Word and Deed (4 page)

“He barely spoke anything beyond discussing
my father’s death, hardly the words of a man in love.”

Ealdine hushed me with a flap of her hand.
“He was too overcome to speak of love without losing countenance.
It is a common ailment among wooing men.”

I swallowed another retort. I needed to cease
such thoughts. I was betrothed to Silvanticus. Despite the fact I
didn’t agree to the marriage, honor bound me to him. He paid my
bride price and I, for the sake of my father’s name, would pledge
my life to him.

Ealdine departed with untouched mutton on her
tray. I remained.

Night drew close, air heavy with the promise
of more rain come morn. I lay on my pallet wide awake. My heart
ached, my conscience scolded, and between them I suffered.

Hours later, as sleep tugged at my limbs, I
heard a noise in the garden below. When the scrape reoccurred three
heartbeats later, I sat up, senses alert.

In the darkness, I couldn’t see a thing. The
moonless, clouded sky offered no assistance. My candle stood on a
table by the door, useless without a flame for light. Remembering
my betrothed’s gift, I reached for the bundle where I had tucked it
between my pallet and the wall.

Despite my lack of skills I did find courage
in gripping the hilt when the sound came again, this time closer. I
recognized the scratching now. Someone was climbing the stairs to
my door.

Clutching the knife to me, I slipped from my
bed and crossed to the inner door. On the other side, a guard stood
to keep me in, but hopefully to also assist in times like this. I
rapped on the door as softly as possible.

In the answering stillness, the scrape of
boot on stone came from right outside the garden door.

I banged on the wood again, praying that the
guard had not fallen asleep.

The garden door shifted on its hinges as the
invader attempted to open it.

In vain, I lifted the latch on my own door,
hoping against hope. The echo of the door striking the thick bar on
the opposite side was muffled in the empty stairwell. A sob of lost
faith ached in my chest.

The scuffling from outside indicated my
assassin was attempting to climb to the lattice. A booted foot
appeared in the corner. Soon only a frail wooden frame would bar me
from death. Then an idea formed, prying past my frantic fear.

Running to the window, I acted before I fear
paralyzed me. I jabbed the dagger through a gap, driving it deep
into the boot. The man sucked in breath and muttered a curse, but
my hope of him giving himself away died when he grabbed the
window’s edge.

My single weapon still imbedded in his boot,
I leapt to collect the remaining two.

The lattice creaked as he forced it. A sharp
crack of snapping wood announced the release. The broken remains
skittered across the floorboards.

Gathering the knives to me, I turned to find
him half in the window, a shifting black shadow against the blurred
night sky.

I screamed.

He hesitated, half in and half hanging out in
the night. When no sounds of rescue came, he pulled his last leg
through the ruined window.

Panic threatened to close my throat, but I
fought it. Running to the door, my remaining avenue of rescue, I
pressed my back to the wood, pounding at it with the hilt of a
dagger.

The sound echoed below, reverberating through
my spine. Still the man continued to advance, slowed by his injured
foot.

Realizing no help would come, I straightened
my shoulders. Adjusting my grip on my knives, I solidified my
stance as Bryn taught me mere hours before and prepared to meet my
end fighting.

A raspy laugh interrupted. “I shall enjoy
this, minx. Ver did not say you would have fire. I like women with
fight.”

My blood turned to ice, frozen by my
brother’s name. Believing he had reason to want me dead and knowing
I would die were two different realities.

The man lunged.

Instinct brought up my fisted hand. The blade
twisted in my grip, inflicting minimal damage, yet it was enough to
drive him back for a moment. He cursed as he stumbled away.

Both of us were blind in the darkness. He
thrashed about, seeking me. Something scraped my face.

I jumped back, stepped on the edge of my
smock, and fell to the floor, shoulder striking the door.

“Maid Verity?” a male voice queried
distantly.

“Help!” I yelled. I had lost the assailant’s
location, but I could hear someone moving about in the middle of
the room.

The bolt shifted. Hope rose. I inched along
the wall attempting to get out of the door’s path as it opened. The
flickering light of a lantern pushed back the night. Sudden
exhaustion pressed against my chest.

“My …” The man cut off in a gasp. “Verity?
Speak. Where are you?” I recognized the voice. It wasn’t the
guard.

“Sir Hirion?”

Light blinded me. I struggled to my feet and
toward the source.

“Are you whole?” he asked as I plowed into
him.

The light shifted as he set the lantern on
the table. Hirion served my father for many years before Verdon
claimed the title and his loyalty. I knew him to be a harsh man,
but I needed comfort, assurance that this nightmare was over. He
held me awkwardly, turning so our backs were to the room.

“Is he restrained?” I stepped away. Hirion’s
familiar features cast into stark relief by the lantern’s glow.

Concern registered in his eyes. “Nay, he is
dead.”

“Dead?”

“Aye.”

“I killed him?” I pushed at his shoulder
enough to see a pool of red soaking into the warped boards.
Convulsions shook me. I struggled to keep still.

His eyebrows lowered. “Perhaps you should
sit.” He attempted to guide me toward my bed. I fought him.

“I need to speak to Lord Silvanticus.” He at
least should know of the would-be assassin’s employer. He would
protect me until Bryn returned.

“You can’t. He is not here. He and his three
advisors left last evening. Only his soldiers and their commander
remain. If you want to speak with Sir Mowbray, I can fetch him. As
it is, I think it wise to fetch your companion and inform Verdon of
what has happened here.”

I shook my head. “Don’t tell Verdon.” Seeing
the doubt in Hirion’s eyes, I caught his arm, intent on making him
listen. “Please, Hirion, don’t tell my brother. Silvanticus needs
to be informed first.”

Suddenly light-headed, I closed my eyes.

“Nay!” Hirion grasped my shoulders tightly.
“No fainting. Sit.”

I obeyed.

“I will wait until late morning to enlighten
Verdon, though I do not promise he won’t learn of it by other
means. Now, let me fetch Ealdine and some men to dispose of this …”
He grimaced. “… refuse.”

He left.

I rested my head on my pillow while I waited.
Silvanticus and Bryn would return. They knew how to deal with
Verdon.

------

“Get up.”

Propelled to wakefulness by a flare of pain
in my side, I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar face leering down at
me. I blinked up at him in the early dawn light.

“Move.”

His foot swung to kick me again, but I
scrambled away, clutching bedding to my chest as I backed against
the wall.

“Who are you?” I demanded with all the
dignity I could summon wearing a blood-stained smock.

“Your keeper. Now dress, Lord Ravenridge
awaits.”

“Where is Ealdine?”

“Not to be found.”

“I must speak with Sir Hirion.”

“Gone, disappeared this morn. He will be
found and brought forward. He will pay for his treachery, be
sure.”

I peered up at the man. “Treachery?”

“You shall find out soon enough. Now dress or
I shall dress you.” The lecherous look in his glance made me long
for a scalding bath.

“Nay. I am capable.” I glanced about before
spotting my kirtle and dress from the previous day. Rising to fetch
them, I encountered my guard’s interested gaze. “Turn your
back.”

He scoffed and complied. I dressed cautiously
with my back to him, not allowing a bit of skin to show should he
turn about to watch. Taking as much time as possible, I braided my
hair into a single rope down the center of my back. Finally pulling
on my slippers, I was ready to face my fate.

When we emerged into the courtyard to cross
to the keep, I gazed up. The sky, streaked with thin cloud trails,
stretched cold and pale above. Taking a steady breath, I prepared
to meet my brother.

“Move on.” My keeper prodded me with a stick
like an animal.

The stable master and his boy looked up from
watering the horses. For the boy’s sake, I chose to not make a
scene. Life in service was going to be difficult enough without
witnessing the beating my guard was eager to give.

When I entered the great hall, I was
surprised to find it vacant. Rushes at least a week old and molding
with dog leavings stank worse with each step. The tables lay
uncleared from the evening meal. Flies and a mouse helped
themselves without worry to the half-eaten meat.

“I have you to thank for this, dearest
sister.” Verdon’s voice echoed in the empty room as he strode down
the center toward me. “All of this is your doing. My men quarrel
and gossip behind my back. The servants neglect their tasks. Are
you proud of your curse now, witch? You brought shame to the noble
house of Favian.”

Upon reaching me, he backhanded me across the
mouth.

“Never speak a word again, woman, if you wish
to keep your tongue to plead your case to the saints.”

Swallowing the bitter taste of blood, I
glared at him. My hands fisted against my skirt; I resisted the
impulse to return the blow.

“Ah, wisdom. A little late.”

Verdon strode to the dais. The soldier jabbed
my ribs, and I followed my brother.

“Your fate is now in my control. The great
and chivalrous Lord Silvanticus has quit the field. Left last eve,
I believe.” Grabbing the earthen jug of wine on the table and he
filled a cup. “Apparently your ways were not winsome enough for
him.”

Lord Silvanticus will return for me, I
reminded myself. If not him, surely Bryn would.

He crossed to edge of the dais and regarded
me with full cup in hand. “Now you shall have your payment.” He
thrust the cup at me, spilling some down the front of my gown.
“Drink.”

I poured out the contents on the floor,
throwing the cup at Verdon before my keeper’s first blow brought me
to my knees.

“Cease,” Verdon cried. “There is plenty more.
Restrain her. We shall pour it down her throat.”

I fought, biting deep into the soldier’s arm
before he released me. His elbow caught my head, but I ignored the
pain. I ran for the door to the outside. If I could only reach the
guardhouse, surely Lord Silvanticus’ men would protect me.

Halfway there, my keeper caught me. Twisting
my arm behind me, he forced me back to face my brother.

“Unhand her!”

Bryn.

I almost wept in relief. Straining in the
direction of Bryn’s voice, I pressed against my assailant’s grip.
He responded by twisting my arm further. Agony burned through my
shoulder. Black spots crowded my vision. I drew in air only to cry
out a wordless plea for release.

“I said unhand her.”

The crack of wood meeting my assailant’s
skull echoed through the hall. He tensed and then released his
hold. I stepped away. I turned in expectation of glimpsing Bryn
only look up at Lord Silvanticus. My former keeper lay in a
crumpled heap at his feet. None of Bryn’s kindness shone in the
face above Silvanticus’ armor, but they were definitely his
features sans the eye patch.

“Lord Ravenridge, halt in the name of the
king.”

“Not for you, Silvanticus. I never was
inclined to listen to you.”

Men crowded through the hall doors, now flung
wide. I recognized few of the faces, some men loyal to my father
and uneasy in my brother’s service. The others gathering at
Silvanticus’ back bore the colors of his house.

“It is over, Verdon. The truth has been
proven. Now it is time for you to answer for your crimes. The king
will hear and judge your actions.” Silvanticus nodded to the man on
his left.

“Nay, my lord high-and-lofty …” Verdon’s half
hysterical laugh chilled my blood.

I turned in time to see Verdon gulp down the
whole jug of wine. Throwing the vessel from him so it shattered on
the stone floor, he wiped at the burgundy liquid dripping from his
chin.

“It is done, Bryn. I am now beyond your or
the king’s so called justice.” He spat. “Tell him, Verity, tell the
bastard what you forced me to do.”

Lord Silvanticus strode past me without a
glance. “Nay, Verdon, I can discern for myself who has driven you.
It was not your sister. Be certain that God will be much more
thorough than I in His justice.

“Before these witnesses you are accused of
murdering your father. On the night of his death, you intercepted
the mulled cup meant for him, contaminated it with the poison
stolen from Mistress Yelder, and served it to him.”

Verdon’s eyes burned as he glared at
Silvanticus. “You haven’t won, Bryn. You will never win. I have
removed everything of value and will never tell where they are
hidden. You might have stolen my father’s heart, you and my harpy
of a sister, but you cannot take his things. They are mine. No one
will touch them again.”

“I don’t envy you your end, Verdon, but you
have only yourself to blame. Your father loved you deeply, yet you
scorned him because he didn’t love you only.”

Verdon spat at Silvanticus, who neatly
stepped out of range. “You lie!”

Lord Silvanticus nodded toward his gathering
men. “Take him away and watch him. I suspect the vomiting will
begin within the hour. Also, remove this.” He gestured to my fallen
assailant. “Treat him as he deserves when he wakes.”