The Unveiling (Age of Faith)

by Tamara Leigh

  A muscle in Garr’s jaw spasmed, but when he spoke, his voice did not betray him. “Surely, Duke Henry, you did not come to Stern to speak of things that cannot be changed.”

  Henry’s eyes bulged.

  Garr laid his palms flat on the table and leaned forward. “Especially as there is something far dearer to your heart that can be changed, and all the sooner if you make me your ally.”

  Henry stared, then, by degree, turned thoughtful.

  As if everyone held their breath, the hall resounded with a silence so deep that the soft snore of a dog could be heard.

  “Your earl is in agreement?” Henry asked.

  Then Rowan might also be delivered of the duke’s wrath? Annyn prayed so.

  Garr straightened. “He agrees he shall go whichever side the Wulfriths go.”

  Was that how it was? Though it was known that the Wulfriths were highly regarded by their overlord who often bent his ear to their counsel, it was surprising that he allowed one of his barons to decide all of his lands for him. Was the man truly so weak?

  “Feeble fool,” Henry muttered, then shouted, “Clear the hall! Baron Sevard and Baron Cheetham, you shall remain.”

  The two older men stepped forward.

  “As shall my brother, Sir Abel,” Garr said.

  Henry shrugged. “As you will.”

  “I yield the high seat, my lord.”

  With the hall emptying around them, Henry skirted the table. At his approach, Annyn looked to Garr.

  “Go,” he said softly, then softer still, “Say your farewell to Rowan. He leaves Stern this day.”

  Before Henry remembered him? Were they alone, Annyn would have kissed her husband. “I thank you.” She turned, but Henry blocked her path.

  Though a stout man, he was not tall. Indeed, he topped Annyn by little. Gaze hard, he said, “Pray your husband keeps bargains better than you, Annyn Bretanne.”

  She dipped her head. “I am now Annyn Wulfrith, my lord.”

  His upper lip curled.

  Suppressing a smile, she stepped around him.

  “Annyn Bretanne, now Wulfrith!” he stopped her.

  She turned and struggled to hide her surprise over the sharp contrast between the duke and Garr where they stood together. Not only was her husband nearly a head taller than Henry, he was as a beacon to the other man’s candle light—handsome of face and form, distinguished with that shock of silver hair that she longed to push her fingers through. “My lord?”

  He swept his gaze down her. “In one thing I am pleased—you heeded my advice on footwear.”

  She followed his gaze to the peep of a slipper beneath her skirts. Remembering the boots she had worn at Castle Lillia, a bubble of laughter passed her lips. “’Twas good advice, indeed, my lord.” She put her foot out to better show the slipper. “Far more comfortable than boots.”

  “And more womanly.”

  Annyn caught Garr’s questioning gaze before he turned his attention to a serving wench. “A pitcher of our best wine!”

  As Annyn crossed the dais, she looked out across the hall that was empty but for a handful, among them Rowan and his guards, Sir Merrick where he lingered near the door, and Lavonne who strode toward the latter.

  Annyn started toward Rowan, but then she saw Lavonne pause before Merrick. Their words whispered the air without form, and whatever was spoken, it caused Sir Merrick’s face to darken. Lavonne’s profile showed he was no more amiable.

  Remembering when Sir Merrick had caught her on the stairs at Wulfen and warned that Lavonne was not to be trusted, she halted and struggled to rearrange the pieces of Jonas’s death that she had once fit to include Garr.

  Stride stiffer than moments earlier, Lavonne stepped outside, and Merrick stared after him before also starting for the doors.

  Annyn glanced at her husband and Henry. As they and their men were too absorbed in this day’s talks to pay her heed, she picked her skirts high and hurried outside. In the dank of after-rain, she overtook Sir Merrick. “I must needs speak with you.”

  He continued his descent of the steps.

  “I beseech you, Sir Merrick, but a few minutes is all I ask.”

  Only when she stepped ahead of him into the inner bailey did he halt. Sleepy eyes wider and brighter than she had ever seen them, he said, “I cannot help you, my lady.”

  She caught his arm. “You know the truth of my brother’s death. I know you do.”

  “The truth is that Jonas was found hung from a tree in the wood.” Still, dark shadows, as of dread memories, flickered in his eyes. “And that is all the truth there is.”

  “You were there, weren’t you? When your lord found my brother?”

  His mouth twitched. “My lady, ’tis inappropriate that you stand so near me.”

  “Then speak and I shall step back.”

  He drew a deep breath. “I accompanied Lord Wulfrith in the search for your brother, and was there when Jonas was found, there when my lord made his death appear honorable.”

  Rowan came out onto the steps above, and with him his escort. Questioningly, her old friend looked from her to Merrick.

  Annyn released the man’s arm. “Who else was there?”

  “Sirs Everard and Abel.”

  “And?”

  “None others, my lady. None others could know.”

  But others had known. According to Lavonne, who had taunted her over her brother’s death while at Wulfen, all had known Jonas had hung himself and their lord had put a wound to him to cover the truth of it. Unless it was a lie he told.

  Beginning to tremble, she breathed, “It was Lavonne.”

  Sir Merrick’s breath snagged, and he glanced right and left. “We must needs speak elsewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “The stables in the outer bailey. Come in five minutes.”

  Five minutes seemed a world away as she watched him stride from her.

  “Lady Annyn?”

  She turned and was wounded by sorrow at the sight of her man. How had he grown so old so soon? “Sir Rowan?”

  “All is well, my lady?”

  She longed to reveal what Merrick had confirmed, but could not do so in the presence of the men-at-arms. She caught up Rowan’s hands that seemed to lack the strength that had long ago helped a young girl pull her bow string. “Pray, do not leave until I speak with you.”

  As his brow knit, she stepped past him and traversed the inner bailey. Knowing five minutes was not yet gone, she lingered before the gatehouse. Every second feeling a minute, every minute an hour, she held there though she drew curious glances from Henry’s and Garr’s men.

  Guessing five minutes had passed. Annyn hastened across the drawbridge.

  The clang of metal on metal, testament to swords being beaten to life, rang clearly from the blacksmith’s shop as she hurried across the bailey. Not even with Henry come to make him an ally did Garr pause in the defense of his home.

  Entering the dimly lit stables of the outer bailey, Annyn called, “Sir Merrick?”

  At the far end where a torch flickered, a figure appeared and beckoned, then returned to the stall from which he had emerged.

  Annyn hurried past the other stalls, most of which were occupied, and stepped into the end stall that was larger than the rest, as of one used for birthing colts.

  Sir Merrick stood in the light that shone through a small window.

  “It was Lavonne who murdered my brother,” she said. “Was it not?”

  He stared at her.

  “For this you sought me out at Wulfen and warned me to be cautious of him. Tell me it is so.”

  His eyes momentarily closed. “It is so, my lady.”

  Dear God. The man for whom she had revealed herself at Wulfen that he would not stand accused of her crime, had done far worse than she. Such bitter irony that she had gone to the aid of one whose death was warranted.

  Annyn reached a hand out to steady herself, but there was naught to hold to where she stood at the center o
f the stall.

  “My lady?” Sir Merrick grasped her arm.

  When he started to urge her to the floor, she shook her head. “I did not break my fast this morn.”

  “Forgive me for telling you. ’Twould have been best had you never known.”

  “You are wrong. I had to know.”

  Continuing to brace her, Sir Merrick said, “I give you my vow that Jonas will be avenged.”

  Vengeance that was not hers, but God’s. Just as it was not Sir Merrick’s, though he made it sound like it belonged to him. “What do you intend?”

  “Lavonne will not see another sunrise. He has agreed to meet me here in the half hour, and it is then I will do to him as he did to your brother.” He nodded to the left of the threshold.

  Annyn peered into the shadowed corner where a noose hung from a rafter. Her skin creeped. “You shall hang him,” she whispered. Though it was as she would have once wanted, and a part of her still longed for, God once more spoke to her of vengeance. This time, He did it through Garr’s voice.

  “I shall hang him,” Sir Merrick said, “and in that, Jonas will be partly avenged.”

  “Partly?”

  His gaze faltered. “Your brother was strong of will and body, Lady Annyn. One alone could not have done to him what happened that night in the wood.”

  Chill bumps rose across her limbs. “Who was the other?”

  He released her arm and crossed to the stall window. Bracing his hands on the sill, he dropped his head to his chest.

  “Sir Merrick?”

  He did not move, did not even look to breathe.

  Annyn hurried forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Pray, tell me who the other one was.”

  He turned. Tears glittering in his eyes, revulsion tugging at his mouth, he bit, “’Twas me.”

  She stumbled back. “Nay, you would not!”

  A tear crawled down his cheek. “Alone, I would not, no matter my anger and feeling of betrayal, but Lavonne is most persuasive. Aye, my lady, I did it, and violated the most inviolable of lessons. I let another make my way for me.”

  “Why?” She trembled, her hands nearly numb. “Why did you do it?”

  “Jonas betrayed. Jonas, whom I had come to admire and love as a brother.” He wheezed as he pulled in air. “Most esteemed and trusted of all squires, he stole a missive from King Stephen to Lord Wulfrith that he might deliver it to the enemy—Henry.”

  As Garr had told.

  “In my presence and Lavonne’s, he admitted it to Lord Wulfrith and defended that, after stealing the missive, he realized his error and intended to return it.”

  Annyn stared at her brother’s murderer. “You believed him?”

  “I might have, but like a fool, I allowed Lavonne to goad me to anger. Half the night he spat and raged over Jonas’s betrayal, pushing me, testing me, tempting me to do what I would not have done.” He dragged a hand down his face. “’Twould be but to put fear into Jonas, he said, to teach him a lesson he would not soon forget. Still I did not want to do it, but I did, my lady.” Bitter laughter rent the air. “And now to see whose side Lavonne has gone. Forsooth, methinks he was always there, that he used me against Jonas whom he believed had betrayed him!”

  Somewhere in the stables, a horse snickered and another whinnied, but the ache rolling through Annyn rendered the sounds as insignificant as the buzz of a fly. “You killed my brother. You stood there while he kicked and tried to open his throat. You let him die.”

  “I wanted to cut him down. I told Lavonne it was enough.” He shook his head. “But a few moments more, he said, and then...I lost my breath.” A glistening drop fell from his nose to the dirt floor. “I am weak and foul...dishonorable...not worthy.”

  “How true,” another voice entered the stall.

  Annyn swung around and saw Lavonne where he stood on the other side of the threshold. If not for his sword in hand, its blade propped against his shoulder, she would have set herself at him, but the lessons Garr had taught her prevailed. At her back, she heard the metallic whisper of Sir Merrick’s sword as it was drawn from its scabbard.

  “Forsooth”— Lavonne stepped forward, giving her no choice but to retreat deeper into the stall—“you are as weak and unworthy as Lady Annyn’s beloved brother whom I persuaded to steal the missive for Henry.” He smiled. “Jonas, who thought himself above all, was ruled by me.”

  “Stand back, my lady,” Sir Merrick entreated.

  Annyn did as told.

  The baron surveyed the shadow-ridden stall. The noose made him frown, then cluck his tongue. “For me, old friend?”

  “By the sword or by the noose, this day you shall die.”

  “Mayhap were I fool enough to come at the half hour, but see, I am here.” Lavonne sighed. “Surprise is a powerful weapon, Lady Annyn, a lesson taught to me by your dear husband.”

  “Cur!” she spat.

  “Ouch! Thee wounds!”

  Sir Merrick chose that moment to lunge, sweeping his sword so near Lavonne’s face that, if the baron had a beard, it would have been shaved from him.

  Lavonne countered, seemingly unhindered by the wound that Garr had done his arm at Wulfen. A pity it had not been his sword arm.

  The swords crashed again, turning the horses in their stalls restless, causing Annyn’s hand to itch for a hilt as she watched her brother’s murderers—each set on ending the life of the other. She edged toward the threshold.

  “Nay, my lady,” Lavonne scorned, “you stay.” He deflected a blow from Merrick’s sword, then knocked her to the far side of the stall. If not that she threw her hands up, she would have hit the wall headfirst.

  Palms splintered, she turned to see Sir Merrick’s hose rent by Lavonne and his blood spill forth. But the injury to his lower thigh did not stop him, nor his rattling breath. He launched himself at Lavonne again.

  Annyn considered the window. Surely someone would hear the meeting of swords? In the next instant, hope fled. The sound would not be heard above that of the swords being forged in the smithy. And for this, Sir Merrick had likely chosen this place to stand against Lavonne.

  He stumbled against her, the wheeze of his breath and high color evidence he struggled to overcome some ailment. More, it told that he could not long hold against Lavonne whose sword slashed without cease. When next they met, blood was drawn from Merrick’s left arm.

  The knight staggered against a side wall and Lavonne followed.

  Knowing he would now put an end to Merrick, Annyn threw herself against Lavonne, causing him to lurch.

  “Witch!” He thrust her off and she fell to the dirt floor. Forgetting the one whose death he had been near to dispensing, Lavonne swept his sword up and came for her.

  Annyn scooted backwards. Heavenly Father, deliver me. Be my help, my shield!

  With a bellow, Merrick charged with his sword high in a two-handed grip.

  The man who was to have been her husband halted, twisted his sword behind, and smiled as Merrick hurtled onto the blade.

  “Nay!” Annyn cried.

  “Weak.” Lavonne denounced and jerked his sword free.

  Merrick landed at an awkward angle on the beaten dirt floor and, from the quiver of his chest, it was certain he would soon be dead.

  Why Annyn should ache for the one who had aided in murdering her brother, why she should wish to go to him, she did not understand, but with Lavonne standing between them, it was not possible.

  The baron drew a finger through the blood on his blade. “That is one,” he said, “and you, Lady Annyn, are two.”

  Fear bounded through her. She did not want to die, especially now that she was loved by Garr.

  Fortunately, Lavonne seemed in no hurry to render her his second murder of the day. With less than a foot separating them, he looked down on her as if she were a hare without hope for another day, then he dropped to his haunches. “I cannot tell how I anticipated our wedding night when I whispered”—he leaned near and touched his mouth to her ear—�
��’twas I who killed your brother.”

  Wishing she had a belly full of food to retch upon him, Annyn said, “Why did you do it?”

  He drew back. “For the same reason you believed Wulfrith killed him—betrayal.” His sour breath stung her nostrils. “In refusing to deliver the missive, he betrayed Henry for loyalty to a man who stood the fool’s side of this war.”

  As she had known, her brother had realized the wrong from the right and, in the end, had not betrayed Garr.

  “Too, I could not have him revealing I was Henry’s side, could I?”

  “Was it Henry who ordered my brother’s death?”

  Lavonne snorted. “There was no time to consult him, but I am sure he would have approved.”

  Would he have? Lord, she prayed England’s king was not so hell bound.

  “Now for two,” Lavonne reminded her of the fate she shared with Sir Merrick. He stood and beckoned with his crimson blade.

  Did he intend to gut her as well? To part her head from her shoulders? She stole a glance at Sir Merrick’s sword that lay beneath his slack hand. “One last question I beg of you.”

  Lavonne stepped over Sir Merrick, putting the knight’s body between them. “You think it will buy you a way past me, my lady?”

  “I would not presume to better a warrior such as you, my lord. After all, you were my husband’s pupil.”

  A reminder that splashed his cheeks with uncomely color.

  “Did Henry know my brother sided with him?” It was as the duke had alluded at Castle Lillia when he claimed to have had Jonas’s loyalty, but how had he known?

  Lavonne bared his teeth. “Once Jonas agreed to deliver the missive to Henry, I sent word to the duke.”

  “As you also sent word of my brother’s death? How he died?”

  A near drunken smile turned the baron’s lips. “I told him shame had caused Jonas Bretanne to hang himself upon being found with the missive.” He chuckled. “Some things are best held close, my lady.”

  “Another of my husband’s lessons?”

  “One of my own.” He looked to the fallen knight. “Pity I did not kill him years ago. I would have slept better.”