“Shall we discuss this in private?” Anora touched Rosard’s arm and then glanced meaningfully at the eager listeners gathered in the hall.
He frowned, but nodded. “As you wish, my lady.”
The messenger pushed to his feet.
“Nay, finish your meal while I sort the matter out.” Without giving the man time to argue, Rosard led the way to the solar, Anora and his sons following him.
Royce had sent a message to the king? How did it involve Anora?
Once everyone was settled, Rosard turned to his eldest son. “Now, would you explain?”
“I simply told the king of the events and how I suspected your Saxon wife.”
“Even after you observed Gaspar’s suspicious movements within the castle?” Anora turned to glare at Royce. “Why then did you follow him?”
“You could have been in league with him.”
“Me, in league with that Norman?” Anora spat the words out. A mirthless laugh erupting from her throat. “Not bloody likely, Sir Royce.”
Rosard listened, swallowing the angry words bubbling up in his throat. His son dared accuse Anora?
A timid knock broke the silence that filled the room. Rosard schooled his face into a mask of calm control and turned as the messenger entered the room.
“My lord?”
Anora spun around. She strode to the window. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she looked out through the opening.
Rosard fixed his eldest with a stern stare. Royce shifted his weight, then straightened and turned to the messenger.
“As you can see my father is hale,” Royce said in a strained voice and met Rosard’s gaze. “I realize now that Lady Anora had nothing to do with his disappearance.” He cast a quick glance to Anora’s back. “Though had she not run off, my father would not have gone in search of her; hence none of this would have happened.”
Anora gasped from her place at the window, and Rosard glanced her way.
“Do not think to place the blame on Lady Anora, Royce.”
“If not Lady Anora, who then is responsible, my lord?” King William’s man stepped forward. “I must report to the king and ’twould be best were I able to tell him who would attack one of his favored knights.”
She turned around. “I—”
Rosard waved off Anora’s next words. “We have not ascertained the guilty one. But I will send the information as soon as we know.”
“Mayhap I should remain here until such time, my lord. I should like to help you find the culprit.”
Rosard smiled, for were he in the messenger’s place, he would wish to return only when the mystery had been solved. William had not the time, nor the patience to worry over something like this.
“You are welcomed to Fairhurst.”
“My thanks, my lord.” He bobbed his head, casting a glance at Anora.
“Gyfton, show him to the barracks.”
Gyfton escorted the messenger from the room.
Rosard turned to Royce. “You would accuse the lady of murder? Did she not tell you what transpired in Gaspar’s camp?”
Royce stood stiff and silent, staring beyond Rosard.
“Aye. I would not answer had I made such a blunder.” He fixed his son with a steady gaze.
Royce’s face turned crimson. He spun on his heel and left, the door slamming after him.
“My lord, you should not have been so hard on him. He was distressed at the time he wrote to the king. He had just learned his father was dead.”
“Anora, it touches me that you would defend him, especially given his treatment of you.”
“Forgiveness must begin somewhere. But why did you not tell the king’s man of Gaspar?”
“I could not tell him because I have no proof.”
“Even with everything Royce told you of Gaspar? I understand that to present information I alone knew of would not be proof, but Royce was there. He knew of Gaspar’s plans.”
Rosard watched his wife pace the solar. She turned on him. “Or can only Normans tell the truth?”
“Nay, wife.” He put up his hand to stay her. “I fear William will not convict a man of such serious crimes without physical proof.”
“Your wound is not physical enough? What of your sword? What more does he need?”
“Anora.” Rosard stepped to his wife, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Until I find Gaspar in possession of my sword I can do naught. I must prove it was his man’s bolt that near killed me and at Gaspar’s orders. Or at least with his blessing.” With a gentle squeeze to her shoulders, he continued. “I must have this before I lay blame.”
He read the frustration darkening Anora’s gaze. “We must consider the possibility that we will not find such evidence and that Gaspar will never be brought to justice.”
Anora shook her head. “Nay, my lord. He will pay for his crimes against you.”
He pulled her into his arms. “Ah, wife, it heartens me to see you defend me so.”
“You are my husband and as such deserve my loyalty.”
Rosard chuckled, giving her a quick hug. “Only your loyalty?”
He moved his hands over her back, bringing their bodies closer together.
“Well, mayhap there is more.” Anora muttered as he brought his lips to hers.
And the king’s messenger was forgotten as Rosard stole time with his wife.
* * * * *
Royce rode out of the bailey and as he cleared the village, he kneed his mount into a ground-eating gallop, the wind stinging his cheeks. He rode as if demons were on his heels. And mayhap they were.
Being humiliated by his father’s upbraiding—and before the Saxon woman—was more than a man could take.
He had not written of the woman’s guilt, simply of his suspicions. ’Twas Odo of Bayeux, the king’s representative, who came to the conclusion that his father’s wife was guilty.
His conscience gnawed at his mind. Nay, he’d led the king to believe that. ’Twas no avoiding that fact. Shame was a bitter brew to swill.
So enthralled with his musing was he that he didn’t notice the bent old woman beside the track until he passed her.
Reining in his mount, he turned, his heart thrumming in his chest. “Have you no care of yourself, old woman? I could have killed you, yet again.”
“And the luck would have been mine.” He didn’t think she meant for him to hear her mumbled words. He frowned. What did she mean by that? Then he recalled that he’d not thanked her for caring for his father.
He slid off his horse. “I would thank you for caring for my father.”
“Had I known he was a Norman, I would have left him.”
Royce chuckled. “Aye, I would have felt the same were it a Saxon.” He shifted the reins in his hands. “I thank you again. Is there aught I can give you as payment?”
“I need kindling.”
Royce sighed. “Am I doomed to be your woodboy?”
“Aye.” The old crone moved off. “So what has ye in such a temper?”
Royce followed her as she left the track. “’Tis naught.”
She pointed to a few sticks. “Those’ll do well.” She moved a few feet away. “And those too.”
Royce bent and picked up the kindling.
“I had thought Lady Anora responsible for my father’s wound,” he blurted out, then wished the words back when the old woman started cackling. She bent lower, grabbing her stomach.
“Ach, that’s a good one, young Royce.” She sputtered between rounds of laughter. “And how did yer father take the news?” She gasped for breath before starting off on another bout of laughing.
“’Twas not so funny, old woman.”
She wiped her eyes and glanced up at him, shaking her head. “Aye, ’twas. How many women do you know who can shoot an arrow?” She toddled off and Royce followed, his shoulders bowed.
Isabelle was right, of course. Women were not warriors, capable of pulling the string of a bow or hitting a target, let alone a man.
> Isabelle’s laughter had subsided and Royce gathered kindling for her.
“Why are ye so hard on the lady?”
“I am not hard on her.”
“Aye, ye are.” Isabelle disappeared behind some bushes. “And I suspect ye’re hard on everyone.”
“Who are you to judge, old woman?”
“Not judging, just observing. Mayhap ye shouldn’t measure others ’til ye measure yerself.”
They’d reached her cottage and Royce dumped the load of kindling in his arms, wondering why he didn’t just remove himself from Isabelle’s presence.
“Ye’re not so grand, ye know.”
Her words reached him from within her cottage, and he resisted the urge to tell her neither was she.
Instead, he grabbed up the bucket from the ground beside her door and went to the stream a few yards away.
“Why the bloody hell do I do things for the old crone?” he wondered aloud as he scooped up water and turned to go back to the cottage.
“Ye’ve a good heart, that’s why.”
Royce started, water sloshing on his boot, and he cursed under his breath. “Woman,” he growled and lifted his fist. How did she move so silently?
“Ach, I’m not frightened of yer nasty disposition.”
“Mayhap you should be.”
She laughed then, turning back to her cottage. “Like ye should be of me.” She cackled gleefully, slapping her hand on her leg.
Royce frowned. The old hag was mad, he thought, putting the bucket down.
“Have you any meat?” God’s bones what made him ask that? The woman wasn’t his concern.
“Nay. I’m not much at hunting. Me being a woman and all.” She stood there glaring at him, her hands on her narrow hips.
Royce snorted and left her. He’d bring her a couple hares, but she’d have to skin and clean them.
An hour later he dumped his kill at her door. “Your meat, old woman,” he called out. Contrary to the promise he made to himself not to clean and skin the kill, the meat in the sack was cleaned and rolled in the skin of the rabbits.
Cursing himself for a fool, he turned and left before Isabelle appeared at her door.
Why was it his anger brought him to her?
“Well, next time, it won’t.” He vowed as he mounted his horse and rode away. Next time he’d head west instead of east.
Chapter Seventeen
“The reivers are back.”
Rosard glanced at Sir Godwin and frowned. “Back?”
“Aye, my lord. ’Tis happened every year near this time.”
Rosard ran a tired hand through his hair and glanced out at the inner bailey. He smiled as he watched a laughing Anora dash after a rambunctious puppy. A moment later a little girl ran after them, squealing for her dog.
When the girl neared him, he stepped out and intercepted her. Tucking her under his arm, following his wife around the corner of the keep.
“My lord, the reivers.”
“A moment, Godwin.” Rosard called over his shoulder.
Placing the giggling little girl down quickly, Rosard reached out, catching the pup as it started to run past him.
“My thanks, husband.” A breathless Anora stopped before him. Rosard’s gaze was drawn to the movement of his wife’s chest, and he grinned. The puppy wiggled within Rosard’s grasp. Pulling his gaze from his wife, he handed the squirming bundle to the little girl.
“Take care where he goes, little one. ’Tis dangerous for one so small to gambol about.”
Cuddling the animal, the girl nodded solemnly and scampered off.
“My lord?” Godwin came around the corner and Rosard and Anora turned to face the soldier.
“The reivers?”
“Ah, yes.”
“My lord,” the beekeeper called to him as he strode purposefully in his direction. “Would ye kindly tell the bloody Norman messenger he has no right to search our homes?”
“The messenger?” He had seen little of the man since his arrival. “What is he searching for?”
“Red feathers.” The man stopped in front of Rosard. “Now I ask ye, what would I do with red feathers? And just where would I find them?”
Realization dawned on him and he sighed again. “I told the fool ’twas not someone from the village.” He spun around, crashing into Godwin. “Sir Godwin.” The guard stepped back. “Was there something you wanted?”
“Aye, my lord, the reivers.”
He felt his head start to spin. He looked from Godwin to the beekeeper. Glancing up he saw Anora moving toward him and he smiled, forgetting the men standing before him.
“What is amiss, my lord?” She smiled, her gaze touching on the three men.
“’Tis the reivers, my lady,” Sir Godwin answered.
“’Tis the bloody, nosy Norman messenger,” the beekeeper broke in.
She looked at the beekeeper. “Tell those in the village to allow him access to their homes. He but eliminates them from suspicion.”
“But, my lady—”
“Very well, I shall have a word with him. Tell him to meet with me later.”
“Aye, my lady.” The beekeeper shuffled off, mumbling to himself about nosy Normans.
Rosard met her gaze. “Thank you, wife.”
Godwin cleared his throat, drawing their attention.
“Now what is this about reivers?” He wrapped his arm around Anora’s waist, and pulled her close.
“Reivers?” Anora covered his hands with hers. “Aye, ’tis that time of year again.”
Rosard frowned at Anora’s smile and glanced back to Godwin. “Time of year? What mean you by that?”
“Twice a year the Scots come over the border and reive a few cattle.” Anora offered the explanation.
“What has been done to stop them?”
She laughed. “Naught. ’Tis difficult for them in the winter months. They need the cattle for food and in the spring they need breeding stock.”
“And you simply let them steal from you?”
“Oh, nay. ’Tis not that simple.” She grinned at Godwin and Rosard turned to the man.
“Sir Godwin, tell me that some attempt is made to retrieve the stock?”
“Aye, my lord. We go over the border and steal most of them back.”
“Most?” Surprise lifted his brows.
“Aye, my lord.”
“And what do we do to the reivers when we catch them?”
“Catch them?” Anora chuckled. “We never catch them, husband.”
“’Tis time to change that. Surely they are not that elusive?”
“Nay. ’Tis a jolly time the men have romping through the heather,” Anora supplied.
Shocked, Rosard touched her arm. “Do not tell me that you have ridden with the men?”
“Nay, husband, I have but been told the tales. ’Tis quite comical, I’ve heard. The Scots scatter to the far corners, herding the cattle before them. We give them a bit of a head start, I’m told.”
Rosard glanced between Anora and Godwin, disbelief clouding his mind. “You let them take the animals?”
“My lord.” Godwin stepped forward. “’Tis a small price to pay for peace on our border.”
“The winter is hard beyond the borders. They only take a few.”
“Why not simply give them to the Scots then?”
“They are a proud people, husband, and would take offense were we to gift them with the cattle.”
“But they steal them. Where is their pride then?”
“In Scotland, ’tis quite honorable to steal from your neighbors. ’Tis rather like a tradition, I think.”
“So we give chase with no intention of capturing and punishing them?”
“Aye.” Godwin and Anora answered in unison.
“Why bother?”
“They would think us fools and lose respect, and then take more than just a few cattle.”
“’Tis warped reasoning, wife.”
“Nay, my lord. ’Tis goodwill we seek.
While others must guard their borders more diligently, Fairhurst has naught to fear. We still patrol them, there are other clans who might think to test us, but they first must pass through our Scottish friends.”
“’Twill take three days. Shall I gather the men and supplies, my lord?”
“Aye, Godwin, and tell Gyfton to join us.”
Godwin nodded and left.
“I shall leave Royce in charge whilst we are gone.”
* * * * *
Later, Anora stood on the steps beside her husband and gazed out at the nine men assembled in the inner bailey. “Godwin has chosen well, think you wife?”
“Aye, my lord, he has.” Five Saxons and five Normans, Rosard and Gyfton included, were set to travel to the border.
“Best we were off.” Anora turned at Rosard’s comment and he took her in his arms, kissing her soundly. “Have a care of yourself in my absence and if you need aught, Royce will see to it.”
Anora glanced at Royce, standing on the other side of Rosard. The man simply nodded, not meeting her gaze. He looked none too pleased at being left behind, but Anora thought it wise. Royce would not understand the leniency with which the Scots were treated and would demand punishment.
“God go with you, husband.” She watched him mount and, with a wave, he led the party of men through the gates of Fairhurst. She worried not for his safety, for the Scots had never turned and fought, instead choosing to escape with the stock.
Anora busied herself planning a grand feast for her husband’s return. Later that day, she approached Royce near the stables.
“Sir Royce?”
He turned at her call. “Aye?”
She met his gaze, wondering at his aloofness and disdain for not only the Saxons, but his father as well. What event had caused the rift between father and son?
“Is there something you wanted?”
His harsh words pulled her from her thoughts.
“Aye, sir. I would have a feast upon my lord’s return, but I fear our meat supply is low. Could you have a few men—”
“I will see to it,” he interrupted abruptly, turning from her and disappearing into the stable.
Anora shook her head, unable to understand the man.
The next morning at day break, Royce and three other Normans left the castle to hunt. Anora set to supervising the cleaning of the hall.
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