Too many uncertainties!
‘What happens if Balthus dies?’ she asked. ‘What happens if his parents return?’
‘We don’t know.’
Margery cared about Evrart’s fate here, and her own...maybe she couldn’t leave that readily either. But this Louve—he was somebody, and he was far too self-assured not to have some power or skill. Her sister loved him, so why wasn’t he here?
Her sister...her brave sister...had uncertainties too.
‘You are with Louve, aren’t you?’
Bied looked to the side. ‘I don’t know.’
Her sister loved this man. Talk of Evrart, of Balthus or any Warstone, could wait. Margery knew what sacrifices Biedeluue had made to protect her from the men of the village. Biedeluue had offered herself. Margery had been only a child then, and no part of the decision, but still she couldn’t forgive herself. Not truly. It was another reason why she’d accepted Josse’s offer. After what her sister had done, how could she have done anything less?
‘Are you uncertain of Louve because you don’t trust?’ she said.
Were they both to be ruined because of their past?
‘I want to trust, but...’ Bied gave a small smile and shrugged. ‘I’ve been a terrible sister and I have been blind to how strong you are. You saved me in the Great Hall, and you’ve been surviving in this fortress.’
Margery didn’t blame her sister for changing the subject. She would too, if she had to talk of Evrart and trusting him. ‘I’ve had Evrart.’
Bied shook her head. ‘You’ve had your wits—which must have been honed far before you entered here. You haven’t been living in leisure.’
Terror had been her constant companion. Was it all truly over?
‘Louve loves you.’
‘That can’t be true,’ Bied said.
Her sister had been hurt, just as she had been growing up in that village. Biedeluue had always seemed so strong. It pained her to know she had suffered and couldn’t trust easily.
‘He does love you,’ she insisted. ‘It is in the way he looks at you, and how he rushed you out of my room. The very fact he brought you to my room. I’m certain that took much effort.’
Bied worried at her bottom lip. ‘He doesn’t know me.’
Evrart knew some but not all of her past. Her sister, however, was noble and kind. Bied’s deeds had been done solely to help the family, whereas her own... Her birth had been a burden...accepting Josse had been merely a means to make matters right.
‘Maybe it’s time you told him.’
‘Louve has some duties. I think they’ll keep him here with Balthus, who was his friend. But I don’t know where to go next. If I stay here, will you stay too?’
Louve was friends with Balthus? A Warstone? That explained his bearing and his vanity.
‘Stay here? But Louve killed Ian—how will Balthus keep him? I know that the brothers were enemies, but—’
Bied shook her head. ‘Louve didn’t kill Ian. Louve threw the dagger at his shoulder, but at the last moment Ian moved towards it,’ Bied said. ‘It pierced his heart. Louve was beside himself. Held Ian as he died. Promised him that he’d find his wife.’
Margery didn’t understand. It wasn’t what Evrart had told her.
‘It’s confusing, I know,’ Bied continued. ‘But Louve is friends with two of the brothers—Reynold and Balthus. I think he was trying to save Ian when he...did what he did.’
Margery looked at her eldest sister but didn’t see her at all. Weren’t enemies to stay enemies? If Ian had thrown a dagger at Balthus, why would Louve care for Ian? All she had seen of Ian was his cruelty. Except at night, with his murmurings. No. That kindness was for his lost wife. No one else.
‘So...what of the Warstone parents?’
‘The children are against their parents.’
Margery had a mother who had been physically exhausted when she was born. Soon afterwards her father had abandoned them and she had been raised by her siblings. It had always been a struggle, but there had been love there. The fact her sister could talk of family betrayal so easily was beyond her comprehension. Nor did she have any desire to understand.
‘You like their games.’
‘I don’t play games.’
‘You’re in the kitchens, ordering servants about,’ Margery said. ‘Cooking... You’re pretending to be someone you’re not, and you love a man who isn’t an usher. What is he truly?’
‘He’s a mercenary to Reynold, and he’s here for other purposes.’
Fools. All of them. Her most of all. She had been swept up in the arms of everyone and deposited somewhere. If she’d heard someone talk about her sister’s deeds, she wouldn’t have believed them. She was fierce, and she did charge into matters, but she never pretended to be someone else.
Margery hadn’t only been locked in a room surrounded by pillows—she’d been living a lie. Did she know anyone?
‘Louve is friends with a Warstone, who is enemies of his brother, and yet when he died, Louve comforted the enemy?’
‘It was all to save Balthus!’ Bied said.
‘But Balthus is at death’s threshold, isn’t he? Louve had to chop off his hand. And it wasn’t Louve who saved him from Ian’s dagger. You’re the one who shoved him out of the way. You’re as culpable as them.’
Bied’s expression was half-hurt, half-horrified. Margery didn’t care. She’d been hiding away and hiding her feelings. Giving everyone the benefit of not telling her the truth. Evrart because he was quiet, Jeanne because she’d forgotten Margery was confined, her sister because she was so brave.
Except it hurt her to be separated from everyone. Pained her not to be told the truth.
‘Everyone here is pretending!’ she said. ‘Is it only me who was threatened with death, kidnapped, then held captive awaiting decisions to be made that I could do nothing about?’
‘I’m not pretending anything,’ Bied said. ‘I had to be someone else to save you!’
‘Maybe I don’t want to be saved anymore.’
Bied opened her mouth, shut it. ‘You sent that letter.’
‘And it was a mistake!’
A terrible mistake. Not because she hadn’t wanted to risk her siblings’ lives, but because she should have done something on her own. She’d thought she taken risks because she’d written on some scraps of parchment and hidden them from a murderer, but she’d been wrong. Being truly brave would have been not to journey with Ian of Warstone. To have fought him. Not to have begged the palfrey to run the other way.
Because that was what she had done as she’d stared at the fortress gates: begged a horse to save her!
‘It was a mistake, me coming here?’ Bied said. ‘A mistake!’
Now that she knew more, she was certain Evrart had purposely not told her what had happened in the hall—or on any other day for that matter. Did no one believe she could be strong, equal enough to be by their side? They were so intent on protecting her—didn’t they think maybe she could protect them too? No. Because they believed her to be useless. Only useful for her hair and eye colour.
‘Stay out of my life, Biedeluue. Protect someone else. Go and play your games with this Louve and his Warstones.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Evrart spied Margery in the chapel gardens. Unlike the last sennight, this time he strode towards her.
There had been so many changes since he’d left her bed while she’d fitfully slept. Despite all he’d told her, his heart was light. She was alive, and well. Ian was dead—as was his debt to him. For the first time in a decade his family was safe. Louve, the new usher, was actually a mercenary of Reynold’s, and he cared for this woman named Biedeluue, who happened to be Margery’s sister. The Warstone parents hadn’t attacked, and Balthus, after many nights, had awakened.
If he hadn’t believed in
good fortune before, he certainly did now. His life had been one thing for almost ten years, and now it was something else. Something he thought he’d share with Margery. But after she’d spoken to her sister she’d hurled words at him he hadn’t fully understood, had avoided him or ordered him away. So he’d watched her from afar.
He could wait.
His changing duties kept him occupied. He was no longer Ian’s personal guard, but Louve and Balthus had brought other mercenaries here, and they didn’t get along with the guards already in residence. Then there were the new ones Ian had brought that day he’d arrived with Margery.
All men who worked for coin, now he needed them to work for loyalty, for skill, for something other than the reputation of a Warstone. Because with Ian gone this fortress was defended by Louve—a person with no power, and no noble blood or connections. A man from whom mercenaries weren’t pleased to be taking orders.
It was one thing to be paid in coin, but quite another to be linked to a house with power. Most of the mercenaries wanted both, and some had already left. Unfortunately, because the Warstone parents might lay siege any day, they couldn’t afford to lose more. For the last week it had been a constant battle bringing the men to heel.
Thus, he had given his Margery time, but more changes had come, and he could wait no longer.
More than that, he missed her. Missed the light brushes of her hands against his arm, his cheek. Missed her voice and her demands he talk. He’d lived most of his life in silence, and now he no longer found it comforting.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ he said.
Margery did not stand or turn around, but she did kneel amongst those flowers she smelled of. He might not see all the colours, but could discern she was more beautiful than those flowers, more precious to him than the land they grew on.
‘I have news for you.’
She adjusted herself from kneeling to sitting, but she did not turn or give voice to whether she wanted to hear him or not. He took hope from the fact she hadn’t simply stood and walked away.
‘Balthus is awake. He bears no ill will for his hand, and has agreed when he is healed, he will search for Ian’s wife, Séverine, and her two boys.’
Margery laced her fingers together and laid them in her lap.
‘Louve and your sister will stay to defend the fortress,’ he continued. ‘Balthus will send missives to the King of England, requesting the title be transferred to Louve. If that fails, he will defend it in Balthus and Reynold’s absence, against his parents. They’re staying, Margery; I am certain you can have a home here as well.’
‘What makes you think I want a home here?’
Her voice wasn’t bitter, but it didn’t hold that light lilt which had teased him in his sleep. For all the days she’d ignored him, he had wished only for her attention. Now she was talking of leaving.
His thoughts scattered. Had he not made himself clear? If she left, so would he.
‘You’re leaving?’ he said.
Margery looked over her shoulder at him. He wondered what her light eyes saw. A man too crudely made for her, too imperfect? A man who could hear of her beauty, but could not see it? At least not the way others did. He wished, again, that with her he could. Still, he loved the beauty he did see.
He held her gaze for as long as she was willing to look at him. Wished it could be more.
‘Warstone Fortress works very well without me,’ she said. ‘Is there a reason for me to stay?’
‘Your sister is here,’ he said.
‘But I’m ignoring her too.’
He felt that familiar tenseness and rolled one shoulder. She was sitting on the ground whilst he stood over her. He must seem enormous, frightening, to her. Carefully, he folded his legs under him and sat as she did. The gravel path wasn’t comfortable and, unlike her, he was hardly hidden. It wouldn’t do for his reputation or his authority to be seen like this, but he didn’t care.
‘You’re not ignoring me now,’ he said.
‘That’s because you’re sitting on the ground with me.’
‘Does it help?’
She twisted around to face him. ‘Oddly, yes. I may have not been fair these last days, ignoring you. But it wasn’t only you. It was Jeanne, and my sister. It was...everyone.’
He’d watched her ignoring everyone. Seen Margery stride smartly by her sister, and seen the resignation in Biedeluue’s face afterwards. He knew he looked that way too. But Bied never forced Margery’s attention, so he didn’t either.
‘I needed to understand a few matters,’ she said. ‘I didn’t feel like talking with any of you.’
He could believe that. ‘I took hope in that.’
‘In my ignoring you?’
He had simply been relieved that she’s stayed when she could so easily have left. Except...
‘Have I done wrong now? By coming here?’
Her eyes softened and a curve went to her lips. ‘Never. You have made my apology easier.’
‘What were the matters you needed to think on?’
‘My life has been subject to others’ desires. Ian forced me here. I know I’m not anything more than a woman who sold her virtue—’
‘Don’t,’ he said.
He wouldn’t hear it. She hadn’t given up her honour by doing what she’d had to to help her family, any more than he’d given up his for his mother and sister.
Her eyes searched his, looking for answers. ‘I still want the truth, though. I need it.’
She was questioning his honour? ‘And I’ve lied to you?’
‘You speak words—but do you speak enough?’
He spoke more with her than he did with anyone.
‘I have talked to Jeanne and my sister. Both of them told me far more than you,’ Margery said. ‘I know you’re quiet, but did you deny me knowing what happened in the Great Hall because of the way you are, or because of some other reason?’
If a sword was aiming for her neck, he’d block it with his own. If a blade was thrown, he’d stand in front of it. If harsh words, deeds, the ugliness of life, which he had known of for almost ten years, was directed her way, he’d block that to. What good was he, what use, if he didn’t protect this woman?
‘I would deny you nothing.’ Including the life he wished he’d been spared. It did him no good to know of the killing of innocents or that a mother pitted against her sons.
Margery would have a life of orchards and kneeling in gardens that smelled like her. And he knew he’d answered her rightly when all the lightness of the gardens in sunshine lit her from within and she smiled at him again.
* * *
She’d overreacted. Margery had hoped she had. It was the worry over the lives of everyone she cared about. The sheer rage at her captivity. But to have judged this man as she would have the villagers who had thought they knew better than her? Evrart wasn’t like that. He was simply quiet. She needed to stop having doubts—at least about trusting him. Her past, however, would have to stay in the past.
Of course, her anger didn’t start and end with him. But Jeanne didn’t deserve her avoidance. Did her sister? Well, that was still possible, but Margery would have to apologise to her, too.
Standing, Margery brushed the dirt from her gown and then held out her hands. He looked at her waving fingers, then back at her face.
‘I can help pull you up!’ She laughed. ‘Oh, you do have the best expressions.’
He stood on his own, brushed his clothes as she had. ‘I have no expressions.’
Margery straightened and stretched. ‘The sky is changing again.’
Evrart rolled his shoulders and exhaled roughly. Then slowly, slowly, he looked up at the sky like her.
‘You don’t notice the sky, do you?’ she said.
‘Rain, storms, snow, heat...my duties don’t change for the weather other th
an the tasks are easier or harder. They still need to be done.’
He didn’t see the sky like she did, but he still looked at it because of her. The more they found about each other, the more she realised how different he was from other men—including her brothers. They would never have sat on the ground in a garden.
And he was different from the men in her life who had dictated what she could and could not learn, what she should be and what she should do. He didn’t care she had sold herself to save her family. Or at least he didn’t want to talk of it. She still felt she should tell him, but then...he was different. And he didn’t care what she looked like because he didn’t see the world like everyone else. Maybe he was different enough.
She felt as if she was repeating hope to herself. But maybe for now she needed to do so. He might be protective, but he told her of matters when she needed to be told. When she asked. To have found a man such as him when she’d spent weeks terrified...? Her fortune was too great. Perhaps that was where her doubt lay.
‘Now what do we do?’ she said.
He looked down at her.
‘What’s to happen now?’ she repeated.
This was the other matter that occupied much of her time while she was wandering around, going from the cook to the pantler, to the chapel gardens. Seeing if there was some other occupation she could have. If perhaps she could earn coin another way.
But always she came back to this man. His life was here—but had that changed since Ian’s death?
She didn’t think so. She’d often seen Louve and Evrart talking. She’d tracked the hours he spent with the guards and mercenaries. As much as she teased him on not being skilled, he was, and to take him away from this...
But then...where did she fit? And this man was quiet again.
‘Evrart, what do you want here?’
‘It has never been about my wants.’
They were so similar, and yet she longed for more and was willing to include him. His feelings aside, what more could there be for them? She had her past, and he had his future here.
‘But isn’t it now?’
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