The Warrior and the Dove - A Short Novel (Medieval Chronicles) (3 page)

Annith seized the
tray, turned, and fled into the kitchen.

Two minutes
later, with Herleve blushing and bridling from the outrageous flattery Hugh had
bestowed upon her on leaving, Annith watched from the shop window as he and
Martin walked off together toward the south gate and the castle. She still had
a mountain of questions casting a dark shadow over her, but at least one had
been answered.

At the touch of
Hugh’s firm mouth against her fingers, a sharp tingle of pleasure had darted
through her all the way to her toes.

*         
*          *

Hugh studied the
man beside him as they crossed the bridge. The protectiveness Martin and his
wife had shown toward Annith meant that he would have to be very clear about his
intentions, and they probably wouldn’t believe him even then. Not that it
mattered. The deed itself would convince them, and that deed would be carried
out. No matter what obstacles they put in his way.

“Master
Fletcher,” he began, “’tis true you should meet Ranulf fitzWalter, but that is
not the reason I asked you to accompany me. I believe you stand in place of a
father to your cousin, Annith.”

A shuttered look
immediately descended on Martin’s face. After seeing that exchange between
husband and wife earlier, Hugh had expected it. There was a mystery here all
right, and it concerned his lady. Which made it his business.

“You could say
that,” Martin said slowly.

“Then you need
to know that I wish to marry her.”

“
Wha
—”
Martin came to a dead stop and stared at him, mouth agape. “You wish to marry
Annith?” he demanded after several seconds.

“Aye.”

“But—” Martin
stopped again, clearly lost for words.

Hugh decided to
help him out. “I would speak to her directly, but she knows little of me as
yet. And, seemingly, little of men,” he added thoughtfully, remembering her
astonishment at the smallest of compliments, her hesitation in touching him. “I
know she is young—”

Martin waved his
hands wildly, gesturing him to silence. Hugh raised his brows, but the fletcher
faced him squarely and made no apology. He was to be respected for it.

“Why marriage?”
he asked bluntly. “Let us be open about how such matters stand, my lord. A man
of your station is more likely to take a fletcher’s girl as his mistress.”

“I think you know
she’s more than that,” Hugh said quietly.

“Mayhap.” Martin
brooded for a moment before squaring his shoulders. “My lord, before we discuss
this further—and if we do, there will be much to discuss—I must speak to
Annith. I cannot answer for her.”

“I’m not asking
you to propose for me, Martin. I can do that, myself.”

“’Tis not that,
sir.” Martin shook his head. “And I cannot say more. This touches too heavily
on her. If you are asking for my blessing, let me have until tomorrow before I
answer you.”

Hugh eyed him
narrowly. “Then I’m right. She’s in some sort of trouble.”

Martin just
looked at him.

“I thought so.”
Hugh met the fletcher’s look with a commanding one of his own. “Martin, I
intend to marry Annith. Whatever trouble she’s in, telling me will bring no
harm to her, or to you and Herleve. You have my oath on it.”

When still no
answer was forthcoming, he made an impatient sound. “Has she sworn you to
silence?”

“Nay.”

“Then there is
no impediment, man! Do you truly believe I would hurt so innocent and gentle a
girl? ’Tis my desire to protect her.”

For a minute he
thought nothing would sway the fletcher, but finally Martin gave a sigh of
capitulation. “Then it seems I must trust you, my lord. And may God strike me
down if I’m wrong.”

“That won’t
happen,” Hugh said firmly. “Tell me!”

Another silence
fell, but this time Hugh let it stand. It was obvious that Martin was trying to
decide where to start. Mayhap Annith was being pestered by an over-zealous youth
who wouldn’t take nay for an answer. Or, more worrying for one of Martin’s
station, a local land-holder was stalking her with no honorable intent.

“I suppose the
first thing to admit is that Annith is no relation to me or to Herleve,” Martin
said at last.

“I had already
surmised as much,” Hugh told him. “How is it that she lives with you?”

“I found her
lying senseless in the forest,” Martin said simply. And Hugh felt his blood
turn to ice.

“How badly was she
injured?” he rapped out, and had to force the next words past the sudden
constriction in his chest. “Were there any signs of rape?”

When Martin
shook his head, Hugh closed his eyes briefly in relief.

“Nay, my lord.
Herleve undressed her and bathed her as best she could. There was a lump on the
back of her head, and some blood, as if she’d fallen and hit something, or been
struck. But there was no bruising on her legs, where… Well, you know.”

“Only too well,”
Hugh said grimly. “Go on. When did this happen?”

“’Twas the day I
returned from Evesham,” Martin continued. “The day of your fight with Corbel
and his men, although I didn’t know it, then. Dusk was falling, but I’d been on
the road since noon and wanted to get home, so I took the short way through the
forest. I was alert, as you can imagine, travelling alone, and just as well,
for she wasn’t in plain sight. If she hadn’t made a sound I’d have passed by,
but I heard something that sounded like an animal in pain, so I searched.”

He fell silent
before making a small gesture as though re-living the moment. “There she was.
Lying on the ground, covered in dirt and leaves. It looked as though she had
crawled through the undergrowth before she collapsed. ’Tis getting dense now
with the trees losing their leaves. I could barely make out her face, and she
was wearing boy’s clothes but—”

“
What
?”

Martin nodded.
“Aye, cotte and hose, a hooded mantle. Good quality, too. But I could see ’twas
a girl lying there. Her hair was in one of those long braids, as it is today,
and she’d coiled it up beneath the hood, but it must have fallen back when
she’d gone through the forest.”

“Boy’s clothes.”
Hugh frowned. “She couldn’t have been with Corbel’s youths. ’Tis
inconceivable.”

“Nay. I wondered
that, myself. But I’ve lived here all my life, my lord. I know this district
for miles around, and its people. I’ve never seen her before.”

Hugh remembered
the cautious way Annith had studied the men-at-arms yesterday. “Then the other
possibility is that she’s running from something.”

Martin looked
startled. “From the law?”

“Nay. I doubt
yonder maid is capable of ill thought, let alone deed.”

“What does that
matter?” demanded Martin. “Look at what passed for the law in these parts.
Innocent folk threatened with imprisonment for crimes they didn’t commit unless
they paid off the accuser.”

“True. But the
castellan will be punished and a good man has replaced him. One of my own
knights. Be content, and finish your tale.”

“Aye, my lord.
In truth, there is little more to tell. I put the lass over my shoulder and
took her home. What else could I do? I’d no idea there’d been a battle nearby.
All was quiet. But I wouldn’t have taken her to Corbel’s manor in any case,
though ’twas nearer. That was no place for a girl out of her senses. She was
safer with Herleve and me.”

“And I thank God
for your good sense,” Hugh muttered.

“Better that
than the scolding I would have received from Herleve if I’d done else,” Martin
said with an unexpected grin. He sobered quickly. “But what would drive a
gently-born girl, which anyone can see she is, to be out in the world, alone?”

“You haven’t
asked her?”

“As soon as she
woke,” Martin answered. “She remembers naught. Not even her name. We asked, but
all she got out was something that sounded like An-at.” Martin shook his head.
“If you had seen the terror that crossed her face when she realized she knew
nothing… Poor little dove. ’Tis how we think of her,” he explained with a
smile. “For her gentle ways. Herleve suggested we call her Annith and she
agreed.”

Hugh nodded
thoughtfully. “Given the situation at the castle I can understand why you
didn’t make a report there, but why didn’t you go to Father Robert?”

“We mentioned
it, but the child begged and pleaded with us to stay silent until her memory
returned. How could we gainsay her? She seemed in terror for her life. So we
put it about that she was distant kin who had come to visit us.”

“A good tale,
but that can’t continue.”

“I know it,”
Martin agreed. “I suppose we could notify the Sheriff at Worcester now Annith
is back on her feet, but I think the very suggestion will throw her into a
panic. What if she should run again? We can’t keep her confined.”

“Nay, I won’t
have her fettered or afraid. Besides, you’ve told me now. Even if you went to
the Sheriff, he would hand the matter back to me as the King’s agent here. Rest
assured you’ve done right, should anyone challenge your actions.”

“What will you
do, my lord?”

“I’ll think on
that, but first I must speak with Annith. Tell her I’ll be there tomorrow
morning, if you think it necessary to give her notice. Meanwhile…” Hugh gripped
the man’s shoulder briefly. “I’m grateful beyond words to you and Herleve,
Martin. There will always be a place for you on my lands, if you wish it. And
if you ever need help, you have only to send word.”

“Well, I dare
say Herleve would enjoy a nice little cottage in the country,” Martin muttered,
looking somewhat overwhelmed. “And God knows we love the girl already like one
of our own. ’Twould be good to be near her one day.”

“And so you
shall be,” Hugh said easily. “Come. There’s still time to talk to fitzWalter
about arrows and such like. You and I shall meet again tomorrow.”

*         
*          *

Annith was
pacing the solar floor when she heard the knock on the door the following
morning. Predictably her heart picked up its pace. Before she managed to
administer a stern rebuke, Herleve was ushering Hugh into the room.

“I’ll be in the
kitchen if you need me,” she said with a smile, and left them.

Annith looked up
at him. She felt as though she was seeing him with new eyes. As if the
knowledge that he was there to speak with her,
only
with her, had awoken
something that she had been unaware of until this moment. She was suddenly,
acutely, aware that she was female. And that Hugh de Verney was very much a
man.

And yet he
looked no different, she thought, puzzled. He still wore his warrior’s garb.
There was no sword this morning, but a sheathed dagger rode on his left hip. He
looked big and powerful and supremely capable. And this was the man who,
according to Martin, had some interest in her? It didn’t make sense.

“Good morning,”
he said.

“Good morning,
my lord,” she murmured. And as though his voice had broken some sort of spell,
she noticed his head was bent slightly to avoid the low-beamed ceiling. She
smiled suddenly, more at ease, and indicated the settle to one side of the
fireplace. “Would you like to sit down?”

“I would,” he
said with such dry emphasis she had to laugh. “I see now why Dame Herleve
didn’t bring me in here yesterday. And to think I suspected her of putting me
in my place.”

“This room was
not made for a man of your size,” she agreed, as she seated herself. Humor
promptly deserted her, however, when Hugh sat down close enough to touch her.
He turned slightly so he could rest one arm along the back of the settle behind
her.

“Has Martin told
you why I’m here?” he asked.

She nodded. “He
told you how he found me and brought me here, and said that you want to help.”

“Hmm. Apparently
he didn’t mention the most important matter, which is my desire to make you my
wife.”

Her eyes went so
round she felt as if they eclipsed her entire face. She couldn’t believe what
she had just heard.

“You wish to
marry
me?” she finally gasped in a voice from which all strength had fled. All the
strength seemed to have left her body as well. She felt weightless, as if she
might float away if she didn’t grab hold of something solid.

Unfortunately, the
only handy object was Hugh.

His mouth kicked
up at one corner. “I told Martin I didn’t need him to propose for me, but it
seems I might have been wrong about that.”

“But...” She
shook her head, as if that might jolt her wits into comprehension. “You’re a
baron, you have lands. You don’t even know who I am.”

“Your name, nay.
But I know you are compassionate and gentle. I know you have spirit and
courage.” He moved suddenly, going down on one knee before her and clasping her
hands with his, like a knight swearing a vow of allegiance. “Mistress Annith, I
know this has come as a surprise, but I want nothing more than to cherish and
protect you always. Will you honor me with your hand in marriage?”

“Ohhhh.”
Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes. Her heart, already trembling on the brink
of something hidden, slipped over the edge before she realized what had
happened. “Oh, my lord, what girl would not…I mean… If things were different…”

At her first
words something fierce flashed in his eyes. She quivered in response and knew
he felt it, but she wrenched her gaze from his, determined to finish.

“But how can I
marry you when I remember nothing about my life? For all I know, I have a
husband already.”

He released her
hands, rose and resumed his seat beside her. “Martin told me your memory is
gone, but I’m sure of one thing, sweet girl. You are not married.”

“You cannot know
that,” she said, frowning at his certainty.

He reached out
and touched his fingers to her brow, smoothing the frown away. Then lifted her
chin on the edge of his hand. “I do know it. Your innocence shines from your
eyes.”

“But I could be
betrothed,” she breathed, wondering that she
could
still breathe. He was
so close she could see the green and gold striations in his hazel eyes. She
could gaze into those eyes for the rest of her life, she thought, and still not
fathom this warrior who touched her so gently. Herleve had been right; this was
a man who kept his own counsel, whose emotions were buried deep. She felt a
sudden yearning to bring light to those depths, to touch his soul.

“Betrothals can
be broken,” he said. He lowered his gaze to her lips, before releasing her.
“Indeed, ’tis possible you were running from a contract into which you were
being forced. I can think of no other reason why you would be out in the world
alone. Unless you were escaping from captivity of some sort.”

“I have thought
of that, too,” she said on a sigh. She sat back, unconsciously rubbing the
scraped patch on one of her hands. “But thinking is not knowing.”

He glanced down,
captured her hand, and turned it over. The healing abrasions on her palm had
him frowning. “What have you done here?”

“Oh.” She
followed his gaze, feeling foolish. “I fell out of bed.”

“You fell out of
bed?” he repeated, both amused and incredulous. He seized her other hand and
turned it over. “And crawled around on the floor?”

“I have bad
dreams,” she confessed gruffly.

“Oh,
sweetheart.” Very gently he passed his arm around her waist and drew her closer
until her hands came up to rest against his chest in an instinctive movement
that could have been protest or uncertainty, she wasn’t sure which. His lashes
were lowered, shielding the expression in his eyes, but she knew he was gazing
at her mouth. Something quivered again deep inside her, anticipation and
nervousness combined.

When he stroked
his thumb over her lips she parted them on a tiny gasp as a
frisson
of
excitement rippled through her. And as soon as she looked up in question, he
bent his head and touched his mouth to hers. Only for a moment. The most
shatteringly sweet moment of her life. She didn’t need her memory to know she
had never felt like this. As if something soft and yielding had stirred to life
within her.

She blinked up
at him when he drew back a little. He looked very serious, she thought, very
intent. She could feel his heart beating hard against her palm, and there was
something leashed about him, an unyielding tension in his face and in the arm
across her back.

“I’ll banish
those dreams for you,” he said very low. “Marry me. Give me the right to care
for you, to protect you.”

The magic was
doused in an instant.

“I can’t,” she
whispered.