The Protector

by Becca St. John

  Impossible to respond, but she remembered, remembered well. The child Cwen, clutching at Veri’s skirts, playing peek-a-boo with her mother Jillian. And Jillian’s laughter, her quiet, keen interest in Veri’s healing ways.

  “Come, you will feel better with a wash.”

  “Leave the bowl. I will tend myself.” Veri answered from deep within her cocoon.

  Rustle of linens, coming and going, then silence.

  If she stayed, curled as she was, Roland would return to find her within the bed, meek and vulnerable. She straightened, slow against the ache of his invasion. She must be practical. Movement would help her body heal.

  Gently, she cleaned herself, redressed and put on her traveling mantel. She studied the large wardrobe placed before the hidden entrance. Even with help, it promised a monumental challenge.

  Discouraged, she crossed to the warmth of the fireplace, to wait.

  Action, little as it was, eased the sense of helplessness. Perhaps, with carefully chosen words, she could persuade Roland to let her leave. After all, she had warned him, had told him not to breach the barrier.

  He had done so anyway.

  Again, she thought, it was not like him, not like the compassionate man of justice she remembered. Up until it had been done, she believed he would stop. She truly believed it. She remembered him as lively and earnest to a fault, with an eye for the truth of a matter. Arrogance and stubbornness kept him from perfection, but not so much of either to forget the comfort of others, to be kind.

  Memories shivered through her, landing in a lump of sorrow. All these years of yearning to see that young knight again, to have her life locked to his somewhere, anywhere but Oakland, his home, his demesne. An impossible dream.

  “She is an innocent!” Despair roused from the soul, too late.

  Oh Roland.

  She held her skirts free from the fire as she moved closer, hoping the flames could warm against this place of cold stone, mortared with dark secrets.

  Agitated, she shoved away from the stone surround of the hearth and crossed to the alcove; to stand in the same place she had stood earlier, when Roland first discovered her presence. Through the dark, she saw the shimmering light of torches, an entourage, moving away from the castle.

  He didn't even wait for daylight, before he sent her friends away. By the number of torches, he had sent knights to assure the protection of her friends. She should, at least, be grateful for that. Tonight was, after all, her fault.

  The Sisters and Kenneth tried to persuade her against returning. Too dangerous to meet in his castle, his realm. She ignored them, and paid for her stubbornness.

  Engulfed in loneliness, she sank to the floor, knees pulled in to chest, head bent, her mind far, far away. She didn't heed the creak of the door, didn't note the movement within the room, until a shadow fell over her.

  Once again, a tangible presence, strong enough to rouse her to find Roland, beside the bed, brow furrowed.

  “I wish I’d left you to die all those years ago.”

  “Aye, you should have,” he admitted.

  She cursed him for that, for his admission of bleak pain she imagined too easily. Trained to care, to ease suffering, how could she hate, strike back, at a man already stricken?

  Wisdom, knowledge, each is strangled by anger. Tainted by bitterness. Training, from long before Roland, reverberated.

  “I did not mean what I said,” she whispered.

  “Nay, you did not, but I did.”

  She looked away, to a corner of the room. Roland joined her in the alcove, faced her as he sat, his legs stretched out, one foot resting against hers. So casual, but no accident. He needed the contact, the warmth of two bodies connecting, even this minimal.

  Did he feel her presence as she felt his?

  Power.

  It radiated from him, honed his words, rippled in his wake. Overwhelming, intimidating power, but potent influence came in many forms. No longer the naïve child Roland had left behind, Veri realized she had her own measure of strength. This time she would not be so easily fooled by the manipulations of others at Oakland.

  "It is late. You must rest.”

  She looked then, into his eyes, into the gentleness that sparked where only cold anger had been hours before.

  “Rose left? Father Kenneth?”

  Regret swept away the gentleness. “I could not allow them to stay, Veri. I refuse to chance your leaving.”

  “Why, Roland, why must I stay?”

  “Because,” he bowed his head, gave it a weary shake, his voice a tumble of rocks honed with emotion, “you are my hope.” He looked at her with ferocious intensity. “My only hope.”

  She could not break the gaze, not until his eyes shifted to her hand, taking it in his large calloused hold, as if her flesh were a delicate fragile thing. Her heart broke.

  Impossible to be what he asked, no one could bear the weight of such responsibility. But she could not argue that now. Not when they both felt such raw pain. Instead, she spoke the most quelling truth. “I do not know you anymore.”

  “That is best,” he sighed, “you would not like what you found.”

  She had been the one violated; yet he is left torn and bleeding.

  “Why make me stay, why claim me when it brings you sorrow? Surely another would suit you better than a simple woman, such as I.”

  “No. Another would not do.”

  With a deep sigh, she urged stronger, better emotions, from the foundation of her nature. She must fight the burgeoning anger.

  Time for healing.

  She squeezed his hand, as she went to rise. He stopped her, engulfing her palm in both of his, lifting them to his lowered forehead. “I do not mean to cause you pain, wife. All that I am, have, are yours. You owe me nothing.”

  In his world, offering all he had should put her in great debt. That she didn’t want any of it mattered not.

  “Do we need talk of these things this night?” She tugged to be free.

  He lowered their hands, to meet her steady gaze. “I do not mean to restrict you, keep you from your friends, your freedoms. Just give me time, please, to set our world right.”

  “Your people believe I shape-shift to fly in and out of your chamber. No one will tell them the truth of it, or risk any manner of thief to come through that doorway. All will believe I returned as I left.”

  “In time, they will forget these things.”

  “If I live a pious, God fearing life.”

  “You’ve come from a convent.”

  She rose, fascinated by the fluid way he moved to join her. She had not expected such grace from a man of his size.

  “Yes, I’ve come from a convent.” She sighed. “Let us go to bed then.”

  Her words hit her with a shudder.

  She startled him as well.

  “You are not dressed for rest.” He plucked at the fastening for her cloak as though wishing to help, but afraid to touch.

  “I thought to convince you to let me leave.”

  The bow at her neck unraveled. Roland dropped the ribbon. “You would not have succeeded.” He stated baldly. His eyes did not meet hers.

  “I know.” She shrugged off her mantle, caught it, stroked each crease, as she went to fold it.

  He gestured to the bed, where a plain linen garment lay. “Cwen brought you a fresh shift. It is Hannah’s.”

  Rooted, she looked to the shift, remembering her nakedness before the others.

  Roland’s large rough hands cupped her face.

  “It is not necessary for you to change. If it makes you more comfortable, sleep as you are.” Gently, he lifted her from the floor, to settle her upon the bed much as he had done when she was a child. It did not feel the same.

  He removed her boots, sturdy and strong for the long journey to this place.

  “Do you remember my promise?” he asked as he rubbed her feet.

  There were many promises yet, at that moment, she could think of none.

&nbs
p; “I will never take you again, as I did this night. You are free of such fears.”

  She nodded, though the words held no meaning. How could he take her again? She was where he wanted her. Honor bound to stay. Where else could he take her?

  Veri worried over this as he slid into place beside her. He had not done that when she was young. The strange feelings, the awareness of every point where his body touched, increased.

  “You will have your own bed by tomorrow. There is an adjoining room, with no entrance but through this, my own chamber. Tomorrow, it will be yours. For tonight you will stay with me, that I can be assured of your safety.” He pulled her stiff, unyielding self into his protective hold, spooned her body to his.

  As they slept, he held her within his arms. To assure she was safe, assure that she would not leave.

  To claim her as his.

  They both dreamt of the past.

  CHAPTER 3 ~ HIDDEN WOUNDS

  It should have been Veri’s place to be the first seated, to be the first to break the night’s fast. Instead, he left her snug and warm, and finally at peace. She suffered a restless night, plagued with whimpers and jerky skirmishes with the bedclothes. His fault, entirely. He brought nothing but pain and fear to the child.

  Woman, not child.

  He should let her go, but he wouldn’t, damn his soul. He couldn’t. Not yet. Black depths of his soul wrestled with conscience all the while she struggled with dreams. Let her go. Keep her with him. Worry she would not be safe anywhere else. Afraid she would not be safe with him.

  Oakland treated her cruelly too many times. He knew that. He never should have brought her here, all those years ago, but one could not live in retrospect. The damage done, he now feared the failure to root out all the evils that plagued her, would give them opportunity to follow wherever she went.

  Before daybreak, he walked the battlements, spoke with the guards, assured the security of his fortress. The wrong front to secure. They’d not been attacked from without in thirty years.

  Veri’s enemy came from within.

  Convents were benign places.

  He should let her go.

  As he vacillated, he left her to sleep. He would attend to any number of problems amassed during his ten year absence. Then he would see to her.

  A fine start to a day full of first starts.

  “Do you not find the food to your liking, Roland?” Hannah’s emotionless gaze probed from his left.

  For the first time in all the years his step-mother, Hannah, had been a part of his life, Roland wondered if her emotions were truly non-existent or, on the contrary, so virulent that she had to keep them locked away. And why had he never thought to wonder about that before?

  What else did he miss in his self-involved youth? He looked about the hall. Dust motes danced among the rafters, caught in the currents of smoke from braziers strategically set throughout the massive chamber. The household, his household, all bent over the first meal of the day, dogs nuzzling through the rushes in search of scraps.

  A somber seating. Roland frowned. He didn't want Veri to come below stairs to tables of bent heads focused on cold meat, bread and ale; talk confined to masculine grunts and murmurs and ladies who did not speak at all.

  The sharp sound of argument between Margaret, seated to his right, and her husband beside her, pulled his attention.

  "I still cannot believe he's taken that girl to wife!” Margaret bit out.

  Ah! We get to it now, he thought, glad to end the uneasy quiet and face the problem head-on.

  "She was my wife before I left." He studied the sharp angles of Margaret's fury. "What would you prefer I do?"

  Sir Howard leaned around his wife. "Roland, pay no attention to Margaret. She prefers to orchestrate things herself, but in the end she will adjust.”

  Margaret stiffened at her husband's words, though she did not contradict him.

  Interesting, Roland thought, as he goaded Margaret by addressing Howard. "If I remember correctly, Margaret was not keen on the marriage from the start. You would think she'd had time to resolve herself to it."

  Dori stretched around Hannah and hissed, "How could you, Roland? How could you bring that loathsome creature into our home? After all she has done to me, she should have died a horrible, twisted death, worse than Derek's.” Angry tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Dori, so gentle and malleable when he left. Her husband, Derek, cherished her, treated her as a precious, fragile thing. Roland tried to talk to the woman she had been. "What has happened to you, Dori?"

  "Exactly.” Margaret said. "Do you see now, Roland? Do you see why you should not have done what you did last night?"

  “It is done.”

  Margaret sat back, stiff and angry. Roland turned back to his other sister.

  "Dori, of all the women, you were the closest to Veri. You took her under your wing."

  Petulant, Dori played with her goblet. "She changed, Roland. She was very sneaky, subtle, but she took my husband from me." Her chin wobbled. She grabbed the goblet and guzzled, then flung her arm out in careless exclamation. A spray of burgundy droplets arced. "She pretended it wasn't true, but it was. It," her chin wobbled again, as tears turned to sobs, "It's really true."

  Drunk at the first meal of the day. Dori's ladies tutted and petted their mistress, rote attendance by women used to such things.

  At his command, there were no women, no confidants, to comfort Veri. He looked at his plate, realizing how harsh his order had been, but they posed a threat he didn’t know how to battle. Love. They loved her.

  Hannah, on the other side of Roland, ignored Dori’s hiccupping cries.

  He looked at Margaret’s narrowed eyes, lips clamped tight with hard fury.

  Who had changed more, Dori or Veri? Roland looked back at his younger sister. "You believe Veri changed? She was under your guidance, and still terribly young when father died. How did she change so drastically, that you believe such outrageous tales?"

  "Roland," Margaret snapped her cup down, "Don't go into this now. You don't know what Dori's been through, what all this is going to put her through. You have not been here. You were nowhere to be found." She gained momentum, "We were all here, had to deal with the upheaval. Now you come back, high and mighty . . . "

  “Roland?” Hannah interrupted. “Is the food not to your liking?”

  He blinked, thrown by the abrupt change, surprised that Margaret took the cue to sit back, in a huff, and maintain silence. Undercurrents ebbed and flowed, but he did not have enough answers to read them.

  What in the name of all that was Holy was going on here?

  "Margaret?" he asked, certain that she would be the most forthright, but she turned away from him.

  "Howard?" He tried but Howard dissimilated, "She's right, Roland, there's time enough for that. Perhaps when Roger and I return from court. Time enough. We will see what the king makes of all this. Perhaps he can work something out, keep you from being held to it."

  "Held to it? The marriage was consummated, Howard. That is recognized as a marriage by the king.”

  "Until death." Hannah murmured blandly. Dori raised her goblet in toast to the sentiment.

  "She is my wife!” Roland shouted. The room stilled. Even the dogs stopped their persistent scavenging. He studied the frozen tableau. All those, at the lower tables looked up to the balcony that overlooked the hall.

  Veri. Roland lifted his gaze.

  Without a glance, Dori grasped her goblet to her chest and rose. Head high, nose in the air as though the room filled with a rancid scent, her platter still full upon the table, she left the room with an unsteady sway. Benches scraped across the stone floor as other ladies followed.

  Roland’s eyes narrowed. He’d not confront his sister openly. Not here. Let her stew in silent maliciousness. And let them all go hungry. They’d best get used to it, for they would be fasting for more meals than this, thanks to their action.

  Margaret and her women rose quickly to
join them. Howard laid a restraining hand upon his wife's arm, a look passed between them, and he released her. She was going to her sister. She would side against her brother.

  She had not liked being left to deal with a fractured family.

  Her actions did little to mend the hurts.

  White-hot anger burned all softness as he stared at the empty places. Statements made with gestures, stands taken. If they aligned against his wife, they aligned against him. They would not win.

  The fire inside of him bellowed and flared, until he caught sight of Hannah, still seated. She said naught, gave no sign of approval or disapproval. She just sat, continued with her morning meal. A stand, or merely another situation she would ignore, as she had ignored Dori's cries and Margaret's outburst.

  Whatever her motive, Hannah's simple resumption of the meal calmed Roland. He turned away from his sisters. They could be dealt with later. This moment was for Veri.

  He rose, shifted to face his bride. She watched the ladies retreat, took in the table with their full platters. Shamed, he watched as her gaze met his, an ironic half smile on her lips.

  He wanted to promise her things would be different, a promise he had already broken.

  He wanted her trust when he had not trusted her.

  **********

  The women shunned her. Not surprising but hurtful. All these years, free of Oakland, she wondered, considered. Who hated her so very much? Because someone fed all those tales that condemned her and, in the end, caused Roland to seek revenge.

  Making both of them victims.

  She could not leave Oakland. More specifically, she would not abandon Roland. The healer in her would not allow her to leave a person who hurt. Though not of the body, his pain was very real indeed.

  Last night her hands were tied, her soul numbed. Today, she could take action.

  She nodded to Roland. If only he had not left her to sleep through morning mass and now through the first meal of the day. A dangerous start to her life at Oakland when, no doubt, accusations of witchery still clung to her. As his ally, he needed her by his side, not lying abed, too weak or evil to attend mass.