by Lynn Kurland
“Oh, Robin, I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head. But as he looked in her eyes, he prayed he would see something there that would ease the heaviness in his heart. He wanted her to know what he’d seen and how desperately he’d wished in his innermost heart that she would want him home, that she would want him next to her, that she would be proud of what he had become.
Tears spilled over onto her cheeks. Robin shook his head.
“I didn’t say that to grieve you.”
“You fool,” she said with a groan. “I know that.”
He looked down at his interlaced fingers and saw that his knuckles were white. Anne’s slender fingers were resting atop them.
“I’m sorry, Robin.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he said with a sigh. “War is war. There is no glorifying it. ’Tis a bloody business.”
“Are you returning soon?”
Now, if that wasn’t a question to be answered carefully he didn’t know what would be. He didn’t dare look at her. Did she want him to go back to France, or did she want him to stay? He could scarce bear the thought of knowing.
But a coward he wasn’t, so he took his courage in hand and looked her full in the face. “I’m not sure.”
“Your father needs you here, Robin.”
Ah, of course. His father would need him. He sighed. There was no mention of how she needed him, but he knew he couldn’t have expected the like.
“He’s been terribly lonely without you.”
Robin pursed his lips. “He has plenty of other sons.”
She didn’t reply.
Robin couldn’t move; he could scarce believe what he’d just said. It was out, his worst demon. He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. So his sire had been the baron of Ayre, a powerful man in his day. Robin would have torn the blood out of his own veins if it would have meant Rhys de Piaget’s blood flowed through them. It was possibly the one thing he wanted the most, and the one thing he knew he could never have.
Save Anne, that was.
“You are his firstborn, Robin,” Anne said gently. “He loves you very much.”
“He may tolerate me,” Robin said stiffly, “but you know as well as I that I am not his firstborn. Miles has that honor. My sire was a miserable whoreson.” He slanted a look her way, wondering if she would agree with him or not.
She merely smiled gently. “Was he? Perhaps when you’re a better frame of mind, I’ll give you my thoughts on it.”
“There is no thinking to do on it, Anne. You cannot change the facts.”
Her smiled turned amused. “You are an impossible lad, aren’t you, Robin? I don’t think I’ve ever met a more stubborn soul.”
“I am not a lad. I’m a man full grown. Your disrespect is, at the very least, highly insulting.”
She leaned back against the stone wall, but she didn’t take her hand away from his. Robin didn’t dare move, for fear he would frighten her away. She stared out over the courtyard again.
“Don’t you remember how we loved the rain when we were small?”
He forced the tension out of himself. Aye, he remembered well. Rainy days had been his favorite, the only time he had had full days of leisure. He had passed them with Anne as a rule, finding that her sweetness was much preferable to Nicholas’s teasing or the other lads’ sharp, judging eyes. They had spent hours in this very spot, playing chess or simply talking softly as Rhys carried on with the business of the keep. Robin had boasted of the fine warrior he would become and she had remained silent, listening to him raptly. She had been such a shy, dreamy child and he had been her protector, her champion. He’d taught her to play chess on the same bench they now occupied, allowing her to win time and time again, merely to hear her laugh at him.
Aye, he had loved her dearly.
He had never allowed her back after his humiliation. She’d tried to come, knocking on his door softly, begging him to let her in. In time, the knocking had ceased and he had been alone to squelch his tears with harsh young pride.
“Do you remember how you used to lie using my legs as your pillow and pay me to sing to you?”
He blinked away his hard memories and looked at her. “What?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“I remember no such thing. I never had time for such foolishness. And even if I’d had the time, I certainly wouldn’t have been forced to pay you.”
She smiled sadly. “Your memory is short, my lord.” She rose and limped slowly over to the fire. Robin watched her take up her sewing trinkets and sit down on a chair near the hearth. She bent over her work; all Robin could see was the glint of firelight on her pale hair.
He leaned his head against the wall. Pay her?
Ah, of course. Now that he thought on it, he remembered very well. He’d never considered her request for his aid a payment at all. She’d begged him to take her to Mass each morn, as she couldn’t bear the teasing of the pages. Morning after morning he had escorted her there, keeping his arm around her to shield her from prying eyes and taunts. He’d never understood why the pages teased her so. Perhaps she hadn’t possessed Amanda’s striking beauty, but she’d been a comely child. Shy but comely. Children were cruel and Anne had suffered because of it.
Well, Mass was over for the day, but perhaps he could serve her in other ways. He’d meant to see her work her leg anyway. Perhaps taking her on a stroll through the passageways would be exercise enough. He could keep her safe. The walk would do her good and it would certain keep him from babbling anything else foolish for an hour or so. Aye, this was something he could do for her and succeed.
He rose and walked across the chamber purposefully. He stopped before her and held out his hand. “Let us walk.”
She paused in her work and looked up at him. “I beg your pardon?”
He took her sewing and put it aside, then held out his hand again. “Come walk, my lady.”
“Freedom?” she asked, looking as if he’d promised her something far more desirable than a bit of painful exercise.
“Aye,” he said, pulling her to her feet. Then he thought better of his haste and looked about him for what he would need. He strode over to a trunk and opened it.
“What seek you now?” Anne asked.
“This,” he said, pulling out a cloak his mother had worn several years past. He drew the cloak around her shoulders, pulling the hood up over her head and covering her glorious hair. He looked down and was surprised to see her face fall.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said quietly.
He was tempted to give her reaction more thought, then thought better of it. He would get her out the door whilst she was still amenable to the idea. He led her to the door, opened it, then looked out to see that the passageway was empty. He turned and looked at Anne. She seemed to have lost much of her enthusiasm for the prospect, but perhaps she had begun to realize that it wouldn’t be all pleasure. He took her hand and pulled her out of the solar behind him.
“We’ll go slowly at first. I don’t know why you’ve let yourself favor that leg, Anne, but you shouldn’t. The less you use it, the more it will pain you.”
She jerked her hand away. “If my limp distresses you so, begone then.”
He looked at her in surprise. “You need to work your leg, Anne. I’m here to see you do it properly.”
“Very well, then,” she said flatly. “Do what you will. It matters not to me.”
Women. Would he ever understand them? Perhaps it was only Anne who baffled him. The women at court he could understand. They wanted him, ready, in their beds. They couldn’t have cared less about his chivalry or lack thereof. He pleasured them well and they were left with a tale to tell their solar companions the next day.
But Anne was different. Robin couldn’t understand her and he suspected he never would. He likely never had. From the looks of things, she couldn’t bear his touch. And his generous offer to help her regain her strength had obviou
sly displeased her.
He was tempted to sit down until his poor head stopped aching.
Saints, he’d never felt so unsure of himself. At least with women at court he knew how to comport himself. A single lifting of one eyebrow was all it usually took to have his bed warmed. He lifted his eyebrow seldom indeed, though.
He didn’t want to speculate on why.
He walked the corridor with Anne and cursed under his breath. Damnation, he wasn’t adept at gentle wooing. Demanding, aye; taking, surely; but wooing? Nay. He’d never had to.
She stumbled and he instantly caught her around the waist. Once she was steady, he tucked her hand under his arm. She jerked it free so hard, she almost went sprawling. Robin turned to her and put his hands on her shoulders to keep her upright. Before he could speak, she’d yanked her hood back.
“Begone from my sight, you heartless swine,” she spat.
Robin felt his jaw slide down. “By the saints, Anne, what in the bloody hell have I done to you now?”
“You hypocrite. You cover my face so no one will see me, yet you hold on to me as if we were lovers. Find some wench more foolish than I to ply your unsavoury trade upon.”
She turned on her heel and limped away. Robin stood, rooted to the spot. Hypocrite? Hypocrite? Damn her, the only reason he had kept her covered was to keep her safe! As for walking as lovers would, the woman had no idea what that meant. Perhaps he would do well to show her, that she never mistook a gallant touch for anything else again.
A shaft of pale light fell over her as she passed by a stairwell.
And he could have sworn there was a faint jingling sound in the distance.
“Anne!” he gasped, leaping forward.
She was so startled, she tripped and went down. A crossbow clattered down the stairs and came to rest at her feet. Robin skidded to a halt next to her. He gaped down at the weapon, still cocked, then looked up the stairwell.
“Guards!” he thundered suddenly. He looked down at Anne, torn. He could either go up the stairs himself after the murderer and leave Anne alone, or he could take her to his sire’s chamber and lock her in, and never let her out again.
He looked at Anne and found that she wasn’t moving. He cursed, waving a fond farewell to any hope of seeing who had attempted to harm her. He knelt next to her and gently drew her up.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded. “Anne, look at me!”
She threw her arms around him and clung to him. Robin was too unsettled to be surprised. He looked up as several of his guardsmen thumped down the steps and came to a teetering halt before him.
“Did you see anyone?” Robin asked.
“Nay, my lord,” his captain said. “Just the normal servants and guardsmen.”
Robin took Anne in his arms and rose to his feet. “Anyone you would remember?”
He watched them think, then frowned at four shaking heads. Well, he supposed he couldn’t fault them overmuch. There were servants and men-at-arms aplenty in the keep, and the passageways were certainly not off-limits to them. Robin sighed, bid his men follow him as he carried Anne up the steps and down to his sire’s chamber.
His siblings rose almost as one as he entered. He ignored them and sought the fire, sinking down into a chair with Anne still in his arms.
“Anne, you’re safe,” he said quietly. “I’ll not leave you again, I swear it.” He wasn’t sure how he would manage that, or if it would even be safe to keep her at his side. But for now, it was the best he could say to her.
“W-who is d-doing this?” she said, her teeth chattering.
“I don’t know, but I’ll find out.”
“What happened?” Miles demanded from Robin’s side.
“Aye,” Nicholas said, coming to stand before him, “what mischief has been wrought? And why weren’t you more careful?”
Robin explained and answered and thought he might go mad if his siblings didn’t give him peace. And just as he thought he might have satisfied their poking and prodding, Anne tried to push out of his arms.
“I can’t sit with you like this,” she said, trying to escape.
“You’ve been sitting with me like this for a goodly while already; you’ll survive a bit longer. Besides, I’m powerfully rattled. You’ll need to hold on to me, very tightly, lest I break down and sob.”
“Don’t mock me!”
“Aye, don’t mock her,” Amanda added, cuffing Robin smartly on the ear.
Robin threw his sister a glare before he turned back to his lady. “I’m not mocking you. Can’t you feel how I tremble?”
He wasn’t about to tell her that fear was only part of the reason he trembled. By the saints, when was the last time he’d held her in his arms? When he’d been ten-and-four? At nine, Anne had hardly been the woman of his dreams.
“Robin, why does someone want me dead?”
“I don’t know.” By the saints, he wished he did.
She nodded, then sucked in her breath as she tried to stretch. Robin realized that he had her leg pinned against him, paining her. He sighed and rose with her in his arms. He carried her to the bed and laid her down. He covered her with a blanket, then turned back to his family, prepared to clear them from the chamber.
They didn’t want to go, he could see that, but he couldn’t stomach any more of their questions. He also thought he might get Anne back in his arms if they were alone and that wasn’t something to be taken lightly. Besides, Nick and the twins could head up a search of the keep while Miles kept the girls safe. He himself had enough to do with his father’s court to hold on the morrow. What else could he possibly find more important to do with his time that day than woo?
Then something else occurred to him. He looked at Anne. “I covered you up to keep you safe, not because I was ashamed of you.”
“Robin—”
“Understood?”
She sighed. “Aye.”
He knew she didn’t believe him, but damn it, he didn’t care. She would believe him if it were the very last thing she ever did. He’d see to it personally. He hadn’t earned the reputation for being ruthless for naught.
He straightened and threw his siblings out. Nicholas, however, seemed loth to leave. Robin considered. He needed to plan a strategy, but he found that somehow it was the last thing he had the stomach for.
Just how was it a battle-roughened knight with flawed manners went about wooing a delicate lady? Nicholas would surely know. Nicholas could charm an abbess out of her clothes.
Robin hesitated at the doorway and frowned. He’d be damned if he’d ask his younger brother for advice. Nicholas would likely offer it to him with a straight face, then go off and howl over it until he was ill. Robin didn’t need his suggestions anyway. Hell, it wasn’t as if he didn’t know Anne already. They’d been raised together. She liked . . . well, she liked . . . He sighed. He had no idea what she liked.
He straightened. It would just take him a bit to remember it. After all, he hadn’t had much to do with her for the past ten years. A girl’s tastes changed. But he’d go to hell before he’d admit his ignorance to Nicholas. The last thing he needed was to be faced with that irritating smirk at every turn.
His brother stood and approached him. Without thinking, Robin threw a fist into his brother’s belly. Nicholas doubled over with a cough.
“What’d I do?” he gasped, straightening.
“Stop your smirking, you arrogant whoreson,” Robin growled, hauling him outside into the passageway. He glared at his guardsmen for good measure, then pushed his brother in the direction of the steps. “You know exactly what you’ve done.”
“You’re daft! What do I have to smirk over?”
Robin gave him another shove. “I can woo her without your suggestions, fool.”
“Woo her?” Nicholas spun around to look at him. “Woo her?”
There was the smirk. Robin was easily as irritated by it as he knew he would be.
“If it were me . . .” Nicholas began.
�
��It isn’t, so shut up.”
“I would prepare a bit of fine verse about her beauty,” Nicholas continued, backing up as he spoke. “But perhaps rhyming isn’t one of your skills.”
Robin clenched his fists and wondered if clouting his brother strongly on the head might rid the dolt—and the rest of England, poor isle—of his own skills in the like.
“A ballad, then,” Nicholas said. “Can you play the lute?”
Robin gritted his teeth. His brother knew he had no skill with minstrelsy, nor much else that didn’t involve a blade and an opponent in which to stick it.
“Dancing?” Nicholas asked doubtfully.
How he continued to think so deeply and continue walking, Robin surely didn’t know. It had to have come from all that time spent capering about great halls to music. A damned unmanly pursuit, to his mind.
Nicholas sighed heavily. “I don’t know how you’ll manage it, Rob—”
“Go!” Robin bellowed.
Nicholas winked, turned, and loped down the stairs. But Robin knew he couldn’t be so fortunate as to escape one final barb.
“Brush her hair,” came the faint suggestion. “Even you could manage that.”
Robin blew out his breath, rolled his eyes heavenward, and turned back toward his bedchamber.
21
Maude pressed herself against the door of the garderobe and tried to catch her breath. The smell didn’t help her in that effort, but she wasn’t used to much finer, given the state of her sire’s hall, so she made do. And as she took very deep breaths to calm her racing heart, she decided something.
Weapons of war were not her forte.
It had been a good hour since her failed attempt on Fenwyck’s get, an hour in which she had wondered if now her own life might be the forfeit. Lady Edith’s words had rung in her head with such force, she thought she might faint from the fear they inspired.
A clean death is much more dignified, don’t you think? And in this intrigue we’re engaged in, disobedience would merit the like.
You won’t disobey again, will you, Maude?