Margaret Moore - [Warrior 13] (18 page)

He believed her duplicitous; would he prove
himself
otherwise, and admit that the grounds to destroy their union no longer existed? “How soon can we have our marriage annulled?” she demanded, her words a challenge. Would he admit the grounds no longer existed, or would he grab the chance to be rid of her, even though it meant deceiving his family?

“We are summoned to court at once,” he replied flatly.

So, after all his talk of love and honor, he would choose deception and be rid of her. “If you will all excuse me, I believe this discussion is ended.”

With that, she turned on her heel and marched to the door. Then, her stern resolution faltered, for the one thing that had been the center of her life could not be easily forgotten or denied. She halted at the door and turned back, looking only at Sir Urien. “And Piers?”

Sir Urien’s expression was as unreadable as his son’s. “If he wishes to stay, he may. But it shall be as you choose.”

“No, my lord,” she replied as she opened the door. “He will stay because he has already chosen.”

Numb, Reece stared at the door after Anne slammed it shut. Only this morning, his future had been bright
as the sun on a summer’s day; now it was as dark and bleak as midnight in the northern mountains.

Daggers of self-doubt ripped at him. After Benedict’s words and her own confession, how could he be sure that anything she had ever said or done was true, even to loving him in return?

Especially loving him.

The sullen Benedict shifted, drawing Reece’s attention and breaking the tense silence. “You heard her. I never did anything wrong. She never told me anything.”

“Innocent of helping Damon you may ultimately be,” Gervais said, “but there is the matter of the dead woman found in an inn on the way here.”

Benedict’s jaw dropped, then his mouth snapped shut. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That will be for the court to decide, Delasaine,” Gervais replied. “Somebody who looked a lot like you was seen riding from the inn before her body was found, and you must know this is not the first time such an accusation has been muttered about you. We shall take you back to that shire, where you can await the king’s justice. Now come.”

“But I am innocent,” he protested. With a look of panic, he turned to Reece. “We are related by marriage now, Fitzroy. You must help me!”

Disgust and anger overwhelmed Reece’s dismay. “Yes, I am your brother-in-law, for the present. Because I am, I will see that you have counsel before
the court, but if you are guilty, you will have to pay the penalty of law.”

Benedict stared at him, wide-eyed with disbelief and fear. Then, with a roar, he dove at Gervais, who was closest to the door, knocking him down.

As his father hurried to Gervais, Reece tackled Benedict before he could get to the door, bringing him down as a hound does a stag. Straddling the struggling man, full of rage over what the Delasaines had done to him and to Anne, knowing that they had robbed him of his chance for true happiness with her, Reece raised his hand, ready to strike.

Benedict’s eyes filled with tears and, with a cry like a terrified child, he threw his arms over his flushed face to ward off the blow.

Panting hard, Reece slowly lowered his fist. “I will be content to let the king’s justice deal with you, Benedict Delasaine, and may God have mercy on you despite all that you have done.”

With that, he climbed off the fallen man and walked to the farthest corner of the solar, as if the man’s very breath could taint him.

His sword drawn, Gervais went to Benedict and hauled him to his feet. “Come with me, and don’t try anything. Reece might not be willing to hurt you, but I am. In fact, I’d welcome the chance.”

As Gervais pulled him from the room, Sir Urien went to stand beside his son. “What do you want us to do?” he asked after a moment.

“Take him to London for judgment.”

“I meant about Anne.”

Reece turned to his father, no longer a boy facing his father, but as one man to another. “We return to court, as the king commands.”

Sir Urien put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Reece. Let me help—”

“No,” Reece said firmly. “She is my wife, and this is for me to deal with.”

Unsure what he was going to do, Reece left the solar. He shook his head to clear it as he continued through the hall and out into courtyard, not really caring where he went until he reached the cool, quiet little chapel that would be deserted this time of day. He ducked inside and leaned back against the closed door, inhaling the familiar scent of incense and candle wax.

He slowly slid down until he was sitting on the frigid flagstones.

Then he wrapped his arms about his knees and hid his face.
Oh, God,
he silently cried, the words a cross between a prayer and a plea.
What am I going to do?

The memory of making love with Anne arose. Had she been lying to him when she gave herself to him in that wondrous intimacy?

Although he had felt not an inkling of a doubt of the sincerity of her emotions last night, all his past insecurities made him wonder if he had seen merely his own love mirrored back, because he wished it so.

Yet as he sat, alone and despairing, hope and love refused to die. Deep in the core of his heart, his love
for her still lived and urged him to believe her version of events.

He remembered her as she faced them in the solar just a short time ago—determined, resolute, alone.

Alone.
Aye, alone, one woman bravely facing three knights who stood accusing her of a terrible crime. She was as alone as she had been when Damon had threatened her back at court and ordered her to do his bidding. What else could she do but agree, or lose her brother? Then she did not love her husband, or he her. Then it was different.

She had always been alone, in many ways. And if he had been alone all his life, making decisions with no help, no succor, might he not be loath to ask for assistance, or tell anyone his troubles? Might he not come to believe he must and would deal with those troubles on his own?

Oh, sweet Jesu, what had he done?

S
uddenly certain of what he must do, Reece rose and threw open the door to the chapel. He ran across the courtyard and tore through the hall, ignoring his mother, his father, Gervais, Lisette, Donald, Seldon and everyone else assembled there once a quick survey told him Anne was not.

He took the steps to their chamber two at a time and grabbed the latch. When he pushed down, he discovered the door was locked.

He pounded on the oaken door so hard it rattled. “Anne! Anne! I must speak with you! Anne, please!”

For a long moment, as he held his breath and listened, he feared she wasn’t going to answer.

Then the door flew open. Anne stood there, as still and cold and hard as a granite statue in the dead of winter. “Go away, Reece,” she said, her voice even colder. “You have nothing to say that I wish to hear.”

“But Anne—”

“No!” she cried, glaring at him, all the cold sud
denly turned to heat, her whole body quivering with the rage of years of being treated as if she were unimportant or unworthy heating her blood. “You have already shown me what you think of me! There is nothing you can say to make me forget that as I tried to explain what I had done, you would not believe me.”

“Anne, please, I love you—”

“Love!” she cried, stepping back as if the word had been a blow. “Is it love that is so quick to render harsh judgment? Is it love that makes you listen to a man you know to be a liar before your own wife? I thought that you were different, that you saw me as more than a body to take to your bed. I thought there was something better, stronger, truer, between us. But I know now I was wrong. I was a fool to think you loved me.”

“But I did! I do! I was shocked and—”

“And so, despite this love you profess, in spite of what we shared last night, you leapt to the conclusion that I would still betray you.” Her eyes seemed to fairly shoot with flames of indignation and anger. “If that is your idea of love, I do not want it! I do not want to be your wife!”

With that, she grabbed the door and threw it shut.

Anne would not speak to Reece during the whole of the journey back to court, either. Even Esmerelda seemed to feel the tension, barely lifting her feet as they traveled along the muddy road, for the fine au
tumn weather had given way to a gray winter’s chilling rain.

But Anne had meant what she said, and she believed it still: if Reece truly loved her, he would not have been so quick to assume the worst of her. He was no different from any other man, and she had been a fool to believe otherwise.

She tried not to remember taking solemn leave of Piers. What she had always feared had come to pass. Piers was being taken from her, and while he would be better off with Sir Urien, her heart had been more broken all the same.

It had been difficult to leave Lisette, too. When she had bluntly told her maid that the marriage to Sir Reece was to be annulled, Lisette had stared in shock at first, then burst into tears and begged to stay in Bridgeford Wells. She loved Donald and wanted to be with him. He had even asked her to be his wife.

Anne had been surprised, for Donald was a knight and Lisette but a serving maid, but Lisette’s impassioned words quickly told her that she had heard aright. Donald was going to marry a maidservant because, Lisette explained, he didn’t care what people thought of him. He never had—unlike Reece.

Anne had assured Lisette that she could stay if she wanted, and although she had not said so to Lisette, she thought it would be some small comfort to have at least one of them happy.

Benedict had been taken away to face the charge of murdering the tavern wench, that grim cortege headed
by Sir Gervais. Lady Fritha had stayed behind at Bridgeford Wells.

That leave-taking had been difficult, too. Lady Fritha had been sympathetic, and yet her first care must be to her son, so she kept a certain cool distance. Anne understood why, but it was painful nonetheless.

Sir Urien had come with them, his stern presence adding to the gloomy atmosphere. As for Reece, she utterly and completely ignored him, even when they arrived at court at last. Damon came to her chamber nearly as soon as she had been escorted there by the queen’s servants, but she refused to see him, too. She would be back under his control soon enough; until then, she would not speak with him or explain anything. Let him find out what had happened to Benedict on his own. All her energy must be concentrated on getting through the audience with the king, when Reece would ask for the annulment.

When they would both stand before the king and lie.

Soon enough, the summons came. She refused to walk into the hall with her husband and his father. She was alone in the world, and she would be alone there, too. She gave them time to get there first before she slowly made her way to the great hall.

As before, the crowd parted for her. She ignored the whispers and curious stares, and kept her gaze focused on the king and queen seated on their thrones. They were as richly dressed as always, and Eleanor’s eyes gleamed with a crude nosiness that turned Anne’s
stomach. This was her life on display, her future to be decided, and Eleanor looked like a scullery maid overhearing a choice bit of gossip.

His father to his right, Reece stood in front of the throne, watching her approach. She steeled herself to feel nothing, to notice nothing—not how magnificent he looked in the king’s hall and as if he belonged there, not the hungry look in his eyes or the tension in his shoulders. She would not look at him at all, if she could help it.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Damon who, not surprisingly, looked far from pleased to see her there. She would not glance his way again.

The Fitzroys’ Welsh friends stood on the other side of the throne. She paid no heed to them, either, as she came to a halt and made her obeisance to the king and his queen.

“Welcome back to my court, Lady Anne,” the king began. “How fare you, my lady? Feeling faint? Should we adjourn to my solar?”

She flushed hotly but held her head high. “If you wish, sire.”

“No, I do not wish to meet in private this time,” Henry replied, surprising her with his stern manner as much as his words. “I wish to have this matter settled once and for all, and I will do so in public, where there is less chance for rumor and gossip to twist the truth.”

If it had to be in public, there was nothing she could do.

Henry turned and addressed Reece. “I have heard that you have come to ask my permission for something.”

Reece stepped forward. “Yes, sire. That is why my brother Gervais sought this audience.”

“Your brother informs me you wish to have your marriage annulled.”

Before Reece could answer and follow through with what he had planned all along despite the intimacy they had shared, Damon pushed his way forward. “That’s impossible!”

A sharp look from the king brought Damon to a halt a few feet from the dais.

“I beg your pardon, sire,” Damon declared, “but this is outrageous! An annulment? Ridiculous! Why, you yourself ordered their marriage and—”

“I know full well what I ordered,” the king interrupted.

“On what grounds, sire?” Damon demanded, glaring at Reece.

“Nonconsummation,” Henry supplied.

A murmur of scandalized surprise rose from the crowd, but Anne still held her head high. She was innocent in all of this and she would not act guilty or ashamed.

Not now, and not ever.

“That’s impossible!” Damon repeated.

Reece raised a brow and quietly inquired, “How do you know it is impossible? You have been here at court.”

Anne waited with bated breath for Reece to announce to the whole court that he had never made love to her.

To destroy their marriage.

It was what she wanted, too.

Wasn’t it?

It was as she had expected.

Wasn’t it?

It was what she had demanded of him. What she still believed must be.

Wasn’t it?

The king addressed Anne. “Well, my lady, is there, in fact, a basis for an annulment?”

Yes, but not the one he meant.
The annulment should be because Reece did not truly love her and did not trust her. To say yes for any other reason would be to lie to the king, her sovereign. To agree to the lie that they had not made love would be to dishonor herself and make herself the liar Reece believed her to be.

Reece turned toward her, no doubt waiting for her to tell the falsehood that would separate them forever, just as he had originally planned.

Then, there came to his face a look of such regret and longing she could scarcely believe the evidence of her eyes, and in plain view of the whole court of King Henry, Sir Reece Fitzroy went down on his knee before her and bowed his head in humble contrition.

“Anne,” he began in a loud, steady voice that all the court could hear, “I am a proud, stubborn, pig-
headed fool. I should have realized at once that all your experience has taught you to be secretive for your own protection. That for most of your life you have had no one to rely on except yourself. That you learned to keep truths hidden if that would prevent conflict. When you did not tell me about Benedict, you were only trying to protect me from knowledge that you believed would do no harm.

“And how did I repay you for that protection? I showed you that love does not mean trust or faith or gratitude. I acted as if love is easily cast aside at the first hint of trouble.”

He reached out and took her hands in his, then looked up into her incredulous face with pleading eyes. “I should have listened to you and trusted you. I should have understood how difficult it was for you, and how love for a brother could make even a person as strong as you go against the dictates of honor when it came to protecting him.

“So now I would have all here for my witnesses. I love you with all my heart, Anne. I do not want an annulment. I want to be your husband for the rest of my life.”

Sir Urien stepped forward.

Reece glanced at him sharply. “Father, I understand your concerns, but they are not nearly so important to me as regaining Anne’s trust and, I hope, her love.”

Then Reece forgot his father, the king, and the court, all his attention focused on the woman he loved, the woman
he
had betrayed with his mistrust, and
without whom his life would be incomplete. “Anne,” he pleaded softly, “can you forgive me? Can we begin again?”

“But you do not trust me…”

“I did not trust my own heart. I did not have faith in my own love. And I was wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong. I would put my life in your hands without a second thought, and I promise I will never doubt you again.”

“What of my family and your worthy ambition?”

“I will either succeed with you by my side, or fail and have you to comfort me—I hope.”

As Anne looked into his pleading eyes, all the love she had been trying to deny after the horrible confrontation at Castle Gervais burst free, unconstrained, and happiness filled her. Then, like the first rays of sunlight after a black night of despair, Anne’s eyes sparkled with new and vibrant life, and her lips curved up in a glorious smile. “After such eloquence, how can I deny you a second chance?”

Reece gathered her into his arms and his mouth found hers. Anne returned his kiss with all the passion she had ever felt, and as their kiss deepened, another murmur went up from the court, as if all the ladies present exhaled as one.

“I have loved you from the first,” she whispered, “and despite all that I said and all my anguish, I could not stop.”

King Henry cleared his throat, reminding them that
they were not alone. “Well, it seems this problem has found its own solution.”

“Sire, a moment,” Gervais said.

He came up to Reece, who reluctantly stopped kissing Anne but kept his arms around her.

“Are you mad, Reece?” he demanded in a low voice.

“I am in love.” With a little smile of apology, he said, “I am sorry for your wasted time and effort, but we can’t annul the marriage anyway. It’s too late.”

“What?”

“You heard me. It’s too late. The marriage was consummated before we left home, because I love her.”

There were more sighs, and some muffled laughter, as well as murmurs of approval from several of the male courtiers.

Gervais spun on his heel. “Father, how could he—!”

“The usual way, I expect,” Sir Urien Fitzroy calmly interrupted. “Leave it, Gervais. They are in love, and they are husband and wife.”

He raised his voice and addressed the brooding Damon Delasaine whom Reece had forgotten. “She is under our protection now, so you approach her at your peril. Aye, and Piers, too, who has the makings of a much better knight than you will ever be.”

Reece let go of Anne and staunchly faced the king. “Sire, I would have a word with you, if I may. Or rather, a few. Of warning.”

“Reece—”

“No, Father. Damon is my brother-in-law. Let me deal with this.”

“Sire,” Damon protested, fear gleaming in his dark eyes, “as you know, there is bad blood between Reece Fitzroy and my family—”

“Between you and Benedict and my family,” Reece clarified, his hand finding Anne’s, his warm touch thrilling as always, if not more so now.

Damon scowled at them, then smiled at the king. “This man speaks with malicious intent to do me harm in any way he can.”

“Are you questioning my honesty and my honor?” Reece demanded. “Do you think I will tell lies about you? Or is it that the truth will damn you?”

“Eleanor,” Damon cried, turning to the queen, “are you going to let him insult your relative?”

The queen’s eyes glittered like hard little stones. “I think that if you are a wise man, Sir Damon, you will take yourself home at once and come rarely, if ever, to this court. Then Sir Reece will not be forced to defend his honor in a fair competition, which my royal husband may decide is the best way to decide who is in the right. In fact, I think he most certainly would.”

Reece put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I am willing to meet Damon on the field of combat, my liege, since I have my own score to settle with him.”