Malia Martin (33 page)

T
he men laid their burden roughly on the ground. Aleene ran forward to see Aeth-regard, his eyes closed and his lifeblood seeping into the rushes.

“I would have what is mine,” he sputtered as Aleene entered his line of vision.

“You will have hell, brother, in answer to your wish.”

He closed his eyes and coughed. Blood trickled from his mouth.

“Why did you do this? You would not have Seabreeze only by killing Robert.”

“I would,” he managed to say, keeping his eyes closed. He opened them then, staring at her, his gray orbs dull. “William said if anything were to happen to Robert I should have Seabreeze.”

Aleene let out a distressed gasp. “He sent you to kill Robert?”

Aethregard laughed, sputtered blood, and choked. She thought him dead when he went silent, but he opened his eyes once again. “Never that. William would never say outright that he wanted his precious Robert dead.”

Aleene felt relief wash over her. “But . . . ”

“Shut up!” Aethregard yelled, clutching at the wound that poured blood from his chest. “I cannot speak of this now, not now!” His body spasmed and another spurt of blood came from his lips.

Aleene swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat.

The people around her stood silently watching.

“I hate you.” His voice was so soft, Aleene didn’t think she had heard right at first. “I hate you. You have everything I ever wanted. Beauty, wealth . . . ” he stopped, his throat working as he tried to continue. “My father.”

Aleene stiffened.

“He loved you more than he loved me. He looked at you, touched you, loved you.” A sickening laugh echoed in the hall. “He even threatened to annul our betrothal. He could not stand the thought of me having you instead of him.”

Aleene felt she might be sick. “He did not love me.”

“He did, so much that he risked my inheritance.” Aethregard sputtered up more blood and closed his eyes. “And so I killed him.”

A collective gasp came from those who stood around the dying figure they had once wanted as their lord. Another sound drew Aleene’s attention, and she looked up to see Cuthebert push through the gathering. The man pointed a gnarled finger at Aethregard. “You shall rot in hell! You had us believe the Lady Aleene to have killed your father and all along you were the murderer.”

Aethregard opened his eyes for a moment, then closed them again. “That is right, Cuthebert, try to save your own weathered hide now as I lay dying.” He laughed roughly and blood gurgled in his throat.

“The ramblings of death!” Cuthebert yelled desperately.

“Since the day Tosig went over the cliff, I have set Cuthebert to the task of undermining you, Aleene.” Aethregard closed his eyes. “You think I will go without taking you to hell with me, Cuthebert?”

The steward searched the room with terrified eyes. “I never . . . he knows not what he says.”

Aleene stared at her steward. “Go, now, Cuthebert. If you are ever seen within the walls of this castle or the boundaries of Pevensey, you will be killed.”

The man’s jaw dropped. “But . . .” He looked about as if asking for support.

The village people turned away from him.

Cuthebert blinked and then nodded. “So be it.” With shoulders hunched, he left the hall.

Aleene watched until the door closed behind her former steward, then returned her attention to her stepbrother. The pathetic tableau he created only made her wish even more pain on him. She walked forward slowly and dropped to her knees at his side.

“You are sick, Aethregard,” Aleene bent low next to his ear and whispered, “if you think what your father gave me was love.”

He opened his eyes and turned his face to hers. “Bitch.” He spat in her face, but she did not even flinch. “You have everything and still you whine.”

“I have everything now,” she said finally. “And I will not let you take it away from me.” She wiped her face with the back of her hand and stood.

Aleene looked about her and spied Nan. “Clean his wounds.”

“But...”

“He will die this night, I am sure. But God would not have even his filthiest creature die thus. Clean him and come to me with the news of his last breath.” She stared at her stepbrother then turned on her heel and went to Robert.

Beyond his closed lids, Robert could see red. It seared his brain. He winced and tried to turn his head. Soothing words were whispered in his ear and a cool hand touched his forehead. Ah, that it would stay and seep away the pain.

“Robert?”

When he finally recognized the word, he realized someone had been saying it over and over. He tried to respond, but couldn’t.

The hand left his forehead, and he tried to reach for it. He needed it back. “Please.” He said it in his mind, but wasn’t sure it had made it through his lips.

“Robert?”

He opened his eyes, the brightness making him close them again.

“He opened his eyes. I know he did. I saw it.”

Someone seemed rather excited over something so trivial. Robert squinted against the bright light and peered around him. At the movement, his head put up a new clamor of protest. “Ahhhh,” he groaned.

“Oh, Robert, finally, you awake!” The hand rested again on his forehead and he sighed. If only it would stay there.

The figure at the side of his bed slowly focused. Aleene. “Aleene.” The sound that came from him resembled not a voice but perhaps the bleat of a sheep.

“You’re going to be all right, Robert!”

He winced.

“There is no fever, and your wound is healing nicely. ’Tis just that you have been asleep these six days.”

Six days? He had slept six days? He tried to sit up, but a slicing pain ripped through his chest.

“No, Robert, don’t move. You don’t have the strength.”

He blinked his eyes open again. “What happened?”

“You were run through by an arrow.”

“Who?” He moved his head, cringing against the pain, and saw Berthilde standing at the other side of the bed.

“Aethregard “

Robert groaned. “I should not have broken his nose.”

“You broke his nose?”

He moved his head again to see Aleene. “I’ll tell you later. How do you know it was Aethregard? Where is he?”

Aleene’s smile spread across her face and lit up her eyes. “He is dead, my lord. Your people found him and killed him. They were very upset that someone had tried to kill their lord.”

Robert closed his mouth in stunned silence. “Their lord?”

“We heal, Robert, we are a people healing and we are in need of you.”

He closed his eyes. “It will be all right.”

Aleene’s soft lips caressed his forehead. Ah, even better than her fingers. “Yes, my lord, we will be all right.”

“I love you, Lady Aleene," he said, feeling sleep tugging at his diminished strength.

“And I you, my lord Cyne.”

B
erthilde sat on a weathered chair in the cobbled yard just off the newly finished stone hall Sunlight dappled the ground and the children who played there as she slowly pulled the silk thread she worked with through the cloth on her lap.

“Berteede!”

“Yes, dearest?” She glanced up and smiled at Aleene’s youngest daughter as the girl came flying at her, a jumble of big feet, long legs, and raven hair.

“Harry poked me with the stick!” Bertie pointed a grimy finger at her older brother and narrowed huge blue eyes on her nemesis. The girl’s other brother, Edward, melted away from the scene of the crime as Harry opened his mouth to protest.

“Harold!”

The boy’s mouth snapped shut at Berthilde’s admonishment.

“But . . .”

Berthilde gave a small shake of her head and the boy stopped. He sighed heavily, his thin shoulders caving inward.

“What do you say, Harold?”

The boy scuffed the ground with his toe, then turned his woeful dark eyes on his sister. “I’m sorry.”

“Very nice, Harold.” Berthilde turned to the four-year-old at her knee. “And now you, Bertie.”

The girl’s small hands fisted, and she plunked them against her waist. “I didn’ do anyfing!”

Berthilde had to bite the side of her cheek to keep from laughing as Bertie glowered from beneath beetled brows. “Bertie, I heard you teasing your brother. ’Tis why he came after you with the stick.” Berthilde softened her chastisement by stroking Bertie’s soft hair. “If you are nice to your brothers they will be nice to you.”

“Hummmph.” Bertie obviously did not believe older brothers
could
be nice.

“Darlings!” A singsong voice rang out over the yard and all arguments were forgotten as the children ran pell-mell toward their mother.

“Mummy!”

Grubby hands wrapped around Aleene’s knees, long arms grabbed her waist, and tiny fingers twined with hers. Berthilde watched the scene and smiled with complete joy.

“I have a surprise, little ones!” Aleene laughed and tucked Edward’s golden hair away from his face. The boy shrugged her hand away. He had just turned ten and was trying desperately to be thought of as a big boy like fourteen-year-old John. “Your father is home early with your brother John!”

“Aha!” Robert burst through the doors from the hall, a smile stretched across his face as the children transferred their boisterous attention on their father. “Presents for everyone!” he laughed, then fell to the ground and allowed himself to be used as a climbing toy.

John arrived a bit more sedately, although his smile matched his father’s. “Berthilde,” he said and came to her. The bov was fast turning into a man, his shoulders nearly double the width of her own. Berthilde had to crane her neck at the dark-haired, light-eyed boy.

“Did you do well, John, on your first trip to court?”

He bit his bottom lip with the cocky humility he had perfected. “Of course, Bert, but miss you, I did!”

Berthilde had to roll her eyes. “Yes, I will just bet you did. When you were not batting your long eyelashes at all the girls.”

John laughed and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek. The tiny show of affection made her heart quicken with happiness. The boy went to pick up his little sister then, as Aleene came over.

Her former charge took Berthilde’s hand and squeezed.

“All went well?”

“Robert said the trip was successful. He managed to get the restrictions on English alebrewers lifted.”

“Wonderful!”

“Yes.”

The two women stood quietly for a moment watching their family cavort about the small yard.

“Of course he brought home some strays,” Aleene said as an afterthought.

Berthilde chuckled. “Of course, how many?”

“Two boys: ten and thirteen. He found them on the streets in London.”

“Perfect.” Berthilde patted Aleene’s hand. “Tom the fisherman is in need of some good boys to help him now that his youngest is married.” Berthilde took her hand from Aleene’s. “And Tom’s wife is wonderful with children.”

Aleene turned and smiled down at her. Berthilde noticed that the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes were deepening, but they only added more character to a beautiful face. She reached up and cupped Aleene’s face in her gnarled hands. It was good to see wrinkles caused by laughter on her child’s face. “Such a smart one you’ve become, Aleene.”

“You sound surprised, Bert.”

“Well, milady, there were times I thought you would never learn.”

Raised on Hawaii,
MALIA MARTIN
grew up listening to stories rich in culture and history. From the moment she could read and write she has been doing both in great abundance. She majored in English just so she could read her way through college. And she married a man who loves to cook and can do his own ironing so she could spend every spare moment writing. When the children came she found that the hours she spent pushing swings, watching ballet classes and driving carpools lent themselves marvelously well to plotting.

Malia now lives in California with her three small children and extremely supportive husband. When she is not reading, writing or plotting, she loves to ski, play tennis and take her children to the beach.

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