“I hope that this is not. My name is Reyna Graham. My husband was Robert of Kelso, who held the border lands of Black Lyne Keep through Maccus Armstrong. My husband died several months ago. Shortly after his death, a letter came from the bishop.” Reyna described the letter, and its reference to Robert's request for guidance.
“I remember it well, since I wrote it for His Excellency,” Anselm said.
“No one knows to what it referred,” Reyna explained. “If my husband had some desire or wish before his death, I would like to know of it so that I can see that his will is done.”
Anselm ignored her during a protracted period of contemplation. Reyna began to feel anxious. Perhaps the secretary hesitated because Robert's inquiry had indeed concerned her. Was it possible that she had known her husband's mind and heart so little?
“It is likely that I can explain this, Lady Reyna, but I have one question first. How does your husband's testament dispose of his property?”
“The lands were left to me, although it is questionable whether his liege lord will permit that to stand,” she said, deciding that tangents into the fall of the keep and her marriage to Ian would serve no purpose.
“Not the lands. His personal property.”
“That also came to me.”
“In that case, there can be no objection to my speaking with you.” He settled more comfortably in his chair, if a man with such rigid posture could ever be said to find comfort. “Your husband wrote a letter that we received five months ago. In it he explained that he possessed some property that was not rightfully his, and which he sought to dispose of in an honorable way before his death so that it would not become entangled in the estate. He wanted to give this property to a monastery engaged in educating the young. The bishop intended to speak with the blackfriars here in Glasgow and make the arrangements, but other business called him away.”
“Did my husband describe this property?”
“Nay, but it was clear that it was not land. He referred to ‘them’ at several points in the letter. He felt that it would ease his conscience to have the matter settled with death so near at his advanced age.”
Them. Not land, but objects. “Did he indicate the value of this property?”
“His letter indicated several thousand pounds. Three or four.”
Objects. Useful in education.
Books.
She knew that the library was valuable, but not that valuable.
“Did my husband mention how he came to possess these objects?”
“Nay, but the request was not unusual. Men gain wisdom and piety as they age. They seek to make amends for youthful transgressions.”
Reyna met his gaze. “You think that this property was stolen, don't you?”
“More likely it was procured after a siege or battle. Few knights or soldiers settle for the small coin their lords pay, and often that pay never comes because the lord assumes they will enrich themselves thus at no cost to him. Indeed, most barons claim one third of such spoils.”
“All the same, you are saying that my husband was a thief. Little better than a brigand,” she countered hotly.
“What is theft in one circumstance are the wages of war in another,” Anselm said. “The Church urges men to forgo it, but it is a small sin if the war is just. Even the Crusaders— And your husband, unlike most, sought to make restitution. It would be impossible to return this property to its owners after so many years, so he wanted to give it to the Church for her work.”
“I did not realize that the Church had decided that sin was conditional upon circumstances. I shall have to remember that in the future. No doubt it will prove convenient.”
Anselm sighed. “I only seek to relieve you of your obvious distress.”
Distress didn't begin to describe her reaction. Robert, dear, good, honest Robert, had lived a very different life before he arrived on the Scottish border and taken service with Maccus Armstrong. It had occurred a lifetime before she met him, and he had put it behind him, except for the evidence with which he could not part, the books that he loved so dearly.
Stolen books. What had he thought while he studied the moral imperatives that they contained, even while his possession of them defied those truths?
Anselm's excuses might have served him. They might now serve her too, if she could be convinced that those books had been looted during a just war. But the possibility loomed that Robert had indeed been a thief or brigand as a young man. Just like Ian of Guilford, or even worse. She grimaced at the irony. She had been comparing Ian with an old man who, in his own youth, had been just as reckless.
“I think that I know the property to which my husband referred. If it was Robert's desire that these items be given to the Church, I will endeavor to make it so.” She rose to leave. “Would you give me a letter explaining this? It would be easier to effect this donation if his request could be clarified.”
“If you inherited—”
“I have recently remarried.”
His dark eyebrows rose in understanding. He went over to the table. “If you have remarried, the property is no longer yours,” he said while he wrote. “For whatever good it may do, here it is. Do not let this become a point of strife in your marriage, however. It is a rare man who would part with the wealth that came to him through his wife.”
Reyna clutched the parchment that proved Robert had never sought to put her aside. As to Anselm's last comment, she had no idea how Ian would react to fulfilling Robert's last wish. Probably he would refuse, once he learned the value of the books.
Then again, perhaps one brigand would have a special sympathy for another brigand's quest for salvation.
God is punishing us for disobeying our husbands and leaving Carlisle,” Christiana muttered as she peered out the bedchamber window. “This rain has gone on for days, and it looks to last forever.” She caught Reyna's attention. “When Anna comes back we must tell her that we leave in the morning. Enough is enough.”
Reyna flipped over on her bed and stared at the ceiling. This journey had occurred only because Anna, seeking a respite of activity and adventure, had supported her decision to make it. Under the circumstances, it had seemed only fair to grant Anna one extra day in Glasgow.
Reyna herself would have gladly departed yesterday, once she returned from the bishop's house. Her mission accomplished, she itched to return to Carlisle. Perhaps she could send a letter to Ian and tell him what she had learned. Maybe, if this rain had stopped the action at Harclow, he would come and see her. The notion that he might have already tried to do so, only to arrive at a house empty of everyone but Paul and the serving woman, saddened her, and she was already feeling low because of the new discovery about Robert.
He had never deceived her, she reminded herself again. She had never asked about that ancient history, and he had told her no lies. Perhaps only a girl who trusted a man as she would a father could have accepted the presence of all those beautiful books without question, but so it had been.
“Here they come,” Christiana said. “They look like two drowned dogs, and Gregory's face is black with annoyance, but Anna looks radiant. You must stand firm with me. If we don't corral her now, she will be leading us into the Highlands by week's end.”
Corralling a rebellious Anna proved anything but easy. She reminded Reyna that they should get full value out of the trouble awaiting with their husbands, and indeed proposed a journey up to Argyle. Christiana scolded and cajoled, but it was Reyna's suggestion that the rain might make a visit from their husbands possible that won the argument. They spent the evening making preparations to return to the coast.
The next day they rode out of the city of Glasgow, with Anna looking as much like a guard as Gregory, dressed in tunic and hood with her sword strapped to her saddle. The rain had stopped, but heavy clouds promised more. Christiana kept up a bantering conversation, lightening the mood which threatened to sink under the discomfort of damp and mud.
Five miles out of
the city their talk lulled, and in the sudden silence a distant thunder mumbled. Anna jerked her horse still and listened with alert attention. The thunder grew closer much too quickly, and Anna pivoted her horse, called a warning to Gregory, and unsheathed her sword. Reyna looked over her shoulder to see a company of men galloping toward them.
“To the side of the road,” Anna ordered, resting her sword across her saddle. “Let them pass.”
Unfortunately, the company did not gallop through them. The men paused, then moved forward at a trot. When they were a hundred paces away, Reyna recognized the man in their lead and her breath caught in surprise.
He rode forward and stopped a horse length away. “Well, now, little sister. What are you doing so far from your husband's protection?”
“Visiting Glasgow. And you, Aymer? This is an odd place to unexpectedly meet you.”
“I have been looking for you. I sought you out in Carlisle and learned you had made this journey, and worried for your safety.”
“How brotherly.”
Aymer's twelve men clustered in, making escape impossible. Anna held her weapon firmly. Out of the corner of her eye, Reyna saw Gregory measuring their situation and not liking what he saw.
One of Aymer's knights pushed up beside Anna, squinting at her. The point of her sword followed the movement.
“By God, it is a woman,” he exclaimed, pulling at her hood. Blond curls tumbled down her body. “Have you ever seen one so big? Pretty enough in an odd way, though, eh?”
The other men laughed. “Aye, enough woman for all of us, maybe,” one of them snickered.
“Enough woman to cut off the manhood of anyone who touches us,” Christiana said coolly.
“Stop this at once, brother,” Reyna said. “If any harm befalls either of them, Morvan will lead that army into the hills—and my father's stronghold is no Harclow.”
Anna had thrust the point of her sword against the knight's neck, staring at him down its length.
“There are too many of us, bitch,” he snarled, his head and neck angling back from the threatening weapon.
“Perhaps. But you will move away or you will surely die,” she replied.
A sudden flurry saw Gregory pushing toward them, sword raised, expression determined. One of the knights thrust his horse in the way, and with a sweeping movement he brought the flat of his own weapon down on Gregory's temple. The guard slumped on his saddle and then fell in a heap to the ground.
The attack made Aymer decide to end the little drama. “Countess, I have business with my sister requiring she come with me. You and Lady Anna are free to continue on your way.”
“If she comes, so shall we,” Christiana said. “We complete this journey as we began it, together.”
“This is a family matter, my lady, and none of your concern. If you insist in this nonsense, I will have you both tied to a tree.”
“And left to thieves or animals? Either Reyna continues with us, or we follow with you. And you would be wise to take the greatest care with our persons and health. My brother has two thousand at Harclow, and if he comes for you there will be no mercy. As for my husband, his methods are more subtle. You will not even know that he is there until you feel his boot on your neck.” The icy tone crystallizing these quiet words was all the more effective coming from such a delicate, courtly figure.
Reyna was impressed. Aymer was too. He stared flush-faced at Christiana, then turned his horse furiously. “Bring them all,” he ordered. “Leave the man.”
Reyna and Anna fell in next to Christiana. “That was very brave, my friend, but this is unnecessary,” Reyna said. “He will not harm me.”
“He will certainly think twice now if he had planned to,” Anna muttered. “Do you think that fool of a guard Paul actually kept our secret about leaving?”
Christiana rolled her eyes. “Since you all but threatened to slit his throat—”
“Still, a messenger might have come.”
“Even if our husbands find out we left Carlisle, they will not know where we have gone now. Nay, sister, we could be on our own here.”
“Turn back,” Reyna urged.
Christiana shook her head. “I do not trust this brother of yours. You will be safer with us present. It would be useful to know where we are going and why he wants you, though.”
Reyna kicked her horse to a trot and moved through the small company to Aymer's side.
“Do we return to Glasgow?” she asked.
“Nay, but we will go west and then head south. I am taking you home.”
“To Black Lyne Keep?”
“Home. You do not belong among Armstrongs and Fitzwaryns, Reyna. You will return to your own people.”
“My father misses me so much?”
“Duncan is an old man. Already a sickness eats at his gut. He has no will to do what must be done, so it is left to me.”
“And what is that, Aymer? What is this about?”
“Land, little Reyna. Isn't it always about land? The devil must have possessed Duncan to give what he did as your dowry. For years I have waited for old Robert to die so that it would return to you as dower lands, and through you to us.”
She sighed at Aymer's predictability. “How impatient were you, Aymer? Did you find a way to hasten his passing?”
“Would that I had possessed the means to do so. Interesting that you ask, though, Reyna. I have assumed all along that you killed him.”
“I had no reason to do so.”
“Didn't you?” Aymer asked slyly. “He was old when you married him, and older when you grew to womanhood. Your mother was a whore, and such is probably your nature too. Did those cold hands content you? I think not, if you so quickly found your way to that knight's bed.”
His tone and look made her very uncomfortable. “It is well that you mention Ian, since the dower lands that you think to control through me belong to him now.”
“Not if he is dead.”
She twisted in her saddle. “You have not—”
“Not yet. I count on his coming for you, though. Let him bring his whole company, or even half of that army Fitzwaryn has raised, so long as he comes himself.” He leaned over and stroked her cheek. She pulled back in revulsion. “You have a whore's blood, Reyna. I count on your having pleased him enough so that he indeed comes for you.”
“You are disgusting to speak thus of your sister.”
The hand stayed on her cheek and stroked again. “Perhaps. But then, you are not really my sister.”
Chapter TWENTY-TWO
Cold. Damp cold and eternal darkness Voices murmuring in the stones, and hands reaching for her, prodding her. Quiet laughter, lower now, close by, and other hands not prodding but caressing, raising a new terror that she did not understand. A new voice, not the ethereal one of a ghost but a living one, chuckling with pleasure at her fear. You are not really my sister.
She pressed against the stones, feeling it all, hearing it all, but it was different this time. Her soul experienced none of the terror. A tiny part of her remained rational this time, watching the old fear unfold around her, within her, as if she observed a pageant.
Legs pressed against hers and hands held hers. Real legs and real hands, anchoring her to a time and place, preventing her senses from spinning away from her control.
“He can not keep us here forever,” a voice intruded. A real voice. Whose? Ah, Anna's. “Not even a candle. What is the point?”
“He holds me here until Ian comes,” Reyna heard herself say. Surely she had explained this before, the first night when they camped and slept together with Anna's sword lying amongst them. An eternity ago, before their ride brought them here one night and Aymer had imprisoned them all. Food had been brought, she seemed to remember, but Aymer had not returned.
“He could still give us candles. This crypt unsettles me.”
Aye, the crypt. That was where they were, huddled on the stone floor against the cold wall. If the place unsettled even the brave Anna, perh
aps she need not feel so childish herself.
Christiana's hand gripped hers tighter. “You are doing fine, Reyna,” she reassured.
The voices in the stones answered with their inaudible mumbles. High laughter pierced her ears. She clung to Christiana's delicate hand and vaguely remembered it slapping her again and again while someone's screams filled the small chamber.
She gathered her courage, what little there was, and her soul listened for the voices. There had been something familiar about them the last time, something human. She urged them to assault her again, and pressed her legs against her friends. Come on, damn you.
And they came, the stones echoing their mumbles, the sound summoning memories long fragmented beneath the terror.
She was in a dark place, and teasing prods poked at her again and again. A finger moved invisibly around her body, and a boyish laugh took pleasure in her fear. The stones themselves grew hands and arms, and whenever she turned they were behind her, jabbing her into a terrified frenzy. Her own voice cried lowly for help, and then that youthful voice spoke, bored suddenly. You stay here now, or the demons will get you. I'm going out to watch.
But she didn't stay. She was running through the blackness, following the sound of retreating steps—.
“How long do you think we have been here?” Anna asked.
Forever, maybe. There was no time here. An hour could be a week, a week no more than an hour. The darkness swallowed time.
“From the meals, several days, but I sleep in fits and can not tell if it is night or day,” Christiana answered.
Reyna listened to the soft voices of her companions. They both still clasped her hands, and those smooth grasps felt very real now.
Space and time had righted itself. The pageant had ended, but she had seen the source and cause of that horror. Maybe it had been just a child's game to Aymer at first, but the taste of fear had fed his cruelty over the years. No wonder her soul shrank from his very presence.
Still, she knew that there was more. Something nudged at her mind, tempting her like a sore tooth that one prods despite the pain. I will be done with this today, she decided savagely. I will see it all and it will no longer rule me.
Lord of a Thousand Nights Page 24