Warrior's Deception (26 page)

Tom shook his head, his shoulders sagging. “Nay, the secret is kept. But how would anyone know about that passageway? Even your lady is not aware of it. Only Sir Edmund, I and his seneschal used it.”

“Sir Hywel knew of it.” Hamlin clamped his hand to his forehead. “The man is daft. He could have told anyone about it and not remembered doing so.”

Roen gritted his teeth to keep from screaming out his frustration. A knock came at the door. He answered it and Tyrus stepped in.

“Is my wife awake yet?”

“Aye, Lord Roen. That talk I said I was needin’—” Tyrus began.

“Later. I must speak with my wife.” He turned to the men. “Both of you, find me the person who brought Lenora her tea last night. Maybe we can get some answers from him.”

“But, sire, that was me.” Tyrus’s words stopped Roen dead in his tracks. “Well, it were supposed to be me, but it weren’t.” The lad scratched his head and grew thoughtful.

“Make sense, boy.” Roen heard the strain of the night in his voice.

Tyrus pulled out two apples from his pocket and held them out to Roen. “Lady Lenora, she asked me for some tea. When I ran to the kitchen, I remember I ain’t checked her horses like you asked me to. I found these in the bottom of the hay bag. ‘Tis what I been tryin’ to show ye since ye arrived.”

The shiny red objects appeared normal; Roen waited for the boy to explain.

“Smell ‘em.” Tyrus pushed the apples up toward his lord’s face. The pungent odor made Roen grimace.

“They’re bad, but they don’t look bad. Somethin’s in ‘em, and if’n it makes ‘em stink like that, they can’t be good for the horses.”

“You’re right, Tyrus, but what of the tea?” Roen tossed the apples to Tom, who dropped them into a leather pouch at his waist.

“By the time I got back, I peeked into the room, and thought she was a-sleepin’ in the bed. I didn’t see no cause to wake her for tea to help her to sleep when she was already a-sleepin’.” The boy looked at him, clearly expecting him to agree with his logic.

“Aye, but you saw no drink at the table?”

“I did not notice.”

Roen sighed and waved the boy off. “Thank you, Tyrus. Go tell your mistress I’ll be with her shortly.” The boy ran off to do his bidding.

Roen looked at Hamlin. “When will the rest of our men be here?”

“Anytime now. I told them to travel in groups of ten and to take a different way home.”

“Good. When they arrive, I want three men at Lenora’s door at all times. None of hers. We don’t know which of them we can trust.” He turned to the stablekeeper. “Tom, which room here is the most secure? No secret way to enter or leave.”

“There are several, but I’d say the small inner room across from your chamber ‘twould be best. The hall runs straight. Your men would have a clear view of the foyer and can see below by walking a few steps to the upper walk.”

“Then that’s where I intend to move Lenora until we unravel this.” He sighed and rubbed his temple. “That room’s more like a cell than a bedchamber. I suppose she’s not going to take the move well.”

“Will you tell her the truth of the problem?” Tom asked.

Roen shook his head. “Nay, even if she would believe me, my Nora is not one to run and hide. Right now, my first priority is to keep her safe. Tom, find Fenton and have Lenora’s things transferred to the sewing room.”

He left to seek out his wife and prayed somehow he would be able to sort out all the clues. Today he had discovered he cared more deeply than he would like for his wife, and how that had happened still remained a mystery to him. He had a lifetime to discover how, but only if he found out the identity of Lenora’s attacker.

Tom climbed the steps to the loft above the stable. “Are ye here, Cousin?”

“Aye, here I am, Tom,” a voice called from the shadows.

Tom sat down in the hay next to Cervin. “We’ve got trouble. Your plan ain’t a-workin’.”

“What’s happened?”

“’E’s back again, only this time ‘e’s after both the lord and the mistress.”

“Is Lenora all right?”

“Aye, this time, but it were just luck that saved her. We got to go and tell them the truth.” Tom tugged on Cervin’s sleeve.

The man rose, and the cloth around his head fell to his shoulders. Red gold hair shone in the light. He started for the steps, then stopped and put his hand to his heart. His breath came out in tight gasps. “Confound it, another attack.”

Tom supported the weaker man. “Sir Edmund, ye have to relax. ‘Twill make it pass all the sooner and then ye’ll be yer old self once again.”

Clutching Tom’s elbow, he took a deep breath. The seizure passed, leaving him drained. Sir Edmund cursed again the poison that had so weakened his heart.

Tom ran and retrieved an old horse blanket and laid it on the straw for his lord. “Rest a bit, milord. Your girl is safe enough and that husband you picked for her will see she don’t move for now.”

Tom patted the resting man’s hand. His bones ached and his feet hurt, sure signs that things were to get much worse before they got better.

“F
enton, what are you doing?” Lenora demanded. Her foggy mind tussled to regain her senses. The insides of her eyelids scratched her eyes and she felt drowsy, despite the night’s sleep.

The burly man hefted her trunk onto his shoulder and grunted. “Not my doin’, Lady Lenora, ‘tis the lord’s orders. I’m to move your things to the room across the hall.”

“Which room?” She twisted her hair into a more manageable braid and used a bit of lace to tie it back.

Fenton gulped several times, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “The little one, across from the solarium.” He backed out of the room quickly. “Remember now, I had nothin’ to do with it.”

Heavens, how many hours had she suffered in the tiny room under her aunt’s tutelage? Why would Roen order her moved there? She pulled a thin blanket around her and peeked down the hall. Goliath greeted her with a cheerful bark, placed his front paws on her shoulders and washed her face with his wet tongue.

“Down, Goliath.” The dog trotted from the room in search of breakfast. Nay, by the light of day, that hour had passed some time ago. Heavens, how long had she slept? When had Roen returned to the keep? She took a step out in the hall

“Back inside, Lady Lenora. You’re not to leave your room,” Crandall warned. The knight dragged his wounded leg and posted himself just outside her door. His voice sounded raspy and dry. “And leave the door open.”

Her hand covered her mouth and bile rose in her throat. This morning she did not blame her condition for the nausea. The fullness of her body had finally betrayed her to Roen. He intended to make her a prisoner. She wanted to collapse on the floor and cry but fought the weakness. Think. There must be some way to spare her child and herself.

Fenton returned and hefted another trunk onto his back. He gave her an apologetic shrug, then shuffled out the door. Beatrice paused to let the servant leave before she entered.

Lenora rushed into her cousin’s arms and whispered in her ear. “I am in sore need of a friend now.” They walked to the balcony to escape the eavesdroppers in the hall.

“He knows about the baby.” Lenora spoke low and kept her eyes on the doorway. Crandall’s back rested on the open door of her room but he did not appear to be interested in her conversation. She whispered to her cousin, “Roen intends to move me to the sewing room. He cannot even abide steeping in the same room with me any longer.” The flicker of love in her heart dampened. The thought that Roen might one day accept her and their child evaporated.

“Have faith, Cousin. I have found us help.” Beatrice smiled through the tears in her eyes.

“How? Who?” Lenora asked.

The blond girl drew close, her voice barely able to suppress her hope. “Geoffrey.” She put a finger to Lenora’s opened mouth. “Sh, I got word to him of your peril.” From her sleeve she pulled a bit of paper. “I found this in the rose garden last night before I retired.”

Lenora put her back to the door and unfolded the missive. Remorse stabbed at her heart. “He writes he has the proof I seek about Roen. All I need do is reach the woods and he will find me.” Lifting her face to meet her cousin’s gaze, she asked, “But, proof of his guilt or innocence? He does not say.”

“Can you still dream of a life with this man, even now as he orders you from his sight?” Beatrice shook her head in dismay. “Have you forgotten his treachery? Lenora, he’s probably responsible for your father’s death. If you won’t think of yourself, then think of your child. Can you risk your baby’s life on a hope?”

Lenora pressed both hands to her eyes. “Nay, I must put aside my heart’s foolish wishes.” Her hands lowered. “But how can I escape this room? There’s a guard outside my door. I wish I could crawl back in bed and sleep till this whole episode was resolved.” Her fist dropped and an idea blossomed. She grabbed Beatrice’s hand and rushed to the bed.

“Watch the door. Make sure Crandall does not look in.” Lenora grabbed the silk pillows from the floor and formed a long bolster. She flipped the heavy blankets back over and chopped at the pillows until satisfied with the shape. Racing over to the last of her chests, she threw open the top. “Listen, there’s not much time. All must be prepared before Fenton returns.”

“There is a visitor to see you, Lord Roen,” the ewerer informed him.

“Later.” Roen strode down the hall to his room.

Crandall stood at attention by the door. He favored his left leg. “She’s with the other one, Lady Beatrice.”

Roen entered, the dog at his heels. The animal headed for the bed, then veered off to sniff at a trunk. The rushes remained unchanged and the brown red stain near the bed caused his heart to miss a beat.

Beatrice snapped the curtains around the bed closed and met him halfway. “Lord Roen.” She stopped him before he could reach Lenora. “Your wife is ill. She’s taken to her bed.”

“Ill? She’s not lost the child, has she?” An icy fear gripped him. Maybe she had sipped the tea after all.

“Nay, not that you would care,” Beatrice taunted. She kept her voice low and steered him back to the door. “But Lenora didn’t sleep well last night, and the turmoil this morning has her worn out.”

Fenton grunted as he lifted the last trunk. The man strained to place the large trunk on his shoulder.

“That one is to go to the lower storage room,” Beatrice instructed. She gave Roen a haughty look, reminiscent of her mother. “The small room you have committed her to won’t accommodate all her belongings.” Fenton nodded, and the sweat on his brow stood out in large droplets. He hefted the trunk to a better location and took a hard breath. Goliath
jumped up and down around the man’s feet. The dog left, chasing the weary man’s heels.

“I’ll just check on my wife, then be on my way.” Roen started for the bed.

“I do not think the sight of the man who brings her so much grief will soothe her troubled nerves.” Beatrice intercepted him and clutched the sleeve of his shirt. “Your wife will succumb to the stresses around her if you do not give her time to regain her strength.”

The impulse to push the woman aside tempted him, but Lenora and her condition must be the priority. Pregnancy endangered a woman’s life, and he’d not risk upsetting Lenora now in her weakened state. “Very well, but this door stays open. After the midday meal I’ll speak with her and she’ll move to her new room.” Roen stormed out of the room and yelled, “Crandall, send me word as soon as she stirs. I’ll send up a replacement when my troops arrive.”

“Lord Roen.” The ewerer met him on the stairs.

“What?” How well he understood how Lenora must feel; his nerves were raw, also.

“The guests are waiting.”

“See they are fed and given wine. I’ve much to attend to now.” Roen brushed the disgruntled ewerer off. Probably another group of hungry pilgrims. “Let them sleep in the hall tonight, not upstairs.”

“But, my lord, they have come to see you.”

Roen gave the man his attention. “Do they have some message for me?”

“I do not know, Lord Roen. I believe they have just come to visit.”

“Who are they?” He expected no one. If they weren’t messengers, why did they need to see him? “See to it that a heavy guard is placed on them.”

“’Tis done, milord. Five knights do not ride into this keep unwatched. We’ve three men to their one.” His ewerer gave him a pinched look and sniffed. “Even if the man claims to be your cousin, we still know to watch our backs.”

Sounds grew muffled, his ears rang. Roen’s chest constricted and he fought to breathe. After years of ostracism, they ventured to reach out to him. Now that he owned a rich fief, the
vultures intended to claim him as their own. Perhaps they thought to strip the lands from Lenora if he should die? He’d soon put them straight. They had not claimed him as a Galliard when a child, they’d not reap benefits from him as a man.

He leaned over the gallery and studied the five men below. The tallest, a fair-haired young man, had his back to him. A dark-complected older man with a sarcastic sneer across his lips brought back visions of Roen’s father. Even the stranger’s height, the shortest in the room, marked him as a Galliard.

The others were young but nondescript. Roen’s stomach churned with indignation.

His steps dragged down the stairs. Confrontation was not what he wanted now. Not today, when more important matters needed his attention. Yet, a morbid curiosity compelled him to see what this man wanted. The child inside him still craved to belong.

“Let’s be gone from here, Falke. This man is most rude to his guests,” the black-haired one complained to his compatriots. Lifting his full goblet of wine, he drank it down. A maid rushed forward and filled it again.

“’Tis not so bad.” The blond laughed and buried his face in the hair of a young servant girl. She giggled and whispered in the young man’s ear. He responded by patting her backside with his hand.

Roen called to the dark man, “So, you claim me as your cousin. I see the blood of my father’s people in your features.”

The black-haired man nearly choked on his wine. Snickers rippled across the room. Raising his head from the wench’s neck, the tall, fair-haired knight winked at Roen. “Nay, ‘tis not Ozbern that lays that claim, ‘tis I. Your mother and mine are sisters. And I see the blood of the Chevarases in your features.”

Icicles crystallized in Roen’s blood. His mother’s people. In all the long years in Normandy, his parents had never spoken of his mother’s family. Nor had any member ever visited or sent a letter that he knew of. “’Tis you who are wrong. My mother had dark hair and her eyes were not light.”

“Aye, the only dark-haired girl in a sea of fair-haired children. Her father called her Evening Star. A beauty that cast a
shadow over her blond sisters. What was it the minstrel said of her? ‘An exotic flower that blossomed in the sunlight of her father’s pride and love.’”

A sympathetic pout on his lips, the man continued, “Sadly, we have not inherited that beauty. ‘Twould please my mother to know you look like the rest of us common Chevarases.”

Roen’s heart began to pound. He looked like his mother’s people. Why hadn’t she told him? Why had his father insisted he was a bastard? Surely he had met his mother’s family at some time.

Roen eyed his cousin again. From the hair to the color of his eyes, the man looked enough like Roen to be his brother. But this man, years younger than himself, smiled readily and seemed to be enjoying a private jest.

“I am Falke de Chretien.” His cousin made a courtly bow, his head swaggering with an irritating cockiness. He paused and looked at Roen with raised eyebrows. “One of the many younger sons of Bernard de Chretien.” The man straightened and waited, an expectant smile on his face.

“My name and parentage you know, or you would not be here,” Roen replied. He did not like the man’s attitude, too
laissez faire.
“What is it you want?”

Falke’s smile wavered, his chin came in just a little and his eyebrows furrowed together. “My uncle intends to name me his heir. I and my friends—” his hands pointed to his group “—are traveling north to his fief. I heard your name mentioned at our last abode and knew it immediately as that branch of our family from Normandy. I thought that since we are kin, you might offer us the hospitality of your fine home.” The arrogant smile returned.

There was no time to entertain guests. Yet a yearning to have information about this mysterious side of his family gnawed at Roen’s soul. He wanted answers and he would have them. Lenora slept upstairs guarded by Crandall. As soon as she woke, he’d move her to the secure chamber and have the stonemason wall up the secret door. Besides, before he investigated further, he needed his private guardsmen to return.

“Aye, you may stay,” Roen relented.

Falke’s men clapped each other on the back and returned to their drinking. Falke’s gaze followed the swaying hips of a serving wench who went to fetch more wine.

The wench rounded the corner and his cousin’s attention returned to Roen. “Perhaps a walk in the orchard would be pleasant. We could talk of family and such.” He turned to the one called Ozbern who stood near his drinking comrades. “Stay here and watch those two. I don’t want them so far into their cups they can’t sit a horse tomorrow.”

Ozbern snorted. “What does it matter? They can’t sit a horse even when they’re sober.” Nevertheless, he pulled over a vacant chair, turned it around backward and straddled it. He rested his elbow on the back and propped his cheek against it.

A comfortable smile came to Falke’s face. “The man gripes continually. A real bore at times.” He laughed and waved for Roen to follow. “Come, let us take that walk.”

His cousin’s manner irked him more and more. The too quick smile, the casual ambience of the man rubbed him like salt in a wound. But he craved answers about his mother, answers this obnoxious man might be able to provide. The idea that this supposed cousin might also be involved in Lenora’s danger also entered his mind. Roen decided to talk and listen. Listen for anything that might show the group of men were more than they seemed.

A crisp breeze swirled the fallen autumn leaves into whirlwinds along the path. Roen took a deep breath of the cleansing air. He walked along the cobblestones and waited for the other man to speak.

They reached a wooden bench and Falke stopped. He placed his foot on the bench seat and leaned his elbow on his knee. The young knight rubbed his chin, then asked with a trace of wonderment, “Your mother, Maeve, she never spoke of my father, did she?”

Roen chose his words carefully. “Why do you say that?”

“Because if she had, I doubt you would have opened your doors to me so readily.”

“Your father treated my mother in a dishonorable way?”

The younger man gave him a small smile and shook his head. “Nay, my father is and has always acted with honor. His duties
to his father, his lord and his king have priority in all matters.”

“As it should be with any knight,” Roen countered.

“Perhaps.” The crooked smile returned. He motioned for Roen to sit and warned, “Mind you, the story I tell does not paint your father in a favorable light, nor my father, for that matter.”