by Alexa Aston
She opened the door and hurried in, closing it behind her. Beatrice leaned against it for support. In all of the disappointments that she had discovered since they’d entered Ashcroft, one good bit of news lingered in her mind.
Raynor Le Roux obviously had no wife or child.
*
Raynor tossed and turned. Sleep escaped him as his mind whirled in a thousand directions. No matter how many times he tried to let his mind become a blank, he remained agitated. Guilt weighed heavily upon him. He berated himself for being so enthralled with Merryn and her twins that he had put his own life on hold and been neglectful of his own family for some time.
In truth, he didn’t know much about his brother anymore since he’d spent long stretches of time at Kinwick. Even growing up, they were very unlike one another. Where Raynor liked to hunt and fish with friends, his brother pursued solitary interests. Raynor had enjoyed everything about fostering with Sir Lovel, from learning the duties required of a page and squire to the training he undertook to become a knight. He loved the camaraderie with his fellow soldiers, the long hours spent in the yard, and the conversation once training had ended for the day. He enjoyed being in the company of others, always ready to tell a joke or bed a willing wench.
But those carefree days must be put behind him. He must rouse his brother from whatever malaise pulled at him and bring swift changes to Ashcroft. If Peter stayed true to his decision not to marry again—and from Gobert’s description, that seemed a distinct possibility—then the estate would eventually come to Raynor. He didn’t want the people to suffer in the meantime. Ashcroft must become and remain productive. Whatever it took to guarantee the estate succeeded, even if it meant overstepping his bounds, he would begin in the morning.
Pushing himself to a sitting position, Raynor braced his back against the wall in his chamber. It wasn’t only Ashcroft’s disrepair that kept him awake tonight.
Beatrice Bordel’s image also kept him wide-eyed.
He couldn’t believe a mere slip of a woman had him tangled in knots. Raynor still hadn’t gotten a clear look at her. He longed to see her in daylight and find out the true color of her eyes and what shade her hair became when sunlight fell upon it. He wanted to run his hands through it, down her back, and more. Much more. He pictured them in an embrace, arms wrapped about one another, as he took his fill of her sweetness.
“God’s wounds!” he cried out. He got out of bed and pushed his hands through his thick hair. Would he always be cursed to fall in love with women who were unavailable to him?
Pacing the small chamber, he fought to gain control of the wild ideas that flitted through his head. No woman had ever caused him to behave in such a manner. He must rid himself of these fantasies since Lady Beatrice was promised to another man. His knightly code demanded that he keep his pledge to protect her and deliver her to her betrothed. Nothing untoward could occur between them.
It troubled him that they would live in close contact for several weeks, but he planned to keep his promise to Gobert and bring Ashcroft back to better days. And somehow, he must reach Peter. They had been close once, years ago, despite their different dispositions.
He prayed that his brother remained sane and merely chose to live in seclusion because of his lasting grief. Raynor hoped he held the key that would unlock whatever prison Peter had willingly thrust himself into.
Returning to his bed, he stretched out, placing both hands behind his head and letting his thoughts wander again until he heard footsteps. He sat up.
Who could be lurking about the keep in the dead of night?
Raynor retrieved the sword lying next to his bed and crept to the doorway. Easing the weapon from its sheath, he silently turned the knob.
As he opened the door, a shuffling noise sounded down the corridor to his right. Raynor left his chamber to investigate. He spied a shadowy figure a few doors down and began to stalk it. By the height, it had to be a man.
Closing in, he watched the man pause at the end of the hall in front of the door leading into the solar. Slowly, the shadow turned and faced him.
“Hello, Brother,” Peter said.
Chapter Eight
Raynor froze at the familiar voice. A multitude of feelings swirled through him.
“Come in,” Peter instructed as he pushed open the door. He crossed the room and lit a candle before he sat upon a bench.
Raynor reluctantly entered the solar. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been invited inside. Its rooms had been the site of many happy occasions while growing up. His last memory, though, was colored by his brother sitting in the very spot he occupied now—only then, Peter’s head had been lowered to the table as he wept upon hearing the news of their mother’s death.
Closing the door behind him, Raynor took a seat opposite Peter. He studied his brother for a moment as the candle flickered, casting odd shadows upon his brother’s face.
“Where have you been?” Raynor demanded.
Peter gave him a wry smile. “I might ask the same of you.”
He flinched at the words.
“You always had such a sense of duty,” Peter said, shaking his head. “True to your code of chivalry. Marked by your service to the king and the good of your fellow man.”
“It’s how Father raised us,” he answered, “and how Sir Lovel trained the boys fostering under him. Honor and duty were first and foremost.”
Peter laughed softly. “You were always so excited about life, Raynor. Enthusiastic about swordplay. Full of vim and vigor. Ready to take on the world. Well, let me tell you, little brother—the world can be a dark place.”
“You have allowed it to become so for you,” he retorted.
Peter’s brows shot up, then understanding dawned on his face. “Ah, you’ve been talking to Gobert. Our loyal steward is the one who summoned you home, I suppose. You would never come here of your own free will. You sought out adventure—and then coveted Merryn de Montfort. She’s enthralled you for a long time.” He paused, his lips twitching in amusement. “Did she finally toss you out? Or better yet, did the king find her a new husband to marry since hers ran away? I’ll bet he did, one befitting her station, with a title and abundant property.”
His brother had always fought his battles with words and knew how to injure his opponent to the quick. Raynor would not rise to the bait Peter offered.
Calmly, he said, “Geoffrey de Montfort has returned to Kinwick.”
Peter’s wild laughter went on for some minutes, causing Raynor to question his brother’s sanity. Wheezing, Peter finally caught his breath. “So, your best friend came home to claim his pretty wife, and that left you out in the cold. Now here you are, ready to chastise me. Oh, I see it in your eyes, Brother. You’ve never been one to disguise your feelings.”
“As far as Ashcroft goes, I have no need to hide anything.” Raynor heard the sharpness in his words and softened his tone. “Gobert told me—”
“Oh, I am sure our steward has informed you of many things. That I rarely speak to anyone and disappear for days on end. That I pray more than I breathe and I no longer care for the estate or the people on it.”
Raynor stared into the eyes of a man who had become a stranger to him. “Are his words true?”
Peter slammed a hand down on the wooden table. Through gritted teeth he said, “I have not cared for anything—anything—since God saw fit to deprive me of my beloved wife and child. I have cursed Him both day and night since that time.”
Peter’s fists grabbed onto chunks of his hair and squeezed tightly, as if he might rip the hair from his scalp. A wildness appeared in his eyes, making it seem that he danced upon the precipice of madness.
“I spend hours praying for forgiveness every day, for I am weak, Raynor. Weaker than any man I know. I was never physically strong and I became emotionally numbed by all that befell me. Aye, I let the people do as they please. If they work, they shall live. If they don’t?” He shrugged. “Then they can starve. I truly do
n’t care what happens to them. Soldiers who pledged their fealty to Father have now deserted me. They call me a coward and feebleminded. Many have fled and moved on.”
Peter paused, contemplating his next words. “None of that matters. Do you hear me? If Ashcroft fell down about my ears, it would mean nothing to me. I simply want to be left alone.”
“You will not offer leadership?”
“Nay, Brother. You’ve been prudent enough to stay out of my affairs till now, but you may intervene if you see fit. It’s no longer my concern.” Peter released the hold he had on his hair. “Do as you wish, but don’t disturb me to tell me of your actions. I will return to my suffering in silence.”
Peter stood. “Now I ask you to leave me in peace. Or simply leave. You have always done as you wished, Raynor, and been your own man. You are free to come and go as you please. I wash my hands of you and Ashcroft.”
His brother went to the door of his bedchamber and entered, softly shutting the door behind him.
Stunned by what his brother had voiced, Raynor sat at the table for some minutes. Peter had always been a pleasant fellow, both kind and sympathetic. Never a great warrior or horseman, but a nobleman who took his responsibilities seriously and cared for those around him. This bitter, vindictive shell of a man proved to be a stranger.
Raynor shuddered to think of the condition he would find Ashcroft in once daylight broke.
*
Raynor left his chamber long before the sun rose and decided to start with Father Benedict. The old priest slept little at his advanced age, so Raynor ventured to the Ashcroft chapel and found the priest at prayers. He waited until Father Benedict finished and rose to his feet.
“Father?”
The large man turned and his face lit with a smile. “Raynor. ’Tis good to see you, my son. I hope you will grace us with your presence for a little while, for I have missed our talks.”
He got straight to the point. “I have learned that Peter has been remiss in his duties as baron.”
The man of God shrugged. “Remiss . . . is a kind word. I would say negligent. The keep is filthy and the harvest has barely been started. Half the soldiers have moved on to other liege lords, leaving Ashcroft vulnerable to attack. And Lord Peter doesn’t notice what goes on or has decided he doesn’t care enough to remedy matters.”
“It’s the latter, Father. Peter has given me permission to step in and do whatever I see fit. He seems to have washed his hands of any affairs that deal with Ashcroft.”
Tears welled in the old man’s blue eyes. “Thank the Christ!” he whispered, closing his eyes, his lips moving silently in prayer. Raynor assumed the old man gave praise to God for providing a remedy to a dark situation.
Father Benedict opened his eyes. “What will you do first, my son?”
“’Twill be what you do first, Father. On my way home from Kinwick yesterday, I came upon a traveling noblewoman. Highwaymen had killed her servant and left her with nothing but the clothes on her back. I placed her under my protection and brought her trusted servant’s body here to Ashcroft. I would ask that you offer a burial mass for Tolly today and see that he’s placed in the ground.”
“Of course. I’ll excuse two of the men from mass so that they can dig the grave.” He snorted. “Not that I have many to choose from.”
“What do you mean?” asked Raynor, puzzled by such an odd remark.
The old man shook his head in sorrow. “Less than half of Ashcroft’s people attend morning mass with any regularity.”
Anger surged through Raynor. His parents had always expected their servants and serfs to attend mass before they broke their fast. His father believed that starting the day in God’s good graces would mean He would be bountiful in return.
“Another thing I will see to, Father. I give you my promise that Ashcroft will no longer succumb to laziness and apostasy. The people need direction and leadership, and I plan to provide it.”
The priest took hold of Raynor’s forearms, his grip surprisingly strong for a man of his advanced age. “It’s good to have you back, Raynor Le Roux. You are the answer to my prayers.”
Leaving the chapel, Raynor walked through both baileys before he returned to the keep and noticed many things had been neglected. It shamed him to see what had become of his boyhood home. He would ride through the estate lands today and get an idea of where everything stood beyond the walls of the castle.
Mounting the stairs, he proceeded to the chamber Lady Beatrice had been placed in last night and rapped lightly on the door.
*
Beatrice had been up for a few hours. She had found a candle in the bedchamber and had gone back down the hall to where the candle flickered in its sconce. Lighting her own candle with that flame, she proceeded back to her chamber.
The large room housed an enormous bed. In her mind, she could see the twin sisters who grew up here, giggling and talking far into the night, happy in one another’s company. But the room itself needed a thorough cleaning. Though she had fallen into a deep sleep, exhausted by the long day, she’d awakened early and found herself restless. The bedclothes gave off a horribly musty smell. She didn’t know how old they were, but they needed a good washing, followed by drying them in strong sunlight. The tattered bed curtains needed to come down and be replaced. The floor and walls should be thoroughly scrubbed—and scrubbed again for good measure. She wondered if all of the rooms in the keep needed such attention and guessed they did.
While exploring the pair of matching chests left behind, Beatrice found many items she could use. Raynor’s sisters had left behind several kirtles and smocks and numerous cotehardies. While they might be slightly out of style, that wouldn’t bother her. Being brought up in the country, she had no idea of the latest fashions at the court in London. Claiming a few of these clothes would more than replace her missing wardrobe. The variety of colors and cuts would also make her more than presentable when she arrived at Sir Henry’s estate.
She discovered a few pairs of shoes under the bed. One of the girls obviously had much larger feet because these shoes fell off her foot when she tried them on. The other Le Roux twin had left two pairs of shoes behind, one of them sturdy brown boots. They fit Beatrice as if they had been made for her. She was most excited about finding the boots. She had never owned anything as fine as the soft leather they were made from and decided to wear them today.
After she chose a yellow kirtle and cotehardie and dressed for the day, she searched the rest of the chamber. Nothing else held her interest. She did discover a comb with a few teeth missing, but it swept through her hair easily after she unbraided it. Beatrice re-braided her hair, the single plait falling to her waist, and then sat in the chair to await Raynor’s arrival.
When the knock sounded, her stomach flipped in a most peculiar way. She realized she was nervous, a new emotion for her. Beatrice answered the door, eager to see the handsome knight again.
“Good morning, my lady. Are you ready to attend mass?”
“Yes, my lord.” She took the arm he offered and thought that he seemed weary.
Raynor led them down the hallway to the wide staircase. “I hope you rested well in my sisters’ bedchamber.”
“I’ll admit I was more than tired and fell asleep quickly,” she replied. “But when I awoke, I donned some clothing your sisters left behind. They are a decent fit and will be more so after I take a needle to them.”
They quickly descended the stairs. He took her to a door leading outside. Shades of gray still colored the world in this early hour.
“Our chapel is small and located inside the walls of Ashcroft.” He frowned. “It’s very cool this morning. I should have suggested that you bring a cloak.”
“I didn’t find one in my chamber, but mayhap I will find cloth to make one for myself.”
He nodded. “I’m sure your inventory will apprise you of what’s available. I’m most grateful for your help, my lady.”
They reached the stone chapel an
d entered.
He bent next to her ear. His lips almost grazed it as he said, “I have spoken to Father Benedict. He will say a mass for Tolly today and see that he is properly buried.”
Goosebumps sprang up all over her body as his warm breath caressed her. Beatrice found it hard to breathe. She merely nodded as he pulled away.
She was not used to attending mass on a daily basis. On holy days, her grandfather had taken them to the church in the nearest village. She supposed all the great castles of England housed their own chapels and had their own priests.
When the service ended, Raynor escorted her back to the keep. Now that the sun had risen, Beatrice couldn’t help but assess the man at her side, finally seeing him clearly for the first time since they’d met.
She’d known Raynor Le Roux was tall, but in the light, she could see how well-built he was. Well over six feet, the knight radiated strength and confidence. The sun burnished his hair to a rich russet. His eyes were the color of summer grass, a vivid green set in a face that could have been chiseled from stone. High cheekbones and a strong jaw made him handsome beyond belief. It caused her insides to flutter in a way that left her giddy—and confused.
They stepped into the great hall. Her eyes swept across the space and fell upon a group of rowdy soldiers on one side of the room. Others with children gathered on the opposite side and she assumed these were the castle’s servants and the serfs who farmed the land. Raynor brought her to a dais that sat high enough to be able to see everyone gathered in the room. He seated her and a pretty, plump girl brought them bread and ale.
“Eat up,” he encouraged. “I fear you will earn your keep these next few weeks as I try to bring a semblance of order back to Ashcroft.”
Sipping the cool ale, Beatrice asked, “Will you search for your brother first?” since she knew Gobert had revealed the baron was missing.
A look of distaste crossed Raynor’s face. “Nay. Peter returned home last night. We had a most enlightening conversation. Suffice it to say, he’s granted me permission to do all I need to restore Ashcroft to its former state. I’m only sorry you have seen it so neglected.”