by Rue Allyn
“Now, Lady Larkin Rosham, I will have the complete truth from you.” He settled onto the bed beside her.
“You believe me? Why?” How was it possible? She did not know whether to laugh or weep. Seven years she struggled to make known who she was and all called her liar. Now a royal herald accepted her word, without any proof. She still wished to find the marriage box, to strengthen her claim, but the support of King Edward’s herald might be enough all by itself, for the heralds were the king’s witnesses to the identities of all his nobles, especially those the king had never met in person.
“Since the start, you deceived not just me but everyone, so I still have doubts.” Idly he clasped one of her hands in his.
“Then why address me by my title? Was that nothing but cruel mockery?”
He matched his gaze with hers. “I am not a cruel man.”
She frowned. “Then help me understand what this is all about. How can you say you believe me, then claim that I deceived all, when I never spoke anything but the truth?”
He was silent a long while. “The night I caught you haunting the keep and I said I thought your speech well-schooled for a peasant, did you deny it?”
“Why should I? My mother did school me well.”
“Aye, even to singing Norman learning tunes about the Christ child. A thing no English peasant would ever know or care to repeat.”
“’Twas no deception to speak as I was taught.”
“But you allowed me to think it was,” he hissed.
“I could not prevent you.”
His hand tightened on hers, then stroked. “Aye, you could not.” The strain left his voice.
Larkin clamped her teeth on the bitter anger she wanted to hurl at him. She straightened. His unyielding grip forced her closer to him.
“You would blame me for a belief you took upon yourself?” She kept her gaze level with his.
“Nay, too much blame has been laid at your door. If you truly are Lady Larkin Rosham, you will know the events of your family’s fate in every detail. You must tell me all. Begin with your bridal journey to Hawksedge Keep and end with how you came to haunt this place.”
She backed away from him, but he locked an arm about her waist, anchoring her in place.
“Nay,” she whispered.
“Aye,” he insisted, his hard demand at odds with the soft stroke of his hand on her arm. She shivered as she had that night so long ago, but for a much different reason. She almost wished it were fear that caused her quivering. “I cannot.”
“You must.” The hand slipped down to the tender skin on her inner wrist.
In the waiting silence, his tenderness beat back the barriers to remembered horror and despair. She moaned her denial and turned her face away.
He lifted his fingers to her chin, placed his palm on her cheek, and urged her to look at him. His thumb drifted over her trembling lips. His gaze met her glance with a quiet demand to trust him. She wished he were angry still. Then she could defy him and leave the memories buried.
“Why should I tell you anything?” She fought the choking fear and challenged him. “If my claim to be Lady Larkin Rosham is true, what will it gain you? You might even earn the earl’s wrath for unmasking my secrets.”
She forced back the tears that welled.
“The truth will not benefit me at all, nor do I believe Hawksedge would harm a king’s herald. Especially when that king is not best pleased with the earl.”
“Then I ask again, what purpose in my trusting you?”
“Because you have no one else you can trust.”
He was right, she needed an ally, but even an army of loyal folk would not make a retelling of that night any easier. She could not do it.
“I don’t see any of the servants or villagers rushing to your aid,” he continued, blunt and abrupt. “If the abbess could aid you, you would be at the abbey now. Tell me who is left, Lady Rosham? Or should I say, Countess Hawksedge?”
She sought distraction in his question. “Why should I bother? My story will not change anything. Why should I trust you?”
He relaxed his grip and toyed with her fingers. “Your speech demonstrates the truth to anyone who will listen. As for trusting me, have I ever lied or broken my word to you or in your presence?” The question was gentle, as tender as his touch.
She lost the battle with her tears.
“Nay.” Turning her head away, she swiped at the flood with her free hand.
“Then trust me, Lady Larkin. Mayhap I can help.”
In the past seven years, no one had offered her tenderness. Her own strength and defiance had been her mainstays, her only means of keeping the past at bay. She’d come to rely on the disbelief of others as a way to avoid remembering, to avoid weeping and weakness. Now this gentle assault undid her.
“Please do not ask this of me.”
“I must.”
“Why?”
“In part, because I am the king’s herald. But mostly because I care about the truth and you.”
She returned her gaze to his. The patience she saw there opened her lips, and she spoke the tale she’d never given to anyone, reliving the moments as she spoke.
From behind the armored knight and inside a thorn bush, Larkin watched the man with smooth, red leather boots lift himself off her lady mother’s body.
“The bloody bitch died on me,” he muttered with disgust, as if Lady Rosham’s death were her own fault.
“Aye, sir, but ye had her screamin’ wi’ pleasure afore she cocked up her toes.” The only other surviving attacker laughed and slapped her mother’s killer on the shoulder. The henchman's boots were blue but faded and wrinkled. The laughter burned itself into Larkin’s memory, and though she could hear the graveled lisp of red boots, she could not see his face.
“That much pleasure should keep her warm in hell when she gets there,” the murderer laughed. “A shame the earl is suffering an itchweed attack and could not join us.” The knight fastened his chausses and straightened the jerkin that Larkin knew bore the claw and branch of the Earl of Hawksedge.
Blue Boots stood beside the body of Larkin’s handmaid where the girl lay amid the torn scatter of the fine dress given in honor of her young mistress’s wedding. “Too bad I can’t say the same for the young one. She was mighty cold. Didn’t fight or scream or nothin’. Just lay there like a beached fish. Hell, I couldn’t even tell when she died; she was that still. ’Cept when I bloodied her face for to knock her down. She sure screeched then. Woulda thought a red-haired wench like that would have more fight in her.”
“You killed the girl?” Red Boots’s hands clenched.
“Nay, I didn’t kill her. She died of pleasure, just like her mother.” His friend snickered.
“Fool!” The killer struck the man, drew a blade, and gutted him all in one instant.
Larkin ignored the spatter of blood. She’d seen so much blood today. But a shard of fierce horror and dark vindication at Blue Boots’s punishment lingered among the wreckage of violence, loss, and fear.
“Wh ... Why?” The man sank to the ground watching his blood spill out of his belly.
“That was the earl’s bride, you asshole. He wanted the marriage consummated so the Rosham lands could be his without question. We were to fetch her back to Hawksedge Keep, not kill her.”
“But the others; we killed them all.” The statement was weak, and red trickled from the man’s mouth.
“Witnesses, like you, my friend. The earl and I can’t have witnesses.” Red Boots bent and slit the man’s throat. “Leastwise, none other than myself. Wouldn’t want anyone suggesting it was not Scots raiders who did this.” He wiped his blade on her mother’s skirt then stepped on the bodies of the fallen Rosham guards as he walked to his horse.
Larkin waited a long time, listening to the fading sound of hoofbeats and the ensuing quiet. She waited all the long night for her mother to stir, for some sign that her family lived. She waited until the dark bled into dawn before
she crept from the thorn bush to her mother’s still form. That all were dead was inconceivable, especially her mother. She needed her mother to tell her this was just some horrid dream.
She touched her mother’s hair and patted the soft cheek covered in blood. “Mother. Mother! Wake up, Mother.” Larkin’s mind screamed, and her mouth moved, but no sound emerged.
She became aware of Talon’s arms around her, aware that he stroked her hair and crooned to her the same tune she’d sung to Aedwin. His physical touch comforted, but could not make up for the massacre of her family or banish completely the memory of blood and death. Only the return of her home and lands and justice for her murdered family might bring some resolution. Those she would have or die trying. Nothing would ever erase her intimate knowledge of violence and death.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Talon held her while she finished her story, ending with the day she left the abbey after recovering her voice. She said she’d sworn then to find the proof of who she was so she could gain her heritage and justice for her loved ones.
The tears and quaking ceased when she fell silent once more. His arms circled her, pulling her to the warmth of his chest and giving comfort for the horrifying loss she had suffered. They sat, he knew not how long, in a shared silence vastly different than the seven mute years she’d described.
“Do any live who can verify your story?” He eased the question into the quiet.
“Even if I knew the name and face of my mother’s killer and he were willing to condemn himself by testifying against the earl, I could prove nothing. The only proof rests with the earl and within my family’s marriage box. The box is missing, and the earl is unlikely to admit he is as guilty as the henchmen who carried out the order.”
“You accuse a powerful man of a most foul deed, as well as lying to hide that deed.” Talon studied her for a moment, looking for some sign that she understood his point. “Why would any man, especially one as wealthy and powerful as the Earl of Hawksedge, do such a thing?”
She stirred and pulled from Talon’s sheltering arms.
“He is your father, in name at the very least. Your own experience must prove to you he is a cruel man.”
“True, but cruelty does not provide a purpose for the ambush and massacre of his wife and family.”
“Nothing save greed makes sense to me. Rosewood Castle is held through the women in my mother’s family. Each husband stands as guardian to the estate, but it belongs to his wife. The earl lusted after Rosewood and sought to gain it through marriage to me. I do not think he knew until after the proxy ceremony took place that even in marriage, he could not have Rosewood. After that ceremony, I remained at Rosewood until I was fourteen and my courses started. During that time, we heard more and more of the earl’s poor treatment of his first three wives. I begged and pleaded with my father to have the marriage annulled. He was all but convinced. However, he insisted on sending word to the earl before taking any action. The earl wrote back, inviting my family to visit Hawksedge Keep, where he would tell us the truth instead of the wild gossip being spread.”
Talon frowned. “You must admit that the invitation seems most reasonable.”
“Perhaps. My father certainly thought so. But the earl cast you from your home and family, so you will understand better than most what kind of man he is, how devastating is the loss of home and family.”
Understanding was a problem. Talon empathized with Larkin, but should empathy be the official basis for recognizing her as Lady Rosham? If he did publicly recognize her, it might increase the danger she was in. It would also force him to give up his hope of regaining his place at Hawksedge. And the only proof he had was her story and her skill with the Norman tongue.
“My father had not your experience of the earl’s cruelty. Despite my objections and my mother’s, Papa decided we would go and hear the earl out. Halfway to Hawksedge, when we camped for the night, Mother finally convinced Father to go home and request an annulment from the archbishop.”
So, she’d almost avoided the entire tragedy. If she had, Talon would never have met her. Would the earl now be wed to someone else and raising a child of that marriage? Or would the old man have failed to make another match, leaving Talon with the strongest claim to Hawksedge? Now was not the time for such questions. More solid proof must be found.
“We were breaking camp,” Larkin continued, “when an armed troop wearing the Hawksedge badge came upon us. They claimed the earl had sent them to escort his bride and her family. When my father announced that we were returning home, the earl’s men attacked. The rest is as I told you.”
“And this box you seek was lost to you during the battle?”
She nodded.
“Why is the box so precious?”
“As a herald, you should understand how difficult it is to prove one’s identity. The marriage box contains the record of every married woman in my family, from mother to grandmother to great-grandmother for generations. Papers concerning every birth, death, important event, descriptions of children and husbands are kept in the main compartment. A second compartment contains locks of hair from every bride, tied with ribbon from the dresses worn at their weddings. The hair and the ribbon can be compared with the relevant written descriptions to prove the bride’s identity and the bride’s ownership of Rosewood Castle.”
“Was there any other record of your marriage to the earl?”
“Not that I know of.”
“’Tis a miracle you survived.” He resisted the urge to pull her closer.
“Because I survived, I must seek justice for my family and regain my heritage. To do that, I must find the marriage box. Will you allow me to search unrestricted?”
“Search as you will, but you must continue to have a guard with you at all times.”
“What need for a guard? You know I am not trying to steal from the earl, and I’ve been traveling about the area alone for more than a year.”
“You said yourself that the earl and your mother’s murderer wanted no witnesses. Someone has already attacked you once. As long as you could not prove you were Lady Larkin, you were no danger to anyone. If it is known you search for proof, and it will be known, you become more of a threat. Thus you place yourself at risk. I will not have you alone and vulnerable.” If he sounded worried about her, ’twas only because he wanted her to understand how serious was her situation.
She frowned but nodded. “Very well, but I insist on having my own bedchamber.”
His jaw clenched. “Well enough. Use the chamber across the hall as you did before. I will have the carpenter install a sturdy bar on the inside. You will use that bar every night, or I will keep watch inside with you.” Until the earl returned and could be questioned, Larkin was in danger. Talon’s duty was clear. He must protect her at all costs, even though, without any intention, she would destroy his every hope of holding Hawksedge Keep.
• • •
The following afternoon, with the sun casting shadows in the bailey, Larkin waited for her escort to bring her a horse. She was on her way to gather burn blooms and, in the interest of peace, accepted the company of the young knight Cleve assigned to guard her. She paced the courtyard in front of the main keep. Had Talon believed all she’d told him? She wanted to be known as Lady Larkin Rosham and longed to be regarded as an honest, trustworthy person. Yet he was the only person who regarded her as such. She was uncertain his regard alone was enough.
She continued pacing an ever-lengthening path until she reached the far edge of the practice field.
Talon, shirtless save for a leather jerkin, spoke with a young lad, no more than a stripling, showing him a halberd. The weapon was nearly twice as long as the boy was tall. Nonetheless, Talon had the youth grasp the thick pole beneath one arm and support it with the other. Then the knight took the weapon and wrapped the sharp blade at the end with wool batting and cloth.
He gave the blunted pole arm back to the boy. Talon took up a similarly blunted halberd and w
alked to the opposite side of the practice field. He set his own weapon in the fashion that he’d shown the lad and motioned for the youth to charge. As soon as the stripling gained momentum, Talon, too, charged.
The poles clashed. A flurry ensued as man and boy continued to rush at each other. Then the boy was flat on his back with Talon’s blunted halberd point pressed to his neck. The youth’s own halberd lay tossed a man’s length from him.
Larkin had seen men practice with weapons before, but to pit a battle-hardened warrior against a youth seemed grossly unfair to her, even if the weapons were blunted. So she would tell him as soon as she returned.
Talon lifted his weapon and gave the boy a hand to his feet. They resumed their places and charged once more.
This time, the boy ceased his charge halfway then set his weapon on the ground, bracing it between his legs. He guided the distant end of the halberd with his hands, and Talon, who continued charging, could do naught to avoid running on the blunted tip. The impact unbalanced him and forced him to drop his weapon. The boy was up in an instant, his halberd held to Talon’s chest.
She’d been wrong. Talon was teaching in the most effective way possible, by example and experience. Something twinged in her heart, something like regret and admiration combined. But she had no regrets where Sir Talon Quereste was concerned, had she?
The knight laughed, and the lad shouted his glee at having mastered the technique. Others who’d been watching slapped the boy on the back and cast good-natured jokes at Talon.
Her escort finally arrived with her horse, but Larkin continued to watch her knight.
Talon stripped off his jerkin, grabbed a bucket of water from the cistern, and dumped it over his sweaty form. Water droplets dallied like ladies’ fingers on the smooth skin and rippled muscles of his chest and arms. He shook the water from his hair, casting a diamond-bright spray that caused a brief rainbow to shimmer about his body. The water soaked his chausses, and they clung to his thighs like an impassioned woman. Larkin had a brief vision of Talon naked in the arms of some courtly lady.