“Get these wagons out of sight. I’ll see to my father and his guard.”
One single, long high trill and Ann appeared with eyes wide.
“Quickly into the tunnel. Get the rest of the house maidens with you.”
She nodded, lifted her skirts, and ran off with Sally on her tail. Thank God she’d learned some obedience in the last few months. With irritation, he realized that some women stayed at their wall posts.
He shouted to the priests running across the field, “John, see to the women. All of them. James, here with me.”
Bart and James swatted the horses’ rumps and gave a shoulder to the cart to get the wheels rolling. The stable lad, Charles, sat in the seat and raced the wagons south toward the river bridge. He was barely out of sight when mounted chargers galloped straight across the green, sod flying.
He and James waited with their swords drawn at the door of the manor. His riders surrounded the invaders. Above, more arrows than he had trained archers aimed low. It looked damned impressive from this angle.
The earl’s knights, covered in mail, gripped their weapons. Several kept their visors down.
Almost bursting out laughing upon seeing his father’s shocked face, Marcus raised his arms widely and shouted above the din, “I know most of you by your Christian names. I’d have peace. Stand down.”
His father’s first in command raised his right arm high into the air, helms raised, and his men went more at ease. However, his father dismounted with hand fisted over sword’s hilt as he approached the door.
Damn the arrogance. He wouldn’t bow to the bastard that sired him. Instead, he extended his arm as an equal. “How unexpected. You come to my estate with weapons drawn?”
“How undiplomatic. I’ve come to see you safely to the fair and you greet me like a thief in the night. I’ve a vested interest in your accounts and, of course, I wonder of your success with your murderess wife. Is she here, or did you dispose of her already?” With the eyes of a falcon, he glanced down at the deep wagon tracks in the grass.
Interesting. Anthony had guarded his tongue well, for his father knew naught that the land no longer belonged to him. Marcus let loose his most dangerous smile. Knights shifted in their saddles and several of the horses in the square whinnied and stomped. All in this entourage knew how the grin did not bode well. He gestured with arms wide toward the building and then up at the countless arrows, pointing down from above.
“Why not come into my hall, and sit and eat. We can discuss my last moons here in the Green Meadows.”
His father’s eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t we be on our way to protect your wares?”
“As I’m sure you noticed, I’ve already sent the wagons. Hours ago, in fact. We can catch up later.”
Face growing almost as red as his beard, his father turned on his heel and signaled to his men with sword high. “Well, it seems you don’t need us, after all. We’ll take our leave.”
Marcus braced his legs, separated sword from sheath, and pointed. “I rather must insist that you stay put. Tell your men to stand down or mayhap there’ll be a most unfortunate accident at our estates. Sadly, Edward may hear how the earl did not survive.”
“You wouldn’t dare. The king would have you beheaded.” His heavy jowls shook with rage and his long mustache jumped up and down.
The man at the lead of his father’s entourage lost patience and drew his sword. An arrow from above skimmed the man’s neck, helms thunked closed, and horses inched forward.”
“Halt! All!” Marcus glared up at his manor, wondering who’d almost started a war. He then turned back to face his father. “The king and I have an understanding. Much better than the one that binds me to you. Come into my manor and sit by the fire. I’ll feed you all while you rest. You shall not freely steal of my lands or my goods. Bind him.”
Shaking, Bart pulled a leather string from around his waist. He pulled the earl’s hands together, bound his wrists, and spit on leather to make it hold. The boy began to utter a protest, but Marcus cast him a stern glare. “Nobility without honor deserves no respect, not even from a squire.”
Sheathing his sword, Marcus slowly retracted a long, thin curved blade from his frog. He put the point to his father’s torso. “Tell your men to dismount and stand down. I learned of many interesting weapons during my long stay in the East. This one can pierce through mail. You wouldn’t want me to put it to the test, I assure you.”
Without waiting for the order, his father’s guard dismounted and weapons were tossed to the ground.
“These lands art mine by law. Thou art still my vassal.” The earl tried to elbow the knife away from his chest.
Marcus dug the tip through both mail and padding and moved his father into the hall. Dragging out two chairs, he said, “You see, after you sent me away, and before I wed, I spent some time with my good friend Edward. Sit please, while I explain.”
“You ungrateful whelp. You can’t steal these lands from me. They’ve been in my family for centuries.” He landed on the chair with a mighty thump and pulled at his beard with bound hands.
Marcus leaned forward until they were eye to eye. “And so they will continue to be. You should take pride. Treachery and deceit I learned at your knee. I convinced His Grace of your love for me. Helped him to see the profitability of granting me title to this land without your interference. Your greed made it easy. He had no idea how much of his taxes you were pocketing.”
“You won’t get away with this.”
“I already have and I’ve the parchment to prove it.” He leaned back and watched his father squirm. True how revenge was best served cold.
His hazel eyes burned bright with anger. “I have friends in court. When the bishop arrives, you’ll find yourself and the witch-harlot excommunicated, at which time I’ll take back what is mine.”
“I believe the bishop has taken it upon himself to pray in solitude, to consider his sins in private.” He grinned, but with no mirth.
“Impossible.” His father stood and began to pace across the tiled floor.
Marcus followed. “That the Bishop would consider his sins? Mayhap you’ve the right of it. For his sake, I can only hope you’re wrong.”
“His holiness will have your soul sent straight to hell.” He attempted to point his finger, even with his hands bound.
“I’ve already been there and I was sent back to find yet another, in England.” Marcus sat, shrugged, and peeled beeswax from a table candle with his knife.
“You young idiot. I sent the bishop here to help you interrogate the witch. She has a treasure trove of Roman gold coins. You could’ve used his techniques to take what you wanted.” His eyes twitched and his neck bulged as it always did, when angry.
So it was true. His father had arranged all, including the torture of his sweet wife. His knife itched to murder him for his sadistic nature, Ten Commandments be damned. “What I wanted? That’s amusing. How was it that you neglected to tell me that she had coins? How did you, Abernathy, and the bishop work all that out? And exactly when did you plan to weave me out of the tapestry? I suspect I should be dead by now. Did you expect my wife to have a hand in that?”
“Calm yourself. You see the devil behind every corner. I’m your father. I’d let no harm come to you.” His father smiled, but his eyes flashed with evil and deceit.
“My patience is at an end and finely tethered. You’re outmaneuvered. Let us sit, drink some mead, and make peace between us.” Marcus pounded a fist on the table and poured from a brown ceramic jug. Summoning a saint’s worth of patience, he placed a cup in his father’s bound hands.
His father drank, spat into his face, and tossed the mug at him. The contents spilled over his best tunic and onto the clean mosaics. “Thou art no son of mine.”
“So be it. If you wish to live to see the morrow, you’ll instruct your men to accompany me to London. Move. I see conversation has no merit with you.” He growled and motioned with his knife for
his father to return to the courtyard.
Dropping back into a chair, his father crossed arms over chest and said, “Never. My men are loyal only to me.”
Pleased to find a reason to draw blood, Marcus poked him in the chest. “I’ll flog you until you relent, as you oft did to me.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” He glowered in rage.
The dagger slid up slowly toward an eye. “Move or be blinded. It makes no matter to me. I’ll take one out at a time. I’m no longer a helpless boy, nor my wife the victim of your sick machinations.”
His father glared at the point, stood, and moved sullenly toward the door. Outside, the villagers had gathered in the green by the yellow light of dawn. They no doubt wished to witness the battle that was about to ensue between father and son.
Marcus pushed him onto his knees in the square, while all stood with eyes and mouths wide. “Strip him of his tunic.”
“Really?” Bart’s voice shook and the villagers drew closer with concerned murmurs.
Marcus nodded.
The boy pulled off tunic and mail, leaving his father in undergarments. The earl’s knights protested loudly, but none dared tempt the arrows still pointing down into the square.
Thomas put his hand out. “Maybe this is not—”
“Quiet. Before we start, I need to speak with Brother James.”
Brother John moved forward. “He’s guarding the women. Give yourself a moment to calm the beast within. God won’t be pleased if you continue in this manner.”
“I shall find peace with Him later. Right now, I’m out of His pleasure. Mayhap you could go get my wife before I question my father on matters of import?”
“Is this really something you would want the lady to see?” John stared down at the almost-naked earl.
“It’s exactly what I’d have her see. She’s well acquainted with a good flogging. Fetch her at once. Then, we have more important things to attend to.”
Tension mounted while they waited. Mayhap it was a sin to enjoy this moment so much, but his father was responsible for an abundance of wickedness. There should be some justice met.
Ann arrived in her new yellow frock and paled to the same color when she saw what was under way. “Do you know what you—”
“Fetch the whip in the great room.” He almost changed his mind when her green eyes widened with fear.
“No, I won’t. It’s not there any longer.” Her lower lip quivered.
“Find it.”
Her eyes showed hurt when she looked up at him, but there was no undoing what he’d started. When she came back out and held out the lash, she wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“Look at me.”
She did as she was told, knelt at his feet, and curled into a little ball. “I’m ready.”
“Damnation, woman. What ails you? Stand here beside me, as my wife and life partner.” He pulled her by her upper arm. “This is not for you.”
“Ow. You’re hurting me.” She swatted at him.
Mayhap, considered Marcus, he was a mite out of control. He was never at his best when dealing with his sire’s sadistic nature. He turned to his father. “Tell us all about Underhill. Loud enough so all can hear.”
“He was a fine man—a knight and gentleman.” With a toss of his head toward Ann, his father sneered. “She should’ve been proud to accept him.”
“So, you were the one that arranged the marriage?” Marcus held his breath.
His father furled his thick brows, pursed his lips, and his red mustache twitched.
“Speak the truth of it, I warn you.” Marcus played with the blade, holding it dangerously close to his father’s face.
He glowered and spit onto the ground. “She needed a master, and he needed heirs. It was a good match sanctioned by the king.”
Marcus’ ears throbbed from the heat of his anger. He could not kill the bastard who’d tortured his wife, but this man was ultimately responsible. He lowered his voice. “Heed your next words carefully. Did you tell him to beat her?”
“Nay. I did not.” He tried to stand, but Marcus put a firm hand upon his head.
“Did you tell him she had coins hidden?”
“I may have suggested that there were rumors of gold.” He shrugged.
That was no doubt a partial truth. “Did you offer him the same deal as the one you offered me? Bed her, beget heirs, find her gold, and hang her?”
“No, by God, he thought that plan up all by himself. I just suggested that he get to the bottom of the mystery and I’d share half with him. Stop this inquisition, now. You’ve no right—”
“Did you know how he treated his women?”
“None of my business, was it?” He squinted up, the sun hitting his lying face.
Marcus dared not blink, for fear of missing a sign of deceit. “Yea or nay?”
“Nay.” His father’s eyes flickered and it took no witch to know the truth. He knew of the knight’s evil nature, and still set him upon the young Ann.
Marcus’ jaw ached where he clenched his teeth, and his hand shook. He held back the urge to slice the knife across his father’s evil neck. How could anyone send a sadistic bastard to wed an innocent? “I should send you to hell.” His hand was still shaking when he passed the whip to her. “What would you do with that knowledge?”
She surprised him when she dropped the whip as if it were on fire. “This is not right. I’d not have anyone flogged for my sake. I’d have peace. I’d give up the gold, too, only there is no more. There were only three pieces. I made it sound as if there were more, in case I needed leniency with my debts. Please stop. Both of you. We can’t undo the past. Certainly not like this.”
Marcus paced. This wasn’t at all how he envisioned this morning coming to an end. He waited for her permission to kill the man responsible for her torment. “Well, what would you have me do instead?”
She thrust her hands across the air, as if she could move the whole lot of them to hell, him included, and stomped her foot. “I’d take them to the fair with us. This was supposed to be a fine day of enjoyment. You’ve ruined it. All of you.”
He frowned, then grinned. He could work with that. “So be it. You heard her. Take him. Thomas, leave five of our men here to guard the town. Our wagons shall now be guarded by my Father’s men. Let it be known. If harm befalls any of us on the way, he will be the first to die.
Marcus grinned at his wife. “That was a magnificent suggestion. He’ll attempt to cause trouble and I shall kill him righteously upon the road to London. Edward will have no reason to doubt my sincerest remorse.”
She pushed him away, her cheeks blotched with ire. “That’s not what I meant at all. Why did you do this? You’ve tarnished this day.”
He kissed her such that the town could see that all was well and waved them back to work. “Power is an odd vapor and must be vanquished like a demon.”
“The past is gone, a vapor, too. We can’t live there any more than we can live in the future. You’ve accomplished naught.”
His wife, however, gave him a fierce hug, which he accepted. Some of the pain from his past drained into the earth with her good will. He kissed the top of her head. “Surely, God has decided that I’m to be forgiven for my time in hell, and he’s given me you, a taste of heaven on earth.”
“Mayhap, but heaven will have to wait until later. We should be on our way.” She gazed into his eyes, put a palm to his cheek, and his life began anew. How did she do that with a simple look?
He turned to his men and shouted, “Ride on ahead to our wagons and wait with them. I believe my father’s guard and colors will be enough to dissuade even the bravest of thieves.”
Chapter 17
Nellie whinnied in annoyance while they waited for the men to push the wagon out of yet another muddy rut. Ann whispered soothing words into her ear, patted her neck, and twined mane between fingers. How would they ever arrive in London Towne with the roads so impassible?
Her husband’s
fine body was on display with the rest who had doffed their mail and tunics in order to dislodge the stubborn wheels from a deep, wet hole. Secretly she smiled. His was the best form, by far. As if he knew she was watching, he looked up and gave her a half-grin. Their eyes met and her thoughts drifted to evenings and baby-making. She blushed and Marcus laughed out loud. With a grunt and one more shove, the wagon moved forward. The horses pranced and whinnied. They, too, must be anxious to move on.
She threw her husband a skin of water, which he snatched out of the air and shared with the others. He bent over to redress and don his frog and sword. At the sound of more horses on the road behind them, she swiveled with the rest of the entourage.
When he caught the pennant colors, he grinned that awful grin of his and Thomas followed suit. Ann swallowed hard and it stuck in her throat. How could anyone in their right mind oppose her husband with his group of ruthless men?
Using his overtly polite mannerisms, he said, “Abernathy. What a pleasant surprise. You ride with us to London?”
“I suppose.” He shifted in his saddle, bounced his gaze from Marcus, to the earl, and to all the mounted men in the party. “I … I’m not certain. Thornhill?”
The earl’s eyes said beware, darting back and forth under red bushy eyebrows. Abernathy, with a mind thicker than the mud underfoot, missed the subtlety.
Even the horses caught the tension, nickering with ears twitching. Marcus inched his fingers toward his sword. “My father’s constitution is somewhat put out by the long ride today. Forgive his manners. He’s only too happy to have you ride with us. He’s already advised me of your plans to steal our wagons, and has thought better of his evil ways. I’m sure he’d be most grateful should you ride ahead of us, peaceably.”
The old earl sputtered, then shouted, “No. Damnation, no. Kill him.”
Abernathy moved his hand toward his sword, but Ann had already reached into her sleeve. She stood in her stirrups and hurled her knife. Dead on, it caught the man’s palm. He howled, dropped his sword, and maneuvered his charger closer. His left hand grabbed at an axe.
Too slow to duck, she squeezed her eyes shut, and said a quick prayer for a merciful death.
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