Releasing Henry

by Sarah Hegger

  Sir Arthur thumped the table. “This is the problem with war. We do not stop hacking at each other for long enough to discover our similarities.”

  The entire family gaped at him.

  “This from you?” Roger snorted.

  “My father is renowned for being a fierce and indefatigable fighter,” Henry whispered to Alya.

  Sir Arthur blushed and cleared his throat. “A man can change.”

  “Indeed.” Henry said it so quietly, Alya barely caught the words. He looked haunted by some inner struggle he refused to share.

  Kathryn huffed. “Are you going to give the dog a name or not?”

  Alya had grown up believing them filthy, but if Bahir spoke true, the decision rested with her. Surely giving a beast a name could do no harm. “What do you suggest?”

  Kathryn peered at the dog. “I am sure she is one of Dagger’s daughters, given her size and her shape. She’s a pretty girl.”

  The dog grinned at Kathryn.

  “I shall call her Jamila,” Alya said. “Pretty.”

  “Good.” Kathryn pushed away from the table. “Now that we’ve settled that, I think we should start your riding lesson.” She stopped and gave Alya a challenging stare. “Unless you are going to tell me that your father didn’t like horses either.”

  Henry bristled.

  Alya put her hand over his. She would not have him fight all her battles for her. “Horses are fine,” she said. “The most beautiful horses raised are to be found among the nomadic tribes of my land. Let us see if your horses are a match.”

  Kathryn glared.

  Alya held her stare. If she and Kathryn were to be equals in more than name, then she needed to behave that way.

  “Well said.” Roger thumped the table and guffawed. “What have you to say to that, my fiery Kathryn?”

  “I say you should shut your pie hole.” Kathryn scowled at her husband, but humor lit her eyes. “Let us go riding.” She raised her brow at Alya. “If you can lower yourself to mount one of our inferior animals.”

  “I can try.” Alya matched her haughty tone.

  Kathryn chuckled and tucked her arm through Alya’s. “Come along then, you mouthy wench. I’m not sure I did not prefer you when you could barely manage a word of English.”

  Henry rose.

  Alya needed to establish her place here without him. She motioned him to stay. “Finish your meal. I am sure I am in good hands.”

  He opened his mouth to argue.

  “You cannot follow her around like a dog,” Kathryn said. “Anyway.” She nudged Alya. “She does not like dogs.”

  “I cannot say I like all dogs.” Alya clicked her fingers at Jamila. “But we can agree that my dog is probably superior to most. Come, Jamila.”

  Jamila trotted over with her tongue lolling.

  Kathryn smiled. “That we can agree on.”

  As they were crossing the bailey, Kathryn glanced at her. “Is Henry looking out for you better?”

  “Aye,” Alya said. “He wants me to be accepted here. Being by my side makes that easier, he believes.”

  “Hmm.” Kathryn nodded. “I’m glad he listened. When you would not ask him for help, I took matters into my own hands and suggested he spend more time with you.”

  The words hurt, and they should not because Kathryn meant to be kind. Alya thought Henry accompanied her out of the desire to be with her, or because he had understood her desire to know him better. Instead, he followed her because his sister by marriage had told him he must be more attentive. If Kathryn had said nothing, would he still be at her side?

  They entered the cool dimness of the stables. The earthy tang of horse mixed with that of hay. Dust motes danced in the thin fingers of sunlight that pierced the wooden walls.

  Kathryn called out, “Peter?”

  A stablehand emerged, and tugged his cap from his tousled head. “My lady?”

  “Can you please saddle Lady?”

  “Not Striker, my lady?” Peter jerked his thumb behind him. “He has been kicking his boards all day, waiting for you.”

  “I will take him out later.” Kathryn smiled. “I raised and trained my horse myself, and he is a little spoiled.” She motioned Peter to continue. “Nay, today I am to teach Lady Alya to ride, and she needs a gentler mount if we are not to frighten her to death.”

  “Lady A-Alya?” Peter glanced at her, then ducked his head.

  “Aye.” Kathryn linked her arm through Alya’s. “She wants to learn to ride and I aim to teach her.”

  Wringing his cap between his hands, Peter shifted.

  “Now, Peter.” Kathryn put some steel in her voice. “Thank you.”

  Peter scuttled off the fetch the horse.

  Did he think she would eat the horse? Alya kept her thoughts to herself. She would learn to ride if it killed her. She would do what she must to have people stop looking at her as if she had an extra head on her shoulders.

  The lesson went well and took her mind off her other concerns.

  Lady, a beautiful bay mare, had endless patience with Alya. Much more so than Kathryn, who rode as if she was part of her mount, and battled to understand how anybody else could not do so.

  Peter and two other stable hands appeared at the stable entrance and lingered there throughout her lesson. With their gazes on her constantly, Alya refused to fail. She mastered any fear and kept trying. By the end of the morning, Kathryn had Striker saddled and rode beside Alya and Lady.

  “Sit up.” Kathryn poked her in the back. “You are not a sack of grain, and Lady is not a beast of burden but a proud stepping palfrey. Ride like that and you will shame her.”

  Someone snickered from her cluster of watchers.

  Alya straightened her spine.

  “Tuck your elbows in,” Kathryn bellowed from atop Striker. “You look like a scarecrow.”

  Behaving like the perfect lady she was named for, Lady patiently led Alya around and around the practice yards.

  By the time Kathryn pronounced her, “Not terrible,” every bone in Alya’s body ached, particularly those below her skirts. Gritting her teeth, she dismounted as gracefully as she could.

  Without making eye contact, and ensuring his hand did not touch hers on the rein, Peter took Lady from her.

  Tired, sore, and more than a little hungry, Alya dug her nails into her palms to stop herself from limping.

  “Tomorrow we might attempt a ride outside of the bailey.” Kathryn loped gracefully along beside her.

  Alya bit back a whimper. “Lovely.”

  “All in all, I am pleased with your progress,” Kathryn said. “You sit your horse strong and tall, and you do not loll around like a poppet.”

  “My thanks.” Alya’s legs had turned to pudding beneath her skirt, and her ass ached like Lady and Striker had taken turns kicking it. Ass. Another marvelous English word. If they cooked as well as they cursed, life in England might be pleasant.

  Kathryn left her at the hall and went off to the armory to find Roger.

  Alya checked to see if anybody was about. The short corridor remained mercifully empty and she allowed herself to hobble to the stairs.

  Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, she wanted to snivel like a baby. There were so many of them.

  Henry strode out of the hall toward her. “There you are.”

  As she forced herself to stand straight Alya bit back a whine.

  Henry’s blue eyes laughed at her. Breath warm against her ear, he whispered, “I remember what it feels like when you have not ridden before. Shall I carry you up the stairs?”

  “Nay.” Alya dug her nails into her leg. She would master those blasted stairs. Foot on the first riser she stopped and sucked in a deep breath. “I can do it.”

  “Uh-huh.” Crossing his arms, he glanced up the stairs. “I have a hot bath waiting for you in our chambers. Bahir even gave me some salts to ease your aches.”

  Up the longest staircas
e in the history of staircases lay sweet relief and Alya moaned.

  Henry slid his hand about her nape. “After I bathe you, I can ease the soreness from your muscles with a special ointment Nurse makes.”

  He was trying to torture her. Flanks screaming at her, she heaved her second foot on the riser. Only about six hundred more to go, or at least that’s what it felt like.

  Tutting, Henry scooped her into his arms. “You, my lady, are too proud for your own good.”

  Perhaps. Alya looped her arms over his neck. But at least she had not had to ask.

  Chapter 24

  Kathryn bounced into Alya’s chamber before the sun had decently crested the horizon, and jerked her awake.

  “You must wake.” Kathryn hopped from one foot to the other.

  “Nay.” With Henry in the mood to soothe her riding hurts, Alya had not gotten much sleep the night before.

  Alya tried to move. Pain lanced up her thighs and speared her in the belly. Groaning, she dropped back to the bed.

  A rumpled pillow the only sign left of him, Henry must have left earlier.

  “It is fair day.” Kathryn bounced closer. “And we are going to take all the children to the village.”

  “We?” Did Kathryn expect her to move?

  “Beatrice, Faye, Lady Mary, me and you.” Kathryn jerked the bed curtains back.

  Sunlight jabbed Alya in the eyeballs and she covered her face with her hands. She could barely breathe without pain, let alone make it down to the village. “You go ahead. I will stay here.”

  “Nay.” Jostling her, Kathryn sat on the edge of the bed. “I have been thinking. Do you want to hear what I have been thinking?”

  “Nay.” She wanted to crawl back into sleep and stay there until the hurting stopped.

  With a nudge to her hip Kathryn giggled. “I shall tell you anyway. I think the reason people are unfriendly with you is because they do not know you.” She spread her arms wide. “Hence, we will give them the chance to know you and then they will love you like we do.”

  A rosy theory, but not one Alya gave much credence to. “If you love me, you will go away and let me sleep.”

  “Alya.” Kathryn shook the bed. “Get up or I will be forced to set Nurse on you.” She stood and jammed her hands on her hips. “We are going to the village for the fair. We are going to have a wonderful time, and you will love it.” She spun about and marched out the room.

  With a lot of huffing, puffing and groaning, and, aye, a fair amount of whining, Alya got out of bed. She washed and dressed in one of her Genovese dresses. Like Beatrice, she braided her hair and placed a circlet over her head. Now she looked like any of the other Anglesea ladies. Other than the almond slant to her eyes, and her deeper-hued skin.

  Did Henry look at her and see the differences? Was it why he kept her at a distance? Maybe the differences between them made him trust her less. Or perhaps they just needed more time to get to know each other. Tired of her own thoughts, she rushed and finished dressing and joined the other women in the hall.

  “Alya.” Lady Mary’s smile lit up her lovely face. “How wonderful that you are joining us. I look forward to showing Anglesea my newest daughter.”

  Beatrice entered the hall behind her four boys. All four seemed to be heading in different directions and Beatrice looked frazzled.

  Faye’s oldest boy, Simon, carried little Bess in his arms. Already tall, Simon apparently closely resembled his father. The younger, Arthur, looked much like Faye.

  “Why do you like fairs so much?” Prodded by Kathryn, who had their son in her arms, Roger entered. Little Henry looked so much like Sir Arthur, down to the frown on their faces, it almost made her laugh.

  “I do not know.” Kathryn sniffed. “But I do, and thus we are going.”

  “You could go without me.” Roger looked hopeful.

  “Nay. I cannot.” Kathryn poked him in the back. “Because the people will want to see you, and will feel slighted if they do not.”

  “Garrett is not going.” Roger perked up.

  “Aye, Garrett is.” Garrett joined Beatrice and his boys. He caught Edward and tucked him beneath his arm, and put Geoffrey on his shoulders.

  “Wonderful.” Sir Arthur rubbed his palms together. “A true family outing.”

  “Except for William and Alice.” Faye tied a bonnet over Bess’s dusky curls. “When will they arrive?”

  “Any day now.” Like a war captain Kathryn took the lead. “But the weather in the north can be unpredictable, so perhaps it has delayed their travel plans.”

  The entire family, except Henry. Even Bahir joined them. As usual, he and Gregory had their heads together, faces grave as they discussed.

  “Should we wait for Henry?” Lady Mary looked at Alya.

  Alya had no idea, and her face heated. Henry had not even mentioned the outing to her. She stood, uncertain for a moment, in a crowd of people who all had someone. Having been stuck to her side for days, he chose now to be missing.

  “His loss.” Sir Arthur commandeered her hand and tucked it through his arm. He winked at Alya. “I am not stupid enough to let a pretty woman stand alone.”

  Roger glanced at Sir Arthur, shared a moment, and then the party moved forward.

  As they walked to the village Sir Arthur kept her entertained with all manner of stories. On her last walk this way she had been too caught up in Henry’s homecoming to notice much. Now she took the time to appreciate the natural beauty all around her. Even the sun came out and touched the land with gentle warmth. As if begging forgiveness for all the rain, everything about her threw out its best colors, almost sparkling under the sun,

  “Bahir tells me you are raised Christian.” Sir Arthur assisted her over a fallen log. “How is such a thing possible?”

  “My father is…was…Genovese. He accepted Islam to marry my mother, but insisted I be raised in his faith.” So, Henry had not spoken of her with his father. Despite his increased presence by her side, she still felt more separated from Henry than ever. The man at Anglesea differed from the man who had traveled all this way with her. She wished she understood why. At first, she had thought he spent time with his family, to try to recover what they had lost. But Henry spent most of his time alone. To understand him, he would have to speak with her, and he still did not care to do so.

  Sir Arthur patted her hand. “Do not fret about your father.” He had misread her expression, but she decided against correcting him. “Newt will find some answers for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  The villagers cheered as the Anglesea family entered a large green in front of the church. Lady Mary stopped to chat with everyone and, to a person, their delight at seeing her shone from their faces. She asked after children and aging parents, remembered illnesses and strife, and had time for everyone. Kathryn did the same, but she tended to be more direct and less tactful. The people loved her all the same. Swept into a knot of villagers, Beatrice and her children were also clear favorites.

  Sir Arthur stepped away to speak with the priest, and Alya found Garrett at her side. He watched Beatrice and his boys.

  “They love her here,” he said. “Some of them still have long memories about my plot to ruin her.”

  Alya had heard the story of Garrett and Bea, how he had set out to ruin her to punish her father. Yet, Garrett had fallen into his own trap.

  “But you are married now.” A couple of hard glances slid over Garrett.

  “Bea could have married a man of great influence and wealth.” Garrett spoke without rancor. “Some of the villagers believe she married beneath her.”

  Charming, handsome, clever, sharp-witted, and he adored Beatrice. Alya understood Bea’s choice. “What do you believe?”

  Garrett laughed. “I know she married beneath her, but that doesn’t mean I intend to give her back.”

  Spritely music came from a group of men near the middle of the green. They played instruments that looke
d similar to ones she knew. So light and full of vigor, the tunes they played made Alya want to tap her feet,

  Gregory led Bahir to the priest, and the two men shook hands. The priest eyed Bahir warily for a short while, but they were soon deep in a three-way conversation. Around the priest, Gregory and Bahir a clear space appeared.

  Gazes fastened on Bahir, some with interest, others with fear, and still others with outright hostility. Perhaps it had not been such a good idea for her and Bahir to join the family today.

  “Most of them have never seen someone like Bahir,” Garrett said. “All they know are the horror stories from the holy pilgrimages.”

  She had not realized her thoughts showed so clearly. “Perhaps we should return to the castle.”

  Garrett considered her words. “I think not,” he said. “This way the village sees that the Anglesea family extend their protection over Bahir.”

  Hostile gazes fixed on Bahir a cluster of men stood beside a large oak tree. “Will he need that protection?”

  Garrett’s gaze followed hers. “Ah! Our little group of malcontents. The family is much loved here. I would not think any will make trouble.”

  But he could not be sure. Alya could read the doubt in Garrett’s expression.

  “Garrett.” Bea waved him over from across the green. “Simon would like to show you something.”

  He excused himself and joined his wife.

  In amongst the other castle folk Alya stood alone for a moment. She wished Henry had joined them and strolled beside her.

  Averting her gaze, a young matron clutched her child closer and scuttled past her.

  Another older woman nodded a polite but distant greeting.

  Alya drifted along in the midst of Henry’s family.

  Faye tugged her to a woman who sold finely wrought hair combs.

  Alya admired the work, and pretended she did not notice the woman subtly pick up each item she had handled and wipe it before placing it down again.

  “Henry should be here,” Faye said as they moved on. “He should introduce his wife to the village.”