Finding Peace - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 2)

by Lisa Shea

  Michelle buried her face against Elizabeth’s chest. “I did not know what to do,” she sobbed. “I did not want to fight him; he was only kissing me, and who knew what else he might do if enraged. I did not want to tell you, not with how he hurt you already. I just wanted him to leave. I just wanted him to go away.”

  Elizabeth looked down at the waif. “You mean you would not want me to hurt him for what he did?”

  Michelle shook her head steadfastly. “That would not undo his actions. I only wanted him gone, so he could not hurt anybody here any longer.”

  Elizabeth gave her a warm hug. “Then your wish has been granted, for he is now banned from the nunnery grounds. You are safe here.”

  The wide smile on the child’s face was more than she could have asked for in return. A glow of satisfaction spread through her, far stronger than she had ever felt in one of her furious fights, far more profound than disassembling a straw dummy had ever felt.

  She turned to Richard in surprise, saw the nod of understanding. Then they were all hugging, laughing, and the sun shone down in golden streams.

  Chapter 15

  Elizabeth stood for a long moment in the entry hall before the main door to the keep. She stared at it, wondering what waited in the courtyard. She trusted the men on the wall, trusted them to keep Corwin out, and yet his manipulative schemes had surmounted so many hurdles in the past. She steeled herself to be strong, to withstand whatever new assault he planned to launch at her.

  She pressed the door open, stepping out into the sunshine – and stopped. Richard waited at the center of the ring, his eyes sure, steady. Michelle sat on a bale of hay, her legs crossed at the ankles, a wide smile at her face. The doors to the curtain wall were firmly shut and barred. No other sign of movement stirred from within the courtyard.

  Relief swept over her, and it was all she could do to rein in her stride, to walk with slow, measured steps down the front stairs of the keep, to make her way over to the ring of hay bales, to draw to a stop before Richard, gazing up at him in contentment.

  The corners of his mouth quirked up into a smile. “Good morning,” he greeted.

  “A very good morning,” she agreed.

  Sunlight dappled the cobblestone, easing gently between her shoulder blades. A gentle autumn wind danced along the edge of the wall, sending a swirl of leaves into the air.

  His voice was rich with curiosity. “So, what would you like to do?”

  Her mind leapt to a thousand options. She would like to fold herself tenderly into his arms. She would like to press her lips against his, at first softly, and then with growing passion, leaning against his length, feeling his arms come up around her body …

  A low voice called down from above the gate, its timbre tight. “We have a visitor,” informed Simon.

  The colors drained from her world, and in a moment she was sprinting toward the stairs, taking them two at a time, coming up alongside him to gaze out at the coastal road.

  She knew the black horse, knew the arrogant rider who urged him along the path, and a cold darkness had settled into her heart long before he pulled in hard before the gate. Corwin gave a sweeping bow, looking up at her.

  “My dearest fiancée, you look ravishing as always,” he greeted. “The ocean air seems to agree with you.”

  Richard tensed at her side, and her throat grew tight. “Spit it out,” she ordered. “What do you want?”

  His mouth quirked into a smile. “Your wish is my command,” he agreed with another flourish. “My darling siblings are ready to sign an agreement with this nunnery, to act as its patron. All that is required is that you and Claire come to dinner tonight to sign the contract.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth pressed into a line. “You hardly need me present for that,” she pointed out.

  Corwin gave a gentle shrug. “And yet that is what they requested,” he responded. “Are you saying you refuse?”

  Elizabeth drew in a breath. It would be just like him to arrange something like this. Surely there was another way to get around -

  His voice cut smoothly into her turmoil. “Oh, and there has also been a messenger for you,” he added.

  Tense anger drew her shoulders together. “What, from my father?” she snapped.

  He shook his head. “No, this message comes from the pen of Father Godfrey,” he murmured, his eyes dancing with delight. “He claims it is quite urgent.”

  Elizabeth leaned against the wall, panic thumping at her chest. That the sweet old man would write to her; something must truly be dire for him to take that step.

  “What did he say?” she asked, willing the shake to leave her voice.

  Corwin shrugged again, his smile growing. “I am a man of honor; I would not open your correspondence,” he stated. “My brothers hold the message for you and would gladly place it into your hands tonight.”

  “I will be there,” shot out Elizabeth. Corwin gave a flourishing bow, then he kicked hard into his steed’s flank’s, wheeling him, sending him at a hard gallop back the way he had come.

  Elizabeth watched him go, darkness drawing down around her, blurring out the rolling blue and streaming green which lay before her.

  Richard’s voice was gentle at her side. “Who is Father Godfrey?”

  Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her waist. “He was my one friend at my father’s keep; the only man who had the best interests of its inhabitants in his heart,” she muttered, her eyes still on the distant horizon where Corwin had vanished. How had the man done it? He had come up with the one thing which would lure her through the doors, would draw her back into his web.

  “I will be there, at your side,” murmured Richard. She wanted so much to turn, to press against his chest, to feel his sturdy arms come up around her and shelter her. She resisted with all her might. She would have to face this challenge with her own strength. She would overcome it, surmount it, and come out whole on the other side.

  A long moment passed, then Richard gave her a bow. “I should head home: I need to make sure this offer is all it seems,” he muttered half to himself. “I will return later tonight, to escort you to the dinner.” His eyes drew to latch onto hers with steady regard. “Please, wait for me. Do not head off alone with him.”

  Her resistance flared at that, as if she could not handle that man on her own. She drew in a deep breath, finally nodding in agreement.

  “In return,” she prodded, “you will let me handle Corwin in my own way tonight. The last thing I need is for you trying to jump in between us.”

  His face was still; she could see the tension draw between his shoulders. After a moment he let out a breath and nodded. “If that is your wish.”

  He put out a hand to tenderly draw it against her cheek, then turned, heading down the steps. In a few minutes, the doors were being pulled open and he was thundering through the gates, following along the path where his brother had gone a short while before.

  *

  Elizabeth sat nervously on her horse, smoothing down the violet dress, her eyes on the coastal road before them. The keep gates were closed sturdily behind her, and she knew that Simon and the full force of the guard lined the wall, watching over her. Claire sat serenely by her side, her face a mask of calm. The crimson sun eased slowly down toward the horizon, sending streaks of color dancing across the clouds.

  There – a pair of horses was coming toward them at a trot, side by side. The men seemed similar in so many ways, but to Elizabeth they could not have been more different. Corwin’s arrogance was clear in every sharp movement, in the tight way he dragged on the horse’s reins as they drew close. And Richard …

  Richard’s gaze was on her, sure, steady, reassuring.

  Corwin’s eyes drew down her in delight, his grin growing ever wider as they took in her outfit. “Why, my dearest future wife, you have worn your engagement dress to meet my family! How wonderful!”

  Richard’s gaze sharpened in surprise, and she blushed. “It is simply the one nice dress I had w
ith me,” she snapped to Corwin, nudging her horse into motion. “We should get on our way.”

  “Of course,” he agreed, falling in instantly at her left side. “And can I say you look absolutely lovely in that shade. My mother adored the color, you know. It was the blanket of columbines which decorated her world every spring. It is why I chose it for you.”

  Richard’s eyes moved back to her dress, and her face became more crimson.

  Corwin’s voice wheedled into her brain. “But surely you recognize the fragrance of that flower,” he continued. “Our mother taught us to make oil for our leather gear from an early age, and columbine and rosemary were key components of the recipe.” His eyes brightened. “You would have smelled that every time I drove you into the dirt or brought my elbow into your throat.”

  Realization hit her, and she turned to look at Richard. It had been the familiar smell when he had drawn her in, had held her when she cried. It was the fragrant mixture of columbine and rosemary which had seemed such a natural combination with the leather.

  Corwin chuckled. “Or perhaps your encounters with my brother were so feeble that you never made that connection,” he mused. “I doubt the man ever put you on the ground.”

  Richard tensed beside her, and her anger shot out, hot with steel. “When Richard and I were on the ground together,” she found herself snapping, “it was because my arms were wrapped around him and we were lost in passion.”

  A sharp spark flared in Corwin’s eyes, and his hand came up half-way toward a hearty slap before he reined himself in. His voice had a growl in it when he spoke. “Are you telling me that, while engaged to me, you have spread your legs to another man?”

  Richard’s hand dropped to his hilt, and Elizabeth tossed her hair back. “First off, I am not engaged to you,” she corrected Corwin. “You broke that off when you abandoned me face-down in the mud and left me to rot in my father’s prison.”

  Corwin began to argue, but she talked over him. “And secondly, I have not spread my legs to anybody. We have only kissed.”

  Corwin’s eyes brightened at that, and he sat back in smug satisfaction. “Of course he did not. My dear, honorable brother would never take such an action. That is why I shall be the victor,” he grinned.

  Elizabeth turned her eyes ahead, to where Claire rode before them, ignoring him. The party moved on in silence, a tense fury seeming to build with every step of the horses’ hooves. Elizabeth felt as if they were a building storm, growing with every step, preparing to crash down on the keep which grew ever larger before them.

  They were riding beneath the entry gates, walking through the courtyard festooned with yellow banners, moving up the staircase, and Corwin and Richard remained steadily at her side, even as they drew up to the head table and sat down before the twins. It was Claire who moved around to the other side, taking the vacant seat between them.

  Corwin smiled with delight as he eased into his seat. “And here we have her, my dear brothers,” he greeted, “just as I had promised. Does she not look lovely? Her father had this dress made for our engagement.” He drew his eyes to look possessively at her. “She even had the fabric dyed in my favorite color.”

  Elizabeth ignored him, her eyes moving to the two men before her. “I believe you have a message for me?”

  Ron blinked at the suddenness of her request, but nodded, drawing forth a scroll from beneath the table. “Yes, but surely it can wait -”

  She reached across the table, snapping it from his hands, settling back to examine the parchment. Yes, this was Father Godfrey’s seal; she knew the mark well. The scroll seemed untouched.

  Servants came pouring mead into their flagons, setting out wooden platters of bread and cheese. She toyed with the edge of the seal, half considering putting off its opening until later, when there were not so many eyes watching her. After a moment she gave up, digging her fingernail beneath the wax, prying it off the textured vellum. She would never last the dinner wondering what news it held for her.

  The tiny, scrawled letters trailed across the paper, and her heart went out to the elderly hand that had held the quill pen. The man must be nearing seventy by now, and life had not been easy on him. He had needed to stand up to her father often, insisting on more alms for the poor, on better protection for the villages nearest the menacing presence of bandits. He had been one of the few willing to stand up to her father, one of the few not driven away by her father’s storming rages.

  Her eyes took in the meaning of the words, and her hand moved to her chest. It could not be true. Surely what he was saying …

  She found herself whispering, “I have to go home.”

  Corwin’s eyes blazed with triumph. “Of course you do. At last you are seeing reason and taking some responsibility for your actions,” he crowed. “It took the scratchings of a doddering old fool for you to realize that?”

  Richard turned to her, his face concerned. “What has happened?”

  Her eyes drew in the message again, her shoulders sagging. “My father is near death; he will not last the month. If he dies, and I am not there to take control, Father Godfrey fears that my cousin Umfrey might storm in.”

  Corwin burst out laughing in delight. “Oh, that would make a pretty picture,” he toasted, downing half his glass. “Here you are worried about bandits causing harm to the area. Umfrey could lay waste to your lands far more thoroughly than those bandits could ever dream of!”

  Richard looked at her in concern, and she nodded. “Umfrey has his own lands far to the west, and he loathes my father with a passion. He would be quite thrilled to pillage everything of value from my land and burn the rest to the ground out of sheer spite, solely because my father adored it so.”

  Corwin ripped a piece of bread off the loaf, stuffing it into his mouth. It was a moment before he could speak. “So, when are we off?”

  Elizabeth rounded on him, fury filling her. She had no idea how he had orchestrated this, but somehow everything seemed to be going exactly as he had wished, drawing her along in its inexorable flow.

  “I will not be going anywhere with you,” she shot out.

  He waved his hands expansively. “The road is a free road; I may go where I wish,” he pointed out. “And, besides, I swore to your father that I would see you home safely. I will stand by that promise and ensure the deed is done.”

  “Fine,” she snapped, “I cannot stop you from riding the same stretch of dirt. However, I do not need to talk with you or look at you should you happen to be within eyesight.”

  He shrugged. “If you feel that looking at me or talking with me is far too tempting until we reach your family home then I will respect your frailty.” A grin spread on his face. “After all, we would not want to end up in a Yorkshire Dales wedding, now would we? You are far too noble for that.”

  Claire blushed crimson, looking down at her trencher. Corwin chuckled, giving a half bow to her. “My pardons, sweet nun,” he added. “I think you would agree that your dear friend should be properly married at the steps of a church, by a man of the cloth. She should be spared the old traditions of gaining a husband by spreading her legs wide.”

  Elizabeth put her goblet down hard on the table. “I will not be marrying you either way, Corwin,” she insisted. “Either the old way or the new. You will never have me before a church, and you certainly will never have me in your bed.”

  Corwin’s eyes twinkled. “Your feistiness is what I love about you,” he grinned, leaning back in his chair and looking over her with a long draw. “You came eagerly enough into my arms back at the cottage.”

  “I thought you were Richard!” she snapped in outrage, storming to her feet. “I have had just about enough of this.”

  Corwin’s eyes flicked to Claire. “And you will abandon your friend so quickly, when she has not done what she set out to do? You do seem to lack a sense of honor, after all.”

  Elizabeth looked down, impotent fury building with her, and then she slowly lowered herself back into
her seat. He was right, of course. She was letting herself be drawn into his web. She knew better than that.

  His voice came in a teasing lilt. “That is a good girl,” he chuckled.

  She raised her glass to her lips, taking down the cider in a long draw, willing herself to stay silent.

  Claire’s voice eased into the silence. “Ah, here comes the main dish. Roast goose – one of my favorites!”

  The trenchers were laid out, the platters of meat, cubed turnips, and diced apples presented, and Elizabeth focused deliberately on the meal. She had lost all appetite, but she forced herself to down a few pieces.

  Claire deftly took control of the conversation, talking animatedly to the twins, and slowly Elizabeth’s shoulders unknotted, her fury ebbed. It mattered not if Corwin rode with her back home. She would need to head out first thing in the morning. If she simply reversed the trek she had just made, it would take another two weeks.

  She sighed, poking at the meat before her. She had just gotten through the hellish ride here, and she was already being forced to turn around and go back again. It was just like her father to do this to her.

  Claire was holding up her glass, and Elizabeth realized they were offering a toast. A rolled-up scroll was in her other hand, and she was smiling contentedly. Elizabeth brought her glass up with the others, a small amount of calm easing through her. At least one good thing had come out of all of this. She had been able to help her friend.

  Claire placed the glass back on the table, then rose slowly. “And with that, I think we should be off,” she offered regretfully to the table. “Elizabeth has received bad news, after all, and I should get her back to the nunnery to rest. I thank you for the meal.”

  Ron and John leapt to their feet as one. “But we had musicians prepared, and dancing!” called out Ron.

  Elizabeth was already pushing her chair back. “Perhaps another time,” she offered, her tone indicating that she found this quite unlikely. “As Claire has said, I really should be getting home.”