The Redeeming (17 page)

T
hey were watched, and it seemed Gaenor was just as aware of the eyes that followed them.

As Christian reached for a piece of cheese, he considered his wife’s brothers farther down the lord’s table. Wulfrith and Everard were assured of returning to their homes in a timely manner, but from Abel’s comment this morn that they ought to resume their search for Robert, the youngest brother planned to stay on for a time.

Christian preferred otherwise, and yet there was much to recommend the plan, for their efforts to overtake the brigands had been greatly aided by the knight’s keen senses and ability to find tracks where there appeared to be none. True, Robert yet evaded capture, but he had only narrowly stayed ahead of his pursuers. If not that Christian had suspended the hunt to collect his bride, the miscreants might now be in irons. Yet another reason to resent the woman who silently shared his platter of cheese and bread.

He looked at her, only to wish he had not, for she was becoming in the pale blue gown that had belonged to his mother. Lovely, in fact, with two large plaits bound halfway down her hair’s length to allow the curling ends to drape her bosom.

Of Aimee’s doing, he guessed, for the maid was given to such extravagance with her own hair, as well as that of other castle women. Providing Aimee set aside her sister’s resentment of Abingdale’s new lady, she would make a good maid for Gaenor. Not that he ought to care.

“You stare, Husband.” Gaenor looked sidelong at him.

Vexed at being caught, more at being attracted to her despite her perfidy, he leaned near and forced a smile. “I am thinking you present well, lady wife. Indeed, none would know the babe in your belly is not mine.”

Her face flushed and, again, anger lit her eyes.

When Christian glanced at those at the lower tables, the lively expressions of several told they believed it was an intimacy their lord and new lady shared. As he wished it. Still, he regretted allowing his tongue to unwind.

Knowing his in-laws would not be as optimistic about what had been spoken between husband and wife, he met the steely gaze of Abel, the steadfast gaze of Everard, and the discerning gaze of Wulfrith. They knew it was no intimacy.

Berating himself for not guarding his tongue as the Bible told and which he had done faithfully as a monk, he broke off a piece of bread.

“I am told your father is no longer at Broehne,” Gaenor surprised him.

Irked by the loose lips of the women he had sent to attend her, Christian turned to Gaenor and saw her flush had receded and anger had dimmed.

“Where has he gone?”

He ground his jaws. “We will discuss my father elsewhere.”

“Where? And when?”

“That is of
my
choosing.”

She smiled tightly and laid a hand on his arm. “If you truly wish my brothers gone from Broehne, it would serve you not to scowl so.”

There was a limit to how much pretense Christian could swallow, and he had reached his. He pushed back his chair and motioned for an end to the meal.

As benches scraped and those at the tables took up muttering over the meal’s duration that they had surely expected would be prolonged in celebration of their lord’s marriage, Christian strode the length of the dais.

Heart heavy, Gaenor watched him depart the hall. As the porter closed the door behind him, she stood.

“You look lovely,” said Garr when he appeared at her side.

In an attempt to better compose her face, she glanced down her skirts. “It seems my husband’s mother was nearly as tall. If I but add two fingers of material to the hem, I shall be quite presentable.”

“Necessary only if you cannot wait a few days for your own clothes to arrive.”

She looked up. “You have sent word to mother.”

“I have, and by now she knows you are well and wed.”

Ashamed that she had not asked that word be sent, Gaenor averted her gaze.

Garr turned her so that her back was to the hall and her face hidden from others. “Since much weighs upon you, Sister, ‘twas for me to do.”

“I thank you.”

He bent nearer. “Everard and I leave this day.”

She gasped. “Must you?”

“Our duties await us.”

“And Abel?”

“He shall remain at Abingdale for a time.”

“My…husband knows?”

“He does, and though I do not think he is pleased, Abel will remain for as long as he is needed.”

“You think I require protection?”

Garr gripped her elbow. “Let us speak elsewhere.”

She allowed herself to be guided abovestairs to the chamber her brothers had been given.

Once the door was closed, Garr said, “The baron did not speak to you of his father?”

“The maids who attended me this morn said he has been removed from Broehne.”

“You know the manner in which he was removed?”

“I assumed my husband sent him to another castle.”

“I wish that were so, Gaenor, but the old man was taken from Broehne by his illegitimate son, Robert.”

She nearly stumbled where she stood. “But Sir Robert is imprisoned in London.”

“No longer. With the aid of those of Abingdale’s knights and men-at-arms who were released from Baron Lavonne’s service for breaking fealty, he escaped. And here he came to once more wreak havoc. He and his brigands stole into Broehne and, after killing some of your husband’s men, took Aldous Lavonne with them.”

Moved by realization, Gaenor asked, “When did this occur?”

“Ten days past.”

Remembering those who had ridden on Wulfen when she and Christian—then Sir Matthew—were at the stream, she nearly groaned. It must be that which had taken Christian away without a word to her. Meaning he
would
have returned to the stream. But would he have revealed his identity to the one who had suggested Sir Matthew steal her away? Or would he have further indulged in his game?

“Why did no one tell me Baron Lavonne was in training at Wulfen while I was there?” Hopefully, Garr would think her husband had revealed his presence at the fortress and not delve her question further.

“As you were isolated from the others, there seemed no reason to notify you lest you become alarmed.”

“But why there when you could as easily have trained him at Stern?”

“Not only is Wulfen situated nearer the baron’s lands lest he was needed, but there are none better at training in the art of arms than Everard and Abel.” His face turned more serious. “I vow ‘twas done to better provide for your protection, Gaenor.”

“Which you believe I still require.”

“Only until Sir Robert and his brigands are brought to ground, and that is why Abel remains—to assist until the king sends the men he has promised to beat out the woods and bring the miscreants to justice.”

“Why would the king send men?”

“’Twas from his prison that Sir Robert escaped, and his guards who fell to the sword like those at Broehne when Aldous Lavonne was taken. If not for what was nearly done to Beatrix, I might pity Sir Robert if he is captured by the king’s men.”

“And what if he is captured by his brother?”

Garr was silent a long moment. “Ultimately, Sir Robert will fall into the king’s hands, for your husband will be required to give him over.”

“And you think he can do so knowing the king will execute his brother?”

“He will have to, Gaenor.”

Then he doubted Christian’s resolve to bring Sir Robert to justice. Of course, it was a dagger to the shoulder, not the back, her husband had thrown to prevent the knight from murdering Beatrix. Was it affection that held him from taking his illegitimate brother’s life or care for their father?

“What I do not understand,” she said, “is how Sir Robert was able to take the old baron from Broehne. He is said to be infirm.”

“He is.”

“You think he went willingly?”

Garr raised his eyebrows. “’Tis likely, for Christian isolated his father following the attempt on Beatrix’s life lest the old man tried to turn his vengeance on you.”

Something of a comfort.

“The maid who tended him and slept on a pallet beside his bed was relieved of her duties,” Garr continued, “and a guard set at his door to oversee any given permission to enter Aldous’s chamber. Even the village woman who tended his ailing body was not permitted a private audience.”

Gaenor’s sister had mentioned the healer. Though Aldous had been tended by Michael D’Arci for years, the physician had withdrawn his services following the attempt on Beatrix’s life. Thus, the responsibility had been given to a young village woman said to be skilled in the healing arts.

“Yesterday, ere we brought you out of the wood and delivered you to Broehne,” Garr continued, “Baron Lavonne received word that the healer had disappeared from her village.”

Surely of Sir Robert’s doing that the woman might provide for his father’s needs. “Do you think she went willingly?”

“As Helene left her five-year-old son behind, it seems likely she was taken against her will. And yet, ‘tis told she sympathized with the old baron—that on more than one occasion she argued with Christian against isolating his father. Thus, though I do not like to believe a mother would abandon her child for the sake of Aldous Lavonne or the coin he may have pressed upon her, it is possible she went willingly.”

“And the boy? He has family to care for him?”

“He does not, as Helene was widowed two years past and has no other family.”

Gaenor’s heart tugged. “Who cares for him?”

“Though some villagers took him in, your husband has this day sent men to deliver him to the castle.”

The prospect of a child in the donjon caused a thrill to run through Gaenor. Still, it seemed odd that the boy would be brought here if Helene’s neighbors were willing to keep him. Did Christian hope to use the boy to entice Helene away from the brigands—just as he had used the testimony in Beatrix’s favor to bargain with Garr?

“Why bring the child here?”

“’Tis at the request of those who care for him. He is said to be difficult.”

“Of course he is. He has lost his mother, perhaps even been abandoned.”

“Aye, and he was likely present when Robert came for her.”

Gaenor frowned. “You think he witnessed violence?”

“’Tis possible.”

She drew a deep breath. “I will see that the child is well cared for.”

“I am sure you will, Gaenor. I but pray he will not add to the burden you already carry.”

Reminded of that burden and fearful her brother guessed there was more to it than what had been told, she peered warily at him.

“Though ‘tis obvious all is not well between you and Christian,” he said with a sympathetic smile, “I would wager—and you know I do not indulge in such folly—that you and the baron are not yet husband and wife beyond the vows you spoke.”

Heat warmed Gaenor’s neck, but she said, “Your wager would be won.”

He nodded. “’Tis difficult, I am certain, but for the best so your husband may never question the legitimacy of the children you bear him.”

Here was the ever-logical Garr Wulfrith who never wavered off center—excepting one season of defiance when he took Annyn Bretanne to wife though the king had promised her to Christian’s depraved older brother, Geoffrey Lavonne.

Gaenor sighed. “Aye, for the best.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “’Twill all come right. The baron is an honorable man and will surely prove an honorable husband once Sir Durand is firmly in the past. You have but to forgive one another.”

What her brother left unspoken made Gaenor ask, “For what have I to forgive him?”

His mouth turned grim. “I do not know under what circumstances you encountered the baron at Wulfen, Gaenor, but ‘twas obvious when you came out of the wood that he was not unknown to you.”

She could hardly breathe for the depth of his perception.

“And from your surprise, ‘tis certain you were unaware that the man you met at Wulfen was your betrothed—though there was no doubt he knew you.”

“You see too much,” she choked.

“I apologize for my trespass, but I would have you take comfort in it.”

“How so?”

“In knowing that you are wed to Christian Lavonne only because I approve of him. Do not forget that, Gaenor.”

She shuddered out a long breath. “I shall endeavor to remember it.”

“Do, little sister.”

She nearly laughed. Younger she might be and not quite as tall, but she could hardly be called little. Before she could reconsider the impulse, she stepped nearer and wrapped her arms around him. “I will trust in you, Garr.” She lowered her cheek to his shoulder.

“And the Lord,” he said into her hair.

“That is harder.” She sighed. “But I shall try.”

T
he ache of Garr and Everard’s departure was lightened by the appearance of riders on the meadow before the castle.