by Flora Speer
Chapter 19
“Sir Brice is my cousin,” Mirielle said to the three people who stared at her in astonishment. “He is also the former seneschal of Wroxley. I have not seen him for nearly ten years.”
“After so long a time can you be certain of his identity?” Dain asked. “Perhaps it’s merely a passing resemblance you see.”
“I know my own cousin. From Gavin’s manner when Emma and I entered the hall, it’s clear that he has recognized Brice, too.” Mirielle spoke as if Dain’s question was an insult. To the silent, bearded man she said, “Tell them I am not mistaken.”
“I am Brice,” he admitted, as if confessing a crime, and closed his mouth on any further explanation.
“When you left Wroxley,” Mirielle said rather sharply, “you claimed to be going on crusade. How did you find your way to Cornwall?”
“I did travel to the Holy Land,’ Hermit said, sounding as if the words were being torn out of him. “I remained there for years. When I returned to England last autumn, I was sick in body and spirit. Like a wounded animal yearning for its lair, I wanted only to find a quiet place far away from Wroxley. So I wandered south to the other end of England. It was a slow pilgrimage; I had to stop several times to regain enough strength to go on.”
“Why couldn’t you return to Wroxley?” Dain asked.
“I understand,” Mirielle murmured before Dain could press more questions on Brice. “I do. But Brice, your withered arm is healed.”
“My renewed health I owe to a remarkable local healer,” Brice explained. “My newly optimistic spirit is Vivienne’s doing.”
“How was the arm injured?” Emma asked, seizing on what seemed to her the simplest question of the many engendered by what she was hearing. “Hermit, you never said how it happened, and I didn’t want to pry into a past that was obviously painful to you.”
“It happened during a terrible battle with a wicked magician,” Mirielle answered for her cousin. “Brice was trying to protect me – and Gavin and the people of Wroxley, too.”
“Just as you protected Vivienne and me from Wade,” Emma said. “Dear Hermit, you are a hero as well as a crusader! Or should I call you Sir Brice?”
“Hermit will do,” he responded in a voice roughened by emotion.
“What I would like,” said Gavin, “is to hear how Brice fought to protect Emma from this Wade person. Dain, you have promised Mirielle and me a full accounting of Lady Richenda’s activities, and of why she sent that man, Wade, to Wroxley with a letter meant to convince us that you wanted Emma dead. I gather those are all parts of the same complicated story. When may we hear it?”
“It is a remarkable story,” Hermit told him, “and one that does great credit to Emma.”
“There is another story you ought to hear,” Vivienne spoke up. “It is the tale of how my brother and I were reunited, thanks to Emma, and how the missing pieces of Dain’s memory, taken from him by magic, were restored by magic.”
“Certainly I will want to hear that,” Mirielle said, smiling at her.
“Let us sit,” Dain suggested. “Emma, Vivienne, and I will tell you all of it while we eat.”
With a somewhat forced politeness intended to conceal his emotional turmoil, Dain led his guests to the high table. He still did not fully trust Gavin, which was why he took note of how cleverly Gavin had turned the subject away from Hermit’s past to a good deed performed in the present, and of how readily Mirielle and Hermit followed Gavin’s lead. Dain silently vowed to learn the entire truth about Hermit – or Sir Brice, as he ought now to be called. If there was something unsavory about the man, he’d see to it that the erstwhile hermit left Penruan before he could cause irreparable damage to Vivienne’s heart.
Dain’s fiercely held desire to save his sister from any future unhappiness made him look closely at Brice. Beneath Brice’s freshly trimmed beard Dain could detect a resemblance to Mirielle, who sat between Dain and her cousin, thus affording an easy comparison of the two. Brice’s face was years older, scarred, and definitely masculine, yet the basic bone structure was similar, as was the thick, straight black hair. Brice’s hair was threaded with silver, while Mirielle’s was still entirely dark and gleaming with health. Mirielle wore her hair wound around her head in a thick braid, and she left it uncovered with the same blithe disregard of fashionable dictates for a married woman that Emma frequently displayed. On this day, Emma’s own straight, black locks were also worn in a single braid fastened with ribbon at its end and allowed to hang down her back without any covering at all.
It was natural for Brice and Mirielle to have hair of the same color and texture. They were blood relations. But why would Emma, who was the daughter of Gavin and his first wife and, therefore, no blood relative to the other two, have hair so remarkably similar to theirs? Or a chin and cheekbones so like Mirielle’s?
Dain watched his guests with eyes suddenly grown sharp and ever more suspicious. Gavin and Mirielle were listening with rapt attention to Emma’s account of her dealings with Lady Richenda. Brice was gazing at Emma with despair in his eyes. Dain looked toward Vivienne and received a frightened glance that told him that his sister knew, or guessed, the answer to the dreadful presentiment that threatened to drive him from the table to grab his sword and challenge the man who, he was beginning to believe, had tricked him in the most outrageous manner.
Dain began to consider the possibility that his mother had been right about Gavin, after all.
”I understand the situation better now,” Gavin said to Dain as soon as Emma finished her story. “It was Lady Richenda, not you, who instigated the revival of the feud.”
“She insisted, it’s true,” Dain said. He told himself to control his rising anger so he could learn Gavin’s real intentions in sending Emma to him – and his real reason for coming to Penruan.
Dain did not forget for a single moment that Gavin’s men-at-arms were moving freely in and out of Penruan Castle – at his invitation! Before Dain or any of his men dared sleep that night he needed to know if treachery was afoot. He spoke slowly, as if he was thinking through all the ramifications of the old feud, though actually he was trying to decide how best to defend Penruan against an invader who was already within the walls. “I was agreeable to my mother’s insistence, in part because I was raised to believe my father and grandfather were cheated by Udo of Wroxley, and that Udo caused my father’s death.”
“Here sits a man who may be able to tell us how the feud began,” Mirielle said, and added a statement that startled Dain out of his reverie on defense. “Brice was at Wroxley during most of the time when Gavin was absent in the Holy Land.”
“You were away from Wroxley?” Dain asked Gavin in surprise.
“For more than a decade,” Gavin said. “I thought it best to leave. My wife and I were constantly at odds, and our bitter quarrels upset everyone around us. Only later did I learn Alda was a wicked sorceress. In my absence she poisoned my father, and the seneschal before Brice.”
“Yet you married another sorceress,” Dain said, then scarcely attended to Gavin’s response. Gavin had been away from Wroxley for years, leaving his estranged wife behind. During those years Brice had been the seneschal and, no doubt, in frequent contact with the lady of the castle. Emma bore a remarkable resemblance to Brice. It would take a stupid man, indeed, not to see the implication.
”I don’t know much about the feud,” Brice said. “It was over and done before I was at Wroxley. The battle in which Lord Halard lost his arm had already been fought, and the king had confirmed Lord Udo in his possession of the land that both men coveted. To me it was just an old story told on winter evenings by the men-at-arms who could remember those exciting days. I expect most of them are dead by now; they were middle-aged at the time. The only one alive who knows the details of the feud is Lady Richenda. It’s my opinion that she will keep to the story she has always told, the version that casts Lord Halard in a favorable light.”
Dain noticed how Emma s
at listening to all of this without a sign of guilt on her lovely features. Did she know? he wondered. Or was she an innocent victim of Gavin’s plot to end the feud in his own favor?
But the feud was already ended in Gavin’s favor, by the king’s command. Gavin held that patch of long-disputed land. So, what purpose could possibly lay behind the deception he had foisted on Dain?
It required all of Dain’s considerable self-control to force himself to sit at the high table and play the agreeable host while he dissembled his mounting suspicions. As soon as he decently could, he made an excuse to leave his guests, saying he must speak to Sloan.
”Warn the men-at-arms to be on the alert for treachery,” Dain ordered.
“Hawise insists that Gavin is an honest lord,” Sloan objected. “She knows some of the men who have come with Gavin, and is friends with their wives. Hawise is a fine judge of character. I cannot believe she would befriend a villain.”
“Nor do I want to believe Emma is involved in treachery,” Dain countered his friend’s protests. “Yet we both know that even clever women can be misled. See to my command, Sloan.”
“Aye,” Sloan agreed with undisguised reluctance. “It’s always best to be prepared, and it will do the men no harm to stand ready for a night. But we need to know more, Dain. We can’t assume the worst based on guesses alone, nor can we act on supposition against a powerful lord who is a guest in your home.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Dain said. “I intend to confront Gavin in private, and I will have the truth out of him. If what I suspect is fact, guest or no, he won’t leave Penruan alive, and I’ll gladly answer to the king for my actions, knowing Henry will absolve me of guilt when I explain. Meanwhile, see that the men are ready for a fight.”
Not until some hours later, with the castle inhabitants in their beds or, in the case of Sloan’s men-at-arms, standing guard in tense readiness, did Dain approach the chamber where Gavin and Mirielle were to spend the night. To his surprise he found the door ajar. To his even greater surprise, he recognized the low-pitched voice of Sir Brice coming from within. Dain paused, eavesdropping without shame in hope of discovering whether his castle was threatened or not.
“I have told no one here at Penruan,” Brice declared. “Nor will I. The secret is safe with me. Surely, you know I’d never wish harm to Emma.”
“Your very presence may harm her,” Gavin said. “You ought to have left on the same day you learned who she is, and found another place to hide.”
”I know it.” Brice’s rough tone softened into reflective tenderness. “The cave where I was living is a magical place, so when I first beheld Emma there it was perfectly reasonable for me to think for an instant or two that she was an image of Mirielle as I remember her during her youth. They are so much alike. Surely you’ve noticed the resemblance? By the time I understood that she was real, not a ghost figure but Emma grown up and beautiful, I knew I could not leave her. She was lonely in her new life, and a bit frightened, and I foolishly dreamed of becoming her friend. She seemed to need a friend.”
”You call it foolishness,” Gavin said harshly. “I call it madness. Have you no sense at all?”
“Why was Emma afraid?” Mirielle asked.
“No one wanted her here,” Brice answered. “Dain was indifferent to her and Lady Richenda was her implacable enemy. Yet Emma has made a place for herself. She has earned the respect and affection of every person in Penruan, and of many in Trevanan village. Dain values her now, all the more so since Emma helped to restore his sister to him, along with his missing memories of Vivienne. I do believe Dain and Emma can be happy together.”
“Only if you go away,” Gavin said.
“So I will. It will break my heart to leave my girl for a second time, especially after knowing her as a lovely young woman, but for her sake I’ll do it. Gavin, I do swear to you, Dain will never hear from me that Emma is my daughter. But I demand a promise from you in return. Let them live in peace. Dain is an honorable man; he will keep to the terms of your agreement. Don’t you be the one to reopen hostilities between Wroxley and Penruan.”
”We only came to Penruan out of fear for Emma,” Mirielle said. “Brice, if you are as convinced as I am that she is in no danger, and that Dain will keep her safe and honor her as a husband should, then there is no reason for us to go to war against him. Is there, Gavin?”
“No,” Gavin said. “You have my word; I will not attack Penruan. We will stay for a day or two, then take a friendly leave of our host. I suggest that you leave with us, Brice. You can say you want to visit longer with Mirielle. Once we are away from Penruan, you may go wherever you like, so long as you do not return here. And Dain need never know that I am not Emma’s father.”
But Dain already knew. He had heard every word, and was now fully aware that a misbegotten girl had been foisted on him in place of the legitimate daughter of the baron of Wroxley whom he had been ordered by the king to marry. Knowledge of the deception was far more disturbing than his earlier concern about the possibility of armed treachery within Penruan’s walls.
The lies and the humiliation of being tricked were more than his noble honor could bear. Or his temper.
He did not trust himself to enter the chamber without inflicting violence upon the occupants – and that would only precipitate the armed conflict he’d prefer to avoid for the sake of the women and children who were dependent upon him. However, there was one person on whom he could vent his rage, and he’d force her to reveal her part in the ruse. He raced up the stairs to the lord’s chamber.
“Dain?” Emma was combing her hair before braiding it for the night. Hearing the door slam behind him, she turned with comb in hand and a question in her eyes. Dain saw no fear in her. Not yet. “Whatever is wrong?”
“Did you know?” he demanded, advancing on her with barely controlled fury. “Have you known all along, and kept the secret for Gavin’s sake? Or was your intention to make a fool of me, to gain one final advantage after King Henry settled the feud?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, sounding calm, though the hand that set down her comb trembled slightly. “There’s no reason for you to accuse me of wrongdoing. Explain yourself. What is it I’m supposed to know, and to be keeping from you?”
“Are you claiming you don’t know that Brice – your precious Hermit – is your natural father?”
“What?” She stared at him as if she feared he’d gone mad. And in a way, he had. If he were in full possession of his wits, he never would have told her so bluntly. Nor was he going to stop. Outraged pride drove him on.
“I perceived the truth just by observing you and Lady Mirielle and Sir Brice together,” Dain informed her with cold anger. “Do you expect me to believe you never noticed the family resemblance?”
“How could I notice any such thing?” Emma cried. “Like most children, I saw little of the grownups, except for my nurses and a few maidservants. When I was six years old I was sent away for fostering. Years later, I returned for just a week or two, before my brother and I were sent to a monastery for safety. While we were gone my mother died and Sir Brice left Wroxley.
“Oh, Dain!” she exclaimed, as if the awful meaning of his accusation had just struck her. “Are you saying that Brice and my mother were lovers?”
“I have heard your parentage confirmed from Brice’s own lips,” Dain said. “He was talking with Gavin and Mirielle and I overheard them.”
“Dear heaven.” Emma’s hands covered her face, hiding her expression. “How could they lie to me about something so important?”
“I gather it was to protect you from knowledge of your mother’s adultery,” Dain explained in a gentler voice, his fury abating slightly when he realized the depth of Emma’s shock and pain. She had not known; he was suddenly certain she was not part of the conspiracy to deceive him. The relief that flooded through him left him as weak and stunned as Emma appeared to be. Dain could not, at that moment, afford to examine
why he was so relieved.
Emma took her hands away from her face so she could look directly at Dain. She stood with fists clenched at her sides and her chin lifted in a gesture of courage that tore at Dain’s angry heart and made him ache to embrace her. But he couldn’t, not until he had learned everything she knew, or could guess out of her knowledge of Gavin and Mirielle, about the deception practiced on him. No, he corrected himself, the deception practiced on both of them.
“The man I knew as Hermit was old and scarred, with a beard and a withered arm,” Emma said, as if trying to organize her fragmented thoughts. “I can barely recall the Sir Brice who was once seneschal of Wroxley Castle, except for a vague impression that he was handsome. Until this hour I never connected Hermit and Sir Brice. Why should I? I hadn’t thought of Brice for years before Mirielle called Hermit by that name. I always took Hermit to be who he said he was.
“I do comprehend your problem, though,” Emma went on. “I am not the wife you were promised. After what you have learned, you have every right to reject me. But my father – I mean, Gavin – never meant to defraud you. He fully intended to send Alys, his oldest daughter with Mirielle, to marry you. It was I who insisted Alys was too fragile to make the long journey and that I should come in her place. If there is fault in our marriage, it’s entirely mine, not Gavin’s. Let the blame rest with me and do not, I implore you, reopen that idiotic feud now that it’s settled. Be content with punishing me.”
“I never took you for a martyr,” Dain said.
“An illegitimate martyr, my lord,” she responded with a wry laugh, while tears ran down her cheeks. “The responsibility for this debacle is mine.”
“No, it is not.” Unable to watch her misery any longer, Dain grabbed her shoulders so tightly that she winced. “The responsibility rightly lies with the adults who never told a little girl the truth.”
“I’m sure they did it to protect me, just as you assumed. My mother was even more dreadful than yours. All the same, I had a right to know my real father.”