The Redeeming (14 page)

His silence made her ache, as did the distance he maintained between them as if he was relieved that she no longer clung to him. Though he did not voice his regret of stealing her from Stern, she felt it now that their chance of escape was so greatly diminished. The knight had sacrificed much to aid her, and perhaps all if her brothers captured him. Or if he fell into King Henry’s hands.

Knowing what she must do, she halted and called out, “Our cause is lost, Sir Durand.” If ever there were a cause.

Presenting as little more than a shadow between the trees ahead, he turned. “We do not have time for regrets, Lady Gaenor. If we are to stay ahead of your brothers, we must continue.”

“You go. I will return.”

He strode back. “I said I would deliver you from marriage, and I shall.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but something told her to swallow the words that would only alert him to the strength of her resolve and cause him to take measures to assure she did not slip away. Feigning acquiescence, she sighed. “If you are certain.”

“I am.”

She followed him and, for the next half hour or so, Sir Durand often glanced around to assure himself that she was yet there. When he finally eased his watch, she seized the first opportunity to escape.

Grateful for the moist leaves underfoot, she changed course and hastened tree to tree lest he realized he was alone. She soon lost sight of him, and many minutes passed before she heard him call to her.

He was so distant that she no longer had to worry about branches snapping underfoot. Thus, as quickly as the darkness allowed, she sped among the trees.

She heard him call her name, at times more distant, other times nearer, but always she stayed far enough ahead that her escape was assured. What would come of it with the dawning of day, she did not know, but her hope was that, from the bordering wood, she would spy her brothers. If not, she would keep to the trees as much as possible and make her way back to Stern Castle.

G
aenor, Garr realized as the figure stepped from the trees and dropped the hood of her mantle to reveal her dark blonde hair. And it appeared she was alone.

Wondering what had become of Sir Durand, he reined in and lifted a hand to halt the others. Three drew alongside—Abel, Everard, and Baron Lavonne.

“I would ask that you remain here,” Garr said, looking to the latter whose gaze was fixed on the woman at the edge of the wood. “’Tis better this way.”

Eyes shadowed, unshaven jaw set in a hard line, the baron considered Garr. “I will wait, but ‘tis to Broehne Castle we journey next.”

Though Garr would have preferred to return Gaenor to Stern, there could be no argument. Not only were they less than two hours from Lavonne’s home, but it was, ultimately, his sister’s destination—providing the baron did not seek release from their marriage.

“To Broehne,” Garr agreed, then exchanged glances with his brothers. “I go alone.” He gentled his mount forward, not wanting to rush on his sister who, after all, had come forward to be found and would surely be grateful for the extra time in which to prepare herself to receive him.

As he neared, she propped her chin high on the cool, morning air.

“Gaenor,” he said, easing his destrier to a halt ten feet distant from her.

“Garr.”

He looked from her hair that had snagged leaves and twigs, down her mantle that had faired just as poorly with the wood she had tramped for what must have been hours. “You are well, Sister?”

“I am.”

“What of Sir Durand?”

“He is gone.”

The anger rippling beneath his surface threatening to rise above it, he said between his teeth, “He left you?”

“Nay.”

“Then?” he growled, frustrated by her refusal to elaborate without prompt. But perhaps it was the best she could do, he considered. Though her bearing was erect and eyes and chin did not waver, emotions surely abounded within.

“I left,” she said.

“Why?”

She clasped her hands before her, and he saw they trembled. “I am responsible for this day, not Sir Durand.”

She protected the knight, but was the man truly such a coward? Garr, himself, had trained him, and many times Sir Durand had proved he was above fear.

“It seems I do not know this knight as well as I thought,” he said. “He breaks fealty with the Wulfriths by stealing our sister away, and when she determines to return to her family, he allows her to go on foot—alone!”

“His horse was lamed, and I left under cover of night so he would not know I had gone.”

Then she had stolen away from him, doubtless to protect him from the Wulfriths. Without a mount to keep ahead of their pursuers, who had thrice been pointed in their direction by those whose paths Durand and Gaenor had crossed, they would soon have found themselves overtaken.

Garr’s anger toward Sir Durand pushing through despite his attempt to suppress it, he said, “When he is found, his punishment will be dire.”

She drew a deep breath. “I am ready to return home and wed the man chosen for me.”

“
If
he will have you,” Garr said, more sharply than intended.

“I do not doubt he is angered.”

Gritting his teeth, he sent up a silent prayer for God to direct his tongue. “I will not lie to you. He
is
angry that, once again, you have fled. But this time it is a more serious matter, for you did so without your family’s consent and with a Wulfrith knight who broke fealty to aid you. Surely you know that the two nights shared with Sir Durand do not speak well of you.”

Gaenor stared at her brother. She was not such a fool to hope none would think the worst of her and Sir Durand. After all, what loyal knight forsook his lord and his honor merely to aid a lady discontented with an arranged marriage? It could only be assumed they were lovers. And they would be right, though only about that first time months past when Sir Durand had comforted her over what they had believed was Beatrix’s death.

Pained with remembrance of what had come of the solace the handsome knight had offered, Gaenor shook her head in an attempt to cast off the sin that made her feel soiled and foul. She had repented, but it persisted like a disease no medicinal could treat.

“Gaenor?”

She saw the question in her brother’s gaze that he did not ask. Even if it meant the baron rejected her, bringing further disgrace upon her family, she would give Garr his answer, but not now when it took all of her strength to remain standing.

On legs that felt as if they might melt out from under her, she crossed to her brother’s side. “Take me home, Garr.”

“We are destined for Broehne Castle.”

Holding back surprise that she knew she should not feel since the baron’s home was surely nearer than Stern, she said, “As you will.”

Garr nodded toward the dozen men on the distant rise. “The baron awaits you in yon meadow.”

This time, there was no suppressing her surprise. “You brought him?”

“It could not be helped.” Regret grooved his mouth. “He arrived as we were preparing to depart Stern.”

Heart thrusting against her ribs, she surveyed the other riders. Though she identified her brothers where they sat on their destriers at the fore, there was no way to know which of the others was her betrothed. However, she remembered that Baron Lavonne was told to be a large man, and there was no mistaking the proportions of the one whose destrier stood to the left of Everard’s.

“I am sorry, Gaenor. I would not have had it be this way.”

Wishing she could better conceal her emotions, she looked back at Garr.

“I will be with you,” he said and, with a tight smile, reached for her.

She laid her chill fingers in his warm hand and stepped her foot atop his in the stirrup. Unlike Sir Durand, her brother took her up in front of him to provide the comfort and safety of his arms.

As he turned his horse, she glanced over her shoulder. “I am afeared, Garr.”

“This I know.” He slid an arm around her waist and eased her back against him.

Though all of her urged her to make ready for flight, she sank into her brother who had never allowed harm to touch her—who, though she had willfully tainted the honorable name of Wulfrith, would never raise a hand to her.

And yet, he bargained you away like chattel.

Wearily, she turned aside Sir Durand’s revelation, choosing numbness over the roiling that would only pain her more.

Though tempted to close her eyes and surrender to fatigue that she might delay her acquaintance with Baron Lavonne, she knew it was the coward’s way. Thus, as Garr guided his destrier toward the riders, she firmly held her gaze to the large man beside Everard.

It was his broad shoulders that first struck her as familiar, then his fair hair lifting in the cool, morning breeze, next his determined chin. And she needed to look no nearer to know it was Sir Matthew.

What was he—?

“Gaenor?” The concern in Garr’s voice evidenced he felt the alarm surging through her.

She stared at the knight she had thought never to see again and warily mulled the reason for his presence.

She looked over her shoulder. “Baron Lavonne”—she nearly choked on the name—“which one is he?”

“He is mounted to the left of Everard.”

She thought she might die. What had she done? In secret she had met with a man who called himself Sir Matthew, told him things she should not have, felt for him, sought him out, allowed him to kiss her, asked him to steal her away. And, thinking him lost to her, she had fled with Sir Durand without regard for what any might think of her and the two nights spent alone in a man’s company.

But then, what had Baron Lavonne done? Knowing who she was, he had deceived her, likely laughed at her ignorance, disappeared without farewell, and now reappeared wearing a wrathful countenance as if ill had only been worked upon him—this man who had struck a bargain with Garr that, if not accepted, might have resulted in Beatrix being found guilty. Then her death.

Regret and anger warred in Gaenor, but it was the latter she embraced.

Christian knew the moment she recognized him. As emotions struggled across her face until all that remained was ire—ire due her, just as it was due him—he tightened his grip on the reins and silently conceded that this was not the way to begin a marriage. If a marriage at all.

He looked closer on her as she and her brother neared and wondered if her eyes might reflect the truth of what had happened between her and Sir Durand who was conspicuously absent. Had the Wulfrith knight abandoned the woman who had risked all to be with him? Regardless, the knave would not go unpunished, no matter how far he had or had not trespassed.
Had
something happened between him and Gaenor?

“Baron Lavonne,” Wulfrith said as he halted his destrier before him, “there is much to discuss, but suffice it for now that I introduce my sister, Lady Gaenor Wulfrith.”

Would she reveal their previous acquaintance? If not, should he? Christian searched her eyes, but if virtue yet resided there, it was obscured by anger.

“Gaenor,” Wulfrith spoke across Christian’s silence, “your betrothed, Baron Lavonne.”

Neither did she speak. When the uncomfortable silence remained unbroken, her brother reined around. “Let us ride.”

The pace he set was no less rigorous than when they had sought to overtake Gaenor and Sir Durand. Thus, it was not two hours before they passed over Broehne’s drawbridge and Christian’s betrothed gained her first glimpse of the towering donjon where she would serve as lady for the remainder of her life. Perhaps.

I
t was useless to try to sleep as Garr had encouraged her to do, for there was no rest to be found behind her lids—only deepening anger, resentment, and frustration. When the knock sounded on her chamber door two hours later, she felt as coiled as a snake.

She swung her feet to the floor and stood from the bed. “Enter!”

Garr stepped inside. “You are rested?”

She glanced past him to Everard, then Abel who eased the door closed. “As best as I was able to.”

He considered her face and, from his troubled brow, did not like what he saw there. “Ere we proceed with this marriage, there are things that must needs be addressed.”

“My virtue.”

He blinked. “Aye, but first I would know what you want—that which is within your grasp
and
my ability to deliver.”

She had not expected to be asked such. “You are saying you will give me what I want?”

“I shall try.”

“Even if it bodes ill for the Wulfriths?”

“Whatever is within my power—”

“Does your power extend to promises made that would have to be broken to give me what I ask?”

He drew a deep breath. “Gaenor, ‘tis possible I might yet find a way to release you from this betrothal, even though I believe it will be a good marriage and—I will not lie—of benefit to our family.”

She clasped her hands hard. “But then your word would be made a lie, and that is not permissible for a Wulfrith.” She looked to her other brothers. “Is it?”