Margaret Moore - [Warrior 13] Read online

  “I wish I could say it was the king’s wine,” Reece muttered, feeling the heat of a blush and recalling Blaidd’s teasing comments that made him want to squirm.

  “I don’t know,” he said at last. He shrugged, then winced.

  “You should have at least told us where you were going.”

  Reece quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, and you and the others would not have joked and teased and made sport of me all the more?”

  Gervais wisely did not even try to disagree.

  “I shouldn’t have gone in the first place.”

  “Aye, but you cannot change it now. Still, Father isn’t going to be happy, and Mother will have a fit when she sees your face and hears you’ve been stabbed.”

  Gervais always was a master of understatement. His father was going to think he had taken leave of his senses and acted like a fool. As for his wounds, his mother would want to examine him and fuss over him and generally make him feel about six years old.

  He gingerly touched his swollen cheek, wondering how he looked. “Is it bad?”

  “It’ll take a while for the swelling to go down, and you’ve bled in your eye, so it’s as red as a demon’s. The infirmerer says you should regain your strength soon enough, since you are—” Gervais assumed a learned, pompous air “—a healthy young man in the prime of life.” He resumed his normal manner. “Mother and Father will both be glad you’re not dead, of course, but I think maybe we should leave Anne Delasaine out of it when we tell them what happened.”

  “How can we?”

  “The important thing is that you were viciously attacked on a poor pretext.”

  Reece shook his head. “I made a mistake, and there’s no point lying about it.”

  “I’m not saying we should lie,” Gervais retorted, mightily affronted. “I’m simply suggesting that we leave the lady out of it.”

  “What reason would you have me give for my beating? And unless you plan to muzzle everyone at court or swear them to secrecy, they will hear the truth eventually. It would be better if they heard it from me.”

  Gervais’s brows lowered as he regarded his brother’s resolute face. “You won’t say you deserved it or some such nonsense?”

  “The Delasaines were wrong to attack me as they did, but I was wrong to follow Lady Anne and speak to her alone. I will say that to anybody who asks or speaks of what happened.”

  “Damn your honorable hide,” Gervais muttered as he plucked at Reece’s blanket. “I should have known better than to suggest anything less than the full and complete truth to you. Well, Father will make them sorry, whatever they say.”

  Reece tensed. “This is for me to deal with, Gervais. My lesson to teach.”

  Gervais’s brown eyes flared with bright understanding and a warrior’s approval. “I should have known you were going to say that, too.”

  “Then you agree to let me deal with this matter as I see fit?”

  Gervais got to his feet and bowed with a flourish. “As you command, my liege, thus it will be.”

  “Good,” Reece mumbled, knowing he could trust Gervais to keep his word, no matter how jestingly he spoke. “Make sure Trev understands this, too.”

  “I will, brother, I will.”

  Standing at the window of her chamber in the king’s castle assigned to her use during her family’s residence in Winchester, Anne watched the sun set. The rest of the night and a whole day had passed since she had encountered Sir Reece Fitzroy in the corridor.

  Closing her eyes, she again saw Damon’s vicious, dishonorable blow. She had grabbed his arm and pulled him back, but he had shaken her off the way a dog might shake a rabbit. Thank God the king’s guards had arrived.

  They had listened to Damon explain, aided by Benedict, as some of the other soldiers carried away an unconscious Sir Reece. Once she knew he was safe, and seeing her half brothers occupied, she had slipped away and fled to her chamber. She had not seen Damon or Benedict since, but someone had turned the key in the lock of the door to her chamber later that night, and she was imprisoned yet.

  As the hours had slowly passed, she had hoped Sir Reece’s injuries were not life threatening. He had lost blood, the damp stain on his tunic evidence of that, and a terrible bruise had been forming beneath his eye the last time she had seen him.

  She had remembered other things, too—the excitement most of all. She had never felt that way in her life and probably never would again. She doubted any of her brother’s choices for a husband would be able to create even an instant’s desire or passion. Unfortunately, if Sir Reece survived—and please God, he must!—she was sure he would never want to have anything to do with her again.

  How long Damon intended to keep her here without food or water she could not guess, but this was the king’s castle, not Montbleu, so her continued absence would be more difficult to explain. Surely they could not keep her here without food or water for much longer.

  Anne started when she heard the key in the lock of her bedchamber door, then steeled herself as Damon sauntered inside. She had been right not to expect Lisette, a maidservant from the queen’s household assigned to her upon their arrival, Damon being too parsimonious to bring any servants from Montbleu. In truth, however, she preferred the vivacious, merry Lisette to the dour, ancient maidservant who cared for her at home.

  Her half brother twirled a heavy iron key around his finger as he surveyed the chamber. This room was certainly much finer than the small bedchamber she had at home, and better furnished. In addition to the wide bed with feather tick, there was a dressing table and stool, a chair and bright tapestries on the walls. The coverlet on the bed was silk, and the candles on the table were made of beeswax. In the corner stood the large chest containing the new garments Damon had purchased for her before they came here, fine feathers to entrap a rich husband, which was why he had been so uncharacteristically generous.

  “Hungry?” Damon asked as he sat in the chair, carelessly crushing a cushion. Still spinning the key around his finger, he threw one leg over the arm and rested his elbow on the other.

  Hiding her relief, she kept her expression bland. “I assume from your casual manner that you did not kill Sir Reece, or surely you would be busily plotting your defense at the king’s court.”

  Damon smiled his evil little smile. “Of course he did not die. I struck to wound, not to kill.”

  Damon no more had the finesse or skill to strike in such a calculated way than she did, but she hid her skepticism from him, along with her other emotions.

  “Of course you are hungry,” he answered for her as he tucked the key into the wide leather belt around his waist. “But you will have no food tonight, either. That will teach you to talk to an unworthy young man and interfere in his just punishment.”

  Even though righteous indignation at his vicious attack on Sir Reece, as well as her subsequent imprisonment, burned inside her, Anne regarded her half brother with a bland expression and stoic silence. He was an arrogant, ambitious fool who had no idea of the magnitude of the possible repercussions from his actions last night, results that had also haunted her thoughts and kept her from sleeping. He couldn’t have, or he wouldn’t be so smug.

  She watched him steadily, and fought to keep the full force of her ire from her voice. “For a man who has been calculating my worth for so long, you seem blind to the implications of your attack upon Sir Reece. For one knight to attack another in such a way, and in the king’s own castle, bespeaks extreme provocation. So what will the courtiers believe actually transpired between Sir Reece and me? What could constitute such provocation? Not simply talk. They will think he was doing considerably more—and what, then, will happen to my value as a maiden bride?”

  Damon didn’t look at all upset. “We were completely justified based on the shocking sight of Fitzroy insolently accosting you in the corridor. But have no fear, Anne. I made you quite the martyr. Indeed, you should be pleased and grateful for all that I have said in your defense.”

  She
could well imagine the lies he would spread, falsehoods that would justify what they had done, and no doubt portray her as a helpless victim. “I am to be grateful that you have portrayed me as the meek little lamb in the clutches of the ravening wolf?”

  “Clever girl.”

  Yet he was not so clever. “Then what explanation have you given for punishing me?” she asked as she crossed her arms over her chest, as if she could keep her temper in check that way. “I should know it, should I not? Or do you intend to keep me imprisoned until it is time to go back to Montbleu?”

  Damon’s smile grew and his eyes gleamed with evil mischief. “I have told everyone that you are so upset by Sir Reece’s unwelcome attentions, you have taken to your bed.”

  He was, regrettably, a very good liar and she didn’t doubt that most people would believe that explanation.

  Nevertheless, she dared to raise a skeptical brow. “With no servants to tend to me?”

  “No, for you see, you are a woman of such delicate sensibilities, you cannot bear to be seen by anyone after what happened last night, although you have done nothing wrong. You will speak only to me, and I am doing my best to persuade you to come out. Why, you are even too distraught to eat. I assure you, the women of the court, and all the men save Fitzroy’s brothers and those Welsh friends of his, are most sympathetic.”

  Damon was cruel, he was greedy, he was a bully, but she could not deny this explanation would probably sound plausible to those who did not know them. “We did nothing wrong, Damon,” she repeated.

  “Fasting is good for the soul.”

  And you never fast because you have no soul.

  Damon put both feet on the ground and his hands on his knees. He leaned forward, watching her intently. “What did that bastard’s son say to you?”

  “He only wanted to know my name. He knows it well enough now.”

  Damon snorted, his good humor apparently restored, as he slumped back in the chair. “I daresay he does, and I daresay he won’t forget it.” He gave her a sly, knowing look. “Piers is most upset.”

  At the mention of her beloved brother’s name, she stiffened.

  Damon and Benedict were the children of their father’s first wife. Anne and Piers were born of his second, who had died giving Piers life when Anne was seven years old. Since then, Anne had stood in a mother’s place for him, and her love for Piers was as intense as any mother’s could be.

  “I would have preferred to tell him what happened myself,” she said, trying not to let Damon see how upset she was.

  “I could not allow that,” Damon said, his smile thin and smugly satisfied.

  No, he would want to paint his own picture and put his despicable actions in an honorable light.

  It was bad enough to imagine the rumors and gossip flying about the court; she could not bear to think of Piers being fed lies. “What exactly did you tell him?”

  “The truth—that our family honor was sullied and we punished the man responsible.”

  “And me? What did you say of my part in it?”

  “I said the same to him as I have said to everyone, that Sir Reece insolently accosted you. I told him, as I did all the other nobles, that you were quite innocently set upon.”

  Damon’s expression darkened. “Do not even think of contradicting a word of what I have said to anybody when I let you out tomorrow—not even Piers—or you know what I shall do.”

  Yes, she did know. He had made the same threat for years, ever since she had been old enough to marry off, or sent to a convent. If she did not do as he said, he would see to it that she never saw Piers again.

  “Very well, Damon,” she replied, her loathing increasing as it did every time he threatened her.

  Steepling his fingers, Damon smiled. “You have not asked how we fared in the tournament.”

  “I do not have to.” She could tell by the look of blatant triumph on his face. “You are obviously un-injured, so I assume you were victorious.”

  “I won a fine ransom that amounts to nearly what we spent on you.”

  Damon acted as if she had personally bankrupted the family, but considering how little they had spent on her before deciding it was time to display her at court, she did not think the sum could be so very great.

  Damon slapped his hands upon the arms of the chair and heaved himself to his feet. “Tomorrow you may rejoin the court. I would not be so cruel as to prevent you from seeing your beloved Piers on the day of his first melee.”

  Her heart lifted. Although she had done her best to hide her fears from the rest of her family, she was worried about Piers’s first tournament, when he would be competing with other knights’ squires. Damon and Benedict had taught him what they knew, but they were not good teachers and their lessons were faulty. They depended upon brute strength to win, not wisdom or skill. She dreaded that Piers, thinner and less muscular than they, would discover the hard way that rushing in and striking as often as possible was not necessarily a winning method.

  Damon reached out and grabbed her chin, squeezing it hard enough that it brought tears of pain to her eyes. “Make sure you smile at Lord Renfrew when next you see him, Anne. He is most concerned for your welfare and impressed by your maidenly dismay.” Damon’s expression hardened. “And remember this. You agree with everything we say about what happened last night, or you’ll regret it, just as Reece Fitzroy does.”

  At the reminder of the cowardly way they had set upon Sir Reece, her temper flared once more.

  “You’re bruising the merchandise, Damon,” she muttered despite the pressure of his hand.

  He laughed as he let her go. “Merchandise. I like that,” he remarked as he sauntered toward the door.

  While she rubbed her aching jaw, he paused and looked back at her over his shoulder. “A commodity to be sold or traded—that’s exactly what you are, and all you’re good for. Never forget that, Anne, no matter how many young fools talk to you.”

  Chapter Three

  “Oh, la, my lady!” Lisette cried as she tied the lacing at the back of Anne’s bodice the next morning. “You have been the talk of the court.”

  Rejuvenated by the bread, cheese and ale Lisette had brought from the kitchen—“For your brother says you are still too distraught to attend mass and break the fast in the hall, my lady!”—Anne didn’t bother to subdue a sigh. She would be the object of curiosity and speculation, and it was tempting to stay in her bedchamber of her own volition, except that for once Damon had kept his word and she wanted to be in the hall waiting for Piers when the squires’ melee was over. She could not watch the actual tournament, for that was considered most improper for ladies. The sight of two groups of armed combatants clashing in battle, even with blunted weapons, was thought to be too upsetting for their delicate sensibilities.

  “There is no need for sorrow, my lady,” Lisette said, sympathy in her cheerful voice as she adjusted the shoulders of Anne’s emerald-green overtunic. The gown beneath was a darker green, trimmed with gold embroidery. “No one blames you for what happened that night.”

  Anne went over to the dressing table and sat upon the stool so that Lisette could arrange her hair. She picked up her hand mirror, an expensive item that Damon had complained about but purchased anyway. She was sure he had done that only to impress the maidservant, who was sure to gossip with other ladies’ servants, who would tell their mistresses. He wanted all the court to believe they were wealthier than they actually were.

  Anne ostensibly examined her eyes, but she was really looking at Lisette, to gauge her reactions better. “What do they say of Sir Reece’s part in it?”

  The maid flushed as she reached for the comb made of ivory. “I do not know what they think.”

  Anne didn’t believe that for a moment. “It will not upset me if you speak of him, Lisette.”

  Indeed, she felt nearly desperate to learn more about the only man who had ever come to her defense. Of course, he had been wrong to approach her, but she had forgiven him for t
hat almost at once.

  Lisette’s hazel eyes got back their familiar sparkle. “They are saying it must be a misunderstanding, my lady, for he is an honorable man. But he is young and so perhaps…” Lisette hesitated a moment, obviously searching for the appropriate word. “He was over-eager, carried away by desire. There is no denying your beauty, my lady.”

  “Does this often happen with Sir Reece? Has he been ‘carried away’ before?”

  Lisette shook her head vigorously. “Oh, no, my lady. That is why all the other ladies’ tongues are moving so quickly. Never before. Yet he is so handsome, so strong, so silent, so mysterious…there is probably not a one of the unmarried ladies who do not wish he had followed her instead.” She smiled slyly. “I think more than one married lady wishes he had, too.”

  Strong, silent and mysterious—exactly the words to describe him. He was not anxious to boast or brag of his accomplishments, or spout fulsome compliments on her looks. Yet those eyes of his, so serious, so intense…no man had ever made her feel so beautiful or desirable, and all before he had said a single word. “As long as they did not have relatives quick to anger. What do they say about what my half brothers did?”

  Lisette frowned. “That they, too, were impetuous, and overzealous in their protection of their sister.”

  Anne could barely keep the scowl from her face.

  Lisette’s slender fingers moved swiftly and with great skill as she braided Anne’s bountiful blond hair. “They are all young men of spirit, my lady. What can one do but excuse them?”

  Anne was in no humor to excuse Damon and Benedict, but she had no wish to discuss them more. “Sir Reece’s name is vaguely familiar, yet I cannot remember how I may have heard it.”

  “His father is Sir Urien Fitzroy, famous for training knights,” Lisette replied. “He has taught many of the nobility’s sons, so of course Sir Reece and his brothers are very welcome at court.”