A Warrior's Bride

by Margaret Moore

  He raised his head. “Let us not talk of suspicions anymore today. I promise you, Aileas, that I will have complete faith in you from now on.”

  “And Margot?”

  “Oh, sweet Savior,” he sighed. “I have no idea what I shall say to her.”

  “Perhaps nothing need be said,” Aileas suggested. “It might be too humiliating for her.” Then she eyed him critically. “All this talk of Margot and me when you’re hurt, too.”

  With a weary sigh, he raised himself to sit on the side of the bed. “A little, but it is nothing compared to what I felt here—” he touched his chest “—when I feared I was going to lose you.”

  “I’ve missed you, husband,” she whispered, putting her arms around him and pulling him close.

  “Paracus said you should rest—and I haven’t even helped wash away the blood on your face.”

  “Then we shall be restful. In a little while. And you should know by now that I am not the most fastidious of women.”

  Several hours later, Elma counted all the coins hidden behind a loose brick in the back of the wall surrounding Richard’s house.

  She had been too clever to keep hers in the maidservants’ quarters of Ravensloft, where it might be discovered. Instead, she had buried her share of their ill-gotten gains in the wood outside the castle.

  Now she was stealing Richard’s money. She had seen where he hid his share. Whatever she stole from him, she richly deserved, she told herself, recalling the night he had grabbed her and pulled her into the storeroom. When he was finished with her, never questioning why she struggled so fiercely or heeding her cries to stop, she had risen from the floor and demanded money.

  How shocked he had been, until she lied and told him all her customers paid, convincing herself she should have some compensation for her dishonor.

  Then she had watched him, and his brother, too, until she realized what they were up to. He had been shocked again when she told him what she knew, and what it would take to keep her silent.

  Although no amount he ever paid her would truly compensate for her lost innocence that terrible day, causing him the pain of lost money while enriching herself was a good sort of revenge, and the time had clearly come for her to exact it.

  She smiled at the bags of coins, the leather pouches shiny in the moonlight. There was more than enough to leave this place forever and go somewhere where she was not known. She could claim to be the widow of a wealthy merchant. She was young and pretty. She could win an even richer husband, perhaps even a knight.

  Wouldn’t that be a pretty trick, the serving maid turned into a lady? But if Lady Aileas could change, so could she. And wouldn’t it be something to see the faces of everyone here if she returned in such a state? Such speculation was mere daydreaming, for she would never come back here again. She loathed this place and everyone in it.

  Especially Sir George, who had never looked at her twice, except as she could fetch him something. Who was so oblivious to the knaves running his affairs, and who therefore deserved to be robbed.

  She moved back into the shadow of Richard’s house, shivering as she recalled the cold-blooded way he had stabbed his own brother. What would he do to her, if he felt it necessary?

  Glancing over her shoulder at the massive structure of Ravensloft Castle, she thought she couldn’t have asked for better circumstances under which to leave. The whole place was in confusion, with Sir George’s sudden return, the injury to his wife, the hasty departure of a sobbing Lady Margot, followed by the equally abrupt departure of Sir Rufus Hamerton.

  She pulled out the pouches she had tucked into her skirt, special pouches she had prepared for the day she would leave. She had sewn a thick lining inside tattered old leather bags, and into that lining, she carefully began to put the coins.

  No curious onlooker or thief would realize such pouches would be holding a small fortune in gold and silver.

  When she was finished, she lifted the pouches, which were heavier than she had expected. Fortunately, being a maidservant had made her arms strong, as well as her will, she thought as she crept out of the steward’s enclosure. Waiting in the shadows of an alley was a donkey she had taken from the stable of Ravensloft. It was not a swift beast, but one less likely to be missed.

  Moving slowly so not to make any unnecessary noise, she lifted the pouches onto the donkey, and for extra precaution, covered them with bundles of linen.

  She looked again at Richard Jolliet’s house—and as she did, she saw a light kindled in the upper window.

  He must have returned, perhaps to dispose of Herbert’s body. With another shiver and a greater sense of urgency, Elma climbed onto the donkey and swatted it on the rear.

  The beast lurched into motion and Elma rode away from Ravensloft.

  “Ow!” George gasped sharply, his features illuminated by dawn’s faint rays as he lay propped up on the disheveled cushions. The rosy light also shone on the naked Aileas, who was sitting on his chest.

  “Lie still, then, and let me wash you properly,” Aileas chided. “We should have done this last night, after you washed my face.”

  “I was distracted,” George muttered. Then he fastened his keen gaze on her face. “Am I that dirty?”

  “You were rolling about the floor.”

  “I would do it again in an instant if you would wash me like this again.” He twisted to kiss her hand.

  Aileas shifted, nearly upsetting the basin of water precariously perched on the bed. “George! Keepstill!”

  “How can I help but lie still when you are sitting on my chest. Did I mention that I think my ribs are cracked?”

  “Really?” She started to lift her leg to get off.

  He quickly grabbed her arms to still her. “It’s not serious,” he said with a low chuckle.

  His wife playfully struck his arm. “Tease me like that again, and you will have cracked ribs.”

  “Well, they are a little tender on my left side,” he confessed.

  This time, somewhat to his regret, she moved and knelt beside him. He put his hands behind his head and gazed admiringly at Aileas. “Somehow, I don’t think Paracus would approve of your version of resting.”

  “My version was fine. I scarcely had to move. It was yours—”

  “Mine?”

  “I didn’t know it would fit that way.”

  He smiled at the memory. “I wasn’t sure myself, but I thought it was worth the attempt.”

  “Oh, it was,” she sighed. “It was. I do believe you have even cured my aching head.”

  “Perhaps I should forgo my noble duties and become an alchemist.”

  She lay beside him and stroked his chest lightly. “In some things, I believe you already are.”

  “Nevertheless, I think it might be wise not to bother Paracus with a report on how we ‘rested.”’

  Aileas laughed her agreement and nestled close to him. “And I think that perhaps for this one day, I might be persuaded to stay in bed with you.”

  “Excellent notion!” He chuckled softly. “Now, what else has been going on in my absence?” He gave her a curious, sidelong glance. “Other than vast improvements in my wife’s deportment, all of which she will now forget—with my approval.”

  She toyed with a lock of his hair. “After all my efforts to make them? I think not.” She frowned slightly. “Will you investigate the accounts? I truly believe that the stewards are not completely honest.”

  “I shall begin tomorrow,” he affirmed.

  She smiled, then sighed. “I wish I had learned to read.”

  “It is not too late.”

  She raised herself on her elbow to look at him, and he was surprised by the serious expression on her face. “I don’t think I’m going to have time.”

  “You find the chatelaine’s duties that interesting that you can spare no time from them?” he teased. “Or is it your intention to do all the hunting for the castle, too?”

  She shook her head, suddenly as shy as he had ever
seen a woman. “I’ll be too busy.”

  “With what?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

  “With... with our baby.”

  “Our what?” George asked, astonished.

  “Our baby. At least, I think I’m with child.” She blushed prettily and shrugged her slender shoulders. “I’m not absolutely sure, but I’m late.”

  George threw back his head and laughed, then embraced her fiercely. “This is marvelous, Aileas! Wonderful! I am the happiest man in England!”

  She regarded him with trepidation. “You don’t think...”

  He grew serious immediately. “I don’t doubt that I’m the father, if that’s what’s troubling you,” he said gently.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head as very real dread filled her eyes. “Do you think I’ll be a good mother?”

  George took her to him tenderly. “You will be a wonderful mother.” His voice took on a teasing tone. “Especially if it’s a boy. Why, I can think of no other women of my acquaintance who can teach their sons the finer points of archery.”

  “But I don’t know anything about babies,” she protested. “I’ve never even held one.”

  He held her away from him, and his expression was as serious as his tone. “Aileas, you will be a fine mother. I have absolute faith in that.” Then, because he was George de Gramercie, he couldn’t help grinning mischievously and saying, “Granted, you will not be the usual type of mother, but I think that will be wonderful.”

  She smiled with relief before they both became aware of a very low and tentative knocking on the bedchamber door.

  “It must be Elma,” Aileas said.

  She began to get out of bed, but George held her back. “You are supposed to be resting, wife,” he chided playfully as he rose from the bed. “I will have Elma bring us some bread and cheese and wine.”

  “You had better put on some clothes before you open the door,” Aileas suggested, pulling the coverlet and sheet up to her chin.

  He gave her a devilish grin as he drew on his shirt and breeches.

  Then he stepped to the door and flung it open, to reveal a young maidservant trembling on the doorstep. She was one of the hall servants whose duties should not have extended to the upper chambers, as she seemed well aware, for her eyes widened with fear as she made a little curtsy. “If you please, my lord, I’ve been sent to wake you.”

  “Is something the matter?” George demanded, certain there was by the maid’s appearance and manner. “Where is Elma?”

  “If you please, my lord,” the girl stammered, “she’s...she’s gone, nobody knows where. And nobody can find Herbert Jolliet, either.”

  “Herbert?” George repeated, puzzled.

  “Herbert and Elma are both missing?” Aileas asked from the bed.

  The maidservant nodded nervously.

  “Did either of them say anything yesterday? Is it possible they’ve gone off together?” George demanded, realizing that stranger things had happened.

  “No, my lord, my lady, they never said nothing—but yesterday, we was all in a muddle, what with the lady’s head and Lady Margot and the other gentleman leaving.”

  George gave Aileas a surprised look, then turned back to the timorous maid. “Lady Margot has left?”

  “Yes, my lord, yesterday afternoon, and Sir Rufus after her. We were all in a bustle getting their things ready. Nobody had time to say much to anyone.”

  “It seems my hospitality leaves something to be desired,” George said ruefully, turning toward his wife.

  “Margot must have been too upset to stay. And Rufus, too. He said he was going,” she reminded him.

  George nodded his concurrence. “What about Sir Richard?” he asked the servant. “Does he have any idea where his brother might be?”

  She shook her head. “No, my lord. He’s waiting for you in the hall. It was him ordered me to fetch you.”

  “Tell Sir Richard I shall be down at once,” George said briskly. The maid nodded, dropped another curtsy and hurried away.

  George closed the door and reached for his boots, pausing when he realized Aileas was getting out of bed. “No, you don’t!” he cried softly. “You have to rest.”

  “But, George!”

  “Paracus said you should rest. And there’s nothing you can do, anyway.”

  “I won’t stay in bed another minute,” she said, pulling her shift over her head. “I want to know what’s going on.”

  George opened his mouth to protest, then stopped. “You have every right to do so,” he agreed. “Just promise me you will not overtax your strength.”

  “I won’t.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sir Richard Jolliet stood before the dais, his brow furrowed, his expression concerned, shivering with barely suppressed and genuine rage as he faced his lord.

  How dare that wench steal his money? he thought angrily. When he got his hands on her, she would rue the day.

  He would blame her for the murder of his brother, too. He would accuse her of thievery. He would see her imprisoned and then hung, and on that day, he would be a happy man.

  “Disappeared, you say?” Sir George repeated slowly.

  “Yes, my lord,” Richard said respectfully, although it was all he could do to keep a sneer from his face. George de Gramercie was a fool, and so was his wife, who came dashing down the stairs like a boy chasing a ball, her bow and quiver slung over her body as if she were off on a hunt. He wished more than ever that she had broken her head yesterday. “I regret to say that it appears both he and Elma have been up to no good.”

  “Theft?” Sir George proposed.

  “At the very least, my lord,” he replied. “I am truly sorry to have to tell you that I fear Herbert has abused your trust and the responsibility you have placed in him.” He lowered his head with the appropriate show of shame. “Indeed, my lord, I fear he has disgraced himself, and his whole family, by his actions.”

  He glanced first at Sir George, who was regarding him gravely, then at Lady Aileas. She frowned when he caught her eye, and the look on her face suddenly chilled him to the marrow of his bones.

  Nevertheless, he swallowed hard and continued. “More than that, my lord, my house was burgled in the night. A dishonest brother missing, a maidservant absconded—perhaps together—my own money gone. This is truly a terrible business.”

  “What happened to the miller, Richard?” Lady Aileas asked very slowly and deliberately.

  “He...he was beaten by some ruffians, my lady,” Richard answered, startled by her question.

  “You know no more of it than that?” she demanded.

  “Absolutely not, my lady.” She was fishing for answers. Surely if she had any, she would be accusing him now. “Sir George himself investigated the matter,” he reminded her.

  “Yes, I did,” Sir George remarked, “but I may have been too hasty, in view of these...developments. Why do you think Herbert has gone away with Elma? Perhaps he is only visiting Lisette.”

  “Lisette, my lord?” Richard asked, apparently mystified.

  “Who is Lisette?” Lady Aileas asked.

  “His mistress,” Sir George revealed. “Or was he dallying with Elma, too?”

  “I don’t know, my lord. Perhaps.” Yes. Let that be the story. Then, if Elma denied Herbert’s companionship on her journey, or should someone somehow discover Herbert’s body—although he had hidden it very carefully in the woods---either one could be blamed on a lover’s quarrel.

  “We shall have to find them,” Sir George said briskly. “The sooner the better. Some men should be dispatched to Lisette, and ten to accompany me. That includes you, Richard. Aileas, you should...” He paused and regarded his wife with a wry look. “You should come with me, too.”

  Then he marched toward the door. Lady Aileas right behind him, leaving Richard to hurry along after them.

  Elma heard the mounted soldiers before she saw them, for the horses’ hooves were like a hundred drums behind her on the road.
/>   “Holy Mother!” she breathed as she quickly dismounted. It would be like Richard to come after her with an armed guard. She should have stolen a horse.

  She yanked on the donkey’s harness, dragging it off the road into the underbrush and through the trees, out of sight of anyone on the road as she had during the night when she had heard a lone horseman passing. Branches scratched her arms, and the ground beneath her feet was slick and muddy, but she persisted, knowing that she dared not be caught. This time, in the daylight, she had better go further into the woods.

  To be sure, the money was well hidden and she could accuse Richard of far more serious crimes than she was guilty of, for his abuse of his position of trust was a far more serious matter than the petty thievery of a maidservant. Nevertheless, she would not risk hanging, the punishment for any and all theft.

  She looked about her. She could still make out the road. The donkey, however, had apparently decided it had gone far enough and refused to move.

  The riders were closer now. She could hear the jingle of their harness and realized it must be a large company, too large to simply be chasing a runaway servant. They must know about the theft.

  Swiftly, she tugged the pouches off the donkey and abandoned the beast. There was a cave nearby, so small it could barely hold one person, but it was across a narrow stream that would throw any hounds off her scent.

  She started to run in that direction, cursing the heavy weight of her burden. Then Elma stumbled over something and fell back, landing hard on the ground. Panting, she slowly rolled on her side to get up, still clutching the pouches—and came face-to-face with Herbert’s dull, lifeless eyes.

  She let out a cry, then clapped her hand over her mouth as bevies of startled birds soared upward.

  George heard the cry and pulled his horse to a stop. Then all the men saw the birds, rising in the air like smoke.

  George ordered them into the forest.