Rexanne Becnel (4 page)

Far to the south, almost beyond his view, the gray granite towers of Colchester Castle rose, and the sight brought a frown to his face. He had thought to make Colchester his home base as he followed through on Edward’s orders to ferret out the root of treason that brewed in northern England. It was natural that he would return there, and no suspicions would be roused by his presence at Colchester. But Hughe clearly did not wish to have his brother under his own roof any longer.

For several more seconds Corbett stared south to the distant fortress, his expression harsh, his eyes somber. Finally he turned away to begin his descent.

It was then that a shaft of sunlight pierced the leaden gray layer of clouds that hung low over the northern end of the valley. Like a golden finger of light, it touched on the pale walls of faraway Orrick Castle, and it gave him pause. Equidistant from the Middling Stone, Orrick governed the northern half of Windermere Fold, and Colchester ruled the southern half. Yet he’d not thought of Orrick in years.

Now, as the sunlight glinted off the solid limestone walls, he could not tear his eyes away. An early autumn wind ruffled his dark hair but he did not notice, so intent was he on that distant vision. Then a slow smile lighted his face, softening his hard, masculine features. He started to leave but was suddenly stopped by a remnant memory from his youth. In short order he cleared away the accumulated moss and lichen that covered a crevice near the base of the top jut of stone.

Even in the dreary light of the overcast day the narrow ribbon of lavender rock seemed luminous. Corbett rubbed his finger once then again down the rare vein of meridian. When he straightened up he looked back to the south.

Colchester Castle lay south. But perhaps, he thought speculatively, perhaps the best way to get there lay north. Through Orrick.

There were only two days left before the wedding, and Lilliane was determined to have all in readiness. Let Odelia entertain the chattering guests; Lilliane was hard at work in her oldest gown and kirtle. Her thick chestnut hair was bound in a length of plain linen to keep it out of her way.

She was in the storerooms with the pantler and the seneschal when the bell sounded the alarm. After abandoning her tasks, she scurried out into the bailey. There Lilliane found all in chaos. Foot soldiers rapidly scaled the stairs to the battlements. Animals were being herded inside the protective walls of the castle as the villagers fled their fields and cottages. Women frantically rounded up their children, counting heads to be sure none were missing. But despite the noise and confusion and the blinding dust, Lilliane heard her father’s bellowing voice and saw his broad figure striding across the yard.

“Father! Wait!” she cried as she lifted her skirts and ran swiftly to his side. “What is it? What’s happening?”

“Don’t worry.” He patted her arm distractedly, his eyes anxiously watching the hasty preparations. “’Tis nothing you need worry about. Just take the ladies to the great hall and try to keep everyone calm.”

“But can’t you tell me what’s going on? I must know,” she pleaded as she held tightly to his arm.

He seemed to hear her then, and at last he met her worried gaze. “A full complement of armed men approach. Mounted knights, foot soldiers, and a caravan behind.” He paused. “They fly banners of black and red.”

As Lord Barton hurried away, shouting as he went, Lilliane stared after him in shock. Colchester flew black and red. Colchester was attacking Orrick! There could be no other cause for them to march so boldly up the hard-packed turnpike. There were no wars to the north, nothing to require such a display of strength.

They should have known better than to become complacent during the recent peaceful years, Lilliane fretted as she turned to find Tullia and Odelia. The Colchesters were an evil and cruel lot. Not in word or deed could anyone from Orrick trust them. Now it was clear they meant to humiliate Orrick by trapping all the wedding guests and holding the castle to siege. Angry and frustrated, Lilliane had no outlet for her emotions save the efficient management of the frightened guests.

It was two long hours before any word filtered down to the women and children gathered in the great hall. Even then they were left with more questions than answers, for the orders Lord Barton sent Lilliane bade her to clear the hall and to set out a jug of the finest ale the alewife had on hand and two tankards. Beyond that curt demand there was nothing.

The bailey was crowded with family, guests, and retainers when the bridge across the moat was lowered. Every protesting creak of the seldom-used cranking mechanism resounded across the multitude, but all else was hushed. Even the sheep and cattle penned temporarily between the stables and the tannery seemed to know better than to raise their voices.

As ominous as the bells of doom, the heavy measured tread of a large animal was finally heard crossing the bridge. When two other sets of horse hooves were also heard, Lilliane cringed in spite of herself.

The first rider who emerged through the gatehouse was an impressive sight. His steed was a deep-chested destrier, a war-horse clearly bred for strength, endurance, and speed. As black as coal, the animal’s high arching neck and near-prancing gait seemed almost a challenge to the silently gaping crowd.

Sandwiched between her sisters, Lilliane was no less impressed by the magnificent destrier. But it was the huge knight astride the beast that truly awed her. He was clad in a bissyn shirt and a black leather sleeveless tunic, cut short in the warrior manner. Tall and erect, he wore neither armor nor chain mail, yet there was about him an air of invincibility, as if not arrow, blade, or mace could stay him from his goal. His head was bare of helm or hood, and in the light breeze his black hair lifted slightly.

It was the only part of him that appeared soft.

From his black leather boots to the piercing stare of his eyes, he looked as hard as forged iron. Lilliane had to prevent herself from making a quick sign of the cross as he passed where she stood. As brave as Daniel in the lion’s den, he rode purposefully to where her father stood at the steps of the great hall. Then he dismounted and arrogantly preceded Lord Barton into the hall.

When the doors closed with an audible thud, the entire company in the bailey seemed to let loose their collectively held breath. The two riders who had followed their lord did not dismount, but only turned their steeds to face the curious throng.

Inside the great hall, Lord Barton offered his unexpected guest a chair, then he took his seat as well. It was not until his aged servant, Thomas, had poured out two tankards of ale and then backed away that he spoke.

“Your messenger said your business with me was urgent. I must confess, Colchester, that your presence here surprises me.”

“And I will allow that I am equally surprised that you granted me safe passage.”

Lord Barton took a swallow of ale as he studied the stern young man before him. A fine warrior before leaving to join Prince Edward, Corbett of Colchester was clearly a well-seasoned veteran of Edward’s campaigns. The handsome face of his youth was no more, for no boyish quality remained. A long, puckered scar slanted across his brow and gave him a fierce expression.

He looked fit and strong, broader than before, but without an inkling of excess flesh. For the second time that week Lord Barton regretted that the young man’s match with Lilliane could not be. What magnificent grandchildren they would have given him.

“I offered you safe passage only because I find myself puzzled. Colchester and Orrick remain bitter enemies. Or did your brother, Hughe, not remind you of that fact?”

“It does not take Hughe to remind me of the murder of my father.”

It was said quietly. And yet Lord Barton felt a twinge of fear as he met the other man’s unwavering stare. He had no doubt that Sir Corbett could easily best him. With the long Damascene steel blade that hung from his belt, the younger man could easily disembowel him before a single guard could be raised.

Still, Lord Barton had faced death many times, and while he sensed Sir Corbett’s animosity, he did not detect any immediate threat.

“I stand by my vow of innocence on that score as staunchly as ever I did,” he declared as he lowered his tankard to the oak table. “But surely you’ve not come here to discuss the past. State your business.”

Sir Corbett’s eyes narrowed and their clear gray seemed to darken almost to black. But he kept whatever emotions he felt well contained from the old lord’s scrutiny.

“On that count you err, Lord Barton. It is indeed unfinished business from the past that brings me here.”

“Then state it quickly and be gone from here. I’ve a vast assemblage gathered, come to celebrate my daughter’s marriage.”

“Her marriage?” In an instant Corbett came out of his seat. His face was creased in anger as he leaned over the table and glowered at Lord Barton. “The contract still stands. No one from Colchester consented to break the agreement. You cannot illegally wed her to another!”

Lord Barton was taken aback by Sir Corbett’s violent reaction to his words, but a canny light quickly crept into his faded blue eyes. “’Tis Tullia I speak of. And she’s no contract save with Sir Santon of Gaston. Perhaps in the long years that have passed you’ve forgotten which of my daughters it was you were betrothed to. ’Twas Lilliane you were to wed. Lilliane, my eldest.” He picked up his tankard and quaffed the last of his ale.

“Lilliane.” Corbett repeated the name as he slowly returned to his seat. The anger had disappeared from his face. “Yes, I remember her. A puny child with eyes overlarge for her little face.” At the stormy look he received from the older man he smiled slightly. “I’ve heard that she yet remains the maiden while her younger sisters marry. Perhaps that is why. But puny or no, I’ve come to exercise my betrothal rights.”

Lord Barton did not answer right away. He was torn between fury at this impudent upstart and thankfulness that the match he’d always wanted would finally be made. But it would not do to reveal any eagerness, he realized. When he did speak he called first for more ale. Thomas silently refilled first his master’s tankard, then the young lord’s.

“So you wish to wed Lilliane. Why should I allow it? The house of Colchester has waged war on us for five long years. Jarvis, my beloved nephew who was more a son to me, fell to Colchester steel—”

“As my father fell to the Orrick assassin’s foul blow,” Corbett countered grimly. “I’ll not pretend to any liking for this proposal. I’ve no desire for your spinster daughter beyond the castle and lands that go with her.”

“Then I’ll be damned if I’ll see the spawn of Colchester sit in my place!” Lord Barton angrily swept his tankard of ale from the table with a loud crash.

“Whether by your consent, old man, or by war, I’ll have her to wife. And you may be certain King Edward will support my suit!”

For long silent moments the tension stretched between them. Even the aging servant knew better than to move. Then Lord Barton waved Thomas away and, with a crafty glint in his eyes, turned to face his young adversary. “What if she will not have you? She has no love for Colchester.”

“She is a woman. She has no say in this,” the knight replied derisively.

An expression akin to amusement passed over the old lord’s face, but it was quickly gone and he once again appeared the wary baron. “You’ve the right of that. The decision will be mine. But as I see it, I’ve no reason to agree. Colchester has been our enemy too long for me to turn my daughter over to you. She is my eldest child. My own flesh.” He paused. “She has ever been my favorite.”

“Why has she not married before now?” Corbett asked bluntly. “I’ll tell you why. She is poorly favored else you would have been besieged with suitors. “’Tis clear I do you a kindness to take her out of your keeping.”

“You do me no kindness with this offer. You would have my child and then my castle and lands. And you would have me dead in my sleep as soon after the wedding as possible. No.” Lord Barton stood as if to leave. “I have two sons-in-law already. And I’ll not send my Lilliane to Colchester Castle.”

“We’ll live here.”

Corbett had stood as well and Lord Barton eyed the towering man assessingly. “Does this mean you’re not welcome at Colchester? Or is this a plot yon Hughe has prepared?”

Sir Corbett tensed at that and his expression darkened. But when he spoke Lord Barton noted that he held whatever bothered him well in check. “My marriage is mine own affair.”

There was a short silence.

“My son-in-law Aldis would not take kindly to your presence here,” Lord Barton warned.

“Ah, yes. Aldis of Handley. Let me concern myself with Aldis and any others who object.”

A dull ache had begun in Lord Barton’s side, and he quickly found his chair. “I’ll not say yea nor will I say nay so quickly. This is a matter that affects every soul in Orrick.” He lifted one shaggy brow. “I’ll not be hurried.”

Corbett shrugged and also sat down. “So be it. But when Santon weds Tullia, then also will I wed Lilliane.”

The suspense in the courtyard was unbearable. More than one person had identified the daring rider as Sir Corbett of Colchester, lately returned from Edward’s crusade. But Lilliane would not let herself believe it. Sir Corbett had been such a handsome young fellow, she recalled. At one time he’d quite captured her girlish imagination. Although he’d been quiet and rather somber, she remembered none of this fierce and terrifying demeanor. Besides, she reassured herself, Sir Corbett of Colchester had no reason to come here. What business could he possibly have with her father?

It was old Thomas who was to provide the terrible answer to that question. When he emerged from the keep, he was crowded about and bombarded with questions. But he ignored the curious throng and made his way to where the ladies clustered beneath the chestnut tree. Like the piper leading a mesmerized crowd, Thomas made his slow way to them. And as his eyes remained locked on her, Lilliane began to feel a cold chill of dread.

When he stood directly before her, the crowd hushed and everyone waited anxiously for his words.