Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Annie Burrows

He hadn’t wanted directions. She knew that now. But maybe a part of her had then, too.

  ‘You looked up,’ Evrart said.

  She nodded. ‘I did. And then I thought I could go on my way. But he dismounted, and immediately asked for my family.’

  This Josse of Tavel might have had means beyond Margery’s family, but Evrart had never heard of him so he had to be of low rank and wealth.

  ‘You went with him.’

  ‘He went to my mother first, and when she was incoherent he went to Servet and Isnard. Josse had coin on him. A whole purse of it. They—’

  ‘Your brothers sold you.’

  ‘I agreed to it. He had no wife, only children grown. He was much older, and indulgent in ways that I benefited from. It wasn’t...terrible. But then Josse lost me at a game of knucklebones! I was not upset. I had no feelings for the man. I didn’t, however, know Roul.’

  ‘I do.’ Evrart could give her this secret...tell her this much. ‘Ian visited him many times. I travelled with him on some of those occasions.’

  ‘I never saw you,’ she said. ‘I hid when people came. I was hiding that night. It was long past time for bed... I thought it was safe. Why didn’t he kill me?’

  Evrart wanted to sweep Margery into his arms and never have the world touch her again, but he knew better.

  Part of him wanted to do harm to both Josse and Roul for taking advantage of a situation they could have helped in other ways.

  All of him was proud and in awe of how brave Margery had been.

  ‘He should have killed me,’ she said. ‘I was no more or less than the woman in the corridor he did kill.’

  Evrart hadn’t protected her from any of this, and from the look of her hands, clenched in front of her, from her trailing shoes and dragged gown, he shouldn’t have tried. They needed to share their burdens.

  ‘I interrupted his...scheme,’ she said. ‘He had a dagger at her throat, and in her hand was a scroll. I don’t know if I heard any words. All I saw was the knife.’

  ‘You told him this?’ he said. And at her nod, he added, ‘He believed you?’

  ‘I don’t think he believed me. He just...had this interested expression. I thought he was like other men and wanted to lie with me, but he didn’t. I should be dead. Not here. Not harming your family, or annoying your sister, or disappointing your mother.’

  She’d used that word. Interested. Something unlocked inside his chest. The rest of her words could wait. This wasn’t about his mother or sister. It was about them. She was his family, and he needed to let her know it. By talking.

  ‘I am grateful that you stand before me.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m a mistress. I’ve done...seen...terrible things. I didn’t even try to help that woman. I can’t be with someone like you.’

  He rolled his shoulders, winced. ‘I could have told you that.’

  On a gasp, she turned, but her gown got stuck in the mud. Good, because he didn’t want her going anywhere.

  ‘Where are you doing?’ he asked.

  She pulled on the hem to release it. Mud splattered her cheeks. Her hands were coated and misshapen with drying mud.

  ‘My leaving is the best course now.’ She freed one side of her gown, worked on the other.

  ‘You think after all this time I am worthy of you?’ he said.

  She stopped pulling, but didn’t raise her head.

  ‘I told you I carried the steward out of the hall, glad that his death was fresh,’ he said. ‘Why should I care if a death was fresh?’

  She didn’t move, and he admired the mud in her hair, across her cheek. He anticipated the moment when he’d be able to brush those flakes away with his touch and his kisses...if she’d allow it.

  ‘I cared because early in my training with Ian I had to kill a man. I was sick afterwards, and the Warstone wasn’t pleased with my weakness.’

  Margery slowly straightened. Her cheeks were whiter than usual, but her eyes stayed with him.

  ‘We had to leave, and he had me carry that man on my back. Do you know what happens to a body an hour or two after death? His waste ran down my backside and over my legs. Ian forced me to carry him further yet.’

  ‘Don’t—’ she said, blinking rapidly, her eyes sheened with emotions. ‘You don’t have to say any more.’

  ‘These are my words to you. That’s how I’ve been with you: quiet. I thought I was protecting you, but I wasn’t. You’ve been wanting to tell me these things and I’ve been denying you. Now you think I’m some person who is above you in every way, but I’m not.’

  He took a breath, scanned the field, grateful that the villagers had left to give them time.

  ‘I am certain I ended the life of innocent men, Margery. I never harmed women or children, and I tried to discern or choose my deeds, but in the end I truly couldn’t. You think you have no worth. But you’re standing before a man who has murdered people.’

  Her eyes were wide, and the tears that had pooled slid down, but she stayed quiet.

  ‘You’re making me talk,’ he said. ‘You do know how difficult this is for me?’

  She nodded, the tears dropping hard.

  ‘Your tears are more difficult to take,’ he said.

  Giving a shaky smile, she said, ‘Sorry.’

  ‘We were both stolen from our lives, Margery. Both of us because of what we look like. You for your beauty. Me because of this great brute of body.’

  ‘Don’t... I like... You’re beautiful, too,’ she said.

  ‘You’re a mess,’ he said.

  She plucked at her skirts, waved her hand around her hair. ‘I know, but so are you.’

  He looked at his chest, his breeches, and wanted to laugh.

  She raised her hands to her face, looked at her hands and grimaced. ‘What is this place?’

  Were they ready to talk of all his mistakes when it came to her? The villagers had given them privacy, and Margery stood in front of him still, though he had told her some of his past. So he guessed they were.

  ‘It’s my family’s land.’

  ‘This is where you’ve been going every day?’

  He kicked the dirt. ‘It’s been too long dormant, and needs to be made good again.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because it’s a wreck.’ He inhaled. ‘Because I felt worthless for not protecting you from this.’

  ‘Protecting me from what? Working this land? But I want to. I don’t want to be protected any more. Not from my own actions or from you. From anyone.’

  ‘I understand that now. You don’t do well if secrets are withheld from you.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘What secrets are being withheld from me?’

  Rolling his shoulders, he jerked his neck until it cracked, watched her eyes ease from suspicion to amusement.

  ‘A lifetime’s worth,’ he said. ‘And they not only have to do with me and my past, but Ian’s as well. They have to do with what Louve was searching for in that room. And what Ian’s parents are after. I don’t know it all, or how much of it can even be true, but I’ll tell you.’

  ‘Is it along the same matters that my sister knows?’

  ‘Most likely,’ he said. ‘It’s about legends and treasures.’

  ‘Oh...’ She laughed low. ‘So nothing important, then?’

  ‘Not to us,’ he said, and realised it was true.

  None of it had to affect them. Louve wanted him to return often, to ensure the fortress stayed out of Warstone hands, but other than that they were free. And he was free to tell her. To make it better between them.

  ‘Ian...his parents...all the Warstones are looking for the Jewell of Kings.’

  Her quick smile just as quickly dropped. ‘Your expression! You mean this in truth?’ At his nod, she added, ‘But it’s a legend...a story for chi
ldren. No one can truly believe that whoever has the gem can make kings, can rule Scotland.’

  ‘Not only do they believe it, they’re in pursuit of it. It’s an ugly green gem hidden in a dagger. Ian knows where the gem is, and for a time the Warstones had the dagger, but it was lost again. Ian believed it was switched by some thief. Someone no one can determine. This fact alone consumed Ian in the last days of his life. That’s what he sent me out to get that last trip away from you. Reynold, Balthus, Ian, their parents, the King of England...all are after that dagger.’

  ‘Who has the gem?’

  ‘Some clan from Scotland. I think Ian, or at least his parents, had been attempting to steal it, but mostly it’s the dagger. They need both. One is no good without the other.’

  ‘You knew all this?’

  ‘I knew bits, and in the last days Ian divulged more...accidentally.’

  Because his reason had been slipping. ‘His schemes and games were all for this? That scroll with a message? That woman he killed? All was so they could have an ugly gem?’

  ‘There’s more—and this part I am uncertain of, but I think your sister and Louve are involved in finding a parchment,’ he said. ‘Some further information that when combined with the gem and dagger would lead to treasure.’

  ‘And the Warstones and the King of England want this treasure?’

  ‘Very much. They have wealth, Margery, but if the rumours are true that kind of treasure could break countries.’

  ‘And kill many people along the way,’ she said. ‘This is why my sister didn’t want me to know. Everyone seems to be protecting someone.’ She looked away, nodded to herself. ‘It hardly seems as if it can be true, but it makes a certain sense now. Ian did like his messages...’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘I should let you know I’ve done some things to protect you, too,’ she said.

  He blinked.

  ‘While Louve searched the rooms, I begged Biedeluue to keep an eye on you.’

  ‘You assigned your sister to protect me?’

  ‘She’s fierce.’

  He grinned. ‘It appears to be a family trait.’

  ‘I thought it prudent to protect you, given you’re such a terrible swordsman.’

  ‘Margery,’ he growled, ‘I’m a very good swordsman. Very good.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean you won’t get defended by me or protected. You’re worth defending, Evrart, and...’ Margery thought, and then remembered. ‘And I’m to keep you safe! And if this pursuit of this legend, or this gem, or treasure affects us, then I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll protect you and that’s all you need to know. Just no secrets.’

  He shook his head. ‘No secrets. And we’ll share more of these words tonight in bed, when it’s quiet.’

  ‘Sounds...perfect.’

  It did, and he marvelled at what fate had brought them. But maybe it wasn’t fate. Ian’s unusual words kept ringing in his ears.

  ‘I think, after all this, that I know why Ian didn’t kill you,’ he said. ‘Ian liked his games, and it’s probably not the truth, but I’m going to believe it to be so.’

  * * *

  It was the bemusement on Evrart’s face Margery couldn’t let go of. After all the words they’d said to each other, all the dark memories they’d shared, his confused delight eased every dark corner of her heart.

  When she’d stumbled across the field she had expected rejection. And yet he’d accepted her. He always had accepted her because of his own life. He hadn’t wanted to talk of her past because he hadn’t wanted to tell her about his. They still didn’t know everything, but it was enough for now.

  This was a good village, with kind people, but he had been stolen away from it, like her, and it had formed the way they were. Except despite their darkness Evrart was almost smiling—which was a sight she loved. He had a secret he wanted to tell her, and yet he was nervous.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said.

  ‘He saved you for me,’ he said. ‘He brought you into the courtyard and said it would be “interesting”. He meant you.’

  Evrart looked behind her and smiled again before he returned his warm gaze to hers.

  ‘I could never tell if Ian was good or bad. My instinct feared him, but he did odd things. Like marrying Séverine and having those boys. I thought he took them away for cruelty, but I wonder if he did it to save them. And I think he saved you for me.’

  Her heart was breaking, and building, and breaking again.

  She placed a hand there, just to hold it in. ‘Evrart...’

  What were the ways of a man who loved and hated? Who was cunning and beyond all reason? Except hadn’t Ian said words to her that were almost the same—that he had other purposes for her, but he was running out of time. Could this be? Yes, if they let it.

  ‘I think it’s true,’ she said. ‘You are for me.’

  ‘How could he have known it?’

  ‘Do I look like other women you have liked?’

  ‘How would I know?’ He shook his head. ‘I like it that you forget...that you don’t think I’m flawed.’ He frowned. ‘Do you think we can let go of Warstones and their intrigues? That we can talk of it, but not be in the middle of it all. For now, whilst we can?’

  For them, it wasn’t about all that she had been told, it was about how much she trusted—and for once she did, and fully. She trusted Evrart with everything.

  ‘For now,’ she said. ‘But if some defending has to be done...’

  ‘We’ll do it,’ he answered. ‘Now, turn around.’

  She didn’t want to. Because he kept looking behind her, and that meant there were people there. When she’d started telling him of her life, she’d thought he’d be so disgusted he’d let her leave, and she wouldn’t have to face others.

  ‘For someone who doesn’t like to talk, you certainly are demanding,’ she said.

  ‘You’ll want to see this.’

  No, she wouldn’t. But if she wanted to stay that meant facing a lot of truths.

  Forcing herself, she looked over her shoulder. The field was thankfully empty, except for two people standing shoulder to shoulder, almost within touching distance.

  Blanche and Peronelle. How much had they heard?

  ‘So this is it?’ Peronelle said.

  ‘It is.’ Evrart laid his hand on her shoulder.

  Margery liked having his strength and presence at her back again. She wanted to pat his hand in return, but hers were covered with mud.

  ‘You don’t even love her,’ Peronelle said.

  Evrart exhaled and ruffled her hair. ‘Not love her? I would die for her. I almost did.’

  ‘You didn’t marry her. How come you didn’t marry her if you love her?’ Peronelle said.

  Margery cringed. It was true—and something the village no doubt talked about.

  ‘I haven’t married her because I didn’t want it to be in the Warstone chapel. Not with that chaplain...not with those funerals just done.’

  He said it so simply. So easily.

  She looked up at him. ‘You want to marry me?’

  His eyes swung to hers, and he stared at her as if she’d grown two heads.

  ‘Peronelle, Mama, could you give us a moment?’

  ‘Again!’ Peronelle flounced away, but she was smiling as if she’d won something. ‘I don’t know what you intend to do with her.’

  ‘What I intend is none of your concern. Now, go.’

  ‘Welcome to the family, Margery,’ Peronelle said with a wink. ‘When you get new shoes, I want some too.’

  Blanche held up the muddy ones that she must have pulled from the field, smiled, and then grabbed Peronelle’s arm to propel her off the ruined field.

  Now that she’d turned around, Margery could see some of the other villagers hiding behind walls and corners. Could they see how stu
nned she was?

  Evrart turned her around. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Your mother...she smiled at me.’

  ‘She likes you.’

  ‘Likes me? She did pick up my shoes, but there’s no indication that she’ll give them back—and how will I know when she says nothing to me?’

  Evrart shook his head, as if she was woefully wrong. ‘How many words do you think my mother has ever said to me? My mother smiles, pats, but hardly says a word. That’s just her way. That was my way until you forced me to be a man who chatters.’

  ‘“A man who chatters”?’ Margery giggled.

  ‘I remember being quiet with you until I realised I couldn’t just give an order and you’d follow it. That being near you required words.’

  He said it as if it had been some arduous task.

  ‘So when she said I was small...?’

  ‘You are small,’ he said.

  ‘And when we arrived and she ordered me to rest?’

  ‘Didn’t I mention you were tired?’

  Perhaps. ‘So your mother...?’

  ‘Is full of joy that you’re here.’

  ‘Your sister, however... Although she winked at me.’

  ‘Full of mischief—as are all children at fourteen years.’

  Margery gaped. She had known Peronelle was young, but she towered...

  Evrart just nodded, as if he knew her thoughts. ‘It’s because we’re tall. Everyone believes we’re older than we are.’

  He wasn’t! ‘How old are you?’

  His eyes crinkled. ‘Old enough.’

  And now he had a sense of humour... ‘We have just argued. Terribly.’

  He smiled. ‘We have, and I was hoping for it. You haven’t been yourself and I should have seen that. Can you forgive me?’

  ‘Forgive you?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have brought you here; you probably hate villages like this.’

  ‘Mine wasn’t anything like yours. I didn’t know people and neighbours could be so kind.’

  ‘Or so curious?’

  ‘They are trying to hide,’ she said. Her neighbours would have taken advantage of the argument. Interjected and made it worse. ‘There might be more arguments.’

  ‘I have no doubt,’ he said. ‘We spent days together under the worst kind of strain, with Ian of Warstone, your being held captive, your sister out to rescue you, the poisoned ale... We needed to have words. And then there’s you...’