by Tamara Leigh
She glanced at the jury, uncertain whether or not to be heartened by their rapt countenances. “He pulled me onto his saddle and taunted me for having no one to defend my virtue. Though I would not relinquish the dagger, he…touched me again…ravished my mouth…”
The memory caused bumps to rise across her limbs. “I feigned a swoon and nearly freed myself, but when he caught my arm and wrenched it down, the handle of the dagger struck his destrier and it…reared. We fell.” She filled her lungs deeply. “All I remember is the pain, and when I awakened Sir Simon was stretched atop me. Somehow, the dagger had…found his heart.”
The justice considered her. “Anything else, Lady Beatrix?”
Was there? Something that might further prove her innocence? That might help the jury see beyond the bliaut with its blood-stained bodice? She looked to where it lay on the table and winced in remembrance of the sticky moisture that had bled through the material. However, in the next instant her mind cleared and the lies told about her unraveled further.
Thank You, lord.
She touched the psalter on her belt, stepped to the dagger, and touched its hilt. “’Tis true I wielded this at the ravine.” She looked to the jury. “And as this dagger drew blood, so too is the blood on my bodice that of Sir Simon. I do not deny it. But by defense it was got, not murder.”
“As you have already told, Lady Beatrix,” the justice spilled impatience. “Now you are finished?”
“Nearly finished, Lord Justice.”
He grumbled but waved for her to continue.
She lifted the bliaut and looked to the jury. Was there one among them who would believe? If not, they were blind—else corrupt.
“Why has none questioned Sir Simon’s blood upon me?”
They frowned.
“Though I am accused of setting upon him and putting my dagger to him, how is it his…blood covers my bodice?”
The men frowned deeper. Did they understand? She glanced at the justice and was somewhat heartened by his risen brow.
“Sir Simon’s blood does not merely fleck my gown, which it would have done had I intentionally driven the dagger into him. As all can see from the great amount on the bodice, there was no distance between us when the wound was made. When we fell into the ravine, he landed atop both the dagger and me.”
Some of the mens’ eyes lit, and she prayed it was understanding that did it.
“The whore lies!” a graveled voice rent the silence.
Beatrix jerked her head around. The old man beside Christian Lavonne had been frightening to look upon before, but the hatred staining his face and the spittle frothing his lips turned him hideous.
“Though you would have it be otherwise that my family be as pained as yours,” she addressed Aldous Lavonne, “I speak the truth.”
As the old man’s scarred face flushed deeper and the muttering in the hall swelled, Christian Lavonne rose from his chair. Face grim, he beckoned two men-at-arms forward. “Return my father to his chamber.”
Aldous looked at the men who stepped forward, then lurched out of the chair only to crumple at his son’s feet.
Christian Lavonne hastened to his haunches. However, as he reached to Aldous, the old man struck out and raked his son’s cheek.
“Traitor!” This time, Aldous’s flailing fist caught his son’s arm, an ineffectual blow only in that it hardly moved the young baron. Emotionally, though, the old man found his mark, for anguish lit his son’s face before he once more hardened it.
Waving the men-at-arms back, Christian Lavonne reached again. “Father—”
“I am not your father!” Aldous twisted away. “You are unknown to me! Dead to me! More dead than Geoffrey!”
As all watched and murmured, Christian caught hold of Aldous’s arms.
“Do not touch me, accursed spawn!”
If Christian had not been such a large man, he could not have overpowered his thrashing sire, but he swung him up into his arms and strode past those who opened a path for him as they had done Lady Maude.
“Robert!” Aldous Lavonne called.
But the eldest son did not need to be summoned, for he had already detached from the onlookers and made to follow. As he drew near, Christian halted. Though what he said to his half-brother could not be heard above the roused onlookers, the words he put through clenched teeth caused the knight to falter and the old man to wail. Then father and son mounted the stairs and disappeared around the first turn.
“Order!” The justice shouted. When the din dwindled to hushed voices and whispers, he asked, “You are finished, Lady Beatrix?”
“There is naught else to tell of that day.”
He looked past her. “Are there any others who would speak to the accusation against Lady Beatrix?”
A voice traveled strong and sure across the hall. “I would.”
It was Sir Hector. Heart pounding so hard it felt as if it might break free of her chest, Beatrix stared at him. Surely he did not intend to bear witness for her. Baron Lavonne had left the hall, but the knight’s liege would soon enough learn what happened in his absence.
He ascended the dais. “I am Sir Hector. For twenty and five years I have served as a knight to the Lavonnes.”
Clearly, the justice had not expected any others to step forward. And from his scowl, he was not pleased. “Speak, Sir Hector.”
“Though ’twould seem the lady does not require my witness, I testify that what she told is true. She did protest when I left her in Sir Simon’s charge, and I did warn Sir Simon against laying hands to her.”
“Why would you believe it necessary to issue such a warning, Sir Hector?”
The knight hesitated. “Previous to that day at the ravine, such an accusation was made against Sir Simon by a serving woman.”
As murmurs once more rose, Beatrix felt Michael’s tension assail the air. If not that it was surely difficult for him and his mother to bear witness to such testimony, she would have reveled in relief for the credence Sir Hector added to her testimony.
With a slice of the hand, the justice silenced the din.
“However,” Sir Hector continued, “as the woman was wanton and had previously accused another knight of the same when he did not pay her the coin promised, the baron determined the accusation was false.”
“And you, Sir Hector? What did you think?”
“I…” He glanced at Beatrix. “The serving woman had been beaten—not badly, but bruised. Thus, I did doubt it was merely a matter of payment. But ‘twas not enough doubt to punish a man for something he might not have done.”
The justice tapped a finger to his lips. “Where is this serving woman?”
“Therein lies the reason for my warning to Sir Simon, Lord Justice. The serving woman disappeared some weeks later and was not seen again. Of course”—he looked again to Beatrix—“I truly did not expect Sir Simon would harm a noblewoman and thought my warning was sufficient should he consider such.”
Unfortunately, he had not known about Lady Laura whose ravishment had resulted in a child.
“I am sorry, my lady. Had I known, I would have remained behind.”
Beatrix stared at the man who had killed Sir Ewen, who had found no satisfaction in doing so, and who had saved her life.
“Then you believe the lady’s tale, Sir Hector?”
“I do not believe her accusation against Sir Simon is false.”
“You may step down.” The justice looked to Beatrix. “Now you are finished, Lady Beatrix?”
She looked to Michael.
He inclined his head and she knew that though he yet feared for her, all had gone well.
“There is no more to tell, Lord Justice.”
“Then, as all witnesses have spoken—”
“I have not spoken.” Maude stepped forward. Though she halted alongside Michael, she did not meet his gaze.
“Lady Maude,” the justice said, “pray have your speak and let us conclude this matter.”
“As my ste
pson and Sir Hector stand with Lady Beatrix, so do I, though it pains me deeply.”
“Explain, Lady Maude.”
“Though the blood spilled upon Lady Beatrix’s bliaut was sprung from my own veins, I believe my son did that of which the lady accuses him.”
The justice sat forward. “Why?”
“The serving woman’s accusation against my son was, in fact, not the first such accusation leveled at him. And that is all I shall say.”
Amid the resulting din, Michael stared at Maude’s profile. Simon had ravished one before the serving woman—at least, attempted to? And she had held the knowledge to her? Why? And Who?
A face rushed at him—lovely, tormented, lonely. Then another—pretty, uncertain, lost. Lady Laura. Clarice.
Michael could not contain his groan. All the truths he had held close turned to lies!
When Maude met his gaze, there were tears in her eyes. “Forgive me, Michael. I did what I thought needed to be done. Now I make amends.”
Could he forgive her? She had known but had thought it sufficient to reveal the ill done Simon that had made him such a man. And not for Lady Laura. Nay, for herself. Her shame. And now Beatrix—
He looked to where she stood with her hands at her waist, pity and regret lining her face. And somehow he knew she had known what Maude revealed. By the saints! Why would she not—
Because she is true. Because no fiber of her resembles Edithe. And he, who had once sought to see her hang for Simon’s murder, had been gifted with her love. Was there a man more undeserving?
“You are certain you will say no more?” the justice asked.
“I cannot.”
“Then these proceedings shall break. In one hour I will deliver the determination of Lady Beatrix’s guilt or innocence.” He motioned to the men-at-arms. “Escort Lady Beatrix to her chamber.”
Michael met Maude’s gaze. “We shall speak on this later.” He stepped past her and reached Beatrix ahead of the men-at-arms.
She looked up at him, and though he longed to ask about Maude’s revelation, he knew it was not the time. He clasped her hand and led her from the dais. Wulfrith and Abel followed.
“Lady Beatrix,” a voice met their backs.
They turned to Sir Hector. “Fear not, my lady,” he said. “Ere I spoke, already you had won the day.”
“How do you know you that?” Michael asked. Though no more proof was needed and it appeared the jury was not tainted, it was still no guarantee she would be found innocent.
“Had you looked near upon the old baron, you would have seen it in his eyes.”
Just as he would have seen had he looked near upon Simon…Maude…Lady Laura…Clarice. Clarice, his niece.
“But have a care, Lord D’Arci and Lady Beatrix,” the knight added. “Aldous Lavonne is not the honorable lord I once served. Until he gains what he is determined to take from the Wulfriths, methinks he will linger. And wait—along with those who are yet loyal to him.”
Michael knew that, and for it would have Beatrix gone from here as soon as the verdict was rendered, even if Sir Hector erred in believing she had won. “I thank you, Sir Hector.”
The knight looked to Wulfrith. “You know I killed your man, Sir Ewen.”
“I do.”
“It was not what I wished, but there was no other way.”
“Was there not?”
“As you surely know, Sir Ewen was not only a worthy opponent, but loyal to your family. Though twice I wounded him, neither wound was enough to keep his sword from severing my own life. He was too determined to die, if necessary, to prevent Lady Beatrix from being taken. And so he did.”
Michael watched the man who would be his brother-in-law, wondered what turmoil brewed beneath the warrior’s hard-faced countenance.
“Sir Ewen was worthy,” he concurred, “and loyal. Thus, he knew what was required of him, just as you know what is required of you, Sir Hector. As only one could prevail in such a contest, no further explanation is required.”
The knight nodded. “There is one other thing you should know. Though my lord, Christian Lavonne, was not trained up to rule this barony, he is worthy and will prove a good husband for Lady Gaenor.”
Whom Wulfrith would be expected to hand up if Beatrix was found innocent. Of course, considering how well Beatrix had done, along with Maude’s support, he might deem the knight’s testimony useless. Would he?
“I will consider that, Sir Hector.”
“I pray you do.” The knight turned away.
“Do you think he is right?” Beatrix asked, lifting her face to Michael.
About the verdict? Or Christian Lavonne? Both? He squeezed her hand. “Soon we shall know.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
He was thrumming his fingers again, just as impatience had caused him to do when last she was at Broehne Castle and had feigned sleep in hopes he would abandon his vigil.
Strangely, this time there was something almost comforting in the sound he beat on the window sill. Aye, Michael D’Arci was yet an impatient man, but this time he was impatient to deliver her from punishment.
Staring at his back from the chest she sat upon, Beatrix started to smile. However, no sooner did she allow the corners of her mouth to lift than he said, “You knew about Clarice.”
How did he know? Had her face betrayed her? More, why had he not asked until this moment? Although it seemed hardly an hour had passed, two had passed though the justice had decreed otherwise. And before now, Michael had not come anywhere near mentioning Maude’s revelation. Of course, until a few minutes past, her brothers had also occupied the chamber. Now they had departed—Abel to ascertain the reason for the delay, and Garr…
Though he had offered no explanation, she guessed he sought to further his plan of stealing her away if the verdict went wrong.
Michael looked around.
Grateful he did not appear angry, she crossed to the window. “I knew.”
“Maude told you?”
Beatrix laid her palms to his chest. “’Twas Lady Laura who revealed the manner in which Clarice was got.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw. “When?”
Mayhap a bit angry. “The morn after Sir Durand tried to take me from…Soaring.”
Michael’s chest expanded with a taut breath. More than a bit angry? “Ere you came to me in the stables?”
“Aye. You wish to know why I did not tell you.”
His eyebrows nearly touched. For certain angry. “I know why you did not tell me.” Long seconds passed before he released a breath of frustration. “You are honorable—much to your detriment.” Brow easing, he drew a hand up her back and pulled it around to cup her jaw. “You are unlike any woman I have known. And I do not understand how ever I could have believed ill of you.”
She smiled. “A brother’s love. Though Simon surely…changed from that who you knew, you knew him ere you knew me.”
“Have you no guile, Beatrix?”
“When necessary—as when a man who makes himself my enemy chases me through abbey ruins.”
He remembered as well, and for it rubbed his leg. Though, for a moment, it looked as if he might smile, his face turned troubled. “The D’Arcis have caused you much pain, and yet you stand with me as if my armor bears no tarnish.”
“A woman’s love, Michael—a love that knows the truth of you.”
He kissed her, but no sooner did she lean in to him than he drew back and gripped his sword hilt.
A moment later, Abel and Garr entered. At the sight of Beatrix and Michael standing near, they hesitated, then Garr said, “The verdict has been rendered.”
Though Beatrix felt a jolt of fear, she said, “I am ready.”
“Come forth, Lady Beatrix.”
Hearing every draw of her breath, Michael looked to the woman beside him. No words did she speak, for it was all in her eyes. She nodded and stood.
Sending up a prayer that Maude was well beyond the castle walls as he had arranged should the v
erdict go wrong, Michael watched as Beatrix touched her psalter and stepped around him.
He let her go, though a harder thing he had not done. But his men and her brother’s men were ready—all armed, all in place. He braced his legs apart, the better to rush to standing with his sword in hand.
As Beatrix ascended the dais, the justice stood. “May all know by these proceedings,” he poured his voice across the hall, “the verdict given this day shall stand for all days and that any who deem otherwise shall, by their acts, suffer the charge of treason.”
Michael felt the impression of his sword hilt though it was not yet to hand. To whom did the justice speak? God willing, it was Aldous Lavonne who festered in his chamber abovestairs.
The justice looked to the accused. “After much scrutiny, the charge that Lady Beatrix did murder Sir Simon D’Arci”—
Beatrix stared at the man, fearful she would be unable to hear him over the sound of her heart in her ears.
—“is found lacking. Therefore, Lady Beatrix Wulfrith is innocent. So says the royal court.”
Amid the rousing of the castle folk, Beatrix could not move, and when finally she did, she nearly went limp. All she had prayed and prepared for…
God had provided. Now a wife she would be to Michael and one day a mother to their children.
“Thank you,” she whispered, though the justice could not possibly hear her above the din.
With a voice that ascended the others, he said, “’Twas you who won your freedom, Lady Beatrix.”
“Thank you,” she said again and swung around to meet Michael’s smile across the distance.
Though the din in the hall suddenly changed, her heart was too filled with joy for her to seek out the cause. Thus, the alarm that transformed Michael’s face reached her first, next the drawing of his sword, then his shout as he and her brothers lunged toward her.
She snapped her head to the right. Dagger aloft, bearded face mottled, Sir Robert hurtled his great bulk toward her.
