by Robyn Carr
Chandra looked away, for she could not stand the distance in his eyes. He, in turn, moved away from her.
“You will regain what is rightfully yours, Conan,” she said softly. “But you are right to beware of Tedric: he will never meet you honestly.” The inner pain and exhaustion that seemed to consume him did not give the picture of the glorious returning warrior that Tedric seemed to envision. He was not the same man, Chandra thought. “You must not think of me as you battle Tedric. Do whatever you must, Conan.”
Conan looked at her. “You must forgive me,” he said quietly. “You must not hate me for leaving you here, with him. It was the only way.”
“Hate you? It is not within my being to hate you.”
“Chandra, under my watchful eye, Tedric would not have dared so much, though there would never have been a way to stop him completely.”
“Conan, I have never questioned your leaving. You need not explain to me now.”
“Had my promises meant anything, I would have done a better job of protecting you.”
“I would not hold you to promises made in a moment of passion, Conan. You are not beholden to me.”
She looked at the shock registered on his face. “I beg forgiveness, Chandra, for seeing to you so poorly, but I do not decline promises made! Chandra, I have been fouled by a long war: now you want none of me?”
“Oh, nay,” she whispered, tears smarting in her eyes. “Oh, love, never that! But you are tired,” she breathed. “You must not in a hasty moment meet Tedric--not for me, not for anyone! It has been a long time, mon cher. England has changed. You have changed! I cannot have you come home to more burdens. I cannot have you--”
“I had to go,” he said. “I went for us. It was the only way; though I knew I would return to see how you had suffered as his wife.”
He moved toward her, dragging one foot as he moved. She stared at the afflicted member, trying to conceal her horror.
“A heathen blade,” he said sourly. “Chandra,” he whispered, “Chandra, tell me that you love me before I live another moment.”
She came to him slowly, placing her hands on his chest and trying to smile through tears of pain and joy. “Conan, my love, never doubt my love. It was the only thing that gave me hope. But do not let love blind you. Beware of Tedric. He hopes that you love me; he hopes that will help him cut you down. I could not live--”
He grabbed her fiercely, holding her close to him, burying his face in her hair and taking in the fresh womanly scent of her. “The nights were so long,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “The days were hellish, and had a vision of you not been foremost on my mind, I would have perished. Twice I fell from my horse, not able to rise on my own mettle. I feared I would not hold you again. And now,” he stopped and laughed ruefully. “Now I am grateful that Tedric’s presence presses me on.”
Chandra did not respond, but rested her head on his chest. It was the only comfort she would have until this feud was resolved.
“England has changed,” Conan remarked. “I have changed, that is true.”
“When my father died,” she told him, “Alaric traveled to Phalen and left behind one of your letters. He hid it in my mother’s jewel coffer, the one I was meant to have. I read the letter, Conan. It was the only news I had of you in two years. And--Tedric discovered me. He holds your letter now.”
“And how did he punish you?” Conan asked with a bitterness in his voice.
“He did not. He gloats in his possession. He considers the letter proof that you want me.”
“And you deny it?” he asked.
Chandra laughed apologetically. “You have more use for a woman alive than a corpse, have you not? Yea, I deny it. And then I confess an impure love and lies. It has been thus for years.”
“Have you changed?” he asked softly.
Chandra pushed herself away from him so that she could look into his eyes. “Yea, Conan,” she said. “I am no longer that tender lass that pursued you years ago.”
“Has everything changed, Chandra?”
“Nay, love. There are some things that go on through all eternity.”
There was a tapping at the door, and Conan scowled at the interruption. They both knew the time had come to part again. She quickly reached for him, for one more touch to hold dear.
“Some things will never change, Conan: my love for you, my hope for a better day ...”
“There will be a better day,” he whispered.
“My sins have been many, but I will not add one more to a very long list. I must ask that you spare Tedric’s life, if you can.”
“And will you hate me if I kill him?”
She looked into his eyes again, the cold blue glistening. She knew in her heart what Tedric’s last sight would be. She shook her head. “God help me, I could not hate you for any reason.”
“Tell me you love me,” he insisted again.
“I love you, Conan,” she breathed. “I love you more than life.”
Again there was the tapping, more insistent, rapid. She knew she would not see him until--or would she ever see him again? How would it end? “Do not meet him too soon,” she begged. “Rest and regain your strength. And do not fear for me: I will be safe--”
He silenced her in a kiss that did not hold the passion she remembered, but warmed her through and through just the same. She clung to him, tasting his mouth, holding him closely. Then she broke away from him at the sound of more knocking on the door.
“I will love you again, Chandra. And you will not doubt me.”
“Go quickly,” she urged, tears threatening.
“I would take you now if it could be done safely.”
“Go,” she choked, trusting him, fearing him.
He folded his hands in front of him, concealing them beneath the heavy folds of the monk’s garb. He bent his head so that the hood would cover most of his face. Without, Father Merrick stood nervously twisting his hands and spoke softly, issuing his instructions for leaving. Just before making his final exit, Conan turned and looked at Chandra once more. There in the blue eyes, she saw a new light, the glow of a promise. It had not been there when she first met his eyes. Now, it was real. He was truly returned. Time alone could take away the sting of war, but she at least believed he would recover.
With a lift in her heart, she smiled at him, her eyes mirroring what his had told her. In time, for love and for honor, all wrongs would be set aright.
He bent his head again and was gone.
Chandra took herself to the chapel to kneel again before the altar. Her heart beat so fiercely she could hardly breathe properly. Within her there was a trembling she could not control, of a nature she could not define. It was perhaps excitement, perhaps fear. Seeing him here, on her own turf, under Tedric’s very nose, was alarming at the very least. He was certainly weak, and should he meet Tedric too soon, she feared he would not live through the day.
She let her face fall into her hands and wept.
“Fear not, lady,” a soft voice comforted. “He is in good hands. He goes with a deputation of God.”
“Will God aid him, Father?” Chandra choked out without looking at the priest.
“God’s ways are a mystery, but His strength is well known. Sir Conan has come from a battle for the Cross. He is surely in God’s grace.”
Chandra looked up into the kindly eyes of the priest. “You helped him, Father,” she said, shaking her head in bewilderment as the impact of this hit her for the first time. “You have issued me penance for sinful thoughts of another man, and surely you know who that man must be. You have listened to my confession time and time again and you must know--”
Father Merrick shrugged and looked into Chandra’s moist eyes. “If God has a plan, I will see it to fruition. For that I will pray for direction.”
“And you will not confide in my lord?” she asked shakily.
“Not even in exchange for my life.”
The tears threatened again. “There was so mu
ch I didn’t tell him,” she wept. “His sister has never been found; his father grows old; Hugh--” She stopped and looked guiltily up at the priest. That much she had not confessed. But Father Merrick only smiled.
“Better he learns these things one at a time.”
“You see him as our hope, too, Father?”
Father Merrick looked up at the altar. “I remember when there were rich articles there, replaced now with wooden implements since Sir Tedric’s coming.” He sighed. “I pray for Sir Tedric’s soul, lady. I cannot bring myself to pray for his life, God help me.”
“How does Sir Conan leave, Father?”
“So that no guard sees, he travels with the brothers for a distance. His comrades await him well down the road, and when they are reunited, he enters the forest. Don’t worry,” he said with a smile. “He has more protection than Tedric could ever claim.”
Chapter 20
The sun was high in the sky and a brewis was set to simmer on the hearth. Bread was being kneaded in preparation for baking. All fires but for those needed in cooking were low to preserve firewood for the long winter. In the highest level of the manor, Chandra looked over the cloth that was being woven. The women accepted her compliments and heeded her reprimands, whichever was the case. In a far corner sat Wynne with Hugh at her feet, playing with a doll made of rags and twigs and a small ball of wool.
The commotion caused by Tedric and his returning men echoed through the manor, yet even in this high loft Chandra could tell that it sounded strangely different. It sounded far too raucous. Or was it furious?
A page burst into the room. “My lord sends for you, lady. He is in his chamber. He orders you to come at once. And there are injured men in the courtyard.”
“Injured?” she questioned.
“Aye, lady. I do not know how this came to pass.”
The page, a lad of ten or twelve, had been about Cordell for at least two years. Chandra knew his face and suddenly realized she did not know his name. He was a fair youth and she liked him. Though he served Tedric’s men, he had responded to her kindness.
“Lady,” the youth said with a worried look in his eyes, “Sir Tedric is angry.”
Chandra tried to smile her thanks to the lad for his warning, but her lips trembled and the effort was lost. She turned to the women in the room and found that all eyes, round with fright, were on her. She signaled them with just a tilt of her head to take themselves below and give aid to the wounded. They dropped their spools and went quickly. Her eyes went next to Wynne and the communication was clear. Wynne held Hugh close to her and hushed her young ward. She was prepared to protect the child.
Chandra went quickly to her husband’s chamber and entered without knocking. Tedric stood on the far side of the room and drained a cup of wine. He looked at her with obvious rage and filled the cup again, taking another long pull. He then placed the chalice on the chest near his bed and took long and determined strides toward her.
Chandra’s eyes were wide with apprehension as he walked toward her. He had often been angry and abusive, but the rage that seemed to consume him now looked to be even more powerful. Studying the silver slits of his eyes left her unprepared for his hand as he struck her hard across the face. She reeled backward and fell against the door, clutching the bruised cheek, tasting blood in her mouth, and stared at him in mute wonder.
“So you’ve seen him,” Tedric shouted. “He comes to you here!”
Terror gripped her. Did Conan lay below injured? But she could not ask. She knew what part she must play--until all was lost. “Who?”
“Your knight! Conan, the bastard!”
“Conan is here?” she heard herself squeak.
“No longer, fairest Chandra,” he sneered. “He’s made his escape, but not before laying three of my men low. They may not live through the night.”
“How so, Tedric? What has happened?”
“Do you play the innocent with me?” he shouted. “Do you pretend to know nothing of this? You knew I would be upon the road, and that is where we were attacked.”
“I know nothing of his presence here,” she protested. “Ask the servants if I have been in these walls since--”
He jerked her roughly to her feet, his grip tight and painful on her upper arms. “Do not think to make me your fool, Chandra. I know your rote. You have been to mass, and Sir Conan was garbed as a monk.”
He flung her away and strode to the other side of the room. He turned then and shouted back at her. “He led a mule, and it was one of my own men who stopped that caravan when he noticed one brother carrying something beneath his robes. It was a sheathed sword. I recognized the face of that devil. He would be dead now but that his cry brought his companions to his aid.” He looked Chandra over and smiled sardonically. “He did not leave in good humor, my love. He suffered at least one blow before he made his horse.”
Chandra held her head up, trying not to show her fear. “I am surprised that you did not follow and slay him,” she said.
“We followed,” Tedric snapped. “But our horses were weary from this morning’s ride, while theirs were rested.”
“It could be it was his plan to attack you,” she said. “There are those here who resent you, Tedric, for you have been a difficult man to abide. Perhaps he had learned your habits and--”
“How could he learn my habits when there is a guard around every corner of this town? He did not come to fight me. He came to see you!”
“I have not seen him,” she said simply.
“You lie! You alone would dare to betray me!”
“I? I am the one to caution these people to obey you. Truly, without me to hold them back, they would have defied you long ago. I have not betrayed you. I had not the opportunity.”
“Nor will you!” he shouted. “Nor will anyone dare to betray me again. Whoever does, will die!” As quickly as his rage had mounted, it began to die. A sinister smile replaced the look of anger, and the insult of Conan’s penetration of Cordell seemed to fall away as he devised yet another plan. He was confident again. He walked to the door of his chamber with a direct, unhurried step. He turned at the door and looked at her.
“Do you think I would let you live if not for the fact that he wants you? Aye, cherie, he will risk his stupid neck to have you, and I will be the one to watch him fall. But no more will I allow betrayal in my village. These good and fearful folk will feel the weight of my hand this very day--and be assured, no one will dare to give Sir Conan aid again.”
“What will you do, Tedric?” she asked anxiously.
“I would have done with you now, but the Falcon needs a lure,” he said, and left the room.
Chandra felt herself shaking inwardly and clutched at composure. She walked downstairs and looked around at the soldiers in the main room, their shields lying about and their gear scattered here and there. They looked at her with nothing less than hatred as she passed through.
Bereft of a cloak, she went out of the hall. There was a commotion within the town, and Chandra looked, first in confusion and then in horror, to the sight of some of Tedric’s men dragging the village priest toward a gibbet. With a cry, she ran to that sight and threw herself at the men, pleading with them to unhand the priest.
“You must not obey Tedric in this!” she shouted. “Do you know the sin of killing a priest? I beg of you!”
But her protest was ignored, and one of the men threw her aside with a sharp blow. She stumbled back and fell, and looked from her lowly position to see the men dragging the priest to the platform. There had never been a device for hanging before Tedric came to this town, but since his coming, there had been many lashings and even a few deaths.
Villagers began to swell the street, and someone helped Chandra to her feet. She immediately took flight in the direction of the gibbet and plowed her way through the people. When Father Merrick tripped and fell, the men-at-arms simply dragged him. Tedric stood relaxed below the gibbet with a sneer twisting his lips.
&nb
sp; She fell at his feet, tears wetting her cheeks and a look of horrified bewilderment on her face. As she looked up at him, she saw him watching her lazily, his eyes slightly glazed as he gloated in this power he assumed.
“Tedric, are you mad? Would you kill a lowly priest--a messenger of God?”
“He gave aid to my enemy,” Tedric said easily.
“How do you know that he did? Did he confess this?”
“Nay, he will not confess,” Tedric chortled. “But that will not stop me from doing what I have to do. Tis time these people learn that my word is law here. And Sir Conan is not welcome in this village. He means to do me harm.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “You wish him harm! His intention is not clear! He has only just returned from the Crusade!” She clutched at his legs. “Tedric, let the priest go, I beg of you. Do not hurt him. Anything, I will do anything you ask!”
Tedric raised one brow and looked down at her. He cast a glance over his shoulder and smiled as the rope was fitted about the stoic priest’s neck. He looked back at his wife. “Do you know your master, Chandra?”
“Yea,” she replied.
“Name him.”
“You, Sir Tedric,” she humbly responded.
Tedric’s shoulders shook with silent laughter as he enjoyed bringing this proud vixen to her knees. “And you would do anything for the priest’s freedom? Would you take his place?”
“Gladly,” she replied with bravado, though she knew full well that Tedric would not finish her life so easily. He needed her to draw Conan back.
Tedric looked up to the priest. “Did you aid my enemy and conceal him from me, Father?” he shouted.
The priest looked to the heavens and did not utter a word. His hands were bound behind his back and his eyes tilted up, his mouth set in a stern line. Tedric motioned his guards away from the priest’s side, and with a wave of his hand, commanded a man to move to the lever that would drop the floor below the priest. Tedric turned his back as the man moved the lever. He watched his wife as she looked past him to the gibbet. Her scream of anguish as the priest fell, the rope jerking his body to a halt, was all that was heard.