Margaret Moore - [Warrior 13] (3 page)

Anne started when she heard the key in the lock of her bedchamber door, then steeled herself as Damon sauntered inside. She had been right not to expect Lisette, a maidservant from the queen’s household assigned to her upon their arrival, Damon being too parsimonious to bring any servants from Montbleu. In truth, however, she preferred the vivacious, merry Lisette to the dour, ancient maidservant who cared for her at home.

Her half brother twirled a heavy iron key around his finger as he surveyed the chamber. This room was certainly much finer than the small bedchamber she had at home, and better furnished. In addition to the wide bed with feather tick, there was a dressing table and stool, a chair and bright tapestries on the walls. The coverlet on the bed was silk, and the candles on the table were made of beeswax. In the corner stood the large chest containing the new garments Damon had purchased for her before they came here, fine
feathers to entrap a rich husband, which was why he had been so uncharacteristically generous.

“Hungry?” Damon asked as he sat in the chair, carelessly crushing a cushion. Still spinning the key around his finger, he threw one leg over the arm and rested his elbow on the other.

Hiding her relief, she kept her expression bland. “I assume from your casual manner that you did not kill Sir Reece, or surely you would be busily plotting your defense at the king’s court.”

Damon smiled his evil little smile. “Of course he did not die. I struck to wound, not to kill.”

Damon no more had the finesse or skill to strike in such a calculated way than she did, but she hid her skepticism from him, along with her other emotions.

“Of course you are hungry,” he answered for her as he tucked the key into the wide leather belt around his waist. “But you will have no food tonight, either. That will teach you to talk to an unworthy young man and interfere in his just punishment.”

Even though righteous indignation at his vicious attack on Sir Reece, as well as her subsequent imprisonment, burned inside her, Anne regarded her half brother with a bland expression and stoic silence. He was an arrogant, ambitious fool who had no idea of the magnitude of the possible repercussions from his actions last night, results that had also haunted her thoughts and kept her from sleeping. He couldn’t have, or he wouldn’t be so smug.

She watched him steadily, and fought to keep the
full force of her ire from her voice. “For a man who has been calculating my worth for so long, you seem blind to the implications of your attack upon Sir Reece. For one knight to attack another in such a way, and in the king’s own castle, bespeaks extreme provocation. So what will the courtiers believe actually transpired between Sir Reece and me? What could constitute such provocation? Not simply talk. They will think he was doing considerably more—and what, then, will happen to my value as a maiden bride?”

Damon didn’t look at all upset. “We were completely justified based on the shocking sight of Fitzroy insolently accosting you in the corridor. But have no fear, Anne. I made you quite the martyr. Indeed, you should be pleased and grateful for all that I have said in your defense.”

She could well imagine the lies he would spread, falsehoods that would justify what they had done, and no doubt portray her as a helpless victim. “I am to be grateful that you have portrayed me as the meek little lamb in the clutches of the ravening wolf?”

“Clever girl.”

Yet he was not so clever. “Then what explanation have you given for punishing me?” she asked as she crossed her arms over her chest, as if she could keep her temper in check that way. “I should know it, should I not? Or do you intend to keep me imprisoned until it is time to go back to Montbleu?”

Damon’s smile grew and his eyes gleamed with evil mischief. “I have told everyone that you are so upset
by Sir Reece’s unwelcome attentions, you have taken to your bed.”

He was, regrettably, a very good liar and she didn’t doubt that most people would believe that explanation.

Nevertheless, she dared to raise a skeptical brow. “With no servants to tend to me?”

“No, for you see, you are a woman of such delicate sensibilities, you cannot bear to be seen by anyone after what happened last night, although you have done nothing wrong. You will speak only to me, and I am doing my best to persuade you to come out. Why, you are even too distraught to eat. I assure you, the women of the court, and all the men save Fitzroy’s brothers and those Welsh friends of his, are most sympathetic.”

Damon was cruel, he was greedy, he was a bully, but she could not deny this explanation would probably sound plausible to those who did not know them. “We did nothing wrong, Damon,” she repeated.

“Fasting is good for the soul.”

And you never fast because you have no soul.

Damon put both feet on the ground and his hands on his knees. He leaned forward, watching her intently. “What did that bastard’s son say to you?”

“He only wanted to know my name. He knows it well enough now.”

Damon snorted, his good humor apparently restored, as he slumped back in the chair. “I daresay he does, and I daresay he won’t forget it.” He gave her a sly, knowing look. “Piers is most upset.”

At the mention of her beloved brother’s name, she stiffened.

Damon and Benedict were the children of their father’s first wife. Anne and Piers were born of his second, who had died giving Piers life when Anne was seven years old. Since then, Anne had stood in a mother’s place for him, and her love for Piers was as intense as any mother’s could be.

“I would have preferred to tell him what happened myself,” she said, trying not to let Damon see how upset she was.

“I could not allow that,” Damon said, his smile thin and smugly satisfied.

No, he would want to paint his own picture and put his despicable actions in an honorable light.

It was bad enough to imagine the rumors and gossip flying about the court; she could not bear to think of Piers being fed lies. “What exactly did you tell him?”

“The truth—that our family honor was sullied and we punished the man responsible.”

“And me? What did you say of my part in it?”

“I said the same to him as I have said to everyone, that Sir Reece insolently accosted you. I told him, as I did all the other nobles, that you were quite innocently set upon.”

Damon’s expression darkened. “Do not even think of contradicting a word of what I have said to anybody when I let you out tomorrow—not even Piers—or you know what I shall do.”

Yes, she did know. He had made the same threat
for years, ever since she had been old enough to marry off, or sent to a convent. If she did not do as he said, he would see to it that she never saw Piers again.

“Very well, Damon,” she replied, her loathing increasing as it did every time he threatened her.

Steepling his fingers, Damon smiled. “You have not asked how we fared in the tournament.”

“I do not have to.” She could tell by the look of blatant triumph on his face. “You are obviously un-injured, so I assume you were victorious.”

“I won a fine ransom that amounts to nearly what we spent on you.”

Damon acted as if she had personally bankrupted the family, but considering how little they had spent on her before deciding it was time to display her at court, she did not think the sum could be so very great.

Damon slapped his hands upon the arms of the chair and heaved himself to his feet. “Tomorrow you may rejoin the court. I would not be so cruel as to prevent you from seeing your beloved Piers on the day of his first melee.”

Her heart lifted. Although she had done her best to hide her fears from the rest of her family, she was worried about Piers’s first tournament, when he would be competing with other knights’ squires. Damon and Benedict had taught him what they knew, but they were not good teachers and their lessons were faulty. They depended upon brute strength to win, not wisdom or skill. She dreaded that Piers, thinner and less muscular than they, would discover the hard way that
rushing in and striking as often as possible was not necessarily a winning method.

Damon reached out and grabbed her chin, squeezing it hard enough that it brought tears of pain to her eyes. “Make sure you smile at Lord Renfrew when next you see him, Anne. He is most concerned for your welfare and impressed by your maidenly dismay.” Damon’s expression hardened. “And remember this. You agree with everything we say about what happened last night, or you’ll regret it, just as Reece Fitzroy does.”

At the reminder of the cowardly way they had set upon Sir Reece, her temper flared once more.

“You’re bruising the merchandise, Damon,” she muttered despite the pressure of his hand.

He laughed as he let her go. “Merchandise. I like that,” he remarked as he sauntered toward the door.

While she rubbed her aching jaw, he paused and looked back at her over his shoulder. “A commodity to be sold or traded—that’s exactly what you are, and all you’re good for. Never forget that, Anne, no matter how many young fools talk to you.”

“O
h, la, my lady!” Lisette cried as she tied the lacing at the back of Anne’s bodice the next morning. “You have been the talk of the court.”

Rejuvenated by the bread, cheese and ale Lisette had brought from the kitchen—“For your brother says you are still too distraught to attend mass and break the fast in the hall, my lady!”—Anne didn’t bother to subdue a sigh. She would be the object of curiosity and speculation, and it was tempting to stay in her bedchamber of her own volition, except that for once Damon had kept his word and she wanted to be in the hall waiting for Piers when the squires’ melee was over. She could not watch the actual tournament, for that was considered most improper for ladies. The sight of two groups of armed combatants clashing in battle, even with blunted weapons, was thought to be too upsetting for their delicate sensibilities.

“There is no need for sorrow, my lady,” Lisette said, sympathy in her cheerful voice as she adjusted
the shoulders of Anne’s emerald-green overtunic. The gown beneath was a darker green, trimmed with gold embroidery. “No one blames you for what happened that night.”

Anne went over to the dressing table and sat upon the stool so that Lisette could arrange her hair. She picked up her hand mirror, an expensive item that Damon had complained about but purchased anyway. She was sure he had done that only to impress the maidservant, who was sure to gossip with other ladies’ servants, who would tell their mistresses. He wanted all the court to believe they were wealthier than they actually were.

Anne ostensibly examined her eyes, but she was really looking at Lisette, to gauge her reactions better. “What do they say of Sir Reece’s part in it?”

The maid flushed as she reached for the comb made of ivory. “I do not know what they think.”

Anne didn’t believe that for a moment. “It will not upset me if you speak of him, Lisette.”

Indeed, she felt nearly desperate to learn more about the only man who had ever come to her defense. Of course, he had been wrong to approach her, but she had forgiven him for that almost at once.

Lisette’s hazel eyes got back their familiar sparkle. “They are saying it must be a misunderstanding, my lady, for he is an honorable man. But he is young and so perhaps…” Lisette hesitated a moment, obviously searching for the appropriate word. “He was over-
eager, carried away by desire. There is no denying your beauty, my lady.”

“Does this often happen with Sir Reece? Has he been ‘carried away’ before?”

Lisette shook her head vigorously. “Oh, no, my lady. That is why all the other ladies’ tongues are moving so quickly. Never before. Yet he is so handsome, so strong, so silent, so mysterious…there is probably not a one of the unmarried ladies who do not wish he had followed her instead.” She smiled slyly. “I think more than one married lady wishes he had, too.”

Strong, silent and mysterious—exactly the words to describe him. He was not anxious to boast or brag of his accomplishments, or spout fulsome compliments on her looks. Yet those eyes of his, so serious, so intense…no man had ever made her feel so beautiful or desirable, and all before he had said a single word. “As long as they did not have relatives quick to anger. What do they say about what my half brothers did?”

Lisette frowned. “That they, too, were impetuous, and overzealous in their protection of their sister.”

Anne could barely keep the scowl from her face.

Lisette’s slender fingers moved swiftly and with great skill as she braided Anne’s bountiful blond hair. “They are all young men of spirit, my lady. What can one do but excuse them?”

Anne was in no humor to excuse Damon and Benedict, but she had no wish to discuss them more. “Sir
Reece’s name is vaguely familiar, yet I cannot remember how I may have heard it.”

“His father is Sir Urien Fitzroy, famous for training knights,” Lisette replied. “He has taught many of the nobility’s sons, so of course Sir Reece and his brothers are very welcome at court.”

“Oh, yes.” Those two young men who resembled him must, she reasoned, be those brothers.

Anne thought of all that Damon had said when he confronted Sir Reece. “Sir Urien was not nobly born himself, was he?”

Lisette shook her head vigorously as she reached for a ribbon to hold the braids in place over Anne’s ears. “He is a bastard, they say—but so was William the Conquerer.”

“I noticed that Sir Reece was with some other young men last night, in addition to his brothers. Were they trained by his father, too?”

Lisette giggled and blushed. “
Oui.
Those are the Morgans, from Wales. Their father is a great friend of Sir Urien, and so yes, they trained with him. They are very amusing and
very
charming, the oldest one in particular. Blaidd is his name. He told me it means
wolf
in Welsh, but he may only have been teasing me. Those eyes he has, so merry and yet—”

A loud knock sounded on the door, making both the women jump.

Maybe Piers was hurt and this was a summons to the tournament field!

Anne rushed to the door and threw it open to find
a male servant with iron-gray hair and wearing a rust-colored woolen tunic standing on the threshold. “Yes?” she demanded breathlessly.

“My lady, you are to come with me, if you please.”

“Why?”

He blinked. “I have no idea, my lady. The king tells me to bring you to the hall, so I bring you to the hall.”

“It’s not my brother?”

The man was too well trained to show much of his confusion. “No, my lady.”

Lisette tugged at the back of her gown. “The king! The hall! Oh, la, my lady, we must finish your
toilette!
”

The man frowned a little as Anne let herself be pulled back to the dressing table.

“King Henry said
at once,
” he noted.

“
Mon Dieu,
she cannot go with her hair in the nest of a rat!” Lisette exclaimed, grabbing the silken scarf that matched the green of Anne’s gown.

Anne rose. “I should not keep the king waiting. Never mind the scarf, Lisette.”

Lisette stared at Anne as if she had decided to approach the king wearing filthy, soiled rags, then began to urge her mistress to adjust her sleeves, wear the scarf and pinch her cheeks to give them color for she was too pale by far.

Her stomach a knot of dread, Anne ignored her maid’s exclamations. She had no desire to emphasize
her cursed beauty and she truly believed it would be folly to keep the king waiting.

As for what Henry wanted, that wasn’t so hard to guess: he must have heard about what had happened with Sir Reece.

If only her brutal half brothers had let Sir Reece go with a warning! If only she had fled the moment Sir Reece spoke to her. If only he had stayed behind in the hall.

She told herself it would have been worse if the servant had brought the message she had feared—that Piers was hurt. Nevertheless, she couldn’t calm the nervous flutter in her stomach, or quell her dread as the servant led her down the stairs and out into the courtyard.

It looked like rain, she vaguely noted, the scent fresh upon the wind and blessedly welcome after the stuffier confines of her chamber. A breeze tugged at her gown as if urging her to stay where she was.

A nice notion, and she would have preferred that course of action, but as the king summoned, so she must obey.

Soon enough they were at the entrance to the hall. The servant shoved open the ornately carved oaken doors and gestured for her to go in.

She hesitated on the threshold as the sound of hushed voices, some curious, some censorious, many wondering, washed over her like waves of water. The torches had been kindled, although it was still day, to light the hall that otherwise would be as dim as a
cathedral. They enabled her to see the assembled crowd, which parted like the Red Sea before Moses when they realized she was there. The whole court was assembled and waiting, save for the squires who must still be on the field.

Every feeling in her heart urged her to flee, save one—pride. Pride demanded that she accept her half brothers’ taunts and punishments with silent endurance. Pride told her she must never do anything to shame Piers, or herself. Pride ordered her to act as if nothing at all were amiss and she was summoned into the king’s presence every day.

Mustering all the dignity she could, yet with her face burning because of the lie Damon had told and expected her to repeat, she began to walk forward. A smile of relief and joy leapt to her lips when she saw Sir Reece, until she saw the terrible bruise on his cheek and his bloodred eye and felt his searching scrutiny. Had he heard Damon’s version of events? Did he believe she was a willing participant in the lies Damon had told? She wished she could take him aside and explain!

She tore her gaze away and spotted Damon and Benedict standing on the queen’s left. Sir Reece and his friends were on the king’s right.

The hall was not that large, considering it was in the king’s castle, and yet the journey from the door to the king enthroned on the dais at the opposite end, his queen beside him, seemed miles long.

At last she reached the dais. She made her obeisance to the king and waited for him to speak.

Henry tilted his head to regard her. He appeared thoughtful and cunning, although the latter might be merely the effect of his drooping eyelid. As always, he was sumptuously attired, wearing a knee-length tunic of ivory samite, the sleeves slit to reveal a fine linen shirt. His breeches were faun colored, and his boots were gilded in a swirling pattern, as was his belt. His queen was likewise richly dressed, in a gown of beautiful sky blue damask.

“My lady,” the king began, sounding very majestic despite his youth, “a most disturbing situation has been brought to my attention.”

Shifting a little forward on the carved and cushioned wooden throne, he gestured at Sir Reece, who took a step toward her. “A very serious charge has been leveled against this young man, and we would have the truth of it.”

“Sire, I have told you the truth,” Damon declared, likewise stepping closer. However, he didn’t look at the king, whom he supposedly addressed. He spoke to Eleanor, their very distant relative. “This man attacked her.”

Scandalized whispers filled the hall and an angry murmur rose up from Sir Reece’s companions. The man himself stayed silent, his expression as enigmatic as she hoped hers was.

“So you have said, Sir Damon,” Henry replied,
sliding him an unexpectedly suspicious glance, as if he was not automatically disposed to believe him.

If Henry suspected that Damon was lying about what had happened, would she not be wiser to stick to the truth, as every honorable instinct in her urged? Should she not cast her lot with Henry and Sir Reece rather than Eleanor and her half brothers?

But what of Damon’s threat? He had complete control over Piers’s life, too, so he could easily ensure that she never saw her beloved brother again.

“Sir Reece has denied the accusation,” the king continued. “So we have a stalemate. Therefore, it is time to hear Lady Anne’s version of events.”

“My liege, she is too upset to speak about what happened,” Damon smoothly lied to his king. “She is but a frail woman, after all.”

The
frail woman
felt the power of righteous indignation strengthen her resolve. He might lie to his sovereign lord, but she would not.

Yet because of Damon’s power over her and Piers, she must tread carefully. She dare not call him a liar in so public a place or indeed, at all. She must excuse him by saying that he was hotheaded and overly upset by an incident that would best be forgotten.

The words would be hard to say, but to stay near Piers, she would get them out somehow.

Yet the thought of doing so before the court, and especially in front of Sir Reece, increased her rancor to an unbearable degree. She must try to get a more private audience with the king.

An idea came to her and she acted upon it immediately. Damon had said she was weak. Right now, she would take advantage of that.

Anne slowly and gracefully pretended to swoon.

Fortunately, someone caught her by the shoulders and gently lowered her to the ground, sparing her the indignity of actually falling. She opened her eyes a crack to see Sir Reece’s handsome, bruised face looming above her, his firm lips and strong chin close enough to touch and an expression of concern wrinkling his brow.

Her breathing quickened, and she gave in to temptation. She allowed herself to be held safely in his powerful arms.

But that did not seem enough. She wanted to reach up and caress his cheek, to feel that roughness beneath her open palm. She wanted to explain that she had no idea Damon was going to make such a serious charge against him and that she had no part in it. She wanted to slip her hand behind his head and pull him down for a kiss.

Somebody else was rubbing her hand vigorously. The king called for a servant to fetch water, and a voice with a Welsh accent ordered people to “stop your crowding and make room.”

After an appropriate length of time and when the worst of the ensuing cacophony had ceased, she fluttered her eyelids as if returning to consciousness.

“Take deep breaths, my lady,” Sir Reece brusquely ordered. “No need to rub so hard, Gervais.”

She glanced down to see one of the young men who must be Sir Reece’s brother clutching her hand. He stopped rubbing and let it fall.

“What happened?” she murmured, looking back up at Sir Reece.

“You swooned.”

Now he didn’t look or sound concerned for her health. If anything, his unusual eyes studied her as if he were a judge and she had been caught with stolen goods in her hands.

“I am…better…now,” she whispered, telling herself that was not quite a lie. She did feel better—much better—when he held her in his arms. “It is the crowd, the questions.”

She realized the king was hovering on the other side of Reece’s brother. Damon stood behind the king, his face settling into a familiar scowl.

“Forgive me, sire,” she whispered.

“I should have considered that it might be difficult for you and asked my questions without such an audience,” Henry said with an encouraging smile. “If you are up to it, my dear, we could retire to my solar to finish this conversation.”