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

by Tamara Leigh

  “I am glad to hear it.” Malcolm cleared his throat. “Today’s practice is with the two-handed sword. You are acquainted with it?”

  “More I am versed with the single-handed, but I can swing both with deadly accuracy.”

  Rather, I could, he silently corrected.

  When the king did not comment, Theriot guessed his thoughts had gone the same direction. If they did, it was not for long.

  After commanding the contests to begin, Malcolm said, “Despite injury to your eyes, your skills are impressive, Sir Theriot. Not only do I marvel over the keen senses demonstrated in the glen, but your facility with stealth in besting Edgar last eve. I wonder at your training.”

  Seeing no reason not to enlighten him, Theriot said, “It was taught me by my uncle whose lessons were as often in the day as the night. He impressed on me that stealth is not merely hiding among and negotiating shadows, making it an instrument of defense, but using those shadows to transform it into an instrument of offense.”

  “This I know, as do all warriors of worth.”

  “Aye, it is obvious, but difficult in practice. As one’s natural inclination is to make it defensive first, offensive second, most are more concerned with remaining hidden than using the advantages of nature and the presence or absence of light to advance more quickly on their targets.”

  “Continue, Sir Theriot.”

  “Great stealth is attending to what is felt beneath one’s feet to sooner be aware of the approach of enemies on foot and astride, attending to scents and the direction the air moves to ensure one’s own scents do not carry, learning the calls of creatures to use them as cover and communicate with others across the distance—and discern when the enemy does the same.” He paused. “That is what my uncle taught me and what my keen senses allowed me to better.”

  He sensed the turning of the king’s mind, but when Malcolm spoke no more, shifted his attention to what he could make of the clashes from what was barely seen and what others told by way of words and shouts.

  She had more than slept the night through, and she was not alone in doing so. Meg remained curled beneath her coverlet when Marguerite departed the chamber past the hour of breaking fast. What time the princess and Edgar finished beseeching God’s guidance she did not know, but the candles had consumed their wicks when the princess returned, her fumbling having awakened Marguerite.

  Now, hunger satisfied, courage fortified with further practice at what she would say to Theriot, Marguerite was disappointed to find his hut empty. If he had ventured to the training yard whence came the sound of steel on steel, no privacy would be had there. Had he gone to the glen, little privacy there since both required an escort.

  She considered awaiting him in the hut, but impatience had her moving among the castle folk and ascending the wall overlooking the training yard.

  Theriot was below, Dubh on one side, Cristina the other.

  Jealousy rippled through Marguerite and flowed when the princess touched his arm and nodded at two opponents wielding swords of such size few men could long swing them without the support of their second hand. Not so Malcolm who was one of those Theriot appeared to watch, slight movements of his head matching the dance of opponents. Here evidence his vision had improved?

  Cristina leaned nearer, and more animatedly than Marguerite had believed possible, spoke as if describing what he could not see.

  “Cease this jealousy!” Marguerite rebuked herself, and when her words caused a man-at-arms patrolling the wall to look around, apologetically shook her head. When she returned her regard to those below, she saw Theriot nod in response to something Cristina said. And was that annoyance flitting across his face?

  It was wrong to hope that, but the jealous side of her wished it, and she was glad Cristina departed a quarter hour later.

  Marguerite remained atop the wall until Theriot, joined by Malcolm whose garments were fouled, also withdrew.

  They looked friends, Dubh trotting between them. And she wished it so, that Theriot would stay and—

  “Enough,” she whispered, and as they neared the iron gate, leaned forward to keep them in sight. It was then she noticed Theriot’s left hand was wrapped though Malcolm had assured her he was uninjured last eve. Also of note was he used the cloth returned to him.

  When they passed through the iron door, she began her descent of the wall.

  Their long strides carrying them a dozen feet beyond the steps before she reached the bottom, Malcolm’s words made her falter. “As you know, you gained my respect when we were in the glen and you knew we were watched ere I did, and when you slew one of our attackers—”

  “With your aid,” Theriot interrupted.

  “I but called out instructions,” Malcolm said, then continued, “You have gained the respect of many of my men, and now having bested Edgar who was armed as you were not…” He clicked his tongue. “Though some of my Scots, perhaps a few of my Normans, would resist your instruction in stealth, I believe most would be receptive.”

  Theriot halted, then Dubh, followed by Marguerite behind and Malcolm ahead. When the latter turned back, Theriot said, “It sounds you suggest this prisoner train your men.”

  “So I do, to my benefit as well as yours.”

  “Mine?”

  “Methinks it would ease your longing to be no mere onlooker in the games of warriors. As for being my prisoner, you must agree other than not being permitted to depart, you are that in name only.”

  Theriot was slow to respond as if considering the proposal. “Though I am grateful to be accorded much freedom and a measure of trust, there are three problems with what you suggest. The first is that as long as William has my oath, he would consider it treasonous were I to aid in bettering skills that might one day be used against Normans. The second is I would think it treasonous.”

  Malcolm grunted. “The third problem?”

  “As earlier told, the training I received was excellent, but much of what you perceive to be superior to what is already available to your men is likely due to my keen senses.”

  “Much, but not all, Chevalier. As we both know, instincts that are lacking can be sharpened. My thinking is—who better to sharpen the dull ones than a man whose own are very sharp?”

  “Even so, the first two problems persist.”

  “Would they persist if I agreed to release you in two months’ time?”

  Theriot stiffened. “I will not strike such a bargain with you.”

  Fearing the king’s anger, Marguerite tensed, but Malcolm said, “I am not surprised you hold close your oath to William. Though I am not pleased, I respect your integrity.”

  Theriot inclined his head. “I thank you. Now I would ask how much longer ere you decide what is to be done with me.”

  “There the question, but also this—what do you feel for my ward?”

  Grateful the bustle about the bailey masked her gasp, Marguerite waited.

  “What should I feel for the woman responsible for my loss of sight?” Theriot said. And now she almost wished him as unheard as she, but better she was left in no doubt about his feelings.

  “I sought to match her with my physician,” Malcolm said, “but I believe she is in love with you.”

  Marguerite nearly groaned aloud.

  “Then I am sorry for her, and would advise she accept your choice of a husband and forget this Norman who but bides his time until he can return to his family and the company of women of his own kind.”

  “As ye know, she is as Norman as she is Scottish.”

  “King Malcolm, if your delay in deciding my fate has anything to do with her, you waste time, and again I ask that if you will not permit me to return to England, you send word to my family.”

  The king sighed. “Good day, Chevalier,” he said and strode opposite.

  Theriot remained unmoving as if he watched Malcolm, and when the smithy proved the king’s destination, resumed his stride with Dubh at his side.

  Of course he cannot entir
ely forgive me, Marguerite lamented as he walked a path mostly unobstructed though more castle folk were about their duties now. Of course he can have no great feeling for me. She touched lips his had touched. But he does not hate me. I must be content with that. And all the sooner I will be once I persuade Malcolm to allow me to return home.

  Though certain the only way to gain his permission was to agree to the accompaniment of guards lest her kin yet sought to harm her, it was more acceptable than remaining at the palace. But before her departure that she hoped would sooner see Theriot released, she would reveal what he deserved to know.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  She was here. And he knew it ahead of Dubh.

  Theriot dropped the cloth unwound from his hand and turned from the sideboard. “Enter!” he called a moment ahead of her knock.

  She opened the door and was greeted by Dubh.

  As Marguerite leaned down to pet the hound, Theriot strove to make sense of her, and as was increasingly apparent, better that was done with the right eye. Her gown was dark orange woven of threads whose sheen made it appear many shades of that color, and the rich brown draping her shoulders looked more a short mantle than loose hair.

  “It is Marguerite.”

  “This I know.” Still unwilling to alert any to his improved sight that was too little to give much hope of full restoration, but enough he had some hope further improvement could aid in escaping Dunfermline, he said, “Had it been any other than you or the king, Dubh would not have welcomed you in that manner.” He followed the dog’s languid return to the fire pit. “She has good senses.”

  “She does.” There was disappointment in her voice. “I just wish…”

  “What? My sight restored?”

  “Much I pray for that.” She took a step forward. “I did not know your hand was injured last eve.”

  No surprise she had been told what happened. What surprised was she saw the injury he would not think obvious absent the binding. Had she seen it ahead of his return to the hut? While he was at the training yard?

  Having been once more reduced to less than an observer of those who wielded arms, the struggle to control his frustration could have distracted him from the sensation of being watched by one other than those among whom he stood.

  If Marguerite had been on the wall, was she there when he departed? He could not know, the activity in the bailey and Malcolm’s proposal that Theriot give training in stealth having caused him to neglect keeping the fingers of his unnatural sense stretched long and spread wide.

  Had she been near, she would have heard her king question what Theriot felt for her and the answer meant to end such talk—as well as Malcolm’s suggestion Marguerite loved his prisoner and Theriot’s rejection of her. Hopefully, she had not been present since he did not wish her to—

  What? he silently demanded. If she does feel deeply for you and believes your greatest regard for her is attraction, more easily she will forget you. Hence, what is cruel now is kind later.

  “How were you injured?” she asked.

  Returning the colors and shape of her to focus, he rotated his palm outward. “When I reached to put out the lamp to render Edgar as sightless as I, what I thought the handle were hot panes. Not badly burned, but sore.”

  She hesitated, said, “Though I am sorry for what he did, I am glad it led to the return of your dagger.”

  “And I am glad you came.”

  “You are?”

  Hearing hope in her voice, he said, “I learned the Saxons who kept watch for Edgar outside the stable serve Michel Roche and that baron entrusted them to deliver you to Dunfermline.”

  “As Malcolm warned me,” she said. “Now you know how I recognized you in the village.”

  “I do—that Marguerite of Dunfermline, who has a lovely voice when not coarse from disuse, was the mute Margaret of the Rebels of the Pale.” He turned to the sideboard. “After I tend my hand, I would know what you have yet to tell.” As he rubbed salve into his palm, he heard the door close, the rasp of her slippers, and creak of the chair.

  Theriot moved to the seat across from hers and dropped into it. As he rebandaged his hand, the hound stretched out beside him.

  “That is the same cloth I returned to you,” Marguerite said.

  “It is, though your scent is long gone.”

  Hearing her breath catch, he reminded himself, Cruel now, kind later, and tucked the end of the strip beneath the crossings. “I imagined you wore it around your neck the same as I, though now I make a bandage of it just as you did for my eyes.”

  He did not need to see her face to know it brightened, nor was he surprised when she averted by asking, “Of what import that ragged cloth?”

  He sat back. “Are we to trade answers again? If so, you should know I have fewer to give than you.”

  She cleared her throat. “Since much is owed you, no trade is necessary.”

  “Then begin.”

  “Already I told what happened when I sought to return my mother to Dunfermline. What was left unsaid is that after I fled my grandfather’s home, I was overtaken. If not for the aid of Saxons who believed me one of their own set upon by Normans, my kin would have avenged themselves on this half-breed, giving me to Patrick of Ireland who would have acted on his desire for me, perhaps even sold me into slavery.”

  The ache in Theriot’s burned palm alerting him to the fist he made, he said, “Continue.”

  “You know the Saxons who saved me as the ones who later risked all to enter the D’Argent camp following their loss at Stafford—Vitalis, Zedekiah, and Em. I did not fear them as much as I did those of my blood, but since there is the Norman about my voice as well as the Scots who raid into England, I thought it safest they believe me mute. Though I wished to return to Scotland, as I was distant from the border and all about were Normans of greater danger than Saxons, I remained under Vitalis’s protection and used my healing skills to aid the rebels.”

  “That was before the resistance took the city of York from my king’s men, was it not?”

  “It was, and I believed that undertaking which caused the Aetheling to depart Malcolm’s court and join his forces with Saxon rebels and Danes was the opportunity needed to put England behind me. But despite the resistance’s victory, many were injured. As I was needed, I assured myself there was time aplenty to show myself to Edgar.” She sighed. “There was not, his victory short-lived. Had York not been so ravaged by fire it could offer no protection for the resistance, perhaps the Danes would not have withdrawn their support and the Aetheling would not have fled with his men ahead of William’s armies.”

  “So you remained with the rebels, accompanying them to Stafford where they sought to take another stand.”

  “And failed,” she whispered. “As you know, many Rebels of the Pale died in challenging William on that battlefield, and not only was Em injured, she was seen by the Norman whose bonds of slavery she had escaped.”

  “Sir Raymond Campagnon,” Theriot named the man.

  “Evil,” she said. “Do you recall assisting me into the saddle ere I departed camp with Sir Dougray to find a physician distant from your countrymen?”

  Too well, he thought and said, “I do. Thus, the face I believed I might never know is known to me.”

  “Is it?” Her voice pitched higher. “It was dark, and I was hooded.”

  “Still I saw you. My eyes are…” His jaw nearly locked. “Once they were very sharp.”

  She swallowed loudly. “I looked back when we left camp and you raised a hand as if you knew I looked upon you. Do you remember that as well?”

  Though he wanted to feign ignorance, he nodded. “I do.”

  “I told you it felt as if I knew you before I met you. That was the first time I felt that, and though I named myself foolish and fanciful, often I thought on you.” She went silent, and he knew he was expected to respond to her confession, but he did not know what to say.

  What seemed minutes passed, then she said, “W
e found a physician for Em in Derbyshire at Stavestone Castle. Its lord, Baron Roche—”

  “This part of the tale I know,” he interrupted. “That at last my half-brother met the man who sired him, hardly was Em recovered than he had to take her from Stavestone to keep her from Campagnon, and it was necessary to entrust your safekeeping to Roche.”

  “How do you know all that?” she exclaimed.

  “After Dougray delivered Em to our oldest brother so arrangements could be made to send her to Normandy where slavery is outlawed, he returned to our king’s service at York. He told me what transpired, and I saw he was changed from the vengeful warrior who hated Saxons—all for love of a rebel.”

  “And her love for him,” Marguerite said.

  That gave Theriot pause. Might he rise above his own loss the same as Dougray whom he had encouraged to leave the past behind? Might love prove as great a healer for him as—?

  My circumstances are different, he reminded himself. The woman responsible for my loss is not—can never be—the remedy.

  “Continue,” she prompted.

  “William summoned Dougray and revealed Campagnon had petitioned him to aid in the recovery of the slave he believed hidden at Wulfen Castle. Despite my king’s unwillingness to abolish slavery in England for the revenue that funds armies, he finds the practice abhorrent. Thus, he told he would accompany Campagnon south to see the miscreant’s property returned to him, and that warning gave Dougray time to get Em away. What I do not know is what followed.”

  “Then I will tell you. After Baron Roche delivered me to Wulfen Castle, Dougray returned and Em refused to flee across the sea.”

  Theriot jerked. “Then both were present when William arrived?”

  “They were, and your king gave Dougray the opportunity to best Campagnon at arms to gain Em’s freedom.”

  Theriot would have been confident of his brother’s victory if not for the loss of his arm. “I listen, Lady.”