Warrior's Deception (2 page)

“So teaching her motherless niece to be an acceptable young lady helps to keep her from feeling like she’s charity.” Lenora scratched her temple. “I’m sorry, Beatrice. I’ll try to be more…” A word that would express her emotions politely but spare her delicate cousin’s feelings just wouldn’t pop into her mouth.

“Nay,” Beatrice admonished. “Do not be anything but what you are. If I were as clever as you, I’d be able to avoid Mother’s plans for me. My only prayer is that the lands your father set aside for me will not interest a knight.”

Though said, Lenora could tell Beatrice gave the prospect little hope.

“Perhaps, if you went with her to Tintagel, you could think of some diversion to keep Beatrice away from any prospective grooms. I will be there, also, and between the both of us we should be able to protect her.” Geoffrey paused as a portly servant woman lumbered toward the stable.

“Lady Lenora, Lady Beatrice.” The woman waddled into view as Geoffrey ducked behind a haystack. “By the saints!” She stopped in front of the two girls and paused, taking deep gulps of air. Her huge chest rose up and down like a blacksmith’s forge. “Lady Matilda sent out the word the two of ye is to go to the great hall straight away.”

“Thank you, Alyse. We will be right there.” Lenora braced her arm at the doorway and blocked the view to the interior of the stable.

“See that you hurry, Lady Lenora. That woman is on a rampage, giving commands to everyone. She’s got poor Sir Hywel running circles to get everything done.” The woman
mopped her forehead with the edge of her soiled apron. “’Tis too hot for a woman of my size to be running around like a youngster.” Alyse turned and plodded back across the bailey to the kitchen, muttering to herself as she fanned her red face.

“I must leave, my love.”

Lenora peeked under her arm and saw Geoffrey emerge from his hiding place. He gave Beatrice a chaste kiss on the forehead. “I will see you at Tintagel in a fortnight. With Lenora’s help, we will keep your mother from executing her plan.”

He winked conspiratorially at Lenora. “You two go on. I’ll slip out the back.” He lifted a loose board on the back wall and disappeared into the dark alley between the outer castle wall and stable.

“Don’t worry, Beatrice. He’ll be fine. No one has caught him yet,” Lenora reassured her cousin. “’Tis time now to worry about ourselves. I imagine your mother is not in good temper.”

Lenora’s long legs outdistanced her cousin’s much shorter ones. Beatrice had only crossed half of the inner bailey green when she skipped up the steps and threw open the door to enter the great hall. At the carved lion laver, she washed her hands and inhaled the tempting aromas of the noonday meal. Warm, rich smells of roasting meats and fresh baked breads thickened the air and caused her stomach to rumble.

“She’s a-lookin’ for ye,” warned a servant. He bustled past Lenora on his way to prepare the high table for the noonday meal.

“I know,” she mouthed back.

Beatrice slid in behind her to escape the attention of several hounds. “Go on now.” Lenora waved them off after she patted each massive head. Noses to the floor, the giant beasts sniffed among the new floor rushes searching for scraps. The central fireplace smoldered. Lenora watched the smoky trail rise up the new chimney.

The pantier entered the great hall from the passage leading to the downstairs pantry. His arms filled with crocks of wine, he was followed by her father’s steward, Sir Hywel.

The steward looked up and smiled at the two girls. She saw his smile fade and he ducked down a passage leading to the buttery.

“Lenora, where have you been?” a familiar voice shrieked from behind her.

She turned to see her aunt striding toward her. Biting her lower lip, Lenora arranged an innocent look on her face. “Have you been looking for me?”

“Come here, Beatrice.” Matilda’s jet black eyes darted from one girl to the other. Although petite in size, she propelled her two captives toward a less active area of the great hall. With a firm push, she sat Lenora at one end of a massive carved pew and her daughter at the other. Her eyes traveled up and down her niece’s stained clothing and tangled hair.

Her teeth close together, Matilda launched into a lecture. “I must speak to you about this ridiculous notion that you are not attending the king’s tourney. Such behavior would not be tolerated at King Stephen’s court.” The dignified voice became more elitist. “When I was at court, a woman knew her place. She obeyed her elders without question.”

Lenora schooled her features to look attentive and copied her cousin’s repentant posture.

“Aunt Matilda, thank you so much. You are truly wonderful to show such interest in the day-to-day chores here.” Lenora grinned; she had learned quickly that flattery was her aunt’s weakness.

“I’m glad you are finally realizing that. Three years with that woman has filled your head with all kinds of nonsense. Imagine, adultery with her own uncle, divorcing the King of France, and scarcely a month passes before Eleanor manages to ensnare Henry II. Why, the man is nine years younger than her.” Matilda sniffed her nose in disdain. “Someday you must fulfill your position as Lady of Woodshadow. Your father allows you to shirk your duties. You must begin to oversee the servants, the replacing of the rushes, the soap and candle making. A keep this size must be supervised vigilantly. ‘Tis my deep sense of loyalty to your father that forces me to assume the role of Woodshadow’s mistress.”

“I understand that, Aunt Matilda.” Letting her Aunt Matilda relive her glory days as a chatelaine served both Lenora’s and her father’s interests. The action kept Matilda busy in the keep and unaware of Lenora’s actions on behalf of her father. Actions that would earn Lenora several lectures from
her aunt on proper decorum and would herald the seriousness of Sir Hywel’s illness.

“Good. Enough of this foolishness. You will enjoy yourself, both of you.” Matilda tucked an imaginary strand of hair into her wimple. “The king will be at Tintagel for less than a fortnight. He will preside over a tourney and hear grievances from nearby lords. That evening there will be dancing and entertainment.”

Lenora released a slow breath of air when her aunt turned her attention away from her. Beatrice became the new target.

“You will wear the lapis necklace your father gave me at our wedding. We must make sure that you are the loveliest young woman there. I’m sure you will catch the eye of a suitable partner.” Her aunt began to rattle off a list of elaborate gowns for Beatrice to pack for the coming trip. Meekly, she nodded at each of her mother’s suggestions.

Bored with details of gowns and matching slippers, Lenora decided now would be a perfect time to escape. She jumped up from the massive carved pew.

“Wait.” Her aunt motioned for her to remain seated. “You can’t leave yet, we must also plan your wardrobe. The maids need to be directed as to which gowns you will be taking and-”

“My position hasn’t changed.” Lenora’s calm voice caused her relatives to gasp in surprise. She took leave of her vexed aunt and escaped up the narrow curved stone stair that led to her father’s chambers. On purpose, she climbed the stairs two at a time, knowing it would infuriate her aunt.

A step sagged beneath the weight of Lenora’s foot. She made a mental note of the slight wood rot in the wooden section of the defense stairs as she sped to her father’s third-story chamber. Tomorrow, she must maneuver Sir Hywel to notice the decay. Right now, she wanted to talk with her father.

Without knocking, she barreled into her father’s private chambers and announced, “She’s at it again.” Lenora bounced up onto the red velvet coverlet, tucked her long legs under her and wrinkled her nose.

Her father, Sir Edmund, smiled from his bed, the curtains pulled back to let in the welcomed cool spring air. “So, you’re having a spat with your Aunt Matilda, are you? And why are
you so determined not to attend the king’s festivities at Tintagel? The occasion should be quite merry.”

“How do you know that’s what the argument was about?”

“You forget about the squints. I keep well informed of what goes on with those to help me.” Her father pointed toward the floor. Lenora was just able to make out the small peephole concealed in a knot in the lumber floor. She slid off the bed and peered down through the squint.

The old Norman device enabled her to spy on the activity of the great hall below. She stifled a laugh when she spotted the bald head of her father’s seneschal, Sir Hywel, pass below her. Light whispers of his instructions to a passing servant floated upward. The high-pitched voice of her aunt drifted up as she continued to discuss the upcoming trip to Tintagel.

“You, sir, are an unscrupulous spy.” Her voice sounded with false indignation. She stood and shook the wrinkles from her tunic and rearranged the simple rope girdle at her waist. “You promised you would remain abed.”

“You, daughter, are a mischievous wench who needs her backside warmed for talking to her father in such a manner! It wasn’t I who peeked, but Tom.” Sir Edmund’s smile abated his threat.

“With your direction, I’m sure.”

“Of course,” he agreed readily.

Laughing, Lenora wished she could transform into a little girl and once more cuddle up next to her tall, strong father. She could listen to his stories of battles and the courtship of her mother over and over again.

Although bedridden for more than a month, Sir Edmund still possessed a commanding figure. His lanky form stretched the length of the six-foot bed. Red gold hair showed no signs of gray. Clean shaven, he reflected the rugged, handsome features of his youth.

“So, tell me what you have accomplished today.” Her father punched his silken pillows and snuggled back to rest against them.

“I managed to have Sir Hywel notice that the east bailey wall needs to be fortified, and I saw the smithy as you asked. His proposal to enlarge the blacksmith shed has merit. Oh, and as
I climbed the stairs I noticed there is some rot in the wooden steps.”

Sir Edmund knit his fingers together and placed them behind his head. “I’ll talk to Sir Hywel about the blacksmith. I’ll also mention those damn steps. Those wooden Norman steps are a great defense in case we are invaded, but they are in constant need of repair.” He cast her a concerned look. “It’s not been easy on you, Lenora. You are my eyes and ears while I’m stuck in here.”

“Father, I don’t mind. ‘Tis rather entertaining to invent ways for your steward to discover things.”

“Aye, I can imagine it would. Hywel is a good man. He warned me his father suffered from senility at an early age. He had to be watched for fear he would leave the keep and lose his way. Toward the end, the man didn’t even know his own name. I fear our good friend suffers from the same ailment.” Her father defended his seneschal. “Sir Hywel is as loyal as a hound and as fierce as a boar. I should replace him, but would do so when I have someone I can trust to take over. For now, I must lay this boon at your feet and trust you to do my steward’s thinking for him.”

“Aunt Matilda is doing his thinking for him now.” Lenora giggled and rotated her index finger around in the air. “She has him running circles downstairs in preparation for the King’s tourney.”

“Daughter, I believe you should go to this tourney.” Her father’s voice interrupted her musing.

“Father, I don’t want to go. I have too much to do here. Mother’s mare, Silver Maple, will foal soon. I need to be here to help. Then there are the new spring herbs to tend. I have several new ones given to me by knights from the Crusades. And of course there’s you….” Lenora stopped, bit her tongue, and wished once again she would think before opening her mouth. Her father’s eyes blazed liquid gold. Another inherited trait from her father, she recognized this sure sign of anger. She prayed the blast would be short.

“The only thing wrong with me is that I have too many women trying to tell me what to do! A few days without female company will do me good. You women are always seeing disaster. I’ve a tiny cough, a little weakness in the legs. This will
pass if I’m not coddled up like a nursing babe. I’m still lord of this keep, and I can manage quite well with my seneschal. Sir Hywel may not worry about your precious plants but he and I can manage for a fortnight on our own. If ‘tis proof you need, I’ll be up out of this today.” Edmund jerked backed the ermine-trimmed coverlet and twisted his long legs toward the wooden floor.

“Nay!” She rushed to her father’s side and replaced the coverlet. “Please, Father, the physicians ordered you to rest.”

“And rest I will, but only if you attend the tourney,” Sir Edmund countered. “King Henry needs me to fulfill my vassal obligation of counsel. He intends to use the tourney as an opportunity to plan alliances and settle a dispute between Sir Champlain and Sir Ranulf. Since their claims are on land that borders ours, I want to have input into the outcome.”

“But, Father,” she protested, “surely the king will understand that you are ill. Besides, I could not speak at counsel.”

“I do not expect you to. Just keep those quick eyes and ears open and deliver a message to the king on the land dispute. I have a fear that whatever the outcome, the conflict will spill over onto Woodshadow.”

“Aunt Matilda would not approve!” Lenora cautioned.

Edmund gave her a wary look. “Then perhaps ‘twould be best for you not to mention the letter to her. Just as you neglect to mention those messages your cousin receives from her suitor.”

She wagged her finger at her father. “Nothing escapes you. You know everything that goes on in your demesne. Very well, I’m not eager to hear another lecture on how I am not in the reins of propriety. We will keep the true nature of my visit a secret.”

“Beatrice will be glad you are going, and I think ‘twill do her some good. She can’t overcome her fears if she’s never given the chance to face them,” Edmund reasoned.

Lenora’s chin lowered. “She was counting on me to help her escape Matilda’s matrimonial plans.”

“Do you really think Geoffrey is the man for her?”

She sighed and leaned her head against the canopy bedpost. “I fear he is the
only
man for her. Never have I seen him take the smallest liberty with her. He treats her more like a brother
than a suitor. But he is the only man I have ever seen her with that does not drive her to fits of terror. How can Matilda offer her up to the highest bidder knowing how Beatrice feels about men?”