by Speer, Flora
“Let him finish his story,” Lord Giles said. “We need to hear all of it, no matter how unpleasant it is. Continue, Walderon.”
“Of course.” Walderon made a slight, mocking bow. “After nearly half a year, when Garit and Roarke still refused to give up their search, I realized how dangerous keeping my prisoners alive had become. By then Malin had married some other silly heiress, so our original alliance was broken and my chance to obtain the land that began the scheme was ended.
“I knew I could not let either niece live. My only remaining choice was to have both of them killed and then petition King Henryk to allow me to inherit Chantal’s estates on the grounds that Thury requires a competent ruler, which I have been during my guardianship. I also planned to petition for Matilda Jenia’s estate, though Gildeley is inconsequential compared to Thury. My plan would have succeeded, too,” Walderon told Jenia, “if only you’d had the decency to die when you were supposed to.”
“You foul, despicable knave,” Garit exclaimed. “All of Chantal’s suffering, and Jenia’s, all of the worry and fear I’ve experienced over the last half year for Chantal’s sake, Roarke’s efforts in her behalf, – all of that was for a miserable piece of land?”
“Not so miserable,” Walderon said with a superior smile that belied his status as a prisoner. “It is fertile, profitable land in northern Sapaudia, bordering the estate of an elderly lord who has but one young daughter for his heir. In a year or two the girl will need a husband.”
“You already have a wife,” Lord Giles reminded him. “Ah, but let me guess; you intended to remedy that minor problem, didn’t you? Perhaps a sudden, unexplained illness during the coming winter would conveniently carry off Lady Sanal? Poor, unfortunate Walderon. So much grief for you to deal with, so many deaths of your near relatives, each of those deaths with a reasonable explanation. And with every death, another plot of land, or another castle accrues to your holdings. And your influence grows at court as you bear your sorrows with such bravery for all to see. Especially King Henryk, who will almost certainly reward your quiet fortitude with still more influence and land.”
“How clever of you to work it all out,” Walderon said, sneering.
“You aren’t the first man to try such a plot,” Lord Giles told him. “How many deaths were involved? I’ve lost count. By heaven, I’d like to kill you, myself!”
“You’ll have to stand in line,” Roarke said, breaking his long silence during which he had paid close attention to every word that was spoken. Jenia was certain he would report all of it directly to King Henryk.
“Garit has first whack at Walderon, for Lady Chantal’s sake,” Roarke went on, speaking to Lord Giles. “Then it’s my turn, for what he did to Jenia. Then you may have your chance, my lord, though I doubt if there will be much of him left by then.”
“Probably not. I’ll promise you one thing, though,” Lord Giles said, turning back to Walderon. “Never again will you hurt your wife. Whatever King Henryk decides your fate will be, I’ll not allow you near Sanal.”
“If she fled to you,” Walderon said with a bored sigh, “then I suppose I shall have to challenge you for my honor’s sake. After I slay you, I’ll have every right to kill Sanal for betraying me with another man.”
“You won’t have the opportunity to challenge anyone. I’ve heard enough,” Roarke said to the men-at-arms around Walderon. “Take him away.”
“Where to my lords?” asked one of the men, who had explored the lowest tunnel with Roarke on the previous day. “That gloomy cell where the ladies were locked in seems a good place to me.”
“No,” Garit said. “Not where Chantal and Jenia were held. Chantal was killed there, on Walderon’s orders. His presence would only contaminate the place that’s hallowed by her death.”
“Take him to the cell where we found the old man yesterday,” Roarke ordered. “After Walderon is securely locked in, set a dependable guard before the door. We don’t want him to escape.”
“Just one more thing before you leave us, Walderon,” Jenia said, raising a hand to stop the men-at-arms from dragging her uncle away. “Where is Chantal buried?”
“How should I know?” Though he was tightly restrained by the men surrounding him, Walderon responded with an indifferent shrug that made Jenia yearn to slap him. “Once she was dead, she was no further use to me, just a piece of dung; offal, no more.”
“Curse you, Walderon!” In one long leap Garit was off the dais. His fingers closed around Walderon’s throat, squeezing until Walderon slumped in the grip of the men-at-arms, who made no effort to aid their captive. By then Roarke and Lord Giles caught Garit, pulling him away from Walderon.
“Don’t do it, lad,” Lord Giles admonished, tugging hard on Garit’s right arm. “If you kill him now, you’ll regret it later. Even a villain must be accorded a certain fairness. He’s unarmed and unable to fight back.”
“Stop it, Garit,” Roarke commanded, holding fast to his friend’s other arm. “Walderon isn’t worth the explanation you’d have to make to King Henryk about his death. Later, we can all watch his slow and painful execution knowing we’ve done the right thing.”
Garit subsided. Removing his fingers from Walderon’s throat he turned away to Jenia, who caught his hands and held them fast against her bosom.
“Dear friend, I know what you are feeling,” she told him. “No one knows the true cost of Chantal’s death better than you and I. Don’t let Walderon drag you down with him. Chantal wouldn’t want that. She loved you because you are a decent and honorable man, all that Walderon is not.”
For a long, painful moment Garit’s fingers nearly crushed Jenia’s hands. Then, slowly, the red glaze of near-madness disappeared from his eyes and he relaxed his grip.
“When I think of her,” he said, “of all her bright, youthful goodness destroyed by her own blood kin, my rage overcomes me.”
“I understand,” Jenia said.
“Garit, you must control your emotions,” Lord Giles told him. “Employ the methods I taught you as a squire to temper your fury and outwit your opponent. Now, lad, take a deep breath and make yourself relax.”
“I promise, I will try.” Garit did take a long, shuddering breath. “Jenia, I’m sorry. Did I hurt your hands?”
“No,” she assured him. “Walderon was deliberately trying to provoke you. He takes a wicked pleasure in disturbing anyone’s peace. He did the same thing regularly to Chantal and me, and I’ve seen him reduce Aunt Sanal to tears and then laugh at her for being such a weak fool.”
“He will no doubt keep it up while we transport him to Calean City,” Roarke added. “Perhaps we ought to gag him before we leave Thury. Or, perhaps Lord Giles can render him temporarily speechless.”
“When I heard him call Chantal’s body a piece of dung, a red haze enveloped me,” Garit said.
“You must find a way to live with the loss of her,” Lord Giles advised. “Time will ease your pain a little, as I eventually learned after my dear wife died. Meanwhile, come with me to the chapel. We can talk quietly there.” He linked his arm through Garit’s and they went off together.
“Are you all right?” Roarke placed a comforting hand on Jenia’s shoulder. “This has been a difficult day for you. I admit, I expected Walderon to put up a fight, but I never expected him to taunt you and Garit that way.”
“I didn’t think of it beforehand, but I am not surprised,” Jenia said. “That’s the kind of man he is, nasty and vicious, always thinking only of what he wants, never of anyone else.”
Roarke took Jenia’s hand and brought it to his lips, holding it there while he regarded her so tenderly that she could feel the tension of the last few hours draining away until she became oddly buoyant.
“My quest is almost finished,” she said.
“Almost,” he repeated. “Only King Henryk’s judgment on Walderon remains, and then his punishment. Whatever that may prove to be, your part is done, I think. Jenia, I want to speak to you in private.
When we reach Calean City, I intend to ask a great favor of King Henryk, but I need your answer first.”
A rustle of skirts prevented Roarke from continuing. Sanal joined them.
“I heard everything from up there,” she said, indicating the steps to the solar. “Roarke, do you really think Walderon will be executed?”
“Either that, or permanently drained of his Power and confined to a dungeon cell for the rest of his life,” Roarke said.
“Will I be blamed, too?” Sanal looked distinctly worried. “Must I share his fate?”
“I don’t think Lord Giles will allow that to happen,” Roarke said.
“Where is Giles?” Sanal glanced around the hall.
“He’s with Garit.” Jenia spoke sharply, out of irritation. “Leave them alone. At the moment, Garit needs him more than you do. Aunt, you really ought to learn to stand on your own, without a man to prop you up.”
“I’ve never had the chance to make any decision on my own,” Sanal said. “As a child, I was beaten into obedience. My father arranged my marriage with no regard to my preferences. Walderon used me at his own pleasure. My son was taken from me at an early age, to be raised as Walderon wanted, in another noble house that he chose for his own benefit. The only choice I’ve ever made on my own was my decision to flee from Walderon and from Thury. And here I am, right back at Thury again,” she ended on a bitter note that made Jenia look at her with greater sympathy.
“The life you describe is not unusual,” Roarke said, “though I will admit, women are often treated unfairly.”
“I trust you intend to treat Jenia better,” Sanal snapped at him.
“You may be certain of it,” Roarke said. “Jenia, we will talk later. Now, ladies, if you will excuse me, I really ought to return to the battlements and see what Burke and Walderon’s other men are doing. We can’t have them storming the main gate without mounting a counterattack.”
Roarke bowed to them and headed for the entry. When Jenia finally tore her gaze from his departing figure she found Sanal watching her with great interest.
“Sir Roarke has little wealth of his own,” Sanal said, “because of his long feud with Lord Oliver, which was over a woman, mind you. Men are so irrational. It is our misfortune that they are larger and stronger than women.”
Despite her lingering doubts about Sanal, Jenia could not repress a laugh at an opinion she shared.
“Jenia, I want you to know how truly sorry I am for everything that’s happened. If I had been braver, if I had dared to stand up to Walderon, perhaps Chantal would still be alive. But she was so willful, so determined never to do what Walderon decided was best for her.”
“You mean, what was best for him,” Jenia chided softly. “Roarke is right, you know. It’s over. What happened to Chantal and me is in the past. I can set it aside now that Walderon is captured. We should not continue to be enemies, Aunt Sanal. You are my only remaining kin.”
“Not blood kin,” Sanal reminded her.
“No, but we share some memories, and not all of them are bad. Perhaps you and I can begin again, as aunt-by-marriage and grown-up niece. I promise, I am no longer the recalcitrant child I once was.”
“Nor am I the subservient wife I once was.” Sanal blinked back tears. “Perhaps we really can forge a new kinship, of friends this time.”
Overcome by sympathy, trying not to imagine what Sanal must have endured in private at Walderon’s hands, or what it must be like to bear a child conceived in violence and intense dislike, Jenia reached out a hand to wipe away her aunt’s tears.
Then they were in each others’ arms, laughing and weeping at the same time, and Jenia found the laughter and the tears both helped to ease a little more of the bitterness she had known for too long. Slowly, very slowly, her anguished heart was beginning to heal.
Chapter 20
Roarke came to Jenia’s room after the rest of the castle had settled down for the night. He looked a little surprised to see her still fully dressed and with a shawl about her shoulders, but she intended a serious discussion and didn’t want either of them to be distracted by passion. Ever since Walderon’s bold declaration of what he’d done and still intended to do, questions and possibilities had been simmering in Jenia’s mind. She thought she had discerned the answers, but she wanted to talk her conclusions over with Roarke before revealing them to anyone else.
He didn’t give her a chance to begin. As soon as the door was bolted he launched into the matter that was plainly vexing him at the moment.
“We have a minor problem,” he said.
“Which is?”
“How to divert or get rid of Burke and the men-at-arms in the meadow long enough for us to escort Walderon to Calean.”
“Knowing you, I’m sure you have a plan,” she told him with a smile.
“What I have are several ideas,” he responded. “First, while Walderon’s magic is immobilized by the spell Lord Giles imposed on him, we could force him to swallow a strong sleeping potion, then truss him up like a fowl prepared for the spit, carry him out in the dark of night, and smuggle him to Calean.”
“I like that idea.” Jenia’s smile widened into a grin and Roarke grinned back at her, looking like a mischievous boy for a moment, before he sobered.
“Or,” he continued, “we could attack Walderon’s people, kill or capture as many as possible, and then set out for Calean with a heavy guard to protect us from the remaining men.”
“I suspect Garit will favor that plan,” she said. “He’s eager for a fight and Burke would make a fine substitute for Walderon.”
“Actually, Lord Giles has succeeded in calming Garit down quite well,” Roarke said. “Garit has always understood that, as a royal emissary in a foreign land, he cannot go haring off killing people or making threats. Walderon’s cruel remarks about Chantal infuriated him, but he’s too intelligent to forget for more than a moment or two that he represents the king of Kantia. After his conversation with Lord Giles, he has eschewed killing in this situation, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Well, then, what decision have you men made?” Jenia asked with just a touch of sarcasm in her voice. Of course, the men would make the decisions; they always did. She and Sanal could grumble all they wanted, but they’d follow, as women were taught to do. However, she had a suggestion of her own to offer on the subject and she voiced it before Roarke could answer her question.
“If Walderon were an honorable nobleman and we could be certain he’d not trick us,” she said, “you could tell him to order Burke and the other men march to Calean to await King Henryk’s pleasure.”
Roarke was silent a moment, thinking. Then, “I do like your suggestion. I’m sure Walderon’s men are used to following his orders exactly as he gives them. Yes, it could work. Jenia, you are brilliant.”
“I am? Roarke, are you seriously considering my idea?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Haven’t I told you several times what are a clever woman you are? Besides, you know Walderon much better than I do.” He took her face between his hands and kissed her eyelids.
“In that case,” she said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek before she stepped away from him, “perhaps you’d care to hear my opinion about Walderon.”
“Haven’t I already heard it? He’s a vile, dastardly villain.” Roarke moved closer to her and began to nibble on her earlobe.
“Exactly.” She put up a hand to keep him at bay. “I have been considering Walderon’s crimes against Chantal and me, and asking myself what he really wants.”
“He’s driven by greed and ambition. He coveted Chantal’s lands, and yours. The more land a man holds, the more influential he will be at court.”
“That’s true. But I believe there’s more, some greater scheme behind his actions over the last year or two.”
“Ah.” Roarke nodded. “I suspect we’ve been thinking along the same lines. But tell me your conclusions before I reveal mine.”
“I began by thinking
about how I was transported from the dungeon to a ship after Chantal was killed. I can’t have been taken all the way from Thury to Calean City. That’s much too long a distance for men who are acting furtively.”
“True,” Roarke agreed. “What do you think happened?”
“I believe I was taken eastward, through the nearest mountain pass, to the Nalo River.”
“Of course,” Roarke exclaimed. “That’s the most direct route to the sea. It would be easy to sail far out to sea and drop your body where it wouldn’t wash ashore in Sapaudia. I’ll wager that was the plan, only your courage foiled it.”
“Now, then,” Jenia said, “think of all the lands and castles that Uncle Walderon presently controls, either in his own right or by guardianship. First, in northern Sapaudia is his original estate of Catherstone and the castle there, which was built to as a defense against incursions from the Dominion.” She saw Roarke’s eyebrows go up, but he said nothing.
“Next,” she continued, “as my official guardian, he controls Gildeley, my ancestral home, which lies two days’ ride south of Catherstone, and is also close to the Nalo Mountains. Then, there is Thury.”
“Walderon no longer controls Thury,” Roarke reminded her.
“Until yesterday, he did control it, as Chantal’s guardian. From what I’ve learned from the castle folk, he has recently tightened his hold over both castle and lands. Walderon has been cruel here, which is why we were able to take the castle so easily. Roarke, just consider Thury’s location. It lies south of Gildeley and close to the mountains.”
“Go on,” Roarke ordered when she paused. Jenia could see by his expression that he was taking her words very seriously.
“Think next of the lands Walderon expected to acquire when Chantal married Lord Malin. First, the apparently unimportant parcel of land north of Catherstone that was to become his by the terms of Chantal’s marriage contract, land that borders another property held by an elderly lord with a marriageable daughter. Walderon all but admitted he planned to rid himself of Sanal so he could marry the daughter and gain her father’s lands. He did openly admit his plan to kill Chantal and Lord Malin and take Malin’s estate and castle which, like all the other properties we are discussing, is close to the Nalo Mountains.”