by Jacobs Delle
She had taken him with her? A strange pain jabbed through Leonie’s head, like a stroke of lightning. The truth returned. “Nay, Aunt, I was alone.”
“Lord Geoffrey, have you questioned the boy?”
“I have, Sire,” Uncle Geoffrey replied. “And his parents. Though he did leave to go with Leonie, he can say nothing further, not even so much as a nod one way or another. Nor can I find anyone who saw them together. But we must say, something terrified him.”
“Bring the boy to me anyway. Haps I can find another way to question him. If not, then mayhap we can learn something from him later. But we have not the time to wait, with the trouble on the border. Philippe, how is it you took so much time returning from Chauncy’s castle?”
“The road is washed out in places, Sire.”
“May I speak, Sire?” Claire stepped forward, gulping.
The king nodded.
“Philippe le Peregrine says he found my cousin beneath the big oak tree near the path through the woods. It is obscured but can be seen. I myself searched that place, for I know her favorite places in the forest. How could he have found her there?”
“Philippe?”
“I know not, Sire, only that’s where she was. Haps she was returned to that spot.”
“You have no other defense?”
“Only that I tell the truth and stand upon my honor. I would never willingly or knowingly harm this girl. She remembers wrongly.”
The king rubbed his beard as he frowned. “A knock to the head is known to cause such a thing.”
“You do not believe me, Sire?” Leonie asked.
“I believe you do not lie, Lady Leonie. But I myself must vouch for my knight, whom I have trusted above all others. There are two things he cannot do. He cannot be disloyal, and he cannot harm a woman. So, ’tis a great puzzle.”
From the door to the hall, a commotion drew everyone’s attention, and Leonie turned to see Sigge, wide-eyed and stiff, being brought into the king’s presence. Her heart lurched to see her favorite child so frightened.
“Bring him,” Rufus said.
Quickly, Sigge stood before the King of England, visibly gulping.
“Do you know how to behave before your king?” Rufus asked with a frown that would intimidate the bravest of knights.
Sigge dropped to his knees and bowed his head, but his eyes rolled upward as if expecting a blow.
“Well, I see your intelligence has not abandoned you, then.” Rufus steepled his hands, placing them right at his lips. “Rise, boy—Sigge, is it not?” As soon as Sigge was on his feet, Rufus nodded his approval. “Now, tell me, boy, is there a person in this room, other than your family, of whom you are particularly fond?”
The boy glanced at Leonie, and his mouth opened, but then it seemed to lock in place.
“Point, then,” the King said.
Sigge pointed at Leonie, then looked anxiously back at the king.
“Then,” said Rufus, “is there anyone in this hall who frightens you?”
Sigge’s eyes grew wider, if that were possible. He nodded his head and his shoulders hunched.
“Point.”
The shoulders hunched more.
“You must answer truthfully, boy. No one will harm you for it.”
Sigge’s left hand rose very slowly and pointed to the king. A low murmur of chuckles passed through the people in the hall.
Rufus’s reddish brows peaked above his eyes, and, nose rising high, he looked solemnly down at Sigge. “Afraid of your king, then? A smart lad. But not very afraid, am I right? You would come to your king’s defense if you should ever be needed?”
Sigge straightened, surprised. He nodded vigorously.
“Good, good. Now, what about others? Do you fear anyone else present?”
The boy swiveled his head, studying everyone in the room. He shook his head.
“No one? Well then, you may go.” Rufus gestured to Sigge’s father, who then escorted the boy from the hall.
The king tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair, the only sound echoing through the long hall. Then he stood and paced along the edge of the dais, then back to the chair draped in his royal robes.
“There is another truth. Whatever has happened, the lady has been despoiled.”
“Nay, Sire!” Nay, she knew that was not true.
“But you remember nothing after you lost consciousness. It may not be so, but the attack itself taints your honor. Who would marry you now? There can be only one answer. Philippe le Peregrine, you must marry the lady.”
With a gasp, Aunt Beatrice swooned, and Geoffrey caught her.
“Nay, Sire!” Leonie gasped, backing away. “You would marry me to the man who means to murder me?”
“He will not. Though you marry and become his chattel, you will remain always under my protection.”
“Sire! You gave me your word!” shouted Philippe.
Leonie lunged toward the king and threw herself at his feet. “Sire, I beg you, not this man. Any other. Let me take the veil, for I cannot bear to look upon such a vile man.”
Rufus shook his head as if he pitied her. “I cannot, girl. You are an heiress, with a line of noble blood. Much is required of you.”
“If it is my land he wants, then give it to him! Reward him for his evil deeds, but do not punish me for them.”
“I do not punish you, Lady Leonie, and I cannot give away what is yours. It would set a dangerous and evil precedent. Nay, I command you to obey.”
As Leonie stood, numbed and stunned, Rufus called to the hall. “There must be a wedding, and it must be today. We can blame that on the trouble on the border, but we have no time to waste, for Castle Bosewood is like a hole in a wine mazer that lets the wine splatter onto the table. All of England is not secure if the Peregrine does not go immediately to plug that hole. Lord Geoffrey, see to your womenfolk and prepare your castle. Philippe, you will walk with me in the bailey.”
Leonie felt frozen, jaw agape. Was this the king’s justice? Was she no more to him than chattel to be sold with her land?
“Come, Leonie,” Claire said, taking her arm. “It will be all right. Perhaps Papa will let me go with you for a while. Let’s dress you in your yellow kirtle with the green cotehardie.”
Her mind raced so fast it made her aching head hurt even more. To spend her life with such a man? If he even let her live? Once they were married, the king would not notice her complaints. Yet if she did not—but nay, there was no “do not.” The king would force the wedding if she did not agree. A man would be set behind her to make her head nod if she would not assent on her own.
She hurried up the steps to the ladies’ chamber, desperate to escape the stifling hall. Claire sped along beside her, with Uncle Geoffrey and old Ealga helping her shaken aunt up the stairs behind them.
If she could just get away—but to where? If only she could find the Summer Land. She knew her mother had to be alive, no matter what others said, and that was where she must be.
“If ’tis meant for ye to find the Summer Land, ye start walking and keep on going.” It was Ealga who had told her those little snippets of her mysterious heritage, things Ealga herself had never seen.
“If ’tis meant to be, ye will find it. I cannot, but haps ye can, for ye have some of the blood.”
But what if she didn’t find it? Ealga had also reminded her she was but a halfling, and the Faeriekind did not see her as one of their own.
There was Scotland. It was far away, but if she could just find out where the Scottish king was now, she could throw herself on his mercy. She would promise him her lands if he would give her safe harbor. It was well known Malcolm possessed much land south of the border, promised to him by the many rebels and Saxons who had sought refuge from the Normans. Good enough reason to be disputing the border, so she had heard.
She was only half Norman. Leonie cared no more for Rufus’s crown and Norman glory than those who had fled his father and crossed the border. Especially not now.
She looked about at those she loved, her aunt, uncle, cousin, and dear, crotchety old Ealga. If she escaped, she would have to do it without help. They must be entirely blameless when she left so they could not be accused of disobeying the king.
So be it, then. And if she were caught, she would not go to her fate with shame.
As she had done many times in her life, she put a false smile on her face. “Come, do not make so much over it,” she said. “If there must be a wedding, then there is much to do. Go, Uncle and Aunt. Let it be done on the steps of the church in the village. Our chapel is too small. Go now, all of you.”
“But we’ll need to help you dress,” said Claire.
“Nay, hurry to the church. I’ll manage myself.”
Rufus’s eyes glowed fiercely as he turned and strode for the door. Philippe’s anger seethed as ferociously, but he knew he’d better follow. Everyone in the bailey scurried away, even before Rufus swept his hand through the air to command them to leave. Almost in the very center of the bailey, with everyone else as far away as they could be, Rufus stopped and whirled on Philippe.
“I know what you mean to say, Philippe. You are not guilty of this and I do believe you. But this is the only solution.”
“She lies.”
“It does not matter. Whatever you may think of the girl, she did not violate herself, so her accusation stands. The situation is volatile and Geoffrey is furious. You can see he wants to challenge you. But he is getting old and could not win a combat even with God on his side.”
“He has other knights to take his place. Gerard thinks the lady is beyond doing any wrong.”
“Then likely I would lose two good knights, and I need both of you.”
“Marry her to Gerard and give him Bosewood.”
“He hasn’t the wiliness. I chose you for Bosewood, and it will be lawfully yours if you marry its heiress. These northerners are a feisty lot, all but Scots themselves. They supported Theobald only because he married Herzeloyde, who was Saxon like them, and they will not contest you if you marry her daughter.”
The king’s betrayal seeped through Philippe, roiling his blood. He’d been a fool to believe Rufus would honor his promise. “Then you planned this all along.”
Rufus’s nostrils flared as his eyes widened, and his words became more carefully measured. “You were always the only choice I could make, but I did not see until now what must be done. You would wish to defend your honor, Philippe, but I wish to defend my kingdom. In the balance, the kingdom must come first.”
“You throw away my life.” Involuntarily, Philippe took a step back, stunned by his own defiance. Yet his anger surged in spite of himself.
“Do not think yourself above a king, Philippe,” Rufus pronounced, low and soft, with a measured fury he rarely used. “You are not a free man. You are my vassal and are bound to my choice, whatever it might be. Not even I am so free as to follow my whims.”
Fiercely, Philippe fought to contain his rage. All he had believed in, all his honor, everything, Rufus was destroying. To Rufus, it was as nothing.
But Rufus didn’t know the real truth, and Philippe dared not tell him. Rufus was right: they were all pawns to necessity.
“Do you defy me?” Rufus demanded.
Philippe sucked in a heavy breath. He did not. Never would he betray his oath, no matter what his king did. He shut his eyes. “Nay, Sire. I am yours to command.”
“Then kneel before your king, sir knight.”
Philippe’s blood throbbed in his veins. But he was honor bound, and that loyalty he owed at the cost of his life. He knelt on the stone, as cold as the anger in his heart. He bowed his head.
“Philippe le Peregrine, you shall marry the heiress Leonie of Bosewood, and take the castle of Bosewood as your fief held in my name. You shall defend it with your life and your strength. And on forfeit of your honor and your life, you will protect your wife, Leonie, with all your strength and courage, holding her life dearer than your own.”
“I do so swear, Sire.”
“Then rise and go to find the bride and bring her to the church steps for the wedding.”
Rufus sighed as his knight backed the proper distance, then turned and walked away. Something almost like despair plummeted from his heart to his stomach. It was the look of betrayal in his knight’s eyes that pained him most. The Peregrine would do as his king commanded, aye. But gone from his heart was the honor and trust that Rufus had treasured, and now had been obligated to throw away.
Rufus sighed. A king must have no heart. A king must have no friends.
The shadow on the stone wall beside Rufus shifted. Rufus drew his mouth thin. “Well, old woman, I hope you are satisfied.”
The old woman in her rags formed from the mists, her image rippling like water in a pond when a stone is cast into it, then stilled as she took shape. “I am, Red King.”
“I know it must be. Still, I hope they may find happiness.”
“It will be what they make of it.”
“Did you plan this?”
“I cannot foretell or make the future any more than you.”
“Was it foreordained, then?”
“Nothing is foreordained, save death.”
Rufus frowned. “But you said—”
“That you would find the opportunity? Aye. I know you, Red King. You will always find opportunity when you need it.”
Her ragged laugh seemed to crack. The shadow shifted again.
“Wait! What about Malcolm? Where is the Scottish king? You told me—”
The shape that had been an old, haggard female shimmered as it came before the wall, then thinned. Rufus saw only shadows.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FROM THE DARKNESS of the woods, Leonie glanced back at the castle and saw no great horde of men surging down the hill after her. So far, so good. The castle had been buzzing with the excitement of an unplanned wedding, and no one had even noticed that the bride had chosen to absent herself. She had walked brazenly out the postern gate, her bow and quiver slung over her shoulder, and wearing a second cloak beneath her usual one, her large gathering basket slung over her arm.
“Flowers,” she’d said, smiling, and the guard had smiled back benevolently. He hadn’t even bothered to notice the basket was full of things no maiden would ever need in gathering flowers for her wedding.
But she had no time to waste. Leonie wrapped the food and supplies she’d brought in her inner cloak and tied its corners around her waist, then tossed the now useless basket. They’d know she would take the path, so she raced along it, making no attempt to hide her trail.
She crossed the beck and made a show of entering the far side woods. But she knew how to leave a trail and how not to. Quickly, her tracks vanished onto rock.
Behind her, something crackled, and she crouched and froze, her eyes searching the forest from behind the dense undergrowth, her heart racing. A doe and her nearly grown fawn moved cautiously through the brush. When Leonie stood again, they vanished in a flurry of rustling leaves.
She returned to the beck and walked along the bank where it was stony, and entered the water whenever necessary to avoid leaving tracks in mud or sand. She would regret her wet shoes and hose later in the night, but she could not afford any damage to her feet.
Where the beck turned to the east, she waded again until she reached a low waterfall. She had hoped for better luck, that the beck would take her farther north and east, for she had a long way to go before she reached Scotland.
Or, by chance, the Summer Land. And her mother. Perhaps her mother would at last take pity on her, for like her mother, she, too, had to escape a brutal man.
Why Herzeloyde had abandoned her daughter to be raised by mankind, Leonie didn’t know. People often talked of the Fae as they did dragons, water horses, and the like, as if they knew of them yet did not quite believe they existed. They were not like men, she knew. But something in her heart remembered her mother’s love, if not her face.
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Yet how could any woman leave her baby daughter behind?
Leonie shook her head. Such thoughts were useless. If she didn’t hurry, her escape would be fruitless. She was Rufus’s ward, and he was not a king who brooked disobedience. His wrath would fall hard on her.
The beck tumbled over a jumble of boulders no higher than she was tall, and she climbed around it swiftly. She was hungry, but she could keep going, thanks to the Faerie sight that let her see through darkness better than a cat. Few men could follow her this night in the darkness of the new moon. She would gain many a mile while the Norman knights waited for dawn.
Except that they had horses.
Leonie shivered, noting the wind was picking up and turning chilly as the sun faded behind the horizon. She hoped the night did not turn cloudy, or she would have no stars to guide her. She tightened the knots that held the cloak full of her few possessions and fingered the knife at her waist cord. Now she headed away from the beck, bearing north into tall, rugged hills.
Clouds were coming in, as surely as the sun was setting. Darkness moved upon her rapidly. The terrain grew steeper and rockier, the forest denser.
Darker. She should be able to see better than this, for the ground at her feet was becoming greyer, indistinct, as if it faded into oblivion.
At the top of the hill, Leonie reached a stony outcrop and turned around to survey the valley behind her. Only a dim band of light separated the far horizon from the starless sky, and everything was dark below. She could see nothing but darkness. She turned back. The trees beyond the outcrop were barely visible, like dark lines against black. Something was wrong. Fear pounded in her veins. She could not see where she was. That pale sort of glow that had always illuminated her way in the dark—that secret advantage that ordinary people didn’t have—
It was gone.
The darkness pressed down on her like a smothering blanket. It was like the inside of Hell, with its fires gone out.
She was lost.