Warrior's Deception (28 page)

“Roen and you?” Geoffrey snorted in disgust. “He’d be the same as Father. He’d touch her, too, just like he did Beatrice.” He wiped the palms of his hands on his tunic. They left sweaty prints on the worn material.

“Woodshadow has to be mine. ‘Tis the only way Daphne and I can truly escape Father. Beatrice’s request for aid explained the true contract. Since Beatrice believes Roen is a deceiver ‘twill be easy enough to convince her to marry me. Then I will be Lord of Woodshadow.” Standing rigid, he jutted his chin out in a defiant manner. Then his stance softened and he gave her an apologetic look. “But to be lord now, I have to kill you. And your child. ‘Tis the only way.” His hands reached out and closed around her neck.

“Fan out.” Roen swept through the clearing, beating the tall grass with his broadsword. They must be here! Where else would she meet him? He listened for a call, some signal from one of the men that his wife had been found. None came.

Goliath bounded through the long blades of grass. He chased at Roen’s heels then raced away. The dog brought him a stick and laid it at his feet.

“Not now, Dog.” Roen pushed him away. Goliath ran off, then brought him a bigger stick.

Hamlin called from across the clearing. “No luck. They’re not here.”

Roen raked his fingers through his hair. “Where? Where would the coward go to do his fiendish deeds?” Goliath barked and picked up the stick again. His tail wagged back and forth. Heaven, he could do without the beast’s commotion. He needed to think. To think like Geoffrey. Goliath’s barks increased in volume and pitch.

“Heavens, that’s it!” Roen resheathed his sword and raced toward Hamlin and Destrier. “The dog, Hamlin! Remember the dog? He must have her there.” Roen leaped onto Destrier’s back. His spurs dug into the stallion’s withers.

The white charger’s front legs climbed into the air. Roen felt the thud when all four feet hit the ground. Air whistled in his ears. He gave the horse free rein to pick the way through the
woodlands. With gentle pressure, he guided the direction. How many times had his mount’s excellent training saved him in battle? This battle could be won or lost in a hoofbeat.

The stream flowed between the banks of soft, wet grass. An idyllic picture to mask the treachery nearby. He pulled the charger to a halt and dropped the reins. The stallion was winded, Destrier’s belly rose and fell in deep breaths. Three hard runs in less than a day; the horse could give no more.

Roen pulled his broadsword from the scabbard and melted into the brush. Gladymer’s bones should be just ahead. Darkness began to overtake the afternoon light. The shadows of the trees grew fat and blended into one another. He kept to the darkness and circled closer to the area where the bones lay.

With the tip of his sword, he parted the brambles of a berry bush. Thorns scratched his face and stuck to his leather jerkin. The log lay to the left of his vision. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Red gold color flashed across the top. His Nora lived.

Every nerve burned to hold his wife, to hear her voice. He took a step forward. Stopped. Watched. Listened. The crown of Lenora’s head thrashed back and forth. Only the sad song of a bird broke the silence. Had Champlain staked her out like the dog, to die of exposure and starvation?

From shadow to shadow he scrambled nearer. Close enough to hear his wife’s muffled cries and her attempts to break the bonds holding her. He slid from the darkness. No challenge rang from the oppressive gloom around him.

Drawing near to Lenora’s shaking form, he saw that half of her face lay in the compost of the woods’ floor. Staked to the ground like a Druid sacrifice, she tried to sit up but the short chain prevented her.

“Nora.” He tried to warn her of his approach. Her head swiveled around. Dark gold eyes darted from side to side. The agitated sounds from the gag amplified. She kicked out her legs wildly. Kneeling to remove her gag, he noticed her eyes focus behind him.

The explosion of his battle instincts warned him of motion. Roen leaned over Lenora’s body and a flash of steel cut the air. Pain ripped through his sword arm and across his hand. His weapon fell from his grip. Warm blood ran down his arm and
dripped on his wife’s face. His fighting arm swung uselessly at his side. Geoffrey kicked the long blade out of his reach. With his good arm, Roen pushed himself off the ground. He must maneuver the fight away from Lenora. He retreated and Geoffrey lunged.

A deep chuckle came from the man’s lips, then his voice changed to a youthful chant. “Galliard’s goin’ to die. Galliard’s goin’ to die.” At each stanza, Geoffrey’s eye twitched and he slashed his blade at Roen’s chest.

The truth hit him hard. Insanity lit his foe’s eyes with a demoniac gleam. The eerie contrast between the satanic features and childish voice sent a shiver up Roen’s spine. To be vanquished now would mean death not only for himself but also for Lenora. He reached for his belt and retrieved his own dagger.

“I heard you coming,” Geoffrey taunted. His eye twitched and distorted his features. “I was going to kill her right away, but I decided to wait. To use her as bait.” The rhyme caused him to laugh. “Ah, Lenora always did enjoy my prose.” He turned to look at the woman twisting on the ground.

Roen utilized his opponent’s distraction. He swept his dagger in an arc and aimed at Geoffrey’s torso. The blade bounced off the thick leather belt around his waist. Like a mad bull, Roen charged and wrapped his arm around Geoffrey’s waist.

Geoffrey’s fist slammed into Roen’s wound. Pain burned inside his damaged arm. It sucked the air from his lungs. Geoffrey scrambled to his feet, his laughter turned victorious.

“What a predicament you find yourself in.” The insane man advanced on Roen with slow, deliberate steps. “You can’t run or I’ll kill your wife. But if you stay, you’ll die and I’ll kill her anyway.”

“Nay!” Roen’s roar silenced the birds and insects. He rushed to tackle the killer.

Geoffrey scrambled to Lenora and seized a mass of her hair. He pulled hard on the leash and she arched her neck upward. Roen stumbled back, his mind searching for a rescue plan.

His blade high in the air, Geoffrey let a crazed smile touch his lips. “’Tis time to die.”

A blur of dark gray hurtled itself from behind the log that served as Lenora’s stake. Goliath’s growl matched Roen’s.
Sharp fangs clamped down on the wrist that dared to threaten the lady.

Roen used the chance to smash his clenched fist into Geoffrey’s face. Blood spurted from the sadist’s nose. The hard contact of Roen’s hand against teeth and bone caused him to rejoice. He brought his fist down again and again. Vengeance possessed him.

The man’s cries for mercy drove him to extinguish all life from the vile creature. His enemy’s body folded to the ground. Still, Roen kept the steady beat of his fist on the blood-covered face.

Lenora! The fire of concern merged with and overtook the heat of revenge. Geoffrey’s moans showed life maintained its hold on the beaten body. Roen dropped the mangled face and, summoning a reserve of inner fortitude, dragged himself to Lenora. Goliath curled up next to her and whined. Her blue lips shivered and her body trembled. Sinking to the ground, Roen wrapped his body around her cold, shaking form and willed his warmth to flow into her.

Darkness blanketed them. The night sounds began their concert, accompanied by Geoffrey’s rasping breaths and the dog’s sorrowful howl. A distant pounding echoed in his ears. The ground seemed to shake from his own shivering.

“I love you.” Roen used the last of his strength to whisper the words to his unconscious wife. His eyes closed and sound ceased.

A
shiver ran to the very marrow of her bones. Lenora tried to wrap herself in the comforting warmth around her but streamers of pain shot through her arms. Her upper back felt tight and her muscles protested any movement on her part.

“Lenora? Are you awake?”

A woman’s voice from far away called her name. Weariness held her captive. She struggled to open her eyes. Sunlight pierced through the window and caused multicolored specks to jump across her vision.

The mattress sank on one side as someone sat on the bed and took her hand. A man’s voice rumbled in the background. Panic erased the weariness. Geoffrey! Tortured memories drowned out her pain. Lenora pulled her hand free and began to fight. Fear for her child made her strong.

“’Tis me, Cousin. Beatrice.”

The soft tone wove around Lenora’s panic. Gentle hands stopped her wildly thrusting fists. A cool, damp cloth wiped the fever from her brow. Consciousness returned with agonizing slowness, and she opened her eyes.

Beatrice sat on the edge of the bed. Dark circles rimmed her red eyes. “Lenora? Are you really awake? Do you know me?”

“Aye. I know you, dear cousin.” The words came out raspy and dry.

Retrieving a mug, Beatrice held it to Lenora’s lips. “You’ve been asleep for two days. I feared you would never awaken.”

Hot, rose-flavored tea quenched her thirst and loosened her throat. She sipped again and inhaled the aromatic vapor. Her mind cleared and she looked around her. The sight filled her
with joy. Her fingers dug into the familiar soft coverings of her bed. Roen’s musky scent lingered on the linen sheets and pillows.

Her last memory was of blood. The look of it, the smell of it, the taste of it. Blood had drenched her face from Roen’s arm. She remembered him weak from the loss of it and Geoffrey’s blade against her neck. Lenora struggled to rise. “Roen? What did Geoffrey do to him?”

“He lives. ‘Twas his voice that set you off just now. I ordered him from the room.” Beatrice tried to keep her cousin lying down. It proved a futile attempt.

Lenora pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her arms and shoulders campaigned against it. “He lives,” she repeated under her breath. Just two words, but they lifted the yoke of dread from around her heart.

Tears streaked her cousin’s face. She hugged Lenora as she choked out her words. “I’m so sorry, Lenora. This is all my fault. All along ‘twas Geoffrey causing you so much heartache. Can you forgive me?”

“Nay, Cousin. ‘Twas not your fault at all. Geoffrey’s soul was mangled.” Lenora’s tears joined with Beatrice’s. “The corruption of Sir Champlain drove his son to a darkness no light could pierce.”

The thought of that darkness reminded her of Roen. Geoffrey had been too weak to withstand day after day of ridicule from his father. Her husband had survived similar circumstances. He possessed no sense of family or tender feelings, yet that absence had probably saved him from Geoffrey’s fate.

“What happened to Geoffrey?”

Wiping her face with her hands, Beatrice released her cousin. Her voice shook with anguish and sorrow. “Dead. He cannot hurt you ever again.”

“Blessed saints, did Roen kill him?” Lenora vaguely remembered the fight.

“Nay.” Beatrice took a deep breath. “Geoffrey still lived when Hamlin and Roen’s kinsman arrived. Roen had lost a great deal of blood and ‘twas plain to see you needed immediate attention. It took Falke and two of his men to lift Roen to horseback. In their haste to see to you, Geoffrey managed to crawl away. Your husband had left his charger in the bushes.
Geoffrey tried to mount the beast and…” She pressed her hand against her mouth, her jaw quivering.

“Say no more. I know Destrier’s temperament. Geoffrey was never much of a horseman.” Lenora could picture the results.

“The animal trampled him to death. His body was returned to his father in a bag. Falke went with Roen’s men to speak with Sir Champlain and the old man just shrugged his shoulders when they explained what happened. He didn’t even care his own son was dead.” Beatrice’s body shook with anger.

“At last Geoffrey has peace. I pray God judges his soul with compassion.” Lenora felt real sorrow at her friend’s death.

Beatrice stood and began to fiddle with the cloth on the table. Her eyes darted from the door to Lenora.

“What more is there?” she questioned. Her voice sounded so tired to her ears.

“I’m afraid to tell you. You’re still not strong yet “

“Only some bruises that will heal in time. I swear I can bear no more secrets. Tell me what more I should know.”

Her cousin wrung her hands in the folds of her apron. “God preserve me, let this be the right thing to do.” She looked to the heavens. “You’ll know soon enough. Lenora, your father lives. He planned this whole deception to ferret out the one who was trying to kill him.”

Lenora’s heart skipped a beat. Her ears rang. A deep, cutting hurt opened in her heart. Her father would not do such a thing. “It cannot be true.”

“Aye, but it is.” Beatrice rushed on. “Sir Edmund devised the plan with Tom’s help. Everything was a ruse, his death, the marriage contract, your wedding.”

“My marriage?” The wound widened and deepened.

“Roen was sent by King Henry to investigate your father’s suspicions. Sir Edmund convinced Roen the only way to protect you was to marry you.”

Lenora couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Poor Roen. Saddled with a wife he didn’t want or need. The insults she had hurled at him stung her conscience. He endured her temper and sharp tongue all for his king. Now the danger had ceased, but Roen still must bear the harness of his marriage. With her father alive, he could not even be called the lord of the keep. He must hate her family. He must hate her.

Only one solution came to mind. Lenora swung her legs over the edge of the bed and tried to tame the dizziness in her head. She had to get this over with now, before she lost heart. Lost heart? Her heart no longer existed; it had been broken into tiny pieces.

“Lenora, you can’t mean to get up. You’re not well enough yet!”

“Stay your hand.” Her voice came out curt and rough. Her cousin faltered and drew away. Lenora stood on shaky legs and pointed to an overtunic lying on the chest. Inside, she felt washed out and terribly alone. “Help me dress. I will go downstairs and set matters straight.” Beatrice bit her lip and nodded, then hurried to comply.

The dress fell down over her chemise, and Lenora added under her breath, “I will see my father and free my husband.”

His arm rested in the cradle of a linen sling. Roen poked at the fire in the hearth with an iron. Ashes flew up and were carried on the draft. He wanted to sit alone in his grief and selfpity. All had obeyed the request except for one.

“What are you going to do?” Sir Edmund questioned him from the dais of the high table.

Roen ignored him.

“Damn it, man, speak to me. I’m your father-in-law.”

He threw down the iron and shouted back, “Aye, and a penance it is. What could you have been thinking of to marry your daughter to me?”

“Of her.” Sir Edmund lifted a tankard to his lips and repeated, “Of her. I wanted her safe, and marriage to you would keep her that way.”

“It very nearly didn’t. Do you know how close she came to dying out there?” Roen strode across the floor and faced the elder lord.

“I know well enough. I’ve thought of nothing else since they brought the two of you in.”

Pentup anger exploded. Roen kicked at a bench near the table and sent it crashing to the floor. The poison had weakened Edmund but that didn’t give him the right to trick his daughter into marriage. Her father had joined Lenora to a man whose voice sent her into hysterics.

What would she do when she learned the truth about her father? What would she do when she learned the truth about her husband? She had been coerced into marriage and the church might honor a plea for annullment. With Edmund’s support, Lenora could leave him and he would never see her or his child again.

“My seed grows within her. Do you hear me, old man? Mine!” Roen thundered.

Edmund took a long swig of ale and refilled his cup. “And why should that concern me?” He poured a second tankard full and handed it to his son-in-law.

Roen took the drink and swallowed the contents. The liquid burned his throat “Because it makes her mine.”

“Really?” His father-in-law took a sip of ale and arched his brow. “And what if Lenora does not wish to be yours? I will support her in whatever decision she makes.”

A feminine voice broke through the male standoff. “Father, you look well for a dead man.”

Lenora stood with her hand resting on the carved wooden knob at the end of the stairs. Her hair cascaded like a waterfall of autumn color around the paleness of her face. Dark circles under her eyes showed the formidable strain of the last few days. Her eyes, dimmed with fatigue, met Roen’s. In their depths, the fire of her courage and determination burned. He realized that his wife stood before him only because of her grit and strength.

“Daughter, ‘tis good to see you up. There’s much to explain.”

“Beatrice has already told me everything I need to know.” With slow, deliberate steps, she tore her gaze from her father’s and crossed the room.

Roen took a stride toward her but she waved her hand to stop him. He had seen the dark ugly bruises on her arms and across her back. Pain would be with her for a long time yet.

Sir Edmund said nothing but rose from his chair and offered it to his daughter. She seated herself and looked down at her father from the dais. “I pray that someday I will be able to understand your actions.”

“I was concerned for you. I needed to protect you.”

“But at what cost?” She turned her face to Roen. Her sienna eyes glistened with despair.

Roen found he had everything to say and no voice to speak it.

“Sir Galliard, I wish to thank you for all your help.” Lenora addressed him as if he were a guest. He didn’t like the sound of it.

“Lenora, you shouldn’t be down here. I order you to return to your room.” He wanted to sweep her up in his arms and carry her upstairs, away from her father. A stabbing pain in his injured arm brought a curse to his lips.

“I will stay.” Lenora arched a golden brow and his father-inlaw did the same. A trickle of uneasiness threaded through his self-assurance.

“Daughter, do not tax yourself so soon.” Sir Edmund looked as uncomfortable as Roen felt. “You will cause yourself to be ill again.”

“Then I will ride out on Jupiter and find the miraculous cure you did. If you could come back from the dead, surely my small weakness will be easily mended.” She spoke sweetly, but the words stung. Her father retreated from the dais. Both men looked at her in silence.

“King Henry should be proud he has such loyal men to serve him.” Lenora’s knuckles turned white on the arms of the chair. Her red lips stood out against the paleness of her skin.

The older lord spread his hands out, palms raised. “I suspected a traitor, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to worry you needlessly. And then when I did find out, well, things moved too quickly.”

She cut him off before he could go on. “I understand perfectly. For all your talk about how proud you are of me, you still didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. Instead, you plotted behind my back. Forced me to marry someone I didn’t choose. Why? Why didn’t you just tell me your suspicions?”

“And what would you have done?” Roen blurted out. “Gone to your friends? Gone to Champlain for help? You would have fallen right into his hands.”

She brushed back the loose curls around her face several times, her eyes downcast. When she lifted them again, Roen
saw commitment in their depths. Commitment to what he did not know.

“Sir Galliard, I apologize for the way my father tricked you into marriage.” She took a deep breath, then continued. “And I am sorry for the terrible insults I inflicted on you. I realize now that you suffered through all this out of loyalty to King Henry.”

“Lenora, stop this.” Who was this cold, collected woman seated across from him? He wanted his Nora, fighting and spitting mad at him. A sharp word or barb from her lips would be considered a cherished endearment.

“Please allow me to finish.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “The church allows annullment on the grounds of coercion. My father will talk to the cleric and set the process in motion. Compensation for you and your men will be arranged. I am sure you would like to put this mistake behind you.”

Sir Edmund nodded his approval of her statement Roen roared back, “Mistake? You call our marriage a mistake?”

Her lower lip trembled just a little as she spoke.’ “Aye. I think mutual freedom is the right choice. And again, I will see you get a proper payment for your work.”

“Nay. You are my wife.” Roen bellowed across the hall. Servants came running at the noise. The elder lord dismissed them. They withdrew, but Roen knew they were within earshot.

He wished she’d stop trying to make him out to be nothing more than a hired mercenary. Money, lands, what did all that mean without his Nora at his side? The only wealth he ever truly possessed sat across from him. He needed to convince her of that, but how?

“I will have no annullment.” Roen strode up the dais and looked down at his wife. His fist rested on his hip and he made his stance erect and formidable.

“Roen.” She spoke his name with impatience and frustration. “The marriage contract you showed me is invalid. You won’t get Woodshadow if I die.”

“Do you think that matters to me? You carry my child, that makes you mine,” Roen shouted. “Let Rupert inherit it all.”

Her eyebrows wrinkled, as did her father’s. Both asked simultaneously, “Who is Rupert?”

Roen threw up his hand at their denseness. “Our son, of course.”

“Rupert? You want to name our son Rupert?” Lenora slumped back in the chair and looked up at him with her mouth open.

His face flushed with warmth and he played with the collar of his tunic. “Aye. I had an instructor by that name when I fostered out. He was a good man. ‘Tis a strong name.”