The Protector

by Becca St. John

  He still watched her, his arm lifted, indicating the seat beside him. So big and strong, nostrils flaring with fury and challenge. He wanted her to join him in that. She would, in proving she held no fear, but not in anger. There is no joy in bitterness.

  Still, something sparked within her, a desire to place her hand on his arm and join ranks, to feel the warmth of companionship. She missed the man he was, willed the resurrection of that idealistic eagerness that had him bounding through life. Impossible, yet something in his gesture, his words last night, hinted at goodness. Nudged by that glimpse, she moved toward the staircase.

  He waited for her, offered his arm, firm and steady, while her hand trembled with awareness. She was not wanted here by any but him. Danger lurked in that.

  Behind them, entrance doors opened wide. A shaft of light struck the entrance hallway, and jovial bantering. Three of his knights stepped into sight, silhouetted in the backlight of the entrance to the hall, jostling each other to gain the side of a woman.

  Roland’s gaze lifted from her to the threesome, his scowl fierce.

  A gypsy woman. Fascinating. Veri heard tales of the gypsies, had them described to her, but this was the first she had seen of one. Convents offered much work and scant amusement. Oh, yes, this woman was entertainment on her own with her bright colors and jangling jewelry.

  “Tanya?” Roland muttered in disgust. “Good God, what are my men thinking?”

  Ah, the infamous light fingers of the gypsies. A castle, with all its precious possessions and all its people who fought for and cherished those possessions, was no place for such a woman.

  “Who is she?” Veri asked.

  Roland hesitated before answering. “A fickle camp follower. Not fit to dine at this table.”

  “She must eat. Let her stay.”

  He didn’t want to, she could see that, but rather than refuse her request he explained. “My fellow crusaders have been at war too long, too many years away from the intricacies of courtly behavior. This is an insult.” He gestured down the table. “Look. Our garrison soldiers will not take kindly to this.”

  They hadn’t. They elbowed each other, glowered at the road wizened knights.

  “There’s enough animosity between the divisions without this.” He explained, as he seated her at her place.

  He did not sit, but stood rigid behind his chair, gripping the back of it.

  The head table formed the bottom of a ‘u’, flanked by long lines of tables down the hall. Tanya sashayed between the rows, toward them, her whole body swaying so one noticed the swell of her hips, breasts and the narrowing of waist.

  Heat rose along Veri’s neck to her cheeks and she looked away. Although too innocent to understand Tanya’s approach as an invitation to Roland, she sensed the dance’s private nature.

  Temptation to peek beckoned.

  So bold, the woman arched her back, encouraged all to view a meagerly covered bosom. Rather than look, Roland glared at his men. Sir Thomas moved forward, to grasp her arm. Swift as a sparrow, she shifted free to run nimble fingers through a mass of long black hair. Thomas reached for her again. She danced away on a deep throated laugh. The jangle of her bracelets, the tinkle of all the little bells, mirrored her laugh as she continued to avoid Thomas’ red-faced attempts at capture. Almond slanted eyes, black as a moonless night, met Veri’s. They gleamed with predatory humor.

  Roland raised an eyebrow. She winked at him in return. Winked, and pursed her lips before allowing another husky chuckle to escape.

  So this was want. The lust the sisters so warned against. The men wanted her, the few women present bristled. As if in answer to both, Tanya whipped around, skirts twirling high to reveal layers of brightly- colored underskirts. With a toss of her head, ebony tendrils flung about to land in enticing disarray.

  She invited the men, shrugged to any who would judge her. She sent a kiss to Roland, twirled, a swish of skirt, a sway of hip and brushed past Thomas to sit at the lowest place at the table.

  Perhaps the woman didn’t know that Roland had married last night.

  Hannah and her ladies, offended by the likes of Tanya, rose, which eased Veri’s ire, as she knew the sting of rejection.

  In support of the ladies, Oakland's garrison soldiers stood, roughly passing Roland's knights who sat with the camp follower. One of the soldiers knocked Sir Rob into his trencher. Brazenly, he leaned over, his mouth to Rob’s ear. Though he spoke to the knight, his eyes, hard and cold with insult, did not leave the gypsy woman.

  As quickly as a spark flew, Rob had his dagger at the man’s throat.

  “Halt!” Roland shouted, his glare pinning the men in place, the knife a still threat. Tension rippled, eased. The knights separated.

  Without taking his eyes off them, he sat.

  “Not the best start to the day.” He murmured, and encouraged Veri to eat.

  CHAPTER 4 ~ SETTLING IN

  He found her high up on the battlements above the corner tower of the castle, oblivious to the chaos she set into motion. The whole of the castle searched for her.

  He should have guessed where she’d gone. She always loved this spot, the wide view across the land to the western mountains.

  Today, the wind fanned her hair, pressed her dress taut, outlining the swell of breast, slight roundness of stomach. Fabric settled in the v, where her legs met, revealing a luscious curve of thigh that stopped his breath.

  Torture. He could not take her again, lost the right for his hands, his lips, to roam that sumptuous body.

  He forced himself to look higher.

  To see all of her.

  Unaware of his presence, her pain, raw and keening, was unmasked. She leaned, half over the battlements, face to the wind, eyes closed against any view but what she chose from deep inside. She looked ready to fly, to free herself, anchored only by the tracks of tears running down her cheeks and a white-knuckled grip on the wall.

  He should let her go, but he’d already witnessed how time failed to dim her light. Her nature, stronger than life’s trials, sparked a dazzling hope.

  He feared the darkness, without her. Would do anything for her, give her anything she wanted.

  Anything, but freedom.

  “Veri.”

  Startled, she regarded him as he crossed to her.

  She held her thick amber and gold mane back from her face with one hand, while anchoring her gown from billowing in the wind with another. She so small, the wind so wild, she needed both hands to steady herself.

  “Dori and Margaret left when I went to the balcony.” She said. “They left their meal, though they’d not eaten.”

  They would go hungry for their exodus. “Their ignorance will mend with time.”

  He took her arm, led her back to the tall stone wall of the tower, away from the height. He feared her desire to be gone might lead her on a fateful flight. It would not be the first time a disconsolate wife took such a leap. In future, he would have the guards bar her from the battlements.

  “I love it up here,” she told him, a slight smile to convince him despite her tear stained cheeks. “It makes one feel so free.”

  She turned to the wind once more, lifting her face, that smile, small, tentative, too fragile to count on.

  “It is a place for soldiers,” he answered gruffly, preparing her for the ban.

  “Am I in the way?”

  “Not if I am with you,” he softened the blow. She would be safe if he were there beside her. She need not be kept away entirely. The idea pleased him. He smiled down at her and frowned. She still wore the gown, the cloak, of a cloistered novice.

  “You need new garments.” This he could offer. “Go to the coffers, Hannah will have the key, find the fabric you most desire. Cwen will see that they are made.”

  Veri looked to the gown, let her hands trail along the knobby, serviceable fabric.

  “I don’t need much, Roland. There is no need to dress me in ornate fabrics.”

  “You are my wife,
” he told her stiffly, “You will wear the best of fabrics and jewels. You will dress suitably to your station.”

  She laughed, melting ice from his heart. “You mean to weigh me down with gold and silver? Perhaps little tinkling bells like that woman this morn.”

  He’d not broach the subject of Tanya, teased instead, “you are strong enough.”

  “Me?” She squeaked back, “with my small bones? It is no wonder so many women slump with old age!”

  “It is better to be slumped by jewels than bundles of wood.”

  With a shrug, Veri turned away. “As you wish.”

  The idea did not please her, but he did it for her. Fine clothes and wondrous jewels demanded respect, even admiration. Both could win over distrust, outweigh any number of faults. Even those of a witch.

  “Whatever happened to the bear?”

  Delighted, she looked up into his face, eyes alight with joy. A woman with the wonderous heart of a child.

  “Cin?” She asked, “Cin is still alive and well. He has claimed the convent grounds as his domain. Still terrorizes all who have yet to know him.”

  “How old do bears live to be?”

  “I do not know,” she told him, “but Cin looks to live on for many a year.”

  The wind carried a strand of hair across her face. Roland gently moved the silken length aside, trailed his finger along her cheek as he did so.

  She had every reason to hate him, to detest him for what he had done. Yet, she remained true, accepted her fate, for now, anyway. He should have known she would.

  Once, he had lost faith in her.

  He would not do so again.

  “Why did you want to end the marriage?” He couldn’t help but ask. “Why did you not wish to remain my wife?” He offered wealth, position, friendship. They had always been friends. From the start there had been that bond despite their differences.

  Veri pulled away to look out over the land below.

  “Because,” she spoke softly, slowly, “I knew they would not sit and feast with me. I knew that rumors would fly, about me, about you. It is no good, there is no purpose. Only ill can come from such a union.”

  “Nay.” He started to speak, but she interrupted him with a finger to his lips.

  “Nay to you,” she whispered, as he turned his head so her finger caressed the fullness of his lower lip. She pulled it away, curled that finger into a fist she held against her chest. “Listen to me. They are already speaking of the way I was in your room with no means but to fly through the shutters. They all watched this morn, without moving, when I stood upon the balcony. It is already whispered I set a spell, held everyone to their place or else the entire room would have emptied.”

  “My sisters, their women, removed with ease.”

  Veri’s sigh made him feel like a backward child. “Aye, they moved, but they did not look up at me. They merely sensed my presence. It is said that even you moved until you looked to my eyes.”

  “If that is true, your sources have better ears than mine.”

  “They want me to hear the whispers.”

  “Who?” Infuriated, he grabbed her shoulders, imprisoned her.

  She stung him with a look, a rebuttal to his hold, stronger than a slap. Ashamed, he released her.

  She walked back up to the crenellated wall, facing outward.

  He bent his lips to her ear, to be heard against the wind. “When Tanya came in? She saw you, yet moved.”

  “Tanya?” She titled her head.

  “Her name is of no import,” he snapped, furious with himself for mentioning it, “it is just that others moved. You could not have spelled any.”

  She shook her head, “Cwen told me that others thought I caused the gypsy to come. That she is another witch, summoned by me.”

  “Bloody hell! They do not!”

  “Aye, they do and do you know what?” She looked at him, “If I could have summoned her, I would have. She is fascinating, like no other woman I have ever seen. I went out to the hall because I saw her with the men, when they crossed the bailey to the castle.

  “She is of no merit next to you.” Roland barked, roughly setting Veri at arm’s length. The teasing warmth of her unsettling.

  “Stay away from her.” He advised, “As for foolish thoughts of foolish people, we will counter such things.” He held up his hand to ward off any more words from her, though she looked desperate to speak. “Nay, do not say ‘no good can come of our marriage.’ Much good can and will come of it. You… ,” he held her shoulders, searching her face for understanding, “you can give me back my life. You can show me that there is good in this world. You can make me laugh!”

  “It is a high command, to ask me to do all this.”

  “It is not so difficult for you.”

  “And how will that be when they are afraid to so much as breathe the air I breathe?”

  This, the first day, was bound to be difficult in the beginning. He could counter that.

  She tried to explain, “as I walked past, one of the maids held her breath, tried not to breathe the same air as I.”

  “No one will die from holding their breath.”

  “Ohhh!” Veri stamped her foot, “you refuse to see!”

  Oh, aye, there were problems, but he refused to burden her when he would deal with them. And the first would be to stop Cwen from speaking of such tales.

  He vowed Veri would have no worries, no concerns. All problem solving must be his.

  He wanted her happy.

  “You said,” she tried again, “you said, ‘they will come to see what I see.’ How? How can they judge me when they will not look into my eyes for the truth? You will find yourself sending me away after much pain and newfound bitterness. You should marry one of your own, as your sisters begged you to do before.”

  “I have married you, we have become one.” He barked, no longer amused by her attempts to dissuade him. “Let no one put asunder what God has joined!”

  “And the devil will surely tear apart,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER 5 ~ VIPERS

  “I have had enough!” Veri tossed her sewing into the air. The fine silk billowed and twisted, a slithery tendril of crimson landing in a heap, the gold embroidery an untamed contrast to the gentle pool of fabric.

  The gentle breeze from the window tugged and pulled Veri as effectively as it caught the fabric. She stood in the opening, listened to the whisper of the wind, its haunting song of mountains and caves, the smell of the dew in the morning. Memories of home.

  “You’re just not used to sewing, milady.” Cwen offered generously.

  Eyes closed, face turned to the sun, Veri sighed, “You mean I’ve neither talent nor inclination for such pursuits.”

  “You’ve stuck to it for near on three days.”

  “Oh, aye, and that is enough.”

  She didn’t want to talk just now. Perhaps Cwen noticed, for she didn’t pursue conversation. Wonderful Cwen. If not for the girl, this would be a lonely time indeed.

  If she sat to dinner, the servers held their breath when near her, others failed to eat entirely. At least no one left the table. Roland’s doing, no doubt. To his displeasure, she refused to sup with the others. Cwen supplied plates of meat and bread, bowls of fruit for Veri’s chambers.

  Roland, the only reason to be at Oakland at all, avoided her, stayed away. Except at night, when he thought she slept. Steady and somber, he would stand in the doorway, wrapped in a wealth of emotions so tangible it pulled Veri from sleep as surely as a caress, though too far away to touch, comfort.

  Those nights, she waited, to see what he would do, to see if he would come to her. When she could stand it no longer, she would sit up, meet his questing gaze and he would bid good night, shut the door all but a sliver. She wondered if he watched through that slice of opening, between door and frame.

  He did, she knew, for the sense of emotion never melted away.

  Last night she’d tossed a cup at the barrier, shattered it.
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  Hell’s teeth! Why keep her at Oakland if he meant to stay away?

  Cwen gasped, “Oh, milady, it’s the silk! My rough hands are snagging it.”

  Veri ran her thumb over Cwen’s work roughened skin.

  “Did the lotion not work?” She looked up sharply, “The recipe I gave you? It usually works far more quickly than this!”

  Pulling her hand back, Cwen failed to meet her mistress’s eyes.

  “I’ve yet to gather all you said to use,” she admitted.

  “Of course not!” Veri sighed, “you’ve had no time, have you. Never mind, if I remember right, Hannah had stores of herbs below stairs. I will see what I can find.”

  “No, milady!” Cwen countered, but Veri would not hear of it. She wanted to move around, wanted to do something more useful than put stitches to cloth. If Hannah objected, so much the better. Veri’s restlessness primed for confrontation.

  “Just wait, it won't take long.”

  Raised to care for others, to mend what ailed them, the nature of plants clearer to her than her own temperament. She could do this, be useful.

  Easy enough to avoid the great hall and all the people eager to watch and wonder where she went. If they had any sense of it, she would be stopped. Of that, she had no doubt. So she followed the hallways, with their smoky torchlight and deep shadows, to the stairs at the back of the castle. Quietly, she slipped past the garrison hall, down two more levels.

  The storerooms were below the great hall, above the dungeons. Hannah’s room would be on the right. The first door was locked. The second door, much to her surprise, opened easily. She slipped in, leaned against the doorframe, filled her lungs with the scent of it. So familiar, mint and marigold, tansy root and clover.

  She pushed away from the doorway, crossed to the shelves, anticipation growing. Jars along shelves, arranged by the color of the pot. A code of sorts, different colors for different types of herbs. Roots hung from the beams, drying racks stood, some with leaves strewn about, some empty, and waiting for the fullness of the season. All common.