Releasing Henry

by Sarah Hegger

  Giving Faye a noncommittal smile, she pretended interest in a group of girls dancing to the music. Henry should be here and he had said nothing of leaving her alone today.

  As they drew nearer, a group of three women abruptly stopped talking. They greeted Faye and her, but Alya felt their eyes on her back as they passed.

  “So dark…”

  “…heathen…”

  “What was Sir Henry thinking?”

  Each word burrowed its barbed point in her breast. And so did each subsequent whisper she heard throughout the day.

  Smiling, even laughing when appropriate, Alya hid her seething, wounded pride. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry, or let them know how their words affected her.

  Beneath the large central tree stood Bahir, a pretty, plump girl speaking to him and tossing her golden ringlets.

  With a smile Bahir shook his head.

  The girl grabbed his arm and attempted to pull him into the dance.

  “Ann!” A large man marched through the dancers and pulled the girl away. Over his shoulder he shook his fist at Bahir. “Stay away from her, devil.”

  Bahir had done nothing. Outrage propelled Alya and she hurried over and stood beside Bahir. “Trouble?”

  He shrugged. “She is just a silly young girl with a taste for trouble.”

  When the dancing started, she and Bahir stood to one side. Some older women sat on benches a little way from them and glanced and whispered at them. Alya slipped her hand into Bahir’s.

  He squeezed her hand back. “Keep your head up, Lady Alya. In their ignorance, they are unworthy of you.”

  “I hate them all.” Angry tears stung her eyes and she dropped her head to hide them.

  “Nay.” Bahir’s deep voice rumbled in the near dark. He spoke in Arabic so only she understood. “You despise their ignorance and hate the hurt and humiliation it causes you.”

  Alya bit her tongue, because right now she remained certain she hated the entire village. Every whispering, staring, giggling, sign of the cross making one of them. They did not even ask if she shared a god with them. They assumed otherwise.

  “Come.” Bahir took her arm. “Let us slip away quietly.”

  Alya was more than ready to do so.

  Bahir raised his hand to Gregory.

  Clear understanding on his face Gregory nodded.

  “Let us go.” Bahir drew her further into the shadows of the green. They left the light and laughter behind them as they hurried through the near silent village. A dog barked at them as they passed.

  They made the outskirts of the village unnoticed.

  Three young men swaggered toward them on the road leading to the castle.

  One noticed and nudged his fellows. All three men stopped, blocking the path.

  “Look,” the middle one said. “It is our new lady.” He drew the word “lady” out with a sneer.

  “Lady of what?” The largest of the three grabbed his crotch. “Lady of Sir Henry’s cock is all.”

  The three laughed.

  Bahir tensed and dropped into a fighting stance.

  “Leave it.” Alya grabbed his arm and tugged. “It does not matter what they think, and I do not want to cause trouble.” This ended a truly horrible day and she only wanted to get back to her chamber and hide.

  Bahir frowned, then nodded. He led her closer to the three men.

  Chests puffed like barnyard roosters, the men stayed in the path.

  “Look!” The loudmouth crotch grabber nudged his friends. “Do you think she is lady of his black cock as well?”

  With the ring of metal, Bahir drew his sword.

  Fear sent the men stumbling back, tripping over each other.

  Alya felt a surge of satisfaction.

  “Stand aside,” Bahir said. “The Lady Alya and I would pass. Do not make me cut a path through you.”

  As she and Bahir hurried the rest of the way to the castle, Alya held her emotions inside. Who were they to speak that way to her? She had done nothing to them. Done nothing to all those villagers who would not deign to speak to her or even look at her. Yet they said plenty amongst themselves. They smirked, sneered, and snickered together like she was an oddity to be prodded and poked at. Bahir’s humiliation seared through her too. The only reason Bahir was here was because of her. If she had not married Henry, they would both be gone by now. Gone where, she did not know. Her foolish girlish heart had not stopped to consider any of this. Instead, she had gazed upon Henry’s beauty and wanted it for herself. The cost was too high.

  Bahir stopped her before she could climb the stairs to her chamber. “The problem lies with them, not you.”

  She nodded and moved her arm free of his hold. Keeping her spine straight and her chin raised, she climbed the stairs. Aye, ignorant, stupid, dirty peasants they were, but they had stood in judgment of her and Bahir and found them wanting. So, aye, the problem might have started with them, but it burned in her belly.

  Chapter 25

  As he walked into the hall, tension slammed into Henry. He had spent the day riding, and eventually stumbled on the manor house Garrett and Beatrice would move into once it was restored. Fascinated by the work he’d stayed longer than expected. Even shedding his tunic to join in and then spent the remainder of the day working alongside the men. There was something predictable and comforting about working with your strength beside other men.

  Roger spotted him first and stood, fists clenched at his side. “Where the bedamned have you been?”

  Suppressing his gut reaction to bite back, Henry said, “I spent the day at the old manor house. Working.”

  “Jesu!” Roger spun about and kicked a stool across the hall. “I could break your stupid head.”

  Tired, hungry, his muscles aching, Henry nearly took his brother up on the offer.

  “It is my fault.” Kathryn touched Roger’s arm. “I should never have insisted she go with us.”

  “Do you see that?” Roger bellowed. He charged toward Henry. “My wife is blaming herself for something that is your fault.”

  “What are you talking about?” Henry glanced at Kathryn.

  Grabbing him by the tunic, Roger hauled him to his toes. “I am talking about your wife.”

  “Alya.” Henry ripped himself free, and shoved away from Roger. He didn’t want to fight, but if Roger didn’t back down, this was going to end that way. “Get your sodding hands off me and tell me what this is about.”

  “It’s about your wife going to the village and being treated like a diseased dog,” Roger shouted, his face going red. “It’s about her being there without you to stand in support of her and being treated like she has the pox.”

  Not really believing what he heard, Henry stared from one face to the other.

  Kathryn dropped her eyes.

  Beatrice turned away from him and into Garrett’s embrace.

  Faye and Gregory glanced at each other.

  His father scowled.

  Mother met his eyes, hers full of a silent rebuke.

  “What happened?”

  Mother rose and looked at the others. “Let me speak with Henry.” She raised her hand. “Alone.”

  Grumbling, Roger nodded, took Kathryn’s hand, and left the hall. The rest of the family trailed behind them.

  Henry faced his mother. The disappointment on her face cut deeper than any of Roger’s bluster and threats. “Tell me.”

  In a calm voice, Mother told him about the trip to the village. How the village had rejected Alya, some barely bothering to conceal their antipathy. How they had treated Bahir even worse. Even of the three thugs who had stopped Bahir and Alya on their way back to the keep, and then had told their story about their encounter loud enough for the story to reach Mother’s ears. Village rumor now had Bahir as the aggressor in an innocent encounter on the part of the three men. “If I didn’t know Bahir, I might even believe them,” Mother said.

 
; Henry could barely look at her. “I should have been there.”

  “Aye, you should have.” Mother laid her hand on his arm. “You should have been by your wife’s side to make it clear to everyone that she was your choice and you stood by her.” She sighed and dropped her hand. “Instead, they saw a foreign woman standing with your family.”

  He had never lied to his mother successfully, and now stuck him as a bad time to start. “I forgot about the fair. I went for a ride to clear my thoughts.” His excuses sounded pathetic, even to him. “I thought she would be fine with the family.”

  “You thought wrong.” Mother smoothed her skirts. “You are not a cruel man, Henry. I do not pretend to understand why you left your wife open to ridicule like that. At best, I can hope it was thoughtlessness.”

  “I apologize.” It seemed woefully inadequate, and the insincerity behind it made him flinch. If he could take back what Alya must have suffered, he would. However, if that meant spending the day at the fair with the family, he could not in truth say he would do that. Instead he would have persuaded Alya not to go and remained with her within the castle. Trying to keep up the pretense of his old self was torturous enough before a family he loved. Faced with an entire village, he would crack and they would see the rot that lay beneath the shiny exterior of what used to be Henry of Anglesea.

  “We both know your apology is not for me.” Mother sighed and patted his chest. “I think you need to speak to Roger as well. He is rather upset with you. He says you are not taking up your duties as chamberlain.”

  “I have no excuses.” Another area in which he failed. All his inadequacies slunk closer and settled about his shoulders, but his old life constricted like a poorly fitting skin.

  Finally, she said, “I miss my son.” Tears glittered in her eyes. “Nothing can compare to the pain when I thought you lost forever. Yet, here you stand and still I miss my son.”

  Her son had died on a distant battlefield, trampled beneath the hooves of a destrier and ground into the mud along with the rest of the gore and blood. He had no words to comfort her. Here, in the place where he should feel at home, Henry only felt more lost than ever. Neither Lady Mary’s Henry, nor slave, he struggled to acquaint himself with this new man. In the midst of this, he found himself now husband to a woman whom he had never thought to have. He woke every morning with the dull blade of dread twisting in his chest. This day would surely be the day she discovered how unworthy he was.

  Trying to strip past his armor and see what she sought, his mother studied him.

  Henry shrugged.

  The sadness on her face another rebuke to add to the stripes across his flesh, Lady Mary stepped away. He failed his mother too.

  On leaden legs, he climbed the stairs to his chamber.

  A lone taper cast fitful light across the chamber. Alya lay in the bed, fast asleep. Tearstains spotted the pillow beneath her cheek. She had cried herself to sleep. Damn him for having failed her. Damn all of them for having made his Alya cry.

  Rage drove him out of the keep. Rage at himself and rage at every accursed, misguided, ignorant pig who had cast a slur upon Alya. Alya was his girl on the wall, his dream, his salvation. How dare they make her cry?

  Too impatient to wait for a horse to be saddled, he ran to the village. Sweat streamed down his face, his heart pounded and still the anger pulsed through him. At the inn, he flung open the door.

  Conversation stopped and faces turned toward him.

  “Sir Henry.” Harrow bowed him into his inn. “Welcome.”

  Henry nodded. He had come here to find someone.

  Hunched amongst his cohorts, Patrick had his head down.

  In five paces Henry reached him and ripped him from his seat. Twisting his tunic neck, he slammed Patrick onto the table.

  Benches and tables clattered over as people scattered.

  “You.” Henry shook Patrick like a rat.

  Patrick stared at him, his face pale, sweat prickling along his brow. “Sir Henry?”

  “You dared to speak to my wife in that manner.”

  Patrick opened and shut his mouth. He glanced toward his friends.

  “I will get to them.” Henry pounded Patrick onto the table. “Once I have dealt with you. Tell me the names you called my lady. Tell me the things you said to her.”

  “I…I…did not mean anything by it.”

  “When you humiliate my lady, you humiliate me.” Henry fastened his hand about Patrick’s throat. “Is that what you intended, Patrick?’

  “N-nay, my lord.” Eyes wide with fear, Patrick wriggled on the table.

  “Release him, Henry.” Garrett appeared at Henry’s side. He put his hand about Henry’s wrist and tugged. “He is just a boy, Henry. Let him go.”

  The desire to squeeze roared through Henry, to tighten his fingers and press until Patrick’s face filled with blood, then blackened.

  “Get off him.” Garrett thrust his face in Henry’s. “Get off him. Now.”

  Henry released Patrick.

  Patrick rolled off the table and fell to his knees. Coughing and rasping, he crawled away amongst the shocked crowd.

  Folk he had known since childhood stared at him as if he were the monster. Silent condemnation. Disappointment in all their faces. Well, he had his own disappointment to air. In all of them.

  “I brought my lady to Anglesea where I promised her she would be safe.” He met each gaze in turn. Many could not hold his stare and slithered away. “You all made a liar of me. You rendered my vow puny and untrustworthy.”

  “Henry.” Garrett clasped his elbow. “Your point is made.”

  Turning his back on them, Henry strode into the night.

  Garrett followed him. “What the hell ails you?”

  Not calm enough to speak yet, Henry breathed deep. He marched through the village, driving his boot heels into the soft earth, wishing he could grind his own stupidity beneath them. Patrick had done wrong, aye, and he deserved to be called to account for disrespecting a lady. But Henry’s anger lay not with stupid boys, it lay with himself. More than any of them, he had failed Alya. He had brought her here and left her to their scorn and derision.

  He stopped, his breath coming harsh and leaned against the support of an ancient elm.

  “What is it?” Garrett joined him. Dark shadows drew pools of mystery over his face, but Henry could picture the concern in Garrett’s eyes.

  “I should not have done it.”

  “Nay, you should not have.” Garrett put his hands on his hips. “That boy cannot fight you, and even if he could he would not because of who your father is.”

  “Not that.” Henry thudded his head against the tree, wishing he could bash some sense into himself. “Aye, that, but not just that. I should not have let her come to the village alone today. I should have been with her.”

  Garrett shifted. “Why were you not?”

  “I was out pleasing myself.”

  “Ah.” Garrett nodded. “Let us return to the castle. Alya needs you now more than ever.”

  Henry slipped through the silent castle and into his bedchamber. Not wanting to disturb Alya, he disrobed by the light of the fire and slid into bed.

  Alya lay in a tight ball with her back to him.

  He eased himself around her, tucking her back against his heartbeat. In his arms, she lay sleeping, so fragile and vulnerable. His to protect, to cherish, to keep. Blast him to hell but he knew not how. He knew not how to be the man she needed. Fear lying just beneath the surface of his skin rose and gained a chokehold about his throat. He had failed when he had gone on pilgrimage. Failed to see the truth of what he had been a part of until it was too late. Failed to stop the atrocity, failed to prevent the needless deaths. In his failure, slavery had seemed a just and perfect repentance. He had failed his God, failed his family, betrayed his roots and now he teetered on the precipice of failure once again.

  How could a man with no soul be the ma
n Alya deserved?

  Chapter 26

  Alya woke with Henry still beside her the next morning and lay quiet for a moment listening to the steady in and out of his breathing, absorbing the warmth of his body. Like a lead weight in her chest, the heaviness with which she had gone to bed the night before lay still within her.

  As a girl, she had always known her place in the world, the adored and indulged daughter of a wealthy merchant. Servants had pampered and taken care of her. Her future lay secure in the loving hands of her father.

  Between one blink and the next, all that had changed, tumbling her into a series of events that had led to her here now. At Anglesea she had no worth apart from the man beside her and she did not think she had worth for him, other than as a warm body.

  “You are awake.” Henry’s breath stirred the hair at her nape.

  “Aye.”

  Arm tightening about her middle, he took a deep breath. “I heard about yesterday.”

  “Where were you?” She cursed the peevish tone in her voice.

  Propping himself on his elbow, Henry looked down at her, his eyes sincere. “Not where I should have been and for that I must beg your pardon.”

  “They hate me.”

  “They do not know you.” He kissed her temple. “And I am to blame for that as well.”

  A horn blared from outside the casement.

  Henry stilled and listened. With a quick kiss, he rolled out of bed and went to the casement.

  Alya took advantage of his naked form. Despite her complaints, she had married a fine-looking man.

  “It is William.” Henry turned and grinned at her. “My brother William has arrived.”

  He trotted for the door.

  “Henry!”

  He stopped and turned to her.

  Alya laughed. “Clothe yourself first.”

  Henry threw on his clothes and hurried from the room.

  Alya dressed slowly. She would give him time to greet his brother without her. After yesterday, she found herself less eager to meet the final member of the Anglesea family. Even knowing he would probably be much the same as the others, she harbored the smallest tendril of fear that he would be as the villagers.