“Here they come,” David muttered. “Damn, Morvan, you are too drunk to count. I see six. Hell.”
A half hour later they were back in the tavern, sitting on a bench against the wall, soaking their fists in pitchers of warm water that David had charmed out of the serving woman.
Morvan looked over at his brother-in-law's bruised cheek and cut chin. It had been an exhilarating and harmless brawl, and the footpads had eventually scurried off without any swords being drawn. He decided that David wasn't such a bad companion to have along in a fight.
He unsheathed David's sword and admired it. “For someone who barely knows how to use the weapon, you pay for the best.”
“It is from Damascus. They forge steel differently there. Lighter in weight, which I find useful, but very strong.”
Morvan tested its balance and heft and decided the lighter weight would not be a disadvantage.
David pulled his fist out of the pitcher and examined it. “Is there any particular reason why you are trying to get yourself killed tonight?” he asked casually.
Morvan set the sword down, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes. He still felt sufficiently full of battle camaraderie to answer.
“Anna de Leon, daughter of Roald and heiress of La Roche de Roald, Breton amazon and saint—you don't know about the saint part, do you?—proposed marriage to me this afternoon.”
“Well, that is certainly something to die over. Christiana had hoped that was why Anna sent for you, but when you left as you did…I assume that you accepted and have been out mourning your carefree life.”
“Nay.”
“Don't tell me that you refused.”
“Not yet.”
“In terms of property, you are unlikely to ever get a better offer.”
He knew that. She knew that.
“Forgive me for prying, Morvan, but you make no sense. She is beautiful and rich and how you feel about her is written all over your face when you look at her. None of your usual cold calculation.”
“Her terms are unacceptable.”
David shrugged. “So change the terms.”
“It is all or nothing.”
“The hell it is. People always say that and never mean it. This isn't one of your sieges where the choice is yield or die. This is commerce. Everything is negotiable. Speak with her. Work from your strengths—give where you can and take where you must. It is very simple if you don't let your pride rule you. If you want, I will do it for you.”
Don't let pride rule. Easier said than done.
“It is in her interests to marry you too,” David said. “Edward thinks to give her to Sir Giles, to repay a debt. She will not have the choice of the man like she thinks, unless she chooses another one to whom Edward is also in debt. Like you.”
“You seem to know a lot about this.”
“One hears things.”
Aye, Morvan reflected, but David de Abyndon always managed to hear more than most. “Have you been planting ideas in the King's head, David? Is your hand behind this?”
“You flatter me. I am only a merchant who sells the King silks.”
“Like hell. If you have interfered, you are playing a dangerous game.”
“Only if the knight fails to check the king, and lets some pawn cut him off.”
“The danger I speak of comes from treating the knight like a pawn.”
“Is that a threat, Morvan? No one is manipulating you. The move is yours to make or not. Stay put if you prefer.”
“And what of what the woman prefers?”
“You mean the abbey? She cannot have it. Edward decided that on his own. Marriage is the best of the options he debated, I assure you, and he is still considering the others. Besides, she would not have been content there. She is neither pious nor obedient. If ever a woman would have been wasted in such a life, it is your lady.”
David set aside his pitcher. “Let us go home and allow Christiana and Anna to fuss over our wounds and scold us for our bad behavior.”
“I will go back to Salisbury's.”
“Why not come back and settle it now?”
“I have to even the odds before I reopen negotiations. I have seen this woman plan a battle strategy better than most barons, and get half again their value for her Breton horses. Nay, David, only a fool would go unprepared to bargain with Anna de Leon.”
Morvan was ushered into the King's chambers soon after dawn. There had been no waiting in the anteroom with the other petitioners. The message he had sent to the castle had gotten Edward's immediate attention.
No secretaries or clerks attended the King. This would be a private audience. That was a good sign. Morvan made his greetings, then followed Edward's gesture to sit.
“I am sorry that I was unable to see you before this, but matters of state have distracted me,” Edward said. “I received your earlier note, however, and made time for Lady Anna as you requested.”
“That was generous of you, but I do not come today to speak on her behalf.”
“Nay, you come to speak for yourself. Your note made that clear, signed as it was ‘Morvan Fitzwaryn, Lord of Harclow.’ ” He did not speak with annoyance, but his discomfort was palpable.
Morvan was glad to see the King's ill ease. It meant that Edward had not forgotten, despite the passing years. “I have decided that it is time to go north and regain my father's honor. I have come to ask for your permission and your help.”
A veil came down over Edward's eyes. Morvan suspected that the King was seeing himself fourteen years ago in a tent on the Scottish border, swearing an oath to avenge the death of Hugh Fitzwaryn. Was his memory as clear as Morvan's own? Did he also see the trusting eyes of the sick and broken woman before him, and the awestruck boy who stood by her side?
“Your father was a good friend,” Edward said. “He was one of the first to stand beside me when I went against the usurper Mortimer. He was a strong voice on my behalf with the border lords. I will never forgive myself that I could not relieve him at Harclow.”
Morvan waited.
“I understand your resolve to regain your family's honor, but it is not a propitious time. The French question must be settled first, and the situation with Scotland is precarious. I cannot spare an army, and would not have a family matter disrupt the peace we have there. In a few years, perhaps …”
Morvan had known for some years that Edward would never spare an army for such an expedition, but it was just as well that the King didn't admit as much to himself.
“I would not plan an action without your approval, of course, and am willing to wait a few years if that is necessary. But not much longer, I hope. I would have my father rest finally in his grave.”
Edward nodded in a way that looked oddly grateful for a king.
“As to the army, I have thought of a way to take care of that. If you agree to it, I would need much less help from you.”
“Have you indeed? Let us hear it.”
“I have learned that you commanded Anna de Leon to marry. Give her to me.”
Edward frowned. “I had intended those lands for Sir Giles….”
“She will not accept him, and believes the choice is hers to make. Find Sir Giles a different estate.”
“If she does not accept my will, there are other ways to deal with her.” A steely look accompanied the statement.
“Let me deal with her.”
The King considered it. “Damn Bretons,” he muttered. “They are an irascible race. They will eat each other alive in this war of theirs. The men are bad enough, but these women … Do you understand what you would get in her? The lands may be rich, but the woman goes with them. I know all about her, and I wonder if she is not half mad, or a witch.”
There it was, explicitly. The thin line that she walked. The other ways of interpreting her behavior. Anna might have Breton law on her side, but this was an English king who would see the worst if it suited his purpose.
“Her people think that she is a saint.
”
“Oh, aye, and that is worse. I do not need a saint in Brittany. If the forces loose there gather around her, who knows what will transpire. I cannot afford such trouble. The ports are too important to our trade and war plans. Best if I keep her here. I have debated it since I met with her and saw how she does not know her place. If she won't accept my choice of husband, I will confine her with that other Breton madwoman.”
“Give her to me. I am known by her people, and by her. A virgin warrior might be the stuff of saintly legends, but a married woman is not. If you command her to marry me, you will be spared the worry of her, and know the loyalty of the man who holds that coastal fortress.” He paused, then added, “And you will have fulfilled your oath, to my mind.”
Edward's gaze sharpened. “Would you trade Harclow for La Roche de Roald? Would you trade an army for a woman?”
“Aye.” Except that he traded nothing. If Edward consented to this, all of it would one day be his. He was bargaining for the means to fulfill his destiny, and Anna was not merely the path to do so—she was part of that destiny. His soul knew that with certainty.
“You are so sure that you can get her to accept you?”
“I am sure.”
“She must be controlled. Nay, the more I think of it, the more I am convinced that confining her here—”
“I will control her.”
The King studied him, then rose and walked to a table. After dipping a quill, he scratched some words on a piece of parchment. “The day may come when you do not thank your King for approving this. Still, I will permit it if you agree to wait on Harclow. Give her this, and let her know my displeasure. If she still insists that choosing another is her right, we will know for certain that she is mad.”
“I will handle her. She will not deny your will.”
The King handed over the parchment.
Morvan took it and left the chamber. He paused in the passage beyond, and leaned against the cool stones of its wall.
That thing inside him that had tried to soar yesterday finally burst free of its restraints.
* * *
Christiana and David were breaking their fast in the hall when Morvan arrived at their house. He sat down to join them.
“No popinjays here yet?” he asked.
Christiana rolled her eyes. “Seven in all came yesterday. Like locusts they descend. I expect it to be worse today.”
He ate some bread and washed it down with ale. “Where is she?”
“Still asleep. She waited up with me for David to come home and is probably exhausted from yesterday.”
“Aye. So many suitors. It must be tiring.”
“Morvan—”
“It is all right, sister.” He got to his feet. “Well, off to battle.”
“Aye, and I see that you plan to give no quarter. The red pourpoint was a good choice. Draws attention to those damn eyes of yours,” David said.
“I thought so.”
“Do you want us to leave and clear the servants from the house so that you can seduce her in peace?”
“David!” Christiana gasped.
“I trust it won't come to that, but if so I will be discreet. You might stay off the second level.”
“Morvan!”
He gave his sister's wide-eyed face a little pat before leaving the room.
He mounted the stairs and opened the door to her chamber. In the dim light from the shuttered window he saw her sleeping on the bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. He reached down and gently pushed away a curl that hung over her nose.
Within an hour she would be his. He had no doubt how this morning would end. It had been fated from that first day when she opened the door to the longhouse and appeared to him in the halo of the afternoon sun. He had been led to her and she had been waiting for him, and they had both been spared from the plague so that they would have each other. Perhaps angels had been involved after all.
She was an unusual woman, and he admired her. She had briefly managed to create and lead the life that she wanted, and that was something even few men achieved. Yesterday she had fought to save that life. But it could not go on. The King had made that clear this morning. As Ascanio had once said, unique circumstances had permitted it, demanded it. In a world torn apart by war and plague, she had found herself. But it had been, in her own words, an interlude.
A part of him regretted that he would be the agent that ended that interlude, but she was better off with him than with someone else. Another man would either break her or be ruled by her. In either case, she would be in danger.
She would not have the strength this morning to be as cold as yesterday, he was certain. It was not in her nature and not in their bond, and, after all, one could only wear such heavy armor so long. Eventually she would submit to his reasoning, would accept his bargain, and she would never know that if she had stood firm he would have given her everything she asked for. Except Saint Meen. Once she was his, he would never let her leave him.
He shook her shoulder. “Awake, Anna. Come into the solar. We will speak now.”
She waited until he had gone before rising from the bed and wrapping the robe around her. Dragging her fingers through her snarled curls, she looked down at her long body wrapped in the overlarge green garment. So much for the lessons in negotiation he had once given her. Well, if any man knew what he was getting in her, it was Morvan.
She did not expect an outright rejection. He probably would not have come himself for that. He planned to bargain.
When he had left yesterday, she'd realized that any chance of getting all she wanted went out the door with him. If victory were to be hers, it would have come immediately. In a matter of hours, she had lost the advantage.
He stood by the window behind the desk, wearing a red pourpoint and high boots and looking beautiful in the sun's morning light. Her heart lurched at the sight of him, and she remembered the reassurance she had given Ascanio that night he found them together. I will not live out my life in some foolish jongleur's song, pining for a man who does not want me. Yet that was exactly what she was asking for now, was it not? At Saint Meen there would have been time and distance to heal the pain, but in marriage it would be a scar reopened daily.
She padded her bare feet over to the chair by the fire, sat with her legs drawn up under her, and waited. He picked up the King's list from the desk and came over to her.
“There are five names. Have you met any of them?”
“Several. One seemed quite decent.”
“Most of these men are well known for various scandals. There is no choice here, Anna. The King sought to beat you at your game. Only Sir Giles is suitable. Edward expected you to be told this.”
“Perhaps the King is wiser than I thought. Perhaps his choice should be mine.”
“Aye, it should be, and not Sir Giles. Edward has changed his mind.” He tossed the list into the fire. The flames jumped and quickly consumed it. “There is a new list. A very short one.” He handed her the new parchment.
She read the King's firm statement of command, and the name of the man he had chosen. “Only you this time.”
“Only me.”
“You went to him. You asked for this, to place me at a disadvantage. Why did he agree?”
“He has a debt to me.”
“So I have been bartered and made powerless in order to repay a debt. And to salve your pride. My horses are left with more dignity. Yesterday I offered to share my bread with you, but you have found a way to gobble it all. I will not agree to this. I will tell the King that I accept Sir Giles if necessary. If your King changed his mind once, he will change it again.” She turned her gaze away. “You may go. I am done speaking of this with you.”
He was in front of her suddenly, lifting her chin with his hand, forcing her to look up at him. “Hear me well, Anna. That is the last time that you will dismiss me.”
“Aye, because if I have my way, this will be the last time that I see you.”
“
You will not have your way. You will marry the man of Edward's choosing, or he will deal harshly with you. Be glad that man is me.”
“I cannot imagine why that news should hearten me.”
“Because I know that you are not a saint, or a witch, or mad. And because I am willing to bargain with you, despite the King's command.”
“I doubt that the terms will be generous.”
“Generous enough, but if you insist on being willful, we can marry without them. Because we will marry, Anna, or the King will put you away with the duke's mother.”
Her throat tightened. She searched his expression for a sign that the threat was an idle one, but saw only stern honesty.
“I suppose I should at least hear these terms,” she muttered.
He moved another chair and sat beside her. “I offer you something that you did not ask for yesterday. Brittany herself. Sir Giles holds lands in England. Not only will he not negotiate with you at all, but he will just appoint a seneschal to your lands. You may never see your home again. If you refuse to marry at all, you can be sure that you will not.”
“And if you someday once again have lands in England?”
“If I return here, it will be your choice whether to come.”
She had not thought to ask for this concession. She wondered what she would have to lose to pay for it.
“I am also willing to accept the written contract as you described it, and your provisions for Catherine and Josce and the others on the estate.”
Now they were down to it. “And the rest?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “The lands near Rennes will be yours, but the income derives to me until you are widowed. I will hold it for you, and give it to you as you request unless I think your judgment ill advised. And the choice of retiring to Saint Meen while I live will not be yours. However, if after six years you are still set on it, we will talk.”
Six years. It was a long time, but she had expected complete refusal on this point; it was embarrassing for a man to have his wife leave him thus. Still, for six years she would have to watch him go to his women.
“You must know that your last two conditions are unacceptable . The issue of children is up to God, but a marriage that is not consummated can be challenged. I will not risk that.”
The Protector Page 18