Margaret Moore - [Warrior 13] (19 page)

“I will not taint my sword with the blood of a bastard’s son!” Damon snarled.

“I fear you overestimate your skill in many
things,” Henry said. “It is rather more likely that Reece’s sword would be tainted with yours. A wise man, Damon, ought to know when to quit the field. You, alas, are not a wise man, as so many of my loyal subjects have been anxious to point out.”

“Sire, I—”

Henry rose in fierce, indignant majesty. “We also understand your brother is about to face trial for a most heinous murder. You are both a disgrace to your family, this court and your country. I strip you of your title and Montbleu.” Henry signaled to his guards. “Take him to join his brother in the Tower.”

Damon fell to his knees sobbing and held out his hands to Anne. “Anne, help me! Don’t let them do this! I took care of you!”

Anne looked down at him. Completely humbled, groveling at her feet, he was more terrified than she had ever been at his hands, and for the first time in her life, she pitied him. She looked to the king. “Sire, perhaps banishment—?”

Henry frowned with irritation as the guards hauled Damon to his feet. “The courts will decide his fate,” he declared with absolute finality, and Anne knew there was nothing more she could do for him.

Damon sobbed and pleaded for mercy and forgiveness as the guards dragged him away past the solemn courtiers. The sounds of his cries disappearing in the distance made her want to weep, in spite of all that he had done.

“As for Montbleu, my lady,” the king said, break
ing the hushed silence, “I give that to your brother, Piers.”

Anne blinked back her tears and made a tremulous smile of thanks, happy for Piers’s sake.

“I trust he will rule it better than his half brothers.”

“He will, sire. I promise you, he will.”

“Well, I daresay he could hardly do worse,” Henry muttered. His expression remained stern, but the expression in his eyes lightened. “Now I trust we shall have no more complaints from you, Lady Anne, or your husband, or your younger brother?”

“You shall have none from me, sire,” she assured him as Reece put his arm around her and held her close.

“Or from me, Your Majesty,” he seconded. “Where my brother-in-law is concerned, however, I regret I can make no promises. I have learned the folly of making assumptions about people.”

Henry rolled his eyes, but there was merriment in his tone when he spoke. “God save me from Piers Delasaine, then, if he is anything like his sister. I don’t think I’ve ever met such a bold—”

Eleanor cleared her throat, and the king fell silent. Then he blushed like a little boy about to be scolded as his wife smiled blandly at Reece. “Sir Reece, I suggest you take your lady wife somewhere private and ask her again for forgiveness.” She smiled as if nothing of serious import had just transpired. “Your very charming apology should serve as an inspiration to all young men. Now you and your family have our
leave to go, so that the courtiers can gossip with more freedom. Do you not agree, Henry?”

Eleanor laid her hand lightly on the king’s arm and leaned close, brushing her breasts against him. She whispered something in his ear that made the tips of his ears redden.

“Yes, of course, they may go,” he said, looking at her with an expression Anne recognized. Politically, a king in love with his wife might not be the best of things, but Henry was not a baby or a child. He was a grown man, and had to take responsibility for his own choices, whether Eleanor expressed an opinion or not.

However, the state of the king’s marriage was far less important to her at that moment than her own, so when Reece took her arm to escort her from the hall, she went eagerly and he had to ask her to slow down. “Or what will they think, my lady?” he whispered.

“I do not care,” she replied, marching briskly past a group of gaping courtiers.

Unfortunately, they could not be alone just yet, for Gervais came hot on their heels. “You might have told a body!” he declared, catching up to them.

Anne halted, partly to catch her breath, and so did Reece.

“There will be plenty of time to discuss what has happened,” Sir Urien declared as he, too, joined them in the hall, the Welshmen right behind. “Let Reece and Anne go and make—” He fell silent.

Then, to Anne’s delight, the stern, formidable Sir
Urien blushed like a boy. “Make up,” he finished in an embarrassed mutter.

“Aye, Gervais, don’t keep them two standing in the corridor all day,” Blaidd said with a good-natured smile and a very lascivious wink.

“Not Welsh, are they?” Kynan remarked in an aside to his brother.

“My son has some dignity,” Sir Urien retorted with a stern majesty that would have intimidated Anne before, but did no longer.

“Poor sod.” Blaidd sighed, his eyes twinkling.

With a laugh, Reece swept Anne up into his arms. “I’ll leave you all discussing my dignity or lack thereof, for you heard the queen. I must apologize some more to my wife.”

“Interesting way to put it,” Anne observed in an amused yet sultry voice as she wrapped her arms about her husband’s neck.

“I intend to be very thorough about it,” Reece vowed as he carried her away. “Just as I will love you for the rest of my life.”

“And I, you, my husband,” Anne whispered as she nestled in his arms, safe and free and beloved at last.