by Hall, Diana
“Then ‘tis useless for me to ever go to him and tell the truth about you and Geoffrey. He would still discount my story.” Beatrice rose from the bed to stand near her. “We must get a message to the king. Expose Roen for the criminal he is.”
Lenora tapped her foot and threw up her arms. “If we expose his duplicity, my baby may still be in jeopardy, for then we would become the wards of the king. As his wards, he would have control over us completely. Henry and Roen are very close. I’m a woman with a child, Roen is a tested warrior to whom the king owes much. How do I know he won’t side with Roen?”
She took up her pacing again, thinking aloud. “If I choose to keep silent, pretend not to know the true nature of my father’s contract, then Roen may let me and my baby leave. Neither Henry nor Roen could touch me at Eleanor’s court in Aquitaine. I am in favor with the queen and she could protect me.”
“You would give up your home and child’s birthright?” her cousin asked.
Lenora straightened her back and took a breath. “Aye, if it means my child will be safe. Beatrice, you must keep silent of this. Tell no one, understand?”
The other girl protested, “You can’t do this alone. You need help.”
“I’ll figure something out.” She turned from her cousin. What didn’t make sense was why Roen had kept the original contract, or had her father suspected the act and hidden it himself? If that was the case, maybe Roen had more to do with her father’s disappearance than he claimed. Icy fear twisted around her heart, freezing the embers of her love. Was Roen guilty? Could he be a murderer? Her love told her nay, yet the facts pointed otherwise. She steeled herself to be strong and prayed she wouldn’t break down and cry.
Beatrice nodded to reassure her cousin, but for once, she didn’t think Lenora’s wits were enough. Nay, they needed help immediately and she knew where to look for it. She only prayed he would listen to her regardless of how he felt about her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Men rushed past her on the steps, weapons in hand. Lenora leaned over the wooden railing to better hear the exchange between the assembled knights below her. Only bits of dialogue could be heard over the clanging of swords and shields, but the message became clear. The men were going to battle and all were eager to see action.
With her eyes, she hunted through the mob of warriors for Roen. Her husband, surrounded by knights, leaned over a mapcovered table in the middle of the great hall. She studied him as she had for the past seven nights. This morning the truth became no clearer. His duplicity about the contracts remained a mystery. Why the heartless deception?
“How many men did you see, Winton?” Roen interrogated a stranger in the middle of the great hall.
“I counted about fifty, Lord Roen,” Winton answered, and squirmed in his infantryman’s uniform. The hauberk stifled the soldier’s movements across his shoulders and cut into his midsection. With distaste, Lenora noted its poor condition. Between the rust and rips, it offered little protection in battle.
“Only fifty? We’ll have short work today,” Hamlin boasted.
The men cheered their agreement. Roen silenced them with a wave of his hand. “Aye, but if we don’t move fast and decisively, a small band could ruin Lord Cyril’s harvest and thus starve his people for the winter.”
Lenora placed her hand over her heart. Her vassal, Lord Cyril, under siege! That paragon of readiness and perfection? He was the most meticulous individual she had ever met. He drove her and her father daft with his preciseness. His men stood for inspection every week. Lord Cyril looked at every weapon and battle instrument and demanded it be in perfect order. Her vassal might be in trouble, but this man “Winton” could not be from his troops.
The soldier turned toward her, his droopy mustache glistening from perfumed wax and grease. His smile showed a large gap where his front tooth should have been. Lenora tried to shake off her uneasiness but couldn’t.
Roen called out the names of several men, who began to assemble their patrols. The poorly dressed soldier stood transfixed, staring at her.
Her husband looked at Winton and followed his gaze to her. “Winton, fill these men in on the details.” His shoulder knocked the messenger aside when he brushed past. She watched Roen approach her, his eyes never leaving her own.
Her guard skipped down the stairs to meet him. “Lord Roen, may I accompany them?”
“Nay, Raymond, your duty is here,” Roen answered.
The young boy’s face fell. Her heart went out to him. “Roen, let the boy have his first taste of battle. It should be a small skirmish and not last long.” Raymond’s face lit with excitement. He nodded like a puppet on a string.
“He’s here to protect you,” Roen countered.
Her anger got the best of her good intentions. “For my protection? I did not know I needed protection in my own demesne. Do you fear Alyse will do me in with her spoon?”
She saw Raymond’s smile invert to a frown while he slunk past the couple and down the stairs. He took up his station at the bottom amid the eagerly waiting knights.
Roen felt hard-pressed not to discipline his wife’s rudeness in front of his men, but more important matters commanded his attention now. A vassal had sent a request for help, and honor demanded he answer. “I have to leave, immediately,” he informed her, and wondered how she took the news. With worry or joy?
“I know.” She licked her lips and tilted her chin up. “When will you be back?”
Her moist red lips commanded his attention now. A longing to feel her mouth on his own consumed him. The musky smell of her body called to him like an ancient Greek siren. He looked at the fullness of her breasts, the rounding of her hips and abdomen. Her face radiated a Madonna-like serenity. The rush of desire filled him as always. No matter what he suspected, he still needed her, still wanted to feel her body against his. He couldn’t sleep if his arms weren’t filled with her lovely curves. Last night while she slept, he had felt the stirring of life in her womb. How much longer would she try to hide it from him? More important, why? He feared he knew the answer.
“When will you be back?” she asked again.
“I don’t know.”
“Oh.” She glanced at the soldier from Lord Cyril’s keep. Her fingers drummed on the stair railing and she gnawed her lower lip. “Roen, I don’t trust that man, Winton. Are you sure that—”
“First you’re rude, and now you doubt my abilities to protect my vassals.” Roen could not believe her audacity. If she didn’t even respect his ability to protect his vassals, how could she love him? Through clenched teeth he informed her, “Winton brought a missive with him sealed with the Lord Cyril’s insignia. Does he look the type to be able to read or write? Nay, he does not.”
“Still, there are things that do not feel right.”
“Blast you, woman, stick to your kitchen and garden. Leave the battles to me.” Roen did an abrupt about-face and left his wife on the stairs. He noticed Winton glance once more toward his wife. “Raymond,” he bellowed.
The boy rushed to his side, his eyebrows raised, eyes wide. “You have changed your mind, my lord?”
“Take my wife upstairs, see that she stays there until we leave.” The shuffle of Lenora’s steps retreated up the stairs, away from him. Despite the noise below, his ears listened until he heard her footsteps on the floor above. He rejoined his men in the hall.
“You should let the boy go.” Winton scratched his scruffy chin. “He’ll miss all the excitement.”
“His duty is here, to guard his mistress,” Roen growled, warning the man away from any further interference.
“And what kind of guard is he to be if he never sees battle?” Winton’seyes narrowed. “If he’s never wetted his sword on anything but a quintain, how do you know he’ll have the nerve when the time comes to really protect your lady?”
“He’s a point there, Roen.” Hamlin joined in. “Come on, let the boy go. There will be plenty of men left behind to protect the castle.”
Roen slammed his fist onto the table. The maps and goblets shook from the tremor. He didn’t want to admit in front of this stranger that he didn’t trust his own wife or that a traitor might still be within the walls of Woodshadow. Nor did he want the information to get back to Lord Cyril. The vassal might interpret that his wife needed rescue from her own husband. Perhaps a more seasoned knight would be a better choice.
“Fine, he can go. Crandall,” he called to a knight seated near the hearth with a bandage wrapped around his leg. “You will stay behind?”
The knight nodded and slapped his thigh. “’Tis on the mend, though stiff. I doubt I could sit a horse for long.”
“Then stay in the castle and oversee the guards left behind. Pay careful attention to your lady.” The elder knight nodded and eased his body off the hearth, being careful not to put weight on his injured leg.
Roen pointed to his squire. “Run up and tell Raymond to prepare.” The squire rushed up the stairs. Moments later, a loud war whoop echoed from the gallery above. Half running, half falling, the boy came down the steps. At the bottom, he pulled himself up short and tried to look dignified. The ear-toear grin foiled the attempt. Roen asked his friend, “Are you satisfied now?”
Hamlin gave him a toothy grin. “Aye, and so, I warrant, is Raymond.”
“Let’s go then, unless you have any more suggestions?” The men turned to the doors.
Hamlin’s smile faded. “Just one, though I don’t suppose you’ll like it.”
“What’s that?”
“You could climb those stairs and kiss your wife goodbye.” Hamlin snaked through the crowd of men to escape any comment Roen might make.
Beatrice entered the hall and nearly ran into Hamlin. He stopped and opened his mouth to speak. The girl turned away and refused to acknowledge him. It gave Roen a secret glee to know that despite all of Hamlin’s ready advice, his relationship fared no better. He wondered what his friend had done to cause the girl so much anger.
Roen stopped by the foot of the stairs and considered Hamlin’s suggestion. Any battle carried the potential for danger. Not that Roen expected much resistance; still, an unlucky blow and he might never see her again. His foot rested on the first step, his hand on the rail.
“Lord Roen, your charger is chewing up the stableboy.” An ugly black-and-blue mark colored the groom’s forearm. “We cannot hold him much longer.”
Roen sighed. Once Destrier bore the armaments for battle, he demanded action. His charger could easily kill one of the grooms if he didn’t calm the beast. Lenora would have to wait. He would have plenty of time to deal with her when he returned.
The sun turned a brilliant shade of orange as it began its slow descent below the treetops of the forest. Lenora watched it until only a tiny arc of light showed. Cool autumn air slipped through the loose weave of her chemise and caused her to shiver. The smell of burning leaves still lingered from the harvest bonfire earlier.
“Lenora, come in from the balcony,” Beatrice cajoled. “You’ll catch a chill.”
She lingered, her eyes focused on the most distant mark beyond the castle gate. Jittery impulses tingled in her fingers. Her intuition warned her Winton was not what he seemed. Deep inside, she knew Roen was in danger.
Her cousin joined her in the tiny space and wrapped a woolen blanket around Lenora’s shoulders. “He did not say he would return tonight,” her voice warned.
“Aye, he told me nothing, nor would he listen to my qualms.” Lenora clutched the ends of the blanket with her hand. The other rested on the balcony rail.
“How can you still care for him?” Beatrice asked.
Lenora tilted back her head and observed the faint light of the night’s first star. “I cannot order my heart to undo what it already feels. Love is not an emotion that can be blown out as quickly as a candlewick.” She turned to her cousin. “When I look at Roen I see two people. One, the man I love, who I believe, in time, will come to care for me.” She paused before continuing. “And the other, the man I fear is guilty of heinous crimes against me and my father.”
Goliath leaned the weight of his body against her leg and whined. She scratched his head and murmured, “You miss him, too, don’t you?”
Her cousin took her hand and led her from the open air. “I’ll stay here with you tonight.”
Lenora jumped to sit on the edge of the bed. She crawled on her hands and feet to the pillow bolsters and pulled down the velvet coverlet. “Nay, Cousin. I am very tired and will no doubt fall asleep as soon as I close my eyes.”
“Are you sure there is nothing I can do for you?”
Lenora yawned and stretched her arms wide. “Check the kitchen for me. Just before I retired, I ordered the embers kept warm and a leg of meat wrapped, in case they return tonight or early on the morrow.”
“I will check again for you.” Beatrice paused. “Are you sure you will be all right alone tonight?”
“Of course.” Lenora rubbed her sleep-heavy eyes. “If I have need of anything, all I must do is open the door. Servants will be sleeping in the hall and foyer. Tyrus will be at my door.”
“Crandall is not pleased with that situation.”
Lenora shrugged. “’Tis all that can be done. We’ve too few knights guarding the keep to remove one just to please this obsession of Roen’s. ‘Twas bad luck Crandall fell after supper. He cannot be expected to climb the stairs over and over now that he has further damaged his leg. Tyrus is a bright lad. He will see that Crandall is informed of my whereabouts at all times.”
A butterflylike movement in her womb caused her to laugh. She waved her hand to Beatrice, who ran to her side. Lenora placed her cousin’s hand on her abdomen.
“Ah, ‘tis the babe.” Beatrice’s face lit with surprise and pleasure. Then her smile dimmed. “Does Roen know yet?”
Lenora’s glimmer of joy evaporated. “Nay, I’ve not told him and he has not questioned me. He pays so little attention to me, he does not see the thickening of my body.” Lenora leaned back on the bed.
“Perhaps a solution to our problem will come soon,” Beatrice prophesied. She took the edge of the fur-trimmed cover and tucked it under her cousin’s chin.
“Leave the candle.” Lenora felt like a child afraid of the dark. She pulled the blankets closer to her.
Beatrice nodded and opened the door. She stepped over the sleeping body of the young servant and closed the door. Lenora sighed deeply and snuggled into the soft mattress of her bed.
Fatigue coated her like heavy dust. Her eyes itched and her head nodded. Eager for the comfort of sleep, she closed her eyes and waited. But the welcome relief of slumber did not come. Tonight, the softness of her bed offered no comfort; it suffocated her.
She kicked the pillows and covers off and sat up in bed. Goliath dragged himself from his position against the wall, then collapsed on top of the pillows.
Lenora drummed her fingers on the mattress and watched the shadows the candlelight cast around the room. Her mind kept replaying scenes of her husband, bloody and wounded, and still not knowing that his child grew in her body. The pounding in her head quickened and she rubbed her temple.
The sound of footsteps reached her. “Roen, is that you?”
She vaulted over the sleeping dog and walked to the door. It only opened a crack when she heard a sleepy voice ask, “Do ye have a need with me, Lady Lenora?”
Tyrus fought to keep a yawn at bay. He looked at her with heavy lids, just thin slices of his eyes showing beneath his lashes. He rubbed his eyes with his fists and sat up on his pallet.
Lenora looked down the hall. No footsteps heralded her husband’s return. “Nay, Tyrus, I thought I heard the lord return. I’m having trouble sleeping tonight is all.”
The boy nodded. “Tea. I’ll get ye a cup of chamomile tea. That should do the trick.” He rose and trudged away, leaning on the wall to support his sleepy body.
Lenora dragged a woolen blanket from the bed, trailed it behind her and headed
for the balcony. The moon hung low in the night sky. Its softer glow illuminated dark shapes moving about the keep. Torches burned in isolated spots. Crickets chimed a natural lullaby. She wrapped her blanket around her and folded her legs under her. Goliath sauntered over from his pillows to lie beside her, his head in her lap.
The fresh air muffled the pounding of her head; the evening concert erased the scenes in her mind. She leaned against the wall, hard and stiff against her back. Her eyelids drifted up and down, like the surf of the sea. Finally, the heavy weight of her lids forced her to shut her eyes.
Lenora jerked herself from sleep. Something had struck her! Her eyes flew open. She couldn’t see, everything looked gray. Her hands reached out and touched coarse fur.
“Goliath!” She pushed him away with her hand. He sprang forward, growled deep in his throat and crouched for an attack. “Goliath, what is it?”
She heard the rustle of the rushes on the floor of the bedroom. Goliath leapt into the air and stalked the sound. His growling changed into a snarl. Lenora called him back. “Goliath, come here.” He chose this time not to listen.
She crept forward into the room, toward the glow of the low fire in the hearth. Goliath’s protective growl came from the far wall, the one the bed rested against. She could make out his shape and heard his nails scraping down the wall, digging at the corner.
“Come here, boy.” The animal jumped up and placed his front feet on the wall. He whined, then growled and sniffed the wall. Dropping to all fours, he inspected the corner with his nose. After a few reluctant steps, the dog looked back at the wall. He continued to watch behind him until he reached his mistress.
“What is it? What has you so upset?” She could feel the tension in the dog’s body. His square head rotated back and forth, his ears perked for any sound. His nervousness flared in her. What had him so upset? Her heart pounded in her chest. Every shadow appeared to be a demon or specter. Then the image melted into harmless darkness. Goliath positioned himself between her and the far corner of the room.
