Margaret Moore - [Warrior 13] (17 page)

“Yes, it does. But where has Benedict Delasaine gone? I had news of a man fitting his description at all the inns I stopped at on the way here, yet nobody in the castle knows of him. He has not come to visit his sister—at least, not openly.”

Reece felt a leaden ball forming in his stomach.
“What are you getting at, Gervais? As our father says, speak plainly—or do not speak at all.”

“I am saying that we are the natural enemies of men like the Delasaines. A wife learns many things, and information can be a weapon. It could well be that Damon Delasaine is pleased because he has someone in our household who can pass such information on to him.”

Reece leapt to his feet. “You accuse Anne?”

Gervais nodded.

Reece turned to his father. “Anne is not a spy!”

“Do you know that with absolute certainty?” his father asked, his voice quiet but cold as a blizzard’s wind.

Anne could not be a spy. She would never betray him.

Yet even as his heart shouted denials, his mind recalled her questions about their friends and other things that had seemed unimportant on the journey. He realized the many things a woman helping the chatelaine would learn, of stores that could be used if they were besieged, or weaknesses in the buildings needing repairs. He remembered the way she had surveyed Castle Gervais and that he had told her of at least one secret passage. He would willingly have told her where it was, if she had asked.

But she had not asked.

She must be innocent. She could not have been insincere when they were alone together.

“I know this situation has not been easy for you,
but annulment is for the best after all,” his father said, interrupting his tormented reflections. “The Delasaines are the worst sort of men and any links to them must be severed.”

But Anne? What of Anne? Beautiful, loving Anne, the Anne he had come to love, in every way.

This had to be wrong. “Father, Gervais, I cannot—”

A fist pounded on the door. “Sir Urien!” Piers Delasaine shouted, his voice desperate. “Sir Urien, I have to talk to you!”

Reece started to protest the interruption, but his father held up his hand. “See what he wants that brings him in such alarm.”

Gervais strode to the door and pulled it open.

Piers stood on the threshold, his face pale and his body trembling with suppressed emotion. He appeared as upset as Reece felt.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Sir Urien demanded.

“I have to talk to you,” Piers said as he looked past Reece and Gervais to Sir Urien.

Sir Urien gestured for the boy to enter.

“I have come to warn you,” Piers said, his expression grimly resolute, giving them a glimpse of the stern warrior he might become. “I saw my brother Benedict. He was talking to Anne in an alley in the village.”

Oh, God.
Reece felt for a chair and sat heavily.

“Are you certain?” his father demanded.

Piers nodded. “I would know Benedict anywhere.”

“You came here at once?” Sir Urien asked.

“Yes.” Piers swallowed hard and his gaze faltered, but he spoke out nonetheless. “If Anne is deceiving you, I want you to know I had no part in it.” He raised his eyes to regard Sir Urien steadily. “I want to be a good and honorable man, like you.”

Reece jumped to his feet and strode to the door.

“Where are you going?” his father demanded.

“To find my brother-in-law,” Reece growled as he marched out of the room.

A
nne looked up from mending her shift as Lisette hurried into the room.

“Oh, la, my lady! Here you are!” She frowned as Anne put her shift down, as if wondering what she was doing, but did not puzzle over that for long.

“What is it?” Anne asked. “Does Lady Fritha need me?”

“
Non, non!
Your husband’s brother has come from court.”

Anne swiftly sucked in her breath. She put her trembling hands on the arm of her chair and rose. “When did he arrive?”

“Not long ago. He is in the solar with your husband and Sir Urien. Or they were there. Your husband passed by me in the hall and…” She hesitated, blushing. “And perhaps I should be silent.”

This was such an unusual thing for Lisette to say, more trepidation filled Anne. “What about my husband?”

Lisette reached for the basket. “I will finish this if you like, my lady.”

Anne kicked it out of the way, paying no heed to her garment tumbling onto the floor.
“What about my husband?”

The girl didn’t meet her gaze. “He was angry, my lady. More angry than I have ever seen him. And I have heard…that is, I overheard Sir Gervais say that your husband has been summoned back to court.”

Anne went to the window and looked out unseeing. Gervais could have come to tell them Henry was amenable to an annulment. Perhaps Reece had told his brother, and his father, that the plan was no longer to be followed. Maybe they had quarreled over that alteration, and were angry at Reece for what they had done.

No matter what had happened between the members of her husband’s family—and now hers—they would have to go to court because it was the king’s command. Once there, Reece would have to tell the king that there was, after all, no cause for an annulment.

And then what? If his father was angry because the marriage could not be annulled, if Sir Urien still thought her a serious liability, she and Reece would have to…what? Leave here, perhaps.

She didn’t really care where she went, as long as she was with Reece. But then they would not be so safe from Damon. She could well believe her half brother would try to exact vengeance if he thought them vulnerable.

And what of Piers? Would Sir Urien let him stay to complete his training? Would Piers want to?

“My lady?”

She had forgotten Lisette was there. “Yes?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Lisette held up the shift. “Would you like me to finish mending this?”

“Yes, please, Lisette.”

The girl sat in the chair and Anne went back to looking out the window. Where had Reece gone in his rage? When would he come back?

She would keep watch, and when he returned, she would speak with him at once. Lady Fritha would likely be too preoccupied with her other son’s return, or the possible rancor in her household, to miss her daughter-in-law.

Who was the cause of that rancor.

Anne sighed and leaned her head against the window frame. She did not want to be the cause of dissension in this happy household.

“I should not have told you,” Lisette murmured, and with a sniffle.

Anne turned toward her and saw a tear sliding down her cheek. She hurried to Lisette and patted her shoulder. “It’s all right. I would have found out eventually, and I would rather have such news from a friend.”

Lisette made a tremulous smile. “I am your friend, my lady?”

“Indeed, you are. I hope you will always be my friend.”

Lisette started to sob, hunching over the bundled shift in her hands.

Before Anne could say anything to comfort her, a shout caught her attention and drew her again to the window, for she instantly recognized Reece’s voice.

The guards opened the wicket in the inner gate and she waited anxiously to see her husband.

But it was not Reece who came through first.

It was Benedict.

She watched in horror as Reece frog-marched her half brother across the courtyard and into the hall.

Fear’s cold fingers squeezed her heart. She had not foreseen this. She should have. Benedict was a fool. He had probably said something when he was deep in his cups that revealed his identity.

Yet the greater fault was hers. She should have told Reece Benedict was in Bridgeford Wells. She should have told him everything last night, of Damon’s plans and her decision to foil them. She should have confided in her husband—because now what would he think?

This was the worst thing that could have happened, far worse than Reece’s delay in telling his father of their union, for if Benedict was trapped, he would say anything to free himself—implicate anyone, tell any lie.

She must confess all now. At once. Reece must hear it from her own lips.

With firm resolution strengthening her, she ran from the room. As she rushed to the hall, she dared to hope
all would soon be well, and her dishonorable covenant with Damon would have no serious consequences. She had erred by not being truthful from the start, but she would make things right.

She must.

And because he cared for her, Reece would believe her, and trust her.

He must.

Reece and Benedict were not in the hall. The solar, then.

She was panting by the time she reached it. Trying to catch her breath, she knocked.

Sir Urien himself opened the door. Reece had a grip on Benedict’s arm, and Gervais stood beside the large table, glaring at her half brother. Even more surprisingly, Piers was there.

But not for long. When he caught sight of her as she stood on the threshold, he marched out of the room, pushing his way past her without a word.

What was he doing here? Why did he ignore her?

Worse and worse, puzzling and confusing and frightening.

Her resolution wavered for a moment, but only a moment. She lifted her chin and entered the room. Sir Urien went to sit behind his table, as stern as a judge in the king’s eyre. Reece let go of Benedict and stood on the opposite side of the table facing them. Anne searched for some hopeful sign, and saw it in his eyes.

Whatever was going on, he was not against her.
And yet…and yet his intense gaze scrutinized her cautiously, as if he doubted.

Dear God, how could he doubt her after last night?

“As you see, we have an unexpected visitor,” Sir Urien began.

She glanced at Benedict, who was trembling and as cowed as a half-drowned dog. He smelled of ale and mud, his clothes mute witness that he had not come willingly, and his whole attitude proclaiming him for the coward he was. Here at Castle Gervais, he did not have mercenaries or Damon to support him. Here he was all alone, to stand or fall on his own merits.

“My lord,” she said, looking at her father-in-law, “he was not unexpected to me, and I deeply regret that I did not inform you of my other half brother’s plan before this.”

Benedict sucked in his breath. “You’d betray us all, would you?” he snarled under his breath. “You did just what you were told.
Everything
you were told to get him to keep you. You got him to—”

“Be quiet,” Anne snapped, her words like the crack of a whip. She had loved her husband because it was her desire, and only that; she would not have Benedict say otherwise, even if he believed it otherwise. “Reece, don’t listen to him. You know the kind of man he is.”

“Yes, I do.”

But what kind of woman are you? What do I really know of you, after all?
The questions tore through Reece’s heart, for there could be no mistaking what
Benedict was implying to one who knew what had transpired last night. She had been told to do anything to get him to keep her. She had been ordered to…

Surely it couldn’t be. Please God, her desire and her affection could not have been feigned, even if they had known one another for such a short time. His feelings were sincere enough, and he had known her just as briefly.

Who do you think you are, boy? Blaidd Morgan?

He had feared what being tied to her half brothers would mean to his future; he had not stopped to think that Anne herself might be cause for worry. But the memory of Anne’s impassioned, heated kisses—the way her kisses had been from the very start—shattered him now.

Suddenly, every moment he had shared with Anne twisted and took a different, terrible shape. What if everything he had done, from the first moment he had spoken to Anne in the corridor, had played into Damon’s hands?

Anne had claimed to find his attention in the corridor unwelcome and impertinent, but she had not left. If she truly had not welcomed his company, why had she not told him so in no uncertain terms and gone on her way?

Damon and Benedict had attacked him with far more violence than his actions warranted, then spread the word of attempted rape. He had thought that was only to justify their attack, but perhaps they had fore-
seen that marriage might be the result, a necessary end to preserve their sister’s honor.

All Anne’s questions on the journey took on a sinister cast. God save him, was it possible she herself had given him a clue to her deceptive abilities when she feigned swooning in the king’s hall? Had he been blinded by temptation and desire and the demands of his flesh?

The pieces of his shattered heart gathered and reassembled into something wounded and broken, hard and sharp as the ends of quarried stone. He faced his wife resolute, inexorable. “Anne, is there any truth to anything this man says?”

Anne’s impassioned eyes shone with sincerity as she fervently clasped her hands—a sincerity that might be feigned by a clever woman, and Anne was no fool.

“Damon did want me to be a spy here,” she said, “to tell him what I could learn of your allies and your fortress. Benedict followed us here because I was to give the information to him, and he was to take it to Damon at court. At first, I was willing to go along with Damon’s demand because of his threats, but then I refused.”

“When did you refuse?” Reece asked, his deep voice as dead as his trust.

“Today.”

After they had made love.

Again the shattered pieces of his heart shivered and
regrouped, stirred by the faint hope that he was wrong to doubt her.

And yet,
what did he really know of her?

At first he had believed himself a fool to follow her and start the boulder of disaster rolling down the slope, threatening to ruin the plans he had for his future. Had he been a greater fool to make love with her, joining them forever as man and wife?

“What happened to change your mind?” Sir Urien asked.

Anne glanced at Reece and saw the doubt in his eyes, his very stance.

He believed Benedict and not her?

If he loved her, would he not trust her? She had erred by not revealing Damon’s plan sooner, but otherwise she was innocent.

Yet if all he felt for her was but lust, the sort of earthy passion that could be destroyed with a rumor or a hint of impropriety…if all he wanted was to share her bed because she was beautiful…

A wail of despair began within her, until her pride forced it back.

“I ask you again, my lady,” Sir Urien said, his voice firm. “What happened to change your mind?”

“Ask your son.”

“I am asking you.”

She tossed her head. If Reece would not intervene, if he would not put a stop to this interrogation, or confess what they had done—for clearly his father and brother were ignorant of that—she would stand alone,
as she had always done. “I decided I would rather live in Castle Gervais than Montbleu. Nor did I wish to marry another man of Damon’s choosing. Your son, my lord, is young and handsome, and I could not be certain Damon’s choice would be.”

She didn’t care if her words wounded Reece. His mistrust had been like a stake through her body.

“A very convenient tale, my lady,” Gervais observed, his glare like a knife flaying her flesh. “But if you were unwilling to do as Damon ordered, why did you say nothing to Reece or my father?”

“Because I thought it was not necessary for you to know. I told Benedict to return to Damon and tell him I would not spy for him.”

“So you say now,” Gervais noted, while her husband still said nothing. He neither spoke nor moved. He might be dead and propped against the table.

“She did,” Benedict affirmed. “I don’t know anything. I’ve done nothing wrong. It isn’t a crime to talk to your—”

“Hold your tongue!” Sir Urien ordered, his tone so imperious Benedict cringed and seemed to shrink before them as he fell silent.

“If you are as innocent as you claim,” Gervais continued, “why did we have to learn of your meeting with Benedict from another?”

That had to be Piers, Anne thought, her despair increasing. That was why he had been in the solar. He must have been in the village that afternoon and seen them together.

And then he had gone to Reece instead of coming to her, the woman who had devoted her life to him.

How could he not come to her first and give her the chance to explain? How could he not give her that opportunity? Did he not trust her, either?

Were men’s affections so shallow, their love so easily overcome? Was this to be the repayment for her love, her passion and her devotion? That her husband and her brother would both so quickly leap to the conclusion that she was untrustworthy and dishonorable?

If so, she had wasted her entire life, and her dreams had truly been delusions.

But who was more at fault? She, because she loved with all her heart?

No, them, because they did not.

Anger, resolution and pride stanched the wound in her soul and gave her strength. Thus strengthened—or hardened—she faced them resolutely.

“As I have already explained, I decided I did not want to be a spy, and that Damon’s threat to take Piers away and insure I never saw him again was meaningless. Piers was here, and you would help me keep him here. Or so I thought.”

Reece straightened and his eyes flared with another emotion, but it was too late. She glared at him, her hopes and dreams and love for him like so much ash at her feet.

“Of course Damon threatened me, through the one person I love. Why else would I ever agree to such a thing? I have my honor, too, Reece, although you
thought little of that when you followed me from the king’s hall, or were so quick to accuse me of base deception. But I thought…hoped…deluded myself into believing that you would support me against my half brother. Obviously, I was wrong.”