by Lynn Kurland
His last master had given him a horse and his spurs and invited him to depart without delay. He’d been grateful for the gifts and left without looking back. His meandering path had led him to Artane. When Robin had learned who he was, he hadn’t exactly welcomed him with open arms, but he had given him bed and board. Colin had met Christopher the next day, they had become unlikely brothers, and he had, at the tender age of ten-and-nine, found not only a purpose, but a home of sorts. Where Christopher went, Colin followed.
Of course, that had led to Christopher wedding Colin’s second younger sister, and that had led to her death and Christopher’s wounding, but that was a tale better left for another day.
What mattered was that his home was here, not at his father’s table, and here was where he would no doubt return when his duty was discharged.
And he prayed it could be discharged painlessly.
Colin rose with a sigh, nodded at Berengaria, avoided being trodden underfoot by her helpers, and made his way from the chamber. Perhaps he had no choice now but to seek out his bride and inform her of their imminent departure.
It was with a heavy heart, and heavier footsteps, that he made his way to Gillian’s solar. The door was, unsurprisingly, bolted, but no guard stood outside. Colin lifted a single finger and, in the most womanly way possible, scratched at the door. How anyone could hear such a thing was beyond him. He preferred a solid banging himself. If a body was going to announce his presence at a door, best do it well, to his mind.
But miracle of all miracles, the door opened and the giddy maid who had opened it fell back with a screech.
More screeching ensued.
Colin clapped his hands over his ears and stepped inside the chamber before the door was slammed in his face. The sounds only intensified.
“Silence!” he roared.
Three maids fell into a pile, crawling over each other in their terror. They pushed themselves into the alcove and huddled there, sniveling and weeping.
“By the saints,” Colin said in disgust, “I’m not going to carve you up and eat you for supper!”
More cries of terror ensued, but a fierce glare reduced that back to the level of sniveling and weeping. Colin rolled his eyes, then looked for his bride. She was sitting in a chair, a substantial hunk of cheese halted in midjourney to her mouth. Her eyes began to roll back in her head and Colin swore in disgust.
“Not again!” he exclaimed. “Lady, cease with that fainting! I’ve need of speech with you.”
Her eyes miraculously seemed to find their proper position in her head.
“You’re going to release me?” She breathed, her face alight with hope.
Damn all women to Hell, was he so poor a prospect? Never mind that he had no handsomeness. Could a wench not be pleased with a husband who could protect her? Protect her wee ones? Inspire terror and the soiling of hose in an entire army merely by stepping onto a battlefield?
Colin put his shoulders back and reminded himself of a few of his virtues, which included all those of a manly bent. Courage. Strength. Good humors. Thus fortified, he pressed on.
“Nay, my lady,” he said archly, “I have not come to release you. I’ve come to inform you that we will leave on the morrow.”
Sybil’s eyes filled with tears.
But her distress didn’t seem to extend to her belly, for she began to absently gnaw on her cheese.
“Pack your gear,” he instructed. “We’ll leave at dawn.”
“To Berkham keep?” Sybil said, chewing industriously.
“To Harrowden,” he said grimly.
’Twas nothing short of amazing how a woman could chew yet have her chin quiver in a way that portended buckets of tears to come. Colin turned and strode from the chamber before he had to witness the latter.
Harrowden. The very name made him grit his teeth and curse his sire. No doubt the man thought that if he had both Colin and Sybil there together with a priest nearby, he could bind them together before either had the chance to flee. It was also the place where his brother was currently preparing to become a monk. Colin suspected that he would be called upon once again to try to talk sense into the lad. The saints only knew if his sisters—the saints pity him that he had only two left, but those two were guaranteed to make his life hell each chance they had—would arrive to witness the madness of his nuptials.
He walked down the passageway and into Henri before he knew what he was doing. He grasped the lad by the shoulders to steady him, then frowned down at him.
“Where is your keeper?” he demanded. “And why aren’t you with him? I left specific instructions that you were not to be left alone.”
“I had, um, manly business to attend to,” Henri said, blushing furiously.
“What manly business?” Colin demanded. “Wenching? You’ve no time for wenching now. By the saints, lad, you can scarce keep your mind on your swordplay as it is! How do you intend to do so if you’re dreaming of a handsome maid?”
Henri’s mouth worked silently for a moment or two, but no sound seemed destined to come out. He finally managed to point back down the passageway toward the garderobe.
“Ah,” Colin said, “I see. Well, Jason shouldn’t have left you to that by yourself. The very last thing I want to see on this accursed day is more of Sir Etienne’s work on your sorry self. I suppose you’ll have to forgo your training for the rest of the day and come with me on my bloody business.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“Is there food below?”
“’Tis coming, my lord. But Lord Jason advised me to suggest a walk on the roof to you, should I see you before supper arrives. He said it would soothe you.”
“He would, the wretch.”
“My lord?”
“I do not like heights,” Colin said unwillingly.
Henri looked at him for a moment or two in surprise. “Indeed?”
Colin scowled and pulled the boy down the passageway with him. “I’ll speak no more of that. Just stay by me, Henri, and you’ll be safe. Safer,” he muttered, “than another young man you know.”
Damn that Jason of Artane. He knew Colin could not bear heights. Colin fingered the hilt of his sword as he entered the great hall. Perhaps there would be yet a little time for sport in the lists this afternoon, before those unpleasant preparations for his journey had to be seen to.
He found Jason sitting next to Gillian, grinning like the empty-headed fool he was. Colin paused behind his chair and leaned down.
“You’ve had your sport of me,” he whispered pleasantly. “Next, I’ll have mine from you.”
Jason said nothing, but Colin could have sworn he heard a gulp come from the lad.
“In the lists,” Colin said. “After supper.”
“I think—”
“You should have thought before. Don’t make me seek you out.”
“Now, Colin,” Gillian chided. “He was just teasing you.”
Colin made her a low bow. “You may tease me, my lady, and find yourself quite safe in doing so. This whelp knows better, or at least he should. Apparently he’s forgotten and needs his memories stirred up. I happily take that task on myself.”
“No doubt you do,” Jason said dryly, then raised his cup in salute. “Very well, my lord Berkhamshire.”
“I’ll put a guard on the passage to the battlements,” Colin promised, “lest you feel the need to flee there.”
Jason hesitated and Gillian laughed. “He has you there, Jason.”
“And you’ll not save me, my lady?” Jason asked hopefully.
Gillian looked up. “Don’t break anything, Colin. I daresay you’ll wish Jason to go with you on your journey. ’Twould be a pity to ruin him beforehand.”
“Why, by the saints, would I want him?” Colin asked incredulously. He was quite certain he’d already told Jason as much. Did the lad never cease with his endless plotting and planning to make Colin’s life a misery?
“He could watch over your bride,” Gillian said.
>
“Or Sir Henri,” Jason offered.
“As you did just now?” Colin asked, glaring at him. “I found him wandering about the passageway, babbling about a journey to the garderobe.”
“Surely he can see to that on his own,” Jason said.
“The lad can’t see his way across the hall by himself,” Colin exclaimed. He reached behind him and grasped Henri by the tunic neck. “He needs to be watched at all times. I can see that no one can be trusted with that task but myself.”
Jason laughed. Colin saw no humor in anything he’d just said, so he glared at the young man, then dragged Henri farther down the table where he wouldn’t have to listen to the continual stream of mirth Artane’s youngest couldn’t seem to stem. Colin looked at Henri.
“He has bad habits,” he said bluntly. “Do not learn any of them.”
Henri nodded weakly. “Of course, my lord.”
Colin grunted, sat, and turned his mind to his meal. But as he did, he realized that he would have to give serious thought to accepting Jason’s aid. Perhaps between Jason and Henri, they could pry Sybil and her maids from the solar and get them on their horses. Jason could likely lead them out merely by smiling at the gaggle of silly twits. Colin had to concede there was wisdom in it.
But even that future torture didn’t repay Jason for his sport. Colin looked down the table and gave Jason a meaningful glance. Jason raised his cup in salute and set to his meal as if it would be his last.
Which, Colin had to admit modestly to himself, it just might be.
Chapter 14
Ali crept up the stairs and down the passageway toward the solar to prepare herself for the journey. It wasn’t as if she had any gear, save a spare tunic inside the solar, but she wanted the chance to fetch her coins without anyone watching. Colin hadn’t wanted to let her go, but she had invented the complaint of very sour bowels. Apparently, he had thought such a malady would be enough to keep even Sir Etienne at bay.
Would that it could be.
Even so, Colin had vowed that if she didn’t return within minutes, he would be following her to see that she was safe. Jason hadn’t been there to see to the task and she wondered why. Either he’d been sent off on some other errand or he’d fled to recover from the repayment he’d had that afternoon for having teased Colin.
She’d watched earlier, open-mouthed, as Colin had escorted Jason out into the lists, then left him looking almost as inept as she herself was. Jason had cried peace in the end, begged Colin’s pardon for having used him ill regarding that never-taken trip to the battlements to relish the view, then come and slung his arm around Ali’s neck and led her off the field in a perfectly fine humor.
Men.
Would she ever understand them?
What she did understand, however, was the fact that she was now being watched over almost constantly by her erstwhile betrothed in an effort to save her from another unsavoury thrashing at Sir Etienne’s hands. She couldn’t help but feel a little gratitude mingled with her fear. And ’twas her fear that made her scamper down the passageway when she might have, at another time, merely walked.
She didn’t want to encounter Sir Etienne again alone.
She stopped in the little alcove next to the solar where she’d hidden her coin. She knelt down, pulled the rock aside, then reached into the crack for her little pouch.
She froze.
It wasn’t there.
She shook her head and forced away her panic. It had to be there because she had hidden it well. She’d watched several people pass by her hiding place, but none of them had paused. She had just checked her coin herself but the day before and found it safely in its place.
She sat back on her heels, a sob catching in her throat. It couldn’t be. No one could have noticed the loose rock, even if they’d had thievery on their minds. She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and wondered just what in the bloody hell she was supposed to do now.
“Looking for this?”
She spun around and stared up at none other than Sir Etienne, holding a pouch in his hands and smiling in a most unfriendly manner.
She gaped at him. “How did you come by that?”
“You need to learn to watch your back more carefully.”
She could scarce believe her eyes. Damnation, but the man was more clever than she’d given him credit for being. She leaped suddenly to her feet and grabbed for her coins, but he held the pouch far above her head.
“I don’t think so,” he growled.
“That isn’t yours.”
“What do you need it for?” he asked. “Thinking to flee?”
“Return it.”
He sneered at her. “What kind of fool do you take me for? I have counted the coins and read the paper.”
Ali cursed him. He slapped her so hard, she staggered. A whimper escaped her before she could stop it.
“I know who you are,” he said.
“You don’t,” she said, praying it was true. Surely the oaf in front of her couldn’t read. “You don’t know anything.”
“Ah, but I do. And I’m still thinking on what I want in trade for my silence.”
“You can’t read,” Ali whispered. “Not you.”
The swift anger in his face was enough to make her back up a pace. “I know who you are, Aliénore of Solonge,” he whispered harshly, “and I can tell all of England any time I choose.”
Ali felt her knees grow unsteady beneath her. Actually, it was worse than that. Her knees buckled and she went down. She would have gotten back up immediately, but her frame wasn’t equal to the task. All she could do was kneel there, miserable and weak.
“Are you interested in what I want?”
She shook her head.
Sir Etienne squatted down, took her chin in his hand and wrenched her face up. “Mayhap Lord Colin is.”
She could only stare at him in horror.
“I wonder how he would reward you for mocking him as you do,” he mused. “I seem to remember him vowing to kill you did he ever manage to find you. And here you are, so close, so easily strangled, or beheaded, or hanged. Or perhaps he would merely take you out in the lists and allow his sword and his fists to speak for him. I’ve felt his displeasure. Perhaps ’tis time you felt it as well.”
Ali looked at the ruin of Sir Etienne’s nose and began to gasp. His grip on her chin tightened.
“Ask me what I want,” he commanded.
She swallowed, hard, then spoke around her immobile jaw. “What do you want?” she whispered.
He flung her face away so hard that the whole of her met the wall with a mighty force. She pulled away and felt something coursing down her cheek. Blood, perhaps. Tears, definitely.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he said, fingering her coins. “But I will. Tell no one what we’ve discussed here. If you do, I’ll shout your name long and loud from the battlements.”
“But—”
“And keep Berkhamshire far away from me.”
“How—”
“Do it,” he snapped. “Do it, or I’ll tell him.”
She bowed her head, gasping for air. When she looked up, he was gone. She didn’t hesitate. She ran for the garderobe, bolted herself inside, and wept until she thought she might be ill. How had Sir Etienne found her out? And if he knew, who else knew? And whom would he tell?
That he might give her away to Colin was more than she could bear thinking on. She’d seen Colin in a fury. And there she was, having done nothing to prepare for her future save hoist a blade to satisfy the foolish whims of a man who would likely snap her neck in two if he discovered her true identity. By the saints, she should have been giving more serious thought to escape. At the very least she should have been asking where the nearest convent could be found. She could become a nun. That didn’t take any skill besides kneeling in prayer, did it? She shouldn’t have been loitering in the lists, endeavoring to learn skills that would never serve her.
She leaned her head against the door of
the garderobe and wondered what to do at present. She couldn’t just flee Blackmour. She had no idea where she was in relation to everywhere else, and no firm destination in mind.
Worse still, now she had no coin.
The truth of her predicament presented itself in its fullest glory. No priory would take her as she was, without dowry, without proof of her birth, without gold. No guild would take her without skills or gold. No fine hall would take her as a lady-in-waiting without title or gold. She would be fortunate indeed to find a way to keep herself alive that didn’t entail either scraping along as a servant or limping along as a harlot.
With an effort, she pushed aside those thoughts. Perhaps her future didn’t have to be decided upon that night. She had a bit more time. At least until Colin’s company left Blackmour, she could more easily flee if she were outside the castle walls.
She thought back to his demands. How in the bloody hell was she supposed to keep Colin away from him? By force? By asking? He would scoff at either one, especially if Sir Etienne displeased him. That she should want Sir Etienne to be shown mercy would likely leave Colin shaking his head and drawing his sword to instruct the man in the finer points of chivalry.
Nay, she would have to see to humoring Sir Etienne until she could devise a plan. Mayhap she could either steal her coins back, or throw herself on the mercy of some group of sisters of the cloth and beg for sanctuary. Surely now and then they could be prevailed upon to take women simply for the pity of it, couldn’t they? She had a need. She could accept pity.
’Twas a fair bit more promising a prospect than accepting a knife between her ribs.
She took a deep breath and pushed open the door—only to face the very man whom she least wanted to see.
He was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. He frowned at her, then peered at her cheek. And his expression turned thunderous.
“I fell,” she blurted out. “I was clumsy and I fell.”
