by Lynn Kurland
And when he’d finished that, he turned to the most glorious of battles and the most daring of escapades.
The afternoon passed into evening.
Robin paused in his pacing to gauge the effect his most exciting tale yet had upon the women. He looked at his grandmother to find that her head was resting against the back of the chair and she was sound asleep. Every now and again a delicate snort would come from her lips.
His lady wife was not asleep—not yet. He watched her smother an impressive yawn, then watched as she realized she was being observed.
“Interesting,” she said, nodding. “Breathtaking. Truly.” She smiled encouragingly.
Robin pursed his lips, hoping that she could see that he didn’t much believe her enthusiasm.
On the other hand, he had to concede that she was smiling at him and listening with a pleasant, if sleepy, expression on her face. He couldn’t complain about that.
He sighed and pulled up a stool in front of her. Perhaps he’d regaled the pair with enough tales of bloodshed and the like. He had a moment of peace with his lady; he might be wise to use it. His grandmother was snoring peacefully, albeit daintily, so their self-appointed chaperon wouldn’t be looking at him pointedly if he made some unacceptable social blunder. He looked at his lady and was faintly surprised at the ease he felt in her company. Surely she had seen him at his worst—bedecked with feathers and all manner of baubles—yet she hadn’t laughed at him. He’d stepped on her toes enough for a score of dancers, yet still she seemed to endure his presence well enough.
Yet now that he had her, he hardly knew what to do with her. More stories of battle seemed a bit inappropriate, even for him. He racked his pitiful brain, praying for some small bit of inspiration. He watched Anne shift in the chair and suddenly it occurred to him how he could amuse her. Or at least show her that he had thought of her over the years. After all, wasn’t the avenging of your lady’s honor a noble thing? Perhaps it was time she knew it.
“Anne,” he said.
“Aye?”
“Do you remember Peter of Canfield?”
She paused, then a look of perfect stillness descended upon her face. “Aye,” she answered carefully.
And remember him she should. Never mind that he was Maude’s brother and Maude was someone he would rather avoid talking about. Peter had once trapped Anne in a stable and taunted her until she was hysterical. Robin hadn’t been privy to it, though he’d heard tell of it through one of the little twins who had witnessed the event. Robin had thrashed Peter several times in the lists afterwards, but it had never seemed quite enough. Fortunately, another opportunity had presented itself.
“I saw him,” he began, “in a tourney three years ago in France.”
She didn’t reply.
“It might interest you to know that I bested him in the joust and held him for ransom. I took, of course, all his gold, his horse, and his mail.”
“Of course.”
“But I left him his tent.”
She smiled faintly. “Good of you.”
“Aye, it was. And whilst he slept in that tent in the midst of the lists, for he could find no one to help him move it, as his squire and sundries were too thrashed by my lads to aid him, I crept in and took what clothes I had left him.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did,” Robin said pleasantly. “Not a stitch remained him.”
She waited expectantly.
“Now, the stands the next day were quite crowded with a great number of France’s finest nobles. I, being the diligent soul I am, had noised about that there would be a great bit of entertainment that morn and ’twould serve all in the area to arrive early to see it.”
She laughed. “Oh, Robin.”
He couldn’t help a smile himself. “As you might imagine, the lists were full when Peter came stumbling from his tent, naked. He was laughed off the field and out of France. He hasn’t dared show himself at another gathering since.”
Anne shook her head. “You are incorrigible.”
“Well,” he said mildly, “I do what I can for the cause of truth and right. Now, perhaps it would amuse you to hear the fate of Rolond of Berkhamshire. I remember him being such a fine, upstanding young lad in his youth.”
Actually Rolond had been one of the worst. Robin could still remember hearing him call Anne ugly time and time again. Well, at least she was still smiling now. She hadn’t been then.
“My memory fails me on his character,” Anne said, “but I’ll accept your word for it. What havoc did you wreak upon his hapless soul?”
“I was at court briefly a year or so ago,” Robin began, “flattering and courting the king as was expected, when I happened to learn that Rolond and his substantial wife, Alice, were there. And let us not forget his mistress, Martha, who was placed in a nearby chamber.”
She caught her breath. “You didn’t.”
Robin smiled modestly. “It was purely by chance that I saw Rolond go into his mistress’s chamber. Fearing for his eternal soul, I hurriedly sought out a servant to inform his wife of the deep sin into which her husband was about to fall face-first.”
Anne was watching him with a smile. “How thoughtful of you.”
“Aye,” he said, “it was. Now, as it happened, the servant wasted little time in passing on the tidings. It seemed just a moment that I spent hiding in an alcove—just to see that no stone was left unturned, of course—before Lady Berkhamshire came thundering down the hall with the fury of an avenging angel. She didn’t bother to knock; she merely burst into the chamber. She rescued her mate from the clutches of that fallen woman, dragging him out with his hose down around his knees and his hands continuing to clutch what had surely been his mistress’s ample bosom only moments before.”
“You didn’t!”
He smiled. “I can only take credit for being a spy and a teller of tales. Lady Berkhamshire provided the amusing sport. And the last I heard, dear Lord Berkhamshire hasn’t seen the outside of his walls since. It would seem his wife rules with an iron hand.”
Anne leaned her head back against the chair and smiled at him. “You are a terrible troublemaker, Lord Artane.”
“I have several more stories that I think you would find just as amusing, should you wish for me to trot them out for your inspection.”
“My lord, you are so gallant.”
He felt his smile falter. “It won’t last.”
“I wouldn’t want it to.”
He sighed. “I’m not fond of playing the gushing lord at court, Anne. As you should have noticed by now.”
“Robin, what makes you think that is what I want? I never could stomach a man with affected manners and no substance underneath them. I can’t imagine why they’re so popular.”
He tried not to show his surprise. “But surely you want a chivalrous knight. Every woman wants a chivalrous knight.”
“Chivalry hasn’t served me before, except from one lad in my youth. I haven’t had much use for it since.” She met his gaze unflinchingly. “There is more to love than chivalry, Robin.”
He could hardly believe she’d said the like, but there was no hint of jest in her face. And what was this business of a chivalrous lad in her youth? She couldn’t be possibly talking about him. Could she?
Robin looked down at her hands folded in her lap. Then, before he could think better of it, he reached for one and held it between his own. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t held her hand before. But he’d never held her hand knowing that she was his, that it was his privilege to enjoy such simple joys of marriage. He took a deep breath.
“Anne, I’ve much to beg pardon for.”
“Again?” she asked in surprise.
Robin scowled. He wasn’t all that encouraged by that, but then again, he had many regrets so perhaps he deserved to writhe in penitent agony for a bit. He stole a look at his grandmother to make certain she slept on, then looked back at his lady.
“I have,” he said, mustering up all his rese
rves of courage, “treated you badly.”
“Have you?” she asked. “When?”
She tried to raise one eyebrow, but both went up. He watched her prop one up with her finger and he almost managed a smile.
“You mock me,” he said reproachfully.
“You’re groveling. ’Tis most unsettling.”
“Anne, I’m in earnest. I was a dolt in my youth and a fool in my manhood.”
She cocked her head to one side and smiled faintly. “Perhaps I do want to hear this. Go on, if you please.”
She was not giving him or his confession the consideration it warranted. He glared at her and wondered if an apology counted if given whilst the giver was powerfully tempted to throttle the receiver.
“I can stop,” he growled.
She shook her head, still smiling just the smallest bit. “Nay, Robin, I daresay I will be glad of it when you’ve finished. But you aren’t the only one at fault.”
He grunted. “You can take your turn after I’ve had done. I’d best babble whilst I can stomach it.”
“Then by all means, proceed, my lord.”
He scowled at her again, just out of habit, then plunged ahead before his pride managed to close his mouth.
“I turned away from you in our youth—”
“Why did you, Robin?”
Damn her, he was never going to finish this if she didn’t stop interrupting him. “It isn’t important—”
“I think it’s very important,” she said. She looked at him expectantly. “Why did you?”
He was up on his feet pacing before he knew what his body intended. He realized just as suddenly that it would be uncomfortable for Anne to chase him and wring the truth from him, so he returned to stand before her. He looked at his grandmother.
Still sleeping.
He looked about him, hoping to find some corner that might be more private for the blurting out of his darkest secret.
There was nowhere else save the alcove; it had no light but perhaps that was just as well. Robin pulled Anne to her feet, waited until he sensed she had put weight on her leg, and found it to be sturdy beneath her, then he led her over and sat with her on one of the benches. There in the shadows, he took her hand and held it tightly between his own. She said nothing, but he felt her clasp his hand. Robin took a deep breath, then felt his heart begin to pound and his limbs begin to tingle. By the saints, he never felt the like even before the worst of battles! He could scarce believe that relating such a simple, foolish event could cause him this kind of distress.
And then he felt Anne lean her head on his shoulder.
“Robin, perhaps ’tis too close still,” she whispered. “If it grieves you this much, I’ll not demand the tale.”
He shook his head. “Nay,” he began, and his voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Nay,” he said again, “you deserve to know. I was a fool then and I’ll not repeat the mistake now.” He blew out his breath. “’Twas one morning near the healer’s house. You had walked across the courtyard to the hall. I should have accompanied you. I don’t know now why I didn’t.”
“You’d been abed with the fever, Robin. ’Twas a wonder you hadn’t died.”
Her hand fluttered between his briefly, then was still.
“Aye, well, whatever the reason,” he continued, “I watched you and saw the . . . um . . . the—”
“You may say it, Robin. It won’t grieve me.”
“’Twas teasing, Anne,” he said, feeling a surge of anger over the memory. “Lads who should have known better. One lad in particular.”
“Baldwin.”
Robin gritted his teeth. “Father had pulled you into the house. I called to Baldwin, for I could not let his slurs go unavenged.”
“Oh, Robin,” she said softly. “I didn’t know.”
“Aye, well, there wasn’t much to know. He thrashed me soundly for my cheek, then broke two of Nick’s fingers as his reward for a challenge.” He paused, then took another deep breath. “He left me wallowing in the mud.”
Anne was silent. Robin waited for her to say something, but perhaps the shame of it was enough to make her wish she had wed elsewhere. He never should have told her—
“Is that all?”
Robin blinked. “Is that all?” he demanded.
He felt her lift her head. “Aye. Is that all?”
“He laughed at me!”
“Robin, he laughed at everyone,” she said, sounding mightily confused.
“He humiliated me before every lad in the keep!”
“But,” she asked, still sounding as if she simply could not fathom the depths of his shame, “what has that to do with your shunning me?”
“He humiliated me!”
“And you punished me for it?”
“Anne, damn you,” Robin growled, “I wasn’t going to see you laugh at me as well!”
He could see the faint outline of her face. She was shaking her head.
“I thought I had done something,” she said softly.
“I didn’t want to give you the chance to do anything,” Robin said grimly.
“All this time, all these years wasted because of Baldwin. By the saints, Robin, we have made a great jumble of things.”
“We?” he demanded. “I was the fool.”
“I could have asked you what troubled you.”
He gritted his teeth. “You did, Anne. More than once.”
She smiled. He could hardly believe the sight, but there it was. “Very well,” she said gently, “you were the fool. I forgive you for it. Now you may apologize for staying away so long. I assume ’twas for much the same reason.” Then he felt her stiffen. “I mean . . . well, what I meant to say was that you likely had a very good reason for being gone.” She paused. “I doubt it included me.”
Robin was tempted to ask her how she could think something so foolish, but he knew precisely where she had come by the notion. He’d given her ample reason over the years to believe just that. He stood up, then pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. He rested his cheek against her soft hair and closed his eyes.
And he came very close to weeping.
“Anne,” he said, wincing at the crack in his voice. Saints, but she would think him a whimpering fool if he did not regain some control over himself. “Anne,” he tried again, “there was not a day that passed that I did not think of you.”
He felt her breath catch, then heard a sniffle. He could only hope that she wasn’t weeping because the tidings were ill ones to her ears.
“I should have wed you the moment I won my spurs,” he said quietly. “I should have come home, demanded the right from your father, and wed you then. I’ve wasted five years and I’ve never been sorrier for anything in my life.”
He paused, struck by an unwholesome thought.
“Unless,” he said hesitantly, “unless you would have found that distasteful.”
“Robin de Piaget, you are a fool.”
She was weeping. Her arms were around him and she clung to him as if he were all that kept her upright.
Or as if he were very dear to her.
He chose to believe the latter. He gathered her even closer to him and wrapped his arms securely about her. He wanted to tell her that he loved her. He wanted with equal intensity to sweep her up into his arms and carry her to his bedchamber where he was almost certain they could come to an agreement on a few other things.
She was, after all, his wife.
There was a snort, a cough, and a delicate stamping of feet. “Children, children,” Joanna called, “where have you gone?”
“Damn her,” Anne muttered.
Robin snorted. “I couldn’t agree more.” He cleared his throat purposefully. “We can see ourselves to bed, Grandmère.”
“Absolutely not,” Joanna said. “Bring Anne back, Robin lad. She needs her rest. I’m sure you’ll find somewhere comfortable to sleep. Come out of there. ’Tis far too drafty for her.”
Robin found himself o
beying out of habit, then he dug his heels in a few paces from his grandmother. He looked at Anne to find that she was looking anywhere but at him.
“We are wed,” Robin pointed out.
“Is she properly wooed?” Joanna demanded.
“Well—”
“I think not,” Joanna said. She rose, took Anne by the hand, and started toward the door. “I’ll sleep with Anne tonight, just to keep her safe. Best practice your dancing a bit before you retire, love.”
Anne looked back at Robin with wide eyes, but apparently she was unable to free herself. Robin scowled as he watched her be dragged off. The door was shut firmly.
Robin gritted his teeth.
He sat down with a curse, stretched out his legs, and scowled. What were the penalties for separating one’s love from one’s grandmother using a blade?
He suspected that the list of his sins was long enough, so perhaps he would refrain. But this would be the last time his grandmother thwarted his plans. It looked as if the only way he would have Anne to himself would be to liberate her from his grandmother’s vile clutches.
He stroked his chin and wondered if the weather might be tolerable enough for a small outing on the morrow.
37
Anne woke to a brisk knocking. She blinked, sat up, and shook her head. Ah, nay, not that again.
And then she realized she was abed with Robin’s grandmother, Robin had bedded down the saints only knew where, and her father and his were likely indulging in blissful slumber safely tucked away at Fenwyck. Could it be ruffians having overrun the keep? It certainly didn’t sound like that sort of frantic pounding.
Anne yawned as the pounding continued. Lady Joanna slept like the dead and Anne would have had a fear for her had she not snored with such great enthusiasm. She rose quietly, pulled her cloak around her, and went to the door.
“Aye?” she asked, pulling it open.
Robin stood there, looking purposeful. “Dress, lady. We’ve plans for the day.”
She stifled a yawn. “We do?”
“Aye, and they do not include my grandmother, so endeavor not to wake her.”
Anne felt a shiver go through her, and she suspected it wasn’t fear. It was certainly enough to wake her fully. “Just us?”