by Kris Tualla
And then, of course, there was Kennan. He had been Drew’s vassal for twelve years and had no other prospects.
What had he been thinking?
“I was no’ thinking. I was angry. David asked me to kill women. Women. Do ye ken?”
“Ohh…” Kennan breathed. He took a long swallow of beer before he asked, “Why?”
Drew leaned on his elbows and glared at his vassal. “David wants me to hang any man—or woman, mind—who claimed an abandoned estate and title as their own.”
Understanding smoothed Kennan’s features. “The ‘Lady’ Bell.”
“Aye.” Drew’s face warmed. “But, it’s no’ only her. ‘Tis the principle involved.”
Kennan’s eyes narrowed. “And that is…”
Drew lifted his refilled stein. “I told young William that a knight protects women—we are sworn to. I can no’ ride into Castleton and dangle yon lady at the end of a rope now, can I?”
“And that being the only reason,” Kennan prodded.
“Hell!” Drew exploded. “He sits in the Tower—clothed, fed and safe—and demands that I go out and hang the very subjects who might be able to raise his ransom! And he’s too damned stubborn to see it!”
He gulped his ale and slammed the stein on the table. It was refilled before he had to ask.
“Ye still have your sword,” Kennan ventured.
“Aye. He ordered me to pick it up. And I’m no’ to leave London.” Drew shook his head and sighed. “He says he’s no’ finished with me.”
Kennan looked askance at him, his cheeks draining of color. “What does that mean?”
“Only God Himself knows.” He emptied the stein again.
January 27, 1355
Castleton, Scotland
Eryn leaned out of the stable door and looked for any sign of Geoffrey. Since she was ill, the constable had come to the manor everyday with some type of gift: ribbons, oils to scent her soaps, small game and dried herbs to prepare it with, needles for her sewing. All thoughtful. All items she appreciated. All items she could use.
And think of him when she did so.
That was the problem; thinking of him. Eryn could not imagine herself married to Geoffrey any longer. Not after Drew. She would rather be alone than lay beneath the constable—her dearest friend since adolescence—and join her body with his. And even though Drew would never be hers, she could not in good conscience drag him into the bed with another man.
Because he would be there. For the rest of her life, the feline knight with his lion eyes and sultry purr would be her ethereal companion.
“Eryn!”
Her shoulders dropped. She forced a smile as she slowly turned around. “Geoff.”
“Are ye well, lassy?” he asked, grinning broadly as he strode over the frozen dirt toward her.
“Better every day,” she answered.
Geoff reached her side and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. His balmy breath tickled her cold skin. “Did ye receive the things I brought for ye?”
“I did. Thank you. The gifts were very thoughtful,” she answered truthfully.
He took her hand. His was warm in spite of the chilled air. “Will ye walk with me, Eryn? Are ye strong enough?”
For some reason that question irritated her. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be out here,” she snipped.
“I did no’ mean to suggest otherwise,” Geoff said carefully. “I’m only concerned that ye continue to improve.”
Guilt poked her. “I’m sorry, Geoff. Being sickly doesn’t sit well with me, I’m afraid. I’ve been short with everyone.”
He smiled again and led her away from the stable. “I can no’ remember ye ever being ill with more than a bout of sniffles as long as I’ve known ye. And that’s a tolerable long time.”
“It is, isn’t it?” she mused absently. She stepped carefully over frozen wheel ruts and hoof prints, mindful of twisting an ankle. “A dozen years now, I’ve been here.”
“And look what ye lived through.”
“Hmm.” That didn’t take long.
Her six-year-old edict, that Geoffrey not discuss marriage with her until no one had died of the plague for a full year, expired while she was fevered. She needed to change the direction of this conversation.
Eryn didn’t speak until they were outside the courtyard. They walked slowly down the road leading to the manor house, her hand gripped solidly in his. A frigid breeze teased the chewed-off pieces of her hair. They got in her eyes and tickled her chin. She tried to tuck them behind her ears with little success.
“I never thanked you for fetching Lord Drummond to save us,” she began, her words deliberately chosen.
Geoff coughed and cleared his throat, clearly annoyed. “It was well worth the cost, my lady.”
“Cost?” Eryn looked at him. “What cost?”
The words were clipped. “My horse.”
“Oh!” Eryn hadn’t noticed Geoff’s mount at the time, but now she realized he rode a dun-colored steed during the rescue, not his dark brown courser. “What happened?”
He shrugged. “I had to trade him for a fresh mount if I hoped to catch the knight.”
“I’m so sorry, Geoff,” she murmured.
“I’m not.”
They walked on without speaking. The day was cold and hazy, the winter sun staying low in the sky on her short journey to cross it. Eryn finally turned back, signaling the waning of her endurance—both physically and emotionally. The unspoken subject twirling around them exhausted her.
“It’s been a year, Eryn,” Geoffrey said softly.
“I know,” she answered in kind.
“Will ye marry me?”
Eryn concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other. Her gaze remained on her boots. She could not think of one thing to say.
“I love ye, Eryn. I always have, ever since ye were a tall, skinny lass of fifteen years,” he pressed. “Ye ken that well.”
“Yes.”
“And I’ve waited for ye, as ye asked me to.”
“Yes.”
Geoff stopped walking and faced her. “I’m near to thirty-two, now. I want a family. Bairns. And I want them with you.”
Eryn’s eyes filled with tears, making Geoffrey’s image swirl and shimmer. How could she hurt such a good man? And why would she choose to be alone? She was only twenty-seven and the next thirty to forty years of her life stretched like a lonely road through bleak Scottish moors. It might not be so bad to be married to him. She always liked him; their friendship would be helpful.
And, he need never know about her nights with Drew. She could come up with some explanation as to why she didn’t bleed on their wedding night. She would only need to figure out why she didn’t bleed with Drew. Maybe it was the sheath…
“Eryn?”
Her attention leapt back to the man in front of her. “Yes?”
A shadow crossed his brow. “Is that yer answer?”
Shite. She swallowed thickly and wiped her eyes. “Yes.”
Geoff looked thunderstruck. “Aye?”
“Yes. I’ll marry ye Geoff.” Unexplained panic filled her at the words. “As soon as I’ve regained all my strength,” she demurred.
Geoffrey took her face in his hands—how was it they were always warm?—and kissed her. His lips parted hers and his tongue tested her resistance. It was nothing like the way Drew’s kisses possessed her, claiming her as his.
Geoff broke the kiss and wrapped his arms around her. “Thank ye, Eryn. I shall love ye always,” he whispered in her ear.
She couldn’t speak. She would try to postpone the wedding in the event Drew came back, but she could not put it off forever.
January 27, 1355
London, England
“Thirteen days.” The seaman standing in front of him looked tired, salt-worn and very, very happy. “Ye said if I got back in a fortnight or less, ye’d pay double.”
“Aye. I did that.” Drew could hardly contain his anxiety. “Were ye able
to find anyone?”
The man handed Drew an oiled-skin packet. “Aye. There was a lady who wrote to ye.”
Drew gave the packet to Kennan and fingered his money pouch for two gold coins. He dropped them into the seaman’s outstretched palm. They plinked cheerily and glinted in the weak winter sun.
“I thank ye, sir. Should ye need me again, ye know where to find me.” He pointed at the small, sleek ship tethered to the dock in the same spot Drew found it two weeks ago.
“Aye. Thank ye.” Drew took the packet from Kennan and strode quickly through the narrow London streets toward his apartment.
Kennan was right behind him. “Aren’t ye supposed to see King David?” he prodded.
“He can wait.” This was more important.
Inside the apartment, Drew tossed his cloak over a chair and sat at his desk. Kennan lit the lamp with a piece of kindling from the banked fire. Drew untied the twine holding the oil-skin packet together. Inside was a folded document, sealed with green wax.
He studied the wax impression, looking for signs of nobility. What must be a family crest consisted of a dragon’s head, crossed swords, and runes he couldn’t understand. It looked ancient. And important.
“Are ye going to open it?” Kennan’s voice spilled over his shoulder.
“I’m only discerning the status of the sender,” he explained gruffly. “That will help me weigh the words inside, aye?”
“Oh. Aye.”
Drew slid his knife under the wax, breaking its connection with the sheepskin parchment. He unfolded the letter with care, noting the clear and evenly written lines of correspondence within. He plunged headlong into the message.
Lord Andrew ~
Please forgive me for writing in my husband’s stead. His spoken English is passable, but his written English is unintelligible. His seal on this document ~ as the Lord of Hansen Hall in Arendal ~ proves that these words are his.
Hansen? Drew frowned. No…
The Rolf you enquired about is Rolf Hansen ~ elder brother to my husband’s father. We were aware that Rolf was a soldier and that he died in the Crusades. However, because my husband is the only Hansen to survive the plague, we had no additional knowledge concerning his uncle’s actions.
The daughter you mention will be my husband’s first cousin. He finds this to be joyous news, assuming the records of her parentage are correct. But knowing how capable you are in your position, we rest secure in the belief that a lost relative has been recovered. Please extend his invitation to this young woman to come to Arendal. She will be warmly welcomed.
‘Knowing how capable’? Was this even possible?
And now to answer the question which I am certain this letter has raised. The husband I speak of is the Norse sailor, Rydar. I did leave Durness, after all.
The two signatures were distinctly different:
Rydar Martin Petter-Edvard Hansen
Grier MacInnes Hansen
20 January 1355
Drew fell back in his chair and stared at the document in his hand. Of all the answers he might have expected to his enquiry, this was most assuredly not one of the choices.
“Eryn is cousin to that upstart Norseman?” he groused.
“No!” Kennan sat down, hard. “Who might have guessed that?”
The relationship explained her pale green eyes. And her gold-streaked hair. And her height—the sailor was six-and-a-half feet if he was an inch. Shite!
But it was the last line that skewered his pride: I did leave Durness, after all.
That had been her reason for turning down his proposal: she was not willing to leave Durness. And he believed her. It never once occurred to him that she would follow that common Norseman instead.
“Well, not so common after all, I suppose,” he conceded, fingering the waxed seal.
“Sir?’
He waved a hand. “Nothing.”
Truthfully, Eryn was far better suited to him than Grier was, and in so many ways.
Eryn!
Eryndal?
Arendal?
“Holy Mother of God,” Drew breathed. “Her very name was a clue!”
If he held even the tiniest doubt, Drew now knew with certainty that he had found Eryn’s father.
Drew stood in front of his King, legs planted and hands clasped behind his back. He had no idea what to expect from this meeting, but he hoped something would finally be resolved. He was so eager to ride north to Castleton he could hardly stand still.
David sat, staring at him from under bushy gray brows. One fist rested on his belly. One elbow draped along the arm of the chair, the dangling fingers fidgeting. “I see ye still have your sword,” he began.
Drew gave a brief nod. “Aye.”
The fist rose from his belly and released a stiff finger; it jabbed the air in front of David. “Never, ever, take off your sword again. That’s a royal order. Am I clear?”
Drew gave another brief nod. “Aye.” What now?
“Ye have been with me far too long—and I trust ye far too heavily—to allow ye to resign your knighthood. The next time ye try such a stunt, I’ll use your own sword to remove your head from your body, and I’ll not hesitate to do so.” David’s unyielding countenance added weight to his words; he meant every one of them.
Shite. “Aye.”
David steepled his fingers under his chin. His expression shifted. “And because I trust ye, I have taken your words seriously.”
What should he say? ‘That’s bonny Your Highness?’ Silence seemed the best course at the moment, until he kent which of his words his sovereign had chosen to take seriously.
David pulled and released an enormous sigh. “There shall be no hangings—yet.”
Relief coursed through Drew’s body. “I bow”—and he did—“to your wisdom, Sire.”
David pulled a face. “Don’t play me fool, Drummond. Idle flattery does no’ suit ye.”
Drew straightened his back and dipped his head in rueful acknowledgement.
“Ye made a clear point about the ransom. So that is your new task.”
Shite! “Sire?”
David leaned forward in his chair. “Raise my ransom from this new nobility and they shall keep their heads and bodies joined. Their future rests on your shoulders.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
February 4, 1355
Castleton, Scotland
Eryn feared she would strangle Geoffrey if he asked her one more time if she was feeling quite recovered. Since accepting his proposal of marriage a week ago, he came to the manor every day to check on her well-being. While in truth she had not regained all of her strength as yet, some days she remained abed to postpone his pressing her to set a date for their nuptials.
Because on those days, she was so saddened, she couldn’t face her future.
Agreeing to marry Geoff made sense. It bought her time to wait for Drew’s return, though with every sunset that passed she became more convinced he would never reappear.
And what would she do if he did? She couldn’t marry him. She was an imposter.
And what would happen when he discovered her deception?
He would leave her. Or hang her.
“It would be better if he never came back,” she whispered into her tear-dampened pillow. “Please, Father, don’t let him come back.”
A tentative knock on the heavy master chamber door roused her from a doze. She rubbed her eyes, itchy from dried tears. “Aye. Come in.”
“My lady,” Jamie began. “You have a visitor.”
Eryn flopped her hand in the steward’s direction. “Tell Geoffrey I’m not feeling well.”
Jamie eased the door closed and approached the bed. He had the oddest expression on his face, and she couldn’t tell if he was pleased or distressed. Or both.
“It is no’ Geoffrey,” he said in a conspiratorial tone.
She frowned. “Who, then?”
“The knight. Lord Andrew.”
Ery
n sat up like a trebuchet had flung her. “What is he doing here?”
Jamie unsuccessfully suppressed his grin. “Talking with Liam for the moment. But it’s ye he wishes to see.”
“Send a maid! I must dress!” she exclaimed.
Jamie hurried to the door and yanked it open. One of the maids strode in with a basin of steaming water, linen towels draped over her forearm. Jamie had obviously foreseen her reaction.
“Jamie!” Eryn called in a harsh whisper as he turned to exit the chamber.
He turned back. “Aye?”
“Tell him… tell him I was unwell—after the smokehouse. So he isn’t shocked when he sees me.” She pinched her cheeks and wondered how pale she looked today.
Jamie’s lips twitched again with undisguised amusement. “Aye, my lady.”
Half an hour later Eryn descended the stairs, face scrubbed, hair brushed and plaited, wearing a deep rose colored gown which she hoped would add color to her cheeks. She stopped at the last step, pulled a breath and held it a pace, then let it ease from her body, taking her tension with it.
It worked until she saw him.
Drew wore his black velvet tunic and dark gray hose. His tall black boots looked freshly polished. When he turned to face her, his eyes glowing like fiery amber and his smile widening, she acted without thought.
Eryn ran across the Hall and launched herself into Drew’s outspread arms. He caught her up, spun her in a circle and set her down as his mouth met hers.
Eryn’s world tilted and spun with his kiss. She pressed herself against him and held him like a vise, afraid he might disappear if she didn’t. How foolish she was being! How wanton must he believe her to be?
She didn’t care.
When Drew pulled his lips from hers, her mouth felt almost bruised. He held her at arms length and scrutinized her. She tucked her kiss-swollen lips between her teeth, glad to know she was blushing from his attention and her cheeks were not colorless.
