by Tamara Leigh
“Father,” he breathed, and jerked when the old man’s lids flickered and eyes opened to narrow slits.
After a long moment, the twisted and puckered flesh around Aldous Lavonne’s mouth moved. “My…son.”
The unexpected acknowledgment—not only unexpected because the words were spoken by a man he had believed was beyond this world, but that they were spoken by the father who had too many times denied him—made Christian swallow hard.
“My lord?” D’Arci said.
Christian looked to the man who had halted several feet behind him. “Hold a moment,” he said and dropped to his haunches beside Aldous. “I am here, Father.”
The old man drew a wheezing breath. “And prepared to gloat.”
Feeling a burn against the backs of his eyes, Christian momentarily wondered how many years it was since he had last shed tears. He shook his head. “I see naught over which to gloat.”
Aldous’s chin tremored side to side as if it was as near as he could come to shaking his head. “Then you are a fool.”
No sooner did anger pry at Christian’s self-control than his father’s chest gave an almost metallic rattle. “After what I did…you have earned the right to gloat.”
Anger ebbing in the face of disbelief over what his words might mean, Christian leaned nearer. “You should know that is not who I am, for ‘twas by your hand I was groomed and wed to the Church.”
Aldous’s lids slowly lowered, but just when Christian feared his father’s end was upon him, the old man murmured, “And now God has righted my wrong.”
They were words Christian had thought never to hear. He stared at the ruined face amid the blankets. What had happened to bring his father around, he who had struck out at his youngest son by allowing Robert to steal him from Broehne? Why this now? Was it all these weeks of absence? The final breath of life drawing near? Or was it someone?
Christian glanced at the healer, and only then did the sounds that bounded around the cave reach him. He had not heard metal striking metal, but as he saw Abel return his sword to its scabbard, he knew the blade’s keen edge was responsible for severing the chain that bound the two who had been left here to die.
Christian looked back at his sire and saw his eyes remained closed. “I thank you, Father.”
Aldous made a sound low in his throat, then breathed, “What now?”
“Now you go home to Broehne.”
Christian motioned D’Arci forward.
It was only minutes before the physician confirmed what his son already knew—if Aldous Lavonne survived the ride to Broehne, he would not long enjoy the comforts of his bed.
“We must maintain a gentle pace,” D’Arci said.
Christian inclined his head and slid his arms beneath his father. As he lifted him against his chest, he ached for the weight that seemed more covering than man.
Pray, Lord, let our journey be swift and uneventful that he might see home again ere he passes.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
“Why have we stopped?”
Durand’s back stiffened, then broadened with a long breath. He shifted around in the saddle and met Gaenor’s gaze. “They ride.”
Feeling a stab to the heart, she glanced past him but saw no evidence of Christian and his men. “How do you know?”
“The brigands’ camp was in that direction.” He nodded toward the wood ahead that was more dense than any they had passed. “The road to Soaring lies there.” He jutted his chin to the left. “Behind us is Broehne. Regardless of your husband’s destination, he must needs leave the trees to make good time. Thus, he will pass this way, and if ‘tis not Soaring he seeks, we shall soon enough turn him that way.”
That would be difficult, for Christian would hardly be receptive to the word of a man who, it would appear, had not only stolen his betrothed but now his wife. “What if he has already passed and we have missed him?”
“’Tis possible, but considering the number of caves in this area and that he will surely be tracking the brigands, it is more likely he and his men are still in the wood.”
Gaenor nodded. “And so we wait.”
“Wait and pray.”
She startled, and he nearly smiled. “You do not think I pray?”
She shook her head. “Forgive me, but I did not expect it.”
He sighed. “I have given you cause for that. Thus, I must ask, is all well between you and your husband?” His gaze flickered. “He surely knows that…”
Though memories of their shared intimacy had dimmed to near dark, Gaenor felt heat in her cheeks. “He knows.”
“And wishes me dead.”
“I fear he might.”
He looked away, and it was some moments before he spoke again. “I would not have compromised you again, Gaenor, but I saw no other way to quickly gain your husband’s ear that we might save Beatrix.”
Always Beatrix. Strange that Durand’s feelings for her sister did not make her ache as once they had. But then, Gaenor’s heart was no longer engaged to this man. “Still you love her,” she said softly.
After a long moment, he said, “I wish it were not so that I might be long gone from England, but ‘tis true I love her and ever will.”
The futility of his feelings for one wed to another not only in word but in heart, caused emotion to fill Gaenor’s throat. Not so long ago, she had been as hopeless, and now…
Now she had hope, and perhaps something more—providing Christian did not condemn her for acceding to Durand’s plan. “I am certain my sister would not wish to chain you so,” she offered.
“And yet she does.”
Unexpected tears sprang to her eyes, causing Durand to startle. “Pray, forgive me. I do not mean to pain you with my foolish confession, nor would I have you think I do not care for you. ‘Tis just that…”
She curled her fingers into her palms to keep from smoothing the stricken lines from his face. “You misunderstand me, Sir Durand. There was a time when your words would have hurt deeply, but it is my husband who now possesses my heart. What I feel for you…” She shook her head. “I ache for all you have lost.”
A sharp laugh pushed past his lips. “Pity, then.”
She could not lie. “I do feel for your plight.”
Resentment flashed in his eyes, only to be replaced by something weary that matched the sinking of his shoulders. “’Tis my due. All I can hope for now is a measure of redemption.”
“How do you mean?”
“I would make my peace with the Wulfriths and your husband if they will allow it—” He snapped his head around.
And Gaenor knew, though it was yet some moments before she also heard the beat of hooves over summer earth. The steady, almost rhythmic sound was not the fierce pounding of pursuit she had expected. Still, she did not doubt it was Christian and his men. “He comes,” she breathed.
The slight breeze delivered Durand’s next words to her. “Do not fear.”
Did she? Aye, for what her husband would believe of her. But more, she feared for Beatrix. As much as she loved Christian, she could easier face his accusation of betrayal than any ill that might befall her sister had she refused to aid Durand. She would just have to pray that, given time, her marriage could be salvaged.
“There!” Sir Durand shouted.
The glint of chain mail worn by the riders first caught Gaenor’s eye. Then, despite the great distance, she picked out Christian. She knew him not only by his position at the fore, but his size and the color of his hair. And, as guessed, the riders’ advance was almost leisurely. Why?
“And there!” Durand peered over his shoulder and past her.
She looked around and saw what his keen senses had landed upon—more riders, likely sent from Broehne to not only bring Gaenor’s abductor and Sir Hector’s attacker to ground but to alert their lord of the breach.
Dear Lord, be with us all.
The lone rider who held his mount unmoving ahead did not raise an alarm nearly as potent as the half
dozen riders farther out. Brigands?
Christian threw a hand up to halt the progress of his men whose impatience he had felt this past quarter hour. Unfortunately, with his father expiring in his arms, the relatively sedate pace was necessary.
As he reined in his destrier, he looked down at the pitifully bundled figure he supported on the fore of his saddle. Aldous’s eyes were closed, but his lips moved slightly in what Christian hoped was prayer.
“It may be a trap,” Abel said, drawing alongside.
Christian looked around and briefly acknowledged Helene who had gained the Wulfrith knight’s arms about her. She was awake, eyes large in her pale face as she stared at the riders ahead. “It may, indeed,” Christian said and motioned his squire and a man-at-arms forward.
“My lord,” they said in unison.
“I am giving my father and the healer into your care. Do not fail me.”
Helene went onto his squire’s horse easily enough, but Aldous’s transfer was awkward and likely painful though the old man made no sound.
“Look!” Abel commanded.
The lone rider had put heels to his horse and was advancing on them, while behind the mass of riders steadily drew near.
“Let us go meet them.” Christian gave his destrier its head.
Abel and his men followed, but it was only moments before the lone rider once more halted and a previously unseen figure dismounted from behind. The skirts showed his companion was a woman, her lofty stature that she was no stranger.
Christian slammed his gaze to the man who remained astride as the woman walked forward. Who was the bearded knave? And what was he doing with another man’s wife?
“’Tis Gaenor!” Abel shouted.
Christian slammed his gaze to the riders in the distance. A moment later, he made out the colors of the barony of Abingdale. They were his men, and they surely gave chase.
A hundred yards from Gaenor, Christian once more halted his men.
Gaenor also checked her advance, and he saw her posture square and shoulders rise as if with a strengthening breath.
The scene was painfully familiar, hurtling Christian back to the day she had come out of the wood to yield to an unwanted marriage.
“It is Sir Durand,” Abel growled.
Christian knew he should not be surprised, but he was. And the pain of his surprise tempted him to search out the knife wound out of which his life must surely bleed. Gaenor had betrayed him again, and after all the soft words and kisses and feelings they had shared—he thought they had shared.
“I will kill him if you do not,” Abel said. “Indeed, I pray you will give me leave to make a quick end of him.”
Once more, Christian considered the men who had come after the adulterous couple and clenched his jaws in an attempt to control the rage that might see the ground run red. “She is my wife,” he strangled. “I will deal with him—and her.”
Abel’s hand fell to Christian’s arm. “I do not condone what she has done, but lest you forget, she is my sister.”
Christian pulled free. “I will raise no hand to her, but that does not mean all is well between us. Far from it.”
Abel inclined his head. “I am not such a fool to believe otherwise.”
Christian returned his attention to his wife who awaited him with hands clasped at her waist.
Lord, I thought You had blessed me, and now… Is there naught true for me to build my life upon? Am I ever to be betrayed? To know no peace? I have loved her—aye, loved her, even if only in thought and deed.
Christian drew his sword and met Abel’s gaze. “Remain here.”
Abel narrowed his eyes. “Do not forget what I have told.”
Christian urged his destrier forward, and his advance had the effect of causing Sir Durand to draw his own sword—and the riders beyond him to rein in to await their lord’s instructions.
Noting it was Sir Hector who led them, Christian returned his attention to Gaenor. He did not rush on her, though he was tempted to do so that he might all the sooner put distance between her and the man to whom she had given herself. Rather, he advanced at a measured pace and used the time to consider the situation and better prepare for the reunion.
For what reason had Gaenor dismounted and shown herself? Defiance, abject though it surely was now that she found herself surrounded? To beg mercy for a man who suffered no qualms at allowing her to place herself between him and her husband’s wrath? What if her menses were not soon in coming as she had told? What if even now she bore—?
What if all is not as it appears? What if you wrongly condemn her? What if she does love you as you have felt she might?
The thoughts slipped in, and his pride, railing at once more being made a fool, sought to trample them. But they would not be ground into dust, strengthened as they were by the hope he feared to feel.
Lord, I have struggled to regain Your favor, sat my knees and bowed my head alongside this woman. Tell me it was not in vain—that the prayers that passed my lips were constant with those that passed hers.
Despite the silent beseeching that flowed out of hope, outraged pride continued to grip him, and he knew it showed when he halted his destrier and looked into Gaenor’s upturned face. “Wife.”
Her gaze did not waver. “Aye, wife—now and evermore.”
He narrowed his lids.
She raised her chin higher. “You believe I have betrayed you.”
“If not betrayal, what?”
After a long moment, during which her eyes moistened, she said, “Love.”
Christian felt the imagined knife sink deeper. Jaw gripping so tight he thought the bones might crack, he said between his teeth, “You love Sir Durand.”
“Nay, ‘tis my sister I love—and you, though you refuse to see it. But you will see it if you lower your sword and allow me to explain why I am here.”
“What is there to explain? Once more, you have chosen him over me.” He jutted his chin at the man who hardly looked a knight, unshaven and bedraggled as Sir Durand was.
“I have not. I but agreed to accompany him that we might convince you and your men to turn toward Castle Soaring.”
Christian blinked. “What fantastic tale is this?”
Knowing the minutes that ought to be carrying them toward her sister were fast slipping away, Gaenor fought back her own feelings of betrayal, stepped forward, and spread a hand upon Christian’s thigh. “’Tis, indeed, fantastic, but not as you think, and there is not much time for the telling.” Relieved that he did not shirk her touch, she peered over her shoulder. “Do you not recognize the horse upon which Sir Durand sits?”
His gaze shot past her and, for a moment, no recognition shined in them. Then he frowned.
“Aye, ’tis your brother’s, taken from his camp on the day past after Sir Durand freed Sir Mark.”
Christian looked back at her.
She nodded. “The same who sent word of the location of the brigands’ camp weeks past. He has been following and keeping watch over them.”
“Why?”
“He feared for Beatrix, and with good reason. Your brother seeks to scale Soaring’s walls and work revenge upon my sister. For that, and not me, Sir Durand stole into Broehne and overpowered Sir Hector—that he might gain my aid in convincing you to ride on Soaring.” She stepped nearer and moved her hand from his thigh to his white-knuckled fist. “Pray, believe me and delay no more.”
The tension in his jaw eased slightly, and for that she was unprepared for his next words. “Does it pain you that ‘twas not for you that Durand stole into Broehne?”
She pressed her lips against a gasp and, with great ache, removed her hand from him. “The only pain I feel is pain of fear for my sister and pain of love for a man who thinks so ill of me he would ask such a question, especially after all I have told.”
His jaw loosened further. “You say you love me, Gaenor?”
The ugly beast of pride moved through her, urging her to declare that his disbelief
had undone those feelings, but she could not. Still, there was no quieting the anger with which her pride would have to make do.
Fighting off tears she longed to spill, she said, “Will you or will you not ride to my sister’s aid?”
Something—was it regret?—flashed in his eyes, and a moment later he sheathed his sword, opened his fist, and reached to her. “Come up in front of me.”
The longing to give her hand into his was so great that she had to dig her nails into her palms to hold from doing so. “What of my sister?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I will send my father on to Broehne and turn my men toward Soaring as you ask.”
Gaenor had guessed that the bundle she had seen Christian hand off to a man-at-arms was the old baron. “Your father lives?”
“He does.”
It took every bit of her fortitude to not retreat. She had not wished the vengeful Aldous Lavonne dead, but the reality that the one who had worked such ill upon the Wulfriths would share the roof beneath which she dwelt was almost too much to bear. As difficult as it had been to find acceptance at Broehne, it would be nothing compared to what awaited her when the old man and his fomenting hatred once more resided within the castle walls.
“Robert left him to die,” Christian said.
As Durand had told.
“Gaenor,” Christian said sharply, “you have naught to fear.”
Only then did she realize how fast her breath came, causing her shoulders to heave as if she had run many leagues.
Christian reached his hand nearer. “Though, methinks, he knows his error, my father is not much longer for this life.”
She could not help but grasp at the comfort of knowing that no matter what Aldous made her suffer, it would not be for long. She drew a trembling breath. “Still, Robert will do his bidding.”
“And for that we must delay no more. Come.”