For King and Country (Battle Scars Book 2)

by Charlene Newcomb

  Edric strode straight to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. “I apologize that business intruded on our visit.”

  “Another thief to hang, my lord?” Bea asked innocently.

  Henry almost choked on his wine. Edric chided her with a look more gentle than Henry expected, but no harsh words. “I found my dear sister. She will join us soon.” He raised his silver-etched goblet to his nose and sniffed. Pleased, he took a sip, but his eyes narrowed, his face contorted. He spat a mouthful into the rushes on the floor. “God’s nails, get this out of here,” he bellowed, throwing the drink at Warin.

  Wine splattered the servant’s face and tunic. Surprised by Edric’s sudden move, Warin fumbled to catch the goblet, but it hit the floor and rolled. He retrieved it and backed from the room.

  “My lord husband,” Amicia said, “what is wrong?” She looked calm as if accustomed to Edric’s outbursts.

  “Is this repulsive vintage from the dregs of Boston?”

  “It is from one of the finest winemakers in Aquitaine, my lord husband.”

  Edric snarled. “As distasteful as the man who rules the place.” Edric grabbed the jug of wine from the sideboard. The younger servant there cringed, afraid he might be doused with the liquid. “Forgive my outspokenness.” There was nothing apologetic in his tone as he looked from Bea to Henry. “I know you must feel some loyalty to King Richard.”

  Henry remained silent, but Edric’s words left no doubt in his mind. Edric was Count John’s man.

  Edric thrust the vessel at Amicia. “Here, taste this vile drink.”

  “There is no need for that, my lord husband.” Amicia lowered her eyes and approached him slowly.

  “Taste it,” he repeated, his voice hostile.

  “I am sorry it displeases you. Let me take it away.”

  Edric clutched Amicia’s wrist. She winced.

  Henry jumped up, starting towards his hosts.

  “I said taste it,” Edric snapped.

  Bea was on her feet. “No, Edric!”

  Edric brought the pitcher to Amicia’s lips. She swallowed. “More.” He grabbed her wimple, jerking her head back roughly, and tipped the jug higher. Amicia choked. Wine dribbled down her chin and stained her yellow gown.

  Henry grabbed the man’s arm. “Enough!” he cried out, disgusted. “You’ve made your point.”

  Edric elbowed Henry, catching him hard in the gut. He wrenched Amicia’s head. She cried out in pain and fell to her knees as Edric released her.

  Henry caught his breath and drew down to Amicia’s side. Dear God, the man is mad. “Are you all right?”

  Warin must have called for Amicia’s maid, because she hurried in from the hall to attend her lady.

  “See to my wife,” Edric growled impatiently, “and tell my sister she dallies too long.”

  With the maid, Henry and Bea escorted Amicia into the hall. The solar door closed with a groan behind them.

  “Is he always like this?” Bea asked.

  “Not always,” Amicia said quietly.

  “Do not lie.” The voice came from the landing at the top of the stairs.

  Elle Weston. Henry drew in a breath. Elle was a more womanly version of the girl Alys had been at fourteen. Elle’s golden hair fell to her waist in two long plaits. She wore a leather jerkin that was custom fitted and showed her slender waist. Her gown was hitched up revealing boots that seemed more suited to a squire than to a lady.

  Elle curtsied. “Forgive me, Sir Henry, Lady Cartholme. I’d been running the horses through their exercises in the yard when I heard you had arrived.” Her face beamed. “Blanc and Tal are from your stables, my lady. The finest of animals. Even my brother admits Cartholme has the best from London to York.”

  “I was not aware he knew horses so well,” Bea said.

  “He only repeats what I tell him.”

  Amicia’s gaze flew towards the solar as if she expected Edric to rush out.

  Elle trotted down the stairs. Alys had been meek and little-girlish when Henry had left for Outremer, so different from the mischievous and rebellious spirit he saw in Elle’s deep brown eyes. He was surprised that Edric had not found a wealthy match for her. Surely many had offered.

  Elle brimmed with confidence. Henry imagined she questioned everything and accepted nothing at face value.

  He took her hand and kissed it. She smelled of warm sunshine, lavender, leather, and sweat. Much like Stephan, he thought and smiled, heat crawling up his neck. He lifted his head slowly in hopes any redness on his face would fade. To his relief, Bea’s attention remained on Amicia, but he could feel Elle watching him.

  “What happened here?” Stephan called and hurried down the stairs.

  “Just spilt wine, Sir Stephan,” Amicia said. “Please Bea, I am fine. I shall change my gown and then join you all for the midday meal. Elle—upstairs. Now.”

  Elle exhaled sharply, but followed as the maid and Warin guided Amicia to her bedchamber.

  “Weston is mad. A cruel beast,” Henry whispered. “And he detests King Richard. Be careful what you say.”

  Stephan looked incredulous. “You’ve seen him but a short while and learned all this?”

  Henry steered Stephan and Bea to the far side of hall. “Trust me, he is beyond reason and not hesitant to show it.”

  “I fear for Amicia and Elle,” Bea said. “We may not help the wife, but let’s have Elle come with us.”

  Henry knew the argument Bea would make. A logical arrangement, she would say, given everyone’s hope that he and Elle would marry. He started to protest, but Stephan spoke first. “Is it as bad as that?”

  “Worse,” Bea said. “So much so that I must ask a favor of you.”

  Curious, Stephan asked, “What can I do, my lady?”

  “You must pretend to be my betrothed.”

  Stephan started to laugh, but caught himself. “Why?”

  Bea clutched at the folds of her skirt. “To keep Edric’s lecherous hands away from me.”

  “But he is married.” Stephan frowned, shaking his head.

  “That will not stop him,” Henry said, a foul taste souring his mouth.

  “And if your father hears news of this betrothal?”

  “If?” Henry snorted. “Weston has his little birds everywhere, or so he claims.”

  “I have told Father time and again that I will choose my next husband.” Bea’s defiance softened as she turned to Stephan. “And it need not be for money or land.”

  Henry took long slow breaths to stay the jealousy suddenly eating at his heart.

  “Your father may not like me so much when he discovers this is all a ruse.”

  Bea laid her hand on Stephan’s arm. “I will be sure he knows it was from my lips.”

  This was for appearances only, wasn’t it, Henry wondered. Surely Bea would not turn serious about this arrangement…

  Stephan patted Bea’s wrist. “The things I do for love.”

  Bea cleared her throat, tipped her head up imperceptibly. Elle stood on the stairs watching them.

  Stephan slid his arm beneath Bea’s elbow. A handsome couple, Henry thought. He and Stephan could never hold each other except in stolen private moments. It didn’t seem fair or right, but that was all they would ever have.

  The servants had set the long trestle in the hall with a sumptuous and aromatic meal. Amicia and the guests took their seats and Edric swept into the room like a king. Henry wanted to gag and prayed for a swift end to the day. He had to admit that Elle, who looked as lovely in her blue linen gown as in leather, made the time under Edric’s scrutiny somewhat pleasant.

  When everyone had eaten their fill, Amicia raised her goblet to Bea and Stephan, and then addressed him. “L’Aigle. Known for fine wool and beef.” At the opposite end of the table, Edric glowered at her. The white linen tablecloth stretched between them like an icy river.

  “Amongst other business, my lady,” Stephan said. “I am surprised you know of my family.”

  “
My cousin wed Gilbert l’Aigle.”

  Edric ran a finger across his lip, looking shrewdly at Stephan. “Mylla’s father attended the wedding. He had many stories of his visit to Castle l’Aigle. We’d not have enough parchment from here to Boston to write them all down.”

  Stephan’s brows arched. “I’d only met Mylla once, at the wedding. You may know more of my family than I do. I’ve not spoken to or heard from my brother Gil in more than three years.”

  “Why is that, Sir Stephan?” Elle asked.

  “Elle, what business is that of yours?” Amicia admonished the younger girl. “Forgive her, Stephan. She can be far too rude and has not learned to hold her tongue.”

  Stephan smiled. “I do not mind. I like a lady with spirit. Don’t I, Bea?”

  Bea’s response was quick and surprised both Henry and Stephan. “He claims I remind him of Queen Eleanor.”

  “Indeed you do, my lady,” Stephan said with a flourish. He turned back to Amicia. “I leave for Yorkshire soon. I shall bring greetings to your cousin.”

  “I look forward to meeting her and my future brother-in-law,” Bea added. “If you would like us to carry a message…?”

  “That would be most kind of you.” Amicia ordered quill and parchment brought to the table. For a few moments, she appeared to be a different woman from the subservient one Henry had seen earlier.

  Edric watched the exchange, silent, and finally waved towards the solar. “Let us leave the women to their letters.”

  “Stephan, a word with you before you while the evening away with war stories and games of chance,” Bea said.

  Henry stood reluctantly, wondering what Bea would tell Stephan, but not him. He supposed it was another means to throw Edric off her scent, though the man had remained remarkably civil while they’d eaten. Henry bowed to the ladies and paced after Edric.

  *

  Stephan offered Bea his hand. She led him past the central hearth to the far side of the hall. “Do not forget to speak with Edric about Elle accompanying us.”

  “Shouldn’t you ask Elle first before you whisk her away?”

  “She will have little say if Edric wants her to marry Henry.”

  Stephan dreaded the thought, but how could Henry evade marriage? It was inevitable, if not now, then at some point in the future. Wasn’t it? “He wants to marry for love.” And as much as we love each other, we will never have that.

  “Henry will come to love her. You see the girl, have spoken to her. She’s bright and quite lovely. This would be a good match, bringing more land and wealth to the Lord of Greyton.”

  “You mean bring more of it within Edric’s grasp.”

  Bea’s blue eyes grew fiery. “The cur would not stand a chance against Henry and Father.” She studied Stephan, and then gave a small sigh. “You certainly could be more enthusiastic about my brother’s future.”

  “I only want what is best for him.”

  Bea brushed his cheek with a kiss. “As all good friends would.”

  And lovers, Stephan thought as he steeled himself and walked to the solar. Edric hovered over the game table sitting across from Henry. Stephan headed straight for the wine on the sideboard. He needed another drink.

  “Stephan, help me convince Henry that my sister is ripe for plucking.”

  Henry shoved the game table, sending chess pieces to the floor. “God’s bones! Have you one shred of decency? We are not bartering for a horse. Show some respect for Elle.”

  Stephan poured two goblets of wine and turned to hand Henry one.

  “No more for me.” Henry stood abruptly and nearly toppled his chair. “I would not want to embarrass myself and say something out of turn.”

  “Oh come now, Henry,” Stephan said. “Edric has already done that.”

  “My friends,” Edric said, hardly flustered, “I meant no offense. I was just saying—”

  “Yes, I know what you said.” Henry scoffed. “You speak of your sister as a common whore. I will not listen to another word.”

  Edric guzzled his wine. “No sense of sport in that one,” he said after Henry departed.

  Stephan offered the second goblet of wine to Edric. He swallowed a gulp of his own, needed to let the wine warm the cold spaces in his heart before he asked Edric about Elle. Bea was right. They needed to get the girl away from this place.

  “I have been wondering…” Edric swirled the wine in his goblet. “I know you are loyal to the king, as am I. But surely you realize there are any number of barons who have nothing but contempt for Richard, who complain he’s been off fighting his war.”

  “His war? I was under the impression we fought for Christendom. It was the Pope who issued the call for us to take Jerusalem back.”

  “That is a fine point you make. But many close to home are none too happy with the king.” Edric hesitated. “I should not repeat Edward de Grey’s words.”

  Stephan stared at Edric. He barely knew the man, but didn’t doubt he would implicate others in subterfuge. Throw suspicion elsewhere so eyes would not look too closely on himself.

  Edric sipped at his wine, his gaze shifting from the goblet in his hand to the solar door. “Lord de Grey is just one of many who claim the king left England in the hands of fiends.”

  “Queen Eleanor—a fiend? Best not say that in King Richard’s company. He’ll have your tongue, if not your head.”

  Edric set his drink down and leaned forward. “These concerned barons feel the queen has been taken in by the justiciars who rule in Richard’s stead and do nothing but pilfer money from the king’s coffers. Their so-called counsel to the queen? They seek to secure power for themselves.”

  Stephan sat up, feigning interest now. Queen Eleanor was no fool. He trusted her. He did not trust Edric Weston. What was his scheme? “What of the justiciars’ claims that Count John is fortifying his castles?”

  Edric was observing him intently now. “Of course, that is true. And why shouldn’t John be prepared to protect what is rightfully his as Richard’s successor? If the justiciars have their way, they will never allow John to wear the crown.”

  Not true, Stephan thought. Queen Eleanor seemed certain John would succeed should Richard die. It was one reason she and the justiciars agreed to end the sieges of his castles. They did not want to alienate their future liege lord completely.

  “You do not wear the king’s colors.” Edric’s mouth twitched. “Clothes, words, actions. None tell a man’s heart. I have heard that it is the eyes, a look, a…touch. Those give away true feelings.”

  Stephan didn’t care for the tone in Edric’s voice. The man smiled, but it lacked warmth and made Stephan wary.

  Edric downed another draught of his drink. “The Lady Beatrice must pray your service to the king is at an end. Has she convinced you to become lord of the manor? She is wealthy enough to pay a knight’s fee many times over.”

  “My lady knows I would be of no use managing an estate.” Stephan relaxed his guard. Mayhap he’d misread the meaning of Edric’s words. “I might make a mess of things, turn the household upside down, and become a lazy slug.”

  “Can that be so bad? Your main responsibility will be to the marriage bed, no? Produce many sons. I understand Amicia’s cousin Mylla has provided an heir for your brother.” Edric smiled wickedly, his dark eyes narrowed. “I am certain you can fulfill that duty, despite lusting after Bea’s brother.”

  Stephan’s gut lurched. He could not know.

  “I imagine it would come as quite a shock to dear sweet Beatrice that you and Henry—”

  Stephan leapt to his feet, lunging at Edric. “You bastard!” He grabbed the neck of his tunic, lifting him from his chair. The goblet flew from Edric’s hands. Wine doused them both, but Stephan tightened his grip, hate surging through him. “You will never repeat those words else—”

  “What?” Edric sneered, but fear flashed in his eyes.

  “Else I will kill you.” Stephan shoved Edric away.

  Stumbling backwards, Edric c
aught himself. He straightened and tugged down his tunic. “I do not know your game, l’Aigle, but I have my own. Henry must marry my sister.” His voice was cold and hard. “Amicia is a feeble bitch and will not survive this pregnancy. When she passes, you will break your contract with Bea. I might help arrange something—an affair with a whore or even one of my maids? I will marry Bea, and your secret will remain safe.”

  Stephan stared in disbelief. “You are mad!” He clenched his fist and swung. Edric ducked, but Stephan’s aim was meant for the table, which cracked beneath the blow. His heart thundered. He had such a desire to draw blood, but he could not. Not here, not now. “Think of your own secrets and guard yourself, my lord. If you cross King Richard, he will know. And if you hurt Henry’s good name, I will find you.”

  Stephan fled outside, his mind a raging storm.

  How could that bastard know? Stephan had not felt this helpless since Arsuf when Henry lay bleeding in his arms from a Saracen arrow. He couldn’t think. Can't we just love whom we will?

  Bea must be told the truth. She detested Edric, but if she knew he would destroy Henry, would she marry to keep his reputation intact?

  And Henry…would he destroy Elle’s life too, to keep his secret safe?

  Stephan pressed his forehead against the stable door. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

  Pressing the door open, he let the smell of fresh hay and earthy animals fill his nostrils. It was warm and comforting after his encounter with Edric. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw Lune lift his head over the stall. The stallion snorted at him. A cat meowed and rubbed against his leg.

  He bent down to scratch the yellow-eyed feline, and then wandered to the stall, his thoughts thrashing wildly like waves battering a boat in a storm. When heavy squalls ended, men found themselves in calmer water or drowned in the black depths of the sea. He wouldn’t let this nightmare end in the latter.

  He and Bea could easily toss their “betrothal” aside to satisfy Edric. There could be no wedding while Amicia lived, but Edric was right. His wife could die in childbirth. And if not then, the bastard might poison her.

  Outraged, Stephan punched the stall rail. That provided neither an answer nor a release, just a painful reminder that he’d almost loosed that fist on Edric. His long blade rubbed his leg. I should have killed him. Groaning, he buried his head in his hands.