by Lynn Kurland
Instruction, however, was something he felt compelled by his knightly vows to undertake as often as circumstances warranted. And this fool here needed a lesson not only in manners, but in knightly comportment. And who better to see to remedying that lack than he?
He drew his sword. That was answer enough for Sir Etienne, he supposed, for the man cursed quite furiously and drew his own blade.
Colin wondered if Lord Denis would mind if his solar were razed if the cause were a just one.
The battle was fought silently except for the ring of swords and the occasional grunt. Colin did his best to avoid cleaving any furniture in twain, but unfortunately a stool or two fell victim to his ferocity.
As did Sir Etienne in time. Colin rid the man of his sword, his dagger, and then his dignity and the already mangled shape of his nose. He supposed that perhaps breaking it a second time was unsporting, but then again, Sir Etienne had many of Aliénore’s bruises and cuts to pay for. The memory of those, and of her tears, left him at his work far longer than usual. It was with sincere regret that he watched a blow he dealt Sir Etienne under the chin plunge the man into senselessness.
Being that he wasn’t one to beat an unconscious man.
It wasn’t chivalrous, of course.
He lit a candle from a torch down the passageway and gave himself light enough to bind Sir Etienne securely. The man would last there until morning. Colin left Lord Denis a short note regarding his wishes for Sir Etienne’s care, then took Sir Etienne’s weapons—given that the man would have little use for them where he was going for the next little while—and left the solar, shutting the door behind him.
It was then that he realized what had struck him as odd not a handful of moments before.
There was a lit torch in the passageway.
There hadn’t been such when he’d followed Aliénore to her father’s solar.
He paused, then shrugged. No doubt a guard had left it lit to make his rounds easier. Or perhaps Sir Etienne himself had brought it to make it easier to examine his gold after having received it. Whatever the case, it made little difference now. What remained was for him to sleep for the night, rise, and see if he couldn’t shake Solonge’s dust off his feet before midday. He had absolutely no desire to linger.
He suspected Aliénore would feel the same way.
He walked quietly back to his chamber and lifted his hand to the door.
It wasn’t shut.
Colin lay Sir Etienne’s weapons on the ground, drew his sword, and fetched another lit torch. A quick but thorough look inside his chamber revealed no one but a serving wench who looked as if she stood to face her death at his hands.
“Where is the lad?” he demanded.
“The lady Marie bid him come upstairs to her private solar and have refreshment with her,” the girl said, her eyes wide, her chin quivering. “She bid you come as well when you arrived.”
Refreshment? At this hour? The only refreshing thing he would find would be Aliénore safe and Marie trussed up thanks to her stepdaughter’s skill with blade and rope.
Unfortunately, Colin hadn’t taught her any knots, and he wondered if she could possibly have managed to lay a hand on her dagger before her stepmother had dragged her away to her private chamber.
Obviously, Marie hadn’t been fooled by the conversings he’d tried to distract her with that afternoon. She had recognized Aliénore and come to fetch her. The only question now was, what had she done to the girl already?
Chapter 31
Ali sat in the alcove of Marie’s solar and shivered. It certainly wasn’t from the cold. Sweat poured down her face, down her back, down to pool in the cloth wrapped around her chest. She’d never felt such terror in all her life, and she’d certainly passed enough time in this chamber for such to be truly a startling admission. She looked at her stepmother, who sat upon a chair, looking as serene as a summer’s morn. No stray hairs escaping her wimple, no frown marring her brow, no pucker of irritation ruining the perfect symmetry of her lips.
Could evil truly look so beautiful?
Ali wondered if she might gain the door before Marie leaped from her chair and buried her knife in her back.
“I wouldn’t,” Marie said, as if she gently chided a child thinking to touch the thorn of a rose.
Ali realized she was halfway off the stool only because she had to sit back down. She closed her eyes against the sight of Marie’s chamber and wished that she’d never left her father’s solar. She could have hidden behind Colin as he did his business of death. Either that, or she should have taken a torch with her and checked to see if her own small chamber was empty.
Which it hadn’t been.
She supposed that in truth she had only herself to blame. Had she never left the chamber in the first place, she never would have had Colin follow her, then shoo her away from her little bit of robbery. Then she never would have found herself standing outside her chamber with Marie’s arm around her shoulders and a knife pressed against her neck. Her blade had remained in her hand, useless, until Marie had removed it and tossed it inside Ali’s chamber. Refusing to accompany her stepmother up to her solar had been unthinkable. Too many years of obeying merely to avoid worse punishment had left her obeying yet again simply out of habit.
All of which left her sitting where she was, huddled in the alcove, awaiting certain death.
She’d known it would finish thusly, that she would die at Solonge. The only question that remained was who would do it. And since Marie had left a servant to direct Colin to her solar at his earliest convenience, Ali supposed she would watch the two of them fight for the privilege of slitting her throat.
Unless she could make good her escape. She did have a knife in her boot that Marie had apparently overlooked.
She slipped her hand down her leg and had almost touched the haft when the door flung inward. Who should be standing there than her betrothed, the Butcher of Berkhamshire.
Looking less than pleased.
He stared at Marie. “What,” he asked curtly, “do you want?”
Marie smiled. “Not exactly an epitome of manners, are you?”
Well, the woman had an amazing display of cheek, Ali would give her that.
Colin leaned back against the doorframe and pursed his lips. “Your lord husband no doubt expects you elsewhere,” he said pointedly.
Marie laughed. “Ah, that I should be so desperate for a man that I should settle for you. Nay, my lord Berkhamshire, I didn’t invite you here for a tryst. I merely thought you might be interested in knowing whom you’ve had under your wing for these past pair of months.”
Ali didn’t dare look at Colin. She was far too busy contemplating the possibilities for her end.
Death at Marie’s hands.
Or death at Colin of Berkhamshire’s hands.
She suspected the second would hurt far worse, and it had nothing to do with the pain of a knife. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the look on his face when he discovered the depth and breadth of the lies she’d told him. Or the expression he would wear when he realized that he was looking at the woman who hadn’t even had a decent excuse for why she’d bolted on him.
Fortunately, at the moment Colin’s attention was focused on Marie and not on her. She didn’t dare try to divine what he was thinking. He seemed unsurprised to see her there, and Marie’s announcement hadn’t seemed to surprise him either. Perhaps it was just his warrior’s training that left his face so expressionless.
Or anger that was so deep he didn’t dare show it.
“Take off your clothes.”
Ali blinked, then realized Marie was speaking to her. She looked at her stepmother in surprise. “What?”
“Take off your clothes,” Marie said, with a negligent wave of her hand. “Let our fine lordling here see exactly what you are. He’ll divine the who readily enough after that.”
Ali swallowed past her parched throat. “Never,” she rasped.
Marie paused, then c
ocked her ear, as if she hadn’t heard aright. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” she said, pinning Ali with a look that spoke all too eloquently of the tortures to come if Ali disobeyed. “Take them off. All of them. And take them off now.”
Ali wished desperately that she still wore her mail. Or even a leather jerkin. Her simple tunic was far too little gear to have protecting her modesty.
She darted a look at Colin, but he only continued to lean with profound indifference against the doorframe. So, she was on her own. She licked her lips with a tongue that felt as if it had spent the night outside her mouth. Could tongues in truth become so dry? A block of wood would have served her better than that useless bit of flesh.
“I,” Ali began, her voice breaking, “I will ... not.”
It was nothing short of astonishing how quickly a body could move. Before Ali could do more than squeak, Marie had leaped on her, slit her tunic down the front, and shoved the sleeves down her arms. Marie tore at the cloth that hid Ali’s bosom from view. Ali did fight her then, trying to dodge Marie’s poking blade and save her modesty at the same time.
In the end, she was left standing there, clutching one end of the cloth over herself, her head tipped uncomfortably back as Marie held her by what little hair she had left. Marie was breathing heavily, but there was complete satisfaction in her voice when she spoke.
“Here, my lord Berkhamshire,” she said triumphantly. “May I present to you the errant lady of Solonge, Aliénore.”
And with that, she flung Ali down onto the floor. Ali skidded across the flat stones of the chamber and stopped just before Colin’s feet. She knelt there, hunched over so she would neither have to see his face nor show him anything more than he’d just seen.
“One of your knights, I presume?” Marie asked politely.
Colin was silent.
Ali knelt there, staring at his boots, and wondered when it was he would use one of those boots to kick the life from her. Or would he use his sword? Would he hack her to bits and feed her to her father’s hounds? Or would he give her to Marie, to suffer her stepmother’s form of justice? Would those boots suddenly turn and leave the chamber?
“Shall you see to her for her deception,” Marie asked with unnerving calm, “or shall I?”
Again, Colin was silent. Indeed, the silence grew so thick that Ali wondered if she might ever again take a normal breath. She continued to stare at Colin’s boots, noting the scuffs and the mendings—rather well done, actually—and the wear that had come from miles of trudging over soil.
Looking for her.
If he did kill her, he might likely be justified for it, given the trouble she’d caused him.
The fact that he hadn’t moved, or spoken, was beginning to be a bit tedious. If she’d had any courage at all, she would have sat up, looked him in the face and told him to get on with the bloody business.
But she was a coward of the vilest sort.
So she kept her head bowed and her eyes on his boots.
And then the boots moved.
She heard him cross the chamber. She heard no other footsteps, so she assumed Marie had remained where she was. Brave woman. Then again, what had she to fear from the Butcher? She hadn’t betrayed him, deceived him, taken advantage of his kindness.
The boots returned, carrying Colin with him, and resumed their place by the doorway. And then he spoke.
“You should get up,” he said.
Never mind that over the past several weeks she had come to trust the man standing over her. That her end was so close and she so close to facing it was almost more than her poor form could handle. She crawled to her feet, shaking violently.
“You should, um, cover up,” Colin said.
She did look up at him then, but he was looking away. He merely held out her torn tunic. She didn’t hesitate. She re-wrapped her strip of cloth around her chest, then ripped the tunic from his hands and shoved her arms back into the sleeves. She clutched the ragged edges together.
Marie made a sound of disgust. “Perhaps you aren’t as ruthless as the rumors purport. I would have thought slaying a bare-breasted woman would have been fine sport for such a one as you.”
Colin didn’t answer, but he did look over Ali’s head at Marie. And there was nothing friendly in that gaze. Ali would have taken heart at that, but she knew it was but a matter of time before that same gaze was turned on her.
“I can see I’m to be the one to punish her,” Marie said, sounding not in the least bit displeased by the thought. “I should have done it years ago. You know, her mother was weak. How she spawned so many lads is a mystery. I suppose ‘twas inevitable that she should spew forth a girl, and one like this.” Marie laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “’Twas a mercy I poisoned her dam, don’t you think?”
Ali looked at her stepmother, hardly able to believe what she’d just heard. “You what?”
Marie smiled coldly. “I poisoned her. It didn’t take much. It never does with those kind.”
Ali felt the chamber begin to spin. And in the midst of falling to the floor, she found herself still on her feet, with heavy hands on her shoulders, holding her up. They were, all things considered, surprisingly gentle hands.
Colin called her stepmother a very unflattering name.
“Tsk-tsk,” Marie chided. “So unchivalrous. I daresay you would have done the same thing. Didn’t you make a vow to slay Aliénore in the most painful of ways when you found her?”
Well, she had him there, Ali had to admit to herself.
But Colin’s grip on her shoulder’s didn’t change. He cleared his throat.
“I don’t kill for sport.”
“Neither do I,” Marie snapped. “I kill to rid the world of weaklings. Like Marguerite.” She fixed Ali with a hate-filled gaze. “Like her daughter, Aliénore.”
Ali would have likely swayed a bit more, but it was difficult to do the like when she was being held up by a man who still had his hands on her shoulders and not around her neck. Was it possible he was rethinking his vow to slay her? Promising to give that some thought later, Ali turned her attentions back to her stepmother.
“You can’t poison me,” she said. “I’ll never again drink anything at your table.” Never mind that she might not have the chance to ever drink anything else at Marie’s table. It was satisfying just to say the words.
“But, my dear,” Marie said with a cold smile, “you already have.”
Ali swayed, but Colin hauled her back against his chest.
“She wouldn’t have done it already,” he said quietly. “Not until she’d tormented you first. I know her kind.”
Ali looked at Marie and saw the briefest flash of displeasure cross her features. It was replaced soon enough with that annoying look of triumph, but it was enough to make Ali wonder if Colin might have it aright.
Colin patted her shoulder in his usual bone-breaking fashion. “Make her choose her weapon,” he said.
Ali looked over her shoulder at him. “What did you say?”
“What did you say?” Marie echoed.
Colin shrugged. “I didn’t train you for all that skill to be lost in a circle of stitchers, now did I? Avenge your dam. Kill this vexatious wench and let us be on our way.”
“But...”
“You’ve the skill.”
“But...”
“And the courage,” he added. “Have her choose her weapon and her place, Aliénore, then kill her. I’ll say it was provoked, that you had to defend yourself, and we’ll be done with the thing.”
Marie’s movement was so sudden, Ali almost didn’t see her coming. She turned just in time to see the blade flashing down toward her.
And Colin, damn him, did nothing but move out of the way so his tunic likely didn’t get splattered with her blood.
She had little time to think on how she would curse him for that. Her mind cleared and she was left with nothing in its place but the instincts she’d had drilled into her for the past two mont
hs. She leaped out of the way of the blade, grabbed Marie’s wrist, and, with a vicious twist, left her stepmother with no choice but to drop the knife.
She slammed the heel of her hand into the woman’s nose and, while Marie was spewing forth both blood and curses, swept her feet out from under her and left Marie sprawled on the ground. Ali snatched up the knife and had Marie on her belly, her hand in Marie’s hair, and Marie’s throat bared to the blade all before Marie could damn her soul to hell.
Which Marie did all the same, of course.
“Well,” Ali said, her chest heaving a bit, “I don’t believe I’d fancy a visit there, especially since that’ll likely be your new home. Now, do I slay you here, or leave you to my father’s justice?”
“Your sire will never believe I killed your mother,” Marie said, with admirable bluster given the circumstances.
“He will.”
“We know you lie. He’ll believe the same of Berkhamshire.”
“We’ll find proof.”
“There were no witnesses. She was laboring with your younger brother. I killed them both whilst the women went to heat water.”
Ali tightened her hand in Marie’s hair. “I should kill you,” she said, tears stinging her eyes. “I would be justified.”
“Do, and your father will hang you,” Marie said defiantly.
A throat cleared itself from the doorway. Ali looked over to find her father standing next to Colin. His face was ashen, but he stood firmly on his feet.
Marie must have seen the same thing, for she did her best to slit her own throat on the dagger. Ali tossed the knife away, then looked about her for something to bind Marie’s hands with. She found a belt dangled before her and took it, not sparing Colin a glance. She wondered if he might regret its loss later, when he was about pursuing his own revenge upon her sorry self, but she shoved that thought aside. She had enough to think on with trying to bind her stepmother’s wrists behind her before the woman escaped.
It was done, not quickly, nor easily, but done. Ali jumped off Marie’s still-bucking form, then stepped back and watched as her stepmother rolled over and gave her a look of such malice that she backed up another several paces.