Warrior's Deception (11 page)

Blending into the shadows, the intruder disappeared. Roen strained to hear the creak of wood, a sign the traitor had left.
When the slap of wood against wood vibrated in the air, Roen eased himself from Lenora’s side. A pout formed on her lips when the night air invaded her warm cocoon. He tucked the ragged edges of blanket around the sleeping girl. Her breathing had returned to normal.

Roen strode to the horse’s stall. The mare woke and took up watch over the form of her offspring. From outside the stall, he heaved the bucket over the gate and poured the water out. He touched the muddy puddle of contaminated water, sniffed his fingers, then brought them to his lips. The water tasted oddly sweet and smelled of strong herbs.

He returned to the stall and scraped out the grain from the trough. The same “green” smell emitted from the oats. Roen took the grain outside and emptied it into a refuse heap.

The knight reentered the stable and gave the ever watchful mare fresh water and grain. The animal made no move to approach him, but stomped her feet. Roen would have to forgo a physical examination of the horse. The mare was too upset by the birth and the night’s activity to allow it.

For some unknown reason, the horse’s behavior intrigued him. His senses tingled but his brain couldn’t piece together the information. He moved to the back of the barn to search for the means of the intruder’s escape. Crouching, he methodically tested each plank. Creak. A firm push and one wooden board swung clear. He squeezed his shoulders through the restrictive opening. When he cleared the secret door, he stood in a dark, narrow tunnel. Faint beams of the almost full moon wafted down between the tangled branches of wisteria overhead. The cold stone of the inner curtain wall and the back walls of the inner bailey structures formed the sides of the tunnel. Then the parts snapped into place, as did his decision. With every turn Lenora’s peril grew. He returned to her side.

Oblivious to the night’s danger, Lenora slept. Roen knelt on one knee. He felt the hard bite of steel against it. His fingers dug deep into the hay, clasped the hilt of his sword and pulled it free. “Ah, Nora. There’s no more time for games. ‘Tis time to lay this fellow out. He’s one of your father’s men, all right. If your temperamental horse knows him, then you must, also. What man knows the secrets of Woodshadow’s escape routes
save a knight of this keep? Does he act alone, or do others conspire against you?” He reached to stroke the coppery locks.

“Lady Lenora!” a gasping voice hailed from outside. “Lady Lenora, wake up!” Tyrus ran breathless into the stable. Lenora’s eyelashes fluttered. Her cinnamon eyes showed confusion. The boy gave her a vigorous shake. “Wake up, Lady. ‘Tis Sir Edmund.”

Lenora’s eyes cleared. She gazed at Roen, a panicked look on her face. “What’s wrong, Galliard? What’s wrong with my father?”

Tyrus saved Roen from a lengthy explanation of his presence. “Come quick, Lady Lenora. Everyone’s a-lookin’ for ya. Sir Edmund is callin’ for ya.” Tyrus looked at the ground, and his voice caught in his throat. “I think he’s a-dyin’.”

Guilt and fear colored Lenora’s face. She jumped from her pallet and ran to the keep. The boy followed close at her heels. Roen stood alone in the darkness of the stable. The night’s visitor had struck once more. He started back toward the castle, mindful that his next step must be orchestrated with care. The dark shape could be anyone and have access to all parts of the castle.

He hesitated before he entered the castle proper. As a warrior, he knew what his next decision must be. As a man, he questioned whether he could live the rest of his life with it. Lenora’s reaction to his lovemaking showed she was well schooled, and he knew the name of her instructor. Geoffrey. The name left a sour taste in his mouth. She was no different than his mother or any other woman he had come across.

Roen rubbed his chest with his fingertips, aware of a dull ache that had formed near his heart. Lenora doubted that he even had a heart. Roen was painfully aware just now of its presence.

“F
ather!” Lenora rushed to her father’s bedside. The pale golden hair of the older man formed a halo on the pillow.

“Calm yourself, girl.” Sir Edmund placed his hand over his chest and wheezed, “I’m not gone yet.” The ladies of the keep hovered behind her, shaking their heads and dabbing their eyes with sweet-smelling handkerchiefs.

The physician sucked on his teeth and poured an elixir into a chipped mug. “Drink this.” He gave his patient no time to quibble over the smell or the taste of the medicine. His fingers pinched Sir Edmund’s nose and he poured the contents down the sick man’s throat.

The white-haired doctor took Lenora’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “His heart has become very weak of late. Another attack like this and…” He scrunched his bushy eyebrows together and sucked his teeth again.

“Can you do nothing for him?” Lenora implored.

“Rest and no worries. ‘Tis the only thing I know to prolong his life. He must not strain himself.” The medical man shook his wild mane of white hair.

A creak of the door and a shaft of light marked Roen’s entrance into the room. She did not pull her eyes from her father’s face but she knew the knight waited like a vulture for its prey to gasp its last breath.

Sir Edmund lifted his feeble hand to her face. “The knight will care for you, child. Look to him after I’m gone.”

“Nay, Father, do not leave me. Not you, too. I need you with me.” Lenora gripped her father’s hand with her own, as though to keep his soul in the world of the living.

Her father’s eyes focused on Roen near the door. “Come here, son. I give you a rare gift, my daughter. In return, I have a boon to ask.” Roen knelt at the foot of the bed. “Leave us, all of you. I need to speak with my son-in-law alone.”

Dismissed like a servant, Lenora fought back her tears. She thought that the recent months had brought her and her father closer. Yet he turned her away and brought Galliard into his confidence. Her hand lingered on the latch of the door.

“Come, Lenora,” Matilda’s high voice called. “Leave these men to plan our futures, and pray your father is generous to us both.” She pulled Lenora from the room and closed the heavytimbered oak door.

“I have always been a man of action. I did not think to end my days such as this.” Sir Edmund gave Roen a meaningful gaze. “I had thought to die in battle as befits a knight, not in a room of tearful women.” A dry cough caused him some discomfort. After it passed, he fought to push himself upright. His eyes conveyed the trust he bestowed on the younger man.

Roen nodded his accordance. “What would you have me do, sire?”

The older man smiled, tension visibly shaken from him. “When I am sure my daughter is safe, Tom will bring Jupiter around. I wish not to be stopped by any of your men as I ride from here, and do not search for my body when Jupiter returns riderless. I would have it said I died astride, not cosseted in a feather bed.”

“Are you sure of this? ‘Twill be hard on Lenora.” Roen knew the man’s answer even before Sir Edmund responded.

“Aye, ‘twill be best. I would have her remember me as the man I was, not as an invalid. Lenora must be protected. Whoever has done this to me will not stop until he has Woodshadow. The only way to attain that goal is through Lenora.” Sir Edmund’s face became flushed.

Roen could read the man’s anxiety and fear. “Your daughter will be dealt with.” His voice carried affirmation and the undertone of a threat.

“The marriage…”

“I have already decided that the only way to protect Woodshadow is to marry her.” Why did a part of Roen feel like
purring with contentment while another part felt like roaring with frustration?

“You must make her agree, and soon. I cannot leave this world for the next until I am sure she will be looked after.”

“She’ll agree.” Roen started to rise but Sir Edmund’s hand on his sword hilt stopped him.

“When may Tom bring Jupiter to me?”

Roen clenched his jaw. He would see the dying man’s last request granted. “Tell your man to come the first morning after we are wed. Lenora will be kept at bay until you depart.” He turned to leave.

Sir Edmund eyed him shrewdly. “This last escapade of mine will not sit well with Lenora. She will know you had a hand in it. ‘Twill not go well with you.”

Roen snorted a laugh. ’Tis no matter that. Nothing I do goes well with her.”

Laughter gave the older knight a healthy glow. “Aye, Lenora is so like her mother. Now that was a woman who could serve a fatal wound with her tongue.” Sir Edmund sighed, a nostalgic smile on his lips. “Would that I could hear one sweet insult from those dear lips again.”

Roen shook his head. “I do not understand. Why should you wish for a shrew as a wife?”

“A shrew? Nay, Anor was no shrew. My wife was intelligent and beautiful. There was a fire that ran through her veins. Aye, she may have had a hot temper, but that was because she was a passionate woman. I gladly suffered a barb in the day to feel the fire of her passion at night.”

Roen replied coldly, “And what of your pride? To let a woman speak to you in disrespect.”

Sir Edmund chuckled. The conversation rejuvenated him. He lost many of his sickly mannerisms as he spoke. “Pride. Anor did not speak from disrespect. She voiced her opinions when she thought me wrong. Which, though ‘tis hard for another man to believe, I sometimes was. If I was too thickheaded to recognize the fact, my loving wife put it in a way that I was sure to understand.”

The older knight laughed again and gave Roen a sage look. “Mark you, I’m as prideful as the next man, but pride does not keep a man warm at night. Some advice to take to heart, young
man, it does no harm to admit a mistake now and again. And a wife is more than happy to compensate for a loss of pride.”

Roen gave an indignant sniff. A small part of him wondered what it would be like to be consumed in Lenora’s blazing passion. He had tasted its intensity in battle. What would it be like in the marriage bed?

“My daughter is like a flame, Galliard. Feed it gently and do not suffocate it, and the flame will serve you well. But if neglected or provoked, the same flame can burn or more sadly be extinguished. Can you cherish the flame that is my daughter?” Sir Edmund waited for a response.

Roen rose stiffly and moved toward the door. He answered as he gave the thick door a tug. “I’ll do my duty, Sir Edmund. ‘Tis all that can be expected.” The door crashed shut, the sound echoed on the cold stone walls.

Tom approached his liege. Sir Edmund’s eyes showed skepticism. “You have seen them together more than I. Are they a match? Must I unfold my plan to its fullest?”

Tom grinned. “Oh, aye, they’re a match. Put ‘em together and you got a regular bonfire of temper and willfulness.” Dragging himself to the foot of his lord’s bed, he gave the elder man a wink. “There’s something else a-burnin’ also. I sees them eyein’ the other when they think none’s a-lookin’.”

Hope colored the weak man’s face. “Then I should carry my plan to fruition?”

“Well, if’n ya ever wants the sound of your grandchild in these halls, it’s gotta be done. Lord knows, neither of those two will be able to accomplish much on their own.”

Grinning, Sir Edmund waved his servant off. “Then let us proceed. The morning of Lenora’s wedding, bring Jupiter in full tack. But I must somehow save Lenora from her tongue and Galliard from his temper. She can try a man’s soul, and if Galliard should strike her, all would be lost. May the saints bless me and have all go as I plan. And if it works, I pray my daughter does not hate me afterward.”

Lenora could not believe the morning sun just barely showed above the treetops of the forest. Between last night and the dawn she felt that a lifetime had transpired. Matilda clucked with false sympathy to the ladies-in-waiting. Beatrice hung in
the shadows like a living ghost, unseen and silent. Lenora knew death frightened her cousin. ‘Twas a mark of Beatrice’s quiet strength that she was here at all.

Her eyes were transfixed on the closed door of her father’s solarium. Servants, roused from sleep to attend to the nobles, moved in hushed silence. She waited, an alloy of fear and dread melding her emotions. The massive door cracked open and she leapt to go to her father’s side. Roen’s broad chest blocked her way.

“We need to talk.” He pressed the door shut and prevented her entrance.

“My father is well near death. I have no time to waste with you. Let me pass.” Lenora did not ask, she commanded. The audacity of the man. Her father needed her now. Long hours of tutelage came to bear, and she drew on them now. She was the lady of this keep and her orders would be obeyed.

Instead of moving aside, as a gentleman would have, Lenora felt Roen’s viselike grip on her arm. “We will talk, and now. Your father desires solitude and peace of mind at the moment, which you will give him.” The grip on her arm tightened and Roen led her toward an alcove in the far wall, away from the bug eyes and donkey ears of her aunt.

Shoved onto the stone pew, Lenora turned away from her persecutor. He was a rude, illiterate, uncouth lout. Not even her father’s illness caused him to soften.

“We will marry in a fortnight.” Roen’s voice sounded hollow.

Lenora stared at him in wonder. The statement held no surprise for her. “So, you think to marry me before my father dies. Are you afraid that if he dies, as my vassals’ liege, I will order you driven from this castle? Nay, I will not marry you. My father has recovered from such spells many times. When he does, he will see the error his illness has caused.”

She paused to gather strength, then threatened, “But if he does die, then my father’s vassals will lay their swords at my feet. I will be the liege, and no longer under the will of my father’s words.”

Roen stood in granitelike silence. Her words tumbled off him like a child’s blows against a mountain.

Lenora asked in bewilderment, “How have you lived so long without a heart? How does your body move with no heart within your chest? Do you think to gain my agreement when I am sick with worry over my father? I am not so weak as that. Begone from my sight, and do not keep me from my father’s side.” Repulsed, she gave Roen a contemptuous stare and rose from her seat.

His foot stamped on the edge of the pew to bar Lenora’s escape. She halted and gave him an icy glare. His face took on a look of cruelty as he loomed in front of her. “We marry in a fortnight, or I marry your cousin. ‘Tis one or the other, but Woodshadow will be mine.”

Words stuck in Lenora’s throat but she persevered. “You have seen Beatrice. She cannot marry you. Just the hint of such a union has her near frightened to death. She would take her own life rather than wed you.” Lenora felt her tight control slip from her grasp.

Roen shrugged his shoulders, unconcerned. “I will keep her alive long enough to beget an heir. Then what she does is of no interest to me.” His lips twisted into a sardonic smile. “When I leave here I will order the servants to prepare my wedding feast. Your vassals will be ordered to appear to pledge their oaths of loyalty to me. The wedding will take place in a fort night. Who do I say the bride is, you or Beatrice?”

Rage streaked through Lenora’s body. How dare this man blackmail her! She was not some weak-kneed coward. Her father and brother had taught her to fight. Yet how could she fight a living statue with no emotions, no feelings?

“You win, Galliard.” Defeat did not come easily to her lips.

“Your word on this. You cannot back out at the last moment and naysay me at a later date.” Roen’s words stung an already tender wound.

Lenora hesitated; to give her word was to condemn herself to this marriage. Pride in her family name and honor would prevent her from casting aside her promise.

Trapped, she faced Roen, her eyes narrowed. “My word, Galliard. I will not break the agreement.” Lenora sought deep within her emotional reserves and replenished her aloof facade. “I would go to my father now and tell him of your plans for our nuptials. At least he will draw some small comfort in the
misguided belief that you will guard the treasures of Woodshadow with love and care. I would not trouble him now with the truth, that ‘tis naught but greed that drives you.” She shoved Roen’s leg aside and moved away, her jaw tightening.

She walked with stiff dignity back to her father’s room. The wish for quiet conversation vanished as Lenora entered. The eyes of her aunt and cousin studied her face. Matilda’s shrewd eyes searched for a weakness, Beatrice’s searched for strength.

“Lenora?” Sir Edmund’s voice questioned.

“Father, you need to rest.” She sat at the foot of his bed. “Everything is fine.”

“I can’t rest. I need to know if you will be protected.” Sir Edmund’s voice grew thin.

“Woodshadow will be safe.” Lenora could not include herself in the statement. She would not lie to her father.

“Along with all of those within its walls,” Roen continued when he entered the room. Lenora purposely snubbed the knight and kept her gaze fixed on her father.

Sir Edmund sighed with relief. “Then you concur, Lenora. You will marry Roen de Galliard?”

“I have agreed to marry him, Father.” She hesitated before asking, “Is this what you truly want, Father? Does this set you at ease?”

Her father’s eyes glided closed, a peaceful smile on his lips. “Aye, daughter, to know Woodshadow is safe and you are well married does much to mitigate the worries in my heart. But still I sense you are not sure. Sir Roen, come to my side.”

Lenora felt dismay at the prospect of being near the bulking knight. Her father shoved her hand into Roen’s and proclaimed, “Lenora has a fear of you, Sir Roen.”

“I have no such thing,” Lenora contradicted.

Sir Edmund smiled. “Then let us quell these reservations. Lenora feels you are a man of bad temper.”

“Father.”

“This is not true, then? I thought my information most credible.” Lenora and Roen turned peeved looks to the innocent face of the old stablekeeper. Tom clasped his hands behind his back and gave them an innocent look.

“Sir Edmund, I assure you I have control of my temper at all times,” Roen stated through clenched teeth.