By King's Decree

by Shari Anton

  “Nora!” Ardith said, delighted.

  “Milady,” Nora answered, smiling, dipping into a curtsy.

  “I wondered where you had gone. I missed you. Gerard, we must reward this girl in some way. She risked Siefeld’s wrath to bring me water, and she watched over Daymon.”

  “You did not tell me that,” Gerard scolded Nora, then told Ardith, “She also ran the leagues between Northbryre and Milhurst, hoping to stir Sir William into action. Her news helped us plan our attack.”

  “And I have my reward, milady,” Nora injected. “The baron has released my family from serfdom, given my father a hide of land. ‘Tis more than I ever dared hope.”

  After Nora left, Ardith put her hand over Gerard’s. “You are a generous overlord, Gerard. My thanks.”

  “I reward loyalty where deserved,” he said, then scowled. “Are you about to cry again?”

  “Nay, Gerard,” she said, blinking back the moisture he’d seen in her eyes. “I am about to eat.”

  And she did, with vigor, calling for a second trencher as Richard came into the manor. “You have a visitor, Gerard. The sheriff wishes a moment of your time.”

  Gerard raised a questioning eyebrow.

  A wry smile spread across Richard’s face. “A matter of recompense. It seems Basil convinced the sheriff that King Henry had granted Basil a pardon, but Basil felt it prudent to leave England and visit his lands in Normandy. He then promised the sheriff a handsome sum to arrange for a ship out of Dover. The sheriff insists on repayment of the funds he gave to the ship’s captain to stand ready.”

  Gerard looked about to explode. “Did you tell the sheriff what he could do with this absurd claim?”

  “Aye. But he felt you might be more sympathetic to his plight than I.”

  “Like hell.”

  “I tried to tell him, Gerard, but he would not listen. He begs the indulgence of an audience, my lord baron.”

  Gerard grumbled under his breath all the way out the door.

  “How fare you, my lady?” Richard asked, seeming totally unconcerned about the storm about to break outside. He tilted his head and teased, “Corwin was right. Can you breathe?”

  “Not only can I breathe, I can smell, thank you.”

  The shouting began. Gerard’s voice boomed, though Ardith couldn’t understand the words. Then rose another voice, high and shrill, threatening.

  “You are not to fret, Ardith,” Richard ordered gently. “Gerard will chew on the miscreant for a while, then spit him out The sheriff is supposed to serve the interests of the crown, not any one baron. He should have verified Basil’s claim of pardon before doing his bidding. By the time Gerard is through, the sheriff of Hampshire will understand his duty.”

  The lesson didn’t last long. Gerard strode into the manor as though nothing untoward had occurred. William followed, smiling and shaking his head.

  “I am suddenly quite ravenous,” Gerard said, sliding onto the bench. “Is there any stew left?”

  “You did not invite the sheriff to dine?” Richard asked with mock incredulity.

  William responded, “Gerard invited the sheriff to seek his payment from Basil, if he could find anything but bones left—”

  “William,” Gerard said in a soft, very low voice, the admonishment clear.

  William bowed to Ardith. “My apology, my lady. We will not speak of it again.”

  Gerard pulled the covers up as Ardith curled into his side, laying her head on his shoulder, tossing an arm over his chest. Within moments, she slept.

  Milhurst’s healer had proclaimed Ardith’s injuries mild. After his anger at Corwin for teasing Ardith had subsided, Gerard realized Corwin’s lack of concern confirmed the healer’s opinion. If Ardith were in any danger, Corwin would fret.

  Even Ardith had tried to ease his mind. He suspected her head ached, that her legs weren’t as steady as she pretended, yet she’d put on a brave face for his benefit.

  Her face would heal. She’d suffered no injury to threaten the babe she carried, at least no visible injury. The thought still gnawed at him that Basil might have raped Ardith, but he knew he would never ask, would never say a word that might force Ardith to relive the horror.

  Ardith had tried to kill Basil for whatever offense he might have committed.

  No one else knew. He hadn’t really realized himself until he’d removed her boots and found the dagger missing. He’d been so intent on removing Ardith from Northbryre he hadn’t given thought to the weapon used to cause Basil’s blood to pool around his body.

  Basil’s chamber had burned, the flames hot and bright. Surely, nothing remained of Basil but ashes, nothing remained of the dagger but a puddle of metal.

  Everyone accepted the story that Basil had died in the flames. They had no reason not to, for it was, for the most part, the truth.

  Ardith woke as Gerard got out of the bed. She stretched in the languorous movement of a body well rested, having slept soundly for long hours. She opened her eyes to see Gerard pull on his boots. He still looked tired, as though he hadn’t slept at all.

  From out in the yard, she heard men shouting, the jangle of harnesses and the impatient pounding of hooves. She tossed aside the coverlet.

  “I had hoped you would sleep a while yet,” Gerard said.

  “I would like to say farewell to Corwin.”

  “I will send him in.”

  “Nay, Gerard. I would rather go out.”

  “You feel strong enough?”

  “I feel quite well,” she answered honestly.

  “Then I will send Nora in to help you dress. The women were supposed to find you a suitable gown.”

  Nora burst into the chamber almost the instant Gerard had left, carrying a work gown. “’Tis not fancy, milady. The linen is a bit rough.”

  Ardith smiled. She changed quickly, accepting the help Nora seemed to think necessary. The gown fitted loosely, but Ardith paid it no heed. The felt slippers, however, flopped on her feet, making walking difficult.

  “Nora, do you know where my boots are?”

  “They dry by the fire. Shall I fetch them?”

  “Please.”

  The boots were warm, and cleaner than they’d been in weeks. She stood and wiggled her toes in the soft hide. But as she headed for the archway, she stopped. An odd feeling of dread urged Ardith to privacy.

  “Nora, would you go out and tell Gerard not to let Corwin leave until I get there?”

  After Nora scooted out, Ardith pulled the gown up above the boot top. She lifted the flap and put her hand on the hilt of the dagger. From the moment her fingers touched metal, Ardith knew the Lion’s Tooth wasn’t her own.

  Though nearly identical to the dagger Gerard had given her those many months ago, Ardith knew this dagger wasn’t the blade she kept in her boot. This wasn’t the dagger she’d pulled on Basil to keep him at bay, used to slash his arm, plunged into his body.

  This dagger belonged to Gerard. It boasted a slightly thicker hilt and added weight.

  So where was her dagger?

  Ardith sat very still as the answer formed. If Gerard had retrieved her Lion’s Tooth, he’d have returned it to her boot. But she’d driven the dagger deep into Basil, and there it still must be, at Northbryre, amid the smoldering ruins.

  Gerard knew she’d killed Basil, yet he’d told everyone Basil perished in the fire. As hard as she tried, Ardith couldn’t remember a candle stand toppling, or flames or smoke.

  Had Gerard started a fire in Basil’s chamber to cover the murder? The thought chilled her but made sense. King Henry had ordered Gerard to return Basil to London, alive, for punishment. Without intending to, by killing Basil she’d disobeyed a direct order of the king of England—and put Gerard in the awkward position of explaining Basil’s death.

  Since only she and Gerard knew how Basil had died, the false tale might be believed, even by the king.

  Ardith slid the dagger into her boot. For now, she would let Gerard have his way in this. She wo
uldn’t breathe a word of the truth to another soul.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ardith focused on Meg’s welcoming wave, though she noted the changes about the manor. In the two weeks since her kidnapping, the soldiers had repaired the armory. The only outward signs that anything untoward had happened here were the three fresh graves, one of them Elva’s.

  Gerard planned only to stay the night, to gather personal belongings and officially make Pip the steward. Tomorrow they would begin the journey to Wilmont, but if Gerard continued at the pace he’d set for the past few days, Ardith wondered if she would see Wilmont by first snowfall.

  His coddling and continued remoteness were becoming irksome in the extreme.

  She’d accepted his preoccupation as necessary while he toured the Northbryre lands, taking pledges from the men-at-arms and accepting into his protection those peasants who chose to remain under his lordship.

  She’d buried her disappointment in Gerard’s lack of desire for intimacy, understanding his reluctance to do anything that might irritate her injuries or endanger their child. But she’d healed well. So said Milhurst’s herbswoman. So said the fading bruises on her face. And so said the nagging voice of the inner woman who longed for her mate to give over his brooding for an overdue coupling.

  Ardith reined in and waited for Gerard to dismount and assist her descent. As he reached up to grasp her waist, Ardith smiled down. She ran her fingertips over his arms, leaning forward slightly, deliberately arching her back. Her breasts, swollen from pregnancy, tips hardened for want of his touch, protruded nicely, she thought.

  The deepening green of his eyes, the direct stare at her shamelessly thrust bosom, confirmed his interest and solidified her purpose. Farther, she leaned, wrapping her fingers around his neck as he pulled her against the wide expanse of his chest. Ever so slowly she slid along the length of him. As the aching female part of her rubbed against the growing male part of him, she wiggled. He held her there, suspended for several delightful moments before lowering her to her feet.

  His mouth a mere breath from her ear, he whispered, “What are you about, scamp?”

  “Indulging a…whim, my lord.”

  A slow, definitely indulgent smile spread across Gerard’s face, until a male voice hailed the baron. Ardith turned to see who dared interfere. A man, liveried in the colors of the king’s guard, approached from the direction of the stables.

  The guard bowed to Gerard. “My lord baron, by authority of Henry, king of England and duke of Normandy, I am ordered to bring you to London forthwith, to explain the death of Basil of Northbryre. We will strike out at once.”

  Very aware of the slight tremor of Ardith’s body, Gerard said flatly, “We will do no such thing.”

  “I have orders to place you under arrest if I must. I would prefer you come peaceably,” the guard warned.

  “And I will, given another day,” Gerard countered. “I have no quarrel with Henry’s order to appear at court. Surely, you can grant me what remains of today to set my affairs in order, to see my lady and son properly settled.”

  Gerard waited for capitulation as the guard assessed the odds of successfully arresting a baron, glancing first at Richard, who stood with hand on sword hilt beside Gerard, to the armory filled with men-at-arms.

  The guard bowed. “Until the morrow, Baron Gerard,” he relented, and strode off.

  “What the devil does Henry want?” Richard asked.

  “A report.”

  “I thought you sent him one from Milhurst.”

  “One that apparently did not appease his curiosity.” Gerard waved a hand to silence Richard’s next comment. “I expected a summons. Henry will want to hear every gruesome detail.”

  Gerard tucked Ardith under his arm and headed for the manor. His wish to see her safely ensconced at Wilmont before dealing with Henry had proved short-lived. That Henry wasn’t satisfied with the written report came as no surprise, but the urgency of the demand for an audience suggested that Henry was suspicious of the accuracy of the report. A suspicious Henry was a dangerous Henry.

  “Gerard?” Worry lines flanked her eyes. Her mouth was turned downward in a grim, tight line.

  “You are not to fret, Ardith. This jaunt to London merely delays our plans a bit.”

  She suddenly stopped and slipped away from his side. “Jaunt,” she said tersely. “Gerard, riding into London under the threat of arrest by the king’s guard, commanded to an audience with Henry is not a jaunt. As for our plans, this surely changes them.”

  He shrugged in what he hoped appeared a gesture of a man at ease. “Granted, I had planned to continue on to Wilmont, summon Father Dominic, get married, then watch my wife grow fat with child.”

  The hard set of her mouth eased. “And now?”

  “Now, I must take time to appease Henry.”

  “So we leave on the morn for London.”

  “We leave on the morn for the abbey in Romsey, where you and Daymon will stay under the watchful eyes of Queen Matilda, while I go to London. Do you think we might hit a streak of good fortune and find a priest visiting the abbey? We could get married—”

  “I would rather go with you.”

  “Nay, there is no reason for you to come. Henry will ask a few questions. I will give him the answers he wants to hear. Henry glories in this kind of tale and merely wants to hear the tale from me.”

  Ardith took a long breath. The tale was so bloody and repellent. She would forever remember Basil’s threats, see his body lunge forward and his disbelieving eyes widen, as the dagger slid into his body. But to tell the tale aloud, even to Gerard, had proved impossible. The words had stuck in her throat every time she tried.

  “Ardith, do not think about Basil. He died in the fire, an unfortunate incident neither of us could have prevented.”

  Ardith nodded her understanding. Gerard would perpetuate the story he’d invented. And maybe the king would believe it. And maybe, by the grace of God, both she and Gerard would escape whatever punishment Henry thought to mete out for disobeying a direct royal order.

  Gerard’s finger nudged her chin. “If I remember rightly, my scamp was about to make a lewd suggestion before the guard interrupted.”

  The scamp had fled, the playful mood banished by this latest threat to their happiness, their very lives if Henry decided to…no, not their lives, not if all the stories she’d heard were true. Henry preferred torture, and maiming, and dismemberment—and wasn’t above using innocents when meting out punishment.

  “Make love to me, Gerard,” she said softly, with no attempt to hide the plea in her voice.

  He was silent for a moment. “We will not harm the child?”

  Ever the protector! “Nay, nor the mother. You have held yourself from me these past days, Gerard. Do so no longer. I need you.”

  “As I need you,” he whispered. Gently, he lifted her into the cradle of his arms and carried her into the manor.

  Several days later, Gerard crossed his arms in an effort to contain his impatience as King Henry thrummed his fingers on the chair’s arm. Henry’s urgent summons hadn’t guaranteed an immediate audience, or, when finally granted, a brief one.

  Gerard wanted an end to this inquisition, to forever put behind him the frustration and fears that had churned his innards while dealing with Basil.

  He wanted peace. He wanted to return to the abbey, fetch Ardith and Daymon and take them home to Wilmont He wanted to get married and get on with his life.

  “Surely, Gerard, you have more to offer us,” Henry finally stated.

  “What more would you like to know, sire?” Gerard held his temper in check. “We have spent the greater portion of the morning discussing the events leading to the deaths of Basil of Northbryre and Edward Siefeld. You have a written statement from Sir William at Milhurst. You have questioned Richard. I know you are disappointed in being robbed of Basil’s punishment, but given the choice of saving Ardith or saving Basil, I chose Ardith, and by God, sire, would
do so again.”

  Henry sighed, a foreboding sound. “We had hoped our vassal still loyal. We would hear the truth, Baron Gerard.”

  Gerard knew his only course in this battle of wills was to stay the one he’d set upon. Any other endangered Wilmont, his brothers, or Daymon. Or Ardith.

  Gerard’s eyes narrowed. “My king knows me the most loyal of his barons. Indeed, Wilmont has served the kingdom well and full when others have rebelled.”

  “Yea, and we listen and want to believe. But you lie to us, Gerard, and that we cannot forgive.”

  Henry waved a hand at the door. A guard opened it. Into the audience room stepped the sheriff of Hampshire, a smug look on his face. At the king’s feet the sheriff placed a small pillow, upon which rested a Lion’s Tooth—blackened, the jewels missing, but one of the famous pair nonetheless.

  Ardith’s dagger.

  “Do you, Gerard, deny this blade?”

  He would be utterly foolish to deny the dagger, even suspecting what was to come. “To what purpose, sire? We both recognize the dagger as a Lion’s Tooth, one of the pair your father gifted my grandsire.”

  The king rose from his chair. “Our sheriff brings us this blade, having taken it from Basil of Northbryre’s charred remains. One would wonder how it got there.”

  “Not by my hand.”

  “Then Richard or Stephen, perhaps.”

  “Nay, sire. Neither Richard nor Stephen entered Basil’s chamber, and there are witnesses aplenty to confirm their whereabouts during the rescue. This blade did not take Basil’s life. He was breathing and awake when I left him. He died in the fire.”

  “Someone put this dagger into Basil. And you, Gerard, are the most likely.”

  Gerard didn’t need to close his eyes to see Ardith kneeling over the body, staring at the blood covering her hands, or to remember the anguish on her face when she’d looked up as he entered the chamber.

  Ardith hadn’t killed Basil, merely wounded him. And if Ardith had drawn the blade, she’d believed her life, or maybe Daymon’s, endangered. To tell Henry the truth meant subjecting Ardith to a royal audience and inquisition at the very least, and to Henry’s sadistic brand of justice. Not even if facing all the rings of hell would Gerard breathe Ardith’s name in connection with Basil’s death.