Outside, though the storm raged on, the worst of it had passed. It would rain all night, drenching the land and drowning the streams and brooks, choking the delicate waterways with its spew. Anna grew thirsty thinking of the deluge.
She sat up, her legs astride his, and tugged a corner of the blanket over her lap. Leaning back, she snatched the strap of the wineskin. It tasted sweeter today than before, and she offered it to Lark. He didn’t take it; he was too preoccupied with studying her.
“All of you,” he demanded, pulling the blanket away, then running his hands down her waist to the gentle swell of her hips.
Anna stretched languidly as his fingers traced down her thighs, then returned to cup her buttocks before resuming the trek up her back. She stiffened. How could she have forgotten?
“Anna?” he asked, and she slid sideways to lie on the blanket.
“Show me,” he ordered. “Right now, Anna.”
She glared at the ceiling of the cave, then rolled away from him to reveal the cruelly made etching on her back. He reached out to touch her and she flinched, though not in pain.
“One day, he set Gorman on Will,” she explained before he could ask. “I was late by six lashes. Will would not have survived fifteen.”
“But you could? There are more than nine marks here,” he added when she didn’t reply.
She shrugged. “Roger developed a taste for it. He told me it had excited him watching Gorman whip me. He wanted to feel the same power. No one else knew about it because I took care of myself. No one else knew.”
• • •
Behind her, Lark caressed her tortured flesh, a silvery passage of snails. He placed his palm, fingers splayed, on the worst area, hoping the warmth would soothe her. He applied a gentle kiss to each mark, and, little by little, the tension left her body. Not for the last time, he regretted his promise to give her first shot at Roger.
• • •
Roger was miserable. His arm was throbbing so badly that he was almost able to ignore the pelting rain. All he wanted was to return to the keep, the warmth of his hearth, and, surprisingly, the comfort of his wife’s expert care.
“Hell’s beast,” he swore when his horse stumbled and jarred him, causing his clouted head to ache even more. He should have taken one of the Chevring mares, but had worried that his brother would have confiscated it for himself. The horses were Roger’s only advantage when it came to his family. Not Stolweg, or Ragallach, or even Chevring, but the destriers his father so desired.
Lightning arced through the night, followed immediately by a deafening boom of thunder that crushed his skull. Another vicious flash, and the forest ahead exploded, sending burning shards of bark and splinters in every direction. His mount reared, throwing Roger to the ground. Thunder pealed again, and before he could catch the reins, the gelding shot off through the trees. Roger cursed again, then forged on, thoughts of his wife’s waiting balm and the pouch full of herbs protected under his cloak warring back and forth in his mind.
Chapter Forty-Three—A Question of Trust
When Anna woke, the tumultuous rain had ceased. Silence pressed against her ears. The fire had long since devoured its meal, its ravenous crackling but a memory. She was wrapped in the warmth of Lark’s arms. His body curved protectively around hers.
In the background, the horses shuffled about. Honeycakes came to explore Anna and Larkin’s side of the cave. The filly was beautiful, much like her mother, all grace and form. But she would not be a broodmare. She would be trained and would eventually fight alongside the likes of Rabbit and Tullian. Anna frowned. Trouble was brewing; it resonated in her bones. And it would be much greater than that which surrounded Roger.
“Good morning,” she greeted Lark when he buried his face in her neck.
“It will be,” he growled. His hands began their familiar trek over her bare skin. When he found her center, she was ready. She turned to him and smiled, knowing they would spend the morning making love. There was naught to do but watch the horses while Rina rested and the filly gained strength. As their bodies joined, all thoughts of the morrow fled.
• • •
It was afternoon when Anna finally took Lark by the hand and led him outside where they could sit in the sun and discuss Roger. She began telling him of the doings of her secret group and ended with the morning the King’s envoy had arrived.
“As much as I hate to say this, Anna, we must leave before first light tomorrow. Roger is a threat,” he explained. “And although I trust that Baldric and the others can protect themselves—”
“I understand,” she interrupted. “We both must tend to our duties.” Lark looked around for something to do, offering her no information in return.
“I set out snares yesterday. I’ll go check them,” he said, and then left her alone with her thoughts. Perhaps he did not as yet trust her as she trusted him.
Anna walked over to where the horses were grazing. She ran her hands over Honeycakes, examining the foal to make sure she was sound enough for the journey back to Stolweg Keep. “We have a long trek tomorrow,” she said to the filly. “But we’ll start early, and take it slow.”
• • •
Lark knew she was upset and that he was the cause. So he sat next to where she was plucking the quail they had snared and picked up a discarded tail feather. Spinning it in his fingers, he stared at the ground, trying to find the right words. “I owe you an apology,” he stated. “It means more than you can know that you trust me enough to tell me about the past three years.”
She spitted the quail and set it over the flames.
“I’m sorry that I haven’t told you what I know in return,” he added. “I guess I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? What worse could there be than what I’ve already experienced?” she spouted. He threw the feather into the fire. “Wonderful,” she said. “Now it’s my turn to say I’m sorry.”
“Anna, you don’t know everything. You do not know of the friends I’ve lost. Good men on diplomatic missions. Men whose families will never hear from them again.”
“I know that Roger killed his first wife. He staged it to look like she had taken her own life. He will try to kill me next. And I know that he plans on taking my sister for his own.”
Lark recognized the fierce anger raging through her. He had felt it himself in his past. She was right. She deserved more from him than his mistrust, so he told her everything. Combined with what she had told him, the picture presented was astounding. With Ragallach, Stolweg, and Chevring, Roger controlled the heart of Aurelia. He shared his beliefs regarding Roger’s true parentage.
“The way Roger perceives himself,” Anna commented, “as if he is lord and ruler over all…if what you are saying is true, Lark, might not his mystery father be a member of the royal family?”
If what she guessed was true, Lark thought, Aurelia would soon be at war.
• • •
They cleaned up in silence, thoughtful of what was to come the next day. Anna thought about how easily the pieces fell into place when they worked as one. They made a good team.
Lark had retired to their shared blankets. His eyes were closed, but Anna knew he wasn’t sleeping. She sat on the tree trunk and pulled off her boots and stockings. She removed her clothes and stretched out next to him.
“Anna?” he asked.
“Lark?” she answered.
“Kiss me.” She did. He kissed her back. And they became lost in their need for each other. Anna had only one lucid thought that night: before she went to Roger tomorrow, she would tell Lark that she loved him.
Chapter Forty-Four—The Letter
Roger rubbed the goose egg on his temple, trying to ease the headache that had been his constant companion since meeting with his brother. He’d returned from his excursion well past midnight, expecting the courtyard to be deserted and Baldric’s men asleep. But no, they were all awake, Gorman had informed him as he strode in, and waiting for him in his banq
uet hall, drinking his cider and eating his food. At least when the six other riders had returned, Baldric had believed their story. As per instructions, each pair reported finding no trace of any strangers in the Stolweg environs.
Roger’s arrival, alone, bruised, and wounded—not to mention filthy, smelling of ozone and caked in mud—lent even more credence to his story. His brother had been right to cut him, just as he’d been right about their father liking Roger’s plan. Roger would just have to be careful not to give his brother any chance to take the credit.
As he’d expected, Baldric had interrogated him for hours. And they had believed his every word: he and his man had been attacked, and his man had been killed; Roger had managed to fight off three men, killing two; he had almost killed the third man, but reinforcements had come; he had barely escaped to bring the news back to the keep. Roger had even described the attackers’ garb, making sure to include a few items that would indicate that they were Nifolhadajans, allowing Baldric and the guards to draw this conclusion. Several retellings later, Baldric had ordered him to get some rest; they would ride out and together root out the interlopers in three hours’ time.
But Roger was too keyed up to rest, so he sat at his desk, making sure the information in his ledgers was beyond suspicion. When he finished, he checked again that his chamber door was locked. Then he retrieved the letter hidden away in his trunk. He sat on the cushioned bench near the hearth, and patted the seat next to him. Garamantes lumbered up, sniffed the paper, then dropped his head in Roger’s lap, where he promptly began to snore.
Roger fingered the old parchment with reverence. It amazed him how this simple letter had put him on his current path. He’d kept it hidden away, taking it out only once a year to read. Even so, the letter’s creases had softened and were coming apart from the passage of time. He smelled it, as if her scent still lingered in the ink.
There was a loud rap, and he tucked the worn parchment into his tunic before unlocking his door and bidding whoever it was to enter.
“Excuse me, m’lord,” Gorman announced. “You asked to see me.”
Roger handed him the list of herbs and the pouch from his brother. “Gather what we need from the maid’s stores, and see that the barrels are marked properly. I want no confusion when the time comes.”
Gorman shook the packet. “They won’t know what hit them until it’s too late. So his lordship liked my idea?”
“Your idea?”
“N-no, m’lord. I misspoke,” Gorman blustered, covering his error. But Roger was not interested in punishing Gorman at the moment, and sent the man away.
Everything was neatly tied together; Roger could foresee no trouble. Except that he still hadn’t dealt with the frayed ends of his rope yet—the two biggest loose threads being his wife and the guard Larkin. While he’d been racing to see his brother, the man had galloped off to find Aubrianne. To make matters worse, Gilles had returned alone and explained that a mare was unexpectedly foaling. Roger supposed it was true that Aubrianne was best suited to the task of seeing his mare through the early birthing. But no amount of reasoning could help him overcome the rage he felt knowing the guard was alone with his wife. After he finished with Baldric and the others, dispatching the troublesome Larkin would be at the top of Roger’s list.
Then, Roger remembered his letter again and pulled it from his tunic with the utmost care. So as not to cause more damage, he gently unfolded the timeworn parchment. The letter always soothed his mind when he was troubled or tense. He began to read.
Dearest Babe,
I write this letter to you as I lay dying. I am weak and will not survive your coming into this world. The midwife won’t admit it. She even tries to dispel the notion as foolishness on my part. But in my heart, I know it to be true. Her words are hopeful, but she cannot hide the sorrow in her eyes.
I have carried you these last nine moons and have given all of my strength to you so that you may be born healthy and strong. It is all I have left to give you. My love for you will see you safely into this world.
I have spoken with father and mother—I want to make sure you are loved and cared for after I am gone. At first, your grandparents refused to listen to me, not wanting to believe that I am slipping away from this life. Yesterday, mother finally sat with me while I told her the tale of how you came to be, and my wishes for your future.
Until you are given this letter, you will not have been aware of my existence. I write to you of the facts of your birth because you have a right to know your heritage. I write this even knowing that your world may be shattered by the truth.
First, the man and woman you have grown to love as your mother and father are your grandparents. They have pledged to love you and take care of you when I cannot. They will raise you as their own, and you will inherit everything as their heir. Please understand. This will be done to protect your identity.
Second, you have a brother…
There was another knock on his door, and Roger cursed. “One moment,” he yelled. After folding his letter, he tucked it back into his tunic to finish later.
Chapter Forty-Five—Resolved
“I’ve sent Ailwen to awaken Lord Roger,” Baldric informed Trian. The guard greeted the others, then swiftly shut the door to Baldric’s quarters. He’d just returned from his recent charge: tracing Roger’s tracks as far as he could before having to turn back to make the keep by morning. “What did you find?” Baldric asked after relating the claims made by Lord Roger.
“Lord Roger’s story is mostly consistent with what he told us. There were two sets of tracks going, and one returning. However, he veered southwest, not due west as he claimed. I never reached the point where he was attacked, but I did pick up fresh tracks and followed them. Moving north, and in no apparent hurry. Four men, all told. One heavily armored. Another—I swear—was one of Roger’s men.”
“Not so dead as our host has claimed. And the others? Were they Nifolhadajans?” Baldric asked.
Trian nodded. “I removed this from one of the saddles. It’s the proof we need that Lord Roger is involved in a conspiracy.” He opened his hand to reveal a small metal disc. Baldric’s eyes narrowed.
Tomas leaned forward to examine the object. “What is that?”
Warin put his arm around the young guard’s shoulder. “That, my friend, is the symbol of the royal house of Nifolhad.” Warin looked incredulously at Trian. “You say you took this from a saddle. Exactly how close were you?”
Trian’s silence was the only answer Warin would receive. “You never cease to amaze me, my friend. How can such an ox of a man be so stealthy? It’s beyond my comprehension.”
“You fared better than our host,” Tomas added. “He was caught in that storm without his horse. Had to walk all day to make it back here.”
“I came across a woodsman’s croft,” Trian explained, “and waited out the worst of it. Fortunately, I found those tracks before the rain hit.”
“They’re setting a trap,” Baldric stated. “The question is: do we play along?”
Warin took the metal disc from Trian. “We do if we want to give King Godwin a prize greater than Lord Roger’s head.”
• • •
“You think it wise to meet in the open?” cautioned Carrick.
“I think skulking in the stable will only draw more attention. If we are here, in plain view of Lord Roger’s men, they won’t be suspicious.”
“Just the same,” Doreen spoke up, “I think we should keep it short.” She saw Will approaching. “Gilles,” she said, nodding in their son’s direction.
Gilles stepped forward to stop his son, but Will walked directly to the group. “You shouldn’t have met without me. I have just as much at stake in this as any of you, perhaps more,” he stated, reminding them of the lashing he took. “And you’ll want to hear what I have to say, for it concerns Lady Aubrianne.”
Gilles nodded to his son. “Go ahead, Will.”
“Lord Roger’s been holding the l
ives of her family over her head. I heard her ask Cellach to ride to Chevring and warn them. I believe Lady Aubrianne means to put an end to Lord Roger. And she means to leave us when she’s finished.”
Grainne looked thoughtful. “That fits in with what I discovered yesterday in her hearth: she incinerated her wedding gown. And I can’t shake the feeling that she was saying goodbye. We can’t allow her to do it.”
Gilles addressed Carrick. “As the miller, you are the only one among us who has good reason to be seen with the other members of our group. Can we count on you to spread the word?”
“And the word is…?”
“We end this before Lady Aubrianne has to.”
“When?” Carrick asked.
“Before Lady Aubrianne returns,” Gilles announced. “Which means today. Lord Roger is taking the King’s men into the western woods to hunt for the soldiers who attacked him. But take heed, we do not want Lord Baldric any the wiser.” One by one, they returned to their tasks.
Only Will and his father remained behind. “I want first shot,” Will said.
Gilles’s eyes widened at the sudden ruthlessness in his son’s voice. “Just be sure to make it count,” he replied.
Chapter Forty-Six—Preparations
Lord Roger strode into his chamber, Gorman at his heels. “This interference ends today. Is all prepared?”
“Aye, m’lord, the keg is ready.”
Roger’s mood was much improved. His wife’s maid had treated his arm and given him an herbal tonic of some sort to ease his aching head. It was time to replace old blood with new blood. Better blood. Excepting that his wife was alone somewhere in the hills with Larkin, he might have been truly happy.
Wild Lavender: The Aurelian Guard - Book One Page 22