Warrior's Deception

by Hall, Diana

  It galled her to think Roen had tried to cover up his crime of rape. Her pantalets, with the virgin stain, dispelled the belief in Roen’s offense. Now, her people eyed her with caution and unvoiced questions.

  She slammed the bowl onto the table, and the assorted fresh greens spewed out. “Ow!” A dirty blond head peeked from beneath the table linen. “Have care there, Lady Lenora.”

  “Tyrus. Catching a nap, I see.” Lenora laughed. It felt good to have an unstilted conversation with someone.

  He put his finger to his lips. “Sh. Alyse will be up from the kitchen with that spoon of hers if’n she knows I’m ‘ere. I’m a growin’ boy. I needs my rest, ye know.”

  She sat back on her heels to be at eye level with him. Merriment danced in the boy’s eyes, despite his serious composure. “With the amount of rest you take, you should be nigh as tall as the castle’s drawbridge gate by now,” Lenora noted.

  Tyrus took on an affronted look. “’Ere now, Lady, I was up all night a-lookin’ after your mare and colt.”

  “Is something wrong with Silver?” Lenora demanded.

  “Nay, not that I could see. But milord, he give me orders and a gold piece to sleep out in the barn with them every night since the mare gave birth.”

  “Roen did that?” Lenora wondered out loud. “Whatever for?”

  Tyrus shrugged, reached his grubby hand up and rummaged a carrot from the table. He chewed the end of the unwashed vegetable. “Don’t know, Lady Lenora. He just says to tell ‘im if’n they act funny. I’m to remember who feeds and waters ‘em and I report it to ‘im every day.”

  Worry roiled in her gut. Why would Roen care about her horses? Why hadn’t he spoken to her about it? Every night she retired alone and each night she dreamed her husband came to her, whispered soft words, held her in his arms. The rising sun burned away her dreams like a winter frost. She would look about her large, empty bed and feel the depth of her loneliness.

  “Don’t be frettin’ none, Lady.” Tyrus paused in his chomping. “The animals are fine.”

  She replaced the table linen across his head and smiled. “I think I’ll pay them a visit all the same. Thank you for being so diligent in your duties.” Standing, lenora grabbed a couple of carrots as a treat for her animals and headed for the barn.

  The noonday sun blazed and caused her to squint when she exited the shadows of the castle. The heat felt good on her face and arms. In the weeks since her father’s memorial and Roen’s betrayal, the spring had merged with the early days of summer. The leafy limbs of the ancient oak near the stable beckoned to her like a Druid priestess. Lenora ran to its comforting shade and live smell.

  “I told you it weren’t the right thing to do,” Tom’s voice scolded.

  A deep voice murmured back, “Give it time.”

  Lenora leaned around the trunk and spotted Tom. Another man, his back to her, stabbed the ground with a polished cane. Curious, she drew closer. The man with the stablekeeper looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

  “Tom?” She craned her neck to get a glimpse of the stranger. He quickly pulled his cap down low over his face and slipped into the stable.

  “’Ere now, what are ye doin’ down ‘ere?” Tom blocked her way into the barn.

  “I’ve come to check on Silver and the colt. Who was that?”

  “Who was what?” Tom’s eyes grew large with confusion. “Oh, ‘im? That bent-up old man that was just ‘ere?” A snort sounded from the barn. “Ain’t nobody to worry yourself over. ‘E’s me cousin, Cervin.” A look of relief passed over the old groom’s wrinkled face. “Took a turn to liviin’ in the city and found ‘e didn’t like it. A freeman, mind you, like meself. Seein’ how I’m so close to the lord and lady ‘ere, ‘e thought ‘twould be an easy fit for ‘im.”

  “Oh.” Lenora tried to look past the elder man’s shoulder into the interior of the barn. Tom swayed to block her view. “Does he intend to work with you in the stable or does he have another trade?”

  Tom scratched his head. “Well, I reckon he could do that.”

  “’Tis a carpenter I am, Lady Lenora,” a hoarse voice called from the barn. Tom shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  “Well then, carpenter, come out so that I can meet you.” Lenora waited impatiently. The man’s voice and carriage were vaguely familiar. She wanted to place the face.

  “Well, now there’s the jinx of it. See, me cousin is, well—” Tom’s voice grew hushed “—’e’s ugly. Plain ol’ ugly. Scars all over ‘is face from the pox. No eyelashes or eyebrows. Terrible sight. ‘Tis what’s sent ‘im from the city. People shyin’ away from ‘im and callin’ ‘im names and all.” Tom drew her away from the stable. “’E don’t like people a-lookin’ at ‘im. Give ‘im time and ‘e’ll start to show ‘imself.”

  Lenora nodded sagely. “I understand. But his voice… Outside the barn I had a feeling I had heard it before.”

  “Oh. Nay.” The stablekeeper shook his head from side to side. “’Twas the fever that changed it. It comes and goes. Mostly ‘tis gone.” Tom’s voice rose in volume. “He don’t do much talkin’ anymore.”

  Her heart went out to Cervin and his troubles. “Tell your cousin he’s welcome as long as he works his fair share. I’ll tell Sir Hamlin he’s here.”

  “What about the Lord Roen? Shouldn’t he know?” Tom’s cousin asked from the shadows of the barn.

  “Sir Hamlin will tell him, no doubt. He’s more likely to see and speak to Lord Roen than I am.” She turned to Tom. “I intend to check on my horses. If your cousin does not wish to be seen, I suggest he find another refuge.”

  Tom gamboled into the stable and reappeared moments later. “’Ere ye go, Lady Lenora. ‘E’s gone now.”

  Lenora could not contain her worry. She ran into the stall, causing the mare to shy. Contrite, Lenora began a thorough examination of the two horses. Nothing looked out of place. “Tom, I don’t understand why Roen wants Tyrus to sit up with them every night. I don’t see anything wrong with them.”

  No answer came. He must be off with Cervin. She plumped up a pile of fresh hay in front of the stall and sat. After the animals finished their oats, she would look them over once more.

  Roen and Hamlin rode into the bailey eyeing every man they met. Each searched for the possible hired hand of Matilda. The footmen gave cursory salutes, their eyes showing their distrust. Matilda had planted a seed of discontent among the men. He would not find his culprit now.

  He and Hamlin dismounted. A snap of his fingers brought a lad to take their horses. “Rub them down good, then put them in the pasture to graze.” Roen ordered. The boy nodded vigorously and took off at a slow run with the two animals.

  “I’m wagering the man’s still here. Matilda will want a spy,” Hamlin noted.

  “I think so, too.” Roen motioned Hamlin to join him in a slow walk toward the fish pond. “It could be any one of them. I could question every man here, but I doubt they would tell me anything. I’m not a popular person right now.”

  Hamlin snorted his agreement. They neared the pond and spotted a man clutching a coarse sack, kneeling near the water. He grabbed a large stone and dropped it into the bag. The serf nodded to his lord reverently and stepped away from the knights’ path.

  “Beg pardon, milord.” The bag jerked back and forth in the man’s hand. An angry yelp sounded from it.

  “What’s that you have?” Roen questioned.

  “I’m the kennel master. This ‘ere’s a runt. He won’t make it for long with the bigger pups pushin’ ‘im away. I plan to drown ‘im. Better a quick death than starvin’.”

  “Let me see that.” Roen untied the bag, and shoved his large hand inside. “Ouch!” He jerked his hand back and sucked his index finger. Drops of blood seeped from two puncture wounds.

  “’E may be small, but ‘e’s a mean’ un. I’ll take care of ‘im.”

  “Nay, never mind the pup. I’ll take him.” Roen removed the rock from the bag. His hand emerged with
a series of staccato teeth imprints. The kennel master retreated with raised eyebrows and a look of disbelief.

  “What do you plan on doing with that?” Hamlin asked.

  Roen shrugged. “If the pup is strong enough to take me on, he’s strong enough to live.” He headed to the stable. “I’ll put him in there for now.”

  The wooden bowls of food and water remained on sentry duty under the loft stairs. Gladymer would never again use them; the pup might as well get some use from Lenora’s diligence. Roen tilted the bag upside down and a black gray bundle tumbled out. A tiny thing, barely a handful of fur and teeth. The pup sat for a moment stunned, then jumped to all fours. The hair on its back bristled and it started barking at the cobwebs between the stairs.

  “What’s that you have there?”

  Lenora’s voice startled Roen so badly he jerked his head up and knocked it against the stairs. He rubbed the back of his head with his hand and stepped from the alcove.

  “A pup.” Roen pointed to the fur ball attacking the remnants of the torn blanket. His eyes met hers. The sight of his wife intoxicated him with her beauty. Her dark gold overtunic accented the golden highlights of her eyes. A slight darkness under them marked her sorrow. Her crown of red gold hair, tied back with a thong of leather, haloed her face. His favorite curl, determined to remain free of checks, cascaded across the corner of one eye.

  He wanted her. Night after night as he lay beside her, holding her in his arms, he feared she would awaken and order him from her sight. She had every right. The one night and morning they had shared haunted his dreams at night and thoughts during the day. The knowledge that she reviled him cut him deeply.

  “I’ll leave the dog here. There’s food for him.” Roen turned to leave but the light touch of her hand on his arm stopped him.

  “You can’t just leave him here. He can’t eat this.” She pointed to the table scraps. “He’s not old enough to digest it.”

  At a loss, both from her question and touch, Roen answered, “Then what will you do with it?”

  “Me? ‘Tis not my animal, ‘tis yours.”

  Roen shook his head and hands emphatically. “Nay, I just brought the pup here for you. I don’t claim it as mine.”

  “I don’t want anything from you.”

  He shook off her hand and stormed from the stable. Outside, at the trunk of the oak, he stopped. He ordered his breath to stop its erratic pattern, but it did not obey. The spot on his arm Lenora had touched still radiated with her warmth. Would the craving in his loins ever lessen to a bearable level?

  Lenora sat under the steps with her knees bent and rested her elbows on them. Then she cried. It felt good to release the pentup frustration of the past few weeks. ’Twas plain Roen did not want her company. Matilda’s stinging insults resounded. Beatrice remained at Woodshadow; ‘twas only a matter of time before Roen carried out her aunt’s prediction.

  “Ouch!” Lenora pulled away the hem of her gown to find Roen’s pup tugging at her big toe. She wiggled her toes and the dog froze, then began to frantically bark at them.

  She pestered the animal again with her foot. The pup executed a series of lunge attacks and yapped louder. “Such a fighter for one so little. You just don’t give up.”

  Tired of the game, she stopped teasing the dog. Confident with its victory, the puppy sauntered over to the folds of her dress. After winding round and round, the tiny bit of fur settled its jaws on the tip of its tail.

  “Nora?” Roen’s voice questioned as he entered the barn. He moved toward her resting place and braced his head against the beam he had struck earlier. The red rims of her eyes caused his heart to lurch. He cursed himself for being the instrument of her sorrow. Outside he had fought his body’s desires, prayed to suppress them. His prayers remained unanswered, and the need had only grown, becoming so strong that he ventured back, just to see her once more.

  “What do you want?” Lenora sniffed and wiped tears on the sleeve of her dress.

  “I…I…I…” He sought some excuse for his return. “I came for the pup. If you don’t want him, I’ll give him back to the kennel master.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Where did he go?” Roen began to search the area, lifting the blankets and finally the bowls.

  Despite her tears, Lenora laughed. “I know he’s a bit of a dog, but, Roen, he could not hide beneath the bowl.”

  Her laugh, however gentle and halfhearted, rang like music to his ears. His gaze rested softly on her tear-streaked face. Her bereavement echoed in his own soul. He dropped his gaze to the floor.

  “You’ve no idea where it may have gone?” Roen questioned.

  “Nay, I am not partial to your gifts.”

  Roen sat down beside her. The tip of a furiously wagging tail lay exposed beyond the hem of Lenora’s dress. “Aye, I know. You sent back the cloth and jewels. You never wear the wedding gift I gave you.”

  “Wedding gift?”

  “The amber-and-emerald necklace.”

  She turned, and he could see her search his face. He felt unsure of what she found because her face screwed up in a horrible grimace. “Lenora, what is wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Her voice rose in pitch and she bit her lips.

  He tried to take her in his arms, and his heart clamored against his chest. “Are you ill?” She grabbed her knees and squeezed her eyes closed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Get that hound!” Lenora pulled her dress up over her knees and revealed the pup, its teeth tugging at the tender skin near her little toe.

  Roen lifted the animal by the scruff of its neck. Lenora lifted her leg with it. Her foot dangled high in the air, and her gown slid up, displaying the sensuous curve of her calf and thigh. He shook the pup to dislodge it.

  “Ouch. That hurts.”

  His finger slipped into the animal’s mouth and pressed down. The strong jaws parted and Lenora freed herself. He placed the little beast on the hay and plopped one of the empty wooden feed bowls over it.

  “There. See? The mongrel could fit under a bowl.”

  Lenora massaged her injured toe. “Where did you get that little hellion?”

  A full belly laugh erupted from Roen. Tears came to the corners of his eyes, and every time he thought he would gain his composure, another laugh blurted out.

  “Stop it. ‘Twas not that comical.” Lenora pinched him, hard.

  “That hurt.” The statement lost some of its recriminations because he burst out in another attack of laughter.

  She pinched him again, harder.

  “Peace, wife. I’ll stop or be black-and-blue soon.” He could not help but notice the smile Lenora tried to keep at bay.

  “Well, what are you going to call it?”

  Roen’s laughter came under control. “I gave the beast to you. ‘Tis your place to name it.”

  She shook her head. “Nay, you name it.”

  “Call it Dog, for all I care.”

  “That is precisely the point. When you name something, you claim it as your own. It has your mark upon it. A name shows that you do care. ‘Tis the only way I will accept it.”

  “Nora, ‘tis nothing but a scrap of fur and teeth.”

  “Name it.” Lenora lifted the bowl. The pup lay curled up, asleep.

  Roen started to protest, then stopped. ‘Twas a little thing, and if it made her happy he would do it. He pursed his lips, staring upward as though for heavenly inspiration.

  “Goliath. His name is Goliath”

  “That little fur ball you name after a giant? I’ll sound like a fool calling him that.” She crinkled up her brows and scratched the pup behind the ears.

  “Nevertheless, ‘tis his name. He may not look the part, but he acts it.” He smiled at the relaxed stance of his wife. The tension that had lain between them thinned. Could he break through the barrier that separated him from Lenora?

  “Why did you give me this animal?” Lenora’s somber voice asked.

  From his pocket, Roen pulled the wor
n collar. He handed it to her. She took the strip of leather from his hand and stretched the band open. Her finger traced the letters written on the inside.

  “How—” she bit her lower lip “—did you find this?”

  “In the woods. I found his body near a green clearing. There were no broken bones. I think he died peacefully. Probably just fell asleep and did not awaken.” He spoke the white lies so easily. Why tell her the truth and increase her pain?

  “Thank you.” She hugged the collar to her chest. “For bringing me this and giving me Goliath.” Tears clouded her golden eyes. Without thinking, Roen gathered her up in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and released the tears.

  She cried for Gladymer, for her father, even for Roen. It felt wonderful to lie cocooned in Roen’s arms and not have to be strong.

  Every tear spent, she lifted her face from his shoulder. A huge wet blot darkened his tunic. Her tears caused the red thread on the embroidery at his neck to run. She sniffed and rubbed the stain with her fingers. “Look, I’ve ruined this. The dye has marked your tunic.”

  Roen closed his fingers over hers and gave them a gentle squeeze. “’Tis nothing, no need to speak of it.”

  “That’s your answer to everything.” She pushed herself from his arms, her resentment knotted up inside her. “But I need to speak. Why? Roen, why did you do this thing to my father, to me, to us?”

  “I gave the man my word. I did not know you would take it thus.”

  A scream of frustration and rage at the back of her throat. “How did you expect me to react? How would you react if ‘twas the reverse? If ‘twas your parent that had died?”

  His mouth grew tight and grim. The heightened pulse of the vein in his neck marked his mood. How dare he get angry with her? She had been wronged, not him. His long body jolted upright and he looked down on her with his fists clenched at his side. He moved from the alcove without answering her questions.