The Protector

by Madeline Hunter

  Inside the solar, Haarold and Gurwant sat waiting for him. Standing near the window was a blond-haired man with dark eyes, wearing priest's vestments.

  “He would not speak until he saw that you were alive,” Haarold said.

  Ascanio looked him over. He reached under his robe and withdrew a dagger. Glaring a challenge at Gurwant, he walked over and cut the rope. Morvan slid off the bindings, then went to stand beside Haarold. He wanted his face to be visible to his friend during the parlay.

  “You find being a priest convenient when it suits you, Sir Ascanio,” Gurwant said.

  “I am always a priest, especially on this holiest of days. Perhaps you wish to confess?”

  Gurwant laughed at that. “You are alone. What kind of woman refuses to come to a wounded husband when he sends for her?”

  “An intelligent woman who knows he would never ask her to come here. She saw the truth of it at once. She knew the message did not come from him.”

  Gurwant smiled ruefully. “I underestimated her.”

  “Men often do.”

  Gurwant gestured to Morvan. “So. Now you see that the English thief still lives.”

  “Sir Morvan is many things, but no thief.”

  “He stole what is mine. This would have been easier if she had come with you, but she only delays things. I have terms for you to bring to Anna.”

  “The only terms that she will hear are those that secure his release.”

  “He dies. I will hang him for the thief that he is.”

  “Then this castle becomes your tomb. And yours too, Haarold. Even now she gathers an army.”

  Despite his perpetual frown, Haarold's face could be very expressive. Impatience flashed. “Tell him the terms, Gurwant. Enough of these games.”

  Gurwant glanced over as if Haarold were a boring adult taking away a child's fun. He looked at Morvan with a thin smile. “You think that she is yours? We will see. Just what will she give to save you?”

  Morvan didn't acknowledge the question. He kept his gaze on Ascanio, and hoped that his friend read the commands that he silently communicated.

  “Tell her that she can save her husband in exchange for the treasure of La Roche de Roald.”

  Ascanio didn't flinch. “Is that all? It will be brought.”

  “That is not all. She is to bring it herself. She is to come to me. With no guard.” He paused thoughtfully. “Naked.”

  Haarold, and only Haarold, reacted. “Good God, man. Enough.”

  “Fine, my friend. I will respect your counsel. She is to come wearing only her shift.” He turned to Morvan. “If you use her army against me after you are released, I will kill her.”

  “Why not ask for the child while you are at it, Gurwant,” Morvan snarled sarcastically.

  “Why not, indeed. Aye, she is to bring the serf girl with her.”

  Ascanio's shock at the goad faded quickly. He glanced his comprehension to Morvan. She might well have come herself, but she would never give up the child.

  Gurwant extended his legs, a man content with himself. “Six days hence. If she has not come, I will hang him.”

  “She will not enter this castle while he is held. If she exchanges herself for him, it must be outside the walls.”

  “We will do it on the plain in front of this castle.”

  “Beyond the range of the bowmen on the battlements. If she does this for him, she will not risk treachery.”

  “Six days hence. At daybreak. If I see an army, or any knights, if she brings ought but servants with her, he is dead.”

  Ascanio nodded. “Six days then.” He gestured to Morvan. “I would see that he is cleaned up. Anna is fascinated by his beauty, and if she sees him like this, there is no telling what she will do.”

  “She will come then?” Haarold asked anxiously.

  Ascanio shrugged. “Who knows? She never wanted to marry, and was content without him. Even now she has retaken the place that she gave up to him. But he has bound her to him with pleasure, and she may be besotted enough to do this for him. Then again, she may decide to let him die and then enjoy herself avenging him. For your sake, Haarold, you had best pray that she is indeed a saint.”

  CHAPTER 24

  ANNA LISTENED TO Ascanio's report. Josce, Catherine, Carlos, and the knights were with her. A shudder of relief had passed through the castle when Ascanio returned and announced that Morvan still lived, but as he listed the details of Gurwant's demands a dark sobriety returned.

  Anna had no trouble visualizing his meeting with Gurwant and Haarold, and could see her husband standing silently through it all, aloof to the negotiations over his life.

  Through the solar windows came the sounds that signaled the arrival of Fouke and his retinue. She expected Baldwin and Gaultier by the morning. The English garrison had already sent twenty longbowmen from Brest, and she had met with the town elders and demanded that they commit their guard as well.

  Yesterday she had ridden to the nearest villages, asking their aid. Faced once more with the threat of Gurwant, the farmers had decided the English lord was not so bad. They would come, to help their saint defeat the devil.

  “It is his will that you do not meet with Gurwant, or try to exchange yourself for him,” Ascanio concluded. It was the third time in his story that he had inserted that.

  “You mentioned nothing of speaking with him privately.”

  “He said nothing, but he made his will known.”

  Aye, he could do that, she knew. But she didn't have to agree that it had been made clear. Not that she would have obeyed a direct command anyway.

  “Will Gurwant accept an individual challenge? Will he meet me one-on-one?” Sir Walter asked.

  She shook her head. “This is no longer about this castle and this estate, Sir Walter. It is about revenge.”

  “And jealousy,” Ascanio added.

  She would have found that suggestion preposterous not so long ago. Now she accepted the observation without comment. Ascanio's assessment, however, meant that Gurwant wanted Morvan dead for more reasons than to reopen his claim to her and the estate. That only made the situation more precarious.

  “Remind me how the land lies there, Ascanio,” she said.

  “The castle is on a hill overlooking a plain. To the west, about a quarter of a mile away, there are more hills. No doubt they will have someone on them watching, so we can forget about hiding the army behind them.”

  “What if we take the watchmen?”

  “If our army comes over the hills, there will still be time to kill Morvan before we reach him.”

  “But Gurwant will be there, you think? With Morvan?”

  “I doubt that he will be able to resist.”

  “We can lay siege for months, Anna,” Josce said. “We can starve them out. Gurwant and Haarold are dead men.”

  “If we do it that way, so is Morvan.”

  Ascanio looked into her eyes. “He is anyway, Anna. You are not to go.”

  She rested back in her chair. The muscles in her arms ached, for she had spent many hours the last days practicing with the bow at the farm. Shadow was in heat, and so she had yesterday used the lead stallion as her mount, training him to her commands as she imagined her bolts coursing into Gurwant's black heart.

  Since that bleak Maundy Thursday she had retaken command of the castle. No one, not even the new knights, had questioned the sense of it. It had suddenly been like before, but with two differences. For one thing, now she understood the complex reactions that men had to her, and knew the power that it gave her. The other difference had been that she no longer wanted this authority, at least not under these circumstances. A part of her, a big part, wished that one of the vassals or knights would show the strength that Morvan had always shown and step forward to at least share the burden.

  “There will be no long siege,” she said. “I will not hold this army there all summer, and I will not have Gervaise and the other innocents in that castle suffer. We will attack when Gurwant
is on the field waiting for me.”

  She spoke with more determination than she felt. Surely there must be an alternative to letting Morvan die. “Leave me now. I need some time alone. Tell Fouke that I will see him shortly.”

  Ascanio held back as the others left. “If you do it this way, Anna, you must not lead them.”

  She glared up at him.

  “He would not want you to see his death. And he could get no satisfaction from this retribution if he knew that you rode into danger.”

  Tears blurred her vision. Silent tears, that she held in only with fierce determination. Weak tears that no one but Ascanio would ever see.

  “I would speak with him one more time,” she whispered.

  “He already knows all that you would say.”

  “He does not. I want to see him again.”

  “Not like this. Give him that.”

  Helplessness and anguish ripped through her. She gritted her teeth and pounded her fists on her knees. “I want to kill Gurwant.”

  His hand gripped her shoulder. “Morvan wants him dead too. But for your sake, and not by your hand.”

  Ascanio stood by her until her breathing calmed and the tears stopped. “Go now, dear friend,” she said. “I have much to think over still.”

  Leaving the solar, she went down to her chamber, where she so often had found the solitude and strength that she now desperately needed. Lying down on their bed, she tried to ignore the space beside her where Morvan should have been. Yet something of his presence still lingered there, and she turned her body toward it.

  A drowsy peace claimed her and her dulled thoughts wandered, aimlessly and scattered, over Gurwant's demands. The treasure of La Roche de Roald. There was no such thing. She had searched the entire castle for it on the small chance that it actually existed. Two days ago, torch in hand and rope in tow, she had gone down to the foundation vaults and passages and opened every door of every chamber just to make sure it was not all legend. She had found only rotting pallets, rats, and rusting armor.

  Herself in a shift. He wanted her humbled and conquered before the world. She would do it, except that she was sure Morvan would die in front of her eyes as soon as Gurwant had her. The man had no honor, and neither he nor Haarold could risk releasing Morvan alive.

  The child. The worst part, really. Without that, she might take her chances. On her own, she would go to Gurwant, and try to kill him before he could execute Morvan. But the child …

  The terms and their images floated through her mind again and again. And then they began playing out like a pageant, combining in new ways, the shapes of the pieces transformed to fit with the others in new, unexpected ways. She began directing these thoughts, considering their possibilities.

  She went out on the gallery and looked to the sea. She went through it once again. Maybe, just maybe … It was a huge gamble, especially for Marguerite. Still, if the child played a role in this revenge on Gurwant, might it not give her back something of what he had taken from her?

  It could work. And if it didn't … well, they could all die together.

  Gurwant had a knack for the dramatic gesture. An elaborate scaffold had been constructed on a high dais out in the middle of the plain. It was oriented so that the condemned could face the western hills and watch for the woman who would rescue them.

  Morvan climbed the stairs and Gurwant fitted the noose around his neck. He expected and wanted no rescue, and even if it came, he knew he'd receive no quarter from this man. They had to kill him now.

  He glanced over to where Louis and his two men stood beside him. He doubted that Haarold had approved of that. Gurwant had probably included them because one hanged man made a poor display and four looked impressive.

  Gurwant checked the rope tying Morvan's hands behind his back, and then went to do the same on Louis.

  “This is between you and me, Gurwant. There is no need for the others,” Morvan said.

  “This one gave me too much trouble.”

  “Nonsense. Torturing him gave you great pleasure. You should release him for that reason alone.”

  Gurwant's cold eyes shifted to him. “I think that I will let you live for a while after she comes. I will let you watch me take her before I kill you.”

  “She will not come. There is no treasure to bring. She will not let you have the child.”

  “If she wants to save you she will find a treasure. She will weigh the girl against you and give her up.”

  “She knows that you have no honor and will kill me anyway.”

  “She is Breton, and that is something you do not understand. She will come—if not to save you, then to kill me.” He walked down the steps and took a position in front of the dais to wait.

  Morvan glanced down at the gaping hole cut in the floorboards in front of him. Not a deep drop. No quick snap of the neck. Under the circumstances, the bath and shave that they had given him last night seemed very pointless. Perhaps Gurwant had decided that if he died looking like a common criminal the drama would lose some of its effect.

  He let his mind wander to Anna. The regrets that he had about her had been laid to rest last night. Today the thought of her only brought him tremendous peace, and gratitude that between his last deathwatch and this he had been granted something that gave life and even death some meaning.

  He had already decided that he would fill his mind with her at the end.

  “My lord.”

  He turned to Louis. The youth looked straight ahead to the western horizon. Dawn's mist still shrouded the far plain and hills, but Morvan's eyes found what Louis had seen.

  His breath caught. Nay. If he thought that his voice would carry that far, he would have hurled the command at them.

  Cresting the hill, lumbering into view, came a large wagon pulled by two horses. He cursed inwardly as it rolled slowly down the slope.

  Below him Gurwant snapped alert, and the twenty men with him deployed themselves in front of the dais.

  The wagon moved into clearer view. Carlos held the reins. Beside him, swaddled in a long cloak, sat Marguerite.

  Morvan couldn't believe that he was seeing this. He had been sure that she would never give up the girl—and it had been his own doing that Gurwant had even asked for her. The child's terror would follow him to the grave now.

  Carlos drove the wagon right up to the dais, forcing Gurwant's men to move away, and stopped it alongside.

  Morvan looked down into the wagon. Piled inside was the movable wealth of La Roche de Roald. Every item of any value, from the silver dinner plates to the tapestries that hung in the solar, had been thrown in. Atop this mound sat an open chest full of gold and silver coins, many more coins than the estate reserve.

  Carlos glanced down behind his seat in a meaningful way. Morvan let his own gaze follow. Under the tapestry, its edge barely visible beneath the clutter, lay a shield. He also saw the very tip of a sword's hilt.

  Damn it, what was she up to? Twenty men guarded this dais. Even if he could get the weapon … But maybe Anna just wanted to give him the right to die fighting. It would be like her.

  Gurwant walked over to the wagon and surveyed its contents. “The treasure of La Roche de Roald,” he said.

  “Part of it. The rest arrives soon,” Carlos said.

  “She is coming then?”

  “Aye. She is coming.” His tone suggested that Carlos thought Anna had made a bad choice. Morvan agreed. His head and heart almost burst from the turmoil in them. The relief that he would see her one more time fought with fear for her.

  Marguerite descended from the wagon, holding her cloak tightly around her. Gurwant looked down at her. She did not even acknowledge his presence, but kept her gaze fixed on Morvan. Gurwant touched the girl's head. Morvan's stomach turned.

  “I am not yours until the exchange is made,” Marguerite said stiffly. “I will wait with my lord.” She marched over to the steps, straight-backed and proud. She bore such dignity in her manner that no one thought to st
op her. She came up and stood between Morvan and Louis.

  Everyone waited, milling around expectantly, the men eyeing the coins pouring out of the chest. Then the air on the plain changed and a soundless noise poured toward them from the west. Morvan knew what was happening, and Gurwant and the other battle-experienced men recognized it as well. This was the way a field felt when the enemy charged but had not yet become visible.

  But the western hills did not fill with soldiers and knights. Instead, snaking over the crest came a long line of horses tethered together, herded by six grooms.

  The real treasure of La Roche de Roald. Their value would easily surpass the coin in the chest.

  The front of the long file drew near, and the lead groom jumped down from his mount. The other horses were not drawn up, but kept strung out. The grooms dropped to their feet and untethered them, holding them in groups by their reins. She had sent only the stallions.

  The horses in one of the distant groups moved a bit. From his raised position Morvan saw the faintest glint of steel on the groom's saddle under a leather flap. His glance quickly shot around the rest of the herd. Except for the lead man, these were not grooms at all, but five of his own knights and soldiers. They stayed out of view, blocked by the horses, slouching to look servile, but he picked out Walter and several of the other recent additions to his retinue.

  “My lord, look you to my cloak,” Marguerite whispered. She lifted one edge of her cloak to reveal a dagger hung around her waist. “When she comes.”

  “It is too risky for you, child.”

  “When she comes, no one will be watching us.”

  Perhaps she was right. Indeed, no one watched them now. Certainly not Gurwant, whose gaze examined the western horizon, searching for the woman he both hated and wanted.

  Suddenly, on the most distant hill to the north, two men appeared. One was Ascanio. They dismounted, as if to announce that they would come no farther. Their presence created a new air of anticipation. Gurwant paced forward, away from the dais to the fore of his men.

  And then, out of the thinning mist that surrounded the southern hill, a white horse began to emerge. It stopped for a moment, and the early morning sun picked up the gold of long blond curls blowing in the breeze.