Warrior's Deception (15 page)

Lenora turned her attention from her father to Roen. “Where is the cleric? All documents have been signed and approved. Let this ceremony be done with.”

Roen knew that few would take her statement as that of an eager bride. Those of the castle knew her true feelings.

Musicians strummed lyres and played pipes as she and Roen entered the chapel. Her father, helped to his pew in the front, watched with misted eyes. Drawing strength from his steadfastness, Lenora proceeded with Galliard to the cleric. The young monk, nervous in front of the large crowd of nobles, stuttered as he spoke the vows that would bind her forever to the man next to her.

Roen lifted her woodlike hand. She tried to mentally separate herself as he repeated his vows and placed the symbol of her imprisonment on her finger. The silver-and-gold ring gleamed against the whiteness of her skin and made her hand feel heavy.

“Milady? Your vows?” The cleric cleared his throat and rubbed his neck. “Do you need me to repeat them again?”

She looked at the cleric and realized she had missed her cue to speak. “Nay, I know them.” In a flat, distant voice she spoke the words that sealed her fate.

The cleric began to conclude the ceremony. The mangled words provoked a final thawing flame. A vow of her own making formed. The specter of shame disappeared and she regained her soul. She would not allow Galliard to suck her dry as Geoffrey had warned.

The placement of the marriage pall startled her from her vengeful thoughts. Beneath the cloth, she turned to her husband. “So, have you any bastards to legitimize, Galliard?” Her voice carried no farther than Roen’s ears.

“Nay, I’ve no bastards. Nor will I ever.” His face, like a granite cliff, caused her to feel a moment’s regret for the circumstances of her marriage. A life sentence in a loveless relationship could be no one’s hope.

The pall removed, the monk passed a thick slice of bread to Roen. He broke off a piece and held it out to her. When she reached for it, he pulled it back. She questioned him with her eyes. In response, he moved forward and held out his hand for her to eat from it. A few of the more expressive terms she had heard Tom and her father use came to mind.

She opened her mouth to deliver a few but Roen stuffed it full of bread. Gagging, she chewed the mouthful down to a wad she managed to swallow. Roen sipped his wine and then held the cup to her mouth. The angle of the goblet caused the liquid to pour down her throat so quickly she had to gulp to keep it from dribbling all over her. He removed the cup and with his tongue licked the excess wine from her lips. Her knees buckled and she sought his arm for support.

Roen placed his hand on her elbow and turned her around to face the assembled witnesses. Shouts of congratulations and good wishes rang from the guests. The sounds of resounding slaps and blows marked the air as each of her father’s vassals impressed this day on their mind with a strike to their neighbor’s face or back.

Her husband’s steady pull on her elbow led them down the aisle. Seeds, to represent a hope for fertility and harmony, showered her head and shoulders. She stared at the joyful faces of the assembled crowd as they offered what she considered wasted wishes. They arrived outside the chapel and were surrounded by even more well-wishers. The hypocrisy of the moment threatened to make her physically ill.

Her father, assisted by several squires, held out his hand and gripped both his daughter’s and Roen’s hands. “Today, Woodshadow’s future is secure. From this union, the next generation of heirs will spring forth.” He motioned to the nobles. “Come, swear your fealty to Sir Roen de Galliard, Lord of Woodshadow.”

The music hushed and the crowd ringed the hall. One at a time, each of Sir Edmund’s men stepped forward and presented himself to his liege. Each knelt at Roen’s feet and took the hem of the emerald green tunic in his hands. With clear voices, the vassals swore to bear their faith in life and member for their lord. In Roen’s name, they would fight against all men who live and can die, save for King Henry II of England and his
heirs. To seal the oath, each kissed the hem of Roen’s tunic, rose to his feet and presented his sword to the new Lord of Woodshadow.

Visiting lords and their families stood in hushed silence around the ring of her father’s, nay, her husband’s vassals. These lords bore homage not to Woodshadow but directly to the king. Lenora spotted Geoffrey standing beside his brothers and father. Her friend gnawed the inside of his cheek and his eye twitched erratically.

When the last man pledged and stood, a cry resounded through the hall. Men took up the chant of Roen’s name. He turned to face her. She expected triumph and gloating. Instead, she saw him humbled by the acceptance the knights revealed. Looking at the room of satisfied people crystallized for her the reason her father had pushed her so hard to wed.

Although her marriage cost her much, it provided a stable transfer of power. Roen represented a strong defender against those that would steal or plot against Woodshadow and its many properties. No castle could survive for long without a capable leader.

Lenora did not doubt Roen’s ability to protect Woodshadow in war, but her father did more than keep bandits at bay. He governed and led his men in times of peace, as well. Did Roen possess that ability? The full extent of her responsibilities materialized. Besides her duties of before, now she must watch her husband and see to it Woodshadow fared as well under his leadership as it had under her father’s.

Roen placed her hand atop his and led her to the floor of the great hall. The musicians struck up a lively tune and the guests joined in the dance. A group of acrobats somersaulted around the couple, then between them. A tumbling wall of bodies soon separated the bride from the groom. Lenora took the opportunity to escape the compelling eyes of her husband.

The crowd, spellbound by the contortions of the performers, allowed her to slip away to a secluded spot along the back wall. She swiped a skin of wine, a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese from a platter. Secure in her out-of-the-way hidey-hole, Lenora munched and observed.

She brushed off the remains of her meal and stood to shake away any lingering crumbs. The food acted like flint and steel
to kindle a spark of vitality in her. Her feet tapped to the gay beat of the music and she moved to the edge of the assembled group. Half-singing the tune played by the musicians, she swayed back and forth. The merriment of the crowd and well-wishers enabled her to forget, for a moment, the disaster her life had become.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

Lenora started. “Geoffrey.” Happiness and worry mixed in her heart. His jest had instigated Roen’s actions against her. But it had been her rudeness and insensitivity that pushed her friend to play the trick. When would she learn to watch her tongue?

“Ah, I caught you unaware again.” An irksome smile played on his lips. “I came to wish you good tidings on your marriage.” He moved closer. “And to extend my deepest regrets about my actions. My only defense is that my frustration got the best of me.”

She turned to go, but he held her by the shoulder. “Geoffrey, your actions were unforgivable. Do you know what your words cost me?”

“What, Lenora? I’ve heard rumors. Tell me.”

“It does not matter. Suffice it to say, my life with my husband will not be a peaceful one.”

“Oh, but it does matter to me.” He released her shoulder and gave her hand a light squeeze. “Dear, sweet friend, please say I am forgiven. Understand my turmoil and futile love for your cousin drove me to madness.” He batted his eyes like a flirtatious ingenue.

Lenora laughed. “You are incorrigible.”

Geoffrey winked and laughed. “Nay, Lenora, that title is reserved for you. You need only ask that old war-horse Matilda.”

The festivities of the day thawed Lenora’s demeanor. Her laughter bubbled out. “Aye, you are forgiven. But what of Beatrice? Will you not reconsider?”

“’Tis better this way. Your husband is sure to promise her to one of his own men.”

Drawn by their shared unhappiness, she gave him a gentle hug. “Geoffrey, I wish things could be different. Do not give up all hope. Your dreams may still come true.”

He pursed his lips and nodded, a disturbing smile on his lips. “Perhaps you are correct. I will not promise anything, but tell Beatrice I will try to contact her when I can.” Geoffrey’s face lost all amusement.

She tilted her head and wrinkled her brow. “What ails you?”

Suddenly, Lenora found herself spun around to face Galliard. The scowl on his face advertised his temperament.

“I told you that if you wish to speak to Lenora, do so when we are both present.” His voice rumbled like an ominous storm.

“Galliard, please. Geoffrey is a friend.”

“Then he would do well not to compromise that relationship.” Roen placed his arm possessively around her waist and pulled her to his side. She managed to stomp heavily on his instep in the process. A twinge of satisfaction branched through her at his pained grimace.

The two men faced each other. Roen did not hide his displeasure and Geoffrey displayed a look of haughty disdain. Lenora viewed her husband’s pounding neck vein and searched for a way to defuse the situation.

“Congratulations, Sir Galliard.” Geoffrey’s father slapped his son and Roen on their shoulders. Shorter than both men, his blow still bent the younger knights forward.

Sir Champlain stroked his dark, greasy beard. His foul breath nearly knocked Lenora from her feet. He ran his tongue over rotting teeth. “You’ve done well, Galliard. Woodshadow is a fine keep. There’s not much a man would not do for a place as rich as this.” He eyed Geoffrey and snickered. “Oh, there’s been many that’s schemed for it. Witty young men have plotted to win this keep for a long time.” The lecherous old man cackled while Geoffrey’s face hardened to stone.

“There will be few attempts to rob Woodshadow now that Roen is lord. I would think our problems with your poachers in our wood will soon be settled.” She spoke with deliberate firmness. Sir Champlain must not discern any strife in her marriage or he would use it against Woodshadow.

The old man laughed again, the aroma from his unclean body causing her to stumble away. Roen’s arms slipped around her waist. She rested her hands on the protective belt of his arms.

“All your talk about not marrying was talk after all.” Sir Champlain winked at Roen. “Some said she wouldn’t marry. They wagered that cousin of hers would inherit all of this. I knew she wouldn’t give it all up to join some nunnery. Just needed some young stag to make her fall into line.”

Geoffrey brushed his father’s hand from his shoulder and stalked off. His son’s action did not anger Sir Champlain. The man threw back his head and laughed uproariously.

“Excuse me, Lord Champlain. We have other guests we must not ignore.” Lenora tried to extricate herself from the horrid man’s presence. She tilted her face upward to Roen’s and gave a tiny wave of her head away from Sir Champlain. A silent plea moved on her lips.

Roen looked down at her and she lost herself in the wonderful blue-gray, almost teal shade of his eyes. His full lips tilted in a tired smile. For once, he followed her lead. She locked her arm in his and guided them away from their unsavory company.

“I noticed none of your people came to the ceremony, Sir Galliard.”

Sir Champlain’s remark halted Roen’s retreat. “My family was unable to attend.”

“Really, that’s too bad. You know your father and I are related. Cousins in a roundabout way. I spent a lot of my youth carousing with him.”

Roen turned to face the old man, and so did Lenora. Sir Champlain stood with his fists on his hips, a sly sneer on his face. “’Tis a pity the elder Galliard could not witness this whole event. He’d be sure to claim you as his own, especially when he learned how you managed to secure this union. There’d be no question of your parentage then.”

Lenora felt Roen’s body straighten as though from a javelin thrust. A snarl quivered on his lips. The grip on her arm tightened, the large knuckles white. Sir Champlain’s verbal arrow had hit its target. Lenora did not understand the barb but knew its wound sank deep into the soul of her husband.

“Sir Galliard has the trust of my father. Something not easily attained, as you well know, Sir Champlain.” Lenora let her tongue return wound for wound. When someone attacked Roen, he attacked Woodshadow. Honor demanded retaliation.
“My father is very astute in his judgment of men. If he ascertains that Galliard is the man for Woodshadow, not a knight here would venture to doubt him.”

Both men stared at her. Roen with surprised gratitude, Champlain with unmasked irritation that she turned his remark back on him. The old knave courted her father’s favor, only to be rejected each time. Roen had accomplished what Champlain had tried for years. Jealousy was eating the old man alive.

Seething, the putrid lord growled low under his breath and stalked off. Lenora noticed his departure immediately. She could finally take a breath without the danger of retching.

Roen placed his hand under her chin and gently guided her face upward. The gold circlet on his brow reflected a halo around his head. His breath, tinged with mint, danced across her ear and sent impulses ringing in her head.

“Thank you for your defense, wife.” He spoke in a whisper but his last word grated on Lenora.

She pulled away from him, careful to draw no unwanted attention, and warned under her breath, “Take care, Galliard. Do not think things are different between us. ‘Tis just my knowledge of the man. He has long wanted Woodshadow land and would have it, if not for my father’s battle arm. What he could not win in honest battle he tries to steal in underhandedness. To keep my home safe, we must show a united front.”

She gathered the side of her gown in her hand and added, “You should not let Champlain’s remarks upset you so. ‘Tis only his attempt to rattle you. You fell with ease into his trap.” Her features set in serene composure, she turned with a flounce of her dress and left her newly married husband alone in the great hall.

“Was that wise, daughter?” Sir Edmund asked softly as Lenora passed. She immediately went to his side and sat at his feet. With her index finger, she traced the design of the family crest engraved on the side of his chair and avoided his eyes.