Releasing Henry

by Sarah Hegger

  Running out of excuses to remain in her chamber, Alya made her way to the hall.

  She took a moment at the door without anyone being aware of her.

  A tall, dark-haired man stood with his arm about Henry’s shoulders. That must be William. Beatrice had told her William was the handsomest of her brothers and Beatrice had told no lies. Having inherited the best of both his parents, William was beautiful.

  Over Henry’s shoulder, William caught sight of her and smiled.

  Dear Lord, he must have tossed his fair share of skirts up with that roguish grin.

  “You must be Alya.” As he sauntered toward her, William held his arms wide. “I am very pleased someone would have Henry. We had our fears you know.”

  Eyes so blue they made her blink twinkled down at her.

  Alya tried to find her words. “G-good morrow.”

  William swept her into a hug and before she could recover her breath held her away from him and smiled. “Thank you for bringing Henry back to us.”

  A woman with hair the color of sunrise joined them.

  Alya found herself staring again. She had never imagined hair that color. It resembled living flame in its glory. She wanted to touch so badly her fingers twitched.

  “I am Alice,” the woman said. “I am married to William.”

  Alice stood half a head shorter than Alya and had a sweet rather than beautiful face.

  Alya shook her hand and returned her shy smile.

  Next, she met William and Alice’s two boys, James and Stephen. Both boys could be no other than William’s sons. Although the younger had the same glorious hair as his mother.

  “Now we are all here.” Sir Arthur clapped his hands. “Tonight, we celebrate.”

  Oh, dear. Alya tried to smile along with the others. A feast meant people, and people could mean a repeat of yesterday.

  * * * *

  With Alya happily ensconced between his brothers, Henry slipped out of the hall.

  The feast had been going strong for the best part of the night. Limited to family and household members, an air of celebration swept everyone in its path. The merrier the mood around him grew, the worse Henry felt.

  William led Alya into the center of the hall and attempted to teach her a reel. With her natural grace, Alya picked it up quickly. She looked so beautiful with her flushed cheeks, laughing like she had not a care in the world. It was not an expression he often saw on her face.

  Henry took the stairs to the minstrel’s gallery. From here he could keep an eye on her and find some peace.

  Even his father joined the reel. Sir Arthur danced as if he charged a battlefield, and Anglesea folk were wise enough to give him plenty of room.

  Alya wore a gown of scarlet red. Her dark hair flew in an ebony mass as she spun from Father to Roger and William.

  “Brooding again, are we?” Newt appeared beside him.

  With Newt, Henry did not have to pretend. He shrugged and kept his gaze on the festivities. “When did you return?”

  “About an hour ago.” Newt watched the scene below them.

  His family’s happiness was palpable even from here. They celebrated his return and he stood and watched them do it. “You have news?”

  “Aye.” Newt rubbed his nape. “But let that wait for the morrow. Tonight is for celebration.”

  Meaning the news Newt carried was ill. Henry nodded, the morrow would be soon enough.

  Newt took a seat beside him. “You know when I was a street urchin life was hard but I always knew where I fit.”

  Beatrice had saved Newt from the stocks as a lad. Since then Newt’s path had wound in and out of theirs, until Sir Arthur had sent him to squire for Henry on his pilgrimage. Newt’s sticky fingers had been discovered attached to one of the king’s deer. Sir Arthur had judged it auspicious to get Newt out of England.

  “Would you go back to the streets?”

  “Nay.” Newt grimaced. “As we both know, I would probably be dangling at the end of the hangman’s noose by now.”

  Beatrice hooked arms with Alya and spun her around and around. Two lovely women, one as fair as the other was dark, they made a pretty picture.

  Newt gazed on them with a hunger that matched Henry’s. Except Newt’s gaze fell on Beatrice.

  Catching him watching, Newt hid his expression behind a nonchalant grin.

  They knew each other too well for that. “I always suspected that’s how the land lay.”

  “Keep it to yourself then.” Newt scowled.

  “She’s too old for you.”

  “Aye.” Newt leaned his elbows on his knees and gestured to the hall. “And then there is that.”

  Hands about her waist, Garrett lifted Beatrice off her feet.

  Beatrice shrieked with laugher until Garrett brought her down and kissed her soundly.

  “He is a good man,” Newt said.

  “Roger certainly seems to believe so.” Henry still could not believe the change in the relationship between Roger and Garrett. When he’d left, they’d barely been able to share a meal without coming to blows. Still, Garrett had filled Henry’s shoes as chamberlain well. Very well.

  “He makes a better chamberlain than I.” With Newt, Henry had always felt free to speak his mind.

  Newt studied him for a moment. “That’s because he wants to be chamberlain.”

  Wishing he could cleanse his thoughts and force them into order, Henry scrubbed his hands over his face.

  “As much as I would not want to go back to the streets, life was simpler then,” Newt said. “I was a gutter rat. I knew it. Everyone else knew it. My place in the world was set.”

  Dressed in a fine tunic and hose, Newt no longer resembled that gutter rat. “Now you are part of this.”

  “Nay.” Newt shook his head. “I can dress for this world, fight like a knight, and speak like a courtier, but I am no more a part of this than I am of the streets.”

  Like him, Newt no longer knew his place, and Henry nodded. “You could find another Beatrice and marry her.”

  “There is only one Beatrice.” Newt laughed softly. “And she is not for me.”

  As squires joined the line the reel grew more boisterous.

  Henry kept his eye on the young men peacocking for Alya’s attention.

  “Your place is down there.” Newt nudged him. “Amongst your family.”

  “I know that.” His curt response surprised him. He softened his tone. Newt was not the enemy. “I know that. And yet I do not feel it. They all expect me to be the Henry they knew. Before.”

  “Give it time.” Newt clapped his shoulder. “And show them the Henry you are now. Your family loves you. They will love this Henry as much as they loved the last one.”

  “If only I knew who that was.”

  “Give it time.” Newt shrugged. “Not that it matters, but this Henry is far less of a pompous ass than the old one.”

  Newt could always make him laugh. Tired of talking about it, he turned to Newt. “What of you? You cannot spend the remainder of your days pining after my sister.”

  Newt snorted. “I never pine, it is pointless.” He stared back at the hall. “I wanted to speak to you about something.”

  “Aye.” Henry’s nape prickled and he knew he was not going to like what Newt said next.

  “I have been speaking with Bahir.”

  Henry waited.

  “He and I are the same.”

  Henry could not credit his ears.

  Newt caught his eye and laughed. “Aye, we are. Both of us cannot return to where we came from, and are not a part of where we are.”

  Henry was right. He did not like where Newt was headed with this. “Is this where you tell me you are leaving?”

  Newt’s face grew serious. “Aye, Henry. It is time I find my place in the world.”

  “Your place is here.” Newt had been his anchor even before his slavery.

  Truth hanging heavy
between them, Newt stared at him. Newt would never be welcome to court the daughters of the men he now rubbed shoulders with. He would never rise higher than his current station and most still looked at him and saw the gutter rat.

  Henry looked away first. “When?”

  “Bahir wants to wait for Alya to be well settled before we go.”

  “You and Bahir?” Henry had trouble picturing it.

  “I think we will do well together.” Newt grinned. “And at least I never have to fear him stealing my women.”

  Henry laughed, but the idea of Newt leaving pushed his mood lower. “I will miss you.”

  “Are you going to get all maudlin on me?” Newt looked horrified.

  Henry cuffed the impudent ass.

  “Come.” Newt clapped his shoulder. “Come and join your family and your lovely wife.”

  * * * *

  Alya lay beside Henry in the dark and stared up at the bed canopy. The seamstresses had shown her the new bed curtains and they were nearly finished. They had replaced surliness with an air of cool distance. Perhaps when the curtains were hung this place would feel more like hers.

  Again, Henry had disappeared from his celebration for a long time. When he came back with Newt, he seemed even more remote than ever. Tonight, he had climbed into bed beside her and kissed her a chaste good night. He still had said nothing to her about the events in the village other than his apology that morning. Even at his remotest before he had never turned from her in the bedchamber. Did he tire of her? So soon? Her speculation annoyed her. She sounded like one of the women she had despised back in Cairo. They complained, they whined and their thoughts ran in tighter and tighter spirals.

  Something bothered Henry and yet he remained silent with her. Although he lay perfectly still, she sensed he didn’t sleep. Barely two feet separated them and yet they might be on opposite sides of the world.

  “Henry?”

  “Aye.”

  “You do not sleep.”

  “Nay.” Bedding rustled as he turned to her and rose above her on his elbow. “You do not sleep either.”

  “Is something bothering you?”

  “Aye.”

  She held her breath. Here, finally, he would raise his beautiful mask high enough for her to see beyond.

  Fingers running over her arm, his expression growing sensual. “Does my wife require my attention?”

  The disappointment gouged her middle, and Alya rolled to her side. “I am tired.”

  Chapter 27

  Summoned to the hall midway through the next day, Alya wiped her trowel on her apron and stood. She and Bernard made good progress with their garden. At first, they had made small changes and waited for someone to berate them. As days passed and nobody said anything, their changes grew larger.

  She removed her apron and handed it to Bernard. Smoothing her hair, she motioned for Jamila to join her. With Jamila by her side she never felt completely alone.

  On entering the hall Alya read the bad tidings stamped on Sir Arthur’s and Lady Mary’s faces before they even told her. Legs shaking, she drew closer to them.

  Jamila pressed into her side and Alya dropped a hand to her head.

  “I am so sorry, sweeting.” Lady Mary took her hand. “But we have received news of your father.”

  “He is dead.” Strangely, she received the news as if from a great, cold distance. Like she stood above herself and watched as she nodded, took a seat and smoothed her skirts over her knees. “Do you have any further details?”

  Sir Arthur glanced at Lady Mary and took the seat opposite her before the hearth in the hall.

  Lady Mary perched on her chair arm. “I have sent for Henry.”

  “He does not need to come.” Henry had left their bedchamber without a word this morning. Since that night she had turned from his advances, he had made no further attempts to touch her. Nor she him. The distance made living here easier. They could not wound her if she stood apart from them all. “Tell me.”

  “We are fairly sure the information is accurate.” Sir Arthur motioned his page to her with a goblet of wine. “Newt found an old friend of his in London. One of the sources he used to find Henry.”

  Alya sipped her wine. For a girl who had grown up not drinking, she had taken to this aspect of life in England.

  “Let us wait for Henry.” Lady Mary’s fingers tightened about her goblet. “I do not want you to hear this news alone.”

  Alya almost laughed. Other than Bahir, she was alone. Now even more alone than ever.

  A damp spot appeared on her skirt, and she brushed it off. Clumsy to have spilled wine on her new bliaut. She swiped at it.

  “Never mind, dear.” Lady Mary grasped her wrist. “We will get someone to get rid of that mark for you.”

  “But it is new.” Alya had asked for this bliaut to be made from the fabrics of her dowry. The mark must come out. She could not stain her new dress so. “I have marked it. I have put a mark on my dress.”

  “Indeed.” Face endlessly patient, Lady Mary held her hand. “And we will make that go away. Nurse has any number of tricks for cleaning things.”

  Had the mark spread? No longer able to touch, Alya stared at it. It had definitely spread and she hated that mark. She wanted it to go away. “It must come out.”

  “And it will.” Lady Mary glanced at the page. “Find Sir Henry and Bahir. Now.”

  “I am so clumsy.” Alya shifted her legs so the mark dropped to the side of her knee. From here she did not have to look at it. “Tell me of my father.”

  “I think we should wait un—”

  “Now, if you would.” She did not like to interrupt Lady Mary, but she must hear the news and remove this bliaut. Ask Nurse how to remove a wine stain. “I need to hear it.”

  Elbows on his knees, his craggy face grave, Sir Arthur leaned forward. “Your father was right to send you away,” he said. “Newt’s friend told him that men broke into your father’s house the night after you left.”

  Ah, perhaps the same men who had chased them in the desert.

  “Did they kill him?”

  “Aye.” Sir Arthur touched her knee too close to the mark for her comfort. “They burned the house. Newt’s friend said they looked for your father’s wealth and were angered when they didn’t find it.”

  “I had it.” This fabric had come with her from Cairo and now she had ruined it. “How did he die?”

  “Sweeting.” Sir Arthur flinched. “It is not necessary to know that.”

  “It is.” She nodded to assure him she could hear this. “I would like to know all of it.”

  “He died by the sword, it was quick. Merciful.” Sir Arthur straightened in his seat.

  “Nay.” She did not know how she knew this, but she did with a cool certainty. “It was not quick or merciful. Tell me.”

  “Look here is Henry.” Lady Mary spoke too loud and too brightly. “He has come.”

  “Alya.” Henry stood by her chair. His hand landed on her shoulder.

  He could not see her with her ruined dress. Alya placed her hand over the mark. “My father is dead.”

  “I heard, sweeting.” He crouched at her knee.

  Too close to the mark. “Your father is telling me how he died.”

  Henry and Sir Arthur exchanged a loaded glance.

  “Please.” They wanted to hide the truth from her. She did not like that. “I would know everything. Please.”

  Henry nodded at his father. Even now they looked to Henry for permission to tell her what was hers by right to know.

  Sir Arthur cleared his throat. “They tied him up. They…um…whipped him. Then they set the house alight around him.”

  “While he was alive?”

  “We cannot be sure. It is very possible he succumbed to his injuries before the fire…” Sir Arthur rubbed his palms on his thighs. “That is all of it. I swear.”

  He lied. She had heard the rumors around other death
s before she left Cairo. Bad things had happened. Cruel, ugly things inflicted on men because they carried the wrong blood in their veins, bore the wrong color on their skin, spoke with the wrong tongue.

  Bahir stood behind Sir Arthur. Big hands folded before him, head bowed in grief.

  How odd that Bahir grieved more for her father than she did. Of course, they had always been close. Her father had rescued Bahir from a cruel master and placed him in charge of his household. Bahir had always felt he owed his father a life debt.

  “Alya?” So full of regret, so full of pain for her, Henry gazed at her. Now she saw real feeling in his eyes, now when she had no need of it.

  “Well.” Their heavy emotions weighed on her, pushed against her shoulders like a load of rocks. Bahir in his grief. Henry with his sympathy. Even Sir Arthur had his regret in having to share this with her. “I must change my dress. I have soiled this one.”

  Lady Mary rose with her. “I shall come with you.”

  “Nay. I am fine.” She motioned her back. “Stay here with Bahir. He feels this keenly.”

  “Alya.” Henry moved to take her arm.

  “Nay.” She sidestepped him. She needed to change her dress. How did they not understand this? “Nasira can assist me.”

  Bahir jerked and stared at her.

  “Nay, not Nasira.” Her head felt so full, too full, jumbled and messy. The stain on her dress had seeped into her head and made everything hazy. “Not Nasira. Nasira is in Cairo. My maid in Cairo. I am sure she perished with my father. She would not leave him alone. She promised me.”

  “Henry.” Lady Mary clasped Henry’s arm. “You must go with her.”

  “Nay.” Alya warded them and their crushing emotions off with her hands. If they came close, they would break her beneath the weight. “Stay. I will change my dress. I must change my dress.” They stared at her as if she spoke a strange tongue. “See.” She held it up to them so they could witness the mark. “I have a mark here on my dress. Marked. Ruined. It is soiled.” Moisture dribbled down her cheeks, and she scrubbed it away. Who was crying? Whose tears stained her face?

  “Sweeting.” Henry strode toward her.