Warrior's Deception

by Hall, Diana

  She jumped to her feet and followed him. “Not this time, Galliard. You will answer me. You owe me that much.” She ran and, ignoring the danger, planted herself in front of him.

  “How can I answer? I have no knowledge of what you ask,” he rasped through gritted teeth.

  “Just because you are still blessed with your parents is no excuse. Can you not imagine how you would feel at their loss?”

  “Nay, ‘tis not that.” Raw hurt glittered in his stony eyes. “’Tis I cannot imagine parents.” He paused, letting the statement sink into Lenora’s brain.

  “I don’t understand. Roen, you must have parents.”

  “There’s a man whose name I bear, but I’m not his.” His jaw tightened. “Lenora, you married a true bastard, in deed as well as birth.”

  He stepped around her, leaving her stunned and silent. She shook her head to recover her wits and again ran after him. He stood near the oak with his back to her, blotting out the sun with his body.

  Her compassion overcame the outrage in her heart. The need for battle ended. This was a time for healing. She slipped her arms around his waist and leaned her head on his arm. In a hushed voice she gave the gentle command, “Tell me.”

  He tilted her chin up, his eyes wary. “’Tis no more to tell. I am a bastard with no true name.”

  “There’s more, Roen. Tell me.”

  Hamlin had said the same thing earlier. Roen gazed down into her eyes. Tenderness softened the golden tones, and the sight melted his last resolve. He cleared his throat and moved from her embrace. The words clung in his throat. After so many years, the hurts, the insults, the injustices still caused him pain.

  “The mark of a bastard has been with me since the day I was born. They only had to look at me to see I did not belong. I am one of six brothers and the only light-haired one of them. No one else has my eyes or build.”

  “But that alone could not mean you were a bastard. Your mother, was she—”

  “Nay, she was dark and small, also. There were other things.”

  “Like what?”

  Roen turned his head from her and tried to regain the iron belt of restraint he kept on this part of his life. “I can read.”

  Lenora’s eyes widened in bewilderment. “I don’t understand.”

  “My mother engaged a tutor for me against Galliard’s wishes. I was directed to study late, by candlelight. My teacher told me Galliard would be so proud of my fast progress. Then my mother arranged for me to entertain a crowd of visiting noblemen at mealtime. A passage from the Bible had been selected by my tutor. I stood and read those words with so much hope.” He pounded his fist on the trunk of the oak then leaned his head against it.

  Lenora’s quiet voice tore through his anguish. “What happened, Roen?”

  “’Twas all a joke on her part, another way to mark me as different.” Roen tried to hide the pain from his voice. “They had all tried, every one of my brothers…they had all tried to learn but they couldn’t. They were just like Galliard. The letters got all jumbled up and backward. None of them could read. None except for me.”

  “Did your father never ask, never seek more than just these superficial marks?”

  Roen closed his eyes, the blackness transforming into red-hot bands. “’Tis easy for you, with your eyes and hair, even your stance so like your sire’s. There could be no doubt in your father’s mind whose issue you were. I remember the first time I saw you and Sir Edmund together, so alike…I wanted the same with my father, whoever he might be.”

  “My father would have loved me if I were short and dark-haired with green eyes.”

  “’Tis an easy thing to say, but not so easy to prove.”

  Her eyes melted into pools of weary wisdom. “Nay, not hard at all. Ask any about my brother, Louis. He bore those colorings, yet Father never doubted his birthright. It wouldn’t matter what any of his children looked like—he knew my mother loved him and he her.”

  Unsettled, Roen blasted back, “Galliard wanted more proof. He pleaded, begged and even beat her for the truth.”

  Hate laced his every word. “My mother never admitted nor denied it. She would only smile. Lord, how I hated that smile. When I read that passage, I still remember her smiling at me. No matter how many times Galliard dragged me out into the exercise field and struck me over and over again in full view of her, she stood silent and smiled. With every blow he demanded an answer. It fell into a pattern, the sound of the lash, the sting of its blow on my back and the question, ‘Is he mine?’ I think she took great pleasure out of the man’s uncertainty.”

  “How could she do such a thing? How could he? Why didn’t he send you away?”

  The laugh that came forth carried no merriment. “And admit his wife had cuckolded him? In front of guests and his vassals, I was his true son. In private, I was his wife’s bastard.”

  “What about your brothers?”

  “They sided with my father. My childhood was filled with insults, taunts and fistfights until I was fostered out.”

  “I’m so sorry, Roen. Your mother must have hated your father very much.”

  “And me.” He picked up Lenora’s hand and held it to his chest. “She had many sins on her soul when she died, but the worst was to me. I knelt by her bed, I held her hand when the rest of the family had sequestered her away in a dirty hole of a convent cell. The only thing I begged from her was my father’s name, and she would not give it. When I left her room, there was a message from Galliard waiting. ‘Twas one question, Are you my son? I sent back a blank paper.”

  Roen felt the trauma of his youth burst the seams of his emotional armor. The endless attempts for approval from a man who would never accept him. The longing for family that cursed his existence. The child that had wilted from neglect, replaced by a youth dead inside, all tender feelings destroyed.

  Her voice tight with emotion, she asked, “That’s why you left the pantalets on our wedding bed?”

  He looked at the tears in his wife’s eyes and pulled her roughly into the circle of his arms. “I know what it is to live with the stigma of another’s crime. I would not let you bear the shame for my transgression.” He saw her try to hide a sniffle. His large hand took her face and tilted it upward. “In battle I learned of duty, loyalty and respect. Those I will give to you freely. When you speak of love between your parents, your brother, of that I know nothing.”

  The scent of her perfume wafted in the air. She stared at him with warm, open eyes, no looks of recrimination because of his birth. “I can teach you, Roen. If you give me the chance.” Lenora stroked his cheek.

  A bitter sadness lodged in his gut. “Nay, I’m too old and too weary to learn. Wife, you must take me as I am. Will you?”

  With her hand, she guided his mouth to her lips. He crushed her to him and pressed his mouth on hers. She gave no resistance, her arms tightening around him. A hunger ravaged in his loins, a hunger for Lenora’s body, for the pleasure she could give, and his kiss grew more demanding.

  His hands caressed her face, her throat, and slid down her chest to her breasts. She parted her lips and the tip of her tongue teased his upper mouth. A ragged breath escaped his throat and he tore himself from her. His need tempted him to have her on the ground here and now. He gripped her hand in his and pulled her toward the castle.

  “Roen. Wait.” Lenora dug her heels into the hard packed ground.

  The tension in his loins flared. Wait? He couldn’t.

  She turned to the stable and looked at him through thick, red gold lashes, her face slightly flushed. “There’s a loft in the stable.”

  He stopped pulling on her arm and felt a slow grin spread across his face. A victorious cry on his lips, he swooped his wife up into his arms and carried her inside to the ladder. He climbed the steps, his arms on either side of her, afraid that she might change her mind and try to retreat from his embrace.

  When they reached the soft hay-covered upper floor, Roen pounced. Lenora was willing prey. His
fingers nimbly untied her laces. With his hands on her naked breasts, his lips nibbling at her ear, he asked, “Mating in the middle of the day and in the barn. Nora, is this proper?”

  One slim hand wiggled down his hose and pinched his bare bottom. “Nay,” she said, releasing a low, pleased groan when his lips tugged playfully at her breast, “but it makes it all the more enjoyable.”

  Lenora rested in her husband’s arms, still radiant from his touch. The passion of their mating both frightened and thrilled her. Roen’s deep, regular breathing comforted her. His arm tightened around her and he lightly slapped her backside. She turned and kissed his neck.

  He opened one eye and wrinkled his nose. “I suppose we must dress and go about our business, Nora.”

  “Aye, but we can lie here for another few moments.” Her fingers trailed down his chest in feather-light touches.

  Grabbing her wrist, he warned, “Keep that up, and we’ll be here for more than just a few moments.”

  “I suppose you’re right. ‘Tis only a few hours till dusk anyway. I’d not want to tire you out.”

  Roen tossed her dress over her head and donned his tunic. “We’ve plenty of nights ahead to tire each other, Nora.” He leaned over and kissed her lips as she emerged from the neck of her gown.

  “And plenty of nights to teach you how to love,” she vowed under her breath. Her dressing finished, she followed Roen down the ladder, an ingenious assortment of lesson plans formulating in her head. And not one of them could be considered proper!

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Let go of that.” Lenora tugged on the end of the leather rein. Goliath wagged his tail and clamped his jaws down tighter on the opposite end. She gave a hard yank and the strip came free. “Look at what you’ve done. Tom will have a fit when he sees this.” Goliath barked in agreement and scurried about, looking for more mischief to get into. Humming under her breath, she returned the leathers to the tack room. A white slip of paper, stuck between the boards, caught her eye.

  The paper unfolded and she read.

  Know you will see this. Have her meet me in the woods before the evening meal this Sabbath. Important. G.

  Her fingers trembled with relief. Geoffrey wanted to see Beatrice. He had acted so strangely the last few times they had met. Doubt clouded her mind, but she dusted it away. Like a sticky cobweb, her misgivings remained. She concentrated on the many times Geoffrey had demonstrated his friendship. The man was her friend and Beatrice loved him. Her cousin would welcome the chance to rekindle her relationship with him. She stuffed the message inside the tight sleeves of her undertunic.

  “Goliath.” The pup instantly appeared at her side and bumped along in his customary place near her left leg. The lanky animal had become her shadow these last few weeks since Roen had given him to her. He had also grown to thrice his size.

  She heard voices from the loft above. “Tom, is that you? Is your cousin about?”

  “Aye, he’s here with me.” Tom appeared on the steps. A dark shadow moved behind him. “What need have ye of ‘im?”

  “I need him to build something for Lord Roen.”

  Tom winced and asked, “What might it be, Lady Lenora?”

  “A tub. A large tub.” She felt a flush of color burn her cheeks.

  “You’ve a fine tub up to the castle,” Tom noted.

  “Aye, but Roen is a very large, er, long man and there’s no room in it.”

  “Now, how much room does he need to bathe?”

  “More than he has.” The rose tint of her cheeks darkened to scarlet at his question. Vivid memories of last night’s bath caused her to blush even more. Roen had pulled her into the tub and torn the neck of her chemise to touch her bare skin. Unable to move in the small wooden bath, he stood, naked and dripping wet. Her wet gown clung to her and she reveled in the gleam that came to his eyes. They consummated their passion on the bed, but the tub had been delicious fun while it lasted.

  “How large does it need to be?” The question came from above.

  “Cervin, can you make one large enough for, um, two people?”

  Tom’s eyebrow quirked. “I know ‘e’s a big one, but as large as two people? Ye think that much? I thought ‘e wanted to bathe, not swim.”

  Lenora wrinkled up her nose at him. “I’m discussing this with Cervin, not you. When will it be ready?”

  “By next Sabbath day should be plenty of time.” A low chuckle followed his prediction. Tom joined in the merriment at her expense. “Just the same as I told Sir Roen when he requested a tub this morning. You nobles must have a powerful need to bathe.”

  She left the barn with no reply. A pleasant tingle warmed her. Four days would not be long to wait. She decided to search for her husband and remind him she prepared the household orders. She wanted no more repeated requests.

  Roen waited until the girl settled in the garden. Her yellow white hair flashed from the morning sun. The pale skin had gained color since Matilda left for Bridget on. He shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to another. By the Holy Land, he did not know what he would say to her but he needed to milk any information she might have.

  His footsteps fell silently on the thick grass. The heavy, sweet smell of jasmine coated the air. He could taste the smell when he breathed. Beatrice took a claret-colored rosebud in her hand and placed it in the straw basket in her lap. Roen’s shadow fell across the path. Startled, the young girl tumbled the basket from her lap. Rose petals scattered across his feet.

  “Excuse me, Lady Beatrice.” He bent to gather up the fallen blossoms. “I would like a word with you.”

  “Aye, my lord, what do you wish?” Beatrice’s fingers gripped the handle of the basket with white knuckles.

  “Things have been well for you these last few weeks since your mother left?”

  “Aye.”

  He fished for more information. “I had thought to send a few more knights to Bridgeton on the morrow. Could you suggest a few names that were special to your mother? Did she favor any?”

  Beatrice straightened her back and rose to her feet. “My mother is a lady, Sir Roen. She showed no favors to any man.”

  He rubbed his chin. “I meant no disrespect, I assure you. I only thought your mother might welcome the company of some old friends. What of the servants?”

  “How dare you speak of my mother in such a manner?” The tone of her voice surprised him as well as her. A trace of his wife’s temper showed in the usually timid girl’s words. Her brilliant azure eyes widened in shock. “I am sorry, Lord Roen. I forget my position here.”

  “Nay, forgive me. I am afraid my questions gave the wrong impression. I wanted to ease your mother’s banishment by sending a trusted friend or companion to her.” He chuckled low. “’Tis good to hear you speak to me without fear. There’s a touch of my Nora in your words.”

  The tight line of her jaw relaxed, the rigidness in her shoulders eased. “Mother always said Lenora influenced me too much.”

  “But for the better.” Roen relaxed, also. The girl knew nothing about her mother’s scheme. Hamlin had been right, despite his emotional attachment to the girl.

  “Will Sir Hamlin be going to Bridgeton?” Her voice wavered.

  “Nay, I need him here.” Roen watched her. Did she sigh with relief at his words? How many times had he seen Hamlin’s eyes focused on her as she moved across the hall? That his friend had a keen interest in the girl he did not doubt, but what of Beatrice’s fear? Could she return Hamlin’s feelings? He decided to ferret out the girl’s emotions. “But mayhap ‘twould be good to send him at that.”

  “Oh, nay. I believe you are right in your first assessment. Sir Hamlin is a great help here as your seneschal. ‘Twould not do to have him absent for long.” The lines between her brows deepened. The pitch of her voice rose slightly.

  “Beatrice—” he forced himself to continue “—I’ll ask you simply, do you have feelings for my friend? If you do, I know ‘twould please him. If you don’t, then t
ell him, so he’ll not follow you with puppy-dog eyes.”

  Beatrice quieted like a frightened rabbit. Roen thought he might have ruined Hamlin’s chances with the shy creature. She took in a great gulp of air and exhaled it slowly. The palm of his hand rose and rested on her shoulder. He spoke from the depths of his friendship. “Pray, be honest with him. Do not lead him on if he stands no chance with you, if you cannot be with him as a wife.”

  She did not flinch from his touch and placed her hand over his. “I feel for you as a brother, Roen. You don’t frighten me anymore. ‘Tis plain to see there is no woman for you save my cousin. I don’t know if I can have the kind of relationship you two share, but watching you has taught me that marriage is not an evil thing.” Patting his hand, she gave him a level look. “I will take your advice into consideration. There are things I must attend to before I speak to him.”

  Lenora rounded the garden arbor, her eyes searching for Roen. She saw him, the sunlight a halo around his blond head. Her steps faltered when she saw him place his hand on Beatrice’s shoulder. Her cousin did not run or faint. Instead, she placed her hand over his. Ugly streams of jealousy coursed through her. The thin, screeching voice of her aunt mocked her. “Look at her and tell me he would want you with Beatrice around.” A knife of pain and uncertainty sliced through her chest. She trusted Roen and Beatrice. Matilda had to be wrong.

  When her husband left, a sense of deep loss filled her. A desire to touch him, kiss his lips, make love to him wrapped around her heart. As soon as she delivered Geoffrey’s note, she would find him and do just that.

  Goliath at her heels, she rushed to her cousin. “Beatrice, I need to give you this.” She slipped the note from her sleeve and placed it in the younger woman’s hand.

  Beatrice read the note, and Lenora’s heart sank. Her cousin’s face paled. Never good at hiding her emotions, Beatrice gave away her answer before she spoke. “I can’t meet him, Lenora. I just can’t.” She stuffed the message under the roses in her basket.