The Unveiling (Age of Faith)

by Tamara Leigh

  “You are saying you would not have cut my throat?”

  “’Twas as I intended, but when I drew the dagger back, I realized my mistake.” She shook her head. “Ere I could withdraw, you seized me.”

  He had sensed hesitation when the intruder stood over him, but death had been too near to discover the truth of it.

  “I ask that you believe me in this.”

  He searched her eyes. Though his father would have rebuked him for believing what he found in a woman’s eyes, he said. “I believe you, Annyn.”

  She sighed. “Thank you, Husband.”

  That simple title from her lips made him want to make love to her again. In the next instant his passion faltered. Love? Only an expression.

  “This belief I tried to kill you,” she said, “is it the reason you continue to carry Jonas’s dagger?”

  “As a reminder?” He shrugged. “In part, but more because the misericorde was first mine.”

  She startled, as he inwardly did for having said what did not need to be told. What a lack wit he was in her presence! But it was no less than his father had warned—always a woman turned a man from his purpose.

  “Yours, Garr?”

  “Aye.” He motioned her to the bed.

  She came around and laid the misericorde in his hand.

  He turned the weapon and tapped the steel beneath the hilt. “Those are my initials.”

  Annyn leaned forward and peered at the fine scratchings. “G.W.” She shook her head. “As I did not know your Christian name, I believed the initials were the mark of the blacksmith who forged it. I feel the fool.”

  Garr lowered his gaze over her bared neck and shoulders, pulled her down beside him, and tossed the dagger to the far side of the mattress. “Now for another lesson.”

  However, as he bent to claim her mouth, she said, “Why did you give Jonas your dagger?”

  Berating himself as he had done often since Annyn had come crashing into his life, he fell onto his back beside her.

  Why had he given Jonas his dagger? Memory swept him back to Lincolnshire all those years ago: anger lengthening his stride through the wood, Merrick struggling for breath to stay near, movement ahead, a body swaying among tree limbs, Jonas’s face mottled and contorted above a noose. The sight had nearly made him retch, not only for the shame of such a death, but that his harsh words and judgment had moved the young man to take his life.

  He had known what he must do. And that no others must know, excepting Abel and Everard whose aid he had enlisted, and, of course, Merrick. While the squire had wheezed with his back to the scene, Garr had cut down Jonas, thus setting in motion a plan gone terribly awry.

  “Garr?”

  He raised his lids to find Annyn leaning over him. He reached up and fingered the black strands sweeping her cheek. “I cut him down.”

  Her gaze wavered.

  “But I could not return him like that. Though he betrayed—”

  “He did not—”

  “Hear me and I will tell you all I should not.”

  She nodded stiffly.

  “Though few die while in training, and usually only in battle, they are returned home wearing the Wulfen misericorde of knighthood to which they aspired.” He drew a deep breath. “I knew I should not gird one on Jonas, but I could do no less for him. As there was no time to return to Wulfen, I fastened my own misericorde on him that his death would appear honorable.” She did not need to know it was the same blade that had put the false wound to her brother’s chest.

  Annyn looked away.

  “And you know the reason I made his death appear honorable?”

  “Because you knew Jonas could not have taken his own life.”

  “By faith, woman!” He pushed onto his elbows, bringing their faces so near she jerked back to avoid what might have meant a bloody nose for one or both. “As I told before, I did it to spare your family shame, but also”—finally it would be spoken, and no more could he deny it—“I did it to ease my guilt over the judgment that pushed Jonas to a place that made death a better choice. Guilt I should not have felt for such a betrayer.”

  “Betrayer! I knew him better than ever you could, Garr Wulfrith.”

  “You think you knew him.”

  “I did!” She slapped a hand to her chest. “He was my brother.”

  “Listen to me—”

  A knock shattered their private world. “My lord!” Squire Warren’s voice came through the door. “Sir Abel bids me to tell you that Duke Henry approaches Stern.”

  Though Garr was grateful for last night’s reprieve that had ensured consummation of his marriage, he bitterly wished for an hour more so that he and Annyn might put Jonas behind them.

  “Send to my brother and tell him to hold Henry outside the walls until I come to the hall.”

  “I shall, my lord.” There were murmurings in the corridor, then Warren called through, “The maid, Josse, has come to attend your lady wife, my lord.”

  Garr dropped his feet to the rushes, strode to the bed’s end post, and pulled his robe from the peg. As he pushed his arms into it, he glanced at Annyn in her coverlet and followed her horrified gaze to the lower sheet that was marked with blood.

  She whipped her head up, eyes turning more stricken when she saw he also saw. She wrenched the top sheet over it. “I do not understand. ’Tis not my time. Indeed, it is well past.”

  It took Garr a moment to understand the embarrassment that bubbled from her, and when he did, he nearly smiled. She thought it was her menses. What else had she not been told about being a woman? Did she know whence babies came?

  He sighed. “I am relieved I shall not have to cut my hand after all.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  He cinched the belt of his robe, stepped forward, and tossed back the top sheet. “Virgin’s blood, Annyn. All the proof needed that a woman was chaste when she spoke her vows and the marriage was consummated.”

  Her frown deepened. “This is usual?”

  “I do not know if ’tis usual, but it is as the church wishes it.”

  She looked back at the marked sheet, then once more whipped the top sheet over it. “You are saying that had I not...virgin’s blood, you would have provided evidence yourself?”

  “Aye, and I am pleased ’twill not be necessary.”

  “But who other than you and I would know?”

  She was not going to like what he told. “Annyn—”

  “My son!” his mother called through the door. “Make haste. Henry approaches.”

  “Enter!”

  It was Samuel who opened the door. His face averted to afford his lord and lady privacy, he stepped aside as Lady Isobel and Josse entered. A moment later, the door closed behind them. One look at Annyn on the bed, the coverlet clutched to her, and both women smiled.

  “Come, Daughter.” Isobel bestowed the intimate title without strain or falsity. “We shall prepare you in Garr’s chamber so that Squire Samuel may tend his lord.”

  Eyes large in her pretty face, Annyn drew the coverlet nearer and swung her feet to the floor.

  Mayhap she did not need to know about the blood, Garr entertained, but then his mother exclaimed, “The sheet!” and hurried toward the bed. “Come, Josse, we must hang it out.”

  Annyn halted, causing the rushes to scatter. Had she heard right? She looked from the women as they descended upon the bed, to Garr. “They must do what?”

  He crossed to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “As is custom, the morning-after sheet is hung out.”

  Her face coloring deeper, she looked to Isobel and Josse. And cringed at the satisfied murmurs that rose from them as they assessed the sheet. The humiliation! “Never have I heard such.”

  Garr sighed. “Had you not been too busy with the things of men, you would have.”

  The outrage! “Mayhap I should have stayed with the things of men.”

  “I fear my taste only runs to women, Lady Wife.”

  There was nothi
ng humorous about it! She glowered as the women pulled the sheet from the mattress. “This is primitive.”

  “I quite agree.” Lady Isobel glanced over her shoulder.

  Though she afforded only a glimpse of her face, Annyn was struck by the fatigue about her eyes and mouth.

  “Unfortunately,” Isobel continued, “’tis necessary, Daughter.”

  Daughter, again. The pleasing sound eased some of Annyn’s embarrassment. “Where is the sheet to be hung?”

  “Methinks the center window is best.” Isobel held one end of the sheet and Josse the other as the two crossed the solar. The cool morning air rushed in with the opening of the shutters.

  “For all to see?” Annyn choked.

  “Most especially Henry,” Garr said, “and Lavonne if he accompanies the duke.” He leaned near and lowered his voice. “Regardless of whether or not our marriage is deemed clandestine, Annyn Wulfrith, that sheet proves it is a marriage. It says to all that you belong to me. And no man—no king—can take you from me.”

  His intensity stole her breath. Though what he said she knew to be true, it did not preclude excommunication. It tore at her that he, a man of such reverence, would risk it for her. And in that moment she was gifted with the certain knowledge of what he did not allow to pass his lips. He did love her. Garr Wulfrith, once her enemy, now her husband, loved her in spite of all.

  For the moment putting the argument of Jonas aside, she laid a hand to his cheek. “I tell you true, Husband, I love thee. And though some may try, neither can any take you from me.”

  To her surprise—and hope—he pressed a hand over hers where she cupped his cheek. “We stand together, Annyn,” he denied her the words she longed to hear. “Husband and wife.”

  It was not enough, but for now it would do.

  “’Tis done.” Lady Isobel stepped from the window. “Now come, Daughter, there is much to do ere you are presentable.”

  Annyn winced at the sight of the sheet in the window. Now all would know. Of course, what had happened in the solar on the night past was certainly expected of those who were newly wed. But that knowledge helped little. Though the solar was cooled by rain-scented air, the heat of embarrassment kept the chill from her.

  “Be of good speed,” Garr murmured as she turned to follow his mother and Josse from the solar.

  Annyn hefted the coverlet higher to prevent it from dragging and stole a final glance behind. “And you, Husband.”

  His brief smile sending a shiver up her spine, she left him to prepare for his meeting with Henry.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “That is not me.” Annyn stared at her transformation in the mirror that Josse held. “I do not know who that is.”

  Lady Isobel clapped her hands. “It is Lady Annyn Wulfrith, my daughter, my son’s wife, the mother of my grandchildren.”

  Grandchildren. Would there be any? Might there now be one growing inside her?

  She touched her face. Though she had refused powder, Isobel had coaxed her to apply a bit of rouge to her cheeks and lips and a light shadowing to her eyelids. But it was more than that which held her transfixed, more than the voluminous white head veil with its jeweled circlet of gold wire, more than the wisps of dark hair pulled forward and made to look feminine against her pale skin.

  It was the bliaut woven of purple and gold silk on which Isobel and Josse had worked far into the night so that Annyn might wear it to receive Henry—the cause of their weary faces, and over which Annyn had cried when they had presented it. With its delicate embroidery at neck, hem, and wrists, its sleeves that fell open past her knees, its low waist and long train, it was more beautiful than any of her mother’s gowns that had sufficed at Castle Lillia. And it fit her every curve, showing she did, in fact, possess some.

  She stepped back to see more of herself in the mirror and thought one might even call her pretty.

  “Who could deny you anything, hmm?” Lady Isobel’s reflection joined Annyn’s.

  Annyn met her gaze in the mirror. “Never have I owned a gown fashioned just for me.”

  “I thought not.”

  “Thank you. And you, Josse.”

  “’Twas an honor, my lady.” Josse dipped, causing the mirror’s light to shudder around the chamber.

  “Your husband awaits belowstairs,” Lady Isobel said.

  Annyn patted her skirts and was strangely thrilled by the slip of silk beneath her palms—and shocked that she should find pleasure in something so womanly. Would Garr be pleased? Would he even recognize her? Pushing back her shoulders, she hitched up the train of her bliaut.

  Isobel preceded her down the corridor, then the stairs, beyond which voices were raised.

  Had Garr let Henry in? Annyn prayed not, wishing to be at her husband’s side when the duke descended.

  A few steps up from the hall, Garr’s mother looked around. “Do not forget that you are now a Wulfrith.”

  “I never shall.”

  When Annyn stepped into the hall, she became the dearest object of attention. A murmur rippled through the gathered knights, squires, pages, and servants—though not from Henry, for he was not yet within, as witnessed by her husband who was alone on the dais except for Abel.

  Garbed in a tunic of red girded by a silver belt hung with a sword and misericorde, silver hair brushed back off his forehead, Garr stared at her.

  What did he think? Annyn gripped her hands at her waist as she crossed the hall with carefully measured steps as Uncle had taught her—a waste of steps when half as many would suffice, but to stride the hall would detract from the image that Lady Isobel and Josse had taken such pains to afford her.

  Garr’s mouth curved, and he descended the dais. “My lady wife is most becoming.” He caught up her hands and pressed his lips to them.

  For this, the ladies swooned, but not Annyn. Though her clothes might make it appear she had been bred such a lady, and she more and more felt one, she could not so easily put out the things of men that had given meaning to her life when there had been none. And even if she could, she would not. Garr Wulfrith had not seen his last swordplay with Annyn Bretanne now Annyn Wulfrith.

  “You are ready?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  “Let Henry in, Abel.”

  The youngest brother’s usually droll face now disturbingly grave, he nodded.

  Garr led Annyn around the table, seated her to his right, and lowered to the lord’s seat. Lady Isobel and her daughters also took their seats at the high table.

  The hall fell silent, save for unintelligible whispers. In that silence, Annyn found Rowan where he stood near an alcove, flanked by men-at-arms, face gaunt even from a distance. As this was her day of judgment, so it was his.

  Had he eaten anything this morn? she wondered when their eyes met, and only then realized her own belly was empty. But she was not hungry. Not when Duke Henry was without—and soon within—Stern’s walls.

  She considered Sir Merrick who leaned against the wall alongside the stairway. Several days back she had heard he would be leaving the service of the Wulfriths and wondered if it had anything to do with her questioning. Somehow, she must get him alone before he departed.

  As she returned her regard to the table, she was struck by the absence of Henry’s messenger, Sir Drake. He was nowhere among the many, meaning he had gone out to meet Henry. Meaning Henry did not need to look upon her humiliation hung from the window to know Garr Wulfrith had taken a wife.

  Shortly, the pound of hooves reverberated through the hall as Henry and his men came into the inner bailey.

  Annyn looked to Garr whose gaze was fixed on the open doorway. Jaw set, he was once more the warrior.

  The clink of metal, scrape and thump of boots, and grunts and curses preceded the entrance of Henry and his men. Sir Drake on one side, Abel on the other, the young Henry who did not look like one who would be king, came first. With his quick and loose stride, his careless garments speckled and streaked with mud nearly up to his wais
t, his cropped red hair and beard, he looked more like a commoner.

  He knew of the marriage, his color so livid he appeared only a shade off the purple of her bliaut—as did Lavonne who came behind him.

  Beneath the table, a hand briefly covered Annyn’s. “It is well,” Garr softly assured, continuing to hold his gaze to Henry.

  Lesson four, was it not? Keep your eyes on your opponent.

  He stood to receive the duke, and Annyn and the others stood with him.

  “Duke Henry!” Garr called. “We are most pleased to receive you in our hall.”

  The broad man stepped up to the dais. “Such a lie is better told by a woman, Baron Wulfrith,” he spat in his cracked, hoarse voice, then stabbed Annyn with his blue-grey gaze.

  Eyes upon your opponent. She held to him and was glad she did, otherwise she would have missed the startle in his eyes. It seemed she was, indeed, transformed, and not even the mighty Henry could hide his surprise. But would it soften him?

  He returned to Garr. “’Tis an enemy you wish to make of me, Baron Wulfrith?”

  Though Garr stood before a man who might soon call all of England his own, he did not flinch. “An enemy I would not allow within my walls.”

  Henry’s freckled nose flared. “Then why do you defy me by taking what does not belong to you?”

  Whatever Garr’s emotions, he did not show them. Still, Annyn felt his ire and foreboding for this man who was many years younger than he. “My lord, as you know, the lady Annyn and I were wed yesterday. In all things, we are now man and wife. Hence, on the matter of to whom she belongs, I must differ. Lady Annyn Wulfrith belongs to me.”

  Annyn was not offended by Garr’s claim on her, for on the night past, she had as thoroughly claimed him as her own. She glanced at the ring that shone silver on his left hand.

  In Henry’s pause, Lavonne snarled, “She was promised to me!”

  The future king swung his head around, and before he spoke a word, Annyn almost pitied Lavonne. “Get you back!” the duke roared.

  As the baron retreated, Henry returned to Garr. “All know that your marriage is clandestine.” His tone was slightly milder, perhaps for having eased some of his wrath upon Lavonne. “You would risk excommunication for a woman who disguised herself as a man that she might set upon you?”