The Redeeming: Book Three (Age of Faith)

by Tamara Leigh

Hating how perceptive Beatrix was, Gaenor weighed the risk of revealing her meetings with Sir Matthew. In the end, she said, “’Tis true, but naught can come of what I do not tell.”

  “Mayhap I can help.”

  “You cannot. Regardless of my own wishes, I shall soon wed Baron Lavonne.”

  Beatrix moved nearer. “Is there someone else? Another you would wed?”

  Gaenor startled and immediately tried to disguise her reaction with a shrug. “I did meet a knight at Wulfen, but I hardly know him well enough to wish marriage.”

  “How well do you know him?”

  “We…talked. In the chapel. That is where I met him.”

  Beatrix made a sound of surprise. “Surely you were not allowed to attend mass with the men?”

  “Of course not. I went only after they were done that I might have the chapel to myself.”

  “Then how—?”

  “He was there one day when I thought myself alone.”

  “When he should have been training pages and squires?”

  Gaenor shook her head. “He was not one of our brother’s men. He was a visiting knight.”

  “Truly? How long did he visit?”

  Beginning to wish she had not confided, Gaenor said, “More than a month, though I did not meet him until a fortnight past.”

  “For what purpose was he at Wulfen?”

  “Abel and Everard were training him.”

  “A knight?” Beatrix exclaimed. “A man who has already earned his spurs?”

  She should have said naught.

  As if sensing Gaenor’s unease, Beatrix said, “Of course, you are surely relieved to be returned to Stern Castle.”

  Gaenor lifted her goblet and sipped at the warm wine.

  “Wulfen Castle must have been t-t-” Beatrix’s search for the word caused Gaenor to wince. “It must have been tedious.”

  Gaenor lowered the goblet. “Do you forgive me, Beatrix?”

  “For what?”

  “For the ill words I spoke the day King Henry delivered his decree that a Wulfrith wed a Lavonne and it was determined that I would be the one? More, for what happened to you—what would not have happened had you not drawn the king’s men away from me and Sir Durand?”

  “Gaenor—”

  “I thought I would die when I saw you in the ravine and realized what you had sacrificed to save me.”

  Beatrix recaptured her sister’s hand. “There is naught to forgive. You were hurting when you said what you did and never would I fault you. As for what happened to me, had I to do it again, I would, for it gave me Michael.”

  Slowly, Gaenor’s tension eased. “God favors you, Beatrix. You must please Him mightily. If only I knew Him as you do, perhaps I might better face what lies in wait for me.”

  With soft eyes, Beatrix said, “You can know God as I do. You have but to let Him in.”

  “It is not so simple.”

  “’Tis far from simple, but still a-attainable.”

  Gaenor looked across the hall to the group that included their mother, Garr, and Everard—and from which Abel was conspicuously absent. She had not been surprised when he had not presented at Stern for the wedding, for it had surely been determined that one of the Wulfrith brothers remain at Wulfen Castle to oversee the training. Still, she was disappointed.

  A moment later, the one Gaenor sought joined the group. As Sir Durand had done at the chapel where Beatrix and Michael had exchanged vows, he brooded. Not that it surprised, for any remaining hope he might have had for claiming Beatrix as his own was stamped out by her marriage.

  Though Gaenor did not want to feel for him, she did, despite all that had happened between them. And remembrance of her sin made her wonder if it was possible to know God as Beatrix knew Him. Was such a relationship attainable?

  She sighed. “Attainable even when one has sinned greatly?”

  Beatrix considered her a long moment. “Whatever you have done, you have but to ask for forgiveness and it will be granted.”

  As guilt and embarrassment flushed Gaenor, the musicians once more began to play for the wedding guests. Hoping to lighten the mood, Gaenor quipped, “And if I ask Him to deliver me free of marriage to Baron Lavonne, will that also be granted?”

  “If it is in His will.”

  “Always His will, which means I shall wed Lavonne—unless the baron determines he does not want me. Which is possible.” And it was, though to seek such means of escaping marriage would bring great shame on her family. Gaenor rose, glanced at the gathering, then bent and kissed Beatrix’s brow. “God willing, I shall one day see through the eyes of love as you do, little sister.”

  “I am certain you shall.”

  “Now”—Gaenor summoned a smile—“I am going to dance at my sister’s wedding.”

  Though the knight who held out a hand to pull her amid the dancers was not as tall as she, he turned her about the floor with ease. And for some minutes, Gaenor lost herself in the music that played through her body and caused her feet to step lightly. Indeed, at one point she felt as if she were flying.

  It was then Sir Durand appeared. The household knight, being of lower rank, relinquished Gaenor before she could protest.

  Finding her hand and waist gripped by a man she had vowed to never again allow so near, Gaenor glared at him where he stood two inches shorter than she. “I do not wish to dance with you, Sir Durand.”

  His mouth was a severe line. “There is a matter of import we must needs discuss.”

  “Here?”

  “Elsewhere if you will allow it.” He turned her in time with the lively music.

  “I will not.”

  “Then here it must be.”

  He turned her again, and she realized he had worked her from the middle of the dance floor to the edge where it was less likely they would be overheard.

  “Do tell, that we might be done with this farce, Sir Durand.”

  “I would steal you away.”

  She stumbled, and only his hand on her waist prevented her from landing at his feet. “What?”

  “I would see you free of this marriage into which you are being forced.”

  “Why?”

  “You are being sacrificed.”

  As she had believed but had endeavored to disprove to herself.

  “I cannot bear it,” he said.

  This time, she did laugh. “Nay, Sir Durand, you cannot bear that my sister is wed to another. That you cannot bear. And now, when you find all is lost, you come to me resolved to contenting yourself with mere leavings.”

  His face hardened. “’Tis more than that.”

  “Then now that my sister is wed to Michael D’Arci, you realize you do have feelings for me. You do love me?”

  “That would be a lie, but I care—”

  “Care! Methinks I shall take my chances that my betrothed will come to care for me and that I will not suffer his anguish over a lost love.” At least, she prayed she would not suffer so, for it was true she knew little about the baron. All she knew of Christian Lavonne’s past was that he had been a monk previous to gaining his inheritance. Meaning, she hoped, he had not set his heart elsewhere.

  Sir Durand tightened his hold on her. “He is a Lavonne, Gaenor.”

  “That he is, but different from the others.” As she had been told numerous times—and longed to believe.

  “Nay, he is as deceptive and dangerous as his father and brothers whose blood runs through his veins.”

  “How do you know this?” she demanded as her skirts brushed against those of another lady. “You have not—”

  “But I have. Do you recall, I was at Broehne Castle during your sister’s trial.”

  “Even so—”

  “Listen to me. When your brother was summoned by Christian Lavonne ere the trial, I accompanied him.”

  The baron had summoned Garr? “Aye?”

  “Do you wish to know the bargain struck between them?”

  Again, her feet faltered.

  �
��In exchange for testimony of Beatrix’s innocence from the baron’s man—a knight who knew the truth of the one your sister was told to have murdered—Christian Lavonne demanded that your brother accede to the king’s decree and hand you over.”

  Like chattel.

  “Your brother agreed. For Beatrix.”

  Beloved Beatrix. Trying not to resent the sister she loved, Gaenor reasoned that Garr had been given little choice. Refuse and cost Beatrix her life? Or accept and cost Gaenor her happiness? Providing, of course, Sir Durand spoke true. And she prayed he did not for what it also told of Christian Lavonne. It did not fit that the man who was said to be honorable—different from his father and brothers—would bargain so. And with Beatrix’s life.

  Gaenor shook her head. “I do not believe you. Christian Lavonne saved my sister’s life and proved himself a man of—”

  “Proved himself?” Color seeped into Sir Durand’s cheeks. “By throwing a dagger that wounded his illegitimate brother, a man for whom he cares nothing, who stands against him? That is proving himself? Nay, Gaenor, you have been betrayed.” He stepped back, and only then did she realize they had ceased dancing.

  From where he had guided her away from the others, she stared at him.

  “Think on it,” he rasped, “and if you weary of being made to play the pawn and desire a life of your own choosing, I shall be at the sally port come midnight. Otherwise, I will not see you again, for I am bound for France.”

  Insides crawling with uncertainty, sorrow, pain, and anger, all of which she told herself she should not feel, Gaenor watched him go—a man who had offered comfort when she had believed Beatrix had died for her. For whom she had felt deeply. Who cared enough to deliver her from the obligation her family pressed on her, thereby breaking fealty with the Wulfriths as few dared to do.

  Realizing she was staring at the emptiness left by his departure and that it would draw attention, Gaenor composed her face and turned to those who stepped to the music. There was Beatrix and her Michael, faces reflecting the love they shared. Love that Gaenor desperately wanted to experience herself.

  Though she knew she should not do it, she could not help but ponder whether Sir Durand might come to feel something for her like what Michael felt for Beatrix. However, almost immediately, the memory of Sir Matthew returned, and she shivered as she recalled his kiss.

  He had felt for her, though to what extent she had not had the opportunity to explore. Of course, considering he had disappeared following her suggestion that he steal her away, his feelings could not have been very deep. Regardless, Sir Matthew was lost to her, just as Sir Durand would be lost to her on the morrow if she remained true to the family that had bargained her away.

  Anger tied a knot in Gaenor’s belly and, despite her attempt to loosen it, it knotted again. And again until she thought she might scream if she did not escape the joyous voices and peals of laughter.

  As she grabbed up her skirts and turned toward the stairs, her gaze fell upon Annyn who stood on the far side of the hall. The frown furrowing her lovely brow told that she had witnessed Gaenor’s dejection. Had she also seen the encounter with Sir Durand?

  Knowing that if she did not allay her sister-in-law’s concern, the woman would attempt to engage her, Gaenor forced a smile. Annyn’s frown eased, though not entirely.

  Longing for solitude but fearing an abrupt withdrawal would result in attention she could not bear, Gaenor forced herself to return to the dais.

  As she sat there, blindly observing the merriment that knew every corner save hers, one word turned through her again and again: midnight.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Gaenor is gone.”

  The anguish in his mother’s voice striking Garr ahead of her words, he looked up from the journal he had been poring over while awaiting Baron Lavonne’s arrival, tidings of which had been delivered a quarter hour past. “What do you mean, Mother?”

  Lady Isobel, accompanied by his wife, crossed the hall and ascended the dais. “When I went to her chamber to make her ready as you asked, I found it empty.”

  “You have looked in the garden?”

  “Aye. I even sent out servants to search the inner and outer baileys to see if she had taken herself to the falconry or stables, but she is not to be found. She is gone—has once more fled the marriage you press upon her.”

  How long gone? When Gaenor had not come belowstairs for the breaking of fast two hours past, he had thought little of it, for there had been many faces absent following the wedding feast that had lasted past the middling of night. At least two hours gone, then, likely more.

  Gathering a deep breath to calm his fear for his sister, Garr pushed back his chair and stood. “Where might she have gone?”

  His mother shook her head. “I do not know.”

  “Summon Sir Durand,” Annyn said. “Methinks he may know something of her disappearance.”

  “Why Durand?”

  “On the night past, I witnessed an exchange between him and your sister. Though I was too distant to hear what was said, both appeared disturbed by the encounter.”

  Annyn was too wise for Garr to not find merit in her observation. He motioned a man-at-arms forward who shortly hastened from the hall to search out Sir Durand, as well as Everard.

  Garr was not surprised when only his brother appeared amid preparations to arrest Gaenor’s flight. Though the blind might not know of Sir Durand’s feelings for Beatrix or his anguish over her marriage to Michael, all others knew. Only a few, however, were aware of Gaenor’s feelings for the knight who had delivered her safe to Wulfen Castle the first time she had fled Christian Lavonne.

  Months past, when Garr had arrived at Wulfen and found Sir Durand had been given charge of her, he had noted the way Gaenor looked at him and how her face flushed when the knight was near. He had not thought much on it, knowing Sir Durand could not return her feelings with his heart bound elsewhere, but now…

  What else was there to conclude but that Sir Durand, aware of Gaenor’s feelings and openly disaffected as he was with the Wulfriths’ decision to allow the marriage between her and Christian Lavonne, had forsaken his fealty and offered to aid in her escape?

  “What goes?” Everard asked as he strode across the hall. “Why is your man searching out Sir Durand?”

  “To confirm ‘twas he who took Gaenor from Stern.” Garr met his gaze over the bent head of his squire who adjusted his chain mail tunic.

  Everard’s stride faltered. “What?”

  “Leave us,” Garr ordered his squire. When the young man departed, Garr stepped before his brother. “It would appear Sir Durand has taken Gaenor.”

  “Abducted her?”

  “Methinks she went willingly, that she accepted his aid to once more flee Lavonne.”

  Everard grunted and thrust a hand over his shaved pate. “What hope can Durand have of secreting our sister when the king will soon enough set men after him and all of England will know what he has done?”

  “No hope, which is why he will take her to France where he has family.”

  Everard was silent for some moments, then said, “Mayhap we ought to let her go, Garr. She does not wish to wed Lavonne—”

  “And neither does Durand wish to wed her,” Garr spoke more harshly than intended. “We must bring her back, not only for her well-being, but our family’s. Too often I have pushed the king too far, and Henry will surely see this as yet another act of defiance. He will tolerate no more, Everard. You know it to be so.”

  Grudgingly, Everard nodded.

  “So we ride and bring her back ere more damage is done,” Garr continued, “ere Baron Lavonne—”

  “He has come, Garr. Even as I was summoned from the outer bailey, the baron rode upon Stern. Likely, he and Abel are now within the walls.”

  Though Garr allowed no words to pass his lips that would be displeasing to God, his tongue was tempted as it had not been in a long time. The plan to set after Gaenor and Sir Durand before the baron’s
arrival shattered, he said, “Then it seems they will be joining our search.”

  Everard caught his arm. “’Tis possible that when Lavonne learns what has passed,” he said slowly with the turning of his thoughts, “he will defy the king’s decree and forsake a union with our family. After all, twice now our sister has run from him, and this time with a man who was not given charge over her by our family.”

  Aye, though Sir Durand had been her escort all those months past, it was Lady Isobel who had set him the task of seeing her daughter safe to Wulfen Castle. This was different. The knight had defiantly spirited her away. Thus, what else was there for Christian Lavonne to conclude than that Sir Durand and Gaenor were lovers?

  Garr ground his teeth. “The baron can certainly make a case for rejecting her. And ‘tis possible King Henry will concede, as a man can only be expected to tolerate such behavior so many times before being released from his obligation. Unfortunately, if he refuses Gaenor, the king will extract some price for finding himself once more thwarted. It would not surprise me if he punishes our sister by wedding her to some wretched old man who will make misery of her days.”

  Frustration flickered in Everard’s eyes. “Then mayhap we should allow her to escape to France.”

  Garr stared at his stalwart brother who others mistook to be lacking in feelings. However, behind his composed face were emotions that writhed with concern for their sister.

  “Do you think better on it, Everard, you will realize this is the only course for the Wulfriths, for all will go worse for Gaenor if the king captures her. Even if she makes it to France, Henry has allies there who will do his bidding.”

  Everard sighed. “Then we must bring her back.”

  “And pray the baron will yet wed her.” Garr settled his shoulders beneath the mail. “Let us go meet Lavonne.”

  “Garr? Everard?” their mother called from the lowermost stair. Guessing she had heard their conversation, Garr said, “Do not fear, Mother, we will find her.”

  “I know.” She stepped down into the hall. “I just pray you will not be too angry with her. She—”

  “I shall endeavor to be fair,” Garr said. Then, remembering Beatrix and her new husband were yet abed, he added, “I would not have this unfortunate event mar Beatrix and Michael’s first day of marriage. Speak naught of it and, if they ask, tell that Everard and I have been called to Wulfen.”