Warrior's Deception

by Hall, Diana

  Roen lifted the weight of his hand from Tyrus’s shoulder. He saluted the boy’s courage. “I apologize. You are correct. I should discuss this with Lady Lenora.”

  Tyrus opened one eye, then the other. The look of awe, then boyish bravado on the young stableboy’s face quirked a smile on Roen’s lips.

  “You think highly of your lady.” Roen stroked his chin with his hand. “’Tis commendable to find a lad so loyal, considering the lady in question’s behavior.”

  Tyrus forgave the nobleman and gave Roen an agreeing nod. “Think nothin’ of it.” He resumed his retreat from the hall. “There’s not much any of Woodshadow wouldn’t do for our lord and lady.”

  “Wait, boy.” Roen saw him stop in midstride. “I would have you go upstairs to the ladies’ quarters and give Lady Lenora a message from me.”

  “Can’t, Sir Knight.” Tyrus reached the handle and opened the door. “Lady Lenora ain’t up there no more. She’s surely out to the stable by now.” The boy slipped through the opening and pulled the door shut.

  He pondered the lad’s loyalty. Why were the people of Woodshadow so devoted to a lady who neglected her duties? Roen decided to follow Tyrus out the door. He rushed down the forebuilding steps and made out the small shape near the kitchen. A couple of long strides and the distance between him and the boy became negligible.

  From the kitchen, Roen heard loud, welcoming shouts greet the lad’s arrival. The boy ducked into the crowded structure and grabbed a trencher. Tyrus ladled out hot rich stew and began to shovel spoonfuls into his mouth. His mouth full, he wiggled into a seat on the long bench with his friends.

  Loud laughter and the smell of spiced wine spilled from the open door. A bawdy song was being mangled by several off-key singers. Roen noted the camaraderie and content of the villeins, the signs of a well-run keep.

  The question remained: by whose hand was the keep run? Sir Edmund was too ill, the steward was not always in his right mind, Beatrice was too timid, and Matilda was at best tolerated. As far as Roen could deduce, Lenora did not interest herself with the duties of the keep. Roen didn’t like riddles, he wanted answers, and he knew where to get them.

  He sprinted across the courtyard to the stable. It lay in darkness, save for one feeble light that flickered in the open window. Roen steeled his backbone, ready to confront the shrew. Approaching the stable, he mentally rehearsed a speech. He would make her see reason.

  “Nay, Tom! You can’t do this! Put away the knife.” Lenora’s desperate cries reached Roen. The warrior unsheathed the heavy broadsword from his belt and peeked through a knot in the wood. Shadowy light illuminated Lenora lying on the ground in a stall. Sir Edmund’s man, Tom, stood above her, his all-too-familiar dagger in his hand.

  “’Tis time,” Tom threatened while he edged closer to Lenora. Tears streamed down her face. Despair and sadness etched her face with breathtaking beauty. Roen slipped into the darkening shadows and inched closer.

  “Tom, please,” Lenora begged. She covered her face with her hands. “I cannot see this.”

  “Nor will you have to.” The tip of Roen’s sword rested lightly at the base of the old man’s neck. “So, I discover the traitor in Woodshadow’s midst, right at the lord’s side.” Roen emerged from the shadows. “Nora, come away from there.” He was pleased to see that for once she did as she was told.

  Lenora jumped up and thrust her body between him and the tired old stableman. She batted the sword away with the back of her hand. “What do you think you are doing?” Her redrimmed eyes flashed with anger. Behind her, an animal moaned and thrashed.

  Roen stared at her in disbelief. “Saving your worthless life.” He sheathed his sword as he reviewed Lenora. Copper-colored locks fell in alluring disarray. Hay straws clung to her hair. The compulsion to remove each one so that he could run his fingers through the silky strands almost overcame him. He seized the pommel of his sword to ensure his fingers would obey his mind and not the raw hunger in his loins. Roen’s anger flared when the swirl of Lenora’s dress displayed the rent in her kirtle and a puckering red welt.

  “’S all right, Lady Lenora. No ‘arm done.” Tom gave Roen a knowing nod. “The man’s edgy. ‘Tis why he’s still alive with the reputation he’s got.”

  Lenora’s attention was diverted by the mare. The animal’s moans grew more insistent. Tom gripped his dagger once more and Lenora’s eyes widened.

  Words tumbled from her quivering lips. “The foal is turned. Pray, help us to save her. Silver can’t die.” She squeezed his arms tightly and pleaded, “Roen, I need your help.”

  Lenora’s use of his name jolted his emotions unexpectedly. He sucked in his breath and felt her pleas sift into his heart, reawakening a long-dead part of it. He found he could not deny her.

  The mare tried to stagger to her feet. “Old man, keep the mare down,” Roen ordered. “Nora.” He subdued his voice. “I can’t promise you anything. If the mare needs to be put down, I’ll do it. The animal shan’t suffer needlessly.” Lenora bit her upper lip and nodded. Silent tears streamed down her face.

  Tom shuffled to Silver’s side while Lenora grabbed the rope halter. Roen clutched at her kirtle to stop her. “Lenora, step away.”

  Deaf to Roen’s command, she grasped the halter and attempted to lull her horse. “Easy, girl. Everything will be all right.” With gentle words and hands, Lenora eased the horse back down onto the hay. “There’s not much time. Do it now.” She cradled the mare’s head in her lap and whispered into the feathery softness of the animal’s ear. “Don’t worry, Silver. Roen will help you.” Lenora was surprised to find that she really believed it.

  Tom leaned against the mare’s middle with his hand against her tortured belly. “Get ready, I can feel another’n coming on.” Silver rattled out each labored breath.

  Lenora squeezed the prickly rope halter until her knuckles turned white. The strands of the hemp rope hurt her fingers but gave her something to concentrate on instead of the pain in her heart. A silent prayer on her lips, she sneaked a look at Roen. He knelt near her mare, one leg braced against the equine. Lenora raised her gaze to find his eyes searching her face. The tremor in her voice bespoke the Pentup emotion she fought to contain. “No matter what happens, thank you, Roen.”

  Silver thrashed out as the contraction possessed her body. The horse’s moans echoed in the tiny stall. Lenora fought to keep the mare still. Tom’s holler of “Pull!” could barely be discerned from the agonized cries of the horse and the physical straining of the three of them. The rope burned deeper into her palms. She heard Roen’s grunts as he reached to extract the small life from its mother’s womb.

  “I’ve got it.” Roen pulled and sweat beaded across his forehead. The biceps of his arms contracted as he tugged on the foal. Another contraction shook the mare, and he renewed his tug-of-war. Silver’s movements became more frantic. Roen gave one last pull. A coal black, wet foal slid out onto the hay and puffed rapid breaths of freedom. Its mother, suddenly released from her pain, moaned softly in Lenora’s lap.

  Through glistening, tear-filled eyes, she watched the newborn suck in life-giving air. The tiny rib cage expanded in short, jagged breaths. Tom threw Roen a rough grain sack and scooted over to Lenora. The gnarled stableman watched the tiny foal like a proud grandfather. “Look at ‘im, will ya? He’s a purty thing, right purty.”

  “He’s beautiful,” Lenora agreed. She reached over and gave her friend a fierce hug. Tom’s face crimsoned.

  “They’re not out of danger yet.” Roen dashed her rekindled hope as he dried his hands. He threw down the hemp sack and grabbed Silver’s halter. Flint gray eyes bored into Lenora’s as he yanked on the halter. “We have to get both of them up on their feet.”

  “Wait, let her rest,” Lenora protested. “She’s drained from this.”

  “We can’t. You know we need to do this.” Roen’s eyes flashed a gentle warning.

  New tears formed, and she nodded. As she rose from her cramped position, a
painful tingle coursed through her calves. She struggled to stand, but her legs caved in. Roen caught her easily.

  “Damn.” His voice was a husky whisper. The tip of his tongue brushed against the outside curl of her ear. She shuddered.

  Her body ached from fatigue but a yearning grew in her like a spring plant. And just as a new plant took nourishment from the sun and earth, the need inside of her desired nourishment, from Roen. Lenora leaned into the hard muscular torso next to her.

  Roen felt Lenora’s body fit so easily against his own. His mouth grew dry. He fought to control the desire to throw her down on the straw and ravish her. “Lenora.” He pried her from his body with gentle fingers. The absence of her body next to his caused an ache of emptiness in his chest. “We have to get the horses up. I need you to help. Talk to her, yell at her, whatever it takes.”

  Lenora stiffened, shame washed over her. How could she so easily forget Silver and the foal? Wiping her tears away, she sniffed and grabbed the halter next to Roen’s hand. “Tom, you help the colt.” Lenora took a deep breath and began to urge Silver up from the dirty hay. She started in a sing-song voice. “Come on, girl. Time to get up. I know you’re tired, love.” The only movement the mare made was to close her eyes. Panic flourished in Lenora’s heart.

  “Grab her tail.” Lenora gripped the halter with two hands and planted her feet firmly on the slippery stall floor. “Now!” she commanded. Roen pulled on Silver’s tail while Lenora screamed and tugged at her head. “Get up, you old lazy thing. Up, I say.” She kicked the horse hard under the breastbone. The mare’s eyes shot open. Lenora and Roen continued to pull and tug until Silver staggered to her feet.

  The mare swayed to and fro while Lenora and Roen leaned against the animal to steady her. They watched the tenacious colt take dainty steps toward them. He paused to view the two strange beings near his mother. After a long perusal, the colt’s hunger overcame the fear and he began to noisily slurp nourishment. Tom raked up the old bedding and replaced it quickly with clean, fresh-smelling straw. As the mare steadied, Roen brought clean water and feed to the groggy horse.

  Lenora shoulders ached, and her arms felt like leaden weights. The scratch on her leg stung and her head pounded with every step she took. The colt stepped on her toe as he maneuvered for a better angle to nurse. She gave the greedy newborn a tired smile.

  “Nora, you need to sit down.” Roen led her away from Silver. She was so tired she didn’t have the energy to correct Galliard’s pronunciation of her name. He guided her to a small bench outside the stall. Lenora sat and rested her head against the wall. Her eyes wouldn’t stay open. In a dreamlike state, she concentrated on hearing the conversation between Roen and Tom.

  “Ye think they’ll pull through?” Tom queried.

  “There could be complications. With a little good luck, there is an excellent chance both will be fine,” Roen answered.

  The words penetrated her sleep-draped reasoning and Lenora bolted awake. There had been too much bad luck at Woodshadow of late to leave anything to chance.

  “You’re right, Galliard. Silver is not out of danger yet. There could still be trouble. Tom, do you have any blankets here?”

  The two men eyed her in surprise. “There’s some horse blankets in the tack room but they got moth holes in ‘em as big as your fist,” Tom answered slowly, not yielding the information easily.

  “That will do. Pray, fetch them for me.”

  “Why?” Roen asked the question with lethal calmness. Tom limped off, determined to avoid the confrontation between two hot tempers.

  Relying on her lance of determination, Lenora met the knight’s gaze. Galliard was not her master, yet. Until that time he had no right to impose sanctions against her movements. Still, she hesitated before speaking, knowing the tempest that her words would bring.

  Chapter Nine

  “You will do no such thing. You will return to your room now.” Roen’s voice boomed through the murky stable.

  “Keep your voice down,” Lenora hissed. “You’ll disturb Silver and the colt.” She wagged her finger at Roen’s chest. “You don’t own me, Galliard. I do what I want in my own keep.” Catching sight of Tom, she instructed the stableman to drop the blankets near the pile of hay.

  “Take the blankets away.” Roen issued a countercommand. “Lady Lenora shan’t be in need of them.”

  In reply, she lifted the heavy blankets from Tom’s arms and began to spread them out on a pallet of hay near the mare’s stall.

  “What’s goin’ on ‘ere?” Tom asked.

  “Your lady—” Roen stressed the last word “—intends to spend the night in the stables like a common tavern wench.” He stepped on the edge of the blanket Lenora knelt on. “She plans to rest out here, alone, in case the mare needs her in the night. Would that she attended her duties to the castle as intently as she does this flea-bitten animal.”

  “Would that you had a heart instead of stone in your chest. Silver was my mother’s favorite mount. To me, the horse is more than an animal, she is a living remembrance of my mother’s love. To touch her is to touch that love. Can you not remember the love of your own mother and understand my concern?”

  His eyes turned cold, the color of a wind-buffeted hill devoid of life. His full mouth twisted into a scornful snarl, an animallike growl rumbled low in his throat. “My mother’s love? I do not waste my time on such maudlin frivolities. ‘Twas not love I learned at my mother’s knee. Though I will admit the lessons she taught me have served me better than that foolish sentiment.”

  Silence echoed in the velvety blackness of the stable. The glow of the candle illuminated the anguish on Roen’s face. Lenora felt that to understand his pain would take more light than a thousand candles could give. “I know not the story behind your words, Galliard. But I know mine. I have known that love and will protect the ‘foolish sentiment.’ I will rest here this night, and every night, until I am sure Silver is out of danger.” She refused to allow Roen to intimidate her.

  The loose boards shook from the shout he threw at her. “Woman, why do you refuse everything I tell you to do? Your mother should have taught you duty instead of babble. Tom can spend the night here. If the mare is in distress, he can help her.”

  The dry tinder of her temper sparked to a flame. “What my mother taught me is no concern of yours, Galliard, now or ever.” She unfolded a blanket with a loud crack. Silver neighed in the stall and Lenora brought her voice to a controlled calm. “Tom’s leg will give him trouble for sure if he sleeps on the cold ground. ‘Tis inconsiderate of you to even suggest such a thing. Besides, he alone could not handle her. He would still need help.”

  Roen fumed. He conceded her point but he wasn’t finished yet. “The man will find help.”

  Lenora paused while she positioned the harsh woolen blanket on top of the others. She met his eyes with her own warm sienna-colored ones. “Silver knows no other hand, before tonight, save my mother’s, Tom’s and mine. She allowed your hands on her because of our presence and her pain. In the night, with a new colt, the mare would stomp a stranger to the ground should they enter the stall.”

  Determined not to be swayed from her decision, Lenora fluffed hay in between the layers of blankets. “Tom, are there not a few more covers to be found? I fear ‘twill be a cool night.” She prayed Galliard would not pursue the issue further. The ache in her shoulders intensified, her jittery nerves were barely controllable.

  “Aye, there might be a blanket or two tucked in the loft.” Tom rose slowly; the night’s exertions weighed on him. As he turned, his damaged foot dragged the ground.

  “Sit, I can get them. You stay here and watch the horses.” Lenora steered Tom toward the bench, seizing the opportunity to escape Roen’s dark scowl.

  When Roen heard Lenora’s steps creak on the loft above, he plopped one foot on the bench and leaned an elbow against his bent knee. His voice seethed as he asked, “Why do you go against me, old man? You know as well as I her life is pe
rilous at best. She cannot spend the night out here alone.”

  Tom scratched his sparse beard. “’Cause I’m a-thinkin’ there just might be a need for a-watchin’ those two horses.”

  “The fact that someone is here in the barn is not going to save those horses,” he blurted out impatiently.

  Limping toward a neglected blanket and some wooden bowls beneath the stairs, Tom shrugged his shoulders. “It might not, then agin it might.” The faithful servant motioned to the nest beneath the stairs. “Lady Lenora’s dog kenneled ‘ere. He’s been a-missin’ for a time now. Don’t figure to ever see old Gladymer agin.”

  “What’s your point, old man?” Roen demanded,

  “Well, I’ll tell ya. Lady Lenora knew Silver might not live if’n she took with a foal. I watched that girl come every night and lock that gate. Yet that mare escaped her stall. Escaped, mind ya, not busted, ‘cause that lock weren’t broken. The morning we find Silver out in the pasture, that’s the morning Gladymer comes up missin’.”

  Roen did not miss Tom’s innuendo. “What purpose would be served by killing a dog and horse?”

  Tom shook his head in dismay. “I got one eye and can see better than anyone in this room. To drive Lady Lenora away. That girl don’t take to pretty baubles and things. She takes few things into her heart, but the ones she does are there for life. She holds her family and friends dear. There’s not anything she wouldn’t do for ‘em. If she lost that horse, her dog, her brother and her father, there ain’t no reason for her to want this here keep, ye see. Chances are, she’d up and leave and go back across the Channel to the queen. She’d give up control of Woodshadow and live on a trust her father set up fer her.”

  Roen’s mind analyzed the information. “If you’re right, then the traitor is someone who knows Lenora well. Someone with access to the stables. The scoundrel must be one of Sir Edmund’s own men. The question remains, who has bought the man’s loyalty?” Lenora’s steps could be heard moving toward the stairs. “We must convince her not to stay here. ‘Tis a risk. If someone tries to get at the horses, Lenora could be harmed.”