Releasing Henry

by Sarah Hegger

  “I know you are lying.” Henry paused to make sure she felt the impact of his best weapon. “But your father does not, and I would wager enough suitors believed you to have your father bring you here to Anglesea where we may not have heard the gossip.”

  Frowning, she chewed on her bottom lip. Then suddenly she tittered. It became a giggle and finally a full-throated laugh. “You are a lot cleverer than you look,” she said, still smiling. “I had you pinned as all steel and no head.”

  “You certainly do know how to get on the right side of a man.” She reminded him of Beatrice, tossing herself headlong into trouble. “Now tell me why you don’t want to get married.”

  With a pout, she folded her arms. “I lied. It was just you I didn’t want to marry.”

  “Elizabeth.” He used the same tone he would on Sweet Bea.

  “All right.” It worked better on Elizabeth as she scowled at him. “I do not want to get married because I do not want to be property of some man for the rest of my life.”

  Kathryn had felt the same about being married, but for very understandable reasons. Her father had been a bully and a brute. Could Sir James be the same? Henry did not sense cruelty in him, but you could not always know. He went for a simple, “Why?” and let her fill in the details.

  “Do you want to be somebody’s property?” Shoulders thrust back like a wrathful goddess she surged to her feet. “To be told what you must do and when you must do it?”

  “Nay.” His sisters had railed against this too often for him to disagree. The world they lived in was not fair to women and there was no painting it a prettier hue. “So you have been discouraging your suitors?”

  “Aye.” She shrugged. “I had to make it compelling enough for them not to see only this.” She waved a disparaging hand over her form.

  “Or your father’s wealth and influence, I would wager.” Henry patted the seat beside him. “What would you do if you were free to do whatever you wanted?”

  As if nobody had ever asked her that question, she gaped at him. “Not very much.” Blushing, she glanced away. “I do not have some grand dream.”

  “Tell me anyway.” Henry rather liked her, and current situation aside, aimed to see if he could help her.

  “I want a cottage.” She raised her head, her gaze daring him to mock her.

  Henry motioned her to continue.

  “I want a cottage and enough land to feed myself. I would like to grow fresh herbs and healing plants.” She raised and lowered her hands in a helpless gesture. “I have a gift for healing, and I would like to use it.”

  “I would see you use that gift, Lady Elizabeth.” Henry shuffled closer lest they be overheard. “I think we can help each other. If we do this right, you should get a cottage on my land to practice your healing, and I get to go and grovel before my wife.”

  Chapter 32

  Alya jerked awake, ears scouring the night for what had disturbed her. There it came again, voices raised in anger. The steady tramp of feet on cobbles.

  Light from torches turned the walls of her bedroom flickering orange.

  The door opened and Bahir slipped into her bedchamber. “There are villagers outside. I suggest we send to Anglesea for help.”

  “Villagers?” Alya hauled a shawl over her nightrail. She hissed a protest as her bed-warmed feet hit the cold stone floor. “What are they doing here?” As she hobbled toward her slippers, the rest of his speech penetrated her sleepy brain. “And why would we send to Anglesea?”

  Had the mighty castle not already cast them into hiding? And why was it always so cold in this country? Midsummer they called this and she still needed to wear a thick nightrail to bed. It was fine during the day, but at night, she reached for her furs. Every night.

  “Alya.” Bahir’s face grew graver than she had seen in a long time. “They are armed and look to be ready to make trouble.”

  That took her mind off her cold feet. “Does Newt know?”

  “He does,” Newt said, emerging from the dark so suddenly that Alya nearly screamed. “We have one or two guards but they’re older and wouldn’t be much good against this lot. I’ve sent Bernard on our fastest horse. This looks like it might get ugly.”

  “But why?” Alya tiptoed to the casement. Careful to stay out of sight, she peered into the courtyard. “What do they want?”

  Newt glanced up from strapping on his sword. “That is what I was about to ask them.” Missing his usual charming smile, he nodded to Bahir. “Make sure you stay out of sight until we know more.”

  “You can’t go out there alone.” Alya caught his arm.

  “It is better this way.” Newt glanced at Bahir. “Keep her safe. Do what you must.”

  The crowd reached the courtyard. Alya counted at least twenty heads bobbing in the flickering torchlight. One face jumped out at her, the man she was sure she had recognized the other day. Features contorted into harsh, angry lines, he snarled at his companions.

  People around him nodded, renewed purpose in their faces.

  As he approached the front door, he dropped out of sight. Shortly after pounding sounded down the corridor.

  Standing dead still, Alya held her breath to hear better.

  Newt opened the door. “Good evening, Miller. What do you mean by this?”

  “I want that black devil.” Miller grew louder. “I want him strung up for all to see because of what he’s done.”

  Alya glanced at Bahir. He had not been to the village since that night they had sneaked home together.

  Frowning, Bahir shook his head.

  “You are going to have to provide more detail than that.” Newt’s voice remained calm but each word held steel. “What is it you think he has done?”

  “I do not think it.” Shouts of support rose from the crowd in the courtyard. Light flashed off axes, scythes, hoes and pitch forks. The men of Anglesea village had come armed. Dear Lord let Bernard ride swift and true. Even then it would take the men of the castle hours to arrive.

  “You must run.” She pinched Bahir’s arm to get his attention. “Run and hide. It’s you they want. If you are not here they will leave.”

  “If I am not here, they might turn their anger on to you.” Bahir touched her cheek. “And that I cannot risk, habibti.”

  “But they will kill you.” Alya needed him to see reason. The mob outside was beyond that. “You are all that I have. I cannot let them get to you.”

  “Nay, habibti.” He kissed her forehead. “You have an entire family now. You are angry with them currently because you feel they are ashamed of you but you will get past this. They will learn and you will learn.”

  “I am still waiting to hear about this grievous wrongdoing.” Newt spoke from the door. “But I must warn you before you speak. Bahir is my friend and therefore I will hear no false accusations against him.”

  “Your friend raped my girl,” Miller yelled.

  The crowd bayed for blood.

  “He raped her and put his rotten seed in her.”

  If she had not been so frightened, Alya would have laughed. The absurdity of it was staggering. Then again, Newt had not known what a eunuch was.

  “I am sorry your Ann was hurt,” Newt said. “But it is impossible for this to have happened.”

  “My girl told me which devil did this to her.” Miller pounded the door. “And now I want him to pay for what he’s done.”

  “My dear, Miller.” Newt gentled his tone. “Let me explain why this is impossible.”

  * * * *

  Henry seated Lady Elizabeth at dinner before taking his seat beside her. They had yet to come up with a plan that would satisfy all parties. Her father wanted her safely married and out of the eye of the king’s already gossiping courtiers. Elizabeth had no intention of marrying anyone.

  A commotion arose from outside the hall. “Boy!”

  “Stop!”

  Bernard dashed into the hall. Behind him came two of th
e guards, but the lad was quick and slipped by them. When he spotted Henry, he made straight for him.

  “Sir Henry.” His thin chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. “Newt sent me. Must come. Villagers.”

  “Take a deep breath.” Henry grabbed his goblet from the table and held it to Bernard’s lips. “Drink.”

  He forced himself to wait until Bernard had drunk enough and calmed his breathing. For Newt to send a message could not be good.

  A frowning Roger joined them. “What is it?”

  “The villagers.” Bernard’s eyes were huge in his pale face. “They marched on the manor. They have weapons. Newt bade me tell you to bring the men. You will need them.”

  “What is it?” Sir James rose. A man now past his prime but still strong and fighting able.

  “Call up the men.” Henry looked to Roger. If they touched Alya, he would spill enough blood to make the pilgrimage look tame.

  Roger turned and bellowed his orders. “I want every man armed and mounted in the bailey. Now.”

  Kathryn rushed to them. “Is Alya all right?”

  “Newt has her and her man in the manor, and he says he will keep them locked inside,” Bernard said. “But the villagers are shouting that they want Bahir.”

  “Dear Lord.” Kathryn paled and glanced at Roger. “Alya will never let them take Bahir.”

  “Who is Alya?” Sir James pounded the table. “And Bahir? It sounds like a barbarian name.”

  “Bahir is our guest. Sir James.” Regal and lovely in dark blue satin, Lady Mary rose. She motioned for Sir James to take his seat. “He joins us from Egypt. He traveled here with my son and his wife.”

  “Eh?” Sir James allowed himself to be guided into his seat.

  “Aye.” Lady Mary motioned a serving man to refill Sir James’s goblet. “We have something to tell you and you will not be best pleased to hear it.”

  Lady Elizabeth ran to them. “What is it?”

  “The manor housing Henry’s wife has come under attack,” Kathryn said.

  “Henry’s wife?” Sir James rose and sat again. “Henry does not have a wife.”

  Lady Mary murmured to him, and he fell silent again.

  “Can I help?” Elizabeth looked at him.

  Henry appreciated the offer. “Frankly, my lady. I pray we do not need your help.”

  * * * *

  Henry tore out of Anglesea with the men already mounted on his heels. A hard wind at their backs drove them forward as if nature too urged him to reach the manor. He did not have time to wait for the remainder of Roger’s men to be ready.

  Newt could fight like the very devil but he would not be able to hold off the twenty-odd men Bernard estimated were at the manor.

  Sir James rode by his side. His men having not long arrived mustered faster than Roger’s. Henry knew not why Sir James joined them, but he needed all the help he could get.

  With no guiding light from the moon, they galloped blind. Henry relied on his horse’s memory of having traveled this path many times. Amongst the thunder of hooves and the husk of horses’ breath there was no place for speech.

  “Look.” Sir James pointed.

  An umber smudge stained the broiling clouds on the horizon.

  Only fire made that sort of light and it would have to be a big one for them to see it from here. Henry’s heart lodged in his throat, and for a moment his vision went hazy.

  “Breathe!” Sir James bellowed at him. “You are no good to her if you don’t get there in one piece.”

  As they rode Henry kept his eyes trained on that growing orange-brown stain. He prayed. Disjointed phrases and words he had not uttered in so long tasted foreign on his tongue.

  They crested the last rise and the manor wavered into view. One half of the building was alight. As one they spurred their tired horses forward.

  * * * *

  Alya screamed. Powerless, almost blinded by her tears she scraped up handfuls of mud and tossed them at the last of the departing villagers. The impotence of her actions only made her cry harder. The cowardly whoresons had finally stopped and turned tail with the news that Anglesea came. In her rage Alya could chase them all back to the village and cut them down. But she had no time. A storm threatened to break and around her the damage wrought by the cowards demanded immediate action.

  Stomach churning, she took a deep breath and faced the carnage. Three household guards lay dead or beaten badly enough that they could not rise. Orange and yellow light from the burning manor painted tongues over their inert forms.

  And Jamila. Her sweet friend who had tried so hard to stop them. Not caring for her life, Jamila had tried to defend her. A sob lodged in her throat. She could not think on that now. She must help the living and see if she could keep them that way. Did God not know that she had no healing skills, knew barely anything?

  Thunder rumbled around her as she dragged her skirts through the churned red-stained mud. Refusing to believe what Newt told them and denying that they could be wrong about Bahir, the villagers had fought savagely.

  This England of Henry’s might have killed Bahir and she cursed the day she had come here. Cursed the rain and the green, growing things. Cursed the small-minded villagers and their angers and their fears. Cursed them all.

  Water! She ran to the well and drew water. Needing both hands, she dragged the heavy bucket to Bahir and Newt.

  Stripped, arms tied above him, Bahir bled from countless wounds inflicted on him. His chest rose and fell with his breathing, and she clung to that morsel of hope.

  At Bahir’s feet, Newt lay, his blood mingling with Bahir’s.

  He had gone down fighting like an animal. Taking his fair share as he went, eventually Newt had succumbed to the sheer overwhelming numbers.

  “Don’t you die on me, Newt.” Alya pressed her ear to his heart. “I am not from here. If you die, I will dig you up and make you sorry.”

  Newt tried to smile, but choked and coughed up blood.

  No healer, Alya knew that could not be good. Blood seeped from wounds in his head, his belly, his arms and legs. So much blood that his tunic was sticky and soaked with it.

  “God!” She ripped a section of her skirts. “If you are up there and listening to me, I need you to save this man.”

  Newt caught her wrist. His mouth worked as he tried to produce sound.

  Alya leaned closer to his lips.

  “Bahir.”

  “I will check him next.” Alya ripped off more of her skirts as she tried to staunch the blood flow. “I need you to stop bleeding so I can do that.”

  “Like…oblige.” A ghost of a normal smile flitted across Newt’s face and ended in a grimace of pain.

  Hanging over them, Bahir dropped his head on a soft groan. She had to tend to him, but hers were the only hands in sight. The other men and servants had run off early in the fight.

  Wind tugged at her tattered skirts. Dark clouds boiled overheard. Rain, such a sign of hope in her home country and now she cursed it.

  “Nay.” Raising her head, she screamed at the sky as if she could stop nature by her force of will alone. She forbade the rain, forbade Newt or Bahir to die.

  Using her sleeves, she wiped their faces, pressing the damp cloth to their lips so they could drink. The bindings bit into Bahir’s wrists and she wanted to take him down. But she had not the strength to lower him without him falling on Newt.

  If she could brace his body somehow, and lower him gently.

  Blood seeped through the cloth she had placed over Newt’s wounds. Alya ripped another section from her skirts and replaced the blood-soaked cloths. Some of the wounds no longer bled, and she snatched up that tiny thread of hope and clung to it.

  Somehow she would get all of them out of this. The villagers would not enjoy the knowledge of having bested her. And when she did recover from this, she would make them rue the day.

  More thunder rolled around her and sho
ok the ground beneath her feet. Nay. Not thunder but hoofbeats.

  “We are saved.” She took Newt’s face in her hands. “Do you hear the horses, Newt? Do you hear them?”

  Over the rise to the east of the manor they came, so many they stretched from one side of the horizon to the other. Heads rising and falling with the motion of their mounts, the men of Anglesea rode to the rescue.

  Except they were too late. Newt and Bahir were gravely injured, three good men lay dead, and her Jamila. Alya could not even bear to think what had happened after the man had kicked her and tossed her body across the courtyard.

  “Bahir.” She pushed his head back so he could see the approaching riders. “See they are coming to our aid.”

  Too late.

  Riders streamed down the rise. In the front, Henry rode bare-headed, his gold hair easily identifiable. Her gaze fixed on him and didn’t move.

  Before his horse had stopped, he leaped from the saddle. Flinging himself toward her, he did not stop until his hands covered her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

  “Aye.” Physically she was fine, but now that rescue had arrived all she wanted to do was collapse in a heap and weep until she felt well again. “Newt and Bahir are hurt.”

  “We see them.” Henry wrapped her against his chest and rocked her. “We will take care of them.” Strong emotion clogged his voice. “I was so frightened for you. The entire ride I feared the worst.”

  A beautiful woman appeared behind Henry. “We need to care for these two.”

  Alya was sure she had never seen this woman before. She scoured her memory for something connected with this woman.

  Sir Roger came up beside her. “See what you can do, Lady Elizabeth.”

  The name of the woman who had come to marry Henry. He had brought Elizabeth here where Alya had known more fear than ever before in her life. Even aboard ship, when they were attacked had been nothing compared to the unrelenting rage of the villagers. They had wanted to hurt, deliberately and cruelly. After they had overpowered Newt, a couple had sought to punish him for his interference.