Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Annie Burrows

  ‘There is much to do here.’

  She was a fool even hinting at a future together. ‘I’m finished. Should we go?’

  ‘So soon?’

  ‘I am certain you are eager to be training instead of sitting in a garden.’

  Evrart shrugged one shoulder. ‘There is much training to be done, and even more loyalty to be earned before Balthus departs.’

  ‘When Balthus returns surely he’ll help with the men?’

  Evrart looked to the courtyard, to the many people hurrying past them. Only a few looked their way. Margery couldn’t get used to their lack of curiosity when it came to her. It was welcome, but still odd.

  ‘When Balthus leaves we may never see him again. The loyalty between the brothers is tenuous.’

  Hence why Ian had thrown a dagger at his brother, and the reason Guy’s death hadn’t been mourned.

  ‘What if he leaves with someone to help him?’ she said. ‘Someone who would want to return here?’

  His brows drew in. ‘None of the guards or mercenaries would want to.’

  ‘Not even for protection or their family?’ she said. ‘This is a formidable fortress.’

  ‘If Balthus leaves, the safety of this fortress will be suspect. Especially with the Warstone parents, who will want it back. But...’ Evrart exhaled roughly.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I wonder if they are pulled in too many directions.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she said.

  ‘They know of Ian’s death and Balthus’s injury. Louve sent messengers to Reynold. The first one was captured.’

  ‘If I had a child...any child...’ She couldn’t understand not wanting to protect family. ‘And they are still not here?’

  He shook his head. ‘Reynold has been working for many years to undermine his parents’ influence. I wonder if it has begun.’

  ‘Then Balthus will want to return here all the more—to claim his right.’

  ‘He doesn’t want this home. He has barely visited in all the years I’ve been here. No, this is one piece of rubble he’d gladly give away.’

  ‘He should still be here to help Louve establish his authority. And for a man who is silent, you certainly have opinions.’

  ‘I stood at Ian’s side as his personal guard. I heard much.’

  Somehow she’d forgotten that. What this man knew would be beneficial to Louve’s defence here. He might not be able to go.

  ‘What is it?’ he said.

  He was needed here. She was not. And, in truth, even if she was, she didn’t want to stay. She might have met Evrart, but she’d been captive here, and spent too many hours wondering if her life would end.

  Why burden him with any of that? She was supposed to be living a life of her own. Not writing letters asking for rescue or begging favours from horses. Or wondering over a future together with a man she wanted...

  ‘So no mercenaries or guards for Balthus or else he might not have reason to return here after he recovers Ian’s wife and children. What of Henry?’

  ‘Henry? The butcher?’

  She might have stayed away from everyone, but she did enquire about the man who had looked so friendly that first day.

  ‘A Warstone wouldn’t want a butcher, a mere servant, at his side.’

  Ian wouldn’t have, but they didn’t know Balthus. She didn’t like that the very fortress her sister lived in might be under attack. It would be better fortified if Balthus was here as well. ‘I’ll let Biedeluue know maybe she can make the suggestion.’

  ‘Balthus won’t take orders.’

  ‘No, but if it is suggested, Balthus can think it was his own idea. And a butcher would be perfect because he’d want to return here and not go wandering about. Thus, Balthus would return as well.’

  Evrart’s eyes narrowed. Margery kept hers wide. It was so obviously a ridiculous plan. They held their eyes like that until they both laughed.

  ‘Did you have a decent butcher in your village?’ she blurted.

  ‘My village?’

  Why was she asking questions about his village? To see whether she’d hate it? Or to torture herself with what she couldn’t have?

  ‘We never used his services. The sparse meat we caught was cut by my mother, and all too often put in soups to stretch it.’

  This was another commonality they shared—both of them had come from poor rural families. She hated her village, but Evrart’s eyes shone with memories. Were his village and its people decent?

  ‘And your mother and sister?’

  ‘They live in the same village. I send them coin, but fields don’t tend themselves, so there is always work to be done. My brothers are built like me, and others have trained them with swords and weaponry. It has been a long time since I’ve seen them.’

  Margery rearranged the flowers in her basket. He sounded wistful. As if he missed his family and wanted to see them again. Was that true? Or was it her wishing it was true so they could ride together and live—?

  A gentle finger under her chin raised her eyes to him before he quickly let her go.

  ‘Margery, these are very curious questions you ask.’

  They seemed bold and obvious to her. Hinting for him to take her to his village... The poor man!

  ‘I don’t want to stay here.’

  ‘To avoid your sister?’

  She needed to apologise to her sister. It wasn’t the first argument they’d had, but it was certainly the worst. She had written that note and, as she always did, Biedeluue had come to help. That was hardly Bied’s fault.

  ‘Is it your sister?’ he asked again.

  How to explain when she barely understood? That she just had a feeling, but it kept getting stronger the longer she stayed. It wasn’t merely because she missed the danger, intrigue and carnality of her former life. None of that ever called to her. The garden called to her. Being outside, watching and feeling the weather change called to her. But Warstone Fortress was too well run. She wasn’t needed here. She had no place.

  ‘Not her, truly. But it is Biedeluue’s home now.’

  He frowned. ‘And it can’t be your own.’

  It was a ridiculous argument—what person had a home of one’s own? If a family was truly wealthy or truly poor, it lived and worked together. And that was where she’d failed.

  ‘There’s not enough to do here. For me. I don’t think the pantler will let me near his supplies again.’

  Evrart’s lips curved. ‘What is it, Margery. Your eyes tell me so much.’

  ‘You can’t see the colour of them.’

  ‘You shine out of those eyes you tell me are lavender.’

  ‘Is that all you see?’ She tried to make her tone light, but her need to know cracked her voice and she clenched her hands. Was she so desperate? ‘I have no place here, but you...you don’t have a place back there.’

  His eyes widened. ‘My village? Oh, Margery. I have never, not once, wanted to be here. I was taken from my home.’

  ‘Taken?’ She looked away. ‘When Ian came through your village.’

  ‘I didn’t freely take the coin.’

  She looked back to him, her eyes searching his if she pained him by bringing it up or letting him think she forgotten. When she hadn’t...couldn’t. ‘I know; I understand. What happened?’

  Exhaling, he continued, ‘That is a tale I don’t wish to tell now. Just know that I was given no choice but to be here.’

  That didn’t answer the question of whether he liked or didn’t like where he currently lived. ‘So you didn’t want to leave your village? You liked it there?’

  ‘It was all I knew. This...here...is all I know now.’

  ‘And you’re good at it.’

  He gave a curt nod.

  There was no solution to this!

  He chuckl
ed.

  ‘This isn’t humorous. For a sennight now I’ve been trying to find a way... But you are always occupied and needed. I don’t want to deprive my sister of your skills. What if we leave and then they are attacked?’

  ‘So serious... Margery, if you’re asking to go to my village, and for me to accompany you, I would do so wholeheartedly.’

  She couldn’t hope!

  ‘My village is only three days away. If the fortress is attacked, who is to say that my coming from behind would not be a benefit?’

  He flexed his hands, as if he wanted to hold her. She wished he did. Instead he tilted his head, his eyes searching hers. ‘You would go to my village?’

  ‘If you would go with me.’

  He leaned down, as if to kiss her. ‘You’ve never been to my village. You might not like it.’

  But she loved him—though she hadn’t said it to him. Some seed of doubt or cowardliness was not letting her tell him. Or maybe she was just trying to protect herself, as she had all her life.

  He had told her he had feelings for her, but what those were, she didn’t know. If he loved her, he would have said that—wouldn’t he? Yet feelings counted, and maybe it wasn’t everything, but with her past she wasn’t going to ask for more. He was a good man. His family were probably good, too.

  Perhaps at his village it would be different, and she could be useful there. She wrapped her arms around his middle, felt him stiffen before he held her back.

  Her heart was so full it pained her. Did she deserve such a man? No. This was too much, even for her. She pulled away. He wore that same puzzled expression that endeared her so. As if he was half confused and half delighted by her.

  ‘I’ll need to talk to Jeanne...let her know what we’re doing.’

  ‘Then talk to Jeanne.’

  ‘Could she come and visit, or me visit her?’

  ‘If it’s safe,’ he said.

  Could it all be this simple? She didn’t want to be here, so Evrart would take her somewhere else. How could it be this easy? He’d simply tell her things when she needed them, and not care about her past? She hated these doubts. Hated them and still...

  She had to know.

  ‘What happened with Cook and Thomas?’ she blurted.

  She’d seen Michael, the cook, wandering around the fortress. Some days he was in the kitchens; other days he was in the gardens. He wasn’t an old man, but he walked like one. She could have asked Jeanne, but since she had seen him she’d held herself back. It seemed too intrusive.

  ‘You wanted to know of the butcher and now of Cook?’

  ‘When I arrived, he wasn’t well. He’s not...’

  Evrart’s eyes softened. ‘Cook’s son died. Thomas isn’t much older, and he often cares for the boy. They’re both grieving.’

  She shouldn’t have asked, and yet she was glad she had because now Evrart talked to her. She hated these doubts, but maybe in time... If he was protective, she’d be protective right back.

  ‘Do you miss your family?’ she asked.

  ‘Every day.’

  ‘Did you not mention it before because of your past, or because you thought I was happy here?’

  ‘You ignored me, so that made it difficult to tell you anything.’

  She slapped him hard on the arm, and he held his arm as if injured, at the same time giving her a wide smile.

  ‘Tell me why,’ she demanded.

  ‘I thought you’d want to stay with your sister.’

  Because family was important to her and he knew that. How could she doubt him anymore?

  ‘I want to go. I do.’

  He wore that expression again, as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune.

  Taking his arm, she picked up the basket, now filled with chamomile to be dried. Maybe she could take some with her to her new home...

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Margery bumped along in the saddle, holding on for all she was worth. The sky, which had threatened all morning, finally gave up the rain it held. All at once. She swore her bones were wet.

  However, they’d were still climbing hills, and Evrart was determined to make their destination.

  She wouldn’t be concerned if it meant shelter, but she could see none in sight. Just a bunch of trees that steadily grew larger, until he led them under their expansive canopy while the rain pounded on the leaves and branches above.

  Her ears were still ringing, and it took her some time to realise that the rain no longer drowned her.

  Shoving off her hood, she marvelled. ‘What is this place?’

  He dismounted and helped her down. Stamping, her horse shook its head and splattered her with more rainwater.

  Grinning, Evrart moved her away from the beast. ‘Mulberry trees,’ he said. ‘They were once cultivated and trimmed, and now their leaves and branches provide cover.’

  ‘You knew this was here?’

  Nodding, he wandered underneath one. ‘I can stand under them—unlike your quince trees—and if the birds leave enough behind, I can usually find a few.’ He plucked some berries and held them out to her.

  She picked one, and he popped the rest in his mouth.

  ‘They’re delicious.’

  ‘The hills will ease soon as they slope to the river.’ He strode to the burdened horse—the one carrying their supplies.

  ‘I’m not so worried for the hills, but for the rain.’

  ‘The rain will end—the hills will not. This is as good a place as any to rest.’ He pulled at the bindings of one satchel.

  ‘You know this area well?’

  ‘We’re near to the abbey.’ He tossed the satchel to the side and began on another. ‘Most of our travelling will be easier as they’ve cultivated much of the land.’

  ‘There’s an abbey?’ she said, her teeth chattering despite the warmth of the day.

  ‘You’ll see it soon, and then it will always be in the distance. It may be as large as Warstone and its lands, and it’s near to my home. Let me get your cloak.’

  ‘No, I can do it.’ She was no better than the three horses waiting for Evrart to take care of them. Two to ride...one to carry their things to Evrart’s village.

  She still couldn’t believe she was going. Biedeluue hadn’t been surprised when she’d told her, but even though they’d spent years apart, for some reason their parting had been difficult. Still, it had been full of promises and love.

  Jeanne, on the other hand... She had her family at Warstone Fortress, and couldn’t leave, so they’d both cried until Margery had gone under the portcullis.

  Here she was about to cry again!

  Breathing deep, she tried to remember the good. The day was warm, at least, and her hands weren’t chilled. The cloak came free, but when she strode to hang it from the smallest tree, she couldn’t reach it.

  Evrart came up behind her and hung it on a branch. The rain had slicked back his longer locks, displaying his blunt features. His face was not refined, but brutal, the forehead wide, the jaw square. But those eyes...a bit more brown today than blue.

  Their clothes were saturated, and the smell of wet linen and wool, of damp leather and soaked horse permeated the air. But still she scented the man. Her Evrart.

  When he stood this clos she was more aware of his size, of how her eyes were at a level with his belly versus his chest. The expanse of both was twice or more than hers. His arms were heavy at his sides.

  This close, he was larger than a horse and more steep than any hill, and yet not once did she fear him. But she wanted him. Yet, she’d treated him so horribly, by ignoring him and then begging him to take her to his village. She didn’t want to beg or push him further.

  They were travelling to his home, but he had never made a declaration of love and certainly never said he’d marry her. She’d been trapped and forced to live one w
ay by poverty, by her care for her family, and then by Ian. Now she was on her own and felt a bit lost.

  What did she know thus far?

  That Evrart was good...protective. That he’d said he had feelings for her. She was certain he hadn’t told her everything, but maybe he only needed time because he was quiet. And maybe her fears of being useless were merely present because of those last days at Warstone Fortress, when she’d found nothing to do.

  Perhaps her past and this feeling of being unworthy would dissipate the farther she got from it.

  Maybe she just wanted Evrart in any way she could for as long as he’d let her.

  Aware of his eyes on her, she cleared her throat. ‘Tell me of your family.’

  * * *

  Evrart blinked and stepped back. He had been certain Margery would kiss him. Or perhaps place one of her hands on his arm, indicating that she wanted to be kissed. Not talk of his family.

  ‘My father died suddenly in the field one day. My mother, Blanche, is much like me. I have two brothers older than I and a younger sister, Peronelle, who is a handful.’

  His had been a happy home. Not as happy as he wanted his own to be with Margery. If he was to have a home with her. He’d never pursued a woman before. It had been so natural when she’d attempted to show him colours. Easy because she’d touched him so much his body had given him no choice.

  Ever since he’d been nothing but a brute with her. Grabbing her and taking her kisses, desperate to keep her safe. And then she’d ignored him for days. In the garden he had hoped all was settled—except she’d asked only to travel to his home. She hadn’t said she cared for him and he didn’t know how to ask her to be his wife, and that he wanted it to be at his village, and not at Warstone. Though she travelled with him, there was a distance between them he didn’t know how to close.

  Turning away, he tended her horse. ‘It was a happy home.’

  ‘Then how...?’

  He looked over his shoulder at her. ‘How did I meet Ian?’ he offered.

  He’d been out in the field, tilling with oxen, when a procession on the nearby road had caused many of the children and the villagers to run out to greet it. Evrart had kept ploughing. With his back to the road, he hadn’t seen the lone rider gallop across the field.