Bay of Fear (Battle Lords of de Velt Book 3)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  But thoughts of bringing deceit into her marriage grabbed at her, an unwelcome reminder. She found herself trying to rationalize it, imagining that, perhaps, they would be so happy that the acquisition of a destitute bride wouldn’t matter to Tenner. Perhaps, she could make him so deliriously content that he wouldn’t even care. But even as she tried to convince herself of such a thing, she knew that she was only fooling herself. Sooner or later, the lies would catch up to her, and to him. Like an ax hanging over their heads, eventually, it would fall.

  It was a painful thought.

  The thunder rolled and lightning lit up the sky, illuminating the room. As the water steamed, Annalyla tried to push aside thoughts of her deception yet again and pulled forth a precious piece of white soap wrapped in oil cloth. She was already stripped down to her shift, so she quickly washed her arms and neck, and under her arms and on her chest, freshening up so that she would smell pleasant for their marriage. Once she was washed and dried, she carefully wrapped the soap up and put it back in one of her bags, and went to the bed to pull the lovely wedding garment over her head.

  It fit beautifully, emphasizing her rather curvy figure, and she was able to securely tie the laces of the girdle that were under her left arm. She never had maids, so dressing alone was habit with her. It was the one thing Mother Angel had never helped her with. With the dress on, she unbraided her hair and combed it thoroughly before braiding it again, winding matching ribbons into it as she listened to the rain outside. Thunder was breaking across the sky, booming, and shaking the very walls of the keep.

  And then, she heard it again.

  Screaming.

  It’s what had awakened her, that distant cry. Only this time, it seemed to be right outside her door. Startled, and the least bit afraid, Annalyla finished tying off the last ribbon in her hair and timidly made her way to the door. Putting her ear against the panel, she didn’t hear anything, so she threw the bolt with the intention of seeing what was outside in the corridor. It was a foolish action, but natural curiosity drove her to it. The moment she opened the door, however, a body threw itself against the panel and the door very nearly slammed back.

  Terrified, Annalyla threw all of her weight into the door, struggling to push it closed even as the person on the other side screamed and groaned. An arm was thrust into the gap between the door and the jamb as Annalyla wrestled to close it, and she could see that it was a pale arm, nearly translucent, with a hand that formed a claw. It was clawing everywhere, clawing for something to come into contact with, and clearly trying to hurt or mark whatever it could.

  Nails like daggers.

  That realization that sharp nails were slashing at her filled Annalyla with panic and, in a burst of energy, she slammed the door against the arm, listening to the person scream, with pain this time. It was obviously a woman, and as the woman pulled her arm out of the gap, Annalyla shoved the door shut and threw the iron bolt.

  Outside the door, the screaming woman pounded and bellowed as Annalyla backed away from the door. As the thunder rolled and the wind howled, she was fearful that the madwoman at the door might actually be able to break the panel down. Scared for her very life, she looked around the room for a weapon, seeing the ash shovel near the hearth and rushing to collect it. It was made from heavy iron and she wielded it like a club, waiting for the madwoman to come crashing through. She was fully prepared to defend herself as the door rattled and shuddered.

  But then, the movement abruptly stopped, and she could hear someone outside the door, firm voices against the madwoman’s groans. The shovel was still in her hands as she stood there, trembling in fear, hearing the voices fade away. When all was silent, someone knocked heavily on her door.

  “Lady Annalyla?”

  It was Tenner. Still shaken, Annalyla answered the door with the shovel still in her hand. Wide eyes met with his somewhat grim expression.

  “Is… is she gone?” she asked.

  Tenner sighed in understanding, nodding. “She is,” he said. “It looks as if you are prepared to do battle.”

  He was indicating the shovel in her hand and she looked at it as if suddenly remembering it. With a sigh of her own, this time of relief, she went to set it back down next to the hearth as Tenner took a few steps into the chamber.

  “She tried to break in,” Annalyla said. “Was that the earl’s daughter?”

  “Aye,” Tenner said. “She managed to break free of her chamber when her minder was out of the room for a moment.”

  Annalyla looked at him. “Would she have tried to hurt me? She very nearly pushed the door in.”

  He scratched his head, displeasure evident in his manner. “It is doubtful,” he said. “She has moments of violence but, mostly, she simply wants to break free of the keep. I’ve seen her bolt from the keep and then run circles out in the bailey until her minders are able to corral her.”

  Annalyla grew serious. “Has she always been like that?”

  Tenner shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “It’s a rather sad story, in truth. Lady Jane FitzJohn was pledged to a knight a few years ago and before their wedding, she was thrown from her horse and hit her head. The injury was bad enough that it damaged her ability to speak and changed her manner somewhat. She has become what you see – a skittish creature. She and her knight were very fond of each other, but with her accident, Ivor refused the marriage between them. Eventually, he was banished from Seven Crosses. Maude thinks that it was his exile that finally drove Jane mad. We think she is trying to run from the keep to find him. Always trying to escape to him but never able to.”

  It was a tragic tale, indeed. “God’s Bones,” Annalyla muttered. “What a sorrowful thing to happen. Does she ever ask for him?”

  “Listen to her when she screams. She is screaming his name – Beaufort.”

  It was a horrific thought and Annalyla gasped in sympathy. “How awful,” she said. “Mayhap, she was trying to come in here to look for him, then.”

  “Possibly,” Tenner said. He sighed faintly. “You see, Sir Beau de Fira was my friend. He was a fine man. It broke his heart when the physics gave him no hope for Jane’s recovery even though he was fully willing to marry her. But Ivor was convinced that Beau’s presence at Seven Crosses was agitating Jane, so he eventually banished the man. It is unfortunate for everyone; Jane was never like this before he left, only afterwards. The more she screams, the more Ivor locks her away.”

  Annalyla could see the shadow of pity in his features. “You believe the earl was wrong, then?”

  Tenner nodded. “Aye,” he said. “In fact, I have thought to recall Beau to Seven Crosses, for Jane’s sake, but the earl will not hear of it. You must understand that I knew the pair well. Jane was vivacious and kind, and Beau was strong and dignified. What happened to them… it is a tragedy beyond measure. It may seem strange, but I have never quite gotten over what happened to them. To see a man and woman so perfect for each other, so adoring… even if the earl does not want Beau and Jane to be reunited, I do.”

  It was a distressing tale, to be sure, but a surprising bit of sentiment from a seasoned knight. Annalyla lingered on it, her thoughts on the proud young couple until tragedy struck. But as she pondered the worst, Tenner was watching her. She was out of the green wool traveling gown and dressed in a pale blue silk that was stunning, and he found himself looking at the way it draped over her body, which was round in all the right places. When she turned in his direction, he realized he was staring straight at her full breasts and quickly looked up at her face, hoping she didn’t notice.

  “I am sorry for your friend and for Lady Jane,” she said. “But I am sure you did not come here to discuss such things. I hope I did not sleep too late. I was wearier than I thought. You could have sent someone to wake me.”

  Tenner’s lips flickered with a smile. “Why?” he said. “The priest was delayed because of the storm. He has only just arrived, so there was no reason to wake you until then.”

  “I even slep
t through this terrible weather.”

  His smile broadened. “The weather here can turn in an instant,” he said. “It is sunny one moment and howling the next.”

  “Do you like it better here than in Northumberland?”

  He shrugged. “Better? Nay,” he said. “It is different.”

  “Does it snow?”

  “Sometimes in piles. In fact, if it becomes any colder, this rain might turn to ice. The weather here, if nothing else, is unpredictable.”

  It was small talk, and meaningless, and Annalyla was coming to think this was a perfect opportunity to speak openly, just the two of them. So far, they’d spent all of their time around other people and indulging in fairly superficial chatter, with no time alone. Though the mere fact he was here and they were unchaperoned, was considered improper.

  But… she didn’t very much care.

  She relished the opportunity.

  “If I may speak candidly, Sir Tenner,” she said quietly. “I suspect this marriage was as much a surprise to you as it was to me, but I wanted you to know that I will do my best to ensure it is pleasant for the both of us.”

  His gaze drifted over her face. “On your father’s order, of course.”

  My father wishes for me to maintain the illusion of St. Lo wealth any way I can, she thought. There was that horrible weight of guilt again, settling on her. And the more she looked at him, the more uneasy and tense she became.

  She was about to do something terrible to an innocent man.

  Annalyla had always had an unfailing sense of honesty. She’d learned it in her years of fostering at Netherghyll Castle, seat of the House of de Royans, and a mighty family with a strong sense of duty and moral strength. Those were the years she’d spent away from Mother Angel, seven glorious years, until she’d returned home and into the clutches of her father and Mother Angel once again. She’d truly loved her life at Netherghyll and it was only after she’d returned home that she discovered her return had been at her father’s demand. He wanted his daughter home, his only child, and Annalyla found herself back at Roseden, back with people who said they loved her but only wanted to control her.

  That was Mother Angel’s grip on her.

  That was why she was so grateful that Tenner agreed to send the woman away. Annalyla had to breathe; she had to be able to live her own life. But because of her years at Netherghyll, and spending those years with people who truly cared about her and who were truly righteous and generous in their teachings, she was coming to seriously wonder if she could go through with all of this.

  She realized that she couldn’t.

  She needed to take a stand.

  Tenner de Velt was entering into a marriage under false pretenses. That was established. It was also established that it was something that had disturbed Annalyla from the start. She’d stewed about it for the past year, and never more than in the journey south. But Mother Angel had been there, insisting it was what she must do to ensure the survival of her family. But now that Mother Angel wasn’t around to twist her arm and shoot her terrible glares, she felt much braver. The moral compass in her demanded she confess the situation to Tenner. It would cost her the marriage, but it was either that or spend her days fearful of the moment when he would discover that he’d married a penniless heiress.

  It was the only decent thing to do, and she knew it.

  God help her… she knew it.

  “Aye,” she said after a moment. “He did tell me to say that. But before we go through with this marriage, there is something you must know. Will you hear me, my lord?”

  Tenner thought she seemed rather edgy as she spoke and several unhappy reasons jumped to mind, but one in particular; they’d both been pulled into this marriage by their fathers, and he thought that, perhaps, Annalyla was more averse to it than he was. Worse still, perhaps she had a lover, something that was making her emotional and resistant to the marriage to Tenner. She was such a beautiful woman and, from all accounts, sweet and gentle.

  Of course she had a lover. What man wouldn’t give his all to be with her? His heart sank as he thought that was what he was about to hear.

  “Of course,” he said calmly. “I will always hear you. And it would please me if you would call me Tenner. Addressing me formally seems odd under these circumstances.”

  Annalyla flashed him a weak smile. Then, she turned for her bags, making her way over to the heavy green cloak that was hanging on a peg on the wall. She fingered it.

  “I should not tell you this,” she said. “In doing so, I am going against my father’s wishes and all I have been schooled on, but I find… Tenner, you seem like a kind and understanding man. And to say that I am honored by this betrothal is truly an understatement. I could not imagine anything more wonderful. You are a fine knight with a great destiny as a son of de Velt. And because of that, I cannot let you enter into a marriage that is not what it seems. For your sake, you must know the truth.”

  He was both flattered and curious. “What truth, my lady? Please speak.”

  She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes for a moment as she did so. The heavy cloak came off the peg and she turned towards him. “If you wish to refuse this betrothal, I am about to give you the grounds for it. You should not be forced into something that is a lie.”

  “Then tell me what it is that is a lie.”

  Annalyla was having difficulty looking at him. “My father is a kind man,” she said. “He is a well-liked man and the name of St. Lo is well respected. That is why my father approached your father for this marriage. He hoped your father would be open to it because of our family’s reputation. We own a great deal of land between Wooler and Powburn, but I am sorry to say, through wars and my father’s mismanagement, that is all we have to our name. You are betrothed to an heiress, my lord, but it is only in name. Other than the lands, we have nothing more to offer. The coffers are empty. You see the last of our money in this wardrobe I wear, in this cloak in my arms, because my father wanted to create the illusion that there is still money for you to inherit. I had every intention of keeping this illusion, but I find that I cannot. It is cruel and dishonest. Therefore, if… if you will simply write a missive to my father that you are refusing the betrothal for reasons of your own, I will return home and take it to him. He need not know that I told you the truth. It will save my dignity and yours.”

  She was looking at the floor by the time she finished. Tenner stood by the bed, absorbing the words that had been delivered in a rather shaky voice. She was upset, he could tell, but the truth was that her words had little meaning to him. None at all, in fact. He found himself relieved and rather thrilled that she hadn’t told him about a lover she’d left behind.

  All she seemed concerned with was the fact that he was inheriting some useless land when he married her. But he saw it quite differently. He saw it as inheriting her. Lies or not, intrigue or not, she had his attention and even though he’d barely spent any time with her, his instincts told him that he didn’t want to let her get away. Beauty aside, only a truly honest and true woman would have confessed to him what she’d just confessed. She was giving up the chance to save herself, and her family, because she felt truth was more important than her own well-being.

  To him, that was worth more than any inheritance.

  “Do you really think that I would send you back?” he asked, somewhat incredulous.

  Her head came up. “You…” she stammered. “Why wouldn’t you? I have just told you that there is no money. My father lied.”

  Tenner lifted his big shoulders. “Men lie all the time,” he said. “I am sure my father lied, too, when he told your father that I was the most eligible bachelor in England. I’m not, you know. So do not think your father was the only one who lied his way into this betrothal. I am sure my father did, too, thinking he was obtaining the great St. Lo heiress for me. So, in truth, the joke is on my father.”

  With that, he started to laugh, a truly melodic laugh that bubbled up from his toes,
low and sultry. Annalyla stared at him in astonishment, at the big, white teeth and the smile that dramatically changed his face. It only made him more handsome.

  “Then… then you are not angry?” she asked in surprise.

  He was still chuckling. “Of course not,” he said. Then, he sobered quickly. “Unless you wish to return home. Do you wish to return home? If you do, I’ll not keep you here. I’ll tell your father I refused the betrothal if you wish.”

  Annalyla was having difficulty believing none of this mattered to him. “None of this is of issue to you? The fact that I have only the clothes on my back and the semblance of the St. Lo good name?”

  He’d stopped laughing, only a smile lingering on his lips. “It matters not to me,” he said. “Does it matter to you?”

  She struggled for an answer. “I do not know what to say to that,” she said truthfully. “I have been wrestling with this deception for an entire year, knowing what was expected of me. I was resigned to going through with it until I met you and then… then I simply couldn’t deceive you so. If Mother Angel knew I’d told you the truth, she would box my ears.”

  His smile vanished. “She’ll not touch you,” he said. “I shall send her back to your father with a missive thanking him for entrusting his lovely daughter to me. And that is the only missive I shall send. You are going to marry me and we’ll worry no more of the St. Lo inheritance, or lack thereof. I will inherit Pelinom Castle when the time comes. I do not need any more wealth. But I do need a wife, and you will do nicely.”

  Annalyla was still astonished but, slowly, she was coming to realize he was serious. He wasn’t throwing fits, or worse, throwing her out on her ear. He was quite serious about what he was saying and the more she thought on it, the more overwhelmed she became. With a heavy sigh, she made her way over to the bed and sank onto it because there were no chairs in the room. She found that she had to sit and think about what had just happened.