Vinn
a’s sins were few, Conan reasoned. He doubted she had anything to do with Rolfe’s treachery. And the lads were too small to fear. There seemed no need to display the castellan’s death.
Conan put away his broadsword and drew out a finely honed knife. He looked at his blade for a moment, and then took two long strides toward Rolfe. One of the knights grasped a handful of Rolfe’s thick, graying mane and yanked back his head to expose his throat. Without flinching or
g
rimacing, Conan slit his throat, the blood from that wound quickly staining his hand.
Within seconds Conan’s men held the limp, bleeding form of Sir Rolfe. He motioned the men to take him away and turned to clean off his blade and return it to his sheath. He consciously made his actions smooth and unhurried.
“
What would you have us do, Sir Conan?” a young knight asked.
“
Bury the dead and burn the carcasses in the stable. Shackle Rolfe’s men; I will deal with them later.”
Conan walked into the hall where wide-eyed servants seemed to try to shrink into the walls.
“
Is there a chamber I could use for myself?” he asked a woman in the hall.
The woman approached him gingerly.
“
The lord’s cham
ber, sir?”
“
Nay. Another will do. One not spoken for.”
“
Aye, m’lord,” she replied, going ahead of him up the stair.
Conan did not look about the room the woman offered. He nodded once and closed himself inside. He leaned against the door and looked at the blood on his hand. He had killed at least once before, but it had been in defense of his life. This was very different.
He fought the rising gorge, his eyes closed tightly. The bloodied hand formed a fist, and he pressed it against his stomach. He breathed deeply once; twice. He let his eyes open slowly, looking around and willing himself to be strong
--
to manage his deeds as a man would. There could be no more boyish ways.
I will ready this place for my wife,
he thought.
I will in time have a son
--
sons. Will I come to understand Rolfe’s mad
ness?
He moved to the window and looked into the courtyard below. His men were doing their work well, escorting Rolfe’s men away and carrying bodies out of the courtyard for burial. He could not think of this place as a home, a place to bring a wife. He could not envision his life as it would be when a warm, feminine voice would greet him in his chamber. He closed his eyes and sought a vision of Edwina
--
but nothing came.
Chapter 4
For a long time the leaves had been gone from the many fruit trees that surrounded Phalen Castle. The gardens were now barren and brown. In the courtyard, beyond the gardens, was a small lot set apart and guarded by a fence. Within lay the graves of those who had lived in the castle. There was a grave for the fair lady of Phalen, Medwin’s wife.
In the spring and summer, Chandra brought flowers to her mother’s grave. In the winter she could only bring her thoughts. Often she visited this place to be near her mother’s spirit.
Millicent had been a delicate beauty, much as Edwina was. She was never strong of body, not bringing a baby to full term until she was over thirty years old. And after three girls, her body was exhausted of its use for bearing children. With Chandra’s birth, Millicent nearly lost her life. After that her bedchamber was set apart from Medwin’s and, much to the disapproval of the local priest, she did not prove with child again.
The devotion between husband and wife bloomed more beautiful than before as Medwin sacrificed his own desires for the sake of his wife’s health. Chandra was grateful, for had her father been more selfish, she might not have had her mother for the twelve years longer that she lived.
Though Millicent was not robust, she was wise and learned. She managed the financial and the writing chores for Medwin through all the years they were together and was his counsel in the management of his lands. Medwin often admitted that Millicent’s good advice had made Phalen the strong holding that it was.
Medwin’s assets were clearly his strength and stamina, his battle skills and his qualities as a leader of men. His gifts, combined with his lady’s wisdom ruling ever at his side, made Medwin an esteemed lord among his peers.
Edwina had been born with her mother’s weak constitu
tion. Millicent did not pamper Edwina as a child, possibly hoping that will alone would make the child hardy. But it had been useless, for Edwina was often beset with illness.
Laine had been born with Medwin’s sturdy strength and, since early in her childhood, had a strong devotion to the church. Millicent had not discouraged this, and Laine had been allowed to spend weeks at a time with the Benedictine nuns. Even now Laine spent more time praying than doing anything else.
Chandra had not pondered which qualities she might have inherited from her parents. She knew she had not the frail, petite beauty of her mother. Already, at three and ten, she was as tall as Edwina and could easily bear twice the burden. She could not consider herself as wise as her mother, though she had done well at learning to write and count. She could ride as well as any lad her age, but she had less time for riding now. Since her sisters were not overly conscious of managing the keep, Chandra was her father’s right hand. When Millicent died, it was Chandra who had tried to take her place.
Although her work in the manor usually kept her mind off her problems, she often found the need to escape to the gardens, even in the cold of winter. There was a bench of stone near Millicent’s grave that had become her favorite perch. She brushed the snow away and sat, pulling her fur-lined mantle tightly about her. Tears were near to spilling. Every day was more of a trial and she cursed her own womanhood.
The small pubescent mounds on her chest ached and itched, pressed tightly into clothing sewn for a younger maid. The hem of her woolen skirts had risen since the winter before, and her ankles were exposed. Just this morning some of the castle women had taken the task of altering her clothing to fit her more mature frame. And in the same morning she had found her shift stained bright red by her first flow. Her back and belly ached.
Chandra straightened her back and bore the discomfort in silence. She protected her clothing as she had seen her sisters do and spoke not a word to any of the women.
It was the custom in this time for a maid to marry at this early age, by thirteen or fourteen, certainly by fifteen. Edwina, now six and ten, was older than her most marriage
able age. Medwin’s friends and neighbors had snickered. He was too protective of his daughters, holding fast to them until a late age. Medwin gloated now. His patience had secured for his daughter a fine husband.
It very often happened that a lass barely blooming, her young body physically prepared for childbirth, or nearly so, was given in wedlock to a man. Not a gangling youth who had never tasted womanflesh, but more often an older man, one well advised. The lack of emotional readiness for such a union usually left the maid at a disadvantage, and that first coupling was anything but delightful.
Such could not be the case with Chandra. Within her heart there was a base yearning for a man, for his caress and his kiss. She cursed herself for the fantasies she indulged in just prior to sleep, when the curtain of reality was just beginning to blend into the dream world; when her own arms wrapped around her could become the arms of her knight. She could imagine perfectly every muscle and curve of his body, and she knew instinctively how his tall form would fit against her smaller body.
But in these blissful moments, he was as hungry for her as she for him. In reality this was not the case.
As Christmastide drew nearer, more and more rich gifts arrived for Edwina. Conan courted her well. Edwina’s spirits were high and she seemed much in love
--
or at least in love with the attention.
To watch him from afar and try as I might to still my longing,
Chandra thought in near despair.
That is all I can do.
Chandra sighed, her thoughts never changing and her disposition never improving. She abandoned the biting cold for the warmth of the hall, thinking as she went,
Would that I could have been the firstborn, then there would be no choice. And then
...
She warmed a cup of milk with a hot poker from the fire and sat near the hearth, absorbing the heat. Locked in her
h
eart was a love so strong it burned brighter every day. And every day the inevitable marriage of her sister to the man she longed for drew nearer.
“
You seem not even a part of this world,” came the voice of Medwin.
Chandra jumped in surprise and looked up at her father. She smiled at him fondly.
“
Do you think I have not noticed your low spirits, lass? Are your troubles so many?”
“
Oh, nay,” she replied, smiling and reaching for his hand.
“
I always miss Mother most when the cold is here. I remem
ber when we’d sit before the fire and do our sewing
--
all of us
--
and we would talk of so many things. Women’s things. It seems the winters are colder now.” Her voice became softer and drifted off. When no response came from Medwin, she looked up to see the old gray eyes looking off into some distant place.
“
I’m sorry, Father. I know you miss her too.”
“
Aye, the winters were not so cold then.”
“
Spring will be here soon. The flowers will bloom and
--
”
The old gray eyes took light.
“
And Edwina will be wed. Ah, it will be a glad day when I welcome Alaric’s son into my family. A glad day!”
Chandra looked into her lap and nodded.
“
Have you seen what new gift he has sent? A mare of fine lineage came for her just this morn, a gift from Stoddard. All the finest horses are raised there, and the one for his lady is among the finest.”
Chandra frowned.
“
Edwina has never been much for horses,” she said quietly.
“
Perhaps that will change when she is married to Conan. She must learn to keep pace with her husband. Conan is a man of great energy.”
“
Do you think it possible, Father?”
“
Aye, I think she will manage. Since these many gifts have been arriving she seems brighter, livelier. Yea, marriage to a man as fine and strong as Conan may serve as a healing balm for Edwina.”
“
She will be well cared for
--
” Chandra started.
“
I had hoped for a match for Conan from my house. In truth, I had not thought of Edwina and knew not Laine
--
”
Chandra stared at her father with her mouth slightly agape
a
nd her eyes wide. She was half afraid of what he might say. He chucked her under the chin.
“
I thought in one more summer I would speak to Alaric about you. Your temperament and hardy fitness seemed a like match for Conan. But the lad surprised me with his choice and
--
”
“
By the heel of Satan!” she cursed. One more summer!
“
What say you, lass?” He frowned.
“
Nothing, Father. Only that I wish the star-struck knight could have given me one more summer. I would not have argued against you.”
He raised one brow.
“
I had not thought you ready to take a husband. Do you tell me now that you wish to be wed?”
“
Nay, but that I could have been ready for that one,” she said, pouting.
“
And I will tell you that I think I would have been a far better choice than the one made!”
Medwin’s frown deepened.
“
Do you covet what is your sister’s?” he asked slowly and sternly.
Chandra dropped her head.
“
Nay, Father. I am pleased for Edwina.”
“
We do not speak of a frock or bauble, Chandra. We speak of a man and woman in marriage. Tis a serious sin to find your heart cast to a man thus committed.”
“
Yea,” she murmured, her guilt and frustration wrenching her insides.
“
I am indebted to Lady Udele for bringing our children together. I had not aspired to so much. Conan’s reputation is firm in England and France, and I half expected him to bring a duke’s daughter home to wed. Surely he could have had more
--
”
Chandra looked at Medwin in awe.
“
Udele?” Chandra questioned softly.
“
Aye, Lady Udele was quick to see that joined together our lands would make a greater power.” Medwin shrugged.
“
It is a thing I’ve known for a very long time, but Conan expressed no interest in my oldest daughter. All he needed was a word from his mother and a soft smile from Edwina. Where is the need for faraway lands, however rich? Now he will rule over a large holding in his own England.”
Chandra’s throat ached and tears welled under clenched lids. She could not pretend that it didn’t matter, for her whole dream seemed crushed.
However important the considera
t
ion of lands and wealth, Edwina was not strong enough or wise enough. She could never love him enough!
Medwin lifted her chin and gave a rather perplexed look at his daughter’s tears. He questioned her with his eyes.
“
Conan needs a woman of strength and spirit to help him prosper,” she heard herself say.
“
A woman with as much strength and spirit as he has! Father, how can you think this a good match when I
--
”
“
Chandra!” Medwin snarled.
The door to the keep burst open, and, with a gust of wind that sent his dark blue mantle billowing, the intruder stepped inside. Soft leather boots were strapped tightly to his legs, covering to the knee his blue chausses. A red tunic covered chain mail, and his helm was still resting in one gauntleted hand. He gave the door a lusty kick to close it, and there he stood, feet braced apart and his hand on his hip. His white teeth gleamed from behind his dark beard.
Chandra’s mouth formed his name, though silently.
“
Conan.”
Medwin was more verbal, and his smile nearly matched Sir Conan’s.
“
Conan! Here! We could not have known you would come! We would have set a boar to roast had we known.”
“
I could not send word ahead, my lord,” he apologized.
“
I did not think I could be spared from my duties, but I have wrestled away a few days and thought to spend them here, with my bride and her family.”
“
She will be delighted! Honored! You have ridden so far and through this hateful weather
--
for Edwina! A fine son you will make!”
Chandra’s hand flew to her mouth to still an outraged cry. Her feet took her quickly to the stair, and with tears flowing in spite of her efforts to stop them, she fled the room.
Conan looked aghast as she flew past him, her pretty face streaked with tears and her glorious hair bouncing down her back as she ran up the stairs. He cast a confused look toward Medwin.
“
My lord?”
“‘
Twas not of your doing, lad,” Medwin said, shaking his head in disappointment.