by Lynn Kurland
All the same, now she had come this far, there was no sense in not finishing the deed. She took the ring and slid it onto her finger, the finger that should have worn a betrothal ring.
It was too big.
But not by much. Better too big than too small, she conceded. Should such a thing have been for her, could it have been easier to have it made smaller or larger?
A pity she knew nothing of goldsmithing.
Before she could wallow any longer in her foolishness, she rewrapped the ring and placed everything back in the box as it had been—or as closely as she could remember. Perhaps if Robin thought she had been meddling, then he would shout at her and she could question him.
She placed the ribbons back carefully on the top and took small comfort in that. He had saved what she had given him. That was enough for her at present.
He had also wed her and saved her life, and the latter more than once. There were many reasons to have kind feelings for him. She put his box in his trunk, shut the lid, and sat down upon it to give the morning’s events further consideration.
Robin had surely been wounded by his father’s doubt of him. Now that she looked back on what he’d said, he hadn’t disparaged her. She suspected he’d felt a goodly amount of shame at his father’s rebuke, especially given the fact that Robin hadn’t been allowed to explain himself. He would have taken that as a personal affront and she could only imagine how that would have angered him.
Or hurt him.
She turned that thought over in her mind for a goodly while. Aye, perhaps that was it. Perhaps he felt he’d been embarrassed in front of her and that distressed him. The thought of Robin of Artane being embarrassed on her account was so ridiculous she felt her cheeks begin to burn. She could hardly believe she was actually considering such a thing. By the saints, she was a simpleton. Her opinion could not possibly matter to him. His sire’s, aye, but not hers.
She looked back over the events of the past fortnight, though, and she had to concede that he might have some affection for her. She suspected that if he’d been toying with her, he would have bedded her, not simply asked for a virginal kiss or two.
And there was her wedding to consider. Anne sighed deeply. It certainly wasn’t how she had envisioned it, though now she wondered how she could have imagined anything else. Robin had defended her, wed her, and clouted her father in the nose all within moments of each other.
Only Robin could have done the like.
And there was the look he’d given her once he’d deposited her inside the hall. She’d known he expected an answer of some sort regarding where she would sleep, but for the life of her she’d had none to give. She had assumed she would sleep with him, though she’d certainly avoided thinking on consummating their marriage.
She frowned. Was it that he had no intention of doing the like?
She sighed and shook her head. There was nothing to be done but see to dinner, drag Robin in from the lists, and hope that things sorted themselves out in time. With everyone gone, they would have no one to distract them. It might happen that they would be so desperate for conversation that they might speak to each other and then who knew what might happen?
Anne rose and left the bedchamber. She saw to supper, blessing Gwen for having taught her so well that the servants honored her requests without question. At least in this aspect of being Robin’s wife she would succeed.
She put her cloak on and made her way out to the lists. It was dark and a substantial rain was falling. Anne walked carefully over the slippery ground, holding her skirts up well out of the mud. She’d changed her gown for something less blood-spattered and it was almost all she had to wear unless she filched something of Gwen’s.
And then without warning, she ran bodily into someone.
She jerked back with a cry only to find herself facing Edith of Sedgwick. Anne looked at her in surprise.
“Edith?” she asked. “Are you unwell?”
Edith only stared at her in such an unsettling manner that Anne almost turned and ran. The woman was dripping wet, as if she’d been standing out in the rain for the whole of the afternoon. Her face was haggard, her eyes empty, and her cloak askew on her shoulders. Indeed, she looked as if she’d suffered a great tragedy of some kind.
“Edith,” Anne repeated. “Are you unwell?”
Edith shivered once, violently, then blinked and looked at Anne.
Or looked through her, rather.
Without another word, Edith stepped around her and started back toward the great hall. Anne didn’t wait to watch and assure herself the other woman had reached her goal. She hiked up her skirts and hastened to the lists as quickly as she could. Would that Rhys and Gwen had taken Edith along with them.
She saw the light of a torch in the distance and felt relief flood her at the sight. It took her little time to join Jason under a wooden shelter that rested against the outside of the inner bailey wall. He was shivering and the torchlight flickered as a result. He made her a low bow.
“My lady,” he said, straightening and frowning at her. “What do you outside in this weather?”
She shook off the unease that Edith had inspired in her. “What do you think I’m doing?” she asked dryly. “Someone has to fetch him in for supper.” She looked out into the gloom. “Where is he?”
It looked as if all the men had gone in, for there was no one there. And then she caught sight of a figure running in the distance, keeping close to the wall. She’d seen Robin running about in such a fashion more than once, but usually only after he’d finished off his own men and there was no sport left for him. But that had generally been in dry weather. She could hardly believe he was doing such a thing when the chances of him landing facedown in the mud were very good indeed.
“He won’t come in,” Jason said, sounding as if he very much wished Robin would.
Anne glanced at Jason to find he looked miserably uncomfortable, and it looked as if his discomfort didn’t come completely from the rain. “What ails you, Jason?” she asked.
“I’m sorry,” he said hesitantly. “I know it isn’t my place to apologize for my master, but he should be inside with you. I tried to speak to him about it, but he flicked my ear most vigorously and bid me be silent.”
Anne looked at Jason for a moment, then turned to watch Robin thoughtfully. A day ago she might have been terribly hurt to think he would rather be in the lists than at her side. She likely would have either cursed him and hardened her heart, or she would have retreated to her chamber and wept.
But now things were different. She’d had a peek into his heart. She suspected that Robin was doing his damndest to outrun his demons.
Well, he could run until he dropped, but it wouldn’t change a thing for him. Perhaps in time he would come to realize that. But it was his realization to make. All she could do until then was try to keep him fed so he would have the strength to keep running.
She watched him continue to make his way around the lists toward her and Jason. He came to a halt before her, then leaned over with his hands on his thighs and sucked in great gulps of air.
“What . . . do you . . . here?” he wheezed. “You’ll catch . . . your death.”
Anne pursed her lips, unimpressed. “Come inside and eat.”
He straightened. “I’m not . . . finished.”
“You are for the moment. You are welcome to return after I’ve seen you fed.”
He looked at her, his eyes inscrutable in the torchlight. His hair was dripping into his eyes and his surcoat clung to his chain mail. Anne wondered if Nicholas had it aright and Robin would actually rust. What she did know, however, was that Robin looked a bit like a drowned rodent of some sort and he was the one who would catch his death if he didn’t come inside and warm up.
The other thing she noticed was that he wasn’t arguing with her. He was merely watching her as if he couldn’t understand why she was there. Was he so surprised, then, that she would come to fetch him? That made her pause. Perh
aps she would be unwise to act on her newfound knowledge of him. Would she be better served to be aloof?
She shook her head, wondering if perhaps standing outside was beginning to turn her common sense to mush. She would not resort to foolish games. She would treat Robin with respect and courtesy. If he at some point decided to unveil his heart to her, she would accept it gracefully.
And if he never did the like, she would accept that as well—though perhaps not as gracefully.
It was enough to know he had kept her ribbons. He had cared for her gently over the past fortnight. He had wed her that morn. She suspected that not even his father could have forced him had Robin been truly determined not to.
But she wouldn’t make the first move. That was for Robin to do.
He pushed his hair back from his face and frowned. “A small meal. Then I’ll return.”
And then, miracle of miracles, he offered her his arm. Anne accepted, ignoring the water that began to pool in her sleeve and the way her slippers squished in the mud. She had won a victory and she had nothing to complain about.
“A meal.” Jason sighed happily from behind them.
Anne smothered her smile and walked on.
29
Edith of Sedgwick stood in the tower chamber, perfectly still despite her garments, which were soaked through to her skin. She would not shiver. It was a weakness and she would tolerate no weakness, neither in herself nor others.
Perhaps ’twas a good thing Maude was dead.
She had watched Lord Rhys carry the body off with him on his journeys. She imagined that Canfield wouldn’t care much about his daughter’s death. She’d been a plague to him for quite some time. And no one would blame Robin. It had been a matter of defense.
Which led her thoughts in a new direction.
Having a legitimate reason for murder was never a poor thing.
The door opened and slammed shut behind her, sending her candle flame flickering wildly.
“Can you believe it?” a voice exclaimed.
Edith closed her eyes and reached down deep inside herself for patience. It was all she could do not to turn on her brother. Was he such a fool he couldn’t see how Maude’s death had fouled her plans?
“He took all his bloody children with him!” Baldwin exclaimed.
Edith had cursed over that bit of misfortune as well. First Maude running amok and now Artane having taken Edith’s other potential victims with him.
It had not been a productive day.
“And why did he leave the eldest three behind?” Baldwin demanded. “How does that serve me?”
“They didn’t stay,” Edith said. “Off to Wyckham, I believe.”
“How am I to wed with Amanda, now that Robin has wed with Anne?” Baldwin spoke as if he hadn’t heard her, which, knowing him, he likely hadn’t.
Edith pursed her lips. “Mayhap you can—”
“My prey,” Baldwin interrupted, looking as baffled as if a fox had suddenly slipped from under his nose. “They’re gone!”
“Surely you can track them.”
He blinked, then began to pace—never a good sign. Edith sighed and waited for him to spew some other bit of rot.
“I’ll track them,” he announced suddenly.
“You’ll need help,” Edith suggested.
“Ah,” he said, nodding, “of course. That can be hired.” He resumed his pacing. “I’ll see to Rhys and the brood he has with him, then turn my sights to Wyckham.”
Edith sincerely doubted he would find Rhys and his brood unattended enough for slaying. They would likely ensconce themselves in Fenwyck for a goodly time. And Rhys was no fool. He’d been a mercenary himself in his day, and his family was full of spies for the French king. If anyone could escape Baldwin’s clumsy attempts at murder, it would be Rhys. Likely half-asleep and well into his cups even.
But seeking lads to aid him would keep Baldwin occupied and that was not something to be dismissed lightly. Edith listened to him plot and scheme, encouraged him when needed, then watched him leave all in a bluster.
And then she turned her attentions back to her own dilemma.
Her own plans were ruined.
Ruined.
Someone would have to pay for that.
She suspected she would have little trouble deciding upon whom.
30
Joanna of Segrave swept into Artane’s great hall at sunrise, happy to be off her horse and more than happy to be at her journey’s end. She pointed her cook toward the kitchen entrance and sent him off with instructions to make the best of things. Though Gwen and Rhys set a fine enough table, Joanna was not prepared to settle for anything marginal at supper. She had work to do and no time to worry about trivialities such as the condition of her daughter’s larder.
The hall was oddly quiet and it puzzled her until she made her way to the lord’s table. One weary soul slept with his face mashed against the wood. His squire kept him company, his own head lolling back against his chair, his mouth wide open to accommodate his snores.
Joanna lifted the first’s head by his hair and was greeted by the sight of bleary gray eyes.
“Are you drunk?” she asked bluntly.
“Grandmère,” the man said with a sweet smile. “How lovely . . .”
Joanna let his head resume its resting place with a none-too-gentle thump. “Robin, where is your bride?”
“Hmmm,” Robin said, smacking his lips a time or two and then drifting back off to slumber.
Joanna slapped the table with both hands hard enough to make Robin’s squire choke on his snorts and throw himself suddenly to his feet. Robin only continued to sleep on blissfully. Joanna fixed Jason with a steely glance.
“Have you answers for this, lad?”
“He trained until but a few hours ago, my lady,” Jason said, snapping to attention.
“And his bride?”
“She allowed it.”
Apparently there was more to the tale than she could divine at first glance. Joanna looked at Robin’s squire, then at Robin, then she considered.
Once she had heard Robin had returned to Artane, she had immediately decided to take up her journey north. ’Twas far past time the boy was wed and she had been determined to see it happen. Though she had never taken part in such matchmaking in the past, she had decided perhaps it was a new vocation to pursue. She had been blessed with a love match in her youth and had mourned her late husband for years. She had watched her daughter have her own long years of difficulty while waiting for her marriage to Rhys de Piaget to come about. Joanna had waited for Robin to come to his senses for too long.
She had encountered her daughter the evening before on the road to Fenwyck and a hasty retelling of the past fortnight’s events had left Joanna no less determined to see Robin happily settled. Anne deserved to be properly wooed and it was a certainty that Robin didn’t have the skill to do it on his own. It was a grandmère’s duty to see to that education, especially when that grandmère was so immeasurably suited to the task.
It was for that reason that she had brought a score of souls possessing various talents related to the art of life at court. If Robin couldn’t learn to behave with those bodies as his instructors, then the boy was truly hopeless and Joanna would have no choice but to leave him to his own devices.
And pity Anne for it.
And if she waited much longer to begin her labors, she would have no great-grandchildren to fuss over before she found herself in her own grave. The time for action had come.
“A bucket of water, young Ayre,” Joanna commanded.
Jason’s eyes widened quite dramatically. “But, my lady—”
“You’re a quick lad to see my purpose,” Joanna said. “Be even quicker about fetching me what I need.”
Jason gulped and nodded, though it was done none-too-enthusiastically. Joanna watched him fight his way through the gaggle of souls who currently sought to gain entrance into the hall at the same time. She looked over her little flock a
nd was pleased with what she saw. These were various and sundry souls who had wound up at her keep for equally various and sundry reasons, not the least of which was her fondness of all things refined. That and, she supposed, the quality of the meals her kitchen had consistently produced since shortly after she had become mistress of Segrave. Whatever the true reason, she had amassed a following of impressive proportions and each man a master at his craft.
And now young Robin was about to have their expertise distilled upon his poor, unchivalrous self.
Whether he willed it or no.
The noise in the hall had become almost impossible to speak and be heard over. No matter. She had no intention of shouting to wake her grandson. She waited patiently until Jason returned with his heavy bucket of water. Then she gestured pointedly at Robin.
“Douse him,” she commanded.
Jason looked as miserable as if she’d commanded him to plunge a blade through Robin’s heart. “But, Lady Joanna . . .”
“I’ll tell him ’twas my idea.”
“Forgive me, my lady, but that won’t matter.”
Joanna searched her wits for something that would motivate the lad, short of having her guards poke him with their swords. She’d known countless men over the years who had been swayed by their bellies, but she suspected Robin inspired a loyalty in Jason that not even a decent meal could influence.
That, she decided, was a point in Robin’s favor.
She tried another course. “Jason, the sooner he wakes, the sooner he can be taught the ways to win over his lady.”
“My lady?”
“Chivalry training, Jason. I’ve brought his teachers with me.”
Jason looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened. “Them?” he squeaked.
“And none other,” she said. “Now, wake him please, and let’s get on with this.”
Jason shook his head, took a deep breath, and pulled back the bucket. “He won’t like it, my lady.”
“They never do, my lad.”
Jason closed his eyes, blurted out a heartfelt prayer, then he took a deep breath and let fly the water. Robin leaped to his feet with a howl. Joanna found the bucket thrust into her hands and Jason under the table before she could protest. Robin had his sword drawn and looked as if he planned to kill the first person he clapped eyes on. But since that person was her, she merely smiled pleasantly at him.