by Sarah Hegger
“Nay.” Dropping his head, Digory sighed. “My Matty was not raised to farm life. It does not sit well with her.”
Digory had a point. Combining this with his niggle around Matty, Roger’s gut whispered.
Sir Arthur frowned slightly, as if he were trying to piece Digory together.
Garrett sauntered up to join them. His keen gaze taking in Digory.
Roger would like to hear what Garrett made of this. Granted, Roger did not know Digory well, but the man he had seen on the farm did not seem the sort to beat on his adored wife. The way Digory said my Matty struck something in Roger. It was much like the way he called his wife my Kathryn.
“I think you should tell us why she left,” Garrett said.
With a deep breath, Digory raised his chin. “I would rather speak to my wife.”
“Nay,” Roger said. “You will not go near Lady Mathilda until I judge it safe for her.”
“Safe for her?” Digory’s mouth dropped open. “Why would it not be safe for her?”
“That is what we would like to know.” Unless he completely misjudged the man, Digory seemed confounded by the notion.
Frowning, Digory glanced between them. “Did Matty…nay. She would not say that I……beat her?”
“Not only does she say so.” Roger got closer, and forced the smaller man back a step. “My wife tells me she bears the bruises to prove it.”
“Bruises?” Digory paled. “She was fine when she left. If she is marked, then that blasted pig—”
“The bruises are older than that.” Roger had no idea, having never seen the bruises. But he wanted to throw the man off balance and see what would shake free.
“Bruises?” Digory’s frown deepened. “I have not…—she fell.” He threw his hands aloft. “A sennight ago, she was milking the cow and it butted her and she fell.”
“Indeed.” Sir Arthur glowered, a truly intimidating sight. The sort of look that would, and often did, have Roger running for his mother as a boy.
Garrett circled Digory. “Your wife is marked because she fell. What an interesting story.”
“’Tis not a story.” Digory waved his arms. “She did. She fell. I tried to tell her she need not fear old Dewdrop, but she…” He shrugged. “Matty does not take to the farm well.”
The two guards stared, fascinated by every word.
“You keep saying that.” Roger needed a drink. “You should explain what that means.”
He turned, trusting the others would follow.
Taking a seat by the hearth, with Sir Arthur and Garrett taking the others, he motioned for Rob to bring Digory a chair. This conversation could take a while, especially with Digory squaring his shoulders in that annoying manner.
Rob looked askance at Roger, then glanced at Sir Arthur for confirmation of the order.
“Did you hear me, Rob?” Perhaps the lad needed a gentle reminder right this moment. A boot up his ass would do the trick.
“Aye, Sir Roger, but—”
“Then do it. Now.”
With a massive sigh, Rob dragged a bench from the wall. Wooden legs screeched on stone, preventing any further conversation.
“You had best take that squire with you,” Garrett told Sir Arthur, “lest Roger break his head.”
Digory looked at the bench as if it might bite him.
“Oh, sit.” Sir Arthur gestured at the bench. “None of us are going anywhere until we get some answers.”
“I just want my wife, and then I will leave you in peace.” Digory crossed his hands in front of him.
Garrett stood, grabbed Digory by the shoulder, and pushed him onto the bench. “Sit.”
For a moment, Digory looked like he might stand again. Garrett hovered above him. Wisely, he chose to remain seated.
“You cannot have your wife until I am sure you did not put those bruises on her,” Roger said. “Rob, get our guest some ale.”
“I told you how they happened.”
“Aye, but we don’t believe you.” Roger glared at Rob’s back as the boy dragged his feet out of the hall. “Rob,” he called. “If I have to get up you will not be sitting a horse for a week.”
Rob scurried out of the hall.
“I did not touch her.” Digory flushed. “In that way. I did not harm her.”
“So says nearly every man when faced with a woman’s angry relatives.” Garrett took his time tasting his wine before swallowing.
With a groan, Digory half-rose, and sat again. “I am not a fancy lord. I do not have any way to make you believe me. I cannot swear by my sword or my honor. All I have is a simple man’s truth and I give you that.”
“Tell me again, about the cow and Matty’s fall.” Roger motioned him to speak.
Digory breathed deep. “Part of Matty’s duties is to milk the cow in the morn. Only she does not care for the cow. She says it frightens her.” He twisted his hands together. “But I cannot be out in the fields before it grows too hot to plant, and milk the cow and collect the eggs, and—”
“I believe we get the point.” Roger silently thanked God he was not a farmer. “So, you insisted she milk the cow.”
“We need the milk for butter and cheese,” Digory said. “Matty is still learning to make those, but if she milks the cow I can get to them once I have finished in the fields and taken care of the rest of the animals.”
Sounded to Roger like Digory worked harder than three men.
“And, aye, I did raise my voice to her and insist that she do it.” Digory shook his head. “But I never knew she would fall and hurt herself.”
“What happened?”
“Well, Dewdrop, that’s the cow, has a habit of stepping around a bit when she’s milked. I showed Matty how to bind her back legs so she would not kick the bucket over. But Matty felt it was cruel and did not do it. Dewdrop stepped to the side, Matty thought she might kick her or bite her or something, and she fell over the milking stool.”
“And the milk?” Garrett spoke.
“It was spilled.” Digory reflected Roger’s confusion at the interruption.
Garrett cocked his head. “Did that make you angry?”
Digory wiped his hands on his thighs. “Well, aye, because we only have the one milk cow.”
“How angry?”
Digory blanched. “Not that angry, not angry enough to do what you are thinking.”
His father glanced at him, and Roger shrugged.
“The decision is yours.” Sir Arthur sat back and crossed his ankles.
Digory told a believable tale. As much as he wanted to paint him villain and beat the life out of him, Roger could not do it. “Digory, at this stage, I do not know what to believe. Your wife tells one story and you tell another. I need some time to find the truth.”
“I told you the truth.” Digory leapt up. “I did not hurt my Matty. I could never do such a thing.”
“That I will decide in time,” Roger said. “You may return to your farm or stay nearby while I consider all sides of this.”
“I want my wife.”
“You may not have your wife. Yet if ever.”
Digory stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I will wait nearby.” He stalked from the hall.
Sir Arthur spoke. “What will you tell Kathryn?”
“The truth. That I do not know what to believe.”
Garrett chuckled and shook his head. “I wish you luck with that. In the meantime, I will ask around a bit.”
* * * *
“You did what?” Kathryn stared at her husband and tried to make sense of what he had just said.
Bent, Roger continued to unfasten his cross braces. “I told Digory he could remain at Anglesea until I discovered the truth.”
“But you know the truth.” Had she not told him what Matty said?
“I know what Mathilda says, and I have heard what Digory says, and their stories do not match.” Roger sat up.
�
�You think my sister lied to you?”
“I did not say that.”
He believed Digory over her and Matty. Of course he did. Digory was a man. Once more Roger had broken his vow to her. “You will let him take her back?”
“I never said that either.”
“Nay you did not.” Tears threatened, thickening her voice. She would not cry, refused to. Now she needed to remain strong. “That you would even consider Matty lied to you tells me all I need to know.”
“Kathryn.” He approached her, hands outstretched.
“Do not touch me.” She ducked around him and wrenched open the door.
The door slammed shut. Palms flat to the door, Roger caged her between his arms. “We will discuss this reasonably.”
“There is nothing to discuss.” Pulling at the handle proved futile. She could not budge him, but Kathryn kept trying. “You promised me my sister would be safe.”
“And she will be.” His breath tickled her ear. “I will not let her go back with him if I judge it not safe for her.”
“You vowed to me.”
“I know that.” He pressed closer, his strong chest against her back.
Kathryn steeled herself to resist his warmth and comfort.
“I will keep that vow. But Digory…” He took a deep breath. “He does not seem the sort to hurt any woman, let alone a woman he clearly adores.”
“You do not even know him.”
“Neither do you.” He folded his arms about her, drawing her to him. “I know Matty is your sister, sweeting, but meet with the man. Ask him your questions and then we will speak further.”
Kathryn wanted to lean into him, to have him shoulder all her worries. Her weakness sickened her. Had she not learned never to put her fate in a man’s hands? All her years as Sir Royce’s daughter should have impressed that lesson into the deepest part of her. She wrenched free of Roger’s hold. “I will never speak to that man.”
“Kathryn.” This time Roger let her open the door fully. “Where are you going?”
“Away from here. Away from you.”
He folded his arms. “Think before you leave this chamber, Kathryn. You are drawing a battle line that need not be drawn between us.”
His calm reason pressed at her and demanded she hear him. “The lines are already drawn.”
“Very well.” Roger stepped away from the door. “If you are resolved in this, I will not stop you.”
Head raised, Kathryn stepped into the passage.
True to his word, Roger stood and watched her.
Indecision tore at her. Where was her pride? Kathryn raised her chin. Before she could dissuade herself from her course, she strode away from him.
The door slammed behind her, loud enough to startle her.
Where to go?
Well past the watch’s call of midnight, the keep lay still and quiet about her. If she slept in the hall, the entire Anglesea would know she refused to lie with her husband. Such a blow would strike Roger’s pride. Why she cared after his betrayal she knew not, but somehow she did.
Matty. She would go to Matty.
Kathryn retraced her steps past the bedchamber she had shared with Roger. The closed door stared at her in condemnation. It would be so easy to open that door, step inside and take her place where she belonged. Belonged? Kathryn straightened her spine. She refused to be any man’s chattel. She strode to the smaller chambers at the east end of the keep, where guests were housed.
Matty looked up from where she sat by the fire. “Kate?”
She had told Matty she hated that name too many times to count, and each time Matty laughed and called her silly.
“What are you doing here?” Matty put her embroidery aside and rose.
Somehow she did not want to tell Matty of her argument with Roger. Bad enough that she need worry about Roger’s doubts. Matty would react badly to the news of Digory being so close, and Kathryn sought some peace to make sense of all the emotions at war within her. “Might I sleep here tonight?”
Matty frowned. “There is only the one bed.”
“Aye, but it is large enough for both of us.”
“I suppose.” Matty pulled a face. “But I am a light sleeper, so you must not disturb me.”
Kathryn pressed her annoyance down, hard. Matty did not know she was upset from her fight with Roger. Light sleeper, though. That could make her fall about laughing. Matty would sleep through a band of traveling minstrels playing right beside her ear. “I will sleep quietly.”
“What does your husband think of you spending the night with me?” Matty studied her.
“He did not say much.”
“Hmph!” Matty sat and resumed her embroidery. “Digory would never let me sleep alone.”
Matty seemed awfully smug for someone who sat in her sister’s keep without her husband. “I did not ask Roger’s opinion.”
Matty smirked. “Are you tangling with the man already, Kate?”
“Do not call me that.” Kathryn grabbed the frayed ends of her patience. “And I merely came to spend some time with you. If that is a problem, I can return to my husband.” Aye, she did labor the words my husband a touch.
Matty held her hands out. “Not at all, Kathryn. It is lovely you are here. I have missed you.”
Kathryn melted. This was her Matty. “I have missed you, too.”
Chapter 27
Roger came awake instantly.
“Get up.” Father dropped Roger’s discarded chausses onto the bed. He wore a grim harried expression. “You need to come now.”
The door slammed behind his father.
Roger had never seen him wear that look before. He hauled on his chausses and a tunic, then he grabbed his boots and ran to the hall.
Lady Mary sat before the hearth, wrapped in a blanket. Nurse stood beside her, patting her shoulder and murmuring in her ear.
“What is it?” Roger sought his father’s gaze.
Sir Arthur stopped pacing and approached him. “There is trouble.”
“Sir Royce?”
“Nay.” Father’s shoulders slumped and he dropped his head. In that instant he looked every year of his age.
Despite what he called him, Sir Arthur had more vigor than a man half his age. Roger should know because Father could still hold him in a sword fight. “What is it?”
Mother’s tear-stained face turned his way. Her haunted eyes chilled him to the bone.
“What is it?” His voice rang loud and strange through the still hall.
Nurse limped to him, her hands outstretched. “It is Henry.”
“Henry?” Roger clutched at the chair back. Henry had left on holy pilgrimage almost three full years ago. News of him came rarely, if at all. Dear God! Roger could not voice the dread. “Is he…?”
“Nay.” Sir Arthur pounded his fist into the wall. “Do not say that word.”
“We do not know.” Nurse took his hands in hers. “Newt drove himself near death to get here. He saw Henry go down in battle, pulled off his horse.”
Henry! The ripping through his chest made breathing impossible. His little brother. Such a pompous pain in his ass. Rife for teasing with that stick wedged firmly up him.
“They did not find a body.” Nurse grabbed him by the shoulders. “Newt searched, and found his horse dead, but they did not find a body.”
“Where is Newt?” Roger needed to hear the story for himself. He would not believe it true until he heard it.
“He is in the kitchen, Roger.” Nurse grabbed his arm. “The lad is exhausted. He near killed himself and his horse to get to us.”
Mother sobbed, and father stood beside her, patting her shoulder. They both looked defeated by the news. He wanted to shake them, and demand like a small, impetuous lad that they not believe the worst. He needed not to believe the worst himself.
Roger had to get out. He ran to the kitchen.
Newt had changed so much, Roger barely
recognized him. When Newt had run afoul of the king’s game warden, Sir Arthur made good on the favors owed Newt and sent the boy to join Henry as a squire.
He rose, no longer a boy, but a man. Easily as tall as Roger and filling in his lanky frame.
Newt swayed with exhaustion. Lines of strain bracketed his mouth, deep shadows beneath his eyes. His hollowed cheeks spoke of many a missed meal. “You want to hear it.”
“Aye.”
Roger motioned him to sit before Newt fell. He took the seat opposite. Perhaps he would find some missing part of the story they could cling to.
“I was supposed to be by his side.” Newt dropped his head into his hands. “He told me to be back, but I was…” Newt’s shoulders bunched, and when he spoke again, he had control of his voice. “I got to the battle late. I could not reach him. There were so many of them, and Henry was right in the thick of it. Where he always is. Was.”
Streaks had made runnels in the dirt on his haggard face. Newt pushed the heel of his hand against his nose and sniffed. “You know Henry.” He shrugged. “Always off to raise his sword for God.”
Roger would have punched him, but the affection rang in Newt’s tone. An unlikely partnership, Newt and Henry, the gutter rat and the saint, but somehow they had forged a bond thicker than steel. Newt grieved for Henry in a way that cut deeper perhaps than any of them. The connection he understood. If you stood arm-to-arm with a man in battle, he became the brother of your soul.
“They surrounded his horse.” Newt gripped his hands together so tightly the knuckles turned white. “I saw the whoresons doing it. I shouted, but the noise…” He cleared his throat. “There were too many. He went down.”
“You found no body?” Roger had trouble forcing the word body out of his mouth.
Newt shook his head. “And I looked. I swear to you.”
Roger nodded. He got to his feet like he had aged fifty years in the last minutes. Every muscle ached as if he’d been pummeled. “Get some rest. We will speak later.”
He left the kitchen and went back to the hall.
Beatrice had been woken and cried in Garrett’s arms.
Roger ached to have Kathryn by his side. To feel her wrap herself around him and share his pain.
