Releasing Henry

by Sarah Hegger

  “Where does it lead?” Alya looked about her and tried to get her bearings. The gate definitely did not open on the seaward side of the castle. The main castle gate, though, was on the other side of the inner bailey. This gate, it seemed, led to a yard attached to both inner and outer baileys, but tucked in between them.

  As if often oiled the lock turned easily.

  Dog surged through before her, brushing wet fur against her skirts. Really, the animal had no appreciation for the cost of silk.

  She stood and looked at Alya, wagging her tail and lolling her tongue as if she had done a very clever thing.

  And she had. Alya forgot the rain as she stared at the garden about her. Not a large space but filled to bursting with trees and flowers. Grass so green it made her eyes hurt marched in clean lines between the flower beds. And the blooms! Alya had never seen so many colors, in such abundance and in one place before. She did not know the names of any of the plants she looked at, but she itched to.

  Dog squatted on the grass and proved to her that she really was a filthy animal. Still, the small enclosed garden lifted Alya’s mood.

  “All right.” She nodded to the dog. “I will concede that I like this place.” She shrugged an apology. “I lie. I love this place and you were right to bring me here.”

  Chapter 20

  Alya spent the morning amongst the flowers. She located a stick and dug around in the soil. Rich, wet earth coated her fingers. The smell of it settled inside her like contentment. She had always loved growing things.

  Pleased with herself, Dog lay in the shelter of a large tree and watched her.

  A young boy, they called them pages, found her there. “Lady Alya.” He bowed but stared a bit at her filthy hands, wet hair and stained dress. “Sir Henry is looking for you. He says you are to come with me.”

  Dog dropped into place beside her.

  The page eyed her askance. “Have you been gardening, my lady?”

  “I have been digging holes.” Because she could not call her foray gardening. “I am not sure what everything is.”

  “Really?” The page gaped. “Do they not have plants where you are from?”

  “We have plants.” Alya had to smile at his wide-eyed curiosity. “But they are not the same at all. Where I come from, it hardly ever rains and the plants need to last without water.”

  “Huh.”

  They walked into the bailey. A train of large bullocks lowed and stamped, surrounded by people carrying things into the keep.

  “It does not rain much where you are from?” The page frowned. “I could not imagine that.”

  “Aye.” Alya skirted the activity. “It is very different.”

  Bahir stood at the keep door with a tally slate. He nodded to her.

  “I could help you,” the page said. He flushed. “With the plants and such. My Mum knows a powerful lot about plants and she taught me. I could help you.”

  The offer wiggled into her heart and lit a small glow. “I would like that,” she said. “But perhaps you should tell me your name.”

  “Oh.” He giggled. “I am called Bernard.”

  “Ber-nard.”

  “Sort of.” He grimaced. “It is more like Bernard, one word. Quick. Not like burr and then nard.” He nodded. “Bernard.”

  “Bernard.”

  He chewed his lip. “We will work on that. While we work on the plants.”

  Her first new friend. Other than the furry one who brushed against her skirts. Perhaps she should wear less silk because it looked as if Dog would always be there by her side. Or even better, some of those masculine clothes Kathryn wore from time to time. But that would involve a conversation with the hostile seamstresses and Alya did not fancy that.

  When she reached the hall, Bernard left her. Probably following his nose to the smell of baking bread in the kitchen. Surly though she was, Cook did bake the most delicious breads and pies, and Alya could grow fat on the honey cakes.

  “Alya.” Standing on the far side of the hall with Roger, Henry waved at her and grinned. “Did you get stuck in the mud?”

  “Bernard tells me I have been gardening.” She rose on her toes and kissed his lean cheek, taking a small moment to draw in the delicious scent of him. Cardamom, bay, and oranges all blended in a unique and wonderful way that she craved a little more every day.

  Henry held her to him. “In the rain?”

  “Aye.” Things always felt less dire when Henry held her. “I gave up on waiting for a fine day.”

  “Come and see what we have.” Henry guided her to a pile of crates, chests and bolts. More got added to the pile with each new person entering the hall.

  Alya poked at the nearest crate. “What is all this?”

  “I would think you would recognize your own wealth.” Roger joined them, his gaze on the growing bounty. “Bahir had the boat’s contents brought up to the keep this morning.”

  “Mine.” Alya snapped her gaping mouth shut. She had no idea of the extent of her father’s generosity. Why, he must have sent everything he owned with her. Her father. An ache throbbed in her chest. He had known what was coming, and he had sent her away to protect her. He had also ensured that she would want for nothing in her new life. What she wouldn’t give to take back that last moment. Kiss him goodbye sweetly and thank him for all he had done.

  “Hey.” Henry tipped her chin up. “He would be happy to know you were safe.”

  She snuggled closer to Henry. That he guessed her thoughts brought her closer to him.

  Roger cleared his throat. “After Henry and I spoke, I am trying to discover word of your father.” He touched her shoulder. “Nobody should live not knowing what has happened to someone they love.”

  Henry kissed her head. “Now, we need you to tell us what to do with all of this.”

  “Me?” She wriggled out of his hold so she could read his expression. “Surely that is for you to decide?”

  Putting her away from him with a shrug, Henry said, “I cannot tell you what to do with your wealth.”

  “Mine?” On her marriage, everything she owned became her husband’s property. Could things work differently here in England? “All that is mine is now yours.”

  Henry grimaced. “By law, I suppose.” So things did not work differently here. “But this is yours, Alya. This is all that you have of your father. I would not take that from you.”

  Honest and noble, her Henry. Had her father read that much in him? “Then let us say this is ours.”

  “A good solution.” His lips lingered on her cheek as if he would go further.

  “Dear God.” Roger stomped to the nearest chest. “You will give me a toothache if you two persist.”

  “Stop being grumpy.” Kathryn appeared behind Roger. She put her hands on her hips and stared. “Goodness me! There must be a king’s ransom here.”

  “Three kings, at least.” Beatrice followed her into the hall. She squealed and darted forward. “Is that silk? Kathryn, come and see this color.” Beatrice drew a length of silk from the bale. “Oh, my. I have never seen anything so lovely. It is like spun gold.”

  “It is spun gold.” Kathryn joined her. “Look, they have woven gold into the fabric.”

  “Oh, my.” Beatrice stroked her cheek against the fabric. She glanced at Alya, started and lay the silk gently over the bale. “I beg your pardon, Alya. It was so lovely, I forgot myself.”

  Alya drew the silk from the bale. Yards and yards of fabric gathered in her arms. “Here.” She held it out to Beatrice. “It will not suit my complexion.”

  “Nay.” Beatrice snatched her hands behind her back. “I could not.”

  “Aye, you could.” Alya pressed the silk on her. “It is a custom in my country to bring gifts to your new family.”

  Henry raised his brow at her.

  Alya met his challenging look. He said the silk belonged to her. She could stretch the truth a little if she liked.

  “
If you admire something in an Egyptian’s house,” Henry said. “It is considered polite to give it to you.”

  Beatrice laughed. “Then I would wager you must be careful of expressing your admiration.” She squeezed Alya’s shoulder. “Really, it is not that I do not appreciate the gesture, but this is yours.”

  “Do you insult my honor?” Alya tried an imperious look Henry could wield like a knife.

  Beatrice chuckled. “Oh, Alya, you really must teach me that look. I thank you for the gift, and I mean no insult but I cannot take something so costly from you.” She cast a fond glance at the silk. “But I tell you what. Once you have seen all that is here, if you still want to make the gift, I will take enough to make one gown. And then you will let me make you a gown of another silk of your choice.”

  “Hmm.” Alya pretended to give it some thought, but she knew what she wanted in exchange. “I tell you what I would really like. I would like to learn to ride a horse. You can teach me.”

  Kathryn snorted. “I will teach you to ride a horse.”

  “I ride very well.” Beatrice scowled at Kathryn.

  Shuddering, Kathryn said, “You ride like a girl.”

  “I am a girl. And so is Alya. I will teach her to ride.”

  “You can watch.” Kathryn patted Beatrice’s shoulder. “As I teach her how to ride properly.” She held up a finger as Beatrice opened her mouth to protest. “And if you behave, I will teach you both to fight with a dagger.”

  “Sweeting.” Grabbing Kathryn by the waist Roger drew her against him. “Perhaps Alya does not want to learn to knife fight.”

  “I already know how,” Alya said. “Bahir taught me.”

  “Really?” Kathryn perked up. “Did he teach you to fight with one of those curved blades like he carries.”

  “Aye.”

  “How marvelous.” Misty eyed, Kathryn gazed at her. “I should like to learn how to use one of those.”

  Roger snorted. “That is all we need at Anglesea. More women flashing metal.”

  “Roger!” A woman’s voice from the doorway acted like a lightning bolt through Roger, Beatrice and Kathryn.

  Henry paled and took a step forward. He froze, hands clenched by his sides.

  Without anyone introducing her, Alya knew the older woman who walked into the hall. Her beautiful features so closely resembled Henry’s, she could only be his mother. Her mother by marriage. Alya clasped her hands together before she fidgeted. Her palms grew sweaty.

  “Mother.” Henry blinked rapidly.

  Lady Mary stopped within arm’s length of Henry. Tears spilled down her lovely face. “Oh, my Lord.” Her voice cracked. “They told me—I dared not believe—Henry.” With shaking hands, she cupped Henry’s face, her gaze roaming his features as if she would press them deep into her heart. Lady Mary folded her much taller son into her arms and held him. “My Henry.”

  Beatrice sobbed openly, wiping her eyes on her bliaut sleeves. Even Kathryn’s eyes glistened.

  Roger kept his gaze on his feet.

  A bearlike man put his arms about Lady Mary and Henry.

  This had to be Sir Arthur. He and Roger looked so alike it was like seeing an older and younger version.

  Feeling like an interloper in the tender moment, Alya looked away.

  A tall, grave-faced knight stood a little apart from them, his arm about the loveliest woman Alya had ever seen. From her father’s readings, she had heard about angels. This lady was like one of those beings of light come to life. Hair a pale gold, eyes even bluer than Henry, her features as delicate as spun sugar. The lady was also crying. Faye, Henry’s oldest sister, which made the man by her side Sir Gregory.

  With them stood two older boys, a young girl, and an even younger boy. The older boys resembled their mother. The younger children had their dark sire’s stamp on their features, softened by their mother’s beauty.

  What had Henry said on the boat?

  The older boys must be Simon and Arthur, Faye’s children from her first marriage. Roger had told Henry of Faye and Gregory’s daughter, Elizabeth, whom they called Bess. She could not recall the boy’s name.

  “Goodness.” Lady Mary emerged from the huddle. She wiped her face but kept her hand on Henry’s arm. Her gaze fastened on Alya. “You must forgive me, my dear girl.” Fresh tears spilled. “I have not greeted your properly.”

  Faye moved to embrace Henry. Of all his siblings, Henry bore the closest resemblance to Faye.

  “Come, Mary.” Sir Arthur guided his wife toward Alya. “We must greet our new daughter.”

  Alya found herself tugged against an enormous chest.

  Lady Mary’s embrace was a lot gentler, but no less sincere. “Welcome,” she said. “My aren’t you lovely. So exotic.”

  Sir Arthur studied her. Alya had the sense Sir Arthur saw her right down to her chemise. “My son has brought back a true treasure from his pilgrimage.”

  Henry was hugging his nephews, and being introduced to the members of the family he had never met. He could not come and rescue her.

  Beatrice stepped in and hugged her father. “Don’t forget your old daughter because you have a new one now.”

  “Never, Sweet Bea.” Her father lifted her off her feet. “Tell me you aren’t breeding again?”

  “Father!” Beatrice gave him a shove, which did not move Sir Arthur at all. “I am a married woman. You cannot say such things to me.”

  “I do not care.” Sir Arthur crossed his arms in a pose Henry used all the time. “You are still my little girl.”

  “Give over, Arthur.” Lady Mary kissed Beatrice’s cheek. “You look well, sweeting.”

  “I am well.” Beatrice glared at her father. “And I am not breeding again.”

  Sir Arthur smirked. He stopped and stared at the pile of goods. “What is all this?”

  Henry rejoined her.

  Alya was grateful for his arm about her waist.

  “It is Alya’s,” he said. “Consider it her dowry.”

  Chapter 21

  Gregory made Alya nervous and that irked her. Not that he did anything to provoke it. Indeed, she had hardly met a more courteous or quiet-mannered man. From what she had seen, he spoke only when he had something of value to add, never raised his voice, barely seemed to grow annoyed and displayed endless patience. Especially with little Bess who appeared something of a handful, and tossed her raven curls to great effect.

  Across the hall, he sat with the boys patiently unraveling their fishing string. Beatrice’s boys clambered all over him, yelling instructions in their piping boy voices, all of which bothered him not a whit. He nodded, occasionally responded, and kept on with his task.

  His size gave her pause. Bigger even than Roger, but with not an ounce of good living to mar the perfection of him. Discipline. It eked from him.

  What about him made her fidget?

  Gregory glanced up.

  Face hot, Alya dropped her gaze. She could not read Gregory. He kept his thoughts close to himself. He reminded her of the first time she had seen the foreign knights. With the intention to parley they had ridden through Cairo to meet with the sultan. Huge men atop snorting, snapping horses, they had worn their metal tunics as if impervious to the glaring sun.

  Thrilling as they were, the sight of them had filled her with a cold dread. In the crowd, one of the knights had met her gaze, his eyes cold and implacable, and in that moment, she had known her life would never again be the same. Gregory seemed to possess the same unwavering purpose in all that he did. How she had grown to despise the knights as it had become obvious that war was inevitable. In her mind, they all blurred into that one glance from those ruthless eyes above a metal visor.

  Gregory was a knight, and thus she despised him.

  Alya jabbed her needle into her thumb. Her lack of sewing talent aside, her thumb injury had its root in her thoughts. She barely knew Gregory, yet she made the assumption that he was a cold-blooded killing be
ast. In one moment, she had cast aside any personal knowledge of the man and thrust him into a fold with others who bore a resemblance to him. Just as the folk of Anglesea did to her and Bahir.

  They looked at her and saw a foreign woman, a woman who represented the same nation they had sent their brothers, fathers, lovers, husbands and sons to fight. For folk here, the blood of their kin stained her hands. How sobering that she did the same. That which she condemned them for lurked in her breast.

  “You will go wrinkled as a desert crone.” Bahir dropped on the window seat beside her.

  His width forced her to inch along and give him space. “I was merely thinking and I did not like the direction my thoughts were taking.”

  “Ah.” Crossing his ankles, Bahir lounged against the casement surround. “Would you like to share your thoughts?”

  “Aye.” Bahir had much wisdom to offer. “I was thinking how all of us, people I mean, how we look at each other and make judgments based on things that should not matter.”

  Bahir settled himself more comfortably. “Like?”

  “Skin color.” She waved her hand at him. “Where we come from. Who our parents were. The languages we speak. Our very differences are what keep us from getting to know each other.”

  “Wise words, Lady Alya.” Gregory moved like a wraith because now he stood beside Bahir. “What led you to this discovery?”

  Alya’s face heated. Dare she tell him? Except, if she did not tell him, did she not make a judgment that he would be angry based solely on her past experience? “When I was watching you just now, I was thinking how much you reminded me of the knights who attacked my country.”

  Bahir hissed, and straightened. “She means no insult, Sir Gregory.”

  “And none was taken.” Gregory propped his shoulder against the wall. “You looked at me and assumed I would be capable of the same sort of savagery.”

  “Savagery?” Leaning forward, Bahir studied Gregory. “You have knowledge of the war.”

  “Aye.” Gregory dragged a nearby stool closer and sat. “I have listened to the stories my countrymen do not always tell.”