by Lynn Kurland
“I told you but a little, Maude,” Edith said quietly.
Maude only whimpered.
“The temptation was too strong, wasn’t it?” Edith asked.
Maude nodded and sniveled.
Edith sighed. It looked as if Maude’s usefulness had come to an end, at least for the immediate future.
“You’ll rest now,” Edith said. “No more schemes until you’ve rested. Indeed, I think it best that you do nothing more until I tell you otherwise. Understood?”
Maude nodded jerkily.
“I think beating a woman is despicable,” Edith continued. “I would never do it.”
“You w-wouldn’t?” Maude asked.
Edith shook her head. “A clean death is much more dignified, don’t you think? And in this intrigue we’re engaged in, disobedience would merit the like.”
Maude looked at her with wide eyes.
“You won’t disobey again, will you, Maude?”
“Nay, Lady Edith,” Maude whispered.
“Good,” Edith said, smiling. “Stay here until you’ve recovered. If anyone asks you about your bruises, say you fell down the stairs. They won’t ask any more.”
“Aye, my lady.”
“You’ll do nothing until I tell you otherwise.”
“Aye, my lady.”
Edith nodded, rose, and brushed off her hands. She left the tower chamber. Supper was over, the keep in an uproar and there would be no peace for her that night to sit and think on her plans. That likely wouldn’t have served her anyway. Now it was best that she show herself to the family and express the appropriate horror and outrage. She could think on the morrow about how best to proceed.
Perhaps ’twas time she haunted the lists and watched Baldwin at his work. The saints only knew what kind of mischief she might find to stir up there. If nothing else, the fresh air might give her a new idea or two.
She shook her head as she descended to the great hall. Too much poison. By the saints, was she required to do all this herself?
14
Anne stood on the steps leading up to the great hall and watched the scene before her in the courtyard. There was the wagon, of course, bearing young Stephen of Hardwiche’s body. The lady Gwennelyn was already mounted. Rhys’s men were preparing to go, checking their gear and such.
Rhys stood apart with Robin, no doubt giving him last minute instructions. Anne watched Robin listen and marveled at his patience. He certainly hadn’t shown any with her the night before. He’d been gruff in his mother’s solar as he splinted her wrist and she very much suspected that he had been cursing her right along with his brother. Once Nicholas had arrived with the grim tidings, Robin had dragged her down the steps behind him, put her in a chair in the great hall, then ignored her for the rest of the evening.
Then again, he had kissed her hand.
In a rough, unpolished sort of way.
She looked down at that hand, then clasped it with the other and hid it back beneath her cloak. Her hands were white and they were shaking. She knew the reason why. It had come to her as she’d sat in the great hall the night before, looking at young Stephen’s body laid out before the hearth. The solar door slamming she could have understood. Losing her footing on the stairs she also could have understood. She could have imagined being pushed.
But almost drinking wine that had killed a child?
That she could not ignore and the realization the night before had almost left her faint.
Someone was trying to kill her.
She’d sat in her chair the night before and trembled. She’d watched the goings-on around her and shaken with the horror of it all. She’d said nothing of it to anyone. It had seemed almost too foolish a notion to give voice to. After all, who was to say the wine hadn’t been meant for someone else?
Cook had found the lad slumped in a corner of the kitchen, an empty jug at his elbow. It could have been drunk by anyone, though Anne remembered vividly Robin’s rudeness in snatching the cup from her and giving it to Stephen. Had he not done so, she would have found herself in that baggage wain, dead and not minding at all the journey back to Fenwyck.
It was enough to weaken her knees.
She found herself sitting on the steps before she knew she intended to do so. Then before she could understand how she had gotten there, she felt hands on her arms. She was shaken so forcefully, her teeth began to clack together.
“Are you unwell?” Robin demanded urgently.
“Stop shaking me,” she said. Her head was starting to spin uncomfortably. “Robin, please stop.”
He knelt down on the step beneath her and looked at her with clouded eyes. “Why did you sit?”
“My head pained me,” she lied. There was no sense in telling him the truth. He likely wouldn’t believe her anyway.
A long shape sat on the step next to her. Anne looked to her left to find Miles there. His customary grave look was even graver than usual. He put his arm around her, then looked at his brother.
“Rob, think you ’twas poison?”
“What else could it be?”
“Bad eel?”
Robin glared at his brother.
Miles shrugged apologetically.
“Well,” Robin said, “I know of no malady but strong poison that could kill so quickly. It could be nothing else.”
“But why?” Miles asked. “Who would want to kill a hapless child?”
“I don’t know. And I don’t envy Father the trip to Hardwiche.”
“Stephen was the favored son,” Anne whispered. “The youngest, but the most well beloved.”
“At least your sire goes with him,” Miles offered. “That may help. They are related, aren’t they?”
“Aye,” she said. “My stepsister’s husband is Hardwiche’s youngest brother.”
“Well, then,” Robin said with pursed lips, “perhaps your sire will be of some use after all.”
Anne looked up to see her father standing behind Robin. He was less than gentle in pushing Robin aside.
“Anne, a word,” he said curtly.
Robin regained his balance, stood, and offered Anne his hand. Between that and Miles’s arm still around her shoulders, Anne found herself on her feet.
“Shall I stay?” Miles asked with a slight frown.
Anne watched her father push Robin and send him stumbling down the stairs. Miles was hauled away by his tunic and sent on his way with much the same results. Anne looked at her sire.
“That was unnecessary,” she said simply.
“And that is the last I’ll hear of that kind of disrespect from you,” he said angrily. “I can see that being here breeds that in you and I’ll not have it any longer. I’ll return within the month. Be prepared to leave when I arrive.”
There was nothing else she could do to delay her day of reckoning and she knew it well. She swallowed with difficulty. “As you will, Father.”
“No more reprieves, Anne. Rhys fair talked himself into a faint trying to convince me I should leave you here until winter. I’ll not do it, do you understand?”
“Aye, Father.”
Geoffrey grunted, then turned and walked down the stairs. She caught a side view of the glare he gave Robin before he continued to his horse. Anne watched him mount and ride through the gates without a backward glance. Well, at least he was leaving, though she suspected it was under protest and with a great deal of reluctance. Her freedom would last another pair of fortnights. It was the best she could ask for.
The rest of the company followed suit, followed by the wagon bearing the boy’s body. Anne didn’t breathe easily until the gates were shut.
Once the dust had settled, Robin strode off to the lists, likely to reduce whatever lads he could find there to nothing. Miles made her a low bow, then disappeared after his brother, likely to clean up whatever bodies were sure to be littering the lists after Robin’s work was finished.
Anne sat back down on the steps and watched until the courtyard was completely empty. She
tortured herself with visions of her being the one to be leaving, riding down the way to the outer gates, looking back for a final sight of the home she loved so much. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes.
And it was such a ridiculous thing to do, she could hardly believe she was wallowing in her misery so fully—and so unnecessarily. There was no sense in ruining her last few days of freedom with grim thoughts about the future. The future would arrive in its own good time. The best thing she could do would be to enjoy what time remained her.
She stood, stretched, and carefully made her way down the steps. One of the pleasures she enjoyed at Artane that she didn’t at Fenwyck was the freedom to walk where she willed it. She hugged the walls of the lists as a general rule, for the distance was manageable and aid was ever near her should she need it.
She steadfastly refused to think about the fact that this morn she might also have the pleasure of watching Robin while she took her own exercise.
It took her longer than she would have liked to reach the lists, but even so she couldn’t complain. The day was fine, the sun shining, and her cloak protected her from the chill. It couldn’t last, the weather and her freedom, so she savoured it fully while she could.
She walked along near the wall, trying to keep out of anyone’s way. The lists were never empty, but since Robin and Nicholas’s return, they were a busier place than usual. Apparently Robin had surrounded himself with men who were as driven as he—either that or his handpicked guard feared he would truly do them in if they didn’t train as hard as he did.
As usual, she set herself a goal, for there was no sense in not pushing herself while she could. She would make one circuit of the lists before she allowed herself to look for Robin. Her second trek could be made while stealing glances at him every few paces. The third time, should she have the means of managing it, she would look at him fully and not be shamed by it. If she managed to walk that much in one morn, she would deserve whatever pleasure she could take for herself.
She continued on her way slowly, forcing her leg to straighten with each step she took, to accept her weight, to work the muscles that would have rather remained idle. As the pains shot up through her leg into her hip, she cursed herself soundly for having been so inactive. Sitting and sewing peacefully came with a heavy price she had paid often enough in the past. She should have known better this time—
“Anne!”
A man’s scream made her jerk her head up in surprise, then she shrieked as she was knocked to the ground. Her breath had been completely driven from her. If that had been the worst of it, she would have been relieved. But having a mailed man sprawled atop her was fast crushing the life from her.
“Move,” she mouthed, trying to suck in air.
A mail coif was shoved back from the wearer’s head and Anne had a mouthful of dark hair as the man turned his head to look back over his shoulder.
“Robin,” she gasped, “I cannot breathe.” Unbidden tears of pain sprang to her eyes. He was pinning her leg under his thighs and she thought he just might break it soon. “Please!”
Robin heaved himself off her and rose, leaving her lying in the dirt. Anne tried to sit up, but found she couldn’t. All she could do was stare up at the sky and wonder if by some miracle her form would ever again draw breath.
It returned slowly, but moving was still beyond her. She looked above her and saw that Robin was holding the head of a mace in his hand.
“Whose is this?” he bellowed.
A knight fell to his knees. “My lord, it was an accident!”
“You bloody whoreson, you almost killed her!” Robin thundered. He jerked the knight to his feet and shoved him. “Did your master never teach you to check your weapons? A bloody good thing you’re my father’s man, else I’d kill you where you stand!”
“I’d sooner kill myself than harm the lady Anne,” the knight said fervently. “I vow it, my lord. I checked it before I wielded it.”
“And I say you didn’t,” Robin snarled. “If the lady Anne’s life is so precious to you, why is it she almost found herself without a head on her shoulders thanks to you?”
The knight looked as devastated as Anne felt. She knew him to be one of Rhys’s guardsmen and a goodly warrior. She couldn’t believe he would actually try to harm her.
Then again, she never would have believed anyone would try to poison her, either.
Robin looked about him, cursing loudly and fiercely. “Miles!” he shouted.
Anne realized that Miles was kneeling at her head only because he grasped her briefly by the shoulders before he stood and faced his brother.
“Aye?”
“Take this fool and put him in the dungeon.”
The knight protested his innocence, but evidently Miles’s reputation was not far behind Robin’s, for all it took was a drawing of his blade to have the man falling suddenly silent. Anne couldn’t twist her head to see what the outcome of that would be, but she assumed Miles had prodded the poor man toward the great hall.
“Sir Richard,” Robin snapped, “see that all these weapons are checked again. By you personally.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“You will find yourself in the dungeon with Sir Edward if you fail me.”
Anne lifted her eyebrow at that. Richard of Moncrief was Rhys’s man and she was half surprised he took the insult from Robin. Then again, she’d never seen Robin quite so fierce before. She was almost flattered at his concern.
Then she found herself in his sights.
And she sincerely wished she were capable of getting up and hastening away.
He stomped over and glared down at her for a goodly moment before he took her by the arms and hauled her to her feet.
“And you!” he shouted. “What in hell’s name were you thinking to come out here?”
Her breath had returned enough for some speech, though she suspected it wouldn’t be enough to cool Robin’s temper. “Well, I walk here often—”
“This is no place for a woman,” Robin bellowed, “especially one who hasn’t the sense to watch where she’s going. I never want to see you out here again by yourself, is that clear?”
Had she actually had pleasant feelings toward this man? She was a fool.
“I’ll go where I please—” she began haughtily.
“You’ll be locked in your chamber if you don’t obey me! Mindless wench, what were you thinking?” He shook her. “You could have been killed! Do your daydreaming somewhere besides the lists.”
Anne had never been so embarrassed in her life. The garrison was standing not fifty paces away and she knew she couldn’t have been fortunate enough not to have had them hear Robin’s chastisement. She jerked herself away from Robin and turned to go back to the hall. She took only a pair of steps before her leg gave way and she fell to her hands and knees. Her mortification was complete.
Robin came to stand before her. “Pick yourself up and hie yourself back to the house,” he growled. “You have no place here, Anne.”
Anne watched his booted feet retreat and knew deep inside her that she had never hated Robin of Artane as much as she did in that moment.
Richard of Moncrief squatted down before her and held out his hands.
“Let me assist you, my lady,” he said quietly.
“Get away from me, you baseborn wretch,” she spat, her grief and shame crashing over her in a fierce wave. “I need no aid.” She lifted her head and swept the rest of the men with a glare. “Begone! I’m no cripple, damn you all! Go!”
Anne knew she should rise, but she couldn’t. All she could do was remain on her hands and knees and bow her head. At least that way she didn’t have to look at the cluster of men that no doubt still watched her. Though they had retreated, she knew they were still there. And what a sight she must have made!
And it was a sight she would no longer provide for them. She lifted her head long enough to look for something by which she could lever herself to her feet. There was a bench pushed u
p against the wall, but it was a goodly distance away. It would have to do, for she could see nothing else useful.
She began to crawl.
15
Robin put his hands against the bailey wall and leaned against it, trying to catch his breath and ease the pain in his chest. He closed his eyes and prayed he was imagining things. With the handful of days he’d just endured, perhaps ’twas understandable that his wits were not at their sharpest. There was much of coincidence in this life. Perhaps he had just experienced a greater share of it of late than a normal man might.
Then again another man might not have seen the woman he loved in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs.
Another man might not have recently stopped that same woman from drinking wine that would have poisoned her to death.
Another man surely wouldn’t have watched the heavy spiked ball of a mace go flying through the air toward that woman’s head. That was the most unsettling of all. ’Twas naught but chance that had left him walking toward her. He’d scarce turned in time to save her.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that this had gone far past happenstance.
He pushed back from the wall, dragged his hands through his hair, and blew out his breath. He would go back to the hall and apologize to Anne. She would likely think he had spoken to her harshly. If she knew he’d done it out of fear and not malice, perhaps she would forgive him.
He turned, but before he could begin to walk, he saw a sight that was almost as terrible as the one he had almost been privy to.
Anne on her hands and knees, crawling.
He looked at her in dismay. By the saints, he’d never meant to reduce her to this!
She was making her way toward a bench. Just that effort looked to be costing her much. He spared the garrison a brief glance and saw a variety of emotions on their faces. Pity for the most part. Even Sedgwick’s expression was a serious one. That was just as well for him. Robin would have likely killed him for anything else.
And then a handful of the men turned to look at him and Robin was faintly surprised to see anger in their faces and a goodly amount of accusation—as if he had been the one to put Anne in that position!