Warrior's Deception

by Hall, Diana

  “Nay, we cannot. ‘Tis the middle of the day.”

  His answer was to drop to her side and tear the sheet from her bosom. The torridness of his gaze caused her breasts to tighten, and her body rejoiced at the anticipated pleasure. A blush covered her face and traveled down her chest.

  They lay amidst the rumpled coverings and the soft, snowlike down. He blew gently on her face and brushed away a feather caught on her lashes.

  “Roen, to satisfy one’s lust in the middle of the day is not proper.”

  “I know.” His lips began to nibble her ear.

  “Then I will probably like this very much.” Lenora sighed and succumbed to her body’s and her husband’s desires.

  Roen heard the commotion outside the door. He had expected this moment since early morn. His hand pulled a velvet cover across Lenora’s nakedness. She frowned in her sleep when he moved from her embrace. He tucked the cover around her and gave her a light kiss.

  Her hair tumbled about her head, a delightful tangle of curls and feathers. Her skin glowed from his lovemaking like a golden statue come to life. Last night had been magnificent; they had coupled three fiery times. ‘Twould be enough for any man, yet this morning when she touched him, the fire of his lust rekindled. His arousal was just as strong the last time as it had been the first. The heady night of passion made what must come even more difficult.

  He rose from the floor and pulled on his tunic and hose. Heedless of the haste required, Roen etched the image of his sleeping wife in his mind. This picture and the memories of last night would have to satisfy him for the rest of the lonely nights ahead. From his pocket he pulled a scrap of stained white cloth. With reverence he placed it among the coverlets on the bed.

  Roen opened the door to his bedchamber and gentled the sound of the closing door. His wife needed her rest to face the sorrow that would soon come her way.

  “Get your hands off of me. I am a noble-born lady. I’ll have you flogged for this,” Matilda screeched at the man stationed outside the newlyweds’ door. She turned her wrath on Roen as he stepped into the hall. “You murdered my brother-in-law.”

  Roen gripped the hysterical woman’s upper arm and propelled her down the stairs, away from Lenora’s hearing. He motioned for his man to remain on guard. “Tell me when my wife wakes. Bring her straight to me.”

  “Aye, bring her to him so he can fill her ears with lies. Don’t think you’ll get away with this. The king will hear of this atrocity.” Matilda continued to rant, her voice rising and falling in pitch.

  “Tell him what you want, but leave this castle now.” They reached the bottom step and found Beatrice and Hamlin waiting by the hearth. His men stood uneasily around them. The knights of Sir Hywel mingled about the room. They eyed him and his guardsmen with suspicion.

  “Hamlin, were my orders carried out?”

  “Aye, Roen, to the letter. Sir Edmund’s stallion returned a few minutes ago.” Hamlin hesitated, then added, “The horse was riderless. I’ve sent no men to look for him as you directed.” Hamlin lowered his voice. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  Roen shook his head, “’Twas never a question of my wants, but of Sir Edmund’s. I promised the old man he would die in the saddle, not wasting away as an invalid.”

  “Do you see? He admits his treachery! Sir Hywel, I command you to slay this man and avenge your lord.” Matilda swept her arm out and pointed her long bony finger at Roen.

  Sir Hywel instead looked at the stairs behind her. The room hushed. Roen knew without turning who stood upon the steps. His guard rushed ahead, an apologetic look on his face. “My lord, your lady.”

  “What goes on here?” Lenora demanded. Roen turned to answer. He could see the confusion in her eyes and hear the fear in her voice. She tied and retied the belt of her robe.

  “You’ve been fornicating with your father’s murderer.” Matilda’s shrill voice caused Roen to squint his eyes. “He kept you entertained on your back while he arranged to rid himself of Sir Edmund.” His wife’s eyes widened.

  “What has happened to my father?” She raced down the steps and stood in front of him. He wanted to lie and tell her everything was fine. To sweep her up in his arms and return to the sanctuary of their bedroom. Instead, he answered, “He’s dead.”

  Roen caught her in his arms as her knees gave way. Tears streamed from her grief-filled eyes.

  “Nay, how could this be?”

  “Because your husband had him murdered,” Matilda proclaimed. Her obvious joy at Lenora’s pain bordered on obscene. For the first time in his life, Roen seriously considered striking a woman.

  “Lenora, sit down. I’ll explain.” He settled her on a bench and held her hands in his. “Your father begged me to allow him to die with dignity. He wanted you to remember him as a strong, healthy man, not an invalid. The night you agreed to marry me, he told me of his plans. He rode out on Jupiter early this morning and died like a warrior.”

  Lenora stared at him in shock. She recoiled from the touch of his hands. “You agreed to this? Why didn’t you tell me? Sir Hywel, order a search party.”

  “Nay.” Roen spoke with a gentle but firm tone. “Your father rode deep into the wood and requested his death be a private affair. I gave him my word his last orders would be fulfilled.

  “But I could have stopped him!”

  “Perhaps this time, but what of the next, or the time after? The man had pride—you yourself told me. Do you think he really wanted to waste away in front of your eyes? To have you see him die a little every day?”

  “Pretty lies. I tell you he planned it,” Matilda screeched at her niece and the knights. “Now there is no question as to who is lord here. Everything has fallen into his lap quite well, even the daughter of the keep.”

  She grabbed Beatrice’s hand and pulled her to stand in front of Lenora. “Why do you think he insists on keeping my daughter here? To be your lady-in-waiting? Aye, he has her waiting, to fill his bed when you’re swollen with child. Look at her and tell me he would want you when Beatrice is around. If she had been next in line to inherit, suffer no doubt, ‘twould be Beatrice he kept in bed till the noon sun rose, not you.”

  Lenora didn’t answer. The hall waited in silence, even Matilda. A childhood memory flashed. She had climbed the big oak, dared by her brother. Determined to reach the top, she ventured out onto a weak branch. The sharp crack of it breaking, the vision of the fast-approaching ground, her scream all resounded in her mind. Then her father’s arms caught her, saved her. He simultaneously scolded her and hugged her, meted out a punishment for her foolish act and thanked God for sparing her. Last night, she could have repaid the debt to her father, saved him from an unwise decision.

  Her eyes met Roen’s. He had promised to be like the lifesaving arms of her father; instead he proved to be the weak branch, catapulting her into misery.

  “Lady Lenora?” Sir Hywel stood near her. Sharp, focused eyes asked a silent question. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword. In unison, all her knights assembled widened their stances in preparation for battle.

  Neither Roen nor his men moved. Weaponless, her husband waited. Hamlin gently pushed Beatrice toward the stairs. Matilda scurried away from her position near Roen and Lenora.

  Lenora wanted to scream, to cry, to strike the giant in front of her hard enough to bring him to his knees. He stood there, impassive, uncaring that he had just helped to deprive her of her father. Yet she must put aside her wants. Woodshadow must come first. Destroy Roen now, and she left the keep vulnerable to a takeover by another, perhaps worse tyrant. Nor could she doubt his orders. Either action would put Woodshadow in a vulnerable position.

  “Roen de Galliard is my husband, Lord of Woodshadow.” The statement answered her seneschal’s question. Still, he kept his hand on the pommel of his weapon. “All his orders are to be carried out as directed. Now leave us.” Lenora’s voice echoed in the silence.

  “My lady, I do not think that is wise,” Sir Hywel c
autioned.

  “Leave us.”

  The elder knight gave her a curt nod and marched from the hall, followed by his men. Roen’s guard stood their ground. Their leader did not remove his gaze from his wife’s face but waved them off with his hand. The knights retreated, escorting Beatrice and Matilda from the hall. The servants melted from the room like a morning fog, disappearing into the recesses of the castle.

  Lenora could not remember the room ever being so empty, so devoid of life. No dogs searched for scraps, Tyrus did not try to hide under a table or behind a pillar to catch a nap. Even the hearth fire burned silently. The great hall echoed with the absence of life, but overflowed with betrayal.

  She rose and sought to find the man of last night. No laugh wrinkles creased his eyes, he made no movement to touch or to comfort her. Worse, he showed no remorse.

  The grief in her heart made her speak plainly. “If I had the strength I would call you out myself and thrust a sword through your heartless chest. Alas, I do not possess it and your death would only lead to more suffering for my people.”

  “’Tis not as she says.” Roen’s quiet voice cut through her threat. “Matilda is wrong.”

  “Not as she said?” Lenora accused. “Do not make your crime greater by lying. You took me in the woods so that I had to marry you and you would thereby gain Woodshadow. Can you stand before me and deny it?”

  “Nay, that I do not deny, nor do I apologize for. You needed to wed to be protected.”

  “Protected from what, from whom?”

  “I do not know.”

  Her sarcastic laugh bounced around the empty room. “So you shame me to protect me from an unknown danger. I can name it, ‘tis you.”

  Roen reached out and grabbed her wrist. She tried to twist from his grasp. He held it firmly but not painfully. When she stopped her struggles, he turned her hand over and stared at her palm. With the finger of his free hand he traced her life line. “What she said about Beatrice, ‘tis not true.”

  “Then let her accompany her mother to Bridgeton.” “I can’t.”

  “You won’t.” She tore her hand from the shackle of his grip. “You’ve taken my virtue, my father and my home from me. I beg you, spare my cousin this shame you have planned. Let her leave.”

  “Nay, I cannot, Nora.”

  “Then may God curse you for this crime you commit.” Tears no longer in check, she ran out the door and down the steps of the castle.

  Roen once received a blow that would have killed another man. The icy breath of death had blown against his soul with excruciating pain. Yet that pain paled against the hurt he felt now while he watched Lenora retreat from his touch and presence.

  She didn’t understand why he must keep Beatrice here. If Matilda was the traitor, Beatrice served as hostage. A safeguard against any more attempts to control the keep through Lenora’s death. In the depth of his soul, he knew the real reason he would not let the girl leave, he wanted to prove Matilda wrong. If he sent Beatrice away, his wife would always wonder if the stinging words were true. Only by keeping her cousin here could he show Lenora he did not desire the timid beauty. That, in truth, the only woman he wanted could not stand the sight of him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “We ‘re going for a ride.” Roen pushed Hamlin’s feet from the table edge, nearly sending the knight crashing to the floor.

  The servants retreated quickly, and Hamlin wished he could do the same. Roen’s attitude had deteriorated from rude to mean in the last few weeks since Sir Edmund’s disappearance. A ride in the woods with Roen, in his black temper, would not be restful.

  “Are you coming?”

  A self-sacrificing sigh passed Hamlin’s lips. “Do I have a choice?”

  Roen did not respond, but strode out of the hall. On the step of the forebuilding he paused and surveyed the keep. The crops grew green in the fields, the cattle and sheep grazed contentedly. His villeins labored at their work.

  “Who are you looking for?” Hamlin needled.

  “No one. I want to make sure none of my people are shirking their duties.”

  “Ah.” Hamlin nodded and started down the stairs. Roen continued to scrutinize the inner bailey. “I thought perhaps you were looking for your wife. But I see I was mistaken. If you were, I could inform you of her whereabouts. But since you aren’t….”

  Roen closed the gap between him and his friend with two strides. “How is she? The few times I’ve seen her, she looks pale, sad.”

  “How would you know how she looks?” Hamlin replied at the entrance to the stable. “You’ve been absent from every meal, away most of the day. She is pale. She is sad. By the heavens, the girl has lost her father. Your wife feels alone and deserted. Most of all, I think she feels betrayed, by you.”

  Roen remained silent, his jaw clenched. He stepped into the barn and grabbed his saddle.

  Hamlin finished his tack and waited while his friend rechecked his horse’s girth. They led the animals out to a groom who held them while they mounted. The smell of the mares sent Destrier into a nervous prance. Roen worked to keep his horse under control.

  “Seems your horse has better sense than you do,” Hamlin quipped. “He’d rather stay here than go traipsing off into the woods.”

  The dark scowl across his commander’s face silenced Hamlin’s banter. The ride would be sullen enough without adding to his comrade’s bad mood. Outside the bailey walls, they broke into a hard canter. Roen kneed his mount into a full gallop. Hamlin ate dust until the forest caused Roen to slow Destrier’s gait down to a fast walk.

  The cool shade of the trees provided a welcome respite from summer heat. The green canopy of leaves allowed only scattered beams of sunlight to pierce the perpetual darkness of its interior. An accumulation of dead leaves and pine straw cushioned the hooves of the horses and muffled their sound. The men rode silently, each deep in his own thoughts.

  At midday, Roen pulled up near a stream. He dismounted and loosened his animal’s girth to allow Destrier to graze. Hamlin followed his friend’s lead. Before releasing his mount, he pulled a loaf of dark bread from a bag tied on his saddle.

  He broke the slightly stale loaf in two and tossed part to Roen. Hamlin munched on his repast and slaked his thirst from the spring-fed water of the stream.

  Roen brushed away the crumbs from his tunic. “I have been checking on her, you know.”

  Hamlin gave him a questioning look. “What?”

  “Nora.” Roen threw the last bit of bread to a couple of mourning doves pecking at the forest floor. “After she retires, I go into our room. I stay until morning and leave before she wakes.”

  “Roen, why not go to her? Talk with her?”

  “And say what? I’m guilty, I let her father die?”

  “How about, ‘I’m sorry’?”

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried? I sent her expensive brocades and jewelry. She sent it all back.”

  “Roen, tell her.” Hamlin spoke like a frustrated parent. “Speak the words.”

  The blond knight stood and broke a twig from the overhead tree. “Hamlin, I don’t know the words. I don’t know what she’s feeling. I never had a father, at least one that would claim me.”

  Hamlin gripped his friend’s shoulder. Sympathy showed in his eyes. “Then tell her that much at least. If you’re going to be cruel, at least tell her why.” He released Roen and moved into the brush for some privacy.

  Roen cursed under his breath at the truth in Hamlin’s words. His childhood had not been nurturing or loving. His mother had emotionally separated him from the man whose name he bore, and from everyone else, as well.

  “Roen, come here, quick.”

  Pulled from his melancholy, Roen grabbed his sword and ran toward Hamlin’s voice. He found him crouched on the ground near a fallen tree.

  “Look at this.”

  He resheathed his sword and drew near. The skeleton of a large animal lay at Hamlin’s feet. A weathered leather collar with metal studs encircled
the neck.

  “The poor beast was staked out to die.” Hamlin lifted a heavy chain attached from the collar to a stake near the tree. “I wonder who would do something like that to an animal? Better to strike it down with an arrow than to let it starve to death.”

  Pins of suspicion pricked Roen’s mind. He pushed Hamlin out of the way and lifted the collar. The skeleton broke apart and clattered to the ground. The rain-worn leather felt stiff. He worked the rusted buckle several times before it released. Roen held the leather strip open and his heart sank. Inside, scratched in childish letters, was Lenora’s name.

  Snippets of his conversation with Tom returned. The remains of his wife’s favorite hound lay at his feet. “So, Gladymer, the traitor got you, too.” Roen squeezed the collar tightly. Anger stoked the fires of vengeance in his heart. The man responsible for this would pay with his life.

  “Roen? How is it you know the name of this unfortunate animal?”

  He opened the collar and pointed out Lenora’s scrawl. “‘Tis her animal, no doubt. By Tom’s description of the hound, ‘twould not be easily led off.”

  “Unless whoever took it was well-known to the animal.” Hamlin finished the thought. “’Tis as you said. Whoever planned this lives in the castle. It must be Matilda. She’s hired a man to do her work for her.”

  “Aye. Even with her gone, the man may still remain. We must find him.”

  “Roen, Lenora is safe now that she is wed to you.”

  “But not avenged. And they will pay for the pain they have caused her.” Roen slipped the leather collar into his pocket and headed back for his horse.

  Lenora stiffened her back and climbed the steps from the kitchen to the main hall. She readjusted the heavy wooden bowl on her hip and pushed the door open. The servants looked up, then away quickly. Her proud stance weakened a small amount. Woodshadow resounded with the noise of a tomb. No one talked above a whisper, and when she appeared, conversation stopped. The groups of people scattered without making eye contact, whispering behind her back.