Warrior's Deception (23 page)

“D
amn him. Now he’s to have everything, Beatrice included.” Geoffrey’s face turned a mottled red. His upper lip twisted into an angry sneer.

“Nay, ‘tis not as you think. Beatrice has changed these last few months. She’s grown stronger, her fears have lessened.” Lenora tried to explain again but the spurned lover would not listen. Goliath’s ears perked up, his lip curled back. She put her hand on the dog’s collar and gave the silent command to sit.

“And, pray tell me, what man has she dared to let touch her?” Geoffrey’s words dripped with bitterness.

His words burned even deeper Lenora’s memory of Roen’s hand on Beatrice’s shoulder, of Beatrice’s hand on his. Her heart thudded against her chest.

“Aha!” Geoffrey pointed his finger at her. “I can see it in your face. Beatrice and your husband are at each other like dogs in heat.”

“Nay!” How could he be so cruel? “Tis not so, Geoffrey. Roen is blameless. Nothing exists between them, save friendship.”

“Oh, Lenora, for someone who professes a pride in her wits, you put yourself to shame. I can see it in your eyes. You’ve seen them together, haven’t you?” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. Goliath sprang to attack, his sharp teeth sinking into Geoffrey’s arm. He threw off the pup and Lenora in one shove.

She stumbled back, then fell across a piece of rotten wood. Beetles and grubs scattered across her skirt and leggings, trying to retreat from the unaccustomed light. Her dog stood over her, teeth bared, prepared to protect her. Lenora scrambled to
her feet and pushed her hair back from her eyes. Geoffrey stood in the center of the clearing, his eyes wild with fury. She kept her arm on Goliath, for her protection as well as Geoffrey’s.

“Curse him and everyone in that castle,” Geoffrey muttered. “He wins everything, the keep, the wealth, the women.” He turned toward her, the snarl now a childish pout. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of living at Woodshadow, the things I’ve done to be a part of it?” He sank to the ground and wept.

Dreams, Geoffrey always lived in dreams. She contemplated how alike he and Roen were. Two children caught up in households devoid of love. Fathers who used their children for their own gain. Roen’s youth had made him hard, a warrior. The same circumstances had turned Geoffrey into a poet, a composer of verse and wild tales of adventure.

She wanted to put her arms around him, but didn’t. Pity wouldn’t help. Woodshadow and Beatrice could no longer play a part in Geoffrey’s life. He must see that, and as his friend, she must help him see the truth. “I believe neither Roen nor Beatrice would betray me in that way. I trust them as I would you.”

Geoffrey’s tears evaporated and a crazed laughter came from him. “Lenora, you are a fool.” The laughter faded and the snarl returned. “You want to believe your husband and cousin aren’t sharing a bed, because you love him. I thought you were wiser than that.”

She felt the sting of tears in her eyes. The steady thud of her heart against her chest pounded in her ears. “Aye, I love him and I trust him.”

“Then I offer my sympathies, for your future will be bleaker than any childhood terror I experienced.” He rose and dusted off the seat of his pants.

Geoffrey’s mood swings were like a wild pendulum, one minute a sensitive friend, the next a hurt child, driven to tantrums; she could not be sure what reaction he would have next. “How can you say such a thing?”

“Because you give too much and get too little in return. You give your love and trust, and what does he give you? Does he profess his love and trust to you?”

“I have his trust and respect.”

“And his love?”

She stiffened her backbone and held her head high. “’Twill come, in time.” She patted her dog’s head for reassurance.

“Lenora—” his voice softened, the anger gone like an afternoon thunderstorm “—if you or Beatrice have need of me, I am still your friend. Always know that I am here and ready to help.” He turned to go, then stopped. She could read the pity in his eyes. “Don’t let your feelings blind you. When the time comes, send for me. I will be your refuge. ‘

The sound of heavy hooves drummed in the air. They turned toward the noise. Goliath howled a welcoming call. A charging shadow appeared in the woods. Geoffrey ran for the cover of the trees but the figure burst into the clearing and cut him off. Lenora rushed forward to save her friend, then stumbled to a stop. Roen, dressed in his hauberk, sat astride the warhorse. In his hand, the heavy broadsword gleamed. He flicked his wrist and the steel weapon sliced through the air. Geoffrey grabbed his face, blood seeping between his fingers.

“Roen, stop!” Lenora could not believe she had witnessed the violent act. The dog sat back on his haunches and yipped, as though completely in accord with Roen’s action.

From the height of the horse’s back, his face like a thundercloud, Roen’s voice boomed with anger. “Why, wife? Do you value your lover’s pretty face so much?” With his knees, Roen guided the horse closer to the stunned Geoffrey. As Destrier gave him a push with his nose, the sharp points of the animal’s armor made Geoffrey cry out in pain.

Lenora rushed to Roen’s side and pounded on his leg with her fists. “Stop it, stop it! Have you gone insane?”

Roen kicked her away. She stumbled back and fell, her head hitting the ground. The dog whined, and his head whipped from master to mistress, but he kept his sitting position. Lenora tried to clear her eyes and stop the spinning in her head.

“Aye, I was insane.” Roen slid from his saddle and stalked her. He lifted her from the ground with a jerk of his powerful hand. His grip on her arm bit into her skin. “I was insane to believe you could be different. At least a whore is honest in her profession.” He dragged her over to Geoffrey.

“Geoffrey, I’m so sorry.” The wound would scar his face, a mark of her husband’s anger. Her temper turned to Roen.

“You’re wrong. Geoffrey and I are just friends.”

Roen spat on the ground, and his voice shook with hostility. “Why did your
friend—
” he smeared the word with distaste “—not come to the castle and make his presence known to all? Why this secret meeting in the covering of the forest? Is this the custom here between friends?”

She looked into her husband’s eyes and saw a warrior, ready to kill.

“Nay, ‘tis not the custom. I am here to speak for another,” she stuttered, her mind searching for a way to defuse the situation.

Roen snarled like a wild animal. “Give me the name of this other. Now.” He raised his sword for a death blow above Geoffrey’s neck.

“Tell me again, what is it you receive from this union?” Geoffrey asked Lenora, taunting her.

The ruby in the hilt of the sword cast a red glow onto Roen’s face. He meant to kill her friend. Lenora jumped between Geoffrey and the weapon. “You cannot strike him down, he has no weapon. ‘Twould be murder.”

A tremor ran down the muscles in Roen’s arms from the strain of holding the heavy weapon aloft. “Give me the name of this other if you can, wife, or stand aside and see me rip the head from your lover’s neck.”

She crossed her hands across her chest and willed herself to be strong. “I’ll not move, for to do so would condemn your soul to the tortures of hell for slaying an innocent man. Nor will I speak a name, for you should not need it, my word is good enough.” The newly forged foundation of her marriage began to crumble.

Her husband raised the sword. She closed her eyes and felt the push of air, the quiet
swoosh
as he struck. Silence. She opened her eyes, the razor-sharp blade just a hairbreadth from her throat. He had checked his swing at the last moment. Goliath sat between her and her husband, the whining replaced by a confused whimper.

Roen resheathed his sword and his arm encircled her waist. He threw her over the saddle, belly down, then jumped up behind
her. Unable to see his face, she heard his words to Geoffrey. “The next time we meet, I will kill you.” Then he bounded away, his hand pressing down on the small of her back, holding her over the horse’s back for several minutes before he pulled up and halted at the edge of the forest. The distant sound of Goliath’s barking signaled her pet’s safety. The sun dipped below the treetops, the heat of the day still lingered.

He dropped her to the ground like a sack of grain. Her legs tingled from lost circulation. The physical pain did not compare to the pain in her heart.

His voice matched the icy glare from his eyes. “Give me the name. Prove your innocence.”

“Do not ask it and prove your trust in me,” she countered.
God,
she prayed,
make him understand how much she needed this from him.

“You play with words, yet give me no answer.” He pulled on the rein and the horse kicked up dust. “Or perhaps it does show me the way. You stall, for you have no name and thus fear to show your guilt.”

She wanted to scream at him to open his heart and trust her as she had him. Instead, she met his wintry gaze. “I do not fear, for I have no guilt. But no name will come from my lips, and you may believe what you like. Think me guilty, I do not doubt you will, for ‘tis the easy thing to do.” She stomped off toward her home. Goliath, winded from his run, trotted up to her side. After only a dozen steps she heard the thunder of hooves behind her. She kept her eyes ahead and did not move from the road. Roen brushed by her, leaving her covered in the dust of the road and the pain of his mistrust.

Beatrice snapped the stem of a lavender plant and declared, “I will tell him the truth. I won’t let you be punished because of me.” She placed the flower in her basket and scratched Goliath between the ears. The dog wiggled deeper into the cool dirt of the garden.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Lenora ordered. She pushed back a tendril of hair from her eyes and put her hands on her back. The backache eased and she returned to tending the herb garden. With each tug she thought of Roen, alternating between imagining the weed as his neck or his stubbornness.

“But, Lenora, he won’t let you out of the bailey. I know how much your freedom means to you…” Beatrice’s voice trailed off. The shadow of a guardsman fell over them. “Must you stand so close?” Beatrice demanded.

The guard moved off, only to resume his surveillance just out of earshot.

“This is all my fault.” Beatrice sank to the ground next to Lenora.

“Cousin, do not hold yourself to this. Roen must learn to trust me as I do him. My trust was tested when my father died. I believed him about my father’s wishes, now he must believe in me.” She broke off stems from a nearby mint bush. The sharp, cool smell of the plant drifted in the air.

“But it has been weeks and still I see no change. Hamlin has spoken to him and he threatened to send him to Bridgeton if he broached the subject again. The servants are frightened of him. Has he said anything to you?”

Lenora shook her head and plucked a leaf from the mint. She took a deep breath of the crisp smell hoping to clear her head and her heart. “Nay, he does not speak to me except to demand a name or my confession. I am guilty in his eyes yet I hold some hope.”

Beatrice’s frown eased. “Why is that?”

Lenora twirled a stem between her fingers. “He refuses to allow me to sleep anywhere else but at his side. I know he holds me to him each night. I feel his arms around me in my sleep. Each morning he is gone, yet I can feel the spot next to me and find the warmth his body left. I put my faith in those emotions and pray Roen will allow his feelings for me to cool the heat of his temper.”

“And how long do you intend to wait for that to happen?” Beatrice asked.

“As long as I must. I have no choice.” Lenora rose and shook the dirt from her dress. “You and Hamlin were right. I’ve made the dreadful mistake of falling in love with my husband.”

Beatrice rose and gripped her cousin’s hand. “Promise me that you will think with your head and not your heart. If Roen is not what you hope, do not sacrifice your happiness. You said Geoffrey would help us, despite what I’ve done to him.”

She patted Beatrice’s hand and smiled. “Aye, I believe he would, though I don’t know what he could do.” Odd, but Beatrice had grown stronger, more confident in Lenora’s eyes, and Geoffrey weaker, less trustful.

“Promise me you’ll seek out Geoffrey’s help should you need it.”

“Roen would murder him.”

“Not if you could reach sanctuary with Sir Ranulf or the king. Promise me, Lenora.”

“Very well, I promise. Does that make you feel better?”

“Aye, because I intend to make you keep your promise,” Beatrice vowed. The two women rose and headed for the castle, trailed by Goliath and the reluctant guard.

“L
ady Lenora.” Alyse tapped the end of her wooden spoon against her crossed arms. “Something’s got to be done with that animal.” She pointed her spoon at Goliath’s sleeping form by the hearth. “He’s eaten two of my birds right off the spit.”

Goliath continued to snore, then licked his chops and belched in his sleep. Lenora sighed and called to her pet. “Goliath, come here.” He opened one sleepy eye, saw Alyse with the spoon and quickly shut it. His snoring grew louder.

“Goliath.” Lenora made her voice sterner and bit her lip to keep from laughing. Laughter. It felt strange to have a merry thought after so many months; Roen’s accusation had stripped her life of merriment and laughter.

“Goliath.” She snapped her fingers to get her dog’s attention. This time the animal rose, his big head nearly trailing the ground, his tail low. A true picture of canine remorse. He fell like dead weight on her toes and rolled over to show his belly. By the stars, he had certainly grown into his name these last few months.

Alyse recrossed her arms under her ample chest and continued with her list of the dog’s transgressions. “Yesterday, he got on my worktable and spilt two pitchers of milk. Last week he chased my laying hens, and we had no eggs for three days. The day before that, he ate the centers out of three pies I had left to cool. Just the centers, mind ye.”

“I’ll see to him, Alyse. I promise.” Lenora tried to rise, but the heavy weight on her feet pinned her in the chair. She put down her sewing and wiggled her toes out from under the animal.

“Well, see that ye do, Lady Lenora, or—” the kitchen cook addressed the dog on the floor “—you’ll wind up on the spit instead of stealing from it.” In a huff, she left the room to return to her realm downstairs.

When the woman exited, Goliath padded over to the hearth to retrieve a slimy piece of rawhide. He dropped it at Lenora’s feet and sat upright, an expectant look on his face.

“Nay, I’ll not toss your toy for you,” Lenora rebuked him. The dog picked up the rawhide and set it in her lap.

“You may as well throw it. He won’t let up until you do,” Beatrice advised. She put aside her sewing, also, and walked to her cousin’s side. “He needs to stay in the kennel or the barn.”

“I know, but he would be miserable after sleeping near me all this time.” Lenora threw the strip of leather. “I would miss him, too. He keeps me from being too lonely.” Goliath leapt after it, captured the strip with his front paws and began to tug and chew his toy.

“When are you going to allow me to tell Roen the truth about your meeting with Geoffrey?” Beatrice placed her hand on Lenora’s shoulder. “Tis been months now. You can’t keep living like this. The strain is making you ill.”

Lenora lowered her head and closed her eyes. ‘Twas not her estrangement from her husband that caused her nausea. She had kept her secret for three months now; soon she would be able to hide it no longer.

“Beatrice, you must not tell. There is more to this than you think.” Her cousin moved to sit at her side. Lenora glanced around to see if anyone was in earshot. The guard sat across the room, cleaning his weapons. The servants moved about, concerned with their duties. “I am with child. I believe three months.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened, and a smile graced her lips. “Oh, Lenora, how wonderful!” She gave Lenora a hug.

“Sh. I do not wish it known to all just yet.”

“Why?” Beatrice’s smile faded. Then realization dawned. “He won’t believe ‘tis his, will he?”

“’Twould be the time when he saw me with Geoffrey. I fear ‘tis his past that haunts him and will cause him to reject our child.”

“Then let me go to him and clear his mind of these evil thoughts.”

Lenora shook her head and crossed the room to stare at the embers in the hearth. Beatrice went to her side, and Lenora spoke to the dying flames. “And what will it prove? If he doubts my word, why would he believe you? In his mind I am guilty. It really matters little what anyone says. If we are to have a life together, he must break down this wall he has put between us himself. No one else can help him.”

“What if he does not make amends before you can no longer hide the babe from him?” Beatrice kept her voice low and glanced over her shoulder at the guard. He no longer cleaned his sword but stared at them.

“Then there is no future for us. I’ll not have my child grow up in a home such as this one is now. I’ll leave, perhaps return to Aquitaine.”

Beatrice laced her arm through Lenora’s and drew her away from the fire. In a hushed whisper she said, “Come, let us retire to your chambers. There we will have more privacy to discuss this matter. Besides, you will need to start your layette soon or the heir to Woodshadow will lie naked in his crib for his first months.”

Arm in arm, they climbed the stairs to the seclusion of the master chamber. Goliath followed in their shadow. Roen intercepted the guard as he started for the stairs.

“Raymond, what went on between the two?” he inquired.

The guard shrugged his shoulders. “I do not know, Lord Roen. They share a secret but I was not close enough to hear.”

Roen nodded and dismissed the man. He sat in the chair his wife had vacated and propped his elbows on the arms. With his hands folded, he rested his chin on his extended index fingers while he studied the brocade edge of his tunic.

Hamlin leaned against the warm stones of the hearth. Familiar with his commander’s mood, he demanded, “What do you know, Roen?”

He dropped his arms to hang loose. His head tilted to rest on the back of the chair. “I believe my wife is expecting a child.”

Hamlin’s mouth dropped open. With his foot, he pushed himself off the wall of rock. “Are you certain? Has she told you this?”

“She has said nothing to me. But she cannot hide the changes in her body.”

Hamlin whacked his friend on the back and gave him a jubilant grin. “Congratulations, old man, and when is the blessed event to occur?”

Roen slanted his head and gave his companion a sideways glance. “I would suspect sometime after the New Year.” He paused to let the date sink in.

“What a wonderful way to begin a year. We must plan a special celebration for the occasion.” Hamlin started waving his hands. “A huge feast, dancing, jugglers. I love jugglers…” His hands froze in midair and the gaiety left his voice, replaced with dread. His hands dropped and he asked, “You don’t believe the babe is yours, do you?”

“There’s that possibility. It could be her lover’s child.” The words ripped from him, the pain unconcealable.

“Roen, you are my commander. In battle, I would not hesitate to carry out your orders.” Hamlin stood over him. “But more than that, I consider you and I friends. Loyal friends.”

“Aye, ‘tis true.” He waited for the point of Hamlin’s speech.

“I tell this in that vein, as a friend.” Hamlin sucked in a breath, and the words rushed out. “You are a fool, Roen. I know Lenora tells the truth.”

“How?” Roen looked up, desperate for some shred of proof to nullify his charges.

“Because she loves you. Even after all the hurt you’ve caused her, she still loves you.” Hamlin snorted when Roen rose and turned from him. “You can walk away from me, but you can’t walk away from your wife and child. What are you going to do?”

His shoulders sank, and defeat caught in his throat like a bitter ale. “I will do what I must for the child’s sake and uphold the marital agreement I made with Sir Edmund. Lenora’s firstborn son is heir to Woodshadow, regardless of who fathered him.”

“The woman believed you about her father. Can you not see it in yourself to put the same trust in her?” Hamlin asked as Roen walked away.

The truth of the question haunted him. Why had she believed in him then, when by all rights she should have allowed
her men to kill him on the spot? When he told his side, she listened to him, eventually, then placed her faith in him. Why had she done that? Could Hamlin be right? Did she love him?

Roen groaned at the idea. It would only lace the situation with more guilt. For if she did love him, could that elusive emotion be sustained in her heart after the way he treated her? Nay, if she had not hated him before, she would now.

He left the keep and wandered to the old oak. Bright red and orange leaves floated in the air. A daydream of his wife materialized in the autumn light. The image spoke of how proud she was of him, how much she respected him. He would murmur back how pleased he was with her. The image leaned toward him, her full lips ready to meet his own.

A voice in his conscience chastised him. Pleased. Respected. Those weren’t the words he wanted spoken. How would it sound on her lips, “I love you?” How would it sound on his own?

A child’s cry broke his thoughts. A brown-haired little boy ran toward the tree, his finger held close to his chest. “Halt, boy, stop that racket,” Roen yelled.

The wail stopped, but the boy’s lower lip trembled. He started to hiccup and cry at the same time. He cradled one hand in the other.

Roen looked down at the dirty, tear-streaked face. Brown eyes looked up at him. “Why all the blubbering? You’re too old to be crying like a baby.”

On chubby legs, the child reviewed him. Finally, he extended his finger, the hiccups in control. Roen knelt down and examined the appendage. A long, nasty sliver of wood pierced the skin and lay under the flesh. The edge, too small to grasp with his large fingers, extruded from beneath the surface. Roen grimaced. It looked painful even to him.

“Come here, boy.” He motioned to the tree. “Sit, and I’ll see if I can help you.”

The lad obeyed, his tears drying. He stuck his thumb into his mouth and waited. Roen crossed his legs and sat next to him. The splinter lay just under the surface of the skin, so he tried to massage it out. The lad turned his face away and started to cry again.

“Hush,” Roen ordered. The big brown eyes widened at the tone of his voice. “Hush,” he ordered again, but this time his voice softened.

“Hurts,” the lad informed him. He stuck his finger right under Roen’s nose. “Fix it.”

With a smile, he answered, “Aye, I’ll fix it, but ‘twill hurt some.”

The boy plopped down into Roen’s lap and put his small finger into the large callused hand of his benefactor. “Fix,” he ordered, then returned his thumb to his mouth. The brown eyes looked at him without fear.

Roen removed his sharp dagger and showed it to his patient. The boy’s eyes rounded. “Don’t worry, I’ll be as gentle as I can.” Roen kept his voice quiet. “’Twill only take a minute if you keep your hand very still. Can you do that?”

The little head nodded up and down slowly. Roen felt the arm he held grow stiff, and the small body leaned against his chest. Quick, before his patient changed his mind, he took the needlelike tip of his dagger and made a shallow incision. With a gentle squeeze, the splinter came free,

“Good boy, you were certainly brave through that,” he praised the child. The little head nodded up and down in agreement. A shudder ran along the child’s body, and Roen rubbed the gooseflesh from the baby-soft arm.

“Marvin, what are you doing?” A haggard-looking woman raced up to them. She bobbed a clumsy curtsy to him and swept the child from his lap.

“Ah, so Marvin is the name of my brave patient.” Roen felt the loss of the small body. His arms and lap were suddenly empty. To escape the feeling, he rose and stretched his legs. “He had a splinter, so I cut it out. He’s a most capable lad. You might wrap his finger with a cloth to stanch the blood.” Marvin’s mother nodded while she pulled her son farther from him.

Marvin showed his mother the still slightly bleeding finger and ordered, “Kiss.” A maternal smile softened the woman’s face. Dutifully, she leaned over and gave her son’s injury a loud smack. Marvin giggled. “Better.”

“Thank you, my lord, for your concern.” The mother scooped up her son and rested him on her hip. “The second year is such a trying time. They’re always into some mischief.”

“He’s only two. I thought him older.” Roen looked at the boy, contentedly sucking his thumb in his mother’s arms.

“You’ll learn to size ‘em better after you’ve a few of your own.” Her chin nuzzled the top of her child’s head. She moved off patting Marvin’s back and humming a lullaby.

Roen watched the brown head rest on the woman’s shoulder. Children of his own. When would that time come? He never really considered the prospect except in terms of producing an heir. Brown hair and brown eyes. Lenora’s child might look very similar to Marvin if Geoffrey was the father. Would her child ever look at him with trust and order him to “fix” some hurt? Would he be able to look at the child with tenderness? He kicked at the piles of dead leaves around the trunk of the oak, unsure of the answers in his heart.

“Here, we can cut this down.” Beatrice held up a linen dress.

“We can make several gowns for your baby from this.”

Lenora nodded, finally giving in to her excitement. Despite her relationship with the father, she wanted this baby. She couldn’t wait to be able to count all the little toes and fingers. She dreamed of holding her child in her arms and feeling it nurse at her breast.

“The child must have a mantle for the winter.” Beatrice started to make a verbal list of all the things a newborn would need. “Some warm woolen gowns…” She threw open one of the chests in Lenora’s room and withdrew a pale undertunic. “Let’s take the silk from this old dress and sew some strips onto the baby’s blankets. I’ve a bit of ermine left from the gown I made. Let’s put that on the baby’s cloak. And a hat, he’ll need a hat, also.”

Lenora laughed. “Beatrice, you’ll have the babe dressed better than the crown prince.” She knelt near the chest, also, and withdrew a bolt of soft blue wool. The color reminded her of Roen’s eyes when he was happy, a blue gray. She wondered if their child would have the same shade of eyes. If it did, would that be enough for Roen to claim it as his own?

Beatrice took the cloth from her hand. “Let’s get started right away.” She looked around the chamber for somewhere to lay the bolt out. “Here, this table will do.” A sharp flick of her wrist and the wool snapped out of its folds and draped across
the game table. Pulling out a piece of chalk from her pocket, Beatrice drew the simple shape of a baby’s gown on the fabric.