The YIELDING (38 page)

Garr stepped forward, drawing so near Beatrix that his shoulder brushed hers. “Agonize not, Baron Lavonne, for I vow the brigands will plague your barony no more.”

As if only then noticing Beatrix’s brothers, though that was impossible considering their weighty presence, Lavonne shifted his gaze to Garr. “And I suppose I have you to thank for that, Baron Wulfrith.”

“Among others.”

“A show of force, hmm?” Christian Lavonne shrugged his shoulders back. “So, the Wulfriths once more honor Broehne Castle with their presence.” He shifted his gaze to Abel who stood over her shoulder. “It has been many years. Welcome.”

Silence tensing in the spaces between them, the sheriff stepped forward. “It appears all is in readiness for a trial on the morrow, Baron Lavonne.”

Christian Lavonne looked at him, and Beatrix sensed he was not pleased. Why? Though she would have liked to believe it was, indeed, because he was unlike his father who sought her death—that he wanted no part of it—she did not venture hope there.

“Then a trial we shall have,” he said, tightly.

“Of course”—the sheriff glanced at Beatrix—“if you wish to hold a day or more—“

“Nay,” the baron said. “Not only am I certain Lady Beatrix would have the matter done with, but the justice has waited long enough to continue his circuit. Tomorrow it shall be.”

“Then already a jury is chosen.” Danger darkened Garr’s voice.

Lavonne looked to him. “It has been determined that the accusing jury shall also stand as the trying jury.”

As Garr tensed further, Beatrix knew he struggled to keep his word that she would be allowed a trial.

“’Tis late.” Lavonne looked behind. “Sir Hector will see you to your chambers abovestairs.”

As the knight stepped from the shadows surrounding the dais, the sheriff cleared his throat. “Pardon, Baron Lavonne, but the justice has ordered that the lady be delivered to the corner tower in the inner bailey.”

Though Beatrix knew tower rooms were often used to accommodate noble prisoners, affording them much of that to which they were accustomed, it was still a prison. And from Michael’s stiffening, he liked the idea less than she.

“Then the justice ordered wrong, Sheriff,” Lavonne surprised them all. “Even if only for this night, the Wulfriths are my guests and shall be accorded the hospitality due them.”

If only for this night. Meaning tomorrow night she might be a condemned prisoner.

The sheriff looked as if he might argue, and he had the power to do so, but he shrugged as if weary of the whole matter. “Very well.”

Sir Hector halted before Beatrix and Michael. “I will show you to your chambers.” He looked to her brothers.

Though she knew Garr exercised enough control to not set upon the knight for the death of Sir Ewen, she was not so sure about Abel who had been Sir Ewen’s friend. True, it was now known Sir Hector had saved her life, but Abel might forget that long enough to exact retribution.

From Sir Hector’s unwavering gaze, he also seemed aware of the potential for peril, but he pivoted toward the stairway.

As Beatrix and Michael followed, Lavonne said, “I would speak with you, D’Arci.”

Though Beatrix felt Michael’s reluctance to leave her side, he said, “Of course.” He turned to her, drew his hand up the back of her arm and down again. “Certes, I shall be a while, as I must needs also tend those injuries sustained by your brother’s men and mine.”

During their wait outside the donjon, he had seen to the more serious injuries, but there were others that required his physician’s skill.

“Until I join you,” he said, looking past her to Garr and Abel, “I am sure you will not lack for company.”

“She will not,” Garr said.

As her brothers led her across the hall behind Sir Hector, Beatrix ached over Michael’s absence, and on the first stair looked over her shoulder.

He met her gaze, nodded, and turned to Baron Lavonne.

It had been hard to watch her walk away, but necessary. Now, standing before Christian Lavonne in the lord’s solar, impatience gnawed at Michael as he wondered how long before he could return to her. The only good of it was that he could not have left Beatrix better protected. For certain, Wulfrith and his younger brother would allow no ill to befall her.

“I am pleased you survived the attack,” the baron rent the silence.

“Some did not.”

“So I am told. Unfortunately, it could not be prevented.”

“Could it not?” Michael demanded, uncaring that such a tone one did not use with one’s liege. But Christian Lavonne was no longer his liege, was he?

The baron’s jaw shifted. “Nay, it could not.”

Michael took a step toward him. “Because you allow your father to usurp your role, to act in your name, to reduce you to a mere figurehead.”

Eyes biting like the snow of deepest winter, Christian Lavonne said, “Unless it is your intent that we meet at swords, D’Arci, do not further presume to know my father, and especially not me.”

“It takes no presumption to know who sent those brigands and who stood by and allowed it.”

The shadow that fell across the baron’s face was as much borne of anger as the waning torchlight. His right hand flexed, and Michael knew he imagined a sword there. But though the blade had replaced his monk’s psalter, he had yet to truly master it despite intense daily practice.

Would his skill ever match his longing? Or was longing the problem—that too much of his life had been spent upon the Church to allow him to ease his grip sufficiently to eschew the class that prayed for the class that warred?

Michael drew a deep breath. “And yet,” he allowed, “it is most curious that you sent Sir Hector lest your father attempt what he did—and for which I do thank you.”

Christian Lavonne considered him a long moment, then narrowed his lids. “Are you still my man, D’Arci?”

Unsettled by the question he had not expected, and which suggested the matter was not decided, Michael hesitated. In the end, the only answer was, “When Lady Beatrix is done with this trial, we shall wed.”

Without flicker of surprise, the baron said, “I did not expect you would ever take a woman to wife, you who likes women less and enjoys their variety better than any man I have known. Truly, I thought you ruined by the lady, Edithe.”

Of course he knew of the woman’s accusation of ravishment. Despite having come late to his title, Christian Lavonne was well-versed in matters pertaining to his vassals and the administration of his lands.

“I had also thought myself ruined.” Michael noted the subject did not chafe as much as it had once done. “Lady Beatrix proved me wrong.”

“Then you profess to love this woman who is said to have murdered your brother.”

“I do.” As always when he thought upon Simon, he had to step back from memories of the young man he had known. “As I also profess it was not murder that befell Simon.”

The baron’s gaze drifted to the rush-covered floor. “So it seems.”

Michael was jolted. “What do you know?”

“That there will be an alliance between the Lavonnes and the Wulfriths,” he said with spare emotion, “and henceforth, there shall be peace between our families.”

“Peace only if the Wulfriths’ sister is not falsely convicted of murder.”

“Aye, which is as I would propose to Wulfrith.”

Impatient, Michael said, “Tell.”

Christian Lavonne’s eyes brightened, the intensity of which Michael had only seen when, in swordplay, he gained an advantage over those who had mastered the sweep and thrust of a blade that yet eluded him. “If Wulfrith agrees to hand up Lady Gaenor for marriage without further delay, Lady Beatrix will have the witness she requires to prove her innocence.”

Between the spaces of what the baron said and did not, Michael glimpsed the aged knight who had come to Beatrix’s aid. “You speak of Sir Hector.”

Michael did not think he had ever seen Christian Lavonne smile, but something suspiciously near that deepened the corners of his mouth. “You are perceptive, D’Arci.”

“And you are more ruthless than imagined.”

“A man bargains with what he has.”

And what he had was Beatrix’s life, providing she was unable to save herself as she was determined to do. If she failed…

“And if Wulfrith does not agree to hand up Lady Gaenor?”

For a moment, Michael glimpsed wavering in the baron’s eyes. “Though it is yet to be seen whether you remain my man, D’Arci, there is no question that Sir Hector is loyal to me.”

And would not testify unless directed to do so. Michael knew he went too far with his next words, but his ire would not be curbed. “It seems you may yet make your father proud, Baron Lavonne.”

Aye, too far. Were a sword at hand, his liege would surely have turned it on him. Not that Michael wouldn’t soon enough remind him of the skill he yet lacked.

The flickering torchlight recasting Christian Lavonne’s face time and again, one moment making him appear human, the next bestial, he said, “Tell Wulfrith I require his answer by dawn.”

Knuckles sounded on the door.

“Enter,” the baron called.

Michael turned and all of him tightened when Sir Robert stepped inside. “My lord,” he grudgingly acknowledged the baron.

Though Michael was well aware the knight was far from Christian Lavonne’s favor, he had never so deeply sensed the anger that accompanied the baron’s dislike of his half-brother. “What is it you require, Sir Robert?”

“The physician.” The knight’s gaze landed hard on Michael. “Our father asks after him.”

Christian Lavonne looked to Michael. “You will attend him?”

Could he trust himself? Or would the sword at his side prove too much temptation when he stood over the one who sought Beatrix’s death?

Telling himself he would do nothing to lose the ground gained in his quest to draw nearer God and prove himself worthy of Beatrix, Michael said, “I will, but first I shall see to the injuries sustained by Baron Wulfrith’s men and my own.”

Though he expected his liege to object, he said, “As you will.” He looked to Aldous’s misbegotten son. “Tell our father the physician will tend him shortly.”

From the thrust of Sir Robert’s bearded jaw, it was far from the response he desired, but he withdrew.

Michael also turned to go, but when he reached the door, the baron called to him, “I would have you know that the justice seeks absolution for the lady if she will but accept it.”

“She will not.”

Christian Lavonne inclined his head. “So I am told. Thus, it falls to the jury to determine her fate—a jury chosen by the justice himself.”

That
Michael had not known. Refusing to embrace relief, as it might prove a weakness when there was still so much that could go wrong, he said, “To your father’s utmost displeasure, I am sure.”

“Which is mine to deal with. And I shall.”

Then perhaps Christian Lavonne would eventually shrug out from beneath the mantle of Aldous’s influence. God willing, it would not be too late by the time he fully emerged as the sole and unquestioned baron of Abingdale.

“We were told you had sustained a head injury.”

Beatrix looked up at Garr from the chair he had placed before the hearth for her. “Evidence of which you have already noted, I am sure.” She glanced at Abel who sat in the chair opposite hers.

“Aye,” Garr said, “though the injury seems not as severe as feared.”

She could not help but smile at the welcome observation and sent up a silent prayer that she would present as well on the morrow. “I am much recovered. God willing, I shall con-continue to improve.”
Only one error, and a small one at that.
“Mother is well?”

“She is.”

“And Gaenor?”

Garr’s gaze shifted. “Better since she was told you live.”

“And before it was told?”

Abel cleared his throat. “She has long borne pain and guilt over the loss of her little sister. But she fares better now and shall surely continue to do so.”

“She is not ill, is she?”

Abel shrugged. “Sick of heart, is all.”

“Worry not over her,” Garr said. “She shall recover fully.” Then, as if uncomfortable with further talk of Gaenor, he said, “What of the Church, Beatrix?”

Knowing he would not be budged to speak further on their sister, Beatrix said, “Though it is what you and mother wish for me, and what I once wished for myself, I choose Michael. To w-worship and love our Savior, I do not have to…commit my life to the Church. He lives in me as He will live in the children Michael and I make.”

“From what I have heard, this D’Arci is hardly a godly man.”

And the curse that had broken from his lips when he learned his men had died only reinforced those tales.

“Especially where women are concerned,” Abel muttered, earning himself Garr’s barbed gaze.

Then they did not think she knew of the false accusation of ravishment against Michael. Before Beatrix could tell otherwise, Abel snorted. “I only repeat what was told to us and confirmed many times over, Garr.”