by Robyn Neeley
It wasn’t impossible that thiefmen had attacked a company. They infested Glastonbury forest despite his best efforts to root them out. Now with his having been gone a battle-season, no doubt they teemed thicker than ticks among the trees.
But what she claimed seemed nearly as unlikely as his king demanding an accounting from him. “All were lost? Save yourself.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He regarded her for a long moment. She certainly looked upset as she told the tale. Of course she would. If she were what he suspected, she would know what was at stake and why she must convince him to believe her story. It was true that the king might demand an accounting from him. He and his household steward kept meticulous records just for that purpose. But he knew he had his king’s full faith, and he knew the king would have told him to expect his emissary. And Robert would believe her more if she claimed to be Helen’s maid or companion, not a lady in her own right. She resembled no lady he had ever met. Despite the elegant borrowed gown and demure head-covering, she resembled a wild shield-maiden, and he had no doubt she had used the dagger before. Her eyes flashed, now with anger at his obvious disbelief. He imagined them bright with happiness, or dark with longing, and bit back a growl of frustration at his useless imaginings.
“Have you evidence of your claim?” he asked. “A letter from the king? Perhaps a token from Helen that my aunt would recognize?” The story had been carefully constructed, for Helen — his other, kinder aunt — was Elizabeth’s sister and thus a friend of hers in distress would naturally appeal to Elizabeth for help. Helen’s husband Harold was a chief retainer to the king, a favorite thane, exactly the man Edward would send to obtain an accounting. The only miscalculation was in thinking Robert might succumb to a beautiful young woman in distress. He suffered from no such frailty. Not anymore.
“My lord, everything was utterly destroyed or stolen,” Imma said, her voice uneven. “I was afraid for my life. It never occurred to me to take a token of Helen’s. I do have one of the horses, a gray palfrey. But that doesn’t prove my story, does it?” She gave him a considering look, as if she could see his point of view and was trying to think of some fact that would convince him. He hoped she would. He wanted to believe her. A beautiful young woman who told the truth would be a welcome change from his prior experience.
In the end, she shook her head. “My lord,” she said, “I have told Lady Elizabeth my story and she believes me — ”
“Elizabeth believes every female with a sad story. It is her only weakness,” Robert said. Of course this Imma had no proof of her tale. Undoubtedly she had fabricated it from start to finish. Worse, she had told it to Elizabeth, never minding the upset she might cause. “I am very fond of Elizabeth and I will not have her upset. She will hear no more of your tale, do you understand?”
“My lord, if you could send to King Edward — ”
“My lady,” he said, using the term sarcastically, “I am at war with the man you claim is your uncle. Winter closes in. I will not risk sending men to all the way to Winchester to verify your claims. If what you say is true, Edward will send a company in spring when he receives no report from Harold. Is that not so? And I will give my accounting then.”
“I — ” She frowned. “I see, my lord.” Then: “What is to become of me?”
• • •
Imma stayed within sight of the watchmen. She didn’t know Athelney and had no desire to be caught far from the walls of the keep when the dark descended, or take a wrong turning and find herself lost among the alders that grew in thick bewildering stands all over the island.
She’d needed to get out of the keep, with its cold hard walls and its cold hard lord. Her interview with its master had shaken her badly. He disbelieved her story — he didn’t even believe she was who she said she was. Not that she could truly blame him for his doubts on that score. She knew she hadn’t been reared gently. A rueful smile curved her lips. Her uncle had scarce noticed she was female, and it had taken the influence of his bard, Efa, to transform her from a rough-and-tumble tomboy to a presentable young woman when her uncle had realized she was old enough to marry.
Her smile faded. Lord Robert accepted she was Welsh, but that was all he believed about her story. She could hardly blame him for that, either. The truth was —
The truth was, her uncle had sent her to England as a desperate measure to make peace. She had done what women were supposed to do: tried to act as a peace-weaver. But her marriage to Simon had not accomplished that aim. Perhaps if there had been children —
So she had begun to spy for her uncle, to pass on what she could glean from Simon, who was one of the English king’s favorite thanes, and thus privy to many of Edward’s plans. She hadn’t grieved for Simon when she’d learned of his death, except that with his death she had no information to pass on to her uncle, to help him establish the peace he so desperately desired. It hadn’t had to be so: she had married Simon full willing to give him affection and honor and loyalty. She had been full willing —
“Lord Robert will take no notice of you,” dear Helen had reassured her at the time they had embarked on their journey from Canterbury. Now Imma felt a stir of painful amusement at the innocence of that belief. Lord Robert had certainly taken notice of her. Still, that accorded with her purpose. She had wanted to take the full measure of her uncle’s greatest adversary. What she learned might help Gruffydd to victory against these English. She had stood in the English lord’s cold dark keep, and looked upon her enemy’s face.
She knew her uncle respected Lord Robert in a way he’d never respected Robert’s brother John, so she had expected to face a battle-hardened warrior. What she had not expected was to like him.
He had all of thirty years or more, his face lined with the proof of countless battles and though she must be ten years younger than he, immediately all of the men of her age and acquaintance — who before had struck her as attractive and charming — now seemed callow and immature.
She thrust the unwelcome thoughts from her mind. She was in a dangerous position, and she would do well to remember it. Helen had said — tears pricked Imma’s eyes. Gentle Helen. Anger curled in her belly. How could Lord Robert think she would make up such a story?
She reached a copse of alders, stopping short, her heart catching. She never wanted to be lost among the trees again, crouching low as she tried to listen for her enemy, her heart hammering in her ears —
Unwilling to explore further, she turned away from the trees, drawing her cloak more closely around her. Lord Robert’s keep was isolated and remote, surrounded by rivers and marshes, wild and unkempt, only accessible over a causeway that was flooded a goodly amount of the time. Athelney and its keep suited its ferocious master. She cast a glance over her shoulder at the earthwork fortifications that protected it. From what invaders? Who would be foolish enough to attack this stronghold? Not Gruffydd. Not any man she knew or had ever heard of.
She wasn’t welcome here, that was very clear. She knew Elizabeth would be scandalized at the thought of Lord Robert turning out a defenseless young woman — especially in winter — so he wouldn’t do that, Imma was sure. She could probably prevail upon Elizabeth to help her. But how? What did she want? Her uncle would be upset if she returned home, though she was so close she could almost hear her cousins’ laughter as they sat near the fire and told their boastful stories.
She had no wish to return to Canterbury, despite the house that stood waiting there for her. Even if returning seemed the best thing to do, it was very late in the year to risk such a journey, and it seemed unlikely that Lord Robert would provide her any travel companions. Winchester was nearer, but he had already said he would not send men even that distance. And even if he did, she couldn’t quite imagine herself begging the English king for a bed and meals, while he decided which of his thanes would have her next, their eyes following her, speculating on
what charms she might possess.
A shout from across the clearing made her look up. Her stomach clenched as two men strode out of the gate in the earthworks that surrounded the keep. Apparently Lord Robert had had the same idea as she, that a breath of fresh air would be welcome. He crossed the ground impatiently, as if he couldn’t stand being cooped up another moment. He was speaking to a burly man who had the look of a bailiff or a reeve. A tumble of dogs frolicked at their heels.
Her gaze settled on him. She’d hoped the experience in the library had been an aberration, a momentary light-headedness, but no. Even now she could feel his presence.
He was quite taller than she, with massive shoulders beneath his black tunic. His reddish brown hair hung to his shoulders, unruly, unkempt. Those penetrating gray eyes had looked at her like a falcon spotting prey. What if he wanted her? What if he came for her? Growing up in a warrior clan had made her accustomed to their rough-and-ready ways, but she’d never expected to find such a one so appealing.
One of his dogs must have caught her scent, for it left off gamboling and headed toward her, barking. She was well-used to hunting dogs, although the dog heading toward her wasn’t a greyhound like the ones her late husband had kept. She stepped from the trees and offered her hand. The dog came closer, sniffed, and barked again. She wondered what his kind was. If he’d had a less difficult master, she would have asked. But she didn’t know quite how to speak to Lord Robert.
The dog barked again, wagging its tail, and she leaned forward to scratch its ears, murmuring nonsense words. When she looked up, she saw Lord Robert striding in her direction, exactly what she’d hoped to avoid.
He called the dog to him with a sharp whistle. It obeyed immediately, just as she would have expected. Perhaps that would be the end of it. But no, the lord must come closer and address her. “It grows dark,” he said without pleasantries of any kind. “It can be dangerous out here alone. A lady should have companions.”
“I can take care of myself,” she snapped.
“So it seems,” he said. He could hardly have sounded more offensive.
Don’t mind him, Tilly had said when Imma had been summoned. It’s just his way. But she did mind him, and his way.
“Shall I escort you back to the keep?” he asked, which meant he intended for her to go.
“No, thank you,” she said. She turned and headed back the way she had come. She could feel the weight of his watching all the way to the walls.
Chapter Three
“The household doesn’t like having the Welsh woman here.” Michael, the household steward, delivered the news along with the account books.
The weak afternoon sunlight barely penetrated the narrow window. Robert had ordered a fire lit and candles placed about the room but still it felt dark and cold and clammy. Athelney in winter was always dark and cold and clammy and it had never particularly bothered him before. Why now?
“I cannot see where she should be of concern to my retainers.”
“Yes, my lord,” Michael agreed. “They say she spies on us to report to the Welsh king.”
This could very well be true, but even so, what did they expect him to do? Forbid her contact with the messengers? Not allow her out unsupervised? He supposed the gesture would be appreciated.
He sighed. He had heard some disturbing news from his aunt, and he knew he must confront Imma about that, too. “Very well,” he said. “I will give orders.” He turned to Kenneth, his servant, who was poking ineffectively at the fire. “Fetch Imma for me.”
Kenneth levered his stout body to his feet, said, “Very good, my lord,” and left the room.
Robert knew that if he had this conversation with Imma in front of Michael, the entire household would hear about it before sundown, and they would sleep soundly knowing their lord protected them. It would cause Robert to sink even lower in Imma’s estimation, but that couldn’t be helped. If he thought, for a moment, that she might be persuaded —
“My lord,” Kenneth said, entering the room with Imma. Robert turned away from the window. Today she had left off her head covering and wore her hair loosely gathered at the nape of her neck. Some curls had sprung free of restraint and framed her face. How pretty she looked. He should like to see her hair unbound, falling loose about her shoulders. Her breath came a little quickly — she was always somewhat agitated in his presence, as if she very much disliked having to be near him. She would dislike him even more after today’s conversation.
“My lady,” Robert said, and he couldn’t help his glare. He wasn’t as bad as that. And he was going to the trouble of addressing her as if he believed she was who she said she was. That showed some consideration, didn’t it? “I have had a conversation with my aunt.”
She perked up a bit at that, as of course she would, for Elizabeth always took her part. “My lady has been — ”
“She tells me that she sent riders to Glastonbury forest,” he interrupted her. “She meant to recover the remains of her sister and all your party.”
“Good. She’ll feel better when Helen is properly laid to rest.”
“Perhaps so. But her riders found no sign of the company you claim to have set out with.”
“What?”
He had to admit she looked shocked. And he didn’t think the way the blood drained from her face was an act. Something disturbed her, that was clear, but he had no way of knowing what. For all he knew, she was merely reacting to being found out.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, putting her hand out against the table to support herself.
“I think I do.” He turned away from her. He didn’t want to feel pity or contempt. He wanted her to go away and take her disruptions with her.
“You can’t think I lied!” she exclaimed and caught at his arm.
Immediately he rounded on her. “What am I to think, mistress? You tell me a disturbing story and yet there is nothing I can believe about it. Not one shred of evidence to prove that what you say happened. How can that be?”
“I spoke the truth,” she insisted. “I don’t know why her riders found nothing. Perhaps they didn’t look in the right place.”
“There is but one road through Glastonbury forest.”
“Then perhaps wild animals — ”
“There would have been something.” Robert didn’t raise his voice though anger boiled through him. Did she think all she had to do was say a word and it would be believed? What world had she belong to? Surely not this one, with the threat of blood and betrayal at every turn.
She shrank away from him, withdrawing her hand from his arm. More afraid of him now. Of course. Did she think he would strike her for lying to him? If he assaulted everyone who lied to him, he would have no friends left in all of Wessex.
“Perhaps — ” The tremor in her voice caught at him. He wanted to believe her and yet she gave him nothing to believe in.
“There would have been bones,” he said. “A broken hasp, torn leather from a saddle. Something. You know the thiefmen wouldn’t have buried the bodies. Mistress, I have been — ”
“Elizabeth believes me,” Imma said. “Perhaps the thiefmen realized they had over-reached and decided to destroy all proof of their crime.” She clenched her hands and repeated, unsteadily, “Elizabeth believes me.”
“Then Elizabeth is a fool,” he said, biting off the words.
Imma didn’t seem to have anything to say to that. She looked up at him with reproach in her eyes.
Anna had done the same. How can you think such a thing of me, Robert? Before she had abandoned him for his brother. He might even have been able to stand it if she’d loved John. But she had only seen what was to her own advantage.
The silence between them deepened. Then Imma said, “Very well. What do you wish to do? You despise me, perhaps you should banish me from Athelney.
”
“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered. If he ever admitted to not despising her, she would know the advantage she had over him, which was not to be tolerated. “For Elizabeth’s sake — she has developed an unaccountable fondness for you — I will allow you to stay. You will promise not to cause me harm this winter, and I will make the same vow. But you will go in the spring, do you understand? You will not suddenly change your story or beg Elizabeth for protection from me. You will leave in the spring, and you will never return to Athelney.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Imma said, and he knew she meant her tone to be sarcastic and cutting, though her words were perfectly polite.
“Do I have your promise?”
“You do,” she said through her teeth. “I will cause you no harm this winter.”
He hesitated as she turned to go. He might as well get it all out and bear the brunt of her contempt all at once. “There is one thing, if you are to stay the winter.”
She stopped and gave him her full attention, her lips a thin line in her face, reminding him of Elizabeth.
“My retainers have expressed concern about your presence here,” he said. He moved restlessly to the fire. Part of him didn’t care if she betrayed all of England into Welsh hands, if only she would sit by the fire with him and make him forget the account books and the fortifications in need of repair, and the war that would resume in spring. A man got accustomed to withstanding his enemies and forgot how to withstand himself.
Robert made himself speak. “I will ask you to place some restrictions on your movements,” he said. “This will reassure my household that you bear them no ill will.” That sounded well. He sounded like a lord, a man who commanded himself as easily as he commanded others.
