by Ruth Kaufman
“My niece is mistaken as usual. Because no one of import knows I’m here. Challenging to do, but I sneaked in. However, if Annora does as I wish, I’ll leave quietly and no one will get hurt. Now. Here’s what’s going to happen.” He tightened his grip on Ninian, but she didn’t reveal any strain. “Annora needs to sign several documents if she wants your friend to remain among the living.” Roger directed his words toward Morgan as if Annora were incapable of understanding. “Simple as that. Have her take this bag and open it.”
She glanced at Morgan. When he nodded, she grabbed the bag her uncle slid off his shoulder. Inside she found several rolls of parchment tied with reddish ribbon, a leather pot of ink and a pen.
“Annora shall sign each of those,” Roger demanded.
“I’m not signing anything from or for you.”
“This is all your fault. You abandoned your castle and your responsibilities. Which forced me to come all this way to track you down so your lands don’t fall into disrepair and so the bills get paid.” Roger held up a finger for each complaint. “The least you can do is sign when I ask. I’m trying to help you, as always.”
Her uncle played the put-upon relative very convincingly. Morgan now understood how he could convince others that Annora was ill.
“Is this the song you’re singing now? You left me no choice but to leave—nay, escape—or you’d have kept me imprisoned forever,” Annora said. “In addition to calling me a lunatic, you slander me as a poor manager of my estates?”
She unrolled the sheets of parchment, then leafed through them, her eyes widening. Morgan read over her shoulder.
“You truly expect me to sign all of my properties over to you? It’s you who are mad.”
“You need someone able to handle the numerous duties. A relative such as myself should have ownership instead of mere wardship. And I’m sure your friend here would like to live awhile longer,” Roger said. “Careless Annora left her seal at Amberton. Another task to take care of upon my return. Just have her sign. I’ll apply her seal later.”
“Annora told me you’ve publicly declared her a lunatic. Neither I nor my educated friend agree with you. She is as much in possession of her wits as I.” Morgan kept his voice calm and low. “If you’re right, she’s not fit to make any decisions concerning her property. Don’t you know that signatures of lunatics aren’t considered valid without the court’s permission? You can’t cut with both sides of the knife.”
Roger looked flustered. He frowned. “I’ll get permission, then. Just sign if you want to save your friend.”
Throughout the conversation, Ninian remained in front of Roger, her head slightly tilted to evade the knife at her throat. Her face revealed no fear. Annora’s hands shook slightly, but she too appeared calm. Smart, brave women, they were. Men like Roger ate other peoples’ fear the way everyone else ate meat.
“I thought you’d petitioned the king to see if he would grant you Amberton,” Annora said.
“Unfortunately for me, I’ve been informed that Edward is busy with other matters. I don’t know when he’ll mete out justice. So I sought another route,” Roger replied.
“Because you fear I’ll return with proof of my wits and you’ll be evicted. Or worse, imprisoned.”
“I didn’t want to leave your people and animals without a leader. They need care.” Roger swore and raised the knife another inch. “Enough talk. Sign. Now.”
Annora looked at Ninian, then at Morgan. He read indecision in her eyes. She picked up the pen.
“Don’t sign,” Morgan said.
“Don’t sign,” Ninian agreed. Roger jerked her arm behind her back. She grimaced. “Don’t,” she repeated. “Trust me.”
Someone knocked on the door. All heads turned toward the sound.
“Morgan ap Myrddin? Annora of Amberton? Mistress Ninian? ’Tis Lord Hastings. I need to speak with you immediately. Despite the late hour.”
“Quiet, all of you.” Roger pressed the knife against Ninian’s neck. “I’ll do it, I swear I will.”
Annora gasped, then clapped her hands over her mouth in horror.
Tense silence reigned.
“Morgan ap Myrddin?” Hastings asked, followed by more pounding. “Wake up, man!”
Morgan looked at Ninian. They were in agreement.
“One moment,” Morgan called.
• • •
Annora was stunned. How could he call Roger’s bluff and risk Ninian’s life? Did she know him at all? Morgan was fast and strong, she well knew, but it only took a second to do serious damage with a sharp knife.
Morgan leapt to the door and flung it open.
Roger quickly stepped away from Ninian as Lord Hastings strode in.
“What’s this?” Hastings asked. “Not some secret plot, I should hope. There are so many these days.”
“Nothing like that, my lord,” Morgan said. “Annora’s uncle stopped by for a visit.”
Now he was going to lie for her uncle? Annora opened her mouth to speak.
“Though not a friendly one. He held a knife to Ninian’s throat to force Annora to sign her estates over to him,” Morgan continued.
Roger turned bright red and began gasping like a fish, turning his head from side to side as if he sought some means of escape he’d overlooked.
“Is this true? Explain immediately,” Hastings demanded.
“Sir Roger Scrope, at your service.”
“Yes. I remember you.”
Annora could tell Roger was deciding whether to add to his troubles by lying to the chamberlain of the royal household’s face or to confess his sins. This sin, at least.
Morgan pulled Roger’s arm from behind his back, proving he yet held the knife. After prying the blade from his fingers, Morgan checked him for additional weapons.
“Sir Roger,” Hastings exclaimed. “I am shocked. You’ll come with me and be dealt with posthaste. Though I wonder if you can be trusted not to assault me before you’re taken into custody.
“Morgan, I came to tell you that you’ll have to vacate this room at dawn. My apologies, but more important guests are expected. As I was awakened with news of their impending arrival, I thought to offer you as much time as possible to make arrangements. I’ve no more private rooms.”
Annora sighed with relief when Hastings and Roger left. Her lands and Ninian both were safe for the nonce.
“I am sorry, Morgan. I should’ve been better prepared,” Ninian said.
What did she mean by that?
“We all make mistakes. This one ended well,” Morgan replied.
“Ninian, I’m the one who is sorry that my problems endangered you,” Annora said. “I’m so glad my uncle didn’t hurt you.” She smiled. “And that my worries are over. At last Roger will get what he deserves. I’ll be able to show the court not only that I’m able to tend to my own affairs but that Roger isn’t fit to be anyone’s guardian.” A drop of doubt lingered. “Unless he finds some way to turn this to his favor. He can be quite convincing. What if my uncle sways even the great Lord Hastings?”
Ninian smoothed her hair. “Perish the thought. A man so informed, who has risen so high and dealt with so many people on behalf of the king, has to see Roger for what he is.”
A maelstrom of emotions whirled through Annora. Happy as she was to soon be restored to her estates, the thought of leaving Morgan depressed her. She wanted him to take up her offer, to kiss her again at least. She still brimmed with curiosity about his secrets and his uncanny confidence in taking risks.
“Morgan, how did you know Roger wouldn’t hurt Ninian?”
• • •
Once more Morgan teetered on the frightening precipice of whether or not to lie to Annora. He couldn’t tell the whole truth, which was that it wouldn’t have mattered if Roger had stabbed Ninian because she wouldn’t have died. Things would have gotten a bit bloody, she’d have experienced pain as he had with his arrow wounds, but her recovery would’ve been swift. What Ninian would’ve suffer
ed paled in comparison to giving in to Roger’s demands or risking that any papers Annora signed could be used against her. And he knew Ninian felt the same. But her surviving dire wounds would lead to questions he didn’t want to answer.
To discovery of their immortality. And probable persecution. Even burning at the stake. He shuddered.
“I’ve met many men like your uncle,” he said. “His type is all bluster and little bite, taking advantage of his rank to claim what he wants and trusting that the weak won’t question him or rebel. He predicted that our fear of what he might do would lead us to give into his demands. But when we refused, he was at a loss. He hadn’t planned that far ahead.”
“We should still wait for William Beauchamp,” Ninian said. “Even with Roger imprisoned, his lies may have raised sufficient doubt and the courts may still require proof to void his claims. But soon all will be as it was.”
Not for him it wouldn’t. Morgan would never forget Annora. She’d always have a place in his heart he feared even his destined mate couldn’t fill. He wished he’d accepted her generous offer and made love with her, to have shared what they could.
His gaze found Annora’s. He knew she felt what he did.
Regret.
• • •
Sir Roger Scrope had never been so frightened in his life. His schemes had finally caught up with him, and in the worst possible company. Few men were more powerful, none closer to the king than William, Lord Hastings of Hastings.
“Be calm,” Roger whispered to himself. “God has blessed you with a silver tongue. Any man shall fall beneath its onslaught.”
He needed the reassurance of his own voice. The reminder that he was always in the right. For an instant he wished he still had his knife. But then, even he didn’t dare murder a man so high. For certes he’d get caught.
What if he didn’t, and could put the blame elsewhere? Could he find another weapon?
“Careful. Think. One thing at a time,” he hissed softly.
“Did you say something? I trust on your honor as a knight you won’t cause me any more trouble,” Hastings said as they traversed the corridors rapidly, making Roger almost skip to stay by his side. “I’m going to hold you in a cell until I can investigate this situation. Though I regret I must take such action.”
“’Tis not what it seems,” Roger hedged. For once he didn’t lust after the rich tapestries they passed and envision them decorating Amberton’s walls. “Morgan ap Myrddin wants to tarnish my reputation so I’ll be removed as Annora’s guardian. Lord Hastings, would I do such a thing?”
“I shouldn’t think so. But why would ap Myrddin lie?”
Roger smiled. He’d been a fool to doubt himself. His cleverness could manipulate even the great Lord Hastings. “Why, my lord, I’m surprised you didn’t see it. He wants Annora and her lands for himself, of course. He’s the one who seeks to control her, not I.”
“Are you certain? Though I know little of him, he arrived with someone I trust with my very life. The woman you supposedly threatened. Who is he? Where is he from?”
“My lord, if you, who knows everything of import, don’t know, why would I?” Roger asked in feigned confusion. “He is a quick one. He latched onto Annora to take advantage of her weakened state. She needs my help even more now, as you can see. If you’d release me, I could be sure—”
“Roger, Morgan says you’ve proclaimed your niece a lunatic. Just now you had a knife in your hand,” Hastings said with a frown. “Hidden behind your back.”
“To protect myself from Morgan ap Myrddin,” Roger said. “Why else would I dare draw a weapon in the king’s castle? I feared his threats. You arrived just in time.”
The chamberlain stopped and turned. Roger couldn’t help but envy the thick, linked gold chain that draped his chest. He’d buy one very like it as a reward for getting himself out of this.
“Then why didn’t you oppose his accusations, or make some of your own? Why would you leave him with your niece?”
Because I was afraid if I stayed in that room another minute you’d believe him instead of me. Of course he couldn’t say that. “Well, I…. Um….”
Think, think. His mind was ominously blank. “I feared for your safety, my lord. Morgan is a large man. Unpredictable. Imposing. Who knows how he would have reacted if threatened?”
“I’m not sure what to believe.” Hastings shook his head. “I’ll send for some guards and have him held tonight as well. Assuming you speak true, your niece should be returned to you shortly.”
Roger resisted the urge to clasp his hands together and thank the Lord for answering his prayers. He bowed deeply. “My Lord Hastings, I am most honored by your kindness.”
• • •
“I can’t believe I must spend my valuable time in such ridiculous pursuits,” Hastings said the next morning.
Annora, Morgan, Ninian and Roger stood before the huge desk in Hastings’s office. An elderly scribe with gray hair sat nearby at a small table to record the proceedings, several quills and inkpots lined up before him along with a stack of parchment.
Annora’s heart hadn’t stopped pounding from last night’s events. Now her worries increased so, she feared her chest might burst.
As if it hadn’t been bad enough to face more evidence of her uncle’s perfidy and stand helpless while Ninian was at knifepoint, shortly after Roger and Lord Hastings left, guards had appeared to make sure Morgan didn’t leave their room. They said Hastings now suspected Morgan of foul play. Her uncle had twisted matters just as Annora had feared. Though she far preferred confinement with him to having him taken away to a cell, elation at having her problems solved dissipated in a flash. She’d barely slept a wink of the waning night.
A summons arrived early this morning, requiring their presence. That so much was still at risk scared her as she dressed in the best of her two gowns. How far could Morgan and Ninian be expected to go to help her? And now, because of her, they were in danger, too.
“Clearly ’tis the best way to settle this quarrel,” Hastings continued. “My sincere hope is that we can resolve this among ourselves. Quickly. I have a multitude of other tasks to see to.”
Roger began, “My lord….”
Hastings waved a hand. “Silence. I shall conduct this meeting as I see fit with no disruptions.” He pointed toward the scribe, who dipped his pen into the ink. “Do you all agree to accept my decision in this matter, or shall I call in the law and detain both Roger and Morgan?”
They nodded and murmured their agreement.
“To save time, I’ll summarize the issues at hand. Sir Roger Scrope and Morgan ap Myrddin each accuse the other of pursing care of Lady Annora of Amberton out of greed and personal gain, not to benefit the lady or her lands. Sir Roger further claims that Lady Annora is a lunatic, though she doesn’t seem like one to me—don’t write that—and should be returned to his wardship. Is that a fair assessment for the record? Does anyone have anything to add?”
No one spoke.
“Very well. Lady Annora, do you agree with your uncle? Are you ill?”
“No, my lord.” Though nerves assailed her with the force of a river after a storm, she forced them aside to appear calm and in control. “I’m in complete possession of my wits and quite able to run my estates.”
“There are many witnesses to attest to her sickness,” Roger protested. “I brought Annora before her people, but she was unable to speak on her behalf. Nor could she move without aid. She is the victim of a mysterious ailment without a cure. Just like our former king, Henry. Who knows when her symptoms will return? She needs constant care. To assure her safety.”
“My lord, I too have a witness,” Annora said. “My maid Emma will attest that Roger confined me against my will and drugged my food to make me appear ill.”
“Everyone knows a maid will stand for her mistress,” Roger jeered.
“Did I ask for your opinion?” Hastings asked. “I’ve been given no proof of Annora’s supposed lun
acy or Roger’s legal wardship, save his word.” He frowned as if in disgust. “Under the circumstances, I can no longer accept what Roger says on faith and reputation alone.
“Morgan, you are a stranger to us, but Ninian, who I trust most of the lot of you, speaks highly of you. I need to learn more should you wish to escort the lady Annora elsewhere when you leave court.” He rubbed his temples. “She doesn’t seem ill, but I’m no physician. As you came here to see William Beauchamp, that examination shall go forth as planned. I shall review his findings with him. We shall proceed from there.”
“Roger and Morgan, I release you on your own recognizance until Beauchamp meets with Lady Annora.” Hastings leaned forward and placed his hands on his desk. “Do I have your promises that you’ll behave honorably? Should either of you betray me, have no doubt the penalties will be severe.”
Chapter 8
“What ails you?” William Beauchamp demanded of Annora as he scratched his thin nose with a long fingernail.
The physician was a tall, almost emaciated man. His robes swallowed him, making him seem naught but a scrawny head and claws enveloped in fabric.
They and Ninian sat in the small room where Beauchamp had set up shop. Arrayed on a narrow table behind him were thick, well-used books, several brass cups, a jar of slowly squirming leeches and various metal instruments Morgan couldn’t identify. Charts depicting recommended points for bloodletting and cauteries hung on the walls.
“I first agreed to conduct this examination because of the potion Mistress Ninian offered in exchange for my valuable time and opinion,” Beauchamp said. “Now Hastings requests it of me. So as not to influence my analysis of your symptoms, neither would tell me why you wanted to see me.” He shook his finger at her as if scolding a child. “This had better not involve your womanly organs. ’Tis not my area of expertise.”
This pompous fowl was Annora’s best hope? Morgan bit his tongue to keep from snapping. Ninian looked as if she were doing the same.
“My uncle told my people I was a lunatic to gain control over me, my castle and other estates,” Annora explained.