The YIELDING (42 page)

Grateful he did not appear angry, she crossed to the window. “I knew.”

“Maude told you?”

Beatrix laid her palms to his chest. “’Twas Lady Laura who revealed the manner in which Clarice was got.”

A muscle jerked in his jaw. “When?”

Mayhap a
bit
angry. “The morn after Sir Durand tried to take me from…Soaring.”

Michael’s chest expanded with a taut breath.
More
than a bit angry? “Ere you came to me in the stables?”

“Aye. You wish to know why I did not tell you.”

His eyebrows nearly touched. For certain angry. “I
know
why you did not tell me.” Long seconds passed before he released a breath of frustration. “You are honorable—much to your detriment.” Brow easing, he drew a hand up her back and pulled it around to cup her jaw. “You are unlike any woman I have known. And I do not understand how ever I could have believed ill of you.”

She smiled. “A brother’s love. Though Simon surely…changed from that who you knew, you knew him ere you knew me.”

“Have you no guile, Beatrix?”

“When necessary—as when a man who makes himself my enemy chases me through abbey ruins.”

He remembered as well, and for it rubbed his leg. Though, for a moment, it looked as if he might smile, his face turned troubled. “The D’Arcis have caused you much pain, and yet you stand with me as if my armor bears no tarnish.”

“A woman’s love, Michael—a love that knows the truth of you.”

He kissed her, but no sooner did she lean in to him than he drew back and gripped his sword hilt.

A moment later, Abel and Garr entered. At the sight of Beatrix and Michael standing near, they hesitated, then Garr said, “The verdict has been rendered.”

Though Beatrix felt a jolt of fear, she said, “I am ready.”

“Come forth, Lady Beatrix.”

Hearing every draw of her breath, Michael looked to the woman beside him. No words did she speak, for it was all in her eyes. She nodded and stood.

Sending up a prayer that Maude was well beyond the castle walls as he had arranged should the verdict go wrong, Michael watched as Beatrix touched her psalter and stepped around him.

He let her go, though a harder thing he had not done. But his men and her brother’s men were ready—all armed, all in place. He braced his legs apart, the better to rush to standing with his sword in hand.

As Beatrix ascended the dais, the justice stood. “May all know by these proceedings,” he poured his voice across the hall, “the verdict given this day shall stand for all days and that any who deem otherwise shall, by their acts, suffer the charge of treason.”

Michael felt the impression of his sword hilt though it was not yet to hand. To whom did the justice speak? God willing, it was Aldous Lavonne who festered in his chamber abovestairs.

The justice looked to the accused. “After much scrutiny, the charge that Lady Beatrix did murder Sir Simon D’Arci”—

Beatrix stared at the man, fearful she would be unable to hear him over the sound of her heart in her ears.

—“is found lacking. Therefore, Lady Beatrix Wulfrith is innocent. So says the royal court.”

Amid the rousing of the castle folk, Beatrix could not move, and when finally she did, she nearly went limp. All she had prayed and prepared for…

God had provided. Now a wife she would be to Michael and one day a mother to their children.

“Thank you,” she whispered, though the justice could not possibly hear her above the din.

With a voice that ascended the others, he said, “’Twas you who won your freedom, Lady Beatrix.”

“Thank you,” she said again and swung around to meet Michael’s smile across the distance.

Though the din in the hall suddenly changed, her heart was too filled with joy for her to seek out the cause. Thus, the alarm that transformed Michael’s face reached her first, next the drawing of his sword, then his shout as he and her brothers lunged toward her.

She snapped her head to the right. Dagger aloft, bearded face mottled, Sir Robert hurtled his great bulk toward her.

“Run, Beatrix!” Michael shouted again.

She jumped back but came up against the table. Knowing she was only bare seconds from the vengeance that ascended the dais a stride ahead of Michael, she turned to flee and belatedly realized she had given Sir Robert her back.

She did not know if the heat of the knight’s body was real or imagined, but she felt it. And knew she would soon feel his dagger.

“Lord!” Michael shouted, realizing he and her brothers could not reach Beatrix ahead of Sir Robert. An instant later, his anguished plea was answered by an animal cry of pain.

Protruding from the shoulder of the one who sought Beatrix’s back was a dagger. An instant later, Sir Robert crashed to the dais with such force the cloth on the lord’s table flapped.

Clearing the writhing knight who clasped his shoulder and grunted with pain, Michael caught Beatrix’s arm as she bounded from the dais. She cried out when he pulled her around and gasped when she saw it was him.

He dropped his sword and crushed her to him.

Merciful Lord, you spared her!
By the hand of the one whose dagger protruded from the knight’s shoulder, God had given her back to him.

“Order!” the justice roared.

Pressing Beatrix’s head to his chest, Michael looked over his shoulder at her brothers. Hands gripping hilts, faces flushed, the Wulfriths stood over Sir Robert who had pulled the dagger free and was attempting to stem the flow of blood. Could they contain the bloodlust that surely swelled their veins, or would they render immediate judgment on one who had attempted to carry out the task surely given him by his depraved father?

As the justice continued to call for order, Michael searched the yammering faces for the one who had sent the dagger flying, but it wasn’t until his gaze met Christian Lavonne’s that he found who he sought. Once again, the baron had thwarted his father—had known Aldous would not accept defeat and been prepared for this.

Christian turned toward the stairs.

A glance at the Wulfrith brothers showed that they had also searched out their sister’s savior, a man who had proven himself though still they might object to their sister wedding him. Would they make good the bargain struck for Sir Hector’s witness?

“He is…dead?” Beatrix asked.

Michael looked into her upturned face. “Though the baron but wounded him, he can harm you no more.”

“Christian Lavonne? He threw the dagger?”

“Aye.” He cupped her face. “It is over, Beatrix.”

She stared at him until, finally, confusion gave way to a smile. “Aye, it is.” She rose to her toes and kissed him.

Michael reveled in the taste of her, basked in the knowledge that none could part them, and sent up a prayer of thanks for the gift of her love.

“D’Arci!”

Michael eased his hands from Beatrix’s waist where he had lifted her into the saddle and turned with her brothers to watch Christian Lavonne cross the outer bailey.

The big man halted before them. “You will remain keeper of Castle Soaring?”

After what had happened at trial, Michael had thought the baron would reconsider. “You wish it so?”

“I do.”

“What of your father?”

Emotion flickered across Christian’s gaze. “His mind is gone.”

Which was the only reason he did not pay the price that his illegitimate son would pay—imprisonment in London for treason, just as the justice had warned would befall any who acted against the verdict. “Still he will conspire against you.”

“He may try, but he will fail, for I have determined to release those vassals who remain loyal to him.”

“Those you
know
are loyal to him.”

“That is true, but I have not been blind these past years and I know well those who serve him.”

“What of the men he has set at Soaring and the other castles?”

“They will also be released. Henceforth, I will tolerate no further interference in the administration of this barony.”

Michael knew he meant it, but the problem of his father remained. His mind might be gone, but that did not make him any less dangerous. Indeed, it likely made him more so. However, providing Christian was able to root out all of those who might offer aid to Aldous, surely the old man would be unable to work any more ill.

“Your answer, D’Arci?” Christian prompted.

Michael was tempted, especially as it would secure his future with Beatrix by providing a worthy home for her and their children. “You know I cannot remain as your father’s physician.”

“I do. Should he require anything, I shall send for the healer from the village of Tippet.”

He spoke of the widow, Helene, a young woman who not only delivered babes with ease but was proficient with needle and thread and well-versed in the use of medicinal herbs. Michael’s only regret was that she would be made to suffer Aldous’s company. Of course, given her spirited disposition, she would not likely tolerate the old man’s ill treatment.

Michael laid a hand on Beatrix’s knee. “What say you?”

A gentle breeze lifting her flaxen hair, she said, “If ’tis your desire, I would return to Castle Soaring with you and become your wife.”

“But is it what
you
want?”

“It is.”

“It seems a good offer,” Wulfrith said, surprising them both.

Michael looked around. “Though I do not seek your approval, Baron Wulfrith, I am glad to have it.”

The big man inclined his head. However, Sir Abel offered up little himself. Though one side of his mouth edged upward, his face remained mostly impassive. And over his shoulder stood Sir Durand who had not been there minutes earlier.

Before the knight shuttered his face, Michael caught a glimpse of his longing for the woman he had thought to rescue. Though Michael could not fault the man for his feelings, neither could he suppress a stab of jealousy that another felt for Beatrix. But it was Michael she loved, and that reminder redeemed him.

Michael turned back to his liege. “I shall remain keeper of Castle Soaring.”

Christian inclined his head and looked to Baron Wulfrith. The question of the bargain they had struck rose between them.

It was Wulfrith who spoke first. “You are most proficient with a dagger, Baron Lavonne.”

Likely a surprise, for Wulfrith would surely have heard of Christian’s attempt to master the sword.

With a wry turn of the mouth, Christian said, “Distance often proves my best ally, Baron Wulfrith. It assures that I do not lose sight of my goal as can happen when one draws too near.”

“As with a sword.”

Christian’s jaw hardened. Doubtless, it pinched his pride that Wulfrith knew his sword skill was wanting. Of course, it was not only the sword to which Christian referred. More, perhaps, he referred to the back he had turned on God that he might prove himself worthy of this barony, as well as the ever-increasing distance he placed between his revenge-hungry father and himself.

“What of our agreement, Baron Wulfrith?” Christian asked. “You will honor it?”

“I will.”

Though his capitulation surprised Christian, as evidenced by his narrowed lids, he quickly recovered. “Then you will deliver Lady Gaenor to Broehne Castle without further delay.”

Guessing it was Sir Durand who drew a sharp breath, Michael did not look around. Doubtless, the knight who had delivered Lady Gaenor free of the king’s decree did not approve of the Lavonne and Wulfrith alliance.

And from Wulfrith’s lowering brow, he knew it as well. Still, he held Christian’s gaze. “Only enough delay to assure my sister has time to become accustomed to the idea of marriage.”

“How much will she require?”

This time, Wulfrith did hesitate. “Let us be done with one wedding first”—he glanced from Michael to Beatrix—“then we shall talk.”

“Providing we do more than talk, Baron Wulfrith.”

“The agreement will be honored.” Wulfrith strode to his horse.

“My lord,” Michael acknowledged the man who was to remain his liege.

“D’Arci.” As Christian started back across the bailey, Michael put his foot in the stirrup and swung up behind Beatrix.

Trying not to worry over Gaenor, telling herself Christian would be a good husband to her sister, Beatrix shifted around and met Michael’s gaze.

Such gray eyes he had, and in their depths was something she knew would shine for no other.

“Now we shall make a life together,” he said, bending near. “I love you, Beatrix.”

“As I love you.” She kept her eyes open as his mouth covered hers. And nearly shook her head. How could she have ever believed he resembled Simon? Michael. Only Michael.

EPILOGUE

Stern Castle, July 1157

“You are happy.”

Reflecting on her wedding day that had made her one with Michael, Beatrix smiled at her sister. “I am very happy.”