Warrior's Deception (7 page)

Roen paced the room before hitching a leg onto an ironbanded chest near the window. “What makes you think you are in any danger, other than from your own harebrained schemes?”

Tom stopped wheezing and started to sputter, “What—why, you…I don’t care if’n you are a lord, ye don’t go talkin’ to Sir Edmund like that.”

Sir Edmund silenced his man with an annoyed frown. “’Tis little proof I have, more of a hunch. My illness for one.” He released a long, anguished breath and eased himself back against the pillows. The stress of the recent events shone on his face.

“Aye, ‘tis a strange illness.” Tom’s muscles creaked, his bad knee popped. He used the back of the chair to pull himself up. “My lord grows weak, then grows strong, then weak again.”

“He’s old. It happens,” Roen replied nonchalantly.

“Then why is it when I bring his food myself, not from the kitchen, he gets stronger? Why is it that when I fed his kitchen food to the rats in the stable, they died?” Tom gave Roen a nearly toothless grin. “Someone’s a-tryin’ to poison ‘im.”

“Rats die, they eat spoiled food. You doped the stable with poison, they got hold of it.” Roen scrutinized the ill man, noted the paleness of his face.

“Aye, it could be so, I wish it were so,” Edmund replied wearily. “I do not wish to think someone of my house would poison me. But ‘tis true. Tom smuggles me food through a secret chamber into this room. Yet, I still suffer from bouts of illness. I know not if this is a permanent result of the poisoning, or if the traitor still reaches me, despite our precautions.”

“There’s other things. Before the lord got sick.” Tom held his back as he shuffled over to Roen. “Accidents! The lord ‘ere was nearly trampled to death when the girth broke on his saddie.
Then his lance broke during a hunt. The whole castle was a-talkin’ about the lord’s run of bad luck.”

The one-eyed man gave Roen a calculated look. “All the talk scared the coward. Not too much longer, Sir Edmund starts to feelin’ poorly.”

Roen scratched his chin. “All you really have is supposition. No real proof.”

Tom snorted in disgust. “And what about Lady Lenora?”

Roen jumped off the chest. “What’s happened to Lenora?” he demanded. “Sir Edmund, your letter did not mention any harm to her.”

There was silence as Tom and his lord exchanged appraising glances. Edmund’s voice wavered. “No harm—yet. Just things that make one wonder. I never received an answer before—why did Lenora lie for you? I’m surprised she didn’t strip you to the bone with one of her tongue-lashings.”

Roen wandered about the room to collect and organize his thoughts. “Your daughter did not wish to upset you. Believe me, I have heard enough of her bad manners. What do you want from me?” Roen asked tentatively. He suspected the answer would not be to his liking.

Edmund reached out his hand. Tom slipped two brown leather-wrapped missives from under his worn jerkin. He placed them in his lord’s hand. The elder knight opened each, read each briefly.

“I believe this will draw the culprit out.” He held one out to Roen.

“This is a marriage contract!” Roen stared at Sir Edmund as the man’s plan dawned on him. “Nay, I’ll not marry that hellcat daughter of yours.”

“Then don’t. Read the contract, man. All you have to do is announce your engagement,” Sir Edmund replied briskly.

Roen reviewed the document. “This contract is quite generous to me. I become Lord of Woodshadow the day I marry Lenora.”

“Aye, to be passed on to your and Lenora’s children at your death.”

“This cannot be! If Lenora has no children I’m to be given a settlement of three hundred gold coins. You are that rich?”
Roen asked, thunderstruck. Not even the king had that much hard coin.

Edmund chuckled slyly. “Nay. The holdings would have to be sold to pay you off. I can’t deed you Woodshadow itself. ‘Tis held through my wife’s family. But I can gift you with enough gold that whoever inherits will have nothing if Lenora dies.”

Roen slung the document onto Edmund’s chest. “You dare propose this plan. If someone is trying to kill you, Lenora’s life will be forfeit. What will prevent the cad from killing her to prevent the marriage?”

“You will.” Edmund’s eyes pinned his with their sharp gaze. “You say I have no proof, this will get it for me.” The older man lifted the contract.

“You risk the life of your daughter so easily?” Roen challenged.

“This is the most difficult thing I have ever done,” Edmund admitted. “I have fought battles with less fear than I feel now. But this is the only way I can guarantee her safety in the future. I cannot rest until this is settled.”

Roen shook his head. He crossed to the window, placed his arm against the cool wall and rested his head on his wrist. Finally, he turned to face the two elderly men.

“What’s to keep me from marrying the girl and killing her myself? That’s a handsome amount of money you offer.”

Tom stepped forward, his one eye glaring at Roen. He gave Roen the remaining leather-wrapped parcel. Edmund explained, “This is the true marriage contract. It gives the property to Lenora and her offspring. If she dies childless, the land reverts to her mother’s family. You will receive a small settlement. This is the document that will be sent to King Henry to be recorded.”

Edmund added reluctantly, “I could be frank with Lenora, tell her what I suspect.”

Roen massaged his temple as he answered, “Then she really would be in danger. She’d stop at nothing to ferret any would-be assassin. We will delay any decision until I am sure there is some danger. If—” Roen stressed the word “—I sense any real danger, I will participate in your deception. But understand this, I have no intention of carrying through with this. How will she react when she discovers the truth?”

“Better a bit of dented pride than death,” Edmund answered bluntly. “There is one more thing.”

Roen spread his mouth into a thin-lipped frown. Edmund ignored his expression and spoke quickly. “I gave Lenora a promise, that she could choose her husband. I even paid the king a fee to keep her unmarried for the remainder of the year. I cannot mandate she marry you. You must persuade her to make this match.”

“God’s blood, man!” Roen’s patience stretched beyond his tolerance. “I will do what I can to discover the culprit and protect you and your family because the king wishes it. But I am a fighting man. I will not go around at her heels like a lap dog. If I decide to marry the girl, by God, she will marry me.”

Roen turned on his heel and marched to the door. As he opened it, he pierced each man with a baleful stare. He exited, allowing the slam of the door to demonstrate his ire.

Tom sat down gingerly in the chair. He let out a long whistle of air. “What do ye think, Lord Edmund? Will your plan work?”

Edmund, the slam of the door still ringing in his ears, remained quiet for a time before he answered his trusted friend and servant. “All we can do is pray Henry sent the right man.”

“And if’n he is?” Tom asked as he returned the clay jug to its hiding place.

“Then we execute our own deception, Tom, and pray ‘tis the right decision. Lenora’s life depends on it.”

“I
thought I told you that Beatrice was not for you.” Lenora placed her fists on her hips and glowered at the two knights. For two days the siege commander and his men had taken her hospitality; ‘twas time he left, without her cousin. The hot afternoon sun beat against her back and she purposely moved to let the sun blind the men when they looked up. Roen and Hamlin sat on a crudely fashioned bench. In the cool shade of the sprawling oak, the two men labored on their tack. Soap, oil and parts of their saddles lay about them.

Roen looked up from his task, but his tanned face showed no emotion. He continued to work lubricant into his saddle girth, his strong fingers massaging the leather. A leather thong held back his flaxen hair at the base of his neck. He looked all the more like a barbarian invader.
He is an invader,
Lenora thought,
an invader to my home and peace of mind.

“Galliard, did you hear me?”

With a careless wave of his hand, Roen signaled Hamlin to leave. His friend threw his work rag on the pommel of his saddle and caught sight of Beatrice as she rushed toward the keep. She carried an overloaded basket of vegetables. He quickened his step to intercept the girl.

Once alone, Roen gave Lenora his full attention. His granite eyes captured hers with their intensity. “Again with orders, Nora. I thought we had already settled that.”

“There is nothing settled between us,” she declared.

He shook his head, and a wry smile softened his face. Slight laugh wrinkles creased the corners of his eyes, and a shallow dimple formed in his left cheek. Lenora felt her heart leap. The
afternoon sun became extremely warm, too warm. She moved into the shade but kept her distance from the knight.

“Aye, Nora, that’s true enough. There is much that needs to be settled between us,” Roen answered.

Lenora’s eyes narrowed. “My cousin’s future is settled. You are not a part of it.” She enunciated each word.

“Why do you think I want your cousin?” he asked, his smile deepening just a notch.

Her anger boiled over. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a simpleton. Your men have been bellowing across the countryside that you are here to claim a bride.”

“My men are discreet. They do not bellow.” A grin overtook his features. The impact stunned her. His smile displayed white, even teeth against the darkness of his tanned skin. The hint of a dimple on his left cheek ripened into a deep indentation. This dimpled smile unlocked an intense flare of emotion in her.

Her knees quivered. The palms of her hands grew damp and tiny spasms contracted in her stomach. The day was too hot, she had eaten too fast. She tried to lay the blame for the way she felt on anything besides the tantalizing smile of the man near her. Slowly, she slid down the rough bark of the old oak, curled her legs under her and leaned her back against the strong trunk for support.

Roen’s smile evaporated and he leapt from the bench. Kneeling beside her, he laid his palm against her forehead and forced her head to bump against the trunk.

“Ouch!” She tried to slip from his hold but he captured her with his other hand on her shoulder. The touch sent a prickle of gooseflesh across her chest and breasts.

“Nora, you’re flushed. Are you well?”

Her cheeks burned. His large hands gripped her shoulders hard, his eyes searched her face.

“When you were with your father, did you eat anything from his plate?”

“Nay. I…I was only able to get him to eat a few bites. Tom took the plate away as soon as he finished. I—I’m fine,” Lenora stuttered, perplexed at Roen’s question.

The painful grip on her shoulder eased. The muscles in his neck and shoulders relaxed. He sat back against the tree with
his shoulders just a breath away from her own. Color drained from his face and he closed his eyes.

“Roen?” Her voice was a whisper. She reached out to touch his hand. His eyes shot open. The man of a few moments ago was gone, replaced by the granite stare of the cold knight from Tintagel.

“Woman, you try my patience.” He scrambled to his feet. With one swift movement of his arm, he reached out and yanked her upright. For a moment, he held her. Lenora felt the gentle caress of his breath on her face. A masculine perfume of leather, horses and sweat wafted in the air. She inhaled his intoxicating smell.

Hiding behind lowered lids, she watched him turn his back to her. He muttered curses under his breath and began to gather up his equipment.

“I try your patience.” Her queasiness vanished. How could she have imagined the man had any gentleness about him? Lenora pushed herself in front of him and stabbed him with her index finger.

“You are the most insufferable person I have ever had the misfortune to meet. Your wife will have much to put up with.”

His response was to double over in loud, baritone laughter. “I have no doubt at all about that. She’ll have a time of it, but no more than I.”

She snorted with disgust. “Oh! You and Beatrice are not suited for one another. Can’t you see she is not the woman to be your wife?”

The laughter ebbed, but the humor lingered in his eyes. “Oh, but I can see. Perhaps ‘tis not the Lady Beatrice I intend to marry.”

His statement threw her off guard. She stared at him, her mind racing. If it wasn’t Beatrice he intended to marry, who was it? She saw Roen stoop down to pick up his tack when the realization hit her.

The small reservoir of composure she possessed evaporated. She took both hands and pushed Roen as hard as she could. Caught off balance, he toppled over on his back.

“If you think for one minute I believe you intend to marry my Aunt Matilda, you have less of a brain than—” no adequate comparison came to her “—than that tree trunk.” Her
frustration begged for satisfaction. It didn’t help that he was still laughing.

“You’re impossible.” Lenora stalked off. The sound of Roen’s undiluted laughter echoed in her ears.

She forced herself not to run from the irritating sound. An old discarded basket lay at the entrance of the outer bailey wall. She swept it up in her arms and headed toward the main fortress gate. Once past the outer bailey wall, hidden from all eyes except the watchmen, she raced across the meadow and into the wood.

The cool darkness of the forest felt refreshing after the hot sun. She plunged into the shadows and dropped her basket on the moss- and fern-covered floor. Her mind jumbled and, confused, Lenora tried to search the wood for any new spring herbs.

“This is useless.” Frazzled, she turned in a slow circle. “I can’t help Mother’s mare, or Beatrice, or my father.” A desire to give in, quit fighting, took root. A good cry would be a wonderful luxury.

“Lenora!”

She turned toward the voice. Geoffrey Champlain emerged from the gloom of the wood. God preserve. A friend when she most needed one. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Geoffrey pulled his dark woolen mantle from his shoulders and gallantly spread it on the ground. “I didn’t expect to see you. I thought perhaps to get a glimpse of Beatrice as she walked in the meadow. What has happened? You look distraught.”

“Geoffrey, I don’t know what to do. Galliard is at Woodshadow.” She knelt on the edge of the cloak and tucked her dress underneath her for more padding. The loose weave of the cloak allowed sticks and stems to poke through.

The slender knight sat on his heels beside her. “I know. The whole area is buzzing with the gossip. Does he plan to marry Beatrice?” He rushed the last sentence and stared into the dark shadows of the deep wood.

“I’m not sure.” She was so tired her eyelids throbbed.

Geoffrey clenched her wrist painfully. “You’re not sure. Have you heard something? What is it?”

Her gasp made him conscious of his behavior, and he released her wrist. “I’m sorry, Lenora. I’m so overwrought with fear.”

She placed a forgiving hand on his shoulder. “Tis forgotten. I know how much Beatrice means to you, and you to her.”

Looking to the heavens for guidance, Lenora pondered out loud. “I don’t know what to think. Earlier, Galliard had me thinking he means to marry Aunt Matilda.”

“Nay.” Geoffrey shook his head in bewilderment. “I didn’t think about that possibility.”

“He must have been jesting when he said ‘twas not Beatrice he intends to marry.” She couldn’t seem to fathom Galliard’s plan.

“He could marry you and get Woodshadow through your children.” Geoffrey’s voice was full of accusation. “Has he said anything to you about marriage.”

“Nay. Geoffrey, I can assure you the man has no intention of marrying me. We can barely say a civil word between us. It must be Beatrice,” Lenora assured him.

“Still, ‘tis an idea I hadn’t thought of. Your father has agreed to let you remain unmarried this year?”

She hesitated then moved her hand back and forth. “He’s agreed for this year, but he insists I marry soon. Since his illness, he’s worried about my future and Woodshadow.”

“Then he could marry you off to Galliard.” Geoffrey’s voice expressed his displeasure.

“But he wouldn’t.” Her friend’s concern warmed her heart. “Father promised that he would let me choose.”

Geoffrey condemned her with his eyes. “Two years ago when you returned from Aquitaine, you fought your brother and father with such passion each time they suggested marriage. Queen Eleanor had filled your head with lofty ideas about a woman’s place and power. You spoke so forcefully. I didn’t think you would ever change your mind. I tried to tell you to leave before your father changed his mind. You should have listened to me.”

“Two years ago I had a brother to inherit. When he died it changed everything.” Her voice echoed with loss.

“Aye, it did,” Geoffrey concurred. “Now we must look to your problem. I’ve concentrated on Beatrice. I didn’t take your situation into account.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure something out.” She rose from her seat.

Geoffrey picked up his cloak and swirled it to his shoulders. He gave her a wily smile. “Aye, I’m sure you will. You are intelligent enough to figure out anything, eventually.” He retrieved Lenora’s abandoned basket. “I saw some sorrel herbs and parsley in a clearing just beyond these trees. There should be enough to fill your basket and explain your absence to Matilda.” His hand squeezed hers in friendly support. “Promise you’ll keep me informed.”

Lenora returned the affectionate gesture. “Of course, Geoffrey. I know how much this all means to you.”

He moved into the shadows of the wood. Lenora pulled her eyes from the disappearing shape and headed off toward the herbs Geoffrey had told her about. She felt more serene since sharing her worries. When she entered the clearing and saw the dainty leaves of the tasty herbs, she counted herself lucky to have such a trustworthy friend.

After several hours, her basket could hold no more. She wandered home not eager to rekindle her battle with Roen. The watchman in the marshal’s tower waved to her and she returned the greeting.

She spotted her nemesis after she crossed the fortified bridge to the inner yard. Roen and his second were deep in conversation, watching Destrier running free in the pasture. A herd of Woodshadow’s best mares followed behind. Galliard must be calculating the price he could call for his foal. Not willing to confront the man and lose her newfound peace, Lenora headed in the opposite direction of the two men.

The scaffolding along the east wall caught her attention. Several sturdy poles reinforced the crumbling stone wall. Heavy boulders, removed from the upper section, rested on planks suspended on the support poles.

“That man makes me want to scream,” she complained to the thick support pole. “He’s as dense as the tree you came from.” A rain of stone and dust cascaded down the scaffold
and peppered Lenora’s hair. She dropped the basket of herbs and brushed the rubble from her hair.

Like a dancer around the Maypole, she moved in a sinuous path between the supports of the scaffold. A wrist-thick scrap of wood rested on the ground. A way to vent her frustration materialized.

“Roen de Galliard, you are a despicable, lack-witted, ill-bred tyrant.” Hefting the scrap like a club, she pulled back and whacked the support pole with all her might. The pole shuddered. Her hands vibrated from the force. She dropped the pole and dusted her hands off. A prayer of thanks on her lips, she looked heavenward. Then she screamed.

Roen and Hamlin walked among the crofters’ cottages inside the inner bailey walls. Roen’s nerves tingled, a sense of forboding haunted him. If he were in battle, he would be guarding his back. He looked over his shoulder. No unseen foe appeared.

The bailey showed no reason for his uneasiness. The crofters tended their small private plots of land. Chickens pecked the ground for insects. A swaybacked pony drowsily plodded along the worn path to his lean-to manger. His master, a young boy, directed the pony and cart around Roen, giving the two knights a wide berth.

“Roen?” Hamlin nudged his friend with his shoulder. “You keep looking over your shoulder. Do you think we’re being followed?”

“Nay, I’m restless. ‘Tis this place. This situation. That woman.” At the small fish pond he halted and picked up a round smooth pebble. He tossed it into the middle of the pond and watched the concentric circles ripple across the water.

“I have never seen you so agitated, my friend. Especially over a woman,” Hamlin teased.

“Ha,” Roen continued. “The wench is undeniably the most stubborn woman I have ever met. She has one discourse, my nonmarriage to her cousin.”

Hamlin picked up a stone and skipped it across the pond. His ripples spread across the water, erasing the previous ones. “And what of that? Do you intend to marry Lady Beatrice?” Hamlin’s usually jovial eyes grew somber. His lithe body stiffened.

“I haven’t really given it much thought,” Roen admitted. He tried to picture the girl in his mind but the blond hair and blue eyes melted into fiery auburn hair and earth-colored eyes.

Hamlin opened his mouth to speak when a scream pierced the air.

“Nora!” Roen shouted, and raced toward the sound. His long legs outdistanced Hamlin. His heart hammered as he sped across the bailey to the east wall. A crowd gathered near the scaffolding and he pushed his way through. The villeins shuffled aside for him.