Читать книгу Releasing Henry - Sarah Hegger - Страница 15

Today Henry would lose his girl on the wall. Belowdecks, Bahir took her morning bathing water and saw her dressed as he and Newt waited to escort her. The dull blade in his chest twisted again, widening the aching cavern. In his years in Cairo, she had stood as his beacon of hope. A beautiful star in his dark firmament. Those twilight moments a bittersweet reminder that he yet lived.

He would return her to her family and safety so that after today she would no longer stand alone in a hostile world. The rightness of it did not alleviate his ache over her loss.

Newt strode toward him, a bundle and dark cloth tucked beneath his arm. He surveyed Henry from boot to crown, and nodded. “You look more like the Sir Henry who used to box my ears.”

“They were an easy target.” Henry hid beneath carefree grin. When Newt came to him as a lad on the cusp of manhood, those ears had stood out and begged to be cuffed.

Newt chuckled and held his parcel out to Henry. “I found this the day you were taken. It got trampled beneath hooves, but I had it repaired. It is time for you to don it again.”

Henry took the surcoat from him. It shook in his hands and he held it open before him. Dragon head proper upon argent. The colors of Sir Arthur of Anglesea. His colors. The ones he had worn so proudly on his chest as he rode to join the pilgrimage. Colors he had seen so stained with blood and corruption they made him feel sullied. He shoved them at Newt’s chest. “I will not wear this.”

Newt squared off. “It is time, Sir Henry.” He labored the “sir” and pushed the surcoat back.

How to explain that it would never be time to wear these? That man had died long before he’d been pulled from his horse in battle. The Henry who wore these colors had ridden out, despite his family’s vehement protests, so sure he understood the rights and wrongs of the world. Wrapped in more than a silk surcoat. Enshrouded in his sense of righteousness and holy fire. One by one his dreams of glory had drowned in a wave of vice and cruelty. The man he had become blazoned no colors, held no faith, and had no right to those things anymore. He shoved the surcoat into Newt’s chest. “Nay.”

“Aye.” Newt pushed him back a step. “This is who you are. Son of Sir Arthur of Anglesea, knight of the realm, and the man who taught me how to hold my head up.”

“Sir Henry?” Alya took his breath away in the red silk. Her sooty hair lay in a gleaming sable cascade down her back.

Newt punched his shoulder. “A lady such as that deserves a knight by her side.”

Henry donned the surcoat. It had grown snug across the chest and shoulders. Bloody thing near strangled him, and he tugged at the neckline.

Alya touched the dragon’s head. “What is this you wear?”

“They are my father’s colors.” Her fingers burned through the layers over his chest.

Stepping back, she tilted her head and studied him. “You look very fine, Henry.”

“Sir Henry.” Bahir came to stand behind her. “You must call him Sir Henry now.”

“Sir Henry.” Her full mouth formed the words like a caress.

“My lady.” He bowed over her hand. Stupid sod that he was, but the action came naturally to him. One he had performed many times in his past.

* * * *

Dwarfed by the honey-hued stone wall, Alya stood in the shadow and felt no bigger than an ant. Massive arched wooden doors guarded the manor house. At the apex of the arch a large, ornate coat of arms stared down at all those who dared seek entry.

Henry pounded on the door. He stood back, hand over his sword pommel and his shoulders straight and proud.

She wished she could wipe her sweaty hands on her skirts, but she would stain the silk, so she wound them in the stifling drape of her cloak.

A small door opened within the large door and a swarthy face appeared.

“We seek Ugo D’Onofrio.” Henry spoke in French.

The face peered at them, eyes narrowed. “Who seeks him?”

Henry’s shoulders rose on a deep breath. “Sir Henry of Anglesea, and Ugo’s niece, the Lady Alya.”

“That should light a fire under his ass.” Sweating in his mail and surcoat, Newt stood behind her. Beyond Newt, Bahir carried a chest filled with gifts her father had sent to ease her welcome. Gifts? More like bribes to accept the interloper.

The little door slammed shut and running footsteps grew fainter on the far side of the wood.

With a reassuring smile, Henry turned to her. “You look beautiful.”

“They will be proud to welcome you,” Bahir said.

He insisted he remain a few steps behind her. It was better that he appeared her servant, he had said. Henry had agreed with him, but had taken no pleasure in his agreement. Perhaps one day they might—what was she thinking? After today they would all part ways.

A grinding noise sounded from the door, and then it swung open on a loud, pained creak.

Sir Henry offered her his arm.

Alya’s fingers shook as she placed her fingers on his wrist. She drew comfort and courage from the power of the arm she held.

“Chin up,” he murmured. “You are a lady born.”

Raising her chin, Alya stepped through the doors.

The gate boomed shut behind them.

They walked through a short, dark passage that smelled of mildew before it opened into a courtyard beyond.

Arched balconies stared down on them from all sides as Henry led her across a bright courtyard full of lush greenery. A fountain gurgled and splashed in the middle, sunlight catching on the water.

Their footsteps sounded loud against the flags.

A serving man waited in a doorway at the far end of the courtyard. He peered down his nose at her, and motioned them to follow.

The cool of the manor provided a blessed reprieve from the hot day without. Large tapestries awash with vivid color hung from the walls. Beneath her slippers, mosaics created bright splashes of color against the stone floor.

The servant motioned them through yet another set of doors. How many could they need? A man sat at the far end on a carved wooden chair. As they approached, he rose.

Stamped across the hawkish bones of his face, the resemblance to her father was unmistakable. This man stood taller than her father, and slimmer beneath his scarlet tunic.

“Sir Henry.” The man spoke in a melodious voice. “I welcome you.”

Henry bowed with his fist to his chest. He moved his arm in a smooth arc to indicate her. “I present to you the Lady Alya, daughter of your brother Pietro D’Onofrio, formerly of Cairo.”

The man stiffened. A hard stare raked her from top to toes. “Is this her?”

“Indeed.” Henry’s tone grew cold. “The Lady Alya speaks French.”

Alya curtsied as Henry had taught her. She rose again, relieved not to have caught her foot in her hem. “Good day, Uncle.”

The man flinched. “You do not look like Pietro.”

“Nay.” She forced a smile to her frozen face. “I believe I look most like my mother.”

“An infidel?” Ugo sneered.

His rudeness left her momentarily speechless. She glanced at Bahir.

He gave her a tiny nod.

Alya took a bracing breath. “My mother was not of your faith.”

“And you?” Ugo stepped nearer to her, his arms behind his back, a nasty sneer twisting his face.

“I am of the one true faith,” she said. “My father insisted on it.”

Ugo grunted. “I take it my brother is dead.”

Said so abruptly, the words stabbed at Alya. Her gaze found Henry and the comfort she sought. “That is what we believe.”

Ugo walked around her in a slow circle.

Alya forced herself to stand still beneath the scrutiny. Chin high, shoulders back, just as Henry had shown her.

Bahir coughed and jerked his head at the chest in his arms.

Her throat felt too tight to manage any words. Her heart beat unsteadily and robbed her breath.

“We are not sure of your brother’s fate.” Henry stepped smoothly into the building silence. “We believe he met with a foul end after we fled Cairo.”

Ugo stopped barely two feet in front of her and scowled. “He sent her to me?”

“Aye.” Henry gestured Bahir. “Along with a large portion of his wealth. This is but a small sampling.”

Bahir bowed low and laid the chest beside Ugo. He flipped open the catches and let the lid drop open.

Ugo gasped.

“We bring you gold.” Bahir dribbled the coins through his fingers. He brought forth a glass vial and unstopped it. Jasmine oil twined in the air. “Rare oils and spices from the east.”

Staring at the chest, Ugo licked his lips. “There is more?”

“On the boat that brought us here.” Bahir drew forth a drape of silk so fine, his hand could be seen through it. “My master wanted to be sure his child would place no burden on your household.”

“My brother was a fool.” Ugo spun about and threw himself into his chair. “The family did not support his decision to leave Genoa.”

Alya wanted to defend her father. He was a good man. One of the most respected and wealthiest in Cairo. She dug her nails into her palm to stop herself.

Ugo clicked his fingers and four guards appeared. One of them strode forward and gathered the chest in his arms.

Hand going to his pommel, Henry stiffened.

“Do not be stupid, Sir Henry.” Ugo smirked. “I can call more guards in a moment.” He draped his leg over the arm of the chair and sneered at her. “My brother was twice the fool to think I would welcome you here. You are a dirty heathen. I would no more take you into my home than I would take a pig. Get out.”

Alya froze. Her mind rejected what she had just heard.

Ugo motioned his guards. “Throw them out.”

Henry stepped in front of her. Voice vibrating menace, he said, “Do not lay a finger on her.”

The guards glanced at Ugo uncertainly.

“We will leave,” Henry said. “But touch Lady Alya and House D’Onofrio will lose its scion.”

Surging to his feet, Ugo went red and spittle flew. “Get out. And take that filthy girl with you.”

Tense and alert, Newt stood beside Henry.

Bahir tugged her away.

Her limp legs did not feel as if they would hold her. Nobody had ever spoken to her thus. She still could not believe they had. It made her sick to her stomach. Part of her wanted to protest her innocence, another to upbraid him for his rudeness.

With Bahir half carrying her, Alya somehow made it to the street again.

Swords at the ready Henry and Newt flanked them.

The door rattled shut.

Alya collapsed.

Bahir caught her. “Do not listen to them, habibti. Their ignorance marks them as not worthy of you.”

“Let’s move.” Henry drew his sword. “Before he finds his ballocks and comes after us.”

“Can you run?” Frowning, Bahir searched her face.

She could and she would. Alya nodded, and they set off.

As they ran through it, the city blurred for Alya in her Bahir, Newt, and Henry cocoon.

Ugo’s words kept clattering around her mind. The contempt on his face. How could anybody hate her that much? Especially a person who knew her not at all. He had called her dirty, a heathen.

People scattered in front of them. Faces swung to stare.

The numbness wore off, and suddenly she wanted to grab Henry’s sword and stab Ugo’s sneer off his face. Run the blade across his scornful expression. He had no right to treat her so, speak to her in such a manner.

A man veered into Henry’s path.

Henry punched their way clear.

They reached the docks and barreled straight through the throngs. Henry used shouts, fists and his sword hilt to clear the path before her.

Sword catching sunlight, Bahir breathed down her neck.

Newt roved around them, providing extra menace.

Her legs shook as they bustled her up the gangplank and onto the boat.

Henry stepped away from her and drove his fist into the mast. “Whoreson!”

“Be easy.” Bahir stepped between Henry and the mast. “You will break your hand, and he will still be a pig wallowing in his own filth.”

Tense enough to snap Henry scowled at him. Then he blew out a long breath and nodded. His gaze swung to her. “Are you all right?”

Alya struggled to answer because nay she was not all right. She wanted to smash something. She wished she had never gone to Ugo at all. And now she was well and truly alone in the world. Barring Bahir, she had nobody.

Her legs gave way and she sank onto a coiled rope. “What will I do now?”