The Maiden and Her Knight (21 page)

He strode toward her. She backed away, until she was against the wall. Still he came on, halting when he was inches from her. “I am weary of waiting for you, Allis, and you have made a mockery of my patience. I should take you right here and right now. You are no longer a virgin, after all, by your own admittance.”

He grabbed her and hauled her close. He kissed her brutally, with anger and hostility.

Desperately struggling to get away from his savage grasp, she found the hilt of his sword. She took hold of it, then raised her knee, striking him hard enough to make him gasp.

He let go and fell back, cursing, while she kept hold of his sword and pulled it from the scabbard. She gripped it tightly with both hands and, as he regained his balance, she put the tip against his chest.

His gazed flicked to the blade, then back to her face. He held out his hands, palms upward, as if surrendering. “What are you going to do? Kill me? If you do, what will happen then? Do you think today was the first time anybody noticed something amiss? Lord Oswald didn't just send a message that your father
had died, Allis. He warned me that something was afoot between you and the Welshman. If you kill me, people will say it was to be rid of me because you wanted to marry him. He will not be considered innocent, either. You both will be arrested and convicted, then executed.”

“I am protecting myself against a man who would rape me. Everybody knows this would not be the first time you have done that, Rennick. I have heard how you abuse the maidservants in your household.”

“Do you think there is a lord in the land who has not done the same? Good God, you are an innocent if you believe there is a noble in the court who will not see that whatever I have done with my peasants, I have treated you with respect—until you did not deserve it. Kill me, and they will convict you for being a woman who does not know her duty.”

“What have I ever done
but
my duty?” she cried in anguish, the injustice of his words piercing her to the quick.

“Ah, but there is the rub, my lady. You fell in love with the wrong man, and every Norman lord in England will convict you for that alone.”

So smooth, so sure, so certain—because he was right, and they both knew it.

Her arms ached with the effort of holding his broadsword, but she did not lower it as her mind worked feverishly, trying to see another way for them to be free of Rennick forever.

“If I am dead, and you are imprisoned or executed, what will become of your family and your beloved Montclair then?” he charged. “Some other overlord will be named guardian, and I daresay Edmond will be lucky to inherit a stick of furniture or sheaf of wheat
in due course. You know such things have happened before.”

That had happened to a young heir not far from here. His guardian had stripped the boy's estate bare by the time he was of age. “You will do the same thing.”

“Will I?” Rennick demanded. “Have I? I could have stolen Montclair from your father time and time again. Did I?”

No, he had not, but that didn't mean he never would, or that he had not wanted to. “You didn't dare.”

The look that flared in his eyes told her she had found the truth. “No, you didn't dare,” she repeated, nudging him with the tip of the sword so that he was forced to move back, “because I stood between you and my father. Instead, you hovered about us like a vulture, biding your time.”

“And now the time has come. You may have my sword, but I have you in my power. You know it as well as I. Kill me, and Montclair is as good as destroyed. Marry me, and your family will be safe, your brother's inheritance protected.”

“Protected?” she scoffed as his back hit the door. “By you?”

Suddenly he put his hand on the flat of the blade and pushed down hard. Her arms were too weak to hold it against his strength and it fell to the floor with a dull clang. Before she could move away, he took her by the upper arms and brought his face, full of anger and frustration, close to hers.

“I don't want this land, this heap of stone,” he snarled, his eyes fiercely angry. “I want
respect
, and as your husband and the guardian of your brother, I will
have it! Can't you understand, you stupid wench?” He shook her, hard enough to hurt. “I need to be your husband—and because I do, I will do whatever I must to make you marry me. Understand this and understand it well, my proud Allis. I have waited too long, been too patient, endured too much, to be thwarted now.”

Someone knocked at the door, loud and insistent.

Connor! Connor had come to save her.

She went to cry out, but Rennick clapped his hand over her mouth and dragged her to the far side of the room. She struggled in his arms, but he held her tight. His back to the door, he kept his hand over her mouth, making it look as if they were in some kind of embrace as the door opened.

Isabelle stepped into the room.

Not Connor. Her young and innocent sister.

“You have no business here,” Rennick declared. “Leave us.”

“I came to tell you I want to be your wife.”

Stunned as she was, Rennick let go of Allis's mouth and looked over his shoulder. When his hold loosened, Allis broke away and ran to her sister, shoving her toward the door. “You don't know what you're saying!”

Isabelle planted her feet and regarded her sister with a steadiness and determination Allis had never suspected she possessed. “Yes, I do. You don't want to marry him, and I do.”

“You can't!”

She grabbed Isabelle's hand and tried to pull her away, but Isabelle stood firm. “Did I ask for your approval? Just because you do not consider him suitable for a husband doesn't mean I do not.”

“Well, well, well, Isabelle.” Rennick strolled toward
them, a half-smile on his face that made Allis sick to see. He closed the door, enclosing the three of them in the solar. Then he circled around them before he leaned one hip against their father's table and insolently surveyed them as if they were on display for his pleasure.

Isabelle had said that she found the baron good-looking, but she did not know how cruel and greedy and vicious Rennick could be. As she had her father, Allis had shielded Isabelle from the worst of the tales whispered about Rennick DeFrouchette, thinking her too young and innocent to hear them.

There could be no more innocence. “Isabelle, there are things you don't—”

Isabelle darted an unreadable glance at her sister. “Be quiet, Allis.”

Rennick chuckled, and when he spoke, it was to Isabelle, not her. “I see I am not the only one who seeks to put Allis in her place. However, my sweet Isabelle, what makes you think I will have you?”

“I am pretty, and I am younger than Allis.”

Allis stared at them helplessly as they spoke as if she had ceased to exist.

“Allis is the elder sister and has the greater dowry.”

“What about passion?”

How could this bold woman be Isabelle? It was as if some brazen changeling had come to take her little sister's place. And how could she speak of passion? Isabelle had no idea what passion—the wonderful, heady passion of true love—was.

His eyes shining with lust, Rennick slowly smiled. “You have certainly given me something to think about, my dear.”

Dear Father in Heaven, Isabelle had no idea what
her life would be like as Rennick's wife—how he would use her as he might any whore at night, and treat her even worse during the day. There would be no love, no affection, no respect, no trust.

As she would lay down her life for Isabelle if she were being attacked by an armed warrior, so she would die before she let Isabelle marry Rennick DeFrouchette—or she would marry him herself. “You are betrothed to me,” she forcefully reminded him.

“Yet it was only moments ago you asked to break the betrothal. Besides, if I marry Isabelle, you will be free to marry your poor Welsh knight. Of course, you will have to do so without a dowry, but I gather that is of no importance to you.”

“Allis, you do not want the baron and I do, so what is there to argue about? You will have your freedom to be with Sir Connor, and I will have what I want.”

Allis's gaze darted between the two of them, Isabelle resolved and Rennick looking so very, very pleased. “I would speak to my sister alone.”

“Very well, you do that,” Rennick said with malicious delight as he sauntered toward the door. “But do not take too long. I am anxious to hear who will have the honor of becoming my lady.”

“S
it down and stop pacing, Sir Connor,” Lord Oswald ordered. “You're making me nervous and upsetting the lad.” He nodded at Edmond seated nearby on the dais as they waited for Allis, DeFrouchette and Isabelle to return from the solar. Auberan leaned against the wall, glumly pulling on a loose thread in the tapestry behind him.

Connor joined them on the dais, sitting opposite Edmond, but his mind was far from still. He should have listened to his conscience. He should have stayed away from Allis until the betrothal was broken. Once again he had given in to his impulses, and the results were proving disastrous.

He envied Isabelle, who had wearied of waiting, and announced her intention of finding out what was happening. Not even Lord Oswald's protest that she
should not interfere had held her back. She still had not returned, and the time stretched out, unbearable, as every moment passed.

“I don't understand why everybody's so angry,” Edmond muttered.

“Yes, do explain it to the boy,” Auberan suggested to Connor as he joined them on the dais, his eyes full of derision.

God help him, how could he explain love to a boy? Yet it would surely be better for him to try to tell Edmond before Auberan said much more.

He would start by explaining why people were upset, he decided. “It isn't proper for a betrothed woman to spend time alone with another man.”

“Allis didn't want to get wet. What is so wrong with that?”

“We were alone for a long time, and we aren't married.” He flushed with embarrassment. He didn't want to lose the boy's respect and admiration, yet that might be the price he would have to pay for his weakness.

“Perhaps you are too young to understand these things,” Auberan said with arrogant condescension.

“I am not!” Edmond cried with all the outraged pride of a future overlord.

Connor leaned closer, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped loosely before him. “Edmond, what your sister and I did was improper because she is betrothed to another man. I should not have been alone with her, for any length of time. It implies that there is more between us than mere friendship, something that should only be between a man and his wife.”

Edmond's eyes narrowed as he began to comprehend. “If that is so, then the baron is right to be angry.”

“Yes, he has some justification.” Wanting to make
things right in some way, Connor reached out to ruffle Edmond's hair.

The boy drew back abruptly, as if he had struck him.

Dismay washed over him. This afternoon, in the shepherd's hut, all his hopes and dreams seemed possible and about to come true. Now he feared that had been but the dream of a deluded man who awoke to find all of society arrayed against him.

“Perhaps you should get something to eat, Edmond,” Lord Oswald suggested. “The evening meal may be late.”

Edmond frowned, but he obeyed. As Connor watched him go, he hoped that in time, when Edmond was a man and perhaps in love himself, he would understand and forgive them.

“Why don't you leave, too, Welshman?” Auberan demanded. “I'm sure you are no longer welcome here.”

Lord Oswald spoke with what sounded like genuine regret. “I think Auberan is right, Connor. This is a fairly delicate situation, and your presence may only aggravate it.”

After what had happened, it would surely be better to be honest, and put everything out into the open. Subterfuge had only made things worse. “The situation may get more delicate yet. Allis and I wish to be married.”

“Married?” Auberan repeated incredulously. “That's impossible! She's betrothed—and she'd never marry
you
!”

“Under God, all things are possible,” Lord Oswald remarked as he sat in the chair Edmond had vacated. He rested his elbows on his belly and steepled his fingers. “However, my young knight, this particular
thing may not be. The betrothal has been approved by the head of the family.”

“But Allis's father is dead, so now the heir must give his approval for her betrothal. We hope that Edmond will do so.”

“Sadly for you, Sir Connor, I must inform you that it is Rennick DeFrouchette who must approve. The baron is Edmond's guardian—and Allis's and Isabelle's, as well.”

Connor's vision of paradise started to crack into a thousand pieces. “How can this be?”

“The king has made it so.”

Richard, the bane of his life, who had destroyed his ideal of a noble king, who had caused so much suffering for his own glory, who had impoverished his family, who spoke of chivalry and honor, then massacred unarmed men, who had called him a traitor and threatened to execute him if he ever saw his face again—he had put Allis into the hands of the man she loathed.

“Yes, my boy, and the king also approves Baron DeFrouchette's choice of bride. I daresay the baron paid the king well for the confirmation. You know Richard always needs money. However much it cost, I'm sure neither the baron nor the king will ever let you marry Allis.”

His hands balled into fists. Of course. The king would do anything for money.

Connor got to his feet, too agitated to sit. Too agitated to stay here, lest he say or do something in his anger that would only make things worse.

His face red with fury, his heart full of anger and hate and bitterness, Connor strode from the hall.

“Well, a fiery temper indeed,” Lord Oswald noted
calmly as the knight slammed the door of the great hall so hard, it made the nearby trestle table rattle.

Auberan quickly sat in Connor's place, facing Oswald. “That's true about Rennick being Isabelle's guardian?”

“Yes, it is.”

The young man's eyes shone with delight. “He'll give his consent to our marriage, then.”

“Unless you do something stupid, I believe so, yes.”

Rennick appeared, trotting down the stairs. His gaze swept over the hall, then he addressed his two comrades. “Where's the Welshman?”

“He became upset and left. It seems he's annoyed with our sovereign.” Oswald smiled, clearly pleased with his machinations. “Very annoyed.”

Auberan peered at the stairs. “Where are the ladies?”

“Having a discussion.” Rennick glanced at Merva and the other servants who were exchanging puzzled glances and whispers. “Let us go to the chapel, where we may speak in private.”

Oswald nodded his agreement, and with long, swift strides, Rennick led the way.

The chapel candles flickered and spluttered as they hurried inside. Coming at the last, Auberan closed the door, and the dull thud echoed through the stone building.

Standing near the altar, Rennick faced his companions, a sly grin on his hawklike face. “Isabelle has made a very intriguing proposal. She suggested that I marry her and not Allis.”

Damn these Montclair brats!
Oswald thought as Auberan's face reddened with more than the effort of hurrying across the courtyard.

The baron leaned back against the altar and crossed his ankles as well as his arms. “It's a very tempting offer.”

No doubt. So young, so ripe.

Auberan strode toward the baron and halted, his fists on his hips. “I am to marry Isabelle!”

“Yes, you are,” Oswald confirmed as he strolled closer, putting aside lust and every other emotion except the desire for power and revenge.

“I said she was tempting. I did not say I intended to marry the girl. She holds few charms for me.”

Rennick might be tempted by young flesh, but the girl was not the prize. “It's Allis he wants, Auberan, for more than her family connections and her land, you see,” he explained to the furious younger man. “It's always been Allis, so he will have her, whether she wants him or not, and whether she's been alone with that Welshman or not. Isn't that so, Rennick?”

The baron's gaze hardened, his pale eyes flickering with a host of emotions—desire, greed, rage, anguish—warring for supremacy. “We are betrothed. I see no reason to break it.”

Oswald slipped his hands into his sleeves. “Auberan, why don't you run along and see if Isabelle has come back to the hall? This has been a very difficult day for her, I'm sure, and she will likely welcome some company. Say nothing of her offer to marry the baron, but you might make mention of his age.”

“My age?” Rennick's hands balled into fists. “What about my age?”

“You are several years older than Isabelle, Rennick, and Auberan is not.”

Pleasure flashed in Auberan's eyes before he hurried away.

“So, I am too old for Isabelle?” Rennick demanded as Auberan closed the chapel door.

“Calm yourself,” Oswald said, smiling to placate Rennick's ruffled pride. “Auberan has little enough in his favor. Let him at least brag of his youth.”

“My age does not matter to Isabelle.”

“Perhaps it doesn't—but what matters or not to that young lady is unimportant.”

Rennick walked toward the statue of the Holy Mother. “She was quite persuasive.”

This sounded suspicious, but plans had been made, and he would not have them altered, not by some girl or DeFrouchette.

He followed the baron and moved where he could see the man's face, especially his light blue eyes. “Enough to make you forget Allis?”

“Perhaps.”

He laughed softly then, for he had seen the truth in Rennick's gleaming eyes. He might be tempted by Isabelle as a starving man might be tempted by a stale crust of bread. But he no more preferred Isabelle than the man would want the stale crust when a banquet lay before him, too. “You are such a poor liar, Rennick. You've craved Allis of Montclair since the first time you saw her when you returned from France eight years ago. I've never seen a man so besotted at first sight, even though she was just a girl and didn't look at you twice.”

“She and that Welshman are lovers,” Rennick said, scowling. “She told me so herself.”

“She has wounded your pride again, has she? Poor Rennick!”

Rennick flushed as he planted his feet and crossed his arms. “Maybe we should reconsider our plans.
Perhaps I should have Isabelle. She is younger and a virgin, and I would still be allied with the family of Montclair.”

Oswald waved his hand dismissively. “What is virginity but an impediment to true pleasure? God spare me a virgin's tears and reluctance! Besides, how many times have Allis and Connor been together? Once, twice, three times? Put it out of your mind. You will have her for the rest of her life.”

“What if she bears that Welshman's brat?”

“Do not touch her until she has had her women's time after you are wed. If she is not with child by then, she will not be bearing any bastards.”

“And if she does?”

Oswald shrugged. “Kill it. Smother it in the cradle.” He slid a glance at his coconspirator and decided to let him know that he was not as clever as he believed. “Or I suppose you could give it the potion you gave poor Percival.”

Rennick's eyes flickered with dismay, then he regained his composure. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Too late. He was trapped like a fly in a spider's web, the fool. “Some brew of foxglove, probably from that apothecary I told you of in London, the one who performs his interesting experiments on paupers,” Oswald said, his tone making it clear he didn't believe Rennick's claim of ignorance. “He is certain foxglove slows the heartbeat, although no other medical man will listen. Still, he's convincing, isn't he? I've been tempted to try it myself.”

Rennick didn't speak as Oswald turned to him, his cold, black eyes glittering like a cat's. “So you put it in the young fool's wine. Between that potion, and the
weight and heat of his armor, even a young man's heart will fail. I wonder why you felt the need to kill him.”

There was no point to lying now. “He knew too much.”

“Ah, I thought so. Did he tamper with Sir Connor's lance, or did you and he found out?”

“He did.”

“At your behest?”

Rennick didn't reply. Oswald thought he knew all the answers anyway.

“You have behaved like a spoiled child and not a clever man, Rennick. It is fortunate for you that only I have figured this out. I gather his father has no inkling of foul play?”

“No, my lord.”

“Lucky for you, because if he did, I meant what I said before. I would accuse you myself before the king.”

He would. That traitorous dog would never be loyal, just as Richard was not. Ah, well, he would have no need for a second thought when the time came to rid himself of Oswald, whose expression grew stern and unforgiving.

“Because you seem to lack foresight, let me explain things to you,” Oswald said. “You will listen and if you have any hope of sharing power with me in this kingdom, you will do what I say.”

No harm in listening—for now.

“I would say that right at the moment, Connor hates both you and Richard in equal measure. The day you wed the woman he loves, he will be ready to have his revenge on the world—or at least you or the king. I intend to turn that desire for vengeance to our advantage.”

“If he hates me, he will not join us.”

Oswald sauntered and walked toward the altar. “I no longer intend that he should. After all, he has no idea you and I are allied toward a common goal. So let him hate you, as long as he hates the king, too. He may need very little goading to kill Richard.”

A clever plan, if it worked.
He, too, approached the Lord's table. “You would trust him to do that?”

Oswald turned toward him and gave him a sly, knowing smile. “Absolutely. He is the perfect assassin, heartbroken, full of righteous indignation, wounded pride and twisted chivalry. Even better, he will believe he is killing Richard for the good of the kingdom as well as personal vengeance. And since he will be acting on his own, he will not be able to name us as accomplices. Besides, no one would believe you and he could be plotting anything together, given what has happened with Allis.”