Warrior's Deception (27 page)

Roen sat, his body tense. “Go on, and I will judge for myself.” He prayed this cousin would at last reveal the truth of his parentage. Was Bernard de Chretien his father? Could Falke be his half brother?

“Very well.” The knight sat with his knees akimbo and slapped his thighs. He leaned on the back of the bench and clasped his hands behind his head. “My father, Bernard, and your mother, Maeve, were betrothed to marry when both were but infants. The match, at first to seal two strong families together, soon turned into a union of love.” Falke scratched his cheek. “My mother said her sister’s beauty could overshadow the sun’s light. Minstrels compared Maeve’s skin to moonlight and her eyes to ebony. Her voice to that of bird song. Sir Chevaras doted on the dark-haired child and lavished her with attention. Through her union with the Chretiens, he hoped to forge great power and wealth.” He waved his hand at Roen. “Of course, all this you already know as you have seen and lived with the woman.”

Roen nodded, but his mind tried to relate the visions of the cold, pale woman he knew with the portrait his cousin painted. Perhaps, if he allowed his imagination to run, he could picture his mother as a maiden, but he could put no life into the shell. To him, his mother had always been a breathing ghost, her spirit lost and forgotten.

“When she reached the age of fourteen, the marriage ceremony was arranged. Hundreds came for the gala. They traveled from all over England to feast with such a powerful group of people. A message came from one of my father’s vassals. The man was under siege and requested help. I suppose one of Stephen’s robber barons decided that with so many men away, ‘twould be a good time to attack. My father, ever bound by honor, left his beloved and went to assist his vassal.”

“As he should. The woman could wait, not the promise of feudality.” Roen did not care for the way the man ridiculed the importance of honor. Chivalry demanded nothing less from its knights.

“Of course.” Falke dropped his hands from behind his head. His eyes narrowed, then he continued, “And so, Bernard left with a promise he would return shortly and marry his bride. At the festivities, Galliard became enamored with the bride’s beauty. He followed her and tried in his own crude way to woo her. Maeve would have none of him and she laughed at his attempts at poetry and song. She humiliated him in front of the guests by mocking his ill-chosen phrases and uncouth lyrics.”

His cousin paused again. Roen sensed that he hesitated to go on with the story. “Rest assured,” Roen informed his guest, “that whatever you may say of my father, your berth is set for the night. I’ll not throw you out for an insult to the man’s character.”

Falke’s smile widened. “Very well, I’ll continue. Galliard was so incensed by Maeve’s public rebuff that he waited for the girl. Waited till he could find her alone.” He paused and the smile disappeared from his face. “When he had her alone, he gagged and raped her.”

Roen shot from his chair and gripped the hilt of his dagger. “By the saints, not even my father would be so base as to take a woman against her will on the day of her wedding!”

“I’m afraid ‘tis so. Maeve was able to point out her rapist. Her father wanted to kill Galliard on the spot but Maeve’s mother stayed his hand.”

“Why?” Roen cried. “I’d torture the fiend until he begged to die, then I’d deny him even that mercy.” The blood in Roen’s veins screamed for revenge against the monster. Then the scream strangled itself on his own crime. Hadn’t he done the same thing to Lenora? Hadn’t he taken from her that which was hers to give?

For her own protection,
his conscience answered, yet deep in his loins he feared he stood with his father. Lord Champlain’s taunts on his wedding day came back. Roen had thought the insults referred to his parentage. Now he understood; Champlain had compared him with Galliard.

“Her mother feared Maeve might be with child from the rape. What would the family do with such a bastard? What if Bernard would not have her now that she was no longer unspoiled? A message was sent to Bernard on the battlefield. The explanation of the affair was brief. The families awaited his answer. If he did not want Maeve, another Chevaras daughter would fulfill the betrothal. After all, much negotiation and power were at stake.”

“Your father rejected her.” Roen supplied the ending.

“Nay, not exactly. Bernard thought over the proposal. What would honor dictate he do? Meanwhile, while he contemplated the most honorable decision, the Chevarases panicked. They took no answer as a rejection. Since Maeve had now become an embarrassment instead of a profitable commodity, they must get rid of her. In respectable fashion, of course.”

Falke spread his hands wide. “And so a wedding took place, Galliard and Maeve’s. I mean, after all, they did have the cleric and guests and all that food prepared. Your mother and father were married and sent on their way with the express wishes of everyone concerned that if either decided to once again visit England, they’d never live to touch its shores.”

The puzzle pieces of Roen’s life fell into place. No wonder his parents hated him. His fair coloring only haunted them both. He personified the family that had kept Galliard from important contacts in England and had abandoned his mother.

“And so,” Falke continued, “my father returned and the next sister was offered, Niccolete, my mother. And, as ever honor-bound, he married her, though he cared nothing for her, scarcely knew her name. And as honor dictates, he sired her many children. Thus did I see the light of birth as the seventh son, born in the seventh month and on the seventh day.” Falke stood and stretched out his arms and cracked his knuckles.

Roen felt the breath knocked out of him. The fog that surrounded his mother lifted and revealed the bareness of her life. Through him, his mother exacted retribution for the crime committed against her. And that heinous act must have been a raw wound on Galliard’s soul. Far easier for his father to accuse Maeve of adultery than to see in his son the family he had wronged. The parallel between his own marriage and his parents became clear. He did not bear the scorn of a bastard, for
Galliard was truly his father. Crime for crime he matched the man. Brutality for brutality, he superseded his sire. Rape to win what he wanted, torment to punish the woman for his own crimes. Did he really believe Lenora carried another man’s child?

Nay, ‘twas but a pretext to keep a wedge between them because he feared his wife. Feared the way his heart sang when she smiled. Feared the deep feelings she awakened with her soft touch. Feared the power she had over him. He loved his wife without barriers, and no emotional wall would separate him from her again. Nor from their child. The reality of it caused him to smile. Falke’s image blurred through the tears in Roen’s eyes.

“I know what you say is true.” Roen swallowed and took a deep breath. “Now, tell me, why are you here?”

His cousin lost his arrogant composure. “What do you mean? I just thought to visit a kinsman.”

“Nay.” Roen shook his head. “No man would enter a keep dragging such a history with him.”

A crooked smile crossed Falke’s lips. “A mutual friend sent me. As I said, at my last abode, ‘twas suggested that I come. My host thought that perhaps with your time in battle and your lack of ties in England, you may not know the circumstances of your parents’ marriage.”

“And who is this friend we share?”

“King Henry. A man who does what he can for those he considers a friend.” Falke spoke the words with pride.

Gratitude overwhelmed Roen. The king had offered Roen a wife in payment for years in battle. In reality, his liege had given him a priceless gift, a woman who could teach Roen to love.

“I must speak with my wife. ‘Tis most urgent.” Rising from the bench, Roen gave his cousin a grateful nod and turned back toward the castle.

“Pray, do not let me keep you.” Falke started to walk into the garden then turned. “Do not think me rude, but after the story I just told, I would think you would have questions, or accusations at the least. What must you discuss with your wife that is so urgent?”

“A name.” Roen’s steps lengthened with each stride he took. “I have to choose a name for my child.” The walk broke to a
jog, then a run. He rushed up the stairs just as the midday meal horn sounded. Crandall remained on guard outside the open door of Roen’s chamber.

Beatrice no longer hovered nearby, nor did Goliath jump at him in greeting. He approached the bed and sensed something amiss. Even before he stripped the blankets from the bed he knew what he would find.
“Nora!”
His bellow rang down the hall and ricocheted off the walls. A confusion of voices and bodies rushed into the room.

He stared at the empty bed and the pillows that impersonated his wife’s form. Too late. He sank to his knees, unable to stop the flow of tears down his face and heedless of who saw them.

“T
ell me where she’s gone to!” Roen roared at Beatrice.

The woman sat on a stool in the middle of the great hall. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes rained tears but she refused to speak.

“You’ll get no information from her by shouting,” Hamlin chided. He knelt at her side and made his voice gentle. “The dog led us to her empty trunk downstairs, you must have helped her to steal away. Lenora’s in grave danger, Beatrice, pray tell us where she’s gone.”

Her eyes narrowed and tears spiked her lashes, but her voice gained strength as she spoke. “Aye, there’s danger and we know from whence it comes.” She pointed a trembling finger at Roen. “From her husband. We found the true marriage contract and know of your deception.”

Apprehension slashed through Roen’s anger. “Who else did you tell?”

“A friend.” Beatrice rose and faced her interrogators. “One who is helping Lenora to reach safety.”

Roen fought the impulse to shake the name from her. His voice deceptively calm, he asked, “Who is this friend?” From a burlap bag on the floor, Roen pulled out the dark mantle with the serpent clasp. “Do you recognize this cloak? Does it belong to your
friend?”
Goliath leapt at it and sank teeth into the garment.

Beatrice drew back, her blue eyes wide. She placed one hand over her mouth. The look on her face answered Roen’s question. This friend had tried to kill his wife; he would have his name.

“Whose is it?” Hamlin tried to coax the answer from the startled girl.

“Nay, why give you the name when you must already hold him captive? What have you done with him?” Beatrice demanded. “This is all a game. ‘Tis you that expose Lenora to peril.” She tried to rush past them to the door of the barbican.

Falke and his companions blocked the girl’s exit. Beatrice fought to break free of the barricade of men.

“Tell him the name, Beatrice.” A hollow voice issued the command from behind the wall of men.

The knights stood aside and Tom approached, supporting a slumped man with his arm around his waist. A collective gasp echoed in the hall when the weaker man lifted his head. Beatrice shrank back from the man’s outstretched arm. Servants and noblemen alike looked at one another in fear. Several made the sign of the cross to ward off an evil spirit.

Roen swore under his breath, then repeated the curse out loud. Used. Both he and Lenora had been deceived. A bitter taste coated his mouth. The accusations flung at him, the tension between him and his wife, all a waste.

Ozbern rushed forward to relieve Tom of his burden. “The deception was mine,” Sir Edmund admitted in a tired sigh. “I planned my demise to force out the knave who was trying to poison me. The person who tried to drive my daughter away. Tell him the name he seeks or Lenora’s life is forfeit. I fear your friend is Woodshadow’s traitor.”

“Nay, Geoffrey would not do such a thing!” Beatrice wailed.

“Champlain. I should have known. Come. I know where they are.” Roen rushed past the quaking girl. Falke and his men fell in step behind.

Roen passed his father-in-law and paused. Sir Edmund took a long, wheezing breath. “I did not think it in the boy to do such evil. I never suspected him.”

“There is much you did not suspect. Did you suspect your death would be an easy trial for your daughter to bear? Do you know what pain she endured?”

The older man nodded. “I knew. And if you do not rescue her, that pain will have been for naught.” His hand gripped Roen’s forearm with surprising strength.

The man still possessed a fierce thread of vitality, a will to survive. If Roen found Lenora dead, would that slender thread break? Would he himself break? Roen returned the elder knight’s handshake and rousted the knights of the keep.

A call to arms sounded and the inner bailey surged with life. Horses and men filled the area below the barbican steps. Destrier paced back and forth, not winded from the morning ride. Goliath increased the bedlam by running in between the horses’ and men’s legs.

“Goliath, heel.” Roen mounted his charger and spotted his second in command on a chestnut stallion. Goliath obeyed the command. At the zenith of its path across the sky, the sun issued a warning. Autumn days left little time for afternoon light. The canopy of the woods would shorten that light even more. He had wasted too much time with Beatrice.

Falke and his knights, mounted on their horses, formed the core of the troop. Roen extended his hand to his cousin. “My thanks for your aid.”

“Lenora is my cousin, also, now that she has married into the family.”

The doors of the inner and outer baileys creaked open and framed the road and woods beyond. Today a pall hung over the green. Death hovered over the treetops, grinning at Roen.

Destrier’s hooves touched the hard dirt of the road. Roen squeezed his knees and the horse broke into a gallop. The thunder of hooves pounded behind him. He looked ahead to the dark gloom of the forest. Death would not go away emptyhanded this day.

“Just a bit further, Lenora,” Geoffrey called from around a curve on the trail.

Her side ached from running. Perspiration stung her eyes. She wiped her face with the end of her chemise. A ring of dust along the edge of the undergown marked every step she had taken from her home. Even with her familiarity with the forest, Geoffrey had managed to twist and turn down so many paths that she couldn’t be sure of exactly where they were. The knowledge offered her some comfort. If she couldn’t have found them, neither could Roen.

“Are you coming?” Geoffrey poked his head out from behind a birch tree at the bend in the trail.

“Aye.” Lenora started off at a slow trot down the path. She couldn’t see Geoffrey, but she sensed his motion. The sound of his footsteps and the scrape of branches snapping back in place told her he didn’t outdistance her by much.

Around one more turn and she saw her friend cupping water with his hand from a clear brook. The dryness of her throat made her close the gap between them and drop next to him. Leaning on her side, she sank her hand deep into the cool water. Each sip gave her strength to continue. Her thirst slaked, she rolled over to sit on the stream’s bank.

“I know you’re tired, Lenora.” Geoffrey gave her a weak smile. “But just a few steps more and then you’ll have the proof you seek.”

She smiled back. “Thank you, Geoffrey. You’ve been a true friend to me.”

“I have tried.” Geoffrey’s voice cracked as he helped her rise from the brook. His hand felt cold and icy. A chill of disquiet rushed through her and she longed to stay at the stream. She hesitated before following.

“You cannot postpone the inevitable,” he said, and moved into the brush.

No matter the heartache, the truth about her husband must be revealed. Lenora gathered what was left of her stamina and mirrored her rescuer’s steps.

Geoffrey stood near a fallen tree and stared at his feet. Lenora looked down and her heart missed a beat. Broken bones littered the leaf-covered ground. A centipede crawled through the eye sockets of an animal skull. Geoffrey bent and picked it up.

“Geoffrey, put that disgusting thing down.” Lenora backed away from him.

He looked up at her, his mouth turned down in a pout. His eyes chastised her. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?” He bent and began to rearrange the bones like a puzzle.

“Come, let’s be gone from this place.” She gritted her teeth and forced herself to sound unafraid.

“In a moment, but first, come closer and see what I’ve done.” Geoffrey stood and waved his hand at his creation.

She took the smallest steps possible to approach the macabre object. Geoffrey had opened the skull to show the mouth wide in agony. Curved ribs were stuck in the moist, fertile soil to stand upright. A long tail wrapped around the body. He had filled in missing bones with small rocks.

“Doesn’t it remind you of something?” Geoffrey’s voice teased. His smile looked like that of a little boy who had been caught being naughty. He pushed her in front of him for a closer look.

The skeleton screamed at her in death. The long body cried out to her in silent recrimination. She looked away and then, in horror, looked back. Fleshed out, with dark black fur, the bones formed the shape of…“Gladymer.” She choked out the beloved name.

“Aye, that’s it.” Geoffrey danced in a circle. He captured her hands with his and forced her to join in the jig.

She lost control of her anger and struggled to free herself. “Stop. Stop it. This is too cruel.”

He froze, one knee bent in the air. The expression on his face melted from one of childlike joy to sorrow. “Nay, Lenora, do not call me cruel.” He dropped her hands and a tear trickled down his cheek. The upraised leg lowered slowly, and his breathing became loud and heavy. “I thought you would welcome seeing your old and true friend once again. Through his death, you can trace the person responsible for all your grief.”

Geoffrey’s sympathetic demeanor confused her. How could he think to show her such a tragic sight, now, when they were running for their very lives? This could have no relevance to Roen’s guilt or innocence. Or could it? She left Geoffrey and returned to the whitened bones of her dog.

Kneeling at the remains of her pet, she forced her fingers to probe through the moldy leaves and dirt. They closed on the hard, cold touch of steel. She tugged hard, and the rusty but still strong length of chain popped through the layers of composting debris and snapped in her hand when it reached the tree trunk.

“Geoffrey, look. Someone chained Gladymer out here. Do you know what this means?” She rose and faced her friend. The chain dropped from her hand and she rushed to embrace
him. “Roen could not have done this. He was in Tintagel when Gladymer disappeared.”

“Aye, that he was.” With his hand at her elbow, he led her back toward the tree trunk. “Does it make you happy to know your husband is not guilty of the crime you suspected?”

“A heavy weight has lifted from my shoulders,” Lenora said. “Yet, still I do not understand his actions. You say that whoever is responsible for Gladymer’s death is the cause of my troubles. But ‘tis Roen who tricked my father and lied to me.”

Geoffrey rested his hands on her shoulders. “I think perhaps he was trying to protect you.” His hands trailed down her arms and encircled her wrists. “I wish he had been more successful.” Sobs caught in his throat as he twisted her arms behind her back. Startled, Lenora tried to bolt, but Geoffrey yanked her arms upward. Pain lanced up her arms and shoulders, stopping her flight. Holding her wrists with one hand, Geoffrey grabbed the heavy chain and wrapped the links around her wrists. Tears fell freely down his handsome face as he spoke. “I was always gentle with you. I never wanted to kill you. I begged you to leave. You know that!” She felt hard leather and chain bite into her flesh. The snap of a lock clarified her danger. He helped her to the ground. Her arms tingled at her shoulders from the tension he exerted on her leash. He yanked the chain. A desperate need for her agreement flashed across his face. “You know that, right?”

“Aye.” Terror raced through her. Geoffrey’s eyes burned with a strange inner light. She struggled to her knees.

A flash of irritation quirked Geoffrey’s hps. “Why didn’t you leave when you had the chance?” He shook his head to chastise her.

Lenora forced herself to think and remain calm. She coached her voice to a soothing tone. “Then let me go, Geoffrey. I’ll do as you say. I’ll return to Aquitaine if that’s what you want.”

A sad smile creased his lips, and once again he was her old friend Geoffrey. With gentle hands, he caressed her cheek. “You could have been my salvation, my refuge from my father’s torments, from Daphne’s shame.” Accusation hardened his voice. “But you fell in love with him instead of me.”

She pulled away, startled at his confession.

With his hand, he recaptured her chin. “Aye, ‘tis true. I loved every quip and insult you flung at my father. Your words stirred me to such passion.” His lips lowered, and Lenora twisted to avoid them. Like a vise, his hand forced her to meet them. He lifted his mouth from hers, and she spat the taste of him from her mouth.

“But, there is the problem. You’re too strong for me.” He released her and sat against the trunk of a tree. “You only saw me as a friend, not as a mate. Which meant I had to settle for Beatrice and get rid of you. But I didn’t want to hurt you.” He sighed with frustration. “I worked so hard, Lenora, to think of ways to drive you away.” His tone implied an insult at her inconsideration. “First your dog, then your horse. And of course, I killed your father. And it was all to protect you.”

“Nay, Geoffrey, my father died of illness and his own pride.”

He crowed with glee. “Nay, dear friend, ‘twas me.” The mad gleam in his eye flared. “I found the secret passage to his room and poisoned him. And I was so clever about it. Just a little at a time. That was his illness.” He snapped his fingers together.

“Why did you do this?” Her fingers tried to work the leather band around her wrists. Anger and fear spread through her body. Murder meant nothing to this man. Insanity had purged the compassionate soul of her friend.

“For Woodshadow, of course. ‘Tis my home. A haven from the blows of my father.” He looked at her so innocently she found it hard to believe he had caused her so much pain. “You think you know the level of his depravity, but you do not.”

“You would always be welcomed at Woodshadow.”

He jumped to his feet. She stopped the frantic movement of her fingers and held her breath.

“Welcomed.” He pounded his chest with his fist. “I don’t want to be welcomed. I need to be in control.” His fist dropped and so did the volume of his voice. “I need a place where I am safe and so is Daphne. Father can’t touch her at Woodshadow. And he touches her, touches her where a father should never place his hand.” Geoffrey’s eye twitched and he massaged his temple. His eyes grew misty.

Lenora’s heart ached at the pain reflected there. Poor, wretched Geoffrey, his father’s evil had driven him mad.”’Tis all right, my friend.” She tried to reach a kernel of the boy she
had grown up with. “Bring Daphne to Woodshadow and she’ll be protected. Roen and I will protect you both.”