BOUNDLESS: A Medieval Romance (AGE OF CONQUEST Book 6)

by Tamara Leigh

  Theriot heard the king draw a sharp breath, then he said, “Who injured your hound?”

  “One of the Saxons when she sought to protect me.”

  “Dubh!” Malcolm commanded, and the dog padded forward. “She suffers no blood or broken bones, only a tender front leg,” he pronounced shortly, then spoke words incomprehensible to one unfamiliar with Gaelic.

  Answers were given by the guard, and Marguerite’s attempts to add to what was told was silenced with harsh words that gradually softened with the telling of the events.

  When Malcolm switched to the Saxon language to question those who had forced their way into the hut, Theriot’s belief was confirmed that they were some of the Aetheling’s men sent ahead to draw the Norman contingent away from the village. And once more Malcolm’s words were harsh, and more so when the four answering what the fifth could not, refused to reveal the means by which they had learned Theriot was taken prisoner.

  They sought to protect their liege, but it was futile. Just as Theriot knew Edgar had sent them to extract payment for their losses, so did Malcolm.

  After the king warned if they tried again to relieve him of his right to dispense justice he would cast them across the border trussed and in the path of Normans, he commanded them from his sight.

  With their departure, he addressed the guards in Gaelic. When they also withdrew, Malcolm said in Norman-French, “Lady Marguerite, I know I am not wrong in stating this warrior loathes you standing as his protector. Come away.”

  Thinking she might refuse, Theriot’s anger quickened against one who was as responsible for his blinding as Edgar and Hendrie, and who had furthered her deceit by not revealing she accompanied him on that nearly senseless journey from England, doubtless tending him throughout. For this her scent had been familiar when first he awakened here.

  She stepped forward. “Your Grace, do not punish Sir Theriot—”

  “Neither do I believe he would have you beg mercy for him, Marguerite.”

  Her shadow parted from his and moved to the side, then the king strode forward. “I would have you yield Lady Marguerite’s dagger, Sir Theriot, not because I fear you as you must know I do not. Because it bodes better for whatever comes of our acquaintance.”

  Since there was nothing to be gained in keeping hold of a short-bladed weapon that afforded minimal protection, Theriot had no reason to refuse. And yet, angered by Marguerite’s deceit, the longing to more intimately know her face, and the inability to properly defend himself, he was tempted to test the king’s wrath. However, that was what one such as Edgar would do, and at the moment the only one Theriot disliked more than Marguerite was the Aetheling.

  He reversed the dagger and extended it hilt first.

  The king took it. “Return this to yer person, Marguerite, then place two chairs before the fire.”

  Theriot felt her gaze as she concealed the dagger beneath her skirt as told by its rustling.

  When she turned aside and Dubh followed, Malcolm’s breath swept Theriot’s face. “Though I have greater matters to attend to than making order of another of Edgar’s messes, I shall take some minutes to become familiar with my…” He paused. “As there is no prettier word for it, let us name you what you are—my prisoner. But better that than the Aetheling’s, eh?”

  Theriot shifted his cramped jaw. “I have yet to see the advantage.”

  Malcolm grunted. “Be assured, what happened this day will not again. Though I am to wed the sister, and for that I aid and tolerate the Aetheling’s struggle toward manhood, it does not change that I rule Scotland. Now, as I would not offend by offering to lead one yet capable of doing injury to warriors, follow.”

  Small mercy, Theriot thought bitterly. Then attending to the shadow that cut a straight path to the fire whose flames burned higher in answer to air entering through the gaping doorway, he narrowed his eyes against the light and followed. And so deeply resented feeling like a dog at its master’s heels that when the king dropped onto a chair, Theriot’s senses failed him—rather, he failed them.

  With little warning, Marguerite was at his side, a hand on his hand, words at his ear. “Here is your seat.”

  Before he could rebuke the one responsible for his need for guidance, she set his hand on the back of a chair and withdrew. Though his senses remained relatively dull, hers were keen enough to know it was best to distance herself, even if she did not realize he had uncovered her deceit.

  When she drew alongside Malcolm, the king ordered her to sit on the bed as if he also sensed Theriot’s anger, though surely he believed it merely due to the lady shielding a warrior.

  Marguerite called Dubh to her, and as they moved away, Theriot angled his body to keep direct firelight from his eyes.

  “Ye nearly slew my man, Hendrie,” Malcolm said. “An eye for an eye?”

  Theriot tensed further. “As he denied me breath, I sought to stop him by putting a blade in him. For it, he did injury to my eyes. Should I fully recover as I am told he shall, what happened between us could be considered an eye for an eye. Should I not, it is far from an eye for an eye, and further yet from an eye for two eyes.”

  All that could be heard of the king was his breathing, then he said, “You should have died this day—that is, providing you truly dwell in the dark. Do you?”

  Calm, Theriot counseled. You can make no friend of him, but make him no greater enemy. “Not the dark. I see light and what passes before it, but only as shadow.”

  “Without color?”

  “Shades of white and grey.”

  The king sighed. “An ill thing for any, but especially a warrior. Be assured, Princess Margaret is much at prayer for the restoration of your vision.” When Theriot did not respond, he added, “My betrothed is nearly a saint. If the Lord does not give answer as she beseeches, I am convinced none can persuade Him.”

  Refusing to dwell on the peculiarity that this brutal warrior sounded beguiled, Theriot said, “Should my vision be restored, will it be of use to me?”

  “Now the matter of what to do with one whom Hendrie believes the scout who set Normans after the Aetheling. How do ye respond to that charge? And do give answer with the integrity of which I hear your family is known.”

  Though Theriot had avoided answering the same posed by Marguerite, he saw no reason to do so now. “Your man is correct in believing I tracked the Aetheling.”

  The lady made a sound of distress.

  “Several days I followed before meeting up with a Norman contingent and setting them after Edgar. Regardless of my motive, I am only innocent of being more responsible than he for what befell the village he rode through.”

  “Your motive?” the king asked.

  As Theriot struggled with pride that demanded he offer no further defense and indifference bred by certainty the judgment to come would remain unchanged, he saw the great smudge of the man lean forward.

  “Why a scout, Sir Theriot of a family of renowned warriors?” Malcolm rephrased his question, calling to mind the meeting with King William when this D’Argent told he would not lead men who laid waste to the people and lands of the North. “Even if there is dishonor in the truth, Chevalier, less that dishonor if one confesses it in defense of his person.”

  Pride kicked Theriot opposite as surely this man said to be moved more by brute strength than strength of mind sought to do. “It was not fear that led me to serve my king as a scout. As a true warrior does not put innocents to death, whether by drawing blood or depriving them of what is needed to sustain life, I declined to be the blade and fire loosed on the North. Instead, I served by rooting out what remains of the rebels to ensure their further acts of defiance do not consume England.”

  “Their acts,” Malcolm drawled. “You are certain Saxon resistance, rather than your king, is what threatens to consume all of England?”

  “I know William bears great responsibility, but as all ought to have learned by now, his appetite can only be controlled if the resistance ceases to offer
up tempting dishes. Thus, unless the Lord wills different from what He has allowed these four years, the rebellion must end.”

  “A good answer, D’Argent, though the Aetheling is unwilling to accept it—and may never.”

  “Yet you will permit him to continue using Scotland as a base from which to stir William’s wrath that will bring that wrath down upon your country?”

  “Already there is much ill between your king and me. What is a little more? And be assured, Edgar is only that—a little more.”

  Malcolm spoke true only in that what had happened to the village was naught compared to the King of Scotland’s recent attack on Northern England. However, though that incursion had been savage and many commoners were taken captive, it was nearly tame compared to William’s harrying. Though Malcolm was a worthy adversary boasting numerous men and resources, so had been King Harold who lost his country at the Battle at Hastings. The King of Scots might believe he was William’s equal, but he was not.

  “You underestimate the impact of that little more you name Edgar,” Theriot said. “Do you not leash him, what happened in that English village could happen in your villages. And you will be as responsible as he.”

  The straightening of Malcolm’s back enlarged his shadow. “Even does one not consider your current circumstances, you are too bold, Theriot D’Argent.”

  His threat elicited a gasp from the bed.

  Having forgotten their audience, Theriot wished he could blame the lapse on his loss of sight, but once more he failed the senses that remained to him.

  Almighty, he sent heavenward, Malcolm is not the only one who needs to fit a leash. Aid me in hooking one to the collar of this anger.

  “Your Grace,” the lady ventured, “what Sir Theriot warns of the Aetheling is no different from what Hendrie—”

  “Do not defend me, Lady,” Theriot snarled, and forgetting the need for a leash, narrowed his eyes on the king. “I accept responsibility for much of what happened to that village since I was certain he who thinks he will be a better king than William would act in the best interest of those he wishes to free from Norman rule. Just as done other rebels who refused to disband when I stirred up their hives, I set the contingent after Edgar and his entourage once they were distant from settlements to ensure no innocents suffered.”

  Now Theriot was the one leaning forward. “My mistake was believing your betrothed’s brother would do the same as rebels who have sacrificed much to place him on the throne—that he would avoid settlements. But rather than go well around that village, he led his enemy straight through it. If ever he is fit to rule others, and much I doubt it, you will be an old man with more regrets than you have now. I say leash him, King Malcolm!”

  Amid the weighty silence, Theriot felt the lady’s fear.

  For me, he thought and resented it. Then guessing Malcolm would take this Norman’s life as his man, Hendrie, had failed to do and strangely unmoved, he sat back.

  “More bold, more offensive, Sir Theriot,” the king pronounced. “But I shall allow it. You know why? Because I believe you speak true of what happened in the village ere you were lured away from what was feared a child you sought to harm.”

  The momentum of Theriot’s thoughts arrested, he reversed them to ponder what Malcolm added to what was known. Though Theriot had told Marguerite he but tried to save a child, when Edgar had boasted of the trap that captured this Norman, he had not mentioned it was laid to protect a child. Merely overlooked?

  He started to further turn that rock but was struck by the realization those responsible for what had been done him—Edgar, Hendrie, and Marguerite—believed they had reason to bait the trap and attack him. As the village had been set afire by Normans, they had also thought they heard a child and glimpsed the enemy moving that direction. Of course they believed he intended harm.

  That eased his anger, though not in great measure. Perhaps in time.

  “Commendable restraint,” Malcolm said. “More evidence ye are a man of integrity.”

  “Who mistook a mewling cat for a child,” Theriot said between his teeth. Though his eyes were tempted toward Marguerite, he kept them on her king. “As I do not believe it was the Aetheling who told you the truth of what happened in the village, who was it?”

  “My man, Hendrie.”

  “Who else?”

  A long pause, then he said, “It was confirmed by others there and, doubtless, shall be told by the Saxons who this day sought to avenge themselves on you.”

  “Who else?” Theriot persisted, and receiving no response said, “What of the village woman?”

  He was not certain whether it was imagined or felt, but breath was held and glances exchanged. Before a lie could further the deception, he said, “I know Lady Marguerite’s secret—that she is the one I believed pursued by my countrymen, that she led me into the trap that ended in my injury.”

  She sprang up from the bed. “Theriot—”

  “Sir Theriot!”

  “Sir Theriot, I wanted to tell you, and I would have—”

  “As further it is confirmed what you are to me, Lady Marguerite, you can have naught to say that I wish to hear.”

  She halted between Malcolm and Theriot. “What am I to you?”

  “What I thought before this day though I began to think I wronged you—deceit wrapped in something sweet.” To which he had nearly succumbed, tempted by a mouth he could not see. And that desire had naught to do with bringing her to his side.

  Marguerite stepped toward him. “Pray, listen—”

  “So you may lead me further astray? Once more become an instrument of Edgar?”

  Had she intended to draw nearer, his words halted her.

  “Lady Marguerite, leave us,” Malcolm said.

  She hesitated then hastened past.

  “As I no longer require your services,” Theriot called, “do not come to me again.”

  Would she have slammed the door were it upright and hinged? he wondered as her footsteps and those of the dog receded.

  “You are very harsh with my ward,” Malcolm drawled.

  “Though now I know what was done me can be justified and am grateful for enlightenment, still she deceived—”

  “Would you have allowed her to continue tending you as done throughout the journey to Dunfermline had she told she was the bait that caused a warrior to be deprived of his sight?”

  Theriot nearly demanded why she had wished to tend him at all, but he recalled the Aetheling’s taunting and that he knew the one taken prisoner was a D’Argent. For his family’s reputation, surely Marguerite had tended him en route—and continued to do so when the princess further vouched for his family. But there were other matters whose answers were mere guesses that did not satisfy.

  Ignoring the question put to him, he said, “I believed the silver in my hair revealed me for a D’Argent, and for that I was taken prisoner rather than left for dead, but Edgar knew my Christian name. From whom?”

  The shadow of Malcolm shrugged. “As told, this king has greater matters to attend to than the Aetheling.”

  Then for now Theriot must be satisfied with the guess one of the Norman contingent captured by Edgar’s men had revealed the scout’s name. “What of Marguerite? As I know that lady of Scotland was not among Edgar’s entourage, how did she come to be in the village?”

  “Since the day you arrived here was the same I returned from putting down trouble in the North, I cannot tell the reason she was there,” Malcolm said, then added, “Of course, once the Norman side of her had family over the border.”

  Though she had revealed that to Theriot, here another curiosity. “Once?”

  “A bad business that, but it is done—all dead.”

  “How?”

  Malcolm stood. “As you wish naught else to do with the lady and my time wastes, let us make good use of these last minutes.”

  Hearing a blade exit its scabbard, Theriot tensed in anticipation of defending himself.

  “Be not
alarmed, Sir Theriot. Though I have yet to determine what to do with you, I believe your captivity requires alteration. Hold out your hands.”

  Not a lie, Theriot was certain, this man having no need to work deceit on a sightless, unarmed warrior. And since neither did Malcolm require the protection of a blade at this time, it seemed the prisoner was to be freed of the ropes about his wrists.

  Theriot stood and extended his hands.

  “From what I have witnessed,” Malcolm said as he sliced through the short-ended rope Marguerite had cut, “no longer do you require a keeper.” The rope fell away, then the flat of the blade was against the outside of Theriot’s other wrist and that of which he had made a whip was also severed. “Henceforth, the guards keeping watch outside will give aid only when requested.”

  “I am to be trusted?”

  “Within limits. What trust ye earned is in part due to your vision being incapacitated. In greater part is the guards’ report that though Lady Marguerite loosed your bonds, you made no attempt to harm her to keep the Saxons from your throat nor gain your freedom. They said you sought to protect her ahead of her own attempt to protect you.”

  Malcolm paused as if to give Theriot an opportunity to confirm it, but it needed no confirmation.

  “Of course, since now you are aware of what she withheld, I question if henceforth she is safe with you. For that, had ye not told her not to return, I would have.”

  This required a response. “Even were she without excuse for being the bait that led to my injury, I would not harm her. I would do as already done so I not further suffer her presence.”

  “Then the D’Argent integrity remains intact.”

  “Ever,” Theriot said and silently added, Even if only by the short nails of my bloodied fingers.

  The blade scraped the scabbard’s throat as it was returned to its sheath. “Still, henceforth you shall remain distant from each other, and much that will please the physician.”