“The lord himself?”
“Aye.”
Patrizia nodded quickly. She put a hand up to bade Ryan to remain just where she was. “Stay where you are, my lady,” she said as she turned for the darkened avenue that led up towards the bulk of the village. “I will find him, I swear it.”
Ryan watched the woman take off at a run. For a small woman, she moved like a cat. Soon, she had faded from view up the avenue and all that remained was darkness and the light from the surrounding huts. Suddenly, it was eerie and still and dark. Phantoms reached out from the shadows, grabbing at her. Her cloak wrapped tightly around her slender body, Ryan settled back on the sea wall, eventually facing the sea and once again lost to her thoughts. She found her thoughts to be mostly of Dennis; she realized that for the past few hours, she had missed him a great deal. What a foolish, indecisive woman she was.
There was nothing left to do now but wait. If Patrizia was true to her word, then she would see Dennis soon. If not, then morning would see her make the trek back to St. Austell in shame.
*
“Are you well?” Dennis nearly flew at her once he dismounted his charger. “Are you injured?”
Ryan gazed at him from her huddle atop the sea wall. He was surrounded by St. Austell men, including Clive and Riston. Patrizia was riding behind Riston and he carefully lowered the woman to the ground. Ryan was forced to admit they all looked rather worried, and Dennis especially. He looked positively panicked.
“I am well,” she replied.
Dennis didn’t pause nor did he hesitate; he reached out both big arms and scooped her off the wall, hugging her against him so tightly that he was nearly crushing her. He heard the joints in her back pop.
“I am sorry,” he breathed into her hair. “I am so sorry for what happened. Please do not hate me for it; I could not bear it.”
Such naked and emotional words from this emotionally vulnerable man. Ryan forgot all of her hurt and anguish; she wrapped her arms around his head and hugged him in return, so incredibly glad to see him again.
“I do not hate you,” she said, her throat tight with emotion. “I am sorry I ran. I suppose it is habit with me when I panic.”
He grinned, his face buried in the side of her head. “I seem to recall your penchant for running when afraid,” he kissed the side of her head. “I remember finding you in a field, ill with the damp because you had run from me. I pray you are not ill again.”
Ryan shook her head, pulling back to look at him. She was breathless with their reunion, thrilled with his arms around her. In spite of her foolish thoughts and misgivings, she never wanted to be without his arms around her again. She had been stupid to think poorly of him in the first place. Gently, she cupped his face.
“I am not ill,” she whispered, gazing into his gray eyes. “I am quite well and you may thank that woman for assisting me. I am sure she risked her life to find you.”
Dennis turned in the direction of Patrizia, now gathering her cloak and preparing to move away. He stopped her.
“Your name, madam,” he asked. “I apologize that I did not even ask your name. In the excitement, it slipped my mind.”
Patrizia came to a halt, her dark eyes glittering and uncertain. “Patrizia of Paignton, my lord.”
“I would thank you for aiding my wife, mistress,” Dennis said. “You shall be rewarded.”
“I did not do it for reward, my lord,” she said humbly. “I only sought to help her. She looked quite lost.”
“She was,” Dennis replied, glancing at Ryan before returning his attention to Patrizia. “You are not from England, mistress. I can hear it in your speech. Where do you come from?”
“I came from Spain with my family many years ago, my lord. We settled in St. Looe first and now here.”
“I see,” Dennis replied. “Where is your husband and home, then?”
Patrizia pointed off to the east, along the dark shoreline dotted with small houses emitting tiny specks of glowing light. “Down the path, my lord,” she said. “My husband has his own fishing vessel and I sew. Some of the merchants in town carry my garments to sell.”
“A seamstress?” Dennis repeated, looking at his wife. “Do we not have a few garments that need to be made for you?”
Ryan nodded her head. “Indeed,” she said. “I purchased material today. Perhaps you could sew my coats for me?”
Patrizia grinned, a toothy grin in the moonlight. “I would be honored, my lady.”
With Patrizia promised proper rewards, Ryan returned her focus to Dennis. He smiled at her when their eyes met and stroked her head with his big hand. The relief in his manner now that things were settling down was evident. The man looked as if now, he could finally breathe.
“Are you sure you are well?” he asked softly.
Ryan nodded. “I am, truly,” she said. “But I am deeply saddened over Bute’s death. I am sure… I am sure you would not lie to me about it. I suppose I cannot be angry over a tragic accident, but I am saddened nonetheless.”
Dennis’ smile faded; he’d spent the past several hours in terror, searching for his wife who had run off and was nowhere to be found. The time spent had underscored to him how very much she was coming to mean to him and how hollow he felt without her. He was so very sorry for what had happened, but gazing into her trusting eyes, he knew he had to tell her the truth. If she ever found out what had truly happened and it had not come from his lips, then she would never trust him again. Right now, with their relationship so new, he had to ensure that trust was established or all would be lost.
“I must confess to you,” he said softly, “that what I told you was not entirely true. You have expressed trust in me, Ryan, and I cannot in good conscience violate that even to protect your feelings. I thought that telling you Bute’s death was an accident would make it easier for you. I only sought to protect your feelings, love. Please believe me.”
Her warm expression faded. “Then what is the truth?”
He sighed heavily. “God’s Bones, I can only pray you will not run again once I have told you this,” he muttered, fixing her in the eye. “The truth is that my sister sought to kill your animal out of spite. What I told you about Riston taking the animal to the kitchen yard was true, but it was my sister who found it there and, knowing it was your pet, lied to the cook and told him it was for eating. The cook is innocent in all of this; it was my sister who told him to cook it. When I told you my sister is dangerous, I meant it. She hates Launceston more than any of us, and she sought to punish you by killing your pet.”
“Then she killed him?”
“Aye.”
Ryan’s eyes filled with tears but she fought it. “I see,” she said hoarsely. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”
“You do not need to thank me. It pained me greatly to do so. I would not knowingly hurt you, Ryan. I hope you know that.”
“I know that.”
“Then I hope you will one day forgive me.”
Ryan shook her head. “It is not you who needs forgiveness,” she said. “It is your sister who has offended me and I am disinclined to forgive her. Ever.”
Dennis couldn’t disagree. “I do not blame you,” he said quietly. “I am having a difficult time with her myself at the moment. She is being very obstinate.”
“I would speak with her about what she has done.”
“I would not advise it. In fact, I would prefer you stay away from her for the time being. Please; for my sake. She is unpredictable right now.”
Ryan gaze at him a moment, pondering his request, before eventually nodding. But it wasn’t a firm nod; it was simply one to acknowledge she understood his words. Whether or not she agreed with them was another matter entirely.
From this point on, she silently vowed that things between her and Charlotte d’Vant would be different.
*
The smell of dogs and filth reached their nostrils before they ever entered the room. The hall of St. Austell was warm and glo
wing thanks to an enormous fire in the pit in the center of the cavernous chamber. The great hall, having been built during the Saxon times when great fire pits warmed halls and holes in the ceiling let the smoke out, was crowded with soldiers and knights. It was like a sea of filthy bodies. Dennis, Ryan, Clive, and Riston entered into this swarm of people.
“Shall I summon Lady Lyla, my lord?” Riston asked.
Lyla had been locked in Riston’s room since Ryan’s flight earlier in the day, if only to keep her from running as well. Dennis had his eyes on the room, looking for any hint of hostility towards Ryan as he replied.
“Aye,” he said after a moment. “My wife will want to eat with someone who is of comfort to her in the midst of these ruffians.”
Riston left the hall as Dennis and Ryan pushed further into the room. When some of the men closest to the door saw Dennis enter with his Launceston wife, a great cry went up. They began laughing and gesturing to the sheet still fixed upon the wall, the one with brown bloodstains on it. Ryan didn’t even glance in their direction as Dennis helped remove her cloak and hand it off to the nearest servant. Taking his wife by the elbow, he directed her towards the feasting table with Clive bringing up the rear behind them.
Dennis’ seat, which used to be his father’s seat, was predictably vacant. Charlotte was at the head table, eating and drinking like a man. When she saw her brother and Clive approach, she began to shove men aside to clear a few seats for the incoming knights. She noticed Ryan, of course, but in her world the weak and foolish chit was a ghost. She did not exist.
Clive sat across the table from Charlotte as Dennis put Ryan in his seat and had the servants bring a stool for him so he could sit next to her. Amidst the smoke, stench, and loud conversation, Charlotte saw the chivalrous gesture and rolled her eyes.
“So you give her father’s seat,” she said, tankard in hand. Once again, she was drunk. “It is appropriate; you have all but handed the entire castle over to her. Is she to be our queen now?”
Dennis planted himself on the stool between Charlotte and Ryan. “She is Lady d’Vant,” he said simply. “As an instrument of peace, she warrants a place of respect within our hall.”
Charlotte’s smirk faded as she gazed at Ryan. “I heard that she ran from you today,” she said as she turned back to her tankard. “You should have let her run.”
Dennis didn’t respond; he was in the process of switching trenchers with his wife lest someone had the nerve to poison hers. In fact, he yanked Charlotte’s food away and shoved Ryan’s trencher in front of her.
“Eat it,” he demanded.
Most of the head table had seen the exchange, now quieting because Dennis had issued a challenge. They all knew how Charlotte hated his new wife, how she had vowed vengeance against the woman. Dennis was usually so calm in the face of her posturing that it was a surprise to see him finally take a stand against her. Charlotte, tankard of ale still in her hand, looked rather disinterestedly at the food.
“I am not hungry,” she said, looking away.
Dennis leaned in her direction. “Eat it or I will shove it down your throat.”
It wasn’t an idle threat. Charlotte knew that. She looked at her brother, at the food, and at Ryan, in that order. Her gaze lingered on Ryan, who was staring at her lap. Her mannish features flickered with disgust as her brother once again caused her embarrassment in front of their men.
“Weak, foolish, idiotic female,” she hissed. “Why is she not locked up in the vault like the animal that she is? You promised us submission but you have given us nothing. You treat her as if she is an equal!”
Dennis’ jaw ticked. “Eat the food. I will not tell you again.”
Infuriated, Charlotte scooped up the meat and gravy in her hand and slapped it into her mouth. Food dripped off her chin, spraying from her lips as she spoke.
“It tastes like goat,” she announced, looking at Ryan as she spewed her venom. “It tastes like a tender white goat that looked at me with pleading eyes as I squeezed the life from his neck. I squeezed and twisted until I heard the bones snap and I ensured that his death was as painful as possible. I pretended he was you!”
“God, you are an evil witch,” Dennis put his big face between his sister and Ryan, blocking his sister’s view of his wife. “Have you truly no concept of decency? Are you truly the mindless brute I have taken you for? I have prayed beyond hope that there was some semblance of mercy in your battle-scarred soul, but I see now that my prayers were in vain. Are you truly so evil, Charlotte?”
Charlotte pushed herself away from the table, violently. She stood up, hand on the hilt of her sword.
“Here and now, Dennis,” she growled. “We will end this here and now. You will fight me and the winner becomes the head of the House of d’Vant!”
Dennis watched his sister unsheathe her sword. She was drunk, that was true, and a drunken challenge wasn’t unusual. The problem was that she was fully capable of fighting coherently. He stood up, slowly, making sure to keep himself between his sister and Ryan, but what he didn’t realize was that Ryan wasn’t there.
When Charlotte issued her challenge, Ryan had bolted up from the seat and scooted into the shadows of the hall. She positioned herself behind a pillar, watching her husband face off against his drunk and furious sister. However, her reasons were entirely her own. The woman had vomited such hatred about Bute, horrible words about his horrible death. As far as Ryan was concerned, the woman might as well have killed her child. Poor Bute had been murdered by a woman bent on vengeance for a decades-old feud. He’d been helpless in the face of it. But Ryan wasn’t helpless; she was going to seek her own vengeance for Bute’s death. She was going to make Charlotte pay.
There was a big, heavy candle sconce off to her left, tucked back against wall. There were no expensive candles to adorn it because those at St. Austell had spent money on the war, and not on anything that didn’t directly relate to that war. It was a very nice sconce, perhaps five feet tall, with heavy legs that supported it. It was dusty and unused. As Ryan stared at it, she had an idea.
As Dennis and Charlotte faced off, Ryan disappeared into the darkness and collected the sconce. No one saw her do it, as everyone in the room was paying attention the growing hostilities between brother and sister. Ryan gripped the sconce, feeling the weight, and swinging it around so that the legs were at the top. It made it easier to manage. Coming upon the other side of the pillar, she moved quickly out of the shadows and came up behind Charlotte as the woman was shouting her acrimony at Dennis.
With her attention diverted, Charlotte never saw it coming. The first blow to the head sent her sprawling across the table. Food and drink went flying as she hit the table hard. But Ryan didn’t give the woman any time to recover; she ran up behind her and swung the sconce again, hitting Charlotte on the head and shoulders. Men scattered as Ryan leapt onto the table and hit Charlotte one more time, between the shoulder blades, with a fearsome and heavy blow.
“That is for killing my goat, you St. Austell barbarian!” she yelled. Before Dennis could grab her, she swung the sconce one last time, a stroke that came across the table and caught Charlotte in the side of the head. “And this is for me, you loathsome cockwhore. You think I am weak and foolish? I shall show you just how weak and foolish I am!”
By this time, Dennis had her around the torso, pulling her off the table. Charlotte was bordering on unconsciousness, but was not too dazed that she couldn’t throw a kick in Ryan’s direction. Infuriated, Ryan nearly broke Dennis’ finger as she was peeling his hand off of her. She threw herself on top of Charlotte, grabbed the woman’s faded blond hair, and slammed her face into the tabletop. Charlotte lost the last threads of consciousness as stars danced before her eyes.
Dennis grabbed Ryan once more, pulling her off the tabletop and off of his sister, who was now lying face-first in a mound of boiled apricots. Hauling his kicking and cursing wife out of the hall, he couldn’t have known that this one particular incident,
this burst of violence from their hated Launceston enemy, had somehow impressed his men.
Somehow, when Lady Ryan was submissive, they were more violent against her because they did not understand passiveness. To them, it was weakness. But they understood fierceness, and Lady Ryan was fierce indeed to take on Charlotte. She had licked her, too. That event brought on a measure of respect.
Finally, an ounce of respect for Launceston was gained, in the most unexpected of circumstances.
*
Dennis had never heard such language from a woman. By the time he got Ryan up to their chamber and slammed the door, he’d heard a few words he’d never heard before. He wasn’t particularly shocked at the outburst or the actions; he knew she’d been pushed beyond her limit and had reacted with anger and grief. Charlotte had gotten what she deserved, in his opinion. But he wondered if it would only make matters worse now that Ryan had physically attacked his very aggressive sister. Once he set Ryan to her feet, he went back to the door and bolted it.
“I will not apologize,” Ryan said as he turned away from the door. “If I’d had better aim, she would be a headless corpse right now. There; I have said it. I wish I had killed her for what she did to my goat!”
Dennis remained customarily cool. He put his hands on his hips. “Is a goat worth murder?”
Ryan’s mouth popped open in outrage. “Did you hear what she said? She said that she looked into his eyes as she….”
He put up a hand and cut her off. “I heard what she said,” he confirmed, heading over to their bed. The new coverlet made from heavy red fabric sat on top of it, neatly folded. He began to unfold it and shake it out over the bed. “I suppose there is nothing more to do now than go to bed.”
Ryan was coming to realize he wasn’t worked up in the least. His calm demeanor fed her irritation. “Is that all you have to say?”
He pulled the coverlet off the bed and shook it out. “What would you have me say?”
His attitude genuinely stumped her. “Have you nothing to say about your sister’s gleeful confession about killing my goat? Have you nothing to say about my vengeance?”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 136
