Читать книгу Warrior's Deception - Diana Hall - Страница 10

“Hamlin, take your pick. They are all the same to me.” Roen turned his back on the assembly of possible brides. “Only make sure you choose one with a prosperous demesne and a proper attitude.”

“How am I to know that? ‘Tis battle we’ve spent our time in, not tallying up what riches belong to what lord,” Hamlin replied, irritated. “I’m afraid this is going to be more difficult than I thought.” He stroked his chin while Roen gave him a cynical smile.

The great hall of Tintagel blossomed with the beauty of English ladies. Overadorned children, displayed like trinkets by their mothers, danced by him. The sight nauseated him. Roen would rather have his fee paid in gold, but the chance to own land compelled him. A lord with no other feudal obligation except to the king was a prize few obtained. However distasteful, marriage enabled him to become landed.

“I suppose we could ask someone,” Hamlin ventured.

“If a decent heiress is in the room, a man with good sense would not proclaim it to us but use the information to better his own lot,” Roen said, rebuffing his friend. The two men simultaneously dropped down onto a half-log bench.

“I’m better prepared for battle than I am to search for you a wife. I say let’s just look for a pretty one,” Hamlin suggested with a shrug.

“Perhaps I can help you with this dilemma.” A feminine voice intruded on their conversation.

Roen did not stand but turned his head to view the speaker. His tone sarcastic, he asked, “In what way could you be of any help to me?” He purposely conveyed his contempt and gave the wench a look meant to dissolve her audacity.

She almost turned away, but didn’t. Her eyes changed to a shade of brown that tantalized him. They reminded him of something familiar, yet it eluded him. His inability to stamp a name on their color needled him. It did nothing to improve his impression of her.

The woman did not lower her eyes from his scrutiny. He saw her back pull up straighter. The pointed chin tilted up like a defiant child. Her eyes blazed, her voice strained to rein in her anger. “I know most, if not all, of the women present and the worth of their landholdings. I’ll give you information on any women you choose.”

Roen snorted with indignation. “I should trust you? How do I know you won’t lie to further your own cause?”

“How would being untruthful aid me in acquiring your warhorse?” The woman scrunched her brows together, perplexed.

“You want Destrier!” Roen felt an almost uncontrollable urge to shake the wench senseless. “No woman is worth that horse.”

“Destrier? You named that magnificent animal Destrier? I suppose your dog is called Dog.” The woman’s voice held back none of her scorn.

Roen opened his mouth to speak, but the truth of her words muted him. What did it matter what he called his hound?

“I don’t want to keep the animal, just use him for stud service on some of my father’s mares at Woodshadow.”

At the mention of the keep, Roen’s interest peaked. “Woodshadow, you say. Does not the king have a palfrey from your stable?”

“Aye, that he does, a gift from my father.” Pride marked her words. “A steed from Woodshadow is much desired. Your mount, Destrier—” the woman rolled her eyes “—would be no worse from the wear.”

“Perhaps she could help us at that,” Hamlin noted.

Not willing to concede yet, Roen sneered. “An idiot could tell that Destrier is an unsurpassable mount. That she recognizes the fact hardly merits us trusting her judgment. How do we know she doesn’t wish to marry me herself?”

The words were no sooner uttered than Roen knew exactly what her eyes reminded him of—molten gold. He had seen a man in the Holy Lands melt down the precious metal to form items for the church. The woman’s eyes reminded him of hot gold, rich in color, scalding in temperature. Her eyes seared his with their intensity.

“I can think of no greater purgatory than to be your wife. For a number of reasons, most of them dealing with you.” She blasted out her words in a fiery voice. Nearby, heads turned toward them. The woman lowered her voice and gritted her teeth. She turned from him to face Hamlin, who looked both shocked and amused.

“Pray, knight, you seem to have a sensible nature,” she began placatingly. “Kindly tell your friend that not all women seek the confinement of marriage. Some wish time to study and learn. I am one such woman. Marriage is not what I seek for myself.” She smiled, and the embers of anger in her eyes began to fade. “Besides, I’ll be honest.” Her smile twisted into a mischievous grin. “I am cursed with three faults which make marriage not an option for me.”

Cursed! Her smile kindled a twinge of arousal but he quickly doused it. She seemed too intelligent to believe in superstition. Roen started to terminate the conversation with her but her eyes held him. They no longer burned, but had mellowed to the shade of warm cider. A half-hidden smile twitched at her full lips. She dared to tease him!

“Only three? You do yourself service, woman.” Roen arched his brow cynically.

The smile became more animated. “Aye, only three, but as far as men are concerned, major ones. The first is plain to see, I am no beauty.”

His gaze raked down the length of her body. She stood almost to his shoulder, and he savored the length of time it took to explore her body. With caged patience, she waited while he noted her generous mouth and elflike chin. He let his gaze linger on the mature breasts. The unpretentious gown hugged at the gentle swell of her hips. Dark braids hung between the valley of her breasts. Wisps of curls escaped the confines of the butter-colored ribbons of her plaits.

Roen studied the wavy mass of hair. At first it appeared dark brown, but as the sunlight filtered through the window, it highlighted the copper tresses. He smiled despite himself when, once more, the maverick lock of hair escaped from behind her ear and she replaced it yet again.

Aye, no English beauty: she was too dark and her features too irregular. Yet, she intrigued him, especially her eyes. Never had he seen eyes the color of gold, or ones that expressed so much of the person’s inner self. Now those eyes stayed on him. Surprised, Roen realized she was evaluating him.

Humph! Roen admitted to himself. The chit has backbone. A mere look does not send her off in tears. Finally, when he saw she would stand her ground, he answered, “I concede, and the other faults?”

The wench relaxed: he could see the tension leave her body. A grudging look of admiration tinted her eyes. “I’m afraid you’ve already had a taste of the other two. I’m exceptionally intelligent, and not afraid to let others know it. Lastly, I have a bit of a temper.” She held her fingers apart slightly to demonstrate how small a “bit.”

Hamlin bubbled with laughter, while Roen quirked his mouth into a reluctant smile. “I can readily see how those three particular faults might make it hard to find a husband, Lady…” Hamlin paused. “You know our names but yours remains a mystery.”

“I am Lenora de Marchavel of Woodshadow. My father is Sir Edmund. Now, do we have a bargain?”

Roen racked his memory for information on Sir Edmund. The king spoke of him often and considered the man a loyal friend. From what he had heard, the girl’s father was a man of honor and integrity. Would the same hold true for the daughter? Still reluctant to enter an agreement with a woman, Roen assessed his alternatives.

“You drive a hard bargain.” Lenora’s eyes gleamed. “I will give you the choice of one foal your animal sires. The foal will be worth a hefty bag of gold, not to mention the prestige of owning a Woodshadow mount.”

“Agreed. You will tell me truthfully of any woman I choose. In return, Destrier is yours for a month.” Roen knew he had the better deal, yet Lenora’s eyes troubled him. Instead of defeat, her warm spice-colored eyes shone with victory. Roen nodded toward the ladies milling about in the great chamber. “Pick one and tell me what you can.”

“Roen, there is no use wasting Lady Lenora’s time on all of these women.” Hamlin gave Lenora a crooked smile and pointed toward the crowd. “How about that one in the yellow gown? The one seated at the feet of the rather large dowager.”

“Lady Daphne. She is two years my junior. Her father is Sir George Champlain. He lays claim to much land, though ‘tis spread widely and difficult to oversee.”

“The condition of her inheritance?” Roen asked impatiently. He barely registered the presence of the flaxen-haired young girl.

“Well, she stands to inherit a sizable fief on the birth of her first child. In fact, that property is the major income for Sir Champlain.” Lenora bit her upper lip, the edges of her mouth upturned in an engaging grin.

Roen eyed his informant carefully. A faint light danced through her eyes. She held something back. “The rest,” he demanded.

An impish smile slid across her lips. “The only thing I could add is the fact that she is thrice widowed.”

“Three husbands!” Hamlin jumped up and peered at the innocent-looking beauty across the room. Daphne, her eyes downcast, continued to listen to the never-ending complaints of the older woman. “What happened to them?” Hamlin asked in a hushed voice.

“The usual—hunting accident, illness, thrown from a horse—things like that,” Lenora replied matter-of-factly.

“Why so many husbands lost to accidents?” Roen queried. He noted the intelligent sparkle in Lenora’s eyes. A ripple of admiration intrigued him, but he brushed the emotion aside.

“’Tis no secret, Daphne’s father does not wish to part with her dowry land. By allowing his daughter to marry but not to conceive, he keeps control of his best property and gains from Daphne’s inheritance as a widow.”

Roen slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. “He should be hanged. Why have you not taken this matter before King Henry?”

“Because I have no evidence. Though I nursed the poor girl through two miscarriages, I’ve no proof her father caused them or the demise of her husbands. A village woman who came to me to speak of the tea Sir Champlain forced upon his daughter prior to her miscarriages died on her return home. Daphne knows what her father and brothers are capable of, as do I. She would never live to testify against them.”

Lenora drew back and leaned against the cold stone wall. Misery dulled the glow in her eyes and face. “Someday that man will pay for the way he treats his daughter.”

Brittle agate eyes displayed anger, sadness and fear. Roen knew Lenora did not lack spirit, for few men stood up to him as she had. Lord Champlain must be a monster to cause her such dread.

“Your counsel is well taken, go on to the next.” Roen waved his hand dismissively toward the great hall. For the next hour lie listened to Lenora recite all she knew on each woman Hamlin pointed out. She informed them of gambling debts, land disputes, how complex their obligations to area lords and the disposition of each woman. Roen sat on the pew with his long powerful legs stretched out, ankles crossed, disinterested. If he bothered to ask a question, it dealt with the woman’s holdings or family reputation. Finally, he rose, his frustration and disdain erupting.

“I have had enough. Every woman here has either a poor dowry, a plain face or some other shortcoming.” Roen paced in front of his two confidants. He stopped and turned to face Lenora. “Are there no women here capable of meeting the most basic of standards?”

“What do you expect?” Lenora could hold her anger no longer. “You look over a possible wife with the same enthusiasm as purchasing a…a cow for pasture. Do you feel that you are so great a prize? Think what the woman gets in return from a marriage to you. Nothing, since you bring no land and she becomes the brood mare for an overbearing oaf. A dullard who can’t even think up a proper name for his own horse.” Lenora took a breath, ready to continue her tirade.

“Who is that?” Hamlin interrupted the tongue-lashing and pointed to the opposite side of the room. Lenora swiveled, looked at the young woman Hamlin pointed at and groaned. She swallowed hard and cursed Beatrice’s timing. Why couldn’t she have remained hidden for just a while longer? By Hamlin’s dropped jaw, she could tell Beatrice had made an impression, the wrong impression. Lenora stepped back and stumbled into the wall-like chest of Roen de Galliard. His strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her tight against him.

“Steady, Lady Lenora,” Roen whispered in her ear. His breath caused gooseflesh to race down her neck. She closed her eyes to regain her composure. Instead, it fortified the sounds and sensations about her. She heard the pounding of his heart, felt the rise and fall of each breath he took. Suddenly, the sensations stopped. Roen released her as if she were a cocklebur bush. He stepped away from her and moved toward Hamlin. The siege commander took a deep breath and surveyed the room. His eyes settled on her cousin. Lenora knew his thoughts, what size dowry did Beatrice possess and would she act the docile servant of her husband.

“Who is she?” Hamlin did not drag his gaze away from Beatrice. Lenora hesitated. When she did not answer, Hamlin looked over his shoulder, misery evident on his boyish face. “She’s married to someone already, isn’t she. A beauty like that could not remain unclaimed for long.” He sighed and shook his head sadly. His ashen locks swayed with the movement.

“Tell him,” Roen ordered.

Lenora thought fast. If she told them Beatrice was married it might work for a time, but Aunt Matilda would find a way to introduce Beatrice to Roen and eventually her lie would be discovered. The greedy lout might marry her cousin just to get even with her; he was mean enough. The knight had more pride in himself than any man she had ever met. Pride! The answer to her problem unfolded. She could save Beatrice.

Lenora straightened up to her full height and crossed he arms. She looked the knight in the eyes and stated, “That is my cousin, Beatrice de Greyere. She is unmarried, but unavailable.”

“Why is that?”

“Because she is in love with someone.”

Roen stared at her, incredulous. “And why should that deter me? Women are always falling in and out of love. It means nothing as long as she has an acceptable dowry and is obedient to her vows.” He laughed like a satyr and turned to his friend. “Come, we will introduce ourselves to this beauty that has so bewitched you.” Roen pretended to close Hamlin’s gaping mouth and lead him toward Beatrice.

“Very well, then.” Lenora took one more chance, a dangerous one, but calculated to prey on the man’s overbearing pride. “I’ll introduce you, but you do not strike me as the type of man who could make love to his wife knowing she wished he were someone else.”

The sound of his quick intake of breath warned her to brace herself for the storm of his anger. She contemplated running, but where could she go that he could not find her? Roen advanced, his square jaw clenched, neck veins visible. His huge hands were balled up into fists at his sides. Lenora had a momentary vision of those two clubs pummeling the life from her body. She steeled herself to meet his gaze. His eyes were no longer the color of thunderclouds. Now they reminded her of a full-blown gale, one that would wreak havoc for days.

“By God’s Wounds, woman, you go too far,” Roen snarled. “Do you doubt I can command obedience from my wife? I will not tolerate a whore for a wife.”

“I’ve no doubt you would try to command your wife’s very thoughts. You can use those powerful hands to control a body, but not a mind, and never a heart.” Lenora stood firm, anger overruling her fear as usual.

“Sir Roen,” the young page from the stable interrupted. He smiled at Lenora and handed Roen a message. He turned with a smart bow to the lady and started to leave.

“Hold, boy.” Roen’s voice stopped the page in a dead halt. “When you deliver a message, you wait on a reply.” His gaze dropped from Lenora and spotted the insignia of King Henry scrawled across the bottom of the missive. Damn! He would have to attend to the business of royalty before the woman’s punishment. Lenora’s jabs had hit close to home. His father’s attempt to control his mother’s heart with fists and cruel punishments had been to no avail. His mother still had betrayed him and left Roen to suffer the painful taunts of his brothers and the mental and physical blows of his father. How many times had his father told him not to trust the heart of a woman? No woman would ever hurt him again, least of all a mouthy shrew.

“This is not over.” Roen glanced up from the message, but the woman had vanished. There were many dark recesses and support beams in the great hall, too many places that could cast shadows even in daylight. He could not keep Henry waiting. Cursing under his breath, he barked at the page, “Where is the king?” Roen did not wait on a reply but marched ahead. The boy scurried to catch up with the knight’s long strides. Hamlin followed behind, craning his neck to watch Beatrice.

When she saw the two men leave, Lenora stepped out of the shadows, shaking her head in disbelief. What a bore, an unimaginative mass of brutality. No matter what the cost, she would not let this brute have gentle Beatrice. He would have her cowering in some corner at his first angry glare. Lenora picked up the edge of her gown and raced across the hall to her cousin. Beatrice must be warned; they must leave immediately. For Beatrice’s sake and, as she thought of the knight’s fury, her own.

Roen climbed the stairs to the king’s bedchamber and wondered why the need for such privacy. In the close confines of the castle, the king’s chamber was the most secure place. After instructing his second in command to patrol outside the room, he entered and greeted his king.

“Your Majesty.” He approached the red-haired man seated near a table. Henry stood and grasped his extended hand in a bone-crushing handshake. Not as tall as Roen, the king was still an impressive man. His love of hunting and riding kept him trim and washed his freckled face with healthy color. Faint laugh lines creased his mouth and eyes.

“Roen, my dear friend, so how goes the hunt?” The king gave him a wicked grin. Roen knew to which “hunt” the king referred. Henry had followed the same hunt several times. With his wife, Eleanor, living in Aquitaine, the king consoled his loss with several mistresses, the Lady Rosmund in particular. Roen wondered how wise it was of Henry to parade his lovers at court so openly. Queen Eleanor was a shrewd and jealous woman. Henry could not afford an arranged annulment and lose his wife’s overseas holdings.

“I prefer to speak of more pleasant subjects,” Roen answered dryly. There was more on the king’s mind than just teasing him.

Henry crossed to the table and retrieved a letter. “Read this. Tell me what you think.” The king sat down, arms folded across his barrellike chest.

Roen browsed through the letter to the king. The sender stated his opinion on a nearby land dispute. Odd choices of words made the letter somewhat convoluted but the gist could be easily understood. He stroked his chin and looked at the missive again. From the corner of his eye, he spied King Henry watching him for a reaction. There must be something he had missed. He restudied the letter.

“’Tis in code!” A familiar pattern emerged from the confusing phrases. “We used this code during the war with Stephen!”

King Henry nodded and reached for the paper. “It took me some time to discover it. If I did not know the sender so well, I might have missed it. He has purposely mentioned battles where the code was used.”

Roen glanced through the letter again, using the code to glean the true message. “He asks for help to protect his family and his land. A traitor is in his midst.” He turned toward the king. “What will you do?”

“This—” Henry took the letter from his hands “—could simply be a letter on a land case and the code a coincidence. Or a good and loyal friend could be in need. Sir Edmund has aided me countless times. I shan’t abandon him now. That is why I need you to help him. First, because he is a loyal compatriot. Secondly, there are still those who secretly oppose me as king. I cannot afford to let his keep fall into a traitor’s hands.”

The dull ache in the back of his head turned into a crashing storm of pain. Sir Edmund! Heaven would not punish him like this. He searched his memory for every knight named Edmund he had served with. Unconsciously, he massaged his left temple. Sharp daggers of pain lanced through his head. Roen asked, “Is the man Sir Edmund de Marchavel?”

“Aye. I’m surprised you could tell that from his letter. I want you to think of some excuse and investigate this matter. His daughter—”

“I’ve met!” Distaste flavored his voice. “Why hasn’t Sir Edmund married the shrew off to some poor fool?”

Henry threw back his head, and his laugh boomed across the room. “So you’ve met the sharp-tongued Lenora. I see no blood. Her wounds could not have been too deep.” The king chuckled while he poured a tankard of ale for himself and Roen. “Ah, Lenora, she’s a favorite of mine. Always asking questions and demanding answers. She must be what Eleanor was like in her younger days. Before life made her hard.” The king paused thoughtfully and sipped his drink.

“The girl has a tongue as hideous as Medusa’s hair.” Roen took a long gulp of ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ll warrant ‘tis just as deadly to a weaker man.”

The king slapped his knee and gave a belly laugh. Then he pointed his finger at Roen and warned, “Don’t let the girl fool you into thinking she’s had no suitors. There have been several, but she spurned them all. Books and horses hold her interest more than marriage. Since her older brother stood to inherit, Sir Edmund paid the fee to keep her unmarried. Allowed her to follow her fancies at home. There was some discussion of her entering a convent to further her education.”

“I pity the abbess who receives her as a novitiate.” Roen could not picture the fiery girl in drab gowns and the bleak surroundings of an abbey. Nor could he see her taking vows of silence and obedience.

“Things have changed recently, perhaps the reason Edmund is in danger. Her brother died last year in battle against one of Stephen’s men, which leaves Lenora as Edmund’s only heir to Woodshadow. The girl must marry and have a child in order for the keep to stay in the family.” The king shook his head and muttered under his breath. “So many good men lost their lives for me. I owe England much in restitution.”

“Who inherits if Lenora remains childless or—” Roen hesitated “—dies?” Although the woman vexed him sorely, the thought of the spirited girl dead did not sit well with him.

“The property is held through Lenora’s mother. If she dies or is without an heir, then Woodshadow will revert to her aunt, the Lady Matilda and her daughter, Lady Beatrice. Both have motive. They are landless and living on Edmund’s good graces at Woodshadow.”

“They should be easily dealt with. Bring the women in and let them view the rats and roaches of the dungeon. A few threats and they will break quickly.” Roen took a gulp of his drink and considered the matter settled.

“And what if ‘tis not them? Then the traitor will know we are on to him. We may push the treacherous party too far and forfeit the lives of both Sir Edmund and his daughter. We must go carefully and gain the proof we need.”

Roen gave him a resigned nod. “What is it you want me to do?”

The king stood and continued, “So far, Lenora has not been harmed and is unaware of the danger. The traitor may hope she will still enter the convent and thus give .up her inheritance. But if she had plans to marry, it might flush our prey out.” King Henry gave him a speculative look.

“Nay!” Roen roared his refusal. “I would never consider marrying that sharp-tongued hellcat. Nay, Henry, you are my liege lord, but do not ask this of me.”

“’Twas—” the king spread his hands out eloquently “—a suggestion. A possible solution to two problems. But if ‘tis unacceptable…”

“Unacceptable? Your Majesty, can you imagine a lifetime with that woman? She’d drive a man insane.” Roen didn’t think Henry understood the depths of his strenuous protest. “‘Tis obvious her father has not kept a strong rein on the girl. I doubt she even knows how to run a household.” A groan erupted when he saw the king fold his hands across his chest and give him a steely look. “Your Majesty, the Lady Lenora is definitely not what I want in a wife….”

Henry leaned back in his chair, pursed his lips and contemplated the strong ale in his goblet. He knew Roen well, and the knight’s protest intrigued him. The man was more interested in Lady Lenora than he cared to admit, or he would not still be cursing the girl. Perhaps marriage was a viable solution to his problem. His siege commander would be repaid for his military aid with a wealthy keep, Woodshadow would be secure with a vassal loyal to the throne, and his old friend’s daughter would be protected. He just had to deliver the solution to Roen in a more digestible form.

“Perhaps you are right,” King Henry agreed. “After all, since the fee has been paid, she would have to agree to marry you. I could not command it or even request it. She may refuse you.”

“She wouldn’t dare!” Roen could not believe that any woman would not be eager to jump into the marriage bed with him. “I may be landless, but I don’t enter the contract with nothing. I’ve enough in booty and ransom money to impress even the likes of the Lady Lenora.”

“Nevertheless, we must think of a ruse for you to visit Woodshadow for a time. Long enough for you to discover if there is a threat, and if there is, the source.”

“I already have one,” Roen admitted with reluctance. His mood did not improve when the king raised his brows in mock surprise. Above all things he respected loyalty; he would help his liege’s friend. “I need a few days to collect my winnings from the tourney. I’ll be in Woodshadow before the next fortnight.” He took leave of the king and met Hamlin at the end of the hall.

“What happened?” Hamlin asked. “I heard you bellowing from here.”

“Come with me.” He strode out of the hall, leaving his friend behind. Unmindful of Hamlin’s pleas to slow down, he strode toward the stables. Reaching Destrier’s stall, he checked the horse’s feed and well-being.

“Well, my friend,” Roen said, patting the horse’s neck. “At least one of us will be enjoying himself at Woodshadow. You’ll be busy with the mares and I’ll be…” His mouth grew dry and his voice died out. Like a bit of fog, a dream of Lady Lenora enticed him. An image of her long, slender white legs wrapped around his waist seized his imagination. Her hair, like copper bracelets, tangled in his fingers. The ragged sound of his breath shook him from the spell. He ran his hand across his forehead and down the back of his head. His body’s reaction to this woman did not make sense.

A quiet, demure, obedient wife was what he sought. He would go to Woodshadow and protect the girl and her father because the king had asked him. But he would use the opportunity to exact his revenge against the woman’s dagger-sharp words. As with any battle, Roen intended his revenge to be costly to his opponent, Lenora.