by Sarah Hegger
“It does not seem as if Henry and I share any similarities.” And how could they hope to build a marriage without any common ground? Henry had promised her all those weeks ago on the boat that if she ever really wanted to leave, he would let her go. Would he still let her go? Did she even want to go?
“That is not true.” Bahir put his arm about her. “You are both passionate people who believe in things like honor and justice. You both value family and loyalty. I have seen the way he makes you smile and the way he looks at you. But.” Bahir’s face grew grave. “You have a greater divide to cross than most couples and that will take more patience and tolerance from both of you. Getting angry and storming off will not accomplish that.”
“Like I did with my father.” Not able to look at Bahir, she traced the pattern of birds stitched into her bed covering. The bed she had shared with Henry, and now planned to leave. It was all so confusing. He said he did not regret marrying her, but sometimes his actions spoke other. Then again, he sent her away to protect her and Bahir as well as his family, and she could not fault him for that. Had she not railed at her father for doing the same and lived to regret it.
“How long do you plan to stay away?” Bahir tugged her closer to him.
“I had not got that far in planning yet.” Alya tucked herself into the comfort of him. “All I knew is that I planned to leave Anglesea as fast as I could.”
“Ah!” Bahir nodded. “You needed to be seen leaving.”
“No wonder they sold you from the harem. Your inability to lie to a woman long enough for her to keep her delusions would have disadvantaged you.”
Bahir grinned. “Have you thought what you will do if he does not play his part the way you want him to?”
“Nay.” Alya needed to walk. Her head felt as if it might explode with all the conflicting thoughts. “I am not sure if I am even leaving Henry. There is a chance he would not notice if I did. He sends me away—”
“You think to leave me?” Still as a hunting cat, Henry stood in the doorway.
“Excuse me.” Bahir left the room so swiftly he almost caused a breeze.
Alya wanted to chase after him and demand he stay with her. Although if she did get past her furious husband in the doorway, she might not return. At least until he calmed down. “You misunderstood what you heard.”
“Did I?” Tucking his hands into his belt, Henry strolled forward.
He looked so calm and at ease, one could be mistaken for assuming all was well. Until you looked in those eyes, colder than winter well-water. She had not known blue eyes could blaze or freeze before she met Henry.
Wary to keep her distance Alya backed up a few steps. “I did not say I intended to leave here and never return.”
“Nay you did not.” Henry rubbed his jaw. “I believe what you said was that you had not yet decided whether you would leave me.”
“Why should you care?” Tired of retreating, Alya stood her ground. “And you did say, when you asked me to marry you, that if I was no longer happy I could leave. You are as unsure if you want me here or not.”
“I want you here.” Silky, his voice held not a trace of warmth. “Make no mistake that I want you here.” He circled her, and caught her braid. With a slight tug, he eased her head back. “You are my wife. Your place is beside me. Do not make the mistake of believing this is an open point in our marriage. If you leave, I will bring you back. If you run I will chase.” He tugged her head back an inch more. “If you go to ground, I will find you.”
This was a ruthless Henry. One she had only glimpsed. This close, the effect was startling in its primacy. She wanted to fight him. She wanted to kiss him. “Let go of me.”
“Never.” Henry planted a swift, hard kiss on her mouth. “I cannot let you go because you are mine.”
She needed to break this hold he had on her. “You said—”
“I care not what I said then.” Henry tightened his grip and then let her go. “Now I am saying this.”
Trumpets split the tension between them as the gate announced their visitors.
Alya stumbled back.
“You will go to Garrett’s manor with Bahir. Stay there until this is over. And then I will come for you and we will speak.”
His imperious tone made her angry enough she could barely speak. “I—”
“When I come for you, wife, you will be there.”
* * * *
Henry could not credit how poorly he had handled that situation. He had gone to their chamber determined to speak with her and try to make her understand that he did not reject her, or judge her. The decision was purely pragmatic and aimed at protecting her.
Instead, he heard her say she might leave him and reason had deserted him. He’d wanted to fill her with the same fear that surged through him, and he had. He had filled his wife with fear for her brutish husband. This issue between them frustrated him and it had spilled into his interaction with Alya. He knew not how to make it go away.
On the ramparts, he stood and let the view soothe him. Compared to the mighty vastness of the sea beneath him, petty human worries drifted into nothing. No more than the foam cresting the waves. Soon he would need to change to greet their guests, and that meant braving his bedchamber again and the angry woman currently presiding over it.
When he had left Cairo with her, he had known there would be some resistance to her presence, perhaps even some resentment. But the blanket intolerance with which she was met confounded him. And it truly should not because hadn’t he seen the same thing on holy pilgrimage? Holy pilgrimage! The words scalded his throat and he could not utter them. The things done in the name of God, the atrocities visited on people who sought only to live their lives in peace, content in their beliefs. Their holy army filled with the very dregs of humanity, interspersed with a few naive souls like he had been, desperate to serve their God and act in his glory.
Truth be told, when they pulled him off his horse, his first sensation was relief. Relief that the nightmare had ended. Relief that he would not have to return home, tail between his legs, and admit how wrong he had been. Even worse, admit to himself how so much of his life had been a lie. The things he had held dear, the beliefs he had fought for and defended. Those had all amounted to a pile of ashes blown away by the heat of battle, drowned in the sticky stench of blood spilled.
In those early days of his captivity, he hadn’t cared what became of him. So mired in his self-loathing and self-pity, his enslavement had seemed a fitting punishment. Perhaps this was why he had not minded when people treated him as other or like he was an animal. In his mind, he had been worth no more and their treatment of him had been only what he deserved.
“Sir Henry?” Roger’s page stood a mere three feet away.
“Aye.”
“Sir Roger requests your presence in the great hall.”
“Sir James is within?” His reprieve had ended. He must change and help Roger disentangle this snarl. Or watch Garrett do it in his effortless ease of reading people and situations.
“He is, my lord.” The page bowed and retreated.
Henry looked out over the sea and drew a deep breath. The thing that had changed for him had been his girl on the wall. Sold by his first master, a minor spice merchant, into Bahir’s care he had kept his head down for weeks. Then one day, as the sun set behind the minaret, he had looked up and seen the girl on the wall.
Beneath him the postern gate scraped open and three mounted figures appeared, hoods drawn over their heads. But he would know Alya anywhere atop her gentle gray palfrey. He had missed his opportunity to make peace with her. On her left, the taller figure would be Bahir, and on her other side, rode Newt. How many times had Henry tried to cure him of his slump in the saddle? Even learning to ride anything in Sir Arthur’s stable had not turned Newt into a natural horseman.
Alya took his heart with her, and she did not even know it.
From that first moment of seeing her, he
had been her fool. The defiant way her slim figure stood against the fierce umbers and scarlets of the Cairo sunset had called to him. A siren song that had grown all the stronger for the knowing of the woman who sang it. He had thought he drew his hope from the girl on the wall, but that figure was as nothing when compared to the fire of Alya in his life. His to touch, love, hold, laugh with and cherish. Except his love left here with no real knowledge of how cherished she was.
“You’re not dressed.” Garrett wandered onto the battlements beside him, not looking particularly perturbed at finding him tarrying.
“Nay.” He willed the middle rider to turn and see him here. In a reverse of their former roles he wanted her to see him on the wall, and experience their connection.
“Ah.” Gaze on the riders Garrett leaned on the crenellations beside him. “I have issued instructions for her other belongings to be sent as soon as they can be packed.”
“My thanks.” Roger was right. Garrett did make an excellent chamberlain. He thought ahead of others.
“Might I suggest you add your own belongings to the load?”
Henry almost laughed. Garrett’s tact could do with some work. “You think I have failed her.”
“I think you know you have failed her.” Garrett crossed his arms, his gaze a direct challenge. “Just as I failed your sister and continue to do so. We are human. We err. We cannot love perfectly because we are not perfect.”
“The bastard philosopher.” How Garrett had changed since those early days. Or perhaps Garrett had remained the same, and Henry now saw him clearer. Even when Beatrice has spoken of her love for him, they had only seen what they wanted to see of Garrett. “I do not suppose you could handle this visit without me?”
“Forget it.” Garrett snorted. “Think of it as your last official duty as chamberlain.”
“Have we reached that stage in our brotherhood where we tell each other the unvarnished truth?”
Grinning, Garrett punched his arm. “I still reserve the right to lie on demand.”
Henry had to laugh. Despite the difficulties of being crammed into Beatrice’s family, Garrett had never allowed it to change him. Now, Roger saw the value in the man clearly. Even Father, for all his stubbornness conceded that Garrett had done right by Beatrice and his children, as well as helped the family out of one or two stickier situations.
“You do not relish the task.” Slinging an arm about his shoulder, Garrett steered him off the battlements. “And I, to my eternal surprise, love it. Working with Roger suits me very well, and Beatrice would love to stay at Anglesea, and raise the boys here.”
“And I shall become a farmer.” Henry allowed himself to be led down the stairs and toward his bedroom.
“It suits you.” Garrett chuckled. “And you have put more of your sweat into my manor house than I have.” He stopped and turned Henry toward him. Expression grave, Garrett said, “Build something, Henry. From that land build a legacy for you and Alya and your children. Shape that legacy to fit your family.” He grinned. “But first you need to turn down a suitor. Gently. For all our sakes.”
Chapter 31
For three days, Alya had no time to dwell. True to his word, Garrett sent the wagons after them straightaway. The first wagon rolled into the yard of the manor within hours of their arrival. With them came Bernard and his mother and three sisters.
Shyly they curtsied as Bernard introduced them, but Alya saw nothing but curiosity and friendliness in the glances they threw her. She guessed she could thank Garrett for that as well. For making sure she had friendly faces about her.
With Bernard and his womenfolk putting the livable areas of the manor to rights, she went exploring. Once the work was completed the manor would be a fine home. Not built to be impregnable like the mighty castle, the manor allowed more light and warmth to penetrate her inner halls. With all the fireplaces the men were building, a person would be warm and snug inside. Her beautiful rugs would look perfect on the river stone floor. The wide casements cried out for the adornment of her lovely silks. Aye, she could make a home here.
For the most part, the men still repairing the manor had seen her the day she came with Henry. A couple of them looked up and nodded.
Half-submerged in a drainage trench, Chester stuck his head up. He clambered out the trench, wiping his hands on a rag. “Well met, my lady.”
Ever vigilant, Bahir shifted closer to her. “Who is that?”
“The one in charge of the men.” As she faced the curious men Alya was grateful to have Bahir with her.
“God’s bones, you’re a big ’un.” Chester eyed Bahir like he would a side of beef. “Did you come to work or piss about inside like a girl?”
“How does one piss about like a girl?” Rich and infectious, Bahir’s chuckle rolled through the courtyard.
Chester joined in, and then a couple other men, and then a few more. Tension dissipated like early morning mist. Except for one man, a round, ruddy-faced fellow a few feet behind Chester, who looked annoyingly familiar, but Alya could not place him.
* * * *
Had his heart not already been taken, Henry would have been delighted to accept Lady Elizabeth as a bride. With her raven hair and eyes bluer than William’s, she was stunningly beautiful. Skin paler than ivory, with a form rounded in all the interesting places and slim in all the others, Elizabeth put even Faye’s beauty to shame.
A fact not lost on any of the Anglesea men. On being introduced to her, they had stood to a man, with their jaws hanging open and their eyes starting out of their heads. Probably for the first time in his life, even Garrett was lost for words.
All of her could have been his for the taking, and yet Henry felt not an ounce of regret. Truly there had been a moment of male pride, which had toyed with the idea of being the envy of every other man with such a wifely treasure. But it came and went before Sir James had finished the introductions.
Lady Elizabeth of Fenwick, peerless beauty, with a healthy dowry and a powerful father could seek anywhere for a groom. However desirous of healing the gap between crown and Anglesea, why would the king hand over such a prize to a younger son?
Mother took the lead, charming Sir James into a lot of shared memories and nostalgic laughter.
As agreed, Henry offered his arm to Lady Elizabeth. Garrett thought it best to attack this from two directions. An outraged father would not be as outraged if his daughter were quite happy not to be marrying Henry.
Even in his youth, Henry had left the swiving and cajolery to William. It had been years since he had tried to speak pretty words to a gently reared virgin. Alya’s directness had spared him the trouble of dancing around fragile sensibilities. He led Lady Elizabeth into the garden Alya and Bernard loved so much. Firstly, it made him feel closer to his wife, and on a more pragmatic level the garden lay far enough from the keep to mitigate against Lady Elizabeth taking loud exception to him withdrawing his suit.
Midsummer heat encouraged Henry to get it over with quickly. Underneath his black velvet tunic, emblazoned with his father’s arms, sweat slid down his sides.
“Lady Eliz—”
“I’m not a virgin.” Lady Elizabeth’s beautiful eyes flashed azure as she thrust her chin out and her shoulders back.
Feeling sure he must have misheard, Henry said, “I beg your pardon.”
“I am not a virgin.” She rolled each word around her mouth before almost spitting it out. “Indeed, I could be breeding right this minute.”
“Um…” He had not a word. In all the hasty strategizing between them, neither Roger, Mother, or even Garrett had prepared for this. “You are breeding? Are you to be congratulated?”
“Nay.” Lady Elizabeth paled, then looked askance at him. “Why are you still standing here?”
“Should I not be?” Henry felt the tide close over his head and wash him out to sea.
Lady Elizabeth stuck her hip out and jammed her fist on it. “You should be storming o
ff to see my father in outrage.”
“I see.” And Henry rather thought he might. The tasty irony almost made him laugh. “Do you have any idea as to the father of your child?”
“I didn’t say I was with child, I said I might be.” She tossed her head. “And it could be one of dozens, tens of dozens. Hundreds even.”
“You are to be congratulated on your stamina.” An evil part of Henry wanted to wait and see how far she would take this. But the better part reminded him that the stakes here were too high for levity.
She stopped and stared at him. “You do not believe me.”
“Nay, I do not.” Henry pressed her onto a garden bench. “For a start, you’re far too young to have amassed that many lovers, and secondly, women of healthy appetites do not blush fire-red when they say the word virgin.”
Lady Elizabeth blushed, and looked even lovelier than ever. “Will you tell my father?”
“Nay.” Henry eased to the bench beside her. “Because it turns out, I don’t want to marry you either.”
Her full, red mouth dropped open. “You don’t?”
Aye, she may well stare. The only men who would not want to marry Lady Elizabeth were those who did not like women or those whose hearts were already taken. “I do not. I also have a secret and I propose we join forces to make sure your father’s matrimonial desires never comes to pass.”
“Huh.” She fiddled with her skirts. “What is your secret?”
Lady Elizabeth hid a sharp mind behind that beautiful face. “Wouldn’t you like to know, but first you will tell me why you do not want to marry me.”
“Then that leaves you holding the higher ground,” she said.
“I already do.” Henry smiled to soften the blow. Neat as a puzzle piece, the answer to why Sir James was here fit into place. It lay with a certain lovely, but duplicitous young woman. “You have already declared yourself not a maiden. In fact, a bit of a trollop is how you put it.”
“You know I was lying.” She stuck her chin out at him. “You said so not five minutes ago.”