Читать книгу: «Warrior's Deception»

Chapter One

ENGLAND-1154

“I shan’t go.” Lenora’s auburn braid whipped from side to side as she clipped each word.

Her aunt’s icy blue eyes narrowed and her thin lips drew up into a tight pucker. Her cousin, Beatrice, cowered behind her mother’s outraged body.

“You must go.” The woman’s voice changed from insistent to pleading. “Think of Beatrice. This may be my only chance, our only chance, to regain some dignity.” She shoved her frightened daughter forward. “The girl’s sixteen and well in need of a husband. This is the perfect opportunity to make a suitable match.”

Lenora did not miss the terror-filled look that entered Beatrice’s warm blue eyes. Her small frame trembled, tears glistened in her eyes.

“’Tis not to be, Aunt Matilda.” Her voice carried across the great hall of Woodshadow. Her tone trumpeted defiance and she gave her timid cousin a reassuring smile. No matter the consequences, she would protect her, even against Beatrice’s own mother.

The servants stopped in their preparation for the noon meal. Even the hounds paused in their hunt for scraps among the floor rushes.

The older woman’s glare encompassed the room. The serfs resumed their duties. Behind her aunt’s back, a young boy gave Lenora an exaggerated wink and clutched his throat in a comic mime. She bit the inside of her cheek to contain her laughter.

“What reason could you possibly have for not going?” Matilda pressed her argument. “King Henry will expect you there. You do not turn down a request from the king.” Her shrill voice rang out in an indignant huff.

“My father is too ill for me to be away. I cannot leave the keep now. Woodshadow needs me.” How could she tell them her real fear? Her home and security, even those she held most dear, were slipping from her. Beatrice would not be added to that list. After three years away from her home, she had returned to find emptiness.

She felt as if all that she loved and cared for were in a grain bag with a hole in the bottom. The loss became more and more visible, but for some reason, no matter what she tried, she was unable to stop it.

“Excuse me, Aunt Matilda, I want to go to the stable to check on my mare.” Lenora disregarded the summoning cry of her aunt and headed for the kitchen. She ducked down the wellworn stairs, two at a time, jumping the final steps to the ground-floor kitchen and storage room. The lad she had seen above tossed her a carrot from the basket he carried.

“Tyrus, you have my thanks and Silver’s.” She waved the green top of the vegetable at him.

“Give ‘er a pat from me, Lady Lenora. Do ye think ‘er time is soon?”

Her stride slowed and she puckered her lips into a worried frown. “Nay, ‘tis still a month or more, though I wish it were not. She gets weaker by the day.”

The servant boy gave his lady a bright smile, a large gap showing where his two front teeth should be. “Ye be a good’n for the healin’ and all. That mare’ll pull through. Ye done it afore.”

Beatrice scurried down the stairs. “Hurry, Lenora, Mother’s in a fury. She’s out to find you and convince you to go to Tintagel.”

Lenora needed no further warning and grabbed her cousin’s hand. Rushing past the kitchen scullery maids, she pushed Beatrice out the lower door and into warm spring air. Laughter came easily as she half dragged her cousin across the stone-walled inner bailey of the castle. She didn’t slow down until she passed the fortified bridge and blended into the bustle of the outer bailey.

Numerous puddles and cart tracks muddied the way to the whitewashed stables. Lenora lifted the hem of her dress and tried to navigate between the mud and the busy villeins. A herd of cattle, led by a serf, took control of the lane. She tried to dodge them and ended up ankle-deep in a mud hole. Slime oozed into her leather shoe and coated her toes.

Sounds of children at play and the chatter of their parents floated on the spring air. The dreary days of winter had finally ended and she was home. Every smell and sight gave her delight. Her time with the queen had opened her mind and taught her much but her return to Woodshadow had taught her something, also. She loved this place and these people.

Splattered with mud and grime, she looked back at her cousin and marveled that Beatrice had kept her deep blue kirtle and white apron spotless. The difference between her and her cousin was like comparing a palfrey to a workhorse.

After eighteen years, Lenora accepted the fact that her height and angular features gave her a gawky, coltish appearance. Unlike the famed foals of Woodshadow, she entertained no hopes of her appearance changing as she matured. Thoughts of herself vanished when she entered the cool darkness of the stable.

She balanced herself on the stall gate and laced her feet through the rails for support. Her heart lurched at the sight of the mare standing listless by the grain bin, head low, eyes glazed. Fresh-smelling hay and the odor of well-oiled tack, usually a comfort, did not settle the uneasiness she felt in her heart.

Hopping down, she held out the carrot and tried to entice the mare. “Here, Silver, try just a bite.” The horse nibbled her palm and let the treat fall to the ground. Rattled breaths sounded from the mare and echoed in the filtered light of the barn. A desire to cry sprouted in Lenora but the streak of stubbornness inherited from her father prevented it. She would see Silver through this; she wouldn’t allow her mount to die.

A light sprinkle of dust coated the mare’s rump. Lenora searched through the tack box in the stall for a curry comb. The slow rhythmic sweeps of the brush helped to calm her nerves.

Over Silver’s back, she saw Beatrice approach the stall gate. Her cousin halted when the horse tossed her mane in annoy ance. Sincerity mixed with the fear in her voice. “How does the animal fare? I know she is dear to you.”

“She does not look well, my friend. She’s too old to have another foal.” A masculine voice came from the shadows of the back wall. The young man, wrapped in a black woolen mantle despite the warm spring day, emerged from the darkness, and Beatrice stepped away.

Lenora held fast to the halter of the startled mare. “Geof frey, could you give some warning?” She patted the velve softness of Silver’s nose.

He removed his hood, his brown hair curled over walnut colored eyes. “You knew I was here.”

“Aye, but Beatrice and Silver did not,” Lenora repri manded her friend.

Geoffrey placed his hand over his heart and gave a half bow. “Pardon, Lady Lenora. To yourself and your mount.” His eye turned to Beatrice. His voice warmed. “And you, Lady Be atrice, do I need beg your pardon, also?”

Lenora smiled because the scarlet tint of her cousin’s cheeks gave away her response. As always, the color enhanced the young woman’s fair looks.

Beatrice placed her hand to her throat and whispered her reply. “Nay, Sir Geoffrey. I take no offense. ‘Tis glad I am to see your face after these many days.” Her eyes lowered and she fidgeted with her hands.

Lenora laughed. “Come now, Beatrice, do not be shy. Did I not hear you moon on and on about Sir Geoffrey’s fair face, his prose, his voice?”

“Lenora,” Beatrice complained, her face a deeper crimson than before.

With a soft pat on Silver’s nose, Lenora pulled herself from the sanctuary of the stall to join her friends. She lowered herself to sit cross-legged on a pillow of hay and watched Geoffrey lean against a pillar. Beatrice sat on a three-legged stool near her. Her cousin held her back straight, her hands folded in her lap.

Lenora’s gaze settled on the reed-thin knight. “What do you know of this tourney?” She spread her grass-stained apron and undertunic over her knees. “Why is Matilda so intent on going?”

“’Tis as we feared. King Henry wishes to reward his siege commanders with some festivities. There are a few to whom he owes much gold. In particular, the knight Roen de Galliard.” She saw Beatrice stiffen her back even more and begin to fold and unfold the hem of her apron. ‘Twas easy to see the girl’s nervousness at just the mention of the knight’s name.

Lenora took a quick breath. “Gold the king does not have or wish to part with. Henry will pay off his commanders with a rich wife.” The knight’s reputation had made its way even to Aquitaine. Though she had never seen him, she knew well the type, crude and self-centered. Roen de Galliard did not sound like a man with patience for Beatrice’s fears. The knight would devour her gentle cousin and leave behind only a shell of the woman.

Geoffrey gazed at Beatrice’s quiet suffering. At last, her cousin spoke, her voice colored with hope. “Rich…then it cannot be me they’ll seek. King Henry already owns all my lands. Mother and I are penniless.”

“Aye, Cousin, but Father set aside a small manor as your dowry.” Lenora did not wish to dash the young woman’s hopes but ‘twas best to tell the truth. “A knight desperate to have a keep of his own might not be averse to it. Besides, now that Louis is dead, if I do not marry, Woodshadow would be yours.”

With inborn grace, Beatrice rose from her seat to kneel at Lenora’s side. Her eyes clouded with sadness as she stared past her cousin. Old nightmares showed on her face. “Stephen and Henry’s war cost us much. You, your brother, my mother, her husband and wealth. And I, my courage.”

“Courage, Beatrice? ‘Tis a brave girl you are. You survived the pillage of your home and the death of your father. You meet your true love in secret, unknown to your mother. ‘Tis uncommon courage, that alone. Your mother is no small obstacle, despite her size.”

“With much help from you,” Geoffrey said, chuckling in agreement. He went to Beatrice’s side and waited until she placed her fingertips in the palm of his hand before helping her to rise. When she reached her feet, she stepped back and stood apart from him. The struggle between love and fear ravaged her face.

Too many memories of the night her father died kept Beatrice from Geoffrey’s arms. From hearing her cousin’s nightmares, Lenora knew that the sights and sounds of the carnage and rapes still haunted the young woman’s feelings for the young knight. She prayed that her childhood friend Geoffrey would have the patience and understanding to mend Beatrice’s tattered emotions.

“Help you?” Lenora arched an eyebrow. “Aye, I suppose I’ve smuggled in a love poem or two. Guided you through the secret passages and tunnels so that you could meet. Most important, I’ve kept Aunt Matilda at bay so she’d not know what’s going on.” She winked at Geoffrey to show her words were meant to tease.

“I wish you could help us now.” Dejection rimmed Beatrice’s words. Geoffrey carefully placed his arm around her shoulder. She stiffened but did not pull away.

A suggestion came to Lenora. “Geoffrey, you could come forth. Declare yourself to my father and Matilda.”

“Your aunt would not appreciate her only daughter considering the attentions of a poor younger son and a Champlain at that.” Geoffrey spit out his family name in disgust. “Matilda is seeking wealth and the ear of the throne. She’d not get that with me as a son-in-law. I won’t marry Beatrice until I can support her.” His voice dropped to a low whisper. “I’m working on a plan. Soon, I’ll have enough money and prestige to impress her mother, regardless of my name.”

“How?” Lenora noticed the light that came to her friend’s face. Perhaps he really did have a workable plan.

Geoffrey flipped his cloak over his arm and held it just below his eyes. “’Tis a secret.” Like a night phantom, he drew the cloak away from his face.

Always dreaming, always telling stories to amuse and make them laugh. Geoffrey would never change. Beatrice placed her hand softly on his arm. Devotion to her knight shone in her sparkling azure eyes.

Lenora pursed her lips while she studied the couple and pondered the situation. “’Tis true, Beatrice. Your mother would be ecstatic to regain ties to the throne and restore her wealth. Unfortunately, as Geoffrey said, marriage to him would not accomplish that.”

“If only Father had backed Henry instead of Stephen.” Beatrice released a wistful sigh.

“So say all the adulterine lords,” Lenora answered sagely. “Their lands have been taken at siege and their castles dismantled. ‘Twas a bloody end to a bloody time.”

“Aye, that is true enough. Stephen’s reign was anarchy,” Geoffrey concurred with her. “Your father did well to send you these past few years to live in Aquitaine with Henry’s Queen Eleanor. With Louis in battle and Woodshadow under attack every few months, I’m sure it eased your father’s mind to have you safe.”

He gave Beatrice a worried look. “At least your fathers both took a side. My own is nothing but a conniver who played both sides against each other. Henry would have his head if he could find the proof.”

“The war has changed us all.” Lenora smiled at her cousin. “Queen Eleanor taught me a great deal while I was with her. She’s a woman of remarkable power and intelligence.”

“Have you decided yet if you will return to the queen?” Geoffrey pressed her for an answer. “Or have you found a nice quiet abbey to continue your studies?” His eyes searched her face. The intensity of the look made her uncomfortable.

She shook her head. “I’ve made no decision as yet. There is too much here to consume my time. My future will wait until the problems at Woodshadow are solved.”

“Of which I am one,” Beatrice berated herself.

Geoffrey took her small hand in his own. “I suffer your loss, yet I’m glad you and your mother had to come here. Without that tragedy, I might never have met you, and had my empty life filled with the pure love of your smile.” The young knight gazed into Beatrice’s sorrowful eyes, and his hand caressed the worry lines from her brow.

“And, of course, Aunt Matilda would never have so apt a student as myself anywhere else,” Lenora quipped with sarcasm. The couple laughed, the pensive mood broken.

“’Lenora, a lady of your background should not smell of a stable!’” ‘She mimicked her aunt’s voice. “’Lenora, ‘tis not proper behavior to disagree with Lord Ranulf on correct agricultural methods.’”

Her cousin joined in the laughter, then grew somber. “Mother can be overbearing at times, but she just wants to repay your father. Since your mother is dead, she feared he wouldn’t take us in.”

“So teaching her motherless niece to be an acceptable young lady helps to keep her from feeling like she’s charity.” Lenora scratched her temple. “I’m sorry, Beatrice. I’ll try to be more…” A word that would express her emotions politely but spare her delicate cousin’s feelings just wouldn’t pop into her mouth.

“Nay,” Beatrice admonished. “Do not be anything but what you are. If I were as clever as you, I’d be able to avoid Mother’s plans for me. My only prayer is that the lands your father set aside for me will not interest a knight.”

Though said, Lenora could tell Beatrice gave the prospect little hope.

“Perhaps, if you went with her to Tintagel, you could think of some diversion to keep Beatrice away from any prospective grooms. I will be there, also, and between the both of us we should be able to protect her.” Geoffrey paused as a portly servant woman lumbered toward the stable.

“Lady Lenora, Lady Beatrice.” The woman waddled into view as Geoffrey ducked behind a haystack. “By the saints!” She stopped in front of the two girls and paused, taking deep gulps of air. Her huge chest rose up and down like a blacksmith’s forge. “Lady Matilda sent out the word the two of ye is to go to the great hall straight away.”

“Thank you, Alyse. We will be right there.” Lenora braced her arm at the doorway and blocked the view to the interior of the stable.

“See that you hurry, Lady Lenora. That woman is on a rampage, giving commands to everyone. She’s got poor Sir Hywel running circles to get everything done.” The woman mopped her forehead with the edge of her soiled apron. “’Tis too hot for a woman of my size to be running around like a youngster.” Alyse turned and plodded back across the bailey to the kitchen, muttering to herself as she fanned her red face.

“I must leave, my love.”

Lenora peeked under her arm and saw Geoffrey emerge from his hiding place. He gave Beatrice a chaste kiss on the forehead. “I will see you at Tintagel in a fortnight. With Lenora’s help, we will keep your mother from executing her plan.”

He winked conspiratorially at Lenora. “You two go on. I’ll slip out the back.” He lifted a loose board on the back wall and disappeared into the dark alley between the outer castle wall and stable.

“Don’t worry, Beatrice. He’ll be fine. No one has caught him yet,” Lenora reassured her cousin. “’Tis time now to worry about ourselves. I imagine your mother is not in good temper.”

Lenora’s long legs outdistanced her cousin’s much shorter ones. Beatrice had only crossed half of the inner bailey green when she skipped up the steps and threw open the door to enter the great hall. At the carved lion laver, she washed her hands and inhaled the tempting aromas of the noonday meal. Warm, rich smells of roasting meats and fresh baked breads thickened the air and caused her stomach to rumble.

“She’s a-lookin’ for ye,” warned a servant. He bustled past Lenora on his way to prepare the high table for the noonday meal.

“I know,” she mouthed back.

Beatrice slid in behind her to escape the attention of several hounds. “Go on now.” Lenora waved them off after she patted each massive head. Noses to the floor, the giant beasts sniffed among the new floor rushes searching for scraps. The central fireplace smoldered. Lenora watched the smoky trail rise up the new chimney.

The pantier entered the great hall from the passage leading to the downstairs pantry. His arms filled with crocks of wine, he was followed by her father’s steward, Sir Hywel.

The steward looked up and smiled at the two girls. She saw his smile fade and he ducked down a passage leading to the buttery.

“Lenora, where have you been?” a familiar voice shrieked from behind her.

She turned to see her aunt striding toward her. Biting her lower lip, Lenora arranged an innocent look on her face. “Have you been looking for me?”

“Come here, Beatrice.” Matilda’s jet black eyes darted from one girl to the other. Although petite in size, she propelled her two captives toward a less active area of the great hall. With a firm push, she sat Lenora at one end of a massive carved pew and her daughter at the other. Her eyes traveled up and down her niece’s stained clothing and tangled hair.

Her teeth close together, Matilda launched into a lecture. “I must speak to you about this ridiculous notion that you are not attending the king’s tourney. Such behavior would not be tolerated at King Stephen’s court.” The dignified voice became more elitist. “When I was at court, a woman knew her place. She obeyed her elders without question.”

Lenora schooled her features to look attentive and copied her cousin’s repentant posture.

“Aunt Matilda, thank you so much. You are truly wonderful to show such interest in the day-to-day chores here.” Lenora grinned; she had learned quickly that flattery was her aunt’s weakness.

“I’m glad you are finally realizing that. Three years with that woman has filled your head with all kinds of nonsense. Imagine, adultery with her own uncle, divorcing the King of France, and scarcely a month passes before Eleanor manages to ensnare Henry II. Why, the man is nine years younger than her.” Matilda sniffed her nose in disdain. “Someday you must fulfill your position as Lady of Woodshadow. Your father allows you to shirk your duties. You must begin to oversee the servants, the replacing of the rushes, the soap and candle making. A keep this size must be supervised vigilantly. ‘Tis my deep sense of loyalty to your father that forces me to assume the role of Woodshadow’s mistress.”

“I understand that, Aunt Matilda.” Letting her Aunt Matilda relive her glory days as a chatelaine served both Lenora’s and her father’s interests. The action kept Matilda busy in the keep and unaware of Lenora’s actions on behalf of her father. Actions that would earn Lenora several lectures from her aunt on proper decorum and would herald the seriousness of Sir Hywel’s illness.

“Good. Enough of this foolishness. You will enjoy yourself, both of you.” Matilda tucked an imaginary strand of hair into her wimple. “The king will be at Tintagel for less than a fortnight. He will preside over a tourney and hear grievances from nearby lords. That evening there will be dancing and entertainment.”

Lenora released a slow breath of air when her aunt turned her attention away from her. Beatrice became the new target.

“You will wear the lapis necklace your father gave me at our wedding. We must make sure that you are the loveliest young woman there. I’m sure you will catch the eye of a suitable partner.” Her aunt began to rattle off a list of elaborate gowns for Beatrice to pack for the coming trip. Meekly, she nodded at each of her mother’s suggestions.

Bored with details of gowns and matching slippers, Lenora decided now would be a perfect time to escape. She jumped up from the massive carved pew.

“Wait.” Her aunt motioned for her to remain seated. “You can’t leave yet, we must also plan your wardrobe. The maids need to be directed as to which gowns you will be taking and-”

“My position hasn’t changed.” Lenora’s calm voice caused her relatives to gasp in surprise. She took leave of her vexed aunt and escaped up the narrow curved stone stair that led to her father’s chambers. On purpose, she climbed the stairs two at a time, knowing it would infuriate her aunt.

A step sagged beneath the weight of Lenora’s foot. She made a mental note of the slight wood rot in the wooden section of the defense stairs as she sped to her father’s third-story chamber. Tomorrow, she must maneuver Sir Hywel to notice the decay. Right now, she wanted to talk with her father.

Without knocking, she barreled into her father’s private chambers and announced, “She’s at it again.” Lenora bounced up onto the red velvet coverlet, tucked her long legs under her and wrinkled her nose.

Her father, Sir Edmund, smiled from his bed, the curtains pulled back to let in the welcomed cool spring air. “So, you’re having a spat with your Aunt Matilda, are you? And why are you so determined not to attend the king’s festivities at Tintagel? The occasion should be quite merry.”

“How do you know that’s what the argument was about?”

“You forget about the squints. I keep well informed of what goes on with those to help me.” Her father pointed toward the floor. Lenora was just able to make out the small peephole concealed in a knot in the lumber floor. She slid off the bed and peered down through the squint.

The old Norman device enabled her to spy on the activity of the great hall below. She stifled a laugh when she spotted the bald head of her father’s seneschal, Sir Hywel, pass below her. Light whispers of his instructions to a passing servant floated upward. The high-pitched voice of her aunt drifted up as she continued to discuss the upcoming trip to Tintagel.

“You, sir, are an unscrupulous spy.” Her voice sounded with false indignation. She stood and shook the wrinkles from her tunic and rearranged the simple rope girdle at her waist. “You promised you would remain abed.”

“You, daughter, are a mischievous wench who needs her backside warmed for talking to her father in such a manner! It wasn’t I who peeked, but Tom.” Sir Edmund’s smile abated his threat.

“With your direction, I’m sure.”

“Of course,” he agreed readily.

Laughing, Lenora wished she could transform into a little girl and once more cuddle up next to her tall, strong father. She could listen to his stories of battles and the courtship of her mother over and over again.

Although bedridden for more than a month, Sir Edmund still possessed a commanding figure. His lanky form stretched the length of the six-foot bed. Red gold hair showed no signs of gray. Clean shaven, he reflected the rugged, handsome features of his youth.

“So, tell me what you have accomplished today.” Her father punched his silken pillows and snuggled back to rest against them.

“I managed to have Sir Hywel notice that the east bailey wall needs to be fortified, and I saw the smithy as you asked. His proposal to enlarge the blacksmith shed has merit. Oh, and as I climbed the stairs I noticed there is some rot in the wooden steps.”

Sir Edmund knit his fingers together and placed them behind his head. “I’ll talk to Sir Hywel about the blacksmith. I’ll also mention those damn steps. Those wooden Norman steps are a great defense in case we are invaded, but they are in constant need of repair.” He cast her a concerned look. “It’s not been easy on you, Lenora. You are my eyes and ears while I’m stuck in here.”