Silverhawk (38 page)

“It couldn’t have been me.” His voice grated like a rusty chain, his good eye widened. “You say she called for me at the last. Was it my name she uttered?”

Giles stared. His memory cast back through the years. His mother had never mentioned a name. Even as a child, Giles knew it hurt her too much to say. But she had told him he would know, for his father would return soon. Perhaps, had she lived beyond her son’s sixth birthday, she would have said.

“She showed me this, told me it was my father’s. When she died, she clutched it to her heart and said, ‘You have come for me.’ Who else would she see in her fading mind?”

“I tell you, this is not mine,” Lord Osbert insisted. “It was, but I did not give it to a woman, I gave it to—” He stopped with a shake of his head and turned to Davy, who had slipped into the chamber and now carefully wiped the blood from Giles’ sword.

“Bring me Sir Robert. I’ll clear this up.”

Davy flashed a grin at Giles before he disappeared down the corridor.

“I’ll wait for what you have to say,” Giles declared. “After all this time, a few more minutes won’t matter.”

In the unnatural quiet that followed, Lady Clysta and Sir Daviess arrived in the chamber. Both looked bewildered; Sir Daviess recovered first.

“Glad to see you got rid of that man.” He nodded toward Garley’s body and rubbed a darkening spot on his chin. “There was no reasoning with him.”

His gaze met Giles’. In them was such sadness, Giles swallowed hard. A good, kind old man. If the king discovered he was unable to defend this land, Richard might well award it to a stronger, abler lord. Such things happened all too frequently.

Emelin stood beside Sister Ressa, but Lord Osbert loomed as if rooted to the floor, still frowning at Giles. Finally, his voice broke the silence.

“No, by God. But it must be. I knew you looked familiar.” He wouldn’t explain, and Giles was ready to gut him on general principles when Davy at last returned with Sir Robert.

Osbert motioned the knight to his side. “Do you have your pendant still?”

With lifted brows, Sir Robert worked a leather strip free from his neck and pulled something from beneath his tunic and mail. “Thing saved my life once,” he explained. “I wear it always.”

He lifted the cord and Giles saw a small metal disc, dented now, that matched the one he held. Giles cocked his head at Osbert.

The older man cleared his throat. “I once gave my squires this medallion from Langley the evening before they were knighted.” He turned over Sir Robert’s. On the back was a rough scratch in an arc with a straight line angling from it. “An ‘R’ for Robert. I did that initial myself,” he added proudly.

Giles turned his over. On the back were the same random scratches he’d always seen. They made no sense to him. Lord Osbert looked. “That’s an ‘M’. I gave this one to Mangan, Sir Daviess’ son. I assumed it was lost with him when he drowned. We never found the body, and it wasn’t among his possessions on board ship.”

“Mangan,” Sir Daviess said softly. He reached his finger to touch the pendant.

“If this belonged to your father, then he was Mangan, my former squire. You have his ghostly silver eyes. That’s why you looked so familiar. He was knighted in Normandy, the week before my wedding. I knew he had met someone, and he intended to bring her back after my lady and I were settled at Langley. But I never knew her name. And I never guessed he left a son behind.”

“He did not know,” Giles whispered. He couldn’t manage more with the obstruction in his throat. It was not tears. He was Silverhawk. He did not cry.

Emelin was at his side, then, although he could not see her through the haze before his eyes. She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. He gripped hers in return.

His father had been a young knight, who loved the woman he’d left behind. Only death had parted them. Or brought them together, in the end.

Lady Clysta whispered to her lord as he looked at Giles. Tears streamed down the old man’s face. His grandfather. Lady Clysta smiled and opened her arms. His grandmother.

He didn’t know how he got there, but the lady was holding him, smoothing his perspiration-damp hair as if he were a child. Somehow the shoulder of her gown had become wet.

Sir Daviess clasped his arm with a trembling hand. “Grandson,” he whispered. “I’m glad you’re home.”

Everyone seemed to speak at once until a commotion at the door heralded arrival of Lord Roark, sword in hand. “They’ve surrendered. As soon as they knew Lord Paxton had disappeared and I explained his mission, they lay down their arms. All but Sir Justus. He won’t cause problems any longer.”

“Paxton escaped?” Giles repeated. After all of this, they still had to chase the bastard over northern England?

“Henry has followed him. I guarantee he won’t escape again.” He nodded to the body on the floor. “Let’s get this all cleaned up.”

Giles hadn’t realized he still clutched Emelin’s hand until she eased it from his grip. She caressed his face, then disappeared. He found her again in the great hall, after Garley’s body had been removed to the bailey and signs of battle cleared away. Maids with buckets of water scoured blood from the floors.

Roark and Giles, accompanied by Lord Osbert and Sir Daviess, interviewed the men who had surrendered. It was as Giles had thought; most had been duped by Paxton’s story. They were unsuspecting allies who had joined an army to defend their country against invaders. The few men who had come from France either were dead or had vanished into the countryside.

Disposition of the remaining local troops occupied Giles’ mind for the rest of the day. Not until evening was he forced to confront his own life again.

“No.” The word was a flat command from Sir Daviess after Giles announced he would leave the next day. They had gathered in the solar for the meal, the great hall overrun with soldiers who had yet to depart.

“You are my grandson,” the old lord insisted. “You must remain here, with your family. Who else will take Granville when I die?”

Giles was speechless. They wanted him to stay? They couldn’t understand who he was, what he had been. A warrior for hire. People called him a murderer.

“You are a famous fighter,” Sir Daviess insisted when Giles told them. “Who better to defend his own land and people?”

“Anyone can see you’re a good man,” Lady Clysta’s calm voice added. “You could not harm the one man you hated all your life. That is not the heart of a murderer. We are your family, my dear. Where else would you be? The king will see the right of it. You have his ear. Tell him.”

Giles chuckled. “My lady, no one tells the king anything.” Could it happen, however? Would the king understand? Would Mercadier release him? Could he desert his commander, the man who had been like a father?

The thought of real family, of having a place where he was wanted, even loved, held more appeal than he cared to admit. But no, he cautioned himself. This feeling of acceptance couldn’t be trusted. It wasn’t him they wanted, it was his father.

A small voice in his head whispered he was wrong. They had known and accepted him long before his identity had been discovered. And there was Emelin. If he remained, he would be forced to live as her neighbor, watch as she swelled with some other man’s child. He could never manage to blot Emelin from his heart.

Yet his grandparents needed someone. He could see that having him remain would mean a great deal to the pair. When Sir Daviess died, the land would revert to the crown, awarded to some royal favorite.

If Lady Clysta survived, she would live on her dower land, alone and unwanted. That was a sad future for such a kind, loving lady. He glanced at the old couple seated together by the hearth. A change had taken place in Sir Daviess just in the few hours since the discovery. He sat erect, his vision clear, focused, as if he’d awakened from a long sleep.

“They have a point.” Lord Roark’s voice was firm. “Look what happened here. They need a successor to take charge.”

An unfamiliar fullness welled in Giles’ chest. Finally he said, “I’ll think on it.”

****

Emelin was quiet during the discussion, her food untouched. She felt overwhelmed with all the revelations.

Osbert had stood up to Garley. Garley was dead. Giles was the lord and lady’s grandson.

Stephen was alive.

Dear Heaven, what was she to do? He was home, the beautiful boy she had once dreamed of wedding.

A lifetime ago. Before love. Before Giles. With him, everything seemed possible, as if a nightmare of the past became the dream of the future. But if he remained at Granville while she was forced to wed Stephen, how could she manage?

She glanced at the table where he sat with his grandparents. Never once did he look at her, reassure her. Why was he so aloof? He behaved as if he wanted her to go. She shivered as she realized—he had never said he loved her.

But with all that had passed between them, he must. He was just behaving honorably, insisting she go to Stephen. Surely.

She feared it wasn’t honor that kept him silent.

Well, she was no longer willing to be handed back and forth between men, without the slightest control of her own life. She would have something to say in the matter. The old agreement must be faced. Somehow, she would make Stephen understand.

Then she could devote herself to persuading Giles that he couldn’t live without her.

Later the conversation touched on Stephen’s return. She listened in silence. There was some speculation on where he had been for the past years, but no one had any real answers.

“He was a good boy,” declared Sir Daviess. “There must have been a reason for his disappearance. I know I’ll enjoy hearing all about it.” He turned to his wife. “My lady, invite Sir Clifford and his son to visit. Lord Roark here can deliver the message when he goes tomorrow.”

She smiled. “I will do so now.” To Emelin, she said, “My dear, would you like to retire? It’s been a long day.”

Emelin was grateful for the escape. She smiled goodnight at the men, and they nodded. All except Giles. He did not move nor look up. At the door, she glanced back, to catch his burning gaze on her. He looked away immediately.

She followed Lady Clysta up the stairs, expecting her to continue to the lord’s bedchamber. Instead, she entered behind Emelin.

A look of understanding sympathy filled the older woman’s face. “I seem to recall Stephen was to marry a young lady who had fostered with his mother. But his mother died, and when Stephen didn’t return, the girl was sent away.”

Emelin couldn’t meet Lady Clysta’s eyes. The lady reached for Emelin’s hands, clasping them in her own. “That was you, was it not, my dear?”

Tears streamed down Emelin’s cheeks. A sob hitched from her throat, and she found herself enfolded in motherly arms. Emelin had thought there were no more tears to shed after what happened earlier in the day.

There were. Finally, Lady Clysta led her to a bench in front of the cozily warm hearth.

“What do you plan to do?”

Emelin mopped her eyes, then looked up with a shuddering breath. “I’ll go with Lord Roark tomorrow. I’ll talk to Stephen. It’s been so long. With luck, he may not want to marry me at all. Otherwise, we must reach an agreement, for I will not be bound by an ancient contract. I’ll make him understand.”

Hair drooped in her eyes, and Lady Clysta smoothed it back as she had done earlier to Giles. “I won’t tease you with more questions,” she said gently. “I’ve seen the way you and my grandson look at each other, the way you cared for him. Clearly, you belong together. I can think of no one who would suit him better. And I would welcome you here as a granddaughter.” Her smile left no doubt the words were sincere.

“Do you think he cares? He was so cool tonight.”

“I think he guards his heart. With you promised to another, what good would it do to hope? He loves you. That has been obvious since you arrived. I know you feel the same.”

Emelin gave a wide smile. “Oh, yes,” she whispered.

Lady Clysta beamed. “Well, then. Why are we sad? Our Good Lady will answer our prayers. She has been at our sides all day, has she not? Now, you must rest, get ready for tomorrow.”

The hour was late and the bed soft, but Emelin couldn’t sleep. There was so much to decide. At last, she arrived at a plan, praying Lady Clysta was right, that Giles did care for her.

She had to try. Even if he rejected her later, she could never marry another.

Chapter Thirty

Emelin hardly recognized Stephen as he stood beside his father. He was taller, his face thinner, his square jaw prominent. What startled her most was the white that streaked his long, dark hair.

He was more handsome than ever, she supposed. But he did not move her. All she wanted was silver eyes and a wide, thin-lipped mouth that made her toes curl. Thinking of Giles helped stiffen her resolve.

Stephen showed little emotion, although surprise flashed across his face when Lord Roark presented her. It was gone in an instant, and he merely inclined his head. They all went into the great hall where servants waited with platters of cold meat and rounds of cheese.

As Lord Roark made his report, her mind reviewed her arguments to convince Stephen they couldn’t wed. So involved was she in rehearsing her speech, she nearly missed his reaction to the conversation.

“Who was it you said?” Stephen interrupted. “Giles of Cambrai? Silverhawk?” A light glowed in his eyes when Lord Roark nodded.