by Lynn Kurland
He didn’t wait for her to agree or disagree, he merely pulled her behind him out the chapel.
“Cheeky bastard!” came the sudden bellow from behind them. “I’ll kill him yet myself!”
Robin grunted. “At least he isn’t permanently damaged.”
Anne choked, a soft sound that made Robin wonder if she were laughing. He looked down at her, but she had bowed her head and he could not see.
He slowed his pace to match Anne’s once they were down the steps and a goodly distance from the chapel. He released her hand, then stole a look at her to see how she would react.
She merely clasped her hands in front of her and continued to stare at the ground.
Ah, so perhaps she truly could not bear him. Robin frowned to cover his consternation. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Perhaps the best thing he could do was keep his distance from her. He would resurrect his plan to return to France—
Which he now couldn’t do, given that his sire was leaving again.
He cursed his father under his breath. Had the man anticipated Robin’s thoughts and thwarted them before Robin could act? Damn him.
Robin waited as Anne mounted the steps to the great hall, then he opened the door for her and crossed with her to the hearth.
“I will don my mail and train,” he said.
She only nodded. She didn’t meet his gaze.
“What chamber will you have?”
She did look up at him then. “What?”
“Well, I didn’t suppose you would want to continue in my sire’s. ’Tis the finest, of course, but after this morning . . .”
“But I thought,” she began, then bit her lip and fell silent.
Robin wasn’t sure how to react to that. Did she expect to share a chamber with him? He took a deep breath.
“Mine is comfortable, but I daresay Amanda’s is cleaner. You can have whichever you choose.”
“Of course,” she said quietly.
Robin scowled. Damn her anyway, what did she want him to say? Come share my bed? She was his wife, after all, though he hardly dared claim his rights.
“Father’s then,” he said in exasperation. “You can decide later on a more permanent solution.”
He looked down at her. There was blood spattered on her hands. Her gown sported an enormous rent in the back and he had likely been the one to muss her hair clutching her to him as he had.
Before he could think better of it, he reached out and put his fingers under her chin. He lifted her face and looked at her. She was pale and tearyeyed and lovely. It was all he could do not to drop to his knees and apologize right there for having ruined her wedding day.
But for all he knew, she was ready to weep because she found herself his wife.
So, he slowly dropped his hand and took a step backward, never taking his eyes from her. And when he could bear it no more, he turned and walked away. He heard his squire trailing dutifully along behind him and prayed Jason would keep himself silent. He also hoped for men in the lists, for he was in sore need of something to take his mind off the sorry state of affairs in his life.
The only good thing had been that at least now they knew who had been trying to hurt Anne. Robin shook his head as he made ready to wage mock war. Maude of Canfield. Who would have thought a simple dalliance would lead to such trouble?
But Fenwyck had been right. Maude was blond. There was a reason for that and Robin hoped Anne wouldn’t think overlong on what that reason might be. It would likely horrify her more than the day of her nuptials had.
28
Anne stood near the fire in Rhys and Gwen’s chamber and watched the flames twist and dance. It was mesmerizing and she wondered how long she had been standing there, unseeing. She finally pulled herself away and sat. She wasn’t sure she could face thinking on the events of the day, but she knew she had little choice. It was necessary to resolve a handful of things in her mind and putting that off wouldn’t serve her.
She leaned her head back against the chair and sighed. One good thing to come of the day was that her assailant was dispatched. Anne looked down at her hands. Washing them had made them clean again, but she suspected it would take her longer than that to rid the memory of blood on them from her mind. Or the horror of knowing how close she had come to having Maude of Canfield’s dagger in her back. Bless Robin for his quickness.
Yet at the same time, she couldn’t help but pity the girl. How miserable she must have been to have found herself driven to such lengths. Anne wondered if she had loved Robin so deeply, or merely been furious that he had left her in his wake, as it were. Perhaps a little of both. All Anne knew was that at least now she might walk freely about the keep without having to look over her shoulder. Maude had perhaps earned her reward for her actions, and there was surely nothing Anne could do about it but to put it behind her and look forward.
It was in the looking forward, though, that she found her most vexing concern. Perhaps it did her no good to think on it, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Robin would ever make her his wife in truth. He certainly hadn’t sounded as if that were in his plans.
She smiled to herself. How greedy she had become. A month ago, it would have sufficed her merely to remain at Artane by whatever means available. Now that she was wed, she found she wanted more than just a place to lay her head. And it was Robin’s fault. Had he never kissed her, never held her in his arms, never even for a brief moment become her safe haven, she never would have wanted more.
But she did.
She closed her eyes with a sigh. Perhaps there would come a time when he would be so starved for company that he would seek her out. Rhys, Gwen, their youngest children, and her sire were already departed, so he would not have them to converse with. She suspected, though, that Robin was very thankful her sire had gone, even though he had departed complaining loudly about the condition of his nose. Anne couldn’t help a small smile over that. She couldn’t deny that he had deserved it. And she couldn’t help but have warm feelings toward Robin for having done the deed.
If that wasn’t defending her abused honor, she didn’t know what was.
But that was something she would think on later.
Amanda, Nicholas, and Miles had not gone with their parents. They were instead making for one of Nicholas’s holdings nearby. The three of them got on perfectly and Anne almost envied them their companionship. They would likely enjoy themselves immensely.
She wondered if she would enjoy the next few days.
Not to mention the rest of her life.
The door opened behind her and Anne leaped up out of habit.
“Only me,” Nicholas said with a smile. “You can be at ease now, remember?”
“It has been a less than leisurely day, my lord.”
He shook his head. “Leave it to Robin to do things any way but the most simple. At least you can cease worrying about your safety. That should bring you some comfort. Well, as comfortable as you can be given that you’re now Robin’s wife.”
“Nicky, I cannot jest about that,” Anne said. “Truly, I cannot.”
Nicholas dropped onto a trunk a pile of things contained in a sack. “Rob’s gear,” he said, then crossed the chamber to take Anne’s hands. “Give him time. He’s a bit thickheaded.”
“I daresay time is what I have the most of,” she said with a sigh.
Nicholas kissed her very chastely on the forehead. “Don’t leave him out in the lists all day. It’s raining and he’ll mold. Either that or he’ll rust, and think on the complaining you’ll need endure.”
“I’m sure he’ll come in eventually.”
“And I’m just as certain he won’t. The lad is possessed.”
“By something foul, to be sure,” Amanda said, coming into the chamber.
“Perhaps he’ll find sense,” Miles said, trailing her, “now that he’s wed his ladylove.”
Anne snorted. “I doubt I’m that.”
Miles only nodded knowingly. “That and more, I daresay.” He slung his
arm around Amanda. “Think on us while you’re residing here in comfort.”
Anne looked at Nicholas. “You’re for Wyckham?”
“Aye,” Nicholas said. “I’ve a few repairs to make—”
“It has no roof,” Amanda put in, wrinkling her nose. “Nor a decent garderobe, I’ll wager.”
Nicholas only smiled pleasantly. “Sunshine and a goodly amount of exercise taken while trudging to the forest to see to your unmentionable needs, sister. What more could you ask for?”
“A goosefeather mattress and a decent meal or two.”
“Which we will not have if Amanda’s at the fire,” Miles said affectionately. “The cooking will obviously fall to me.”
“The saints preserve us,” Amanda said, looking green again.
“I’ll cook,” Nicholas said with a sigh. “I’ll put on the roof. I’ll build you a cesspit to be the envy of all in the north, Amanda. Will that suit you?”
“I’ll see your work, then judge.”
Anne laughed in spite of herself. “And here I was envying you your little holiday together. Off with you, and pray send me word now and then that all three still breathe.”
Nicholas made her a bow, then pulled his brother away. “Come with me, Miles, and let us see to our lady’s baggage. I vow she intends to reside in comfort judging by the weight of it.”
“I will not live in a tent,” Amanda called after them. Then she turned to Anne and hugged her tightly. “I’m so sorry, Anne.”
Anne shook her head. “Nay, all is well.”
Amanda pulled back and raised her eyebrow. “You were wed with my father’s sword bared, Robin’s dead lover cooling at your feet, and Isabelle heaving her porridge into St. Gertrude’s shrine. I imagine you could have wished for a better start to this than that.”
“’Tisn’t the start that matters so much,” Anne said, praying that was true. “’Tis the finish that’s important.”
Amanda looked unconvinced. “Well, you have him, whether you will it or no. I wish you good luck of him. If he mistreats you, send word and I’ll come thrash him for it.”
“He won’t.”
“He’s a clod, Anne. I know you love him, but I vow I can’t understand why.”
“Are you trying to help?” Anne asked in exasperation.
“Well, aye—”
“You aren’t. Go. Enjoy your sunshine and bitter air. I’ll pray it doesn’t rain overmuch. Did you bring a cloak?”
“Nicky brought me one home from France. It will serve me well enough.”
“Then off with you.”
Amanda hugged her tightly, then ran from the chamber in a flurry of skirts. Anne followed her, closed the door, and started to bolt it. Then she realized there was no need. But to think how close she had come to death. If Robin hadn’t turned so quickly. If he hadn’t saved her life . . .
She turned away from that thought and from what she’d seen that morn. Robin had wed her and given her the gift of Artane to enjoy for the rest of her life. Perhaps that would be enough.
She turned, leaned back against the door, and surveyed her domain. Gwen had bid her make free use of the chamber and vowed they would be gone for at least half a year. Anne suspected it wouldn’t be that long, but still there was no sense in not making the chamber hers for the time she would have it. Once the unremarkable task of unpacking had been accomplished, she could turn her mind to other things.
Namely, how she would survive a life with Robin of Artane if he intended to spend all his time in the lists.
And then she would worry about why he apparently preferred the sport of his fellows to her company and what that boded for her marriage to him.
She pushed away from the door and turned her mind to her task. Her clothes had been brought for her and laid upon the bed. It took her little time to put them away, for she had left much behind at Fenwyck. Not as much as her sire would have liked at the time, but enough that she had precious little here to call her own.
Robin’s gear was not much more. Anne opened his sack and put his clothes into his father’s trunk. He had no trinkets as such and she came close to folding up the rough linen bag when she realized there was something else inside it. She reached down and pulled out a battered wooden box.
And she wondered just what it might contain.
Her conscience warred with her curiosity. She shouldn’t look. These were Robin’s private things, things he likely wouldn’t want anyone perusing.
But then again, they might give her some insight, some hint into the contents of his heart. Wasn’t that reason enough to paw through them like a thief ?
She got to her feet, quickly bolted the door, then retreated to the alcove. There was precious little light from the gray sky outside, so she fetched a candle. She set it a goodly ways away from the box, lest she set the contents on fire, took a deep breath and opened the lid.
Laying on top of everything else were four things she recognized immediately. Ribbons she herself had fashioned for Robin at various times in his life. The sight shocked her so, she could barely lift them out.
She looked at the first, a wide ribbon she had embroidered for Robin during his illness. She remembered vividly sitting by his side and listening to him tease her about her clumsy attempts. But it had been gentle teasing and he had accepted her finished gift with a grave smile and a hug that had almost broken her ribs. He had vowed he would never be without it. Later she had been certain he had been lying. Now, she knew he had been telling the truth.
The next three had been fashioned by more skillful hands. She had given them to him at his knighting, at his first tournament, when he had gone off on the crusade. To her knowledge, Robin had never worn any of them. But the ribbons before her told her a different tale.
She could hardly believe he had kept them.
She took the favor she had given him at his knighting and trailed her finger over his crest, over the black lion rampant with the aqua eyes. There were no scars on that one, though she could see even now where the knot had been tied to hold it around his arm.
The next ribbon was the one she had given him at the first tourney he’d attended after his knighting. She looked at one end of the ribbon. Those were not her stitches mending the thing and she could only surmise that Robin had done the honors himself. And that could only mean that somehow it had been cut from him. Perhaps he had it after all.
She took the last ribbon in her hands. There was hardly anything left of it. She remembered well how she had snuck into his chamber and left it for him on his pillow on the night before he’d left for the crusade. It looked as if he’d worn it continuously—or so she told herself. His clumsy stitches were all over it. The crest was unraveling and the ribbon was in shreds. But it was clean, as if it had been cared for tenderly.
Anne set the ribbons carefully aside, still so stunned by the finding of them in Robin’s box that she could scarce see for the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.
She brushed them aside, though, for she had more to look at and little time in which to do it.
There was a letter there and she opened it without hesitation. And she found herself weeping in earnest at the words Gwen had written there, words of encouragement, words of love. It was no wonder Robin had kept it close.
She put it aside and pulled out a heavy silver ring, stamped with his crest. She remembered when Rhys had given it to him, though to her knowledge, Robin had never worn it.
She paused. Why was that?
She supposed that perhaps he might not wear it because it certainly couldn’t be comfortable to wield a sword with a ring on his hand.
Or did it go deeper than that?
She held the ring up to the candlelight and looked at it thoughtfully. Did Robin not wear it because he didn’t feel he had earned the right? His words in Rhys’s solar came back to her. Give it all to Miles, Father. Give him the title, your lands, your gold. Give it to your son of the flesh. Give him Anne while you’re at it.
&n
bsp; Was that truly what he thought? She shook her head, marveling at his stupidity. Rhys could not possibly love a son more than he loved Robin. Nor could a son possibly look any more like his sire than Robin did Rhys. She wasn’t sure how such a thing might have come about, but there was little doubt in her mind over it.
She shook her head and put aside the ring. Perhaps one day she would have the answer to that mystery, as would Robin, and he would be at peace.
Nestled in the bottom of the box was a heavy gem and Anne recognized it at once. Rhys had given it to Robin, desiring him to bind it into a sword. No doubt that gift resided herein for the same reason the ring did. She could almost hear Robin saying it.
This should go to a son of his flesh.
Anne stared out the window. Could Robin be Rhys’s in truth? That would mean that Gwen and Rhys had lain together while Gwen was married to Alain of Ayre. How would Robin react if he were to learn he was actually Rhys’s bastard son? By the saints, she didn’t want to see the shouting match that would ensue from that. Nay, perhaps ’twas best she keep her suspicions to herself. Perhaps Rhys himself didn’t know. Though how he could doubt it, she couldn’t imagine. But souls were ofttimes blind—Rhys and Robin being perfect examples of the same.
She put aside the stone, read another pair of letters from Robin’s parents, then paused. The last thing remaining was something wrapped in a bit of cloth. Slowly, she unwrapped the cloth and caught her breath.
It was a ring. Anne held it up to the light. It was the most beautiful green stone she had ever seen. The gold was so fair, it looked to be silver.
It was sized to fit a woman’s hand.
Anne was so tempted to try it all that the impulse fair felled her on the spot.
But what if she tried it on and it didn’t fit?
Or worse, it did?
She curled her fingers around it, brought it to her chest, and closed her eyes. By the saints, this had been a poor idea. What had she been thinking to grope through his things? She deserved this. Nothing good ever came of eavesdropping and she could now add to that rummaging through one’s husband’s private things. She was a fool and she deserved the pain she’d just brought upon herself.