The Christmas Knight (39 page)

Immediately Craven spun around and scanned the crowd, searching. Ranulf stepped forward and into view and locked gazes with his nemesis. Craven’s mouth turned upward into a nasty smile and Ranulf returned his grin with one of his own, intending to infuriate him. It worked.

Craven whipped back around. “Your Grace, for my first and only act as Bean King, I ask for one thing. An audience with you about a matter of great importance. Now.”

Even Ranulf was shocked. Craven’s arrogance might cost him an audience and Ranulf the very meeting he had struggled to orchestrate. That King Henry was enraged was an understatement. His already ruddy face was now bright red. But once again the queen intervened.

Eleanor placed a hand over the king’s and said melodically, “I think, Henry, that we should give the baron his request. He is, after all, the Bean King. And I have a feeling it will be quite enlightening if not very entertaining.”

Henry fell back against his chair and slumped just slightly, eyeing his wife in disbelief. Ranulf knew why. It had always been Eleanor who was so adamant about audiences never to take place during a festivity.

Ranulf skimmed the crowd looking for Bronwyn, for it was clear the queen knew something, if not everything, about their plans and he needed reassurance that all would be well. When he located her, she was already staring at him and gave him a quick wink. Ranulf returned his attention to the king, who was shrugging in resignation. With a wave of his hand, he said, “To indulge my wife, I will agree to your request, but only this once. And only if it is of a short duration.”

In a flamboyant gesture, Craven tucked part of his cloak back with one arm and outstretched the other toward the crowd. “Before I begin, I call forth Lord Anscombe.”

With a somber expression, Ranulf moved unhurriedly toward the king, heedless of the quiet whispers around him. Arriving, he gave Henry a bow, who shifted to sit straighter in his chair, suddenly more interested than he had been before. The king was no fool and his intelligence was extremely quick. He was undoubtedly starting to suspect that it was no accident that Craven had received the bean. Henry was just wondering who orchestrated the event—the baron or Ranulf.

“My king,” Craven began, “you have known Lord Anscombe for some time and believe him to be faithful to your rule, but tonight I must inform you that his loyalties have changed.”

Henry’s jaw clenched. “Just what do you accuse Ranulf of? And beware, you are still under my rule, baron, temporary Bean King or not. Do not accuse one of my nobles of disloyalty without being able to support such a claim.”

Confidently, Craven continued, “I accuse him of several transgressions against Your Grace, and I can and
will
prove them.” He paused and turned toward Ranulf. “Lord Anscombe, my first question to you concerns the circumstances of the death of your late wife’s father. Could you not have saved Sir Laon le Breton and did you not choose instead to let him die?”

Ranulf had not thought of this argument since he didn’t consider himself truly at fault. He certainly never considered Craven leading off with this particular attack. Then again, maybe the baron knew just how much Queen Eleanor admired and respected Laon. This was not good. “I didn’t let him die. It was an accident and a sad loss. But I find your question odd as it was Laon who pleaded with me to take care of his daughters as he lay dying in my arms.”

“You broke that promise, though, didn’t you, not only to Sir le Breton, but to our king? Or are you going to deny ordering all three daughters away within hours of your arrival?”

“I did,” Ranulf answered simply.

Pain and disappointment flashed in the king’s eyes, causing Craven’s smirk to enlarge. The baron was craftier than Ranulf originally believed, but he was still a shortsighted fool. Craven’s inability to examine his attack strategy from any viewpoint other than his own would in the end be his undoing. Patience was needed for it was critical to let him continue to believe he had the upper hand.

“And tell me, as a knight of the king,” Craven continued, “will you honorably and truthfully answer this? Was it you who shot an arrow at me and then ran away without showing your face?”

“I didn’t know you to be a noble.” Again, Ranulf did not expound his answer and kept quiet about the baron’s lecherous, unwanted behavior prompting the potentially deadly response. Ranulf’s skill with a bow was well known in court. If he missed, it was not by accident. But it was not yet time for the king to rally to his side.

“And what about Lady Bronwyn, one of the very women you were promised to protect? Was she not also just inches away from death? Did not that arrow strike between us?”

“My recollection was that it was slightly above your heads, not in between,” Ranulf replied, reflecting what he hoped was a fair amount of boredom.

Craven’s eyes glinted. “That woman was promised to me. Something you knew when you forced Lady Bronwyn into marriage only days later.”

Ranulf shrugged in acknowledgment. The king and queen were now in his blind spot, so he could not see their reaction, but he could imagine it. He hoped both were more intrigued with his blasé reaction than repelled by it.

“And what about Lady Lillabet? Was she not to be your wife?”

“There was discussion about it. Neither she nor I desired the union.”

“Admit that you made all three women marry, intentionally breaking not only your pledge to the king and God, but the one made to me.”

Ranulf could feel the crowd pressing closer upon them, listening; he repressed a satisfactory smile. Soon. He just hoped Bronwyn was among them. Ready. “My promise was to protect and I did…from you.”

“Me?” Craven shouted with feigned dismay. “Then where is your wife? This woman whom you claim needed shelter,” Craven demanded. Then to the crowd he announced, “Within a week of being under Lord Anscombe’s ‘protection,’ she turned into ashes in her own home. Alone.”

Ranulf just stared, rage flickering in his dark gaze.

Craven whirled back around. “Then to alleviate his guilt, his lordship blamed me and slaughtered all my men without cause or warning.”

Fully aware of his tightly leashed anger, Ranulf forced himself to speak slowly and deliberately so that no one could misunderstand. “You set fire to Syndlear with Bronwyn inside.”

“You killed an army of men loyal to the king over a woman! You, the bringer of peace to the northern borders, have brought us nothing but death and lies.”

Ahh, there it was. The ultimate transgression.
“I killed an army of mercenaries faithful to no one but a purse held by a man who has no loyalty for anyone but himself.”

Craven’s demeanor instantly changed. His eyes blazed and his voice became low and menacing. “And I say you are lying. You’re lying to the king just as you lied to compel Bronwyn and her sisters into false marriages. Do you really think anyone here believes that a beautiful woman would marry you?” Craven laughed cruelly. Gesturing toward Ranulf’s scar and missing eye, he announced to the crowd, “No one will shake his hand. Even his dead wife’s sisters won’t come near him.”

Ranulf remained mum, arms crossed, listening to the accusations.

“They hate you, don’t they?” Craven sneered. “For the same reason your wife did. When she discovered the truth about how you killed her father, she ran away. She left you to return home and so you burned it down to hide the truth. That is what you need to know, good king,” Craven spat out. “Your Lord Anscombe is a traitor and a murderer, loyal only to himself.”

Ranulf leveled a long, deep look, his single eye black and dazzling with fury. “The king knows I am loyal to him, just as I am loyal to my people, and my wife’s family. I am here not for myself, but them. I promised to protect them against you. And while due to distance, I have been unable to keep my king informed and ask for his counsel as I would have preferred, I kept my word. You were the reasons behind all my actions.”

Craven crossed his arms, feeling victory was near. “You admit your failings, and claim I am the reason, but you can prove nothing.”

“No, but I can,” came a soft voice.

Suddenly the room parted and Bronwyn joined Ranulf by his side.

Craven studied the masked figure, but his confidence still did not waiver. “You? How can a lady of the court know any of what I speak?”

Bronwyn raised her hand and carefully lifted the mask to reveal her identity. “But I am not a lady of the court,” she countered and then curtsied in front of the king, who waved for her to continue. “Her Grace offered the privilege of coming in disguise along with her other ladies-in-waiting and I accepted, but I am Lady Anscombe, Ranulf’s wife, sister to Lady Edythe and Lady Lillabet.” Then facing Craven, she added, “And the woman you tried to murder.”

Craven blanched. “You’re supposed to be dead! No one could have lived thought that. No one!”

Bronwyn stepped forward and in a low voice, taut with anger said, “So you admit you were there.”

Craven’s mouth clamped shut as his chiseled features twisted in anger. “It changes nothing,” he seethed. “Your husband still lied, ignored the king’s wishes, and slaughtered my men. He will answer for his crimes.”

“I think I shall decide on that,” came a rumbling deep voice with contempt that forbade any further argument. Instantly, the king had everyone’s attention. He rose to his feet and took a step closer. “You are Lady Bronwyn? Laon’s daughter and, if I understood correctly, Ranulf’s wife.”

“I am.”

“Are you here to condemn one of my nobles or to defend your husband?”

“I came only to disprove reports of my demise.”

“And nothing more? That I cannot believe. Do you have nothing to add? Your husband has been accused of much, most of which he freely admitted without remorse or justification.”

A flicker of apprehension coursed through Bronwyn, but she quickly collected her thoughts and nodded. “He has, Your Grace, but if I may, I would like to make one clarifying point. As I understand it, Ranulf was charged with two primary duties when he journeyed to Hunswick to assume the title and responsibilities of being Lord Anscombe. First, he was to ensure the safety of myself and my two sisters. This, he did not just once, but three times.

“The first time he came to my rescue with the well-placed arrow when Baron Craven tried to force his attentions upon me. The second came shortly after his arrival. He indeed ordered us to be safely escorted home, to Syndlear, which we love, but not out of contempt or disloyalty, but for protection—from himself. He mistakenly thought that I and my sisters would feel uncomfortable seeing his scars, not knowing that my mother and I were severely burned from a fire years ago.”

The whole time she spoke, her eyes were locked with King Henry’s. His misty gray pools drew her in, giving her the confidence to speak and continue. “I would have left, but an unexpected accident occurred and I stayed to tend Lord Anscombe’s wounds and assist in managing Hunswick.” The last part Bronwyn stated to Queen Eleanor, knowing how she had done the same for her husband when he was away.

Turning back to the king, Bronwyn raised her chin just slightly and said, “As for my untimely death, I was not running away. I was retrieving a tapestry for my sister, who felt rushed to exit her home after being confronted by Baron Craven. He threatened her with his intentions to marry one of us. Unbeknownst to me, the baron, angered by his discovery that all of us were married, followed me to Syndlear. There he locked me in a room and then set the fire believing I would be dead before night’s end. And I should have been, but my husband saved me. More importantly, he saved Cumbria and its people.”

Bronwyn took a small step forward and began to wrench her hands, the desire to have the king understand and believe her words evident in her features. “My husband kept his promise to you, my king. Baron Craven would have brought the strife you sent Ranulf to prevent. The people of Cumbria, of Hunswick, know and love my husband. They will come and testify if you would but ask. I also encourage you to invite the baron’s people so they can describe their lives under his rule. My husband has not forsaken you. He treasures your respect as do I and my people, and we trust that you will not forsake us and remove the man whom we have all come to depend upon.”

Ranulf moved in behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She glanced back and he knew she saw the tears brimming in his one good eye. He had never agreed to her saying so much, but to hear someone stand up for him, to announce to all that he was loved and a good leader, would be more than enough to counter any decree Henry might give. Sliding his hand down her arm, Ranulf intertwined her fingers with his own. Bronwyn beamed him a smile, gave his hand a squeeze, and returned her attention to the king.

King Henry clasped his fingers behind his back and stared at all three of them one by one. He wasn’t overly tall, but his strength was undeniable. His cheeks were red, making the freckles upon them stand out all the more, and his dark gray eyes were sparkling with anger.

The room watched in silence. Never had a Twelfth Night been so filled with drama. Still, everyone present was anxious to learn of the new king’s reaction to such accusations. Suddenly, nerves took hold in Bronwyn and she squeezed Ranulf’s hand. Then the queen caught the corner of her eye. And Bronwyn could have sworn she saw an almost imperceptible head nod, as if to say all would be fine.

“Ranulf.” At the king’s harsh tone, Bronwyn’s head snapped back. “You know how I detest these types of discussions during festivities, and don’t tell me that you didn’t arrange for this monstrosity tonight, for I know better. I have no choice now but to rule and you may regret your rashness.”

Bronwyn felt Ranulf’s callused thumb caress the back of her hand, and she let go the breath she had been holding. He was reminding her that it did not matter. They would be together regardless.

Pivoting on one heel, King Henry leveled a heated gaze on Baron Craven. “You are a fool, baron, and I hate fools. Take a look at your enemy and tell me what you see.”

Craven glanced at Ranulf as instructed. “I see an ugly cripple who—”