends coming from
me.
”

Benedict’s bleary eyes narrowed as he stumbled closer. She tried to move to the side to get away, but he caught her, bracing his two hands on either side of her head. He leaned forward, so that his foul breath was full in her face. “Who do you think you are, girl?”

Despite his bravado, she saw dread and dismay in his narrow, ugly eyes.

Emboldened, she straightened her shoulders and curled her lip with disdain as she faced a man who had tormented her for so long. “I am the wife of Sir Reece Fitzroy. The king himself has made me free of Damon, and you, and if you have the sense of a flea, you will run to Damon and tell him that he threatens me, and my husband, at his peril.”

Benedict blinked stupidly, as if he couldn’t take in what she was saying.

She shoved his right arm down and stepped away. “I am not afraid of you, or Damon, anymore.”

“Then we will take Piers.”

“If Damon is such a fool as to move against the wife of Sir Reece Fitzroy, let him try.”

“If you want me gone, get me some money to buy a horse.”

“What happened to yours?”

“I lost it.”

Lost? No doubt he had done so gambling.

Although she didn’t want to give him even so much as a ha’penny, she had little choice unless she wanted him to try to steal a mount. He would surely get caught, and then explanations would have to be made. Better he should leave here, and take her message to Damon. “I shall have to give you something to sell.”

He shrugged. “All right.”

“I will meet you here tomorrow.”

“Good.”

She hesitated. “Whatever you do, Benedict, be careful not to reveal who you are.”

“Do I look like a fool?” he demanded.

Anne didn’t answer as she marched away.

T
he main room of the inn far on the outskirts of Bridgeford Wells was not large, and it stank of cheap ale and even cheaper wine, filthy rushes on the floors surely infested with fleas, and bones and spills from several meals. Although the sun still shone, the windows let in little light and allowed almost none of the smoke from the hearth to dissipate. Near the entrance, a noisy game of dice was in progress. Several youths from Castle Gervais were involved, and wagers were being made.

Piers Delasaine had come because he was flattered that the other boys asked him. As much as he loved his sister, he was discovering the pleasure of friendship among comrades-in-arms.

He had not been happy that Anne had asked the king to send him with her, thinking his lack of skill would prove humiliating. Instead, he had found that he was better than many here, and with the instruction of Sir Urien, Reece, Donald and Seldon, he could be
come better still, and probably even a champion of tournaments someday.

Then he would show his half brothers that they had been wrong to treat him like an unnecessary nuisance, and very wrong to treat Anne as they had.

He sat in the farthest, darkest corner, nursing his sour and overpriced wine that had taken far too much of the meager funds he had been hoarding for months, since he had first heard Damon’s plan to take them to the king’s court.

Trevelyan Fitzroy, who was likewise not making wagers but who had been quipping about the progress of the game, detached himself from the huddle and sauntered closer.

“What do you want?” Piers asked without making any attempt to sound polite, or even interested.

Trevelyan Fitzroy had everything he wanted: a loving father and mother, brothers worthy of admiration and emulation, several friends, a handsome face and a charming manner. It still struck Piers as nothing short of miraculous that Lisette had not responded to Trevelyan’s overtures. However, it had made her lack of attention to
him
much easier to take.

If he had known Trevelyan was going to be in the group, he would have stayed in the barracks and polished his armor.

To his surprise, Trevelyan grinned and sat on the bench opposite him. “I’ve come to sue for peace.”

Piers’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why? I’m a Delasaine, you’re a Fitzroy. My brothers attacks
yours. And defeated him, too,” he couldn’t resist adding.

Trevelyan’s cheeks reddened. “Aye, they beat him—shamefully—and it took both of them to do it.”

As Piers half rose, Trevelyan grabbed his arm and held it.

“Sit and listen. I’m willing to overlook what happened. My father always says that while you should pay heed to the company a man keeps, it is the man himself you should measure. You don’t give up, you fight hard but fair, and if I were in a battle, I’d feel better knowing you were by my side. If you don’t want to be my friend, that’s fine. But I don’t want you to be an enemy.”

There could be no mistaking his sincerity, and Piers could not help feeling pleased, and flattered. His envy might never disappear, but he could not refuse this offer of friendship. In his heart he knew he would be a fool to let pride rob him of this chance. “If we are ever to battle, I would want you by my side, too.”

They both sensed the import of this pact and sat in solemn silence for a moment.

Then, because he was happy, Piers sought to lighten the mood. “And Lisette doesn’t want you, either.”

Trevelyan’s laugh rumbled up from his chest. The merry sound drew the attention of the gamesters for a brief moment, but soon enough their attention was once more on the game. “No, she doesn’t. She’s got Donald—and talk about dead gone! He’s practically daft when he’s anywhere near her.”

The door burst open as if blown by a great gust of wind. The gamesters cried out in protest until they saw Reece Fitzroy silhouetted in the doorway.

“What the devil are you young louts doing here?” he asked, his hands on his hips.

“Quick, follow me,” Trevelyan whispered, slipping around the table. “Out the back. Careful. Keep low or he’ll see us.”

Piers made no argument as he obeyed. Clearly Trevelyan had made a clandestine escape from this tavern before. He led Piers out through the kitchen, past the chicken coup and pigsty, and over the fence to the trees behind.

Laughing with relief, Trevelyan threw himself on the ground. “Oh, God’s wounds, that was close! There’ll be hell to pay when they get back.”

“I suppose they’ll be punished?”

“Oh, a little extra duty, maybe. My father let us go early today, so they had to know some of us would make a beeline here.”

Piers clambered to his feet. “And you came anyway?”

Trevelyan rose and brushed off his clothes. “Aye. They expect it, you see. Why should I spoil Reece’s fun?”

“So long as
you’re
not caught, eh?”

Trevelyan chuckled ruefully. “Oh, I have, plenty of times when I’ve been too slow, and they’re a lot harder on me than the others. To set an example, you
see. Even then, it’s not that bad.” He regarded Piers gravely. “Not used to having fun, are you?”

He didn’t wait for Piers to answer. “Come on, we’d best head back. I’ll go to the east, you to the west, and I’ll see you in the hall.”

With a nod, Piers left his brother-in-law. Then, as he hurried through the village, he saw a sight that brought him to a shocked halt. Anne came marching out of the alley beside the smithy as if she were on an important mission for the king.

That was surprising enough. But then Benedict lumbered into view, heading toward the tavern like a bad omen made flesh.

Humming the tune to a ballad about a bold knight and his faithful lady love, Reece entered the hall. He had marched the errant youths to the barracks, given them a good tongue-lashing, and left them sitting on their cots with orders to polish every speck of armor they owned by tomorrow morning. They could start in the short time before the evening meal and finish afterward.

All things considered, though, they hadn’t gotten into too much mischief. None had been drunk, and not much money had been lost on their youthful wagers. He had made certain of that, and the owner of the tavern knew better than to lead the boys training with Sir Urien too far astray. Sir Urien himself had made that point very clear soon after the man had opened his establishment in Bridgeford Wells.

He wondered again where Trevelyan and Piers Delasaine had got to, hoping they weren’t fighting again, or getting into trouble of another sort.

Then his gaze moved to the dais. His father was there, and so was—

“Gervais!” Reece called out, hurrying forward.

Even as he did, his heart hammered in his chest. What news did his brother bring? From the look on Gervais’s face, it did not appear to be good. He also looked exhausted, as if he had rushed to Bridgeford Wells as fast as he could.

They embraced in greeting. “What news from court?” Reece asked.

“I bring a summons from Henry. You are to appear before him immediately,” Gervais replied.

Reece could think of only one reason Henry would summon him back to court—the annulment that he no longer wanted.

Gervais and his father studied him, so singular in their expression, they were like mirror images.

“To the solar,” Sir Urien brusquely ordered after a sweeping glance around the hall. “We need not discuss all our business in the hall. Your mother is from home, but she can come to us there when she returns.”

He turned and led the way. Reece followed with Gervais, who glanced at him uncertainly.

Was his change of heart obvious? Reece wondered. Could Gervais see how unwelcome his news was, news that days ago would have been cause for relief?

After they entered the solar, Sir Urien closed the
door behind them and took his seat at his table. He gestured for his sons to sit. “Now, Gervais, begin at the beginning.”

Gervais nodded, but first he methodically drew off his gauntlet gloves. He unbuckled his cloak and let it fall behind him on the chair. His preparations, so characteristic of him, threatened to make Reece scream with impatience.

There was nothing new in that, either.

“I finally got an audience with Henry, after he returned from hunting in the New Forest. As I had hoped, he was in a genial frame of mind, and I was able to convince him that an annulment of the marriage between Anne and Reece would be the best thing for all concerned. He agreed and that is why Reece and Anne are to return to court.”

Oh, God. His plan had worked. His stupid, unnecessary plan had worked.

“He was not angry at the implied criticism?” his father asked.

“No.” Gervais cleared his throat and spoke without looking at Reece. “Damon Delasaine has not been acting wisely, and I think Henry understands why a man loyal to the king would not wish to be allied with that particular family.”

“You are not at court now, my son,” Sir Urien rumbled. “Speak plainly.”

“As bad as we already knew the Delasaines to be, they are even worse. Their crimes are more extensive than we thought.”

Reece leaned forward. “What crimes?”

“There are stories of rape, possibly murder. Even on my way here, a serving wench in a tavern was found dead, and the man seen riding away sounded like Benedict Delasaine.”

“Was he not at court?” Reece asked.

“No. He has not been at court since shortly after you left. As if all this is not bad enough, Damon Delasaine is apparently trying to seduce the queen.”

Surely Gervais was wrong, interpreting rumour and gossip in the worst possible light because the Delasaines were their enemy.

“How do you know what Damon Delasaine plans?” Reece demanded. “I don’t imagine he discusses such things with you.”

“He’s a vain, arrogant fool who makes his goal plain. Everybody at court can see what he is trying to do.”

“If everybody at court can see it, why isn’t he charged with treason?”

“Because then the queen will be implicated, too. Henry cares for Eleanor, and thus far, she is blameless. She has not encouraged the man. She hasn’t sent him away, either,” Gervais added grimly, “but she has done nothing criminal so far, and neither, exactly, has he. But Blaidd says—”

“Oh, and what the
expert
on women says must be true?” Reece charged. “He can read Eleanor’s mind and heart?”

“Not Eleanor’s—Damon’s,” Gervais retorted.

Reece’s hands balled into fists as he fought to control the rage and dismay building within him. “I point out that so far, there is no proof of any crime on the part of the Delasaines. I agree they seem quite capable of violence and murder and even treason but—”

“But?” Gervais cried, staring at him. “
But?
What more do you want? You had less evidence of the man’s evil ambition when you made the wise decision to annul your marriage to his sister. The Morgans agree with me that Delasaine would probably be willing to assassinate Henry if he succeeded in becoming Eleanor’s lover.”

“Even he could not be such a fool,” Reece declared. “For one thing, he does not have royal blood, so he could never be king.”

“Unfortunately, he does,” his father said. “Only about a drop, but for him, that may be enough to believe he can succeed. Or a man may rule without a crown.”

“If the risk to Henry is so grave, have the man arrested and charged.”

“You do not want to believe this, do you?” Gervais demanded.

“Of course not. Delasaine is my brother-in-law.”

“For now,” his father said sternly. “What Gervais has learned makes it even more imperative that you free yourself from this liaison. Damon Delasaine has no more sense than a mad dog, and he will take others down with him in his ambition.”

Reece could not disagree that any tie to a convicted
traitor to the crown meant danger for the traitor’s family.

“What about these other crimes—the rapes and murders?” he asked. “Why has he not been charged with them? If he were in prison, or executed, he could not assassinate the king.”

“So far, there is not enough proof for a jury of nobles to convict a knight in a court of law.”

Reece crossed his arms. “But there is enough for me to annul my marriage?”

His father studied him with a searching intensity that would have made him flinch two days ago. “What are you saying, Reece? That you no longer want the annulment?” he asked incredulously.

“Our loyalty is without question.”

“A man in power can be very suspicious if he thinks that power is in jeopardy,” Sir Urien answered sternly. “Former loyalty may count for nothing if he feels threatened. You should not tarry, but go to court before Damon does something traitorous, especially given that Henry sounds amenable to reconsidering the marriage. I’ve known men like Damon before, and patience is not one of their virtues. When he moves, you do not want to be tied to him.”

In his mind, Reece knew his father spoke the truth about Damon Delasaine. Men like him would over-reach themselves, and like Icarus flying to the sun, destroy themselves. Unlike Icarus, Damon would take others with him.

His father’s expression thawed a tiny bit. “I was afraid of this. You have started to care for her.”

“Yes, I have. She is my wife, after all.” He looked at Gervais. “If what you say is true, what will happen to Anne if she is not my wife? The whole family could have their money and land stripped from them.”

“Reece,” Gervais began, “I did not want to have to tell you this, but now it seems I must.”

A shadow seemed to fall across Reece’s heart as he watched his brother warily.

“Whenever I encountered Damon after you had gone,” Gervais said, his tone grim but certain, “he regarded me with smug satisfaction, like a peddler who’s sold something at twice its value. It was strange, and raised my suspicions. If he were upset about the marriage as he seemed to be at first, he would not act so. Why should he now be pleased after opposing it before?”

“He realized there was nothing he could do, and he had no dowry to pay,” Reece replied.

Gervais’s expression grew even sadder. “Or he realized there was some benefit to be had by this marriage.”

“It ties him to a better family,” Reece suggested.