Mary Reed McCall

by Secret Vows

  Nay…

  Oh, God, he’d failed to convince them. He’d failed her. They’d already tried and convicted her in their minds; he could hear their verdict as plainly as if it had been proclaimed aloud in the chamber.

  Because she is a woman, a shadowy voice hissed from deep in his brain. Aye, he wanted to shout. A beautiful, strong, courageous woman who had fought back and killed the wretch who was abusing her.

  But Catherine’s words to him on that day he’d first suggested training her to fight returned in the shadow voice to haunt him now and forced him to silence.

  “Under English law a woman cannot take arms against a man.”

  “In the act of protecting oneself, ’tis allowed,” he’d replied blithely.

  “And yet many women have been punished for daring to do just that, especially to men bearing title…”

  Oh God…

  Catherine seemed unaware of the darkness, the slithering contempt these men harbored against her. She stood there unsuspecting of the danger, the death waiting for her if she continued to claim guilt in Eduard’s murder.

  Almost against his will, Gray’s gaze flew to the grim-faced Court official shuffling a pile of parchments to the left of the king. ’Twas Lord Webster, the sour old man who’d come to his cell daily to observe the interrogations. Once he found the document he was seeking, the man would be called to speak. There was no doubt that he would bring forth the Council’s judgement against Catherine in front of everyone assembled here.

  And then it would be too late.

  At that moment Gray knew that he had to stop this in any way he could. He had to stop these men, before they brought down their wrath on Catherine’s innocent head.

  “Your Highness!” he called, throwing himself forward. More than a dozen soldiers in orange tunics lowered their spears at him, while his guards grabbed frantically at his arms to hold him back.

  He struggled to shake them off, yelling, “Your Highness, I cast myself on your mercy and publicly claim open and clear disobedience to you, as well as full responsibility in the murder of my sworn rival, Eduard de Montford!”

  The Court erupted into chaos, but Gray shouted over it, forcing himself to avoid Catherine’s stricken stare. “I surrender myself to your judgement and penalty, great king, and ask only that you release this woman, who is innocent of any wrongdoing in—”

  “Nay! ’Tis not true!” Catherine cried. Spectators lurched to their feet, engrossed in the drama, and the clamor of voices rose.

  “He bears no fault in this!” Catherine called above the din. “’Tis I who killed Lord Montford! I alone who bear guilt in—”

  “Enough!” the king roared. His command cut through the furor, bringing everyone to a reluctant hush. He stood and glared at the assembly. Dark anticipation seethed through the chamber, curling about everyone’s ankles, alive and snakelike.

  “In all of Our years as sovereign,” Henry grated, his face stiff with fury, “We have never been subjected to the kind of frenzy engendered this day by the two of you, each stubbornly clinging to a confession of guilt in the same villainous crime. We are almost tempted to order both of your foolish heads struck off for it!”

  Renewed gasps and murmurs echoed through the chamber, but the king continued, undaunted in his anger. Placing both of his hands on the table in front of him, he leaned forward to speak deliberately, succinctly. “However, as England is a civilized nation, We prefer not to execute the innocent alongside the guilty.”

  Gray made a move to speak again, but Henry held up his hand, his fingers so rigid that they appeared made of stone. Stepping back, Gray clenched his jaw and waited, deciding that it would be in Catherine’s best interest for him to obey for now.

  “Lord Montford was one of Our most powerful nobles,” the king said fiercely. “A seasoned warrior and champion. And regardless of what part he may have played in this affair—a part that he is forever deprived from defending himself against, We remind you—We do not take his murder or his loss to the Crown lightly.”

  Gray gritted his teeth, but the king continued, glaring at him. “Nor do We accept the constant and blatant disobedience of you, Lord Camville, Our equally powerful and hitherto most favored High Champion. Your repeated defiance of Our sanctions speaks ill of your allegiance to Our authority.”

  More whispers arose, increasing to a low buzz as the king next directed his harsh stare at Catherine. “And as for the deceits that it appears you have perpetrated, lady, We find that We have no words to express Our feelings of shock and dismay.”

  She flushed and dropped her gaze. Henry’s expression softened a little, though he didn’t say more to her, directing his next words instead to the gathered assembly. “It is time to resolve this matter once and for all.”

  He sat in a flourish of jeweled robes, making an irritated gesture with his hand toward Lord Webster at his left. “The Court Official will now present the Council’s findings to the assembly.”

  Gray scowled at Lord Webster, trying to catch his gaze, but the man ignored him to stand and look round the chamber, obviously relishing his important role in these proceedings.

  “We, the High Council,” he began in a nasal drone, “have come to several conclusions regarding the murder of Eduard de Montford and the events leading up to it.”

  Gray saw at least five of the dozen men on either side of the king avert their gazes or look down. His chest tightened, and he strained at the guards holding him, wanting to stop this, to make them all see reason before it was too late.

  “First, in response to the charge by Lord Camville that Lord Montford exercised abuses on Catherine de Montford in excess of that allowed by law as her guardian—no legal husband being present,” he directed a pointed glare at Gray, “we, the Council, find it to be unsubstantiated. In addition, we find that—”

  “Unsubstantiated?” Gray growled in disbelief. Rage slammed through him, and he lurched forward, blind to all else but the need to make this wretch admit the truth. “You arrogant bastard,” he shouted. “Did you see her when she arrived here? Jesu, he’d beaten her near to death! What kind of proof do you need?”

  Out of the chaos of the court chamber, four additional soldiers were forced to scramble to aid Gray’s guards in restraining him. He was fighting like a madman to get to the now pale-faced and gaping Lord Webster, itching to do to the man what Montford had done to Catherine, to see then if he thought her injuries unsubstantiated.

  Suddenly, something smashed into the back of his skull, and with a grunt he went down to his knees. Through the numbness that threatened to overtake him, he felt irons being clapped over his wrists, binding his hands together with thick chain.

  “Lord Camville, you will govern yourself,” King Henry called over the noise in the court chamber.

  Shaking the remaining stars from his vision, Gray pushed himself back to his feet, first glaring at the guard who’d dealt him the blow, then looking to the king. Fury still clouded his mind, pulsing through him in heated waves, but even through it, he perceived a subtle change in his monarch. He saw for the first time a glint of something, perhaps a kind of understanding, buried in Henry’s steely gaze.

  When Gray turned to Catherine, however, what remained of his anger curdled in his gut. She faced him, gazing at him with those solemn, sad eyes. Like a tangible force, he felt the strength of her love wash over him. It flowed to him in waves, mingled with the pain of watching him struggle. Finally, she just breathed in and shook her head, her sapphire eyes brimming as she pleaded silently with him to be still, to let this day take its course.

  Never! he wanted to shout. I will never allow them to blame you for killing Montford! He felt consumed by panic, wanting to destroy everything, anyone that might harm her. But before he could act, King Henry stood. He waved Lord Webster back into his seat, and the man sank down gratefully, his sweat-beaded face ashen, his eyes sunken as he fixed them on Gray.

  The king spoke, his voice firm. “We did not wish to invo
lve others in our quest for the truth this day, but it seems that We are left with no choice.”

  He looked to the sentries at the rear doors of the chamber. “Bring forth the two remaining witnesses!”

  Gray’s stomach lurched when he realized whom the king meant. He glanced again at Catherine, who’d blanched even milkier than she’d been a few moments ago. She gazed at him, eyes vulnerable, wounded by this latest blow. She seemed ready to topple over, and he tried to go to her, only to be yanked back none too gently by his guards, who pressed a blade to his back to keep him still.

  When the doors opened, she tore her gaze from his to look there, pressing her palm to her heart and making a sound that was half joyful sob, half moan.

  Isabel and Ian walked carefully into the chamber between the sentries, clutching each other’s hands, their eyes wide and faces serious. When they caught sight of their mother, they broke into smiles and went running to her, much to the chagrin of their guards, who began to chase after them, stopping only when the king waved his hand against it. Gray’s own eyes stung as Catherine embraced her children, and the court fell silent for the first time that afternoon, the only sound her muffled crying as she held them tight.

  After a moment King Henry cleared his throat. “Lady Catherine,” he called. She looked up, her expression stiffening as she straightened. At his nod, she turned the twins to face him and nudged them forward. “Pay your respects to King Henry, children,” she murmured, and they shuffled closer, Isabel dropping into an awkward curtsey and Ian offering a wobbly bow.

  The king nodded as if the gestures were executed to perfection, though several of the unpopular foreign advisors with whom he insisted on surrounding himself had the daring to snicker. Casting a sharp look at them, Henry stepped down from the dais. He looked to one of the court scribes to learn the twins’ names before walking to place himself in front of the children.

  “Ian, Isabel,” he said, as gently as Gray had ever heard him speak, “do you know why you have been brought before this Council and your king?”

  Ian took a deep breath, wearing an expression of awe as he took in the impressive sight of King Henry, from his masterful height, to his heavy golden crown and jewel-encrusted cape. Clamping his lips tight, the little boy shook his head. Isabel swallowed and darted a glance at her mother, before attempting to answer the sovereign.

  “Is it to win our Mummy home again?” she asked tremulously.

  Sympathetic murmurs rippled through the assembly, and the king looked as dismayed as if he’d just stepped into a steaming dunghill with his bare feet. “Nay, lass,” he finally managed to say. “’Tis to help Us to understand what happened the day that your dear Uncle was killed.”

  “He wasn’t dear,” Ian said with a snort, finding his voice at last. “He was horrid to us and to Mummy. More than ever on that last day.”

  Swiveling his head, Ian looked at Gray. “That knight was with us too,” he said, before addressing Gray directly, his little face wrinkling into a man-sized scowl, “And I believe you to be a good man, sir knight, for trying to help us escape my uncle. Yet ’tis only fair to tell you that if you intend to hurt my mother like Uncle Eduard and my Father did, then as her only champion, I shall have to challenge you to prevent it.”

  A few titters mixed in with the renewed murmuring that arose from the crowd, causing the king to raise his hand again. Gray’s belly felt hollow as he looked at the lad, standing so small and defiant in defense of his mother. What must these innocent children think of men and their brutality if their only real reference came from knowing Eduard and his equally cruel brother?

  “Fear not, young Ian,” Gray answered, loudly enough for everyone to hear him. “I will never harm your mother. And while there is breath in my body, I vow that I’ll not allow any other to harm her again either. Never again.”

  “That will be all, Lord Camville.” Henry’s tone was quiet but no less menacing. “Not another word from you, lest We be forced to remove you altogether from this chamber.”

  Gray forced himself to bite back a retort; he breathed deep and willed his temper in check, knowing as he did the deadly consequences of tweaking the Royal Lion’s tail further at this point. A few tense moments passed. The king’s gaze remained hard on him, but eventually, his continued silence seemed to satisfy. Henry returned his attention to the twins.

  “You understand, children,” he said, “that you are under solemn oath as loyal subjects to Us and thence to God, to share what you know of the day your uncle died, or of any other day, should it be asked of you.”

  Ian and Isabel didn’t answer, only gazing at their sovereign solemnly before swallowing hard and nodding.

  Henry stared down at them. “We are asking you now. Who was it that killed your Uncle Eduard?”

  Gray felt every muscle in his body tense as he waited for the children’s answer. Tell them it was me, his heart raged silently. Tell them I killed the bastard.

  Isabel looked like she was going to cry; she clasped her hands in front of herself and turned to her brother. He gazed back at her, clenching his jaw mutinously. Then he shook his head to show that he would not speak.

  “But we promised Mummy,” she whispered, a single tear spilling down her cheek. “We promised always to tell the truth.”

  “Not this time.” Ian’s small hands fisted at his sides. “I’m not saying anything. Not unless Mummy tells me I have to.”

  As if on signal, both of the children turned their heads to look at their mother. Catherine met their gazes; a calm, peaceful look crossed her features…

  And at that moment Gray knew all was lost.

  “Mummy?” Isabel asked, her voice choked with tears.

  “Ah, my sweethearts. How I love you both,” Catherine murmured, her eyes welling as she tried to smile for them. “But you were right, darling. You must do as I’ve always taught you. Tell King Henry the truth.”

  Gray’s stomach clenched and his heart beat shallow. His gaze locked with Catherine’s as Isabel clasped her brother’s hand, faced the king, and finally said, “Mummy said I have to say it, so I will. She’s the one who killed Uncle Eduard. He ran at her, and she stabbed him in the chest with that other knight’s sword.”

  “Aye, it was Mummy,” Ian agreed, his gaze downcast.

  The chamber erupted into chaos at the children’s proclamation; Gray wanted to roar with pain when Catherine mouthed the words, “I love you,” to him, silent tears spilling down her face as the guards began to lead her from the tumult surrounding them.

  King Henry resumed the dais, and the rest of the royal council stood. He and several of the others looked unsettled by what had just transpired, but he refused to meet Gray’s gaze as he prepared to lead his cabinet of advisors out of the room.

  “We will retire in private for sentencing!” one of the Court Officials announced. As if from a great distance, Gray felt someone click the lock on his manacles. A guard murmured, “You are free to go,” and then Gray’s hands fell limp to his sides. His breath rasped harsh in his ears, his vision cluttered with a myriad of colors and images as he gazed first at Catherine, then the king, then at the twins and the crowd that was moving en mass to the doors at the back of the chamber.

  Stop! his agonized brain screamed. It couldn’t end like this. There had to be another way. Something he could do to keep them from taking her away. Something…

  “Wait!” He shouted, pushing through the crowd and racing toward the dais where King Henry still stood. “My lord, I ask a moment’s indulgence, that I might offer a proposal.” He looked up at the king, fisting his hands and pressing them into the rich fabric draping the dais near his sovereign’s feet. “Please, Sire, I beg of you to hear me.”

  He added the last bit gruffly, not caring anymore that the eyes of all of the other nobles and barons in the court were on him. Not caring that such a public plea would humble him unforgivably in their perception, likely costing him all of the power and influence he’d managed to amass in his
years at Court. Nothing mattered now but saving the woman he loved.

  The chamber hushed again as Henry turned with a swish of his lustrous robes. “What is it, Camville?” His voice sounded flat, resigned as he looked down at Gray.

  “I ask of Your Highness a boon. Allow me the right of wergild, my lord. I will pay whatever you deem fair for the loss of Lord Montford’s services to the Crown, if in return you restore Catherine’s freedom from the debt of his murder.”

  “Wergild?” Henry scowled, staring down at him from his regal height. “You wish to invoke that ancient and barbaric ritual?” He shook his head. “The paying of man-money for murder was a Saxon practice, Camville. It has not seen use in England in nigh on three centuries.”

  “Then restore it.”

  Henry waved his hand. “Impossible. Even if We chose to allow such an outdated code of law, Lord Montford’s worth as one of Our High Champions is virtually incalculable. ’Twould amount to an enormous sum.”

  “Perhaps,” Gray nodded, feeling more hopeful with every passing moment that kept Catherine from sentencing. “And yet I am willing to pay whatever you ask, here and now. Allow me that privilege, my lord, as your faithful servant.”

  King Henry had gone still. He looked at Gray and then to where Catherine stood near the door, surrounded by guards. But Gray didn’t trust himself to meet her gaze himself yet.

  Not yet.

  Desperate to have this one, last chance, Gray added quietly, “I have never asked a personal boon of you, Sire. Not in all of the seventeen years I have served you. But I do so now, before these gathered here to witness your justice. Invoke your God-given power, Sire. Issue the command for wergild in this case, and name me your price.”

  Henry’s gaze narrowed. The crowd remained hushed, every person teetering on the edge of anticipation as they awaited the king’s response to his greatest Champion’s strange request.

  All of a sudden, the king folded his arms across his chest, his expression shifting to one of cold cunning. The change made Gray’s gut twist, reminding him again of his sovereign’s penchant for fickle and often petulant behavior. He only prayed that he hadn’t overstepped his bounds this time, for the results would surely be fatal.