Only For You

by Hannah Howell

  “I know. So does my mother.”

  “Aha, cornered, eh? I faintly recall the feeling. My sweet Nelda died birthing Olan. I was besieged to rewed, but I held firm against all the ploys. There was none that I saw who could replace my Nelda. Of course,” he drawled, “I already had two sons.”

  “And I have none,” Botolf said heavily. “Duty calls.”

  “Aye, I fear it does. ’Tis far more important for a man in your place than for one in mine.”

  Greeting Lady Odella cordially, Botolf suddenly and reluctantly found himself thinking of his late wife Alice. He did not know if he had the strength to go through all of that again—the loving, the marriage, the betrayal, and the death. It seemed far too high a price to pay to perform the duty owed to his name and kinsmen.

  Pitney gained strength with an enviable speed In less than a week, Botolf was able to prepare for the journey to Regenford. A cart was arranged so that the boy could ride more comfortably with Lady Mary close by his side. Although Botolf was a little surprised his mother wished to go to Regenford, he decided she was simply eager to continue nursing the endearing boy who had so thoroughly charmed her.

  Fleetingly, he wondered if Lady Mary were also trying to stay close to Sir Edric Healdon. Botolf knew Pitney would fare better for her continuous care, but he could manage without it It was hard to ignore the fact that under Edric’s flattering attentions his mother was feeling young again. She might be reluctant to give that up.

  Botolf quickly shook away that thought. He had noticed that Sir Edric only played his charming, witty games with Lady Mary. At the moment it was still only flirtatious repartee and pretty flattery, however. All women loved attention and Botolf knew he should not expect his mother to be any different. But she was no foolish girl whose head was easily turned. Botolf decided he was worrying about nothing. He had matters of a great deal more importance to deal with.

  For one thing, Edric’s sons would have delivered the false news of Pitney’s death to Wolfshead by now. Although little mention was made of it, Botolf sensed that Sir Edric and Pitney continued to be concerned about what could result at Wolfshead when the erroneous news reached its halls. He was a little surprised that a man of Sir Edric’s years could be so foolish as to believe a young maid would set out upon an errand of vengeance. There was nothing he could do about Edric’s delusions, but he did think he could ease the boy’s mind. Just as his entourage was prepared to begin the journey to Regenford, Botolf stopped by Pitney’s cart.

  After a moment of idle conversation, Botolf made what even he thought sounded like a speech, pointing out the impossibility of a young girl traveling so far with murder on her mind and reminding the boy of the delicacy of women. Botolf was not really surprised to see that all of his pontification had done little to change the boy’s mind.

  “I do not wish to be impertinent, m‘lord,” Pitney said quietly. “You are correct in most of what you say. The type of maid you describe is indeed the type most often met. They are not, however, my Saxan. Nor are they Todds. Nor, m’lord, are they my twin. Saxan will seek out my murderer if she believes he still lives. I but pray that she is at least certain of who that is.”

  Two

  Kenelm and Olan stared helplessly at their cousin. Saxan could see that she was making them uneasy, but she could not move, could not speak. It was as if she had been turned rigid and could do no more than stand on the stairs, staring down at them. But a moment ago she had been skipping down the stairs, smiling and laughing as she had rushed to greet them. Olan had blurted out the sad tidings they had brought and she had immediately ceased to move.

  “Pitney is dead,” she said finally, causing her cousins to start in surprise.

  “Aye, Saxan,” Kenelm replied, his voice little more than a croak. “Stabbed.”

  “Murdered.”

  “Aye. That was the way of it.”

  “Who?”

  “Well, the ear!—” began Olan.

  “The Earl of Regenford?”

  “Aye, that is the man. He—”

  “I see.”

  Saxan turned, stiffly making her way back up the stairs and ignoring her cousins’ calls to her. She felt cold inside, as if all the blood in her veins had been replaced with icy water. Pitney, her twin, her womb-brother, was dead. It felt as if someone had just torn a large part of her soul away. She was too full of grief to even think of crying. Pain flowed throughout her body with each beat of her shattered heart, but she did not cry out.

  A moment after she reached her bedchambers, her sister Thylda rushed in. Saxan was not surprised to hear the younger girl burst into the room, but she did not turn from the chore of carefully, almost reverently, dressing herself in Pitney’s clothes. She knew Thylda only wished to try to stop her. She could not allow that. The overwhelming need to seek immediate retribution for Pitney’s murder was the only thing that was keeping her from complete collapse.

  “If you kill this particular man they will show you no mercy,” Thylda warned her.

  “He killed Pitney.” Saxan methodically braided her waist-length hair.

  “At least let me send for our brothers first.”

  “By the time our brothers can get away from their duties, the earl will be safe behind the high walls of Regenford. ’Twill be impossible to reach him there. I know he travels this way, for it has been well touted that he would do so as soon as the tourney ended. The tourney was over more than a week ago.” She wrapped the thick braid of her hair around her head, then pulled a dark wool cap over it. “I mean to catch that murdering bastard while he is still on the road.”

  “You will be killed,” Thylda cried, her voice thick with tears, clearly terrified for her sister.

  “Then I shall be killed, but Pitney will be avenged.”

  Moving to where Thylda stood by the door, Saxan embraced her younger sister. Newly turned thirteen, with honey-gold hair and soft blue-grey eyes, Thylda was full of the premise of a true beauty. The girl also possessed a still-budding, but voluptuous figure, one akin to their sisters’, Denu and Tuesday, and far-removed from Saxan’s lithe shape. Their elder sisters had been wed a dozen and ten years respectively, so she and Thylda had always had only each other. That closeness had been enhanced by their mother’s death only a few months after Thylda’s birth. Thylda was almost as important to Saxan as Pitney, but even her dear sister could not sway her; and she knew Thylda was fully aware of her determination.

  “You must keep Kenelm and Olan ignorant of my plan for as long as possible,” she told Thylda, absently patting the back of the softly weeping girl.

  “Why will you not take them with you?”

  “They would not let me go at all, and you know it. But even if they would, it is better that they stay behind. I love them, but they are not suited for vengeance. And ’tis best if as few of us are involved in this undertaking as possible. What I must do could ruin the name of Todd unless I do it alone. Then it can be blamed upon the madness of a woman.”

  “You do not even know what the earl looks like.”

  “I do. Tall and dark with a scar by his left eye. I saw him in a dream nearly a fortnight ago. I saw him with blood on his hands. Although it troubled my sleep for a few nights, I paid the dream no real heed for I was not completely sure that it was Pitney’s blood.” She stepped away from Thylda, collecting her dagger and small bow. “Send word to our brothers only if you wish to. Hunter and Roc will return here soon anyway, for their forty days of service to the king will be at an end.”

  “Then wait. Please, Saxan, wait. At least wait to speak to them about what must be done.”

  “Nay, I cannot. They will understand.” Pinning on her heavy dark cloak, she kissed Thylda’s pale cheek. “It is dark. I must go now.”

  It was not easy to get herself out of Wolfshead unseen. The men her brothers had left to guard the demanse were vigilant. Nevertheless, they looked outward for danger and that gave Saxan an advantage she made quick use of. She kept her hand on her moun
t’s nose, leading the animal until she was sure she was completely within the shelter of the thick woods just beyond Wolfshead Hall. Only then did she mount She continued to walk her horse quietly, however, until she felt confident that she was well beyond the hearing of the men upon the walls.

  Grief and an intensity of purpose kept her from being afraid. There was simply no room in her for fear. Even though she had never traveled far from Wolfshead Hall, she knew the route the earl would travel to Regenford. It was one that had often been discussed by her kinsmen, and the earl rarely deviated from that path. She was confident she would meet up with the earl’s entourage in a few days. Then, with either her light bow or her dagger, she would kill him. She would repay blood with blood. It was not only the custom of her family, but something she felt a searing need to do.

  As she wended her way through the dark forest, she wondered how long young Thylda would be able to delay Olan and Kenelm. from pursuing her. Such a tactic would require lying and Thylda had little skill in that art. That the girl would have to lie to her own kin, cousins she was fond of, would only make it harder. Saxan doubted she would be ahead of her cousins by many miles, but it did not matter. She would still be ahead of them and, despite Olan’s and Kenelm’s riding skills, she could probably maintain her advantage long enough to exact justice for Pitney

  Her horse Midnight, a strong, speedy stallion, was one of the best in her father’s stables. Her cousins’ horses had to be exhausted after their hard ride to bring her the devastating news. The boys would have to choose new mounts from the Wolfshead stables and she was confident that none could match Midnight.

  Pitney’s image haunted her as she rode. Memories of him kept her grief sharp. Although she loved every member of her large family, none of them was as close to her as Pitney had been. None of them ever could be. She and Pitney had shared a womb. They had often known each other’s feelings and thoughts without a word being exchanged. She was surprised that she had not been keenly aware of the very moment Pitney’s soul had left his body. Saxan had always believed that her soul was connected to Pitney’s in a mystical bond.

  The thought of coldly killing a man did not make her falter. Death was no stranger to her. She had even killed before, forced to defend herself in the heat of battle. Now, however, her enemy would not be attacking her. The earl could even be unarmed. It did not matter. He had Pitney’s blood on his hands, and his culpability would give her the strength she needed to strike him down. She felt it would be easy to kill him even if he were totally helpless and even though she would be signing her own death warrant when she struck.

  Saxan felt she was prepared to die. She knew that readiness was aided by her deep grief. Since the moment her cousins had told her of Pitney’s murder, she had thought of nothing except to seek revenge. Her every move was aimed at achieving that result. She rested little, mostly for the sake of her horse. She ate little and gave no thought to the dangers of riding alone, dangers that even her disguise as a boy could not lessen. As she rode, she spent her time deciding on the best place to intercept the earl. Her mind became fixed upon getting to the Boar’s Head Inn at Wiggins Knob as soon as she could.

  “How is Pitney faring?” Botolf asked his mother as he edged near the cart, briefly peering inside to check on the youth.

  “Well enough, Botolf, but it has been a long day,” Lady Mary replied.

  “The Boar’s Head Inn is but a mile or so ahead of us. I was pressing to reach that.”

  “Aye, that would be nice. Some place dry where he could be kept warm. I think the nights we needed to camp out have, if not harmed him, certainly not aided his healing.”

  Botolf smiled at Pitney when he caught the boy watching them. “Hang on a little while longer, lad.”

  “I am fine, m‘lord,” Pitney replied. “Truly ’Tis merely the pain that wears me down, and there is little anyone can do to vanquish that.”

  “A softer bed will help.”

  “ ’Tis not something I will refuse,” Pitney said with a tired smile. “I am sorry to be so much trouble.”

  “Nay, you are no trouble. I owe you my life. What little extra care I have taken in traveling to Regenford is a meager repayment. I have sent a man ahead to tell the innkeeper we are coming, so things should be readied for us.”

  The Boar’s Head Inn was ready for the earl when his entourage finally drew to a halt before its doors. Botolf suspected that the activity in the inn had been frantic from the moment the innkeeper received word of his imminent arrival. The innkeeper, Will Meeks, prided himself on serving the earls of Regenford. Botolf knew he would be the third earl to use the inn as a stopping place on the way to his castle, and the innkeeper clearly had no intention of losing such profitable custom.

  The activity around them continued at a frantic rate as Botolf, his mother, Pitney, and the higher ranking members of his entourage were hastily settled into their rooms. The horses were tended to and the carts were pulled beneath some shelter. Hot baths were prepared on request; and from the hearty aromas reaching his nose, Botolf anticipated a great quantity of food.

  As he joined Sir Edric in heading to the common room, Botolf caught sight of Will Meeks—who kept a close watch on his two fulsome daughters—and bit back a grin. Once settled, the knights were known to greedily eye any maid. Botolf decided that caution was the reason the man was so quick to catch his eldest daughter as she started to slip upstairs with food for the wounded Pitney.

  “But, he is just a lad,” the girl protested, “and he looks an angel. Ye worry overmuch, Papa.”

  “Aye? That lad’s name is Todd,” growled Will Meeks, causing Botolf and Sir Edric to halt in their descent but steps above the pair. “Half the bastards twixt here and the end of Christendom could be carrying that name by rights.”

  “Slanderl” cried Sir Edric with such an excess of drama that Botolf had to laugh. “Retrieve those words, you dog.”

  Will Meeks narrowed his eyes for a moment, then gaped slightly as he recognized Edric. “Sir Edric Healdon. Aye, and the rest of the nameless brood could carry the name of Healdon.”

  “Never. We are no seducers of young maids.”

  “Humph. Nay? What of young Anne in the next village? Your boy Kenelm had her in her father’s hayloft last year. He left a babe with her.”

  “Nonsense. Kenelm would never bed a girl in a hayloft. The boy likes his comfort. Hay has the habit of stabbing a man in awkward places.” Sir Edric smiled sweetly at the young girl, who could not fully repress a giggle.

  “Here! Get off with you now. Don’t ye be starting on her with your smooth words and guiling smiles.”

  Struggling to control his laughter, Botolf moved to take the tray from the girl. “I will speak to the boy, Master Meeks.”

  Watching the man drag his daughter away, railing at her every step of the way, Edric murmured, “That man was misnamed.”

  “Go and have yourself something to eat, Edric. I will join you in but a moment.”

  When Botolf entered Pitney’s chambers, he chuckled at the fleeting sweet smile that crossed the boy’s face, followed quickly by a look of mild disappointment. Farold Moreton, his squire, sat by the bed looking uneasy. Setting the tray down, Botolf fought to look at least mildly stem.

  “You are not to seduce the maids here, young man,” he ordered Pitney.

  “I was not going to seduce her, m’lord,” protested Pitney. “Truth tell, I do not think I would be able to. I am not that healthy yet.”

  “Able or not, there will be no tussling the maids whilst you are in my service. I do not hold with the seduction of virgins.”

  “She was one of those, was she? I was not sure what with the way she was rolling her eyes and swishing her hips.”

  “The way Meeks hangs over her, I suspect that she is untouched. My father felt such seductions were naught but an abuse of our position and power. I must agree.”

  “Ah, you mean they bed us more for our lofty place in life or because they fear the conse
quences of refusing us than for our looks and charm.”

  “In your case, I doubt it,” Botolf drawled. “Howbeit, you will behave yourself.”

  After receiving assurances from Pitney that he would behave, Botolf went downstairs to enjoy a hearty meal. He had barely finished his last bite of succulent roast when his mother rose to retire for the night, taking her lady-maid with her. Botolf knew his mother was leaving so that the men would feel free to be less circumspect in word and deed. He had to smile at the way the ale began to flow far more freely the moment she mounted the stairs to her bedchamber. As the page refilled his tankard, Botolf looked forward to an evening of good companionship.

  Saxan smiled to herself as she rode up to the Boar’s Head Inn. A quick glance around was enough to tell her that the earl had already arrived. Leaving Midnight with a stableboy, she strode inside the inn only to be met immediately by the burly innkeeper. Inwardly she cursed and hoped the man would not prove to be too great an obstacle. Olan and Kenelm were not far behind her. She had even caught a glimpse of them and had had to ride the last few miles at an almost dangerous pace. Either they had proven swifter than she had anticipated or poor Thylda had failed badly in holding them at Wolfshead Hall.

  “I have no rooms, lad,” the innkeeper told her. “Howbeit, there may be space for you in the stables.”

  “That will do me.” She fought to keep her sultry voice as low and as curt as possible. “Have you any food left?”

  “Aye, we can feed you right enough. Go in there and set yourself down,” he told her, pointing toward the common room. “I will see that something is brought to you. Just do not trouble the earl and his company.”

  “I would never be so impudent, sir.”

  As soon as the innkeeper left her, Saxan slipped into the room where Botolf and his group were gathered. They were too involved in their talk and drink to notice her, but she still kept to the shadows of the room. Inch by inch she drew closer to the earl, her gaze locked upon the man, her hand clutching her dagger.