The Maiden and Her Knight

by Margaret Moore

  “My age?” Rennick’s hands balled into fists. “What about my age?”

  “You are several years older than Isabelle, Rennick, and Auberan is not.”

  Pleasure flashed in Auberan’s eyes before he hurried away.

  “So, I am too old for Isabelle?” Rennick demanded as Auberan closed the chapel door.

  “Calm yourself,” Oswald said, smiling to placate Rennick’s ruffled pride. “Auberan has little enough in his favor. Let him at least brag of his youth.”

  “My age does not matter to Isabelle.”

  “Perhaps it doesn’t—but what matters or not to that young lady is unimportant.”

  Rennick walked toward the statue of the Holy Mother. “She was quite persuasive.”

  This sounded suspicious, but plans had been made, and he would not have them altered, not by some girl or DeFrouchette.

  He followed the baron and moved where he could see the man’s face, especially his light blue eyes. “Enough to make you forget Allis?”

  “Perhaps.”

  He laughed softly then, for he had seen the truth in Rennick’s gleaming eyes. He might be tempted by Isabelle as a starving man might be tempted by a stale crust of bread. But he no more preferred Isabelle than the man would want the stale crust when a banquet lay before him, too. “You are such a poor liar, Rennick. You’ve craved Allis of Montclair since the first time you saw her when you returned from France eight years ago. I’ve never seen a man so besotted at first sight, even though she was just a girl and didn’t look at you twice.”

  “She and that Welshman are lovers,” Rennick said, scowling. “She told me so herself.”

  “She has wounded your pride again, has she? Poor Rennick!”

  Rennick flushed as he planted his feet and crossed his arms. “Maybe we should reconsider our plans. Perhaps I should have Isabelle. She is younger and a virgin, and I would still be allied with the family of Montclair.”

  Oswald waved his hand dismissively. “What is virginity but an impediment to true pleasure? God spare me a virgin’s tears and reluctance! Besides, how many times have Allis and Connor been together? Once, twice, three times? Put it out of your mind. You will have her for the rest of her life.”

  “What if she bears that Welshman’s brat?”

  “Do not touch her until she has had her women’s time after you are wed. If she is not with child by then, she will not be bearing any bastards.”

  “And if she does?”

  Oswald shrugged. “Kill it. Smother it in the cradle.” He slid a glance at his coconspirator and decided to let him know that he was not as clever as he believed. “Or I suppose you could give it the potion you gave poor Percival.”

  Rennick’s eyes flickered with dismay, then he regained his composure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Too late. He was trapped like a fly in a spider’s web, the fool. “Some brew of foxglove, probably from that apothecary I told you of in London, the one who performs his interesting experiments on paupers,” Oswald said, his tone making it clear he didn’t believe Rennick’s claim of ignorance. “He is certain foxglove slows the heartbeat, although no other medical man will listen. Still, he’s convincing, isn’t he? I’ve been tempted to try it myself.”

  Rennick didn’t speak as Oswald turned to him, his cold, black eyes glittering like a cat’s. “So you put it in the young fool’s wine. Between that potion, and the weight and heat of his armor, even a young man’s heart will fail. I wonder why you felt the need to kill him.”

  There was no point to lying now. “He knew too much.”

  “Ah, I thought so. Did he tamper with Sir Connor’s lance, or did you and he found out?”

  “He did.”

  “At your behest?”

  Rennick didn’t reply. Oswald thought he knew all the answers anyway.

  “You have behaved like a spoiled child and not a clever man, Rennick. It is fortunate for you that only I have figured this out. I gather his father has no inkling of foul play?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Lucky for you, because if he did, I meant what I said before. I would accuse you myself before the king.”

  He would. That traitorous dog would never be loyal, just as Richard was not. Ah, well, he would have no need for a second thought when the time came to rid himself of Oswald, whose expression grew stern and unforgiving.

  “Because you seem to lack foresight, let me explain things to you,” Oswald said. “You will listen and if you have any hope of sharing power with me in this kingdom, you will do what I say.”

  No harm in listening—for now.

  “I would say that right at the moment, Connor hates both you and Richard in equal measure. The day you wed the woman he loves, he will be ready to have his revenge on the world—or at least you or the king. I intend to turn that desire for vengeance to our advantage.”

  “If he hates me, he will not join us.”

  Oswald sauntered and walked toward the altar. “I no longer intend that he should. After all, he has no idea you and I are allied toward a common goal. So let him hate you, as long as he hates the king, too. He may need very little goading to kill Richard.”

  A clever plan, if it worked. He, too, approached the Lord’s table. “You would trust him to do that?”

  Oswald turned toward him and gave him a sly, knowing smile. “Absolutely. He is the perfect assassin, heartbroken, full of righteous indignation, wounded pride and twisted chivalry. Even better, he will believe he is killing Richard for the good of the kingdom as well as personal vengeance. And since he will be acting on his own, he will not be able to name us as accomplices. Besides, no one would believe you and he could be plotting anything together, given what has happened with Allis.”

  The cunning old bastard. “Did you plan for Allis to meet Connor? Did you foresee them falling in love?”

  He watched Oswald very carefully as the older man replied. “No. That was merely a fortunate accident.”

  Fortunate for him. “So he is to be the arrow while you draw the bow.”

  “Exactly. Richard will be dead, John will be on the throne, and you will have Allis and Montclair.” Oswald smiled. “I, on the other hand, will have more land, and more power from a grateful prince made king, and the proof that you killed Albert L’Ouisseaux’s son in my possession, should you ever get any ideas about trying to outmaneuver me.”

  As Rennick struggled not to betray his dismay and his rage, Oswald reached into his tunic and pulled out the small vial the London apothecary had sold him. “Do not try to change a plan of mine ever again. You will do exactly what I tell you, or I will tell Albert L’Ouisseaux the truth about his son’s death. His judgment would be much harsher than the king’s court, as you well know.”

  Rennick swallowed hard, because that was true.

  “No need to look so glum,” Oswald said as he put the vial away. “You are going to have your Allis, after all. So what if she loves another and has taken him into her embrace? She can hardly fault you should you take a mistress or two, can she?”

  That old reprobate would never understand his insatiable need for Allis, not if he lived a thousand years.

  Oswald put his arm around Rennick’s shoulder in a gesture that seemed more possessive than companionable. “What of Allis in all this? Have you convinced her that it would not be wise to repudiate you?”

  He resisted lifting away Oswald’s arm. “Yes, she understands what will happen if she does.”

  “Good, and since she is not a fool, she knows you mean it.”

  “I do mean it.”

  Oswald removed his arm and started toward the door. “Ah, Rennick, such an apt pupil!”

  Rennick didn’t follow. “What of Isabelle? She is too good to waste as a reward to Auberan.”

  Indeed, she should be in his bed, too, with or without Allis’s knowledge. One sister for wife, one for mistress…. His loins tightened with that tantalizing idea.

  He realized Oswald was watch
ing him closely and made his face a blank.

  “Perhaps I should reconsider,” the older man said, and Rennick wondered how much of his thoughts he had already betrayed. “But for now, let Auberan think she is destined for him. Trying to seduce her will give him something to do.”

  Rennick turned the conversation to another matter, and away from the women. “What about the Welshman? He can’t stay.”

  Oswald frowned. “Because you made such a show.”

  “What was I to do when they were not here?” Rennick demanded. “Look as if I didn’t care?”

  “You might have tried.”

  Oswald could afford to sound blasé. Allis wasn’t his betrothed. “As you keep pointing out, my lord, there is the matter of my wounded pride. I should challenge him to combat for insulting my honor.”

  “No, you shouldn’t. For one thing, he’s wounded, so how would that look? For another, although he’s wounded, he would probably kill you.”

  Furious at the implication that he was no match for a wounded Welshman, Rennick started to protest, but Oswald held up his hand to silence him. “That is the truth, and you know it as well as I, so don’t bother to say otherwise.”

  He didn’t know it, but Oswald gave him no chance to speak.

  “And knowing the lady as I do—although perhaps not so well as I thought I did, for I must confess myself shocked she would make love outside the bounds of marriage—I think you need do nothing. You are forgetting the very real possibility that you will gain more respect if you act the devoted, yet betrayed, husband-to-be willing to forgive his wayward bride.”

  Damn Oswald for finding the one reason to do nothing.

  “Either Connor will choose to leave, or she will ask him to go. The pain of being near each other under these circumstances will be too difficult. However, if it will ease your injured pride, you would certainly be within your rights as guardian of the young earl to order Connor to leave Montclair.”

  “I will.”

  “I warn you that I am planning to offer my sympathies to Sir Connor and invite him to my castle until his shoulder is completely healed.”

  Rennick’s anger burned brighter for a moment, until he forced himself to think like Oswald. “Until you have convinced him of the necessity of killing Richard, you mean.”

  “Exactly.” Oswald strolled over to the Madonna, bent over and blew out every votive candle, so that the chapel was lit only by a single candle on the small altar. “Come. Let us see if the ladies have finished their useless conversation. My throat is dry from all this talking. I need some of that fine French wine of the late, lamented earl’s. And cheer up, man! You are going to have all that you desired. What more could a man ask?”

  Rennick DeFrouchette said nothing, for despite all he said and all he told himself and all he planned, he knew that he would never have Allis’s love, and it was the one thing he had wanted most of all.

  Chapter 22

  After Rennick’s departure, Allis and Isabelle stood listening to his retreating footsteps.

  “I’m not a babe,” Isabelle declared as silence descended.

  “No, you are not,” Allis retorted. “Nor do you understand the full import of what you have proposed.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You do not know the kind of man DeFrouchette is.”

  “I have known him all my life. I know what he does.”

  “Not everything.” Allis readied herself to reveal some of Rennick’s more sordid activities.

  “I probably know much more than you think,” Isabelle said as she crossed to the window and looked out. “You are not with me all day. I hear things.”

  Could it be that Isabelle had heard the stories about Rennick and did not care? “Then you know that he punishes his tenants for the least thing, and as harshly as the law allows?” Allis asked as she went to stand beside her. “How he always claims the heriot before a tenant’s body is barely cool, even if that is the only beast the family owns? How he makes some women ‘pay’ the taxes on their family’s property, or that sometimes he simply takes those he fancies.”

  Isabelle colored and continued looking out of the window. “Those are only rumors, gossip spread by disgruntled tenants. Every Norman nobleman has such things said about him by his peasants.”

  How she wished she had told Isabelle the truth sooner! “Isabelle, look at me.”

  Reluctantly, she obeyed, and she regarded Allis with a steadfast gaze, as if as certain of her purpose as Allis had ever been.

  With an even stronger sense of desperation, Allis gently took her by the shoulders. “Isabelle, in his case, the stories are true. I have spoken with Brother Jonathan, and he has tended to the victims of Rennick’s justice who weren’t put to death, but only had their hands cut off or their eyes put out. He has comforted the sobbing women raped by Rennick DeFrouchette.”

  Isabelle didn’t even flinch.

  “He is an evil man,” Allis persisted, “who wormed his way into our household when our mother died and our father was sickened by his grief. He has been gradually taking control of our estate, and now, as our guardian, he has it.”

  Still Isabelle regarded her steadily. “You say he is a terrible man, yet you agreed to marry him.”

  “To protect you and Edmond, and our father, while he lived. I wish with all my heart I had not.”

  Isabelle came closer and suddenly, Allis found herself staring into her father’s eyes as they had been before her mother’s death, sure and determined.

  “You wish it because you love another.”

  Before she could respond, Isabelle clasped her hand tightly, firmly, with a sure confidence. “Although you have not told me, I know how you feel about Sir Connor. You love him and hate the baron. I believe Sir Connor loves you with his whole heart. You should marry him.”

  “Yes, I do love him,” she said, speaking to Isabelle as an equal and not a younger sister, “and nothing would make me happier than to be his wife, but I cannot. If I don’t, the baron will take out his ruthless anger on you, and Edmond, Connor and even Connor’s family. I have no choice but to marry him, and there is nothing you, or anyone, can do.”

  “Yes, there is, and I intend to do it. I’m not a stupid child. I know what Rennick DeFrouchette is—and I know what he will do to you, even if you are his wife. Especially if you are his wife, because of your love for Connor. He will make your life a hell, Allis, and I will not have that happen, not after all you have done for Edmond and Father and me. I cannot let all your efforts and sacrifice be repaid with more suffering. I will not let you give up your chance for love and happiness with Connor, not while I live.” She made a wistful smile and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “You taught me better than that, sister, and you taught me well.”

  Allis put her arms around Isabelle and hugged her tight. Never had she been prouder of her sister, or loved her more. And now, more than ever, she could not condemn her to the miserable life that awaited Rennick DeFrouchette’s wife.

  Isabelle began to weep. The sound tore at Allis’s heart, and strengthened her resolve. “Forgive me for underestimating you, Isabelle. Forgive me for thinking you an ignorant, flighty creature, but I am older than you and so you must do as I say.” She gently wiped the tears from her sister’s face. “And I will not let you throw your future away by marrying Rennick DeFrouchette. I agreed to be his wife, and I must accept my fate. Still, know you this, Isabelle. By marrying him, I will be keeping the people I love and cherish safe, and that will comfort me, no matter what happens.”

  “But can you trust him not to hurt anyone, even if he gives his word?”

  “No, I cannot,” she admitted as the wall around her heart began to rise again, stronger and thicker, like the stone walls of Montclair. She would put her love behind that wall, where Rennick could never go. “But if I am his wife, I will know if he harms those I love, or Connor’s family.”

  “What will you do if he does?”

  “I will kill him.”


  Allis meant that as much as anything she had ever said in her life. “Now I will hear no more of this. I have made my decision.” She went to the door. “I will go and tell Rennick that he has made an agreement, and as I intend to abide by it, so must he.”

  Isabelle followed her and grabbed her hand to make her stay another moment. “Is there no other way?”

  For an instant, her resolve wavered. By going to Rennick now, she was giving Connor up forever. There would be no going back. Her heart shuddered and cracked, ready to break, behind the stone walls. “There is not.”

  “I would marry him, Allis. I would!”

  She caressed Isabelle’s cheek. “I know, and you have made me proud and grateful, Isabelle. One day, you will make some lucky man a wonderful wife, but it must not be Rennick.”

  With that, Allis hurried down the steps, determined to speak to Rennick while her resolve was at its strongest, before she weakened and sacrificed her family for the love that lived in her wounded heart.

  Connor was not in the hall, or Rennick. Or Oswald or Auberan or Edmond. Only the servants, who once again didn’t meet her gaze—except for Merva, who boldly stared while she laid the linen on the tables for the evening meal, although no such order had been given. Who could think of food now?

  She marched toward Merva. “Where are the nobles?”

  “They left.”

  Allis regarded Merva with cold, stern command. That was easy to do when her heart was encased in stone. “That is no way to address the chatelaine of Montclair.”

  The woman flushed and looked away. “Your brother’s in the kitchen. I don’t know where anybody else went.”

  She started to go past Merva, then halted abruptly when the woman’s murmured words met her ears. “What did you say?”

  Merva stared at the ground, abashed at Allis’s harsh demand. “I said, I never thought you’d disgrace your family.”

  Allis blushed hotly. Yes, this was how the stories of what had transpired today were going to go. She would be painted an evil Jezebel, and Rennick would be a good and virtuous man for marrying her anyway.