Margaret Moore - [Warrior 13] Read online

  Kynan paled, and Blaidd let out his breath slowly. “It’s possible,” Kynan muttered. “It would explain those looks.”

  Gervais looked at Blaidd. “Well?”

  Blaidd pushed his ale away and didn’t answer right away. “I cannot disagree, for it would explain that smugness and yet…”

  “And yet?”

  “And yet Anne Delasaine doesn’t strike me as a sly or deceitful woman.” Blaidd shrugged his broad shoulders. “Look you, I’m not saying it’s impossible. I’m just saying she doesn’t seem the devious sort.”

  “You hardly know her,” Gervais replied. “A few dances hardly makes you an expert on what she might be capable of.”

  Blaidd made a knowing little grin. “You’d be surprised what you can discover about a woman during a dance.” Then, seeing Gervais’s expression, he sobered. “But as you say, I don’t know her, so I certainly think it’s worth warning Reece to take care.”

  Kynan glanced from one companion to the other. “What about Reece and the annulment plan? Do you think he’s managed to keep away from her?”

  “Aye,” Gervais said firmly. “He’s got too much to lose otherwise, and when he hears what we’ve realized, he’ll have even more reason to avoid her as though she carried the plague.”

  “What will you do, send a message?” Blaidd asked.

  “Or go myself in a few more days. Henry returns from hunting in the New Forest soon. He should be in a better humor. I’ll try to get an audience with him before I go and see if he seems amenable to an annulment, especially after I tell him what we suspect of Anne’s possible involvement. Meanwhile, since you will be here anyway, keep an eye on Damon, and if he seems about to do anything that could lead to even more trouble, send a message at once to Castle Gervais.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Even more determined in his resolution to keep away from his wife, and not having said one word to Anne that day, Reece led their cortege over the drawbridge, beneath the grille of the portcullis, through the massive studded oaken gates and into the courtyard of Castle Gervais two days after leaving Erwina’s inn. Behind him he could hear Trevelyan calling greetings to the people who hurried out to meet them like bees pouring from a hive.

  Donald and Seldon, two knights who had been among the first trained by his father, trotted from the barracks where the garrison and squires were housed. Fast friends, they had distinguished themselves in tournaments, then returned to swear their oath of loyalty to Sir Urien. Both had land on the estate, but since neither was married, they preferred to live at the castle and assist Sir Urien in his instruction.

  Trev was a great favorite of theirs—and in truth rather shamefully indulged by them. Donald, still deceptively thin, and Seldon, brawny and stout, hurried toward him, but they came to a dead halt when they noticed Anne and Lisette.

  Reece realized Anne was looking about as if she’d never been inside a castle before. He felt a moment’s pride, for Castle Gervais was impressive, and even more so considering the man who commanded it was born a peasant and a bastard.

  After greeting Trev, Donald and Seldon marched up to Reece.

  “What the damned devil happened to you?” Seldon demanded, eyeing Reece’s bruised face as he dismounted. “And who the hell are those women?”

  Seldon had never been known for his eloquence, or his manners. He probably should have warned Anne about him, too. A swift glance revealed that while she was maintaining an aloof dignity, the red spots on her cheeks told him she was embarrassed by the blunt question, and no doubt the language, too.

  “Where’s Gervais?” Donald asked before he could answer. Although Donald ostensibly addressed Reece, his gaze was on a blushing Lisette.

  Reece ground his teeth to keep from telling Donald to stop staring. “I’ll explain—”

  Reece fell silent as his father came striding from the hall, his mother right behind. When they saw him, their pleased expressions died on their faces, and Lady Fritha gave a little cry of dismay.

  Well, he had better get the worst over with.

  He hurried toward his parents. “Father, Mother, I am not seriously hurt, and Gervais stayed behind at court.”

  His mother was obviously relieved, as well as confused. His father was relieved, too, but less obviously. He was likely just as confused, but he hid it better.

  Buying himself some time—although delaying tactics had never been particularly effective with his father—and to avoid his father’s steady gaze, Reece went to help Anne dismount. It meant touching her and caused some pain from the wound in his side, but he saw no alternative. And perhaps at that moment, the comforting contact with warm flesh was necessary.

  At least he need not be ashamed of his wife’s looks, he thought as he set her down on the cobblestones of the courtyard.

  No matter what she was feeling or thinking, Anne appeared as serene and lovely as always, if a bit pale and with the hint of shadow beneath her bright eyes. Her bountiful hair was simply braided and coiled about her head beneath her green silk scarf, as thin as a moth’s wing, and that seemed to highlight its natural beauty.

  She was finely dressed, too, in her fur-lined cloak and emerald-green damask gown. When she had first appeared in the gown that morning, he had been tempted to chastise her for her choice of dress, since it was not practical for travel. His reluctance to speak to her had kept him silent. Now he was glad he had not said anything, for she looked like a princess, something that might lessen the shock of her family connections when he told his parents who she was.

  He faced his parents again and subdued the urge to take a deep breath. “Allow me to present Lady Anne. My wife.”

  He had never seen his mother so flabbergasted. As he had expected, his father simply stared.

  Not for the first time he wished his father was hotheaded. That he would curse, shout, or even just raise his voice. His stern calm was as unnerving as waiting to have a tooth pulled.

  “Let us go inside and I shall explain,” he continued.

  His father’s left brow rose majestically. “Yes, you will.”

  Reece glanced at Anne to see how she took this reception.

  Her face expressionless, Anne stood as straight as a knight presented to the king.

  Sir Urien’s voice seemed to reanimate his wife, for his mother suddenly bounded forward as if she were a girl and not the mother of five and chatelaine of a vast castle. “Welcome, my dear.”

  Then Lady Fritha took Anne by the shoulders and heartily bussed her cheek.

  Anne didn’t speak, but her look of stunned surprise said enough. His mother could be rather effusive, as she next proved by embracing Reece so tightly he almost muttered an expletive. He was not a little boy anymore.

  “Anne,” he said as his mother stopped hugging, “this is my mother, Lady Fritha, and this is my father, Sir Urien Fitzroy.”

  “It is an honor to meet you, Sir Urien,” Anne said with a polite bow. She smiled at his mother. “Lady Fritha, I thank you for your kind greeting.”

  He had never seen Anne smile like that, not even at her brother. When she smiled at Piers, there was something of the indulgent parent about it, as if the youth were still three years old. This smile was more open and honest, unencumbered by responsibility perhaps, and all the more beautifully natural.

  This was the woman who had caught his eye at the feast, feeding tender morsels to the hound.

  Surely now his impetuous act would make some sense to his father, at least; it certainly did to him.

  More soldiers and servants who had got wind of their arrival continued to enter the courtyard. Some youths had obviously interrupted their training, judging by their perspiration. Several of the young kitchen maids huddled by the well, giggling and eyeing both Trevelyan and Piers as they dismounted. A few of the older guards at the entrance leaned on their spears, watching, as did the serving women who came out of the door to the hall.

  Anne ignored the onlookers and gestured for her brother to come forward. �
�My brother has come with me to be trained by Sir Urien, whose reputation is so deservedly well-known.”

  The compliment was a fine way to begin. His mother’s smile grew even more, and his father displayed a small but significant softening at the corners of his firmly shut mouth.

  “Sir Urien, this is my brother.” Anne hesitated for the briefest of moments before a resolute glint came to her eyes. “Piers Delasaine.”

  Oh, God help him! She did not have to declare their name in the courtyard, in front of everybody. She should have waited for him to explain, to soften the blow of her identity, to cushion the ground. She did not have to announce the very worst thing about his marriage to everyone in Castle Gervais.

  As the murmurs of surprise and dismay went up from the crowd, the softness at the corners of his father’s lips disappeared, replaced by a stern frown.

  “As I said, Father, I will explain inside.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  With that, Sir Urien turned on his heel and marched toward the hall.

  Mentally girding his loins for the ordeal ahead, and inwardly rehearsing his explanation one more time, Reece hurried after his father, leaving his mother to follow with Anne.

  The gaping servants parted for them as Reece matched his father’s long strides. Not surprisingly, Sir Urien did not stop in the hall but continued to his solar in the southern tower attached to the hall, where they would be alone.

  His feet planted, arms crossed and interrogation burning in his dark eyes, his father stood in front of the window shuttered with linen to keep out the autumn breeze. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even raise that interrogative eyebrow. He just…waited.

  Suddenly, in that comfortable and familiar room, warmed by a brazier of coals, the cold stone walls hidden by colorful tapestries depicting medieval gardens and domestic life, Reece was six years old again trying to explain why he had cut off his sister’s hair. She said it was a bother, so I helped.

  Reece cleared his throat, ready to begin.

  Then his mother and Anne entered the room. “Please, my dear, sit,” his mother said to his wife.

  Oh, God help him, why had they come? It would have been difficult enough explaining to his father alone.

  Anne sat, as calm as if she were simply a visitor enjoying their hospitality, while he stood in the center of the room like a miscreant child.

  After likewise sitting, Lady Fritha regarded her son quizzically. “How did you get hurt? Was it in the tournament?”

  “No, I didn’t participate in the tournament.”

  His father’s eyes widened ever so slightly at that.

  “I think I should begin at the start.”

  Nobody made any objection, and he took the moment’s silence to collect his thoughts and prepare to relate the events that had brought him so unexpectedly home. “I was at the king’s feast celebrating the day of Saint Edmund the Confessor when I noticed Lady Anne sitting in the king’s hall. I found her intriguing and wanted to know who she was. I followed her when she retired from the hall.”

  By the saints, how foolish and feeble that sounded, as if he were the same age as Trev—but thus he had behaved.

  “I detained her in the corridor,” he resolutely continued, determined to have the worst over with, or so he hoped. “We talked a little. Unfortunately, her older half brothers, of whom you have heard…”

  His father slowly nodded, once.

  “They took exception to my speaking with Anne and reacted as men of their ilk react. They attacked me.”

  Anne’s lips pressed tightly together and her cheeks reddened, but she did not speak. His mother, meanwhile, covered her mouth with her hand as if to keep from crying out in alarm.

  “Both of them?” his father demanded.

  Reece nodded. He did not bother to mention that Damon had attacked him from behind. It was enough that they had viciously set upon him for so trivial a reason, and by doing so, had made the situation infinitely worse. “Fortunately, the king’s guards were alerted by Anne’s scream. They came before any real harm could be done. However, while I was recovering, they told everyone that I had…”

  He hesitated. Then, because Anne and his mother were there, he chose the lesser charge. “They said that I had been accosting Anne.”

  “Accosting, like some drunken lout?”

  “Father, I assure you I was not drunk, any more than I was accosting Anne the way they implied.”

  “We raised you better than that,” Sir Urien grimly confirmed.

  “When the king heard what happened and the Delasaines’ charge, he summoned Anne and me to his hall. Unfortunately, the Delasaines are related to the queen. Although it is a distant relationship, it is enough for them to have her support and those of the French nobles who have come with her to England. Henry wants a peaceful court, so to prevent further enmity, he decreed that Anne and I must marry. As you can imagine, neither she nor I favored the idea.”

  His father grunted and his mother frowned, but mercifully, neither one spoke. Reece wanted to get through this without a lot of interruptions, as a physician would lance a wound and let the poison run out all at once. “Unfortunately, the king was adamant. I realized there was nothing to do but obey Henry.

  “However, since neither Anne nor I wanted to be wed, we are resolved to seek an annulment, once the king’s temper has cooled, and other, more important, business take precedence in his mind.”

  His parents’ gaze flicked to Anne, then back to him. Whatever emotions Anne was feeling as he spoke, she hid them well, for only the two small pink spots on her cheeks betrayed that she was involved in this situation at all.

  “What grounds will you give for an annulment?” his mother asked.

  He flushed, this time feeling like an adolescent forced to talk about his first amorous experience. “We are not completely legally married,” he said, hoping it would be enough.

  It was. He could tell by his mother’s blush and the look in his father’s eyes.

  After a moment, his mother rose, breaking the tense silence. “Whatever is to be done, I had best see that Lady Anne is made comfortable. You both look exhausted from your journey.” She turned to Anne with a warm smile. “Come with me, my dear, and we will see to the baggage and some refreshments.”

  At the solar door, his mother paused and looked back at her son. “Anne will have your chamber, Reece. Until this matter is resolved, you will share Donald and Seldon’s quarters. Move your things when you are finished speaking with your father. As for what we shall tell the servants about these unusual arrangements, I suppose the truth would be best.”

  She sounded very matter-of-fact, and not nearly as upset as he had feared she would be.

  “There would be little use trying to keep the situation secret anyway,” she continued. “The whole cortege knows you haven’t been sleeping with your wife, do they not?”

  He blushed like a little boy caught in a lie. “Yes, they know.”

  With a nod, Lady Fritha pivoted on her heel and marched from the room. Anne followed her out without so much as a backward glance at him.

  What had he expected she would do? Kiss him goodbye?

  “By Jove’s thunder, Reece,” his father muttered as he rubbed his chin with his strong, sinewy hand and sank back down into his chair. He gestured for Reece to sit, too. “This is a mire. And not what I expected from you. To follow an unknown woman like that—it sounds like Dylan DeLanyea’s sort of caper, or Blaidd Morgan’s.”

  A nephew of Baron DeLanyea, Dylan’s roguish reputation had led to a forced marriage. It had turned out well, though, for Dylan had come to love his wife. She, however, had not come from a family like the Delasaines.

  “What in the name of the saints came over you?” his father asked. “Granted she’s a beauty, but you are usually the most levelheaded of my sons.” His father’s eyes narrowed, and his scrutiny deepened. “It wasn’t just because of her hair, was it?”

  “Partly,” Reece confessed. “And
her beauty. More importantly, I had no idea she was a Delasaine.”

  “You had never seen her with her brothers?”

  This was not going well at all. “She was seated beside her half brothers at the feast, but she looks nothing like them, so I assumed she belonged to the older man sitting on her other side.”

  His father’s brow lowered ominously. “Assumed?”

  “I well remember what you have taught us about the foolishness of making assumptions. Clearly I forgot, or did not apply it to a woman. It was a mistake.”

  “Obviously.”

  “I did not mean to cause any trouble, and I certainly did not foresee being forced to marry her.”

  His father grunted again. “Did you voice no objections at all to Henry?”

  Reece folded his hands in his lap. “I did, but Henry said that if I did not marry Anne, he would let the accusations the Delasaines were making be judged in a court of law.” Reece leaned forward. “I didn’t want to say this in front of Mother, but they were telling people I was trying to rape Anne.”

  His father shot to his feet as if the seat of his chair had burst into flame. “What?” he bellowed. “They would accuse my son of that?”

  Shocked, Reece fell back. His father was clearly, unforgettably, incredibly enraged. He had never seen such a fierce expression on his father’s face, or the burning look of anger in his eyes; he had not even imagined it was possible.

  Reece rose and spread his hands placatingly. “None of the English nobles believed it,” he said, keeping his own tone calm, as if his father were a snorting, stamping stallion he was trying to gentle. “The Delasaines had to say something like that to justify what they did to me. I don’t think Henry believed the charge, but the queen spoke in favor of the Delasaines, and Henry does not want to openly disagree with Eleanor. However, he told Anne that if her relatives objected, he would have them charged with attempted murder for their attack upon me.”