An Outlaw's Honor

by TERRI BRISBIN

  As he searched through one of the trunks that held his clothing, Thomas understood that he was an instrument of the king, though one of retribution or of power or of kingly desire, he knew not. Yet…

  Thomas only noticed the silence when Martel cleared his throat. Facing him, Thomas nodded.

  “There is a rumor, sir.” With his blank expression and amazing ability to give nothing away, Martel was the perfect, and perfectly aggravating, servant and keeper of secrets. A man more familiar with slinking about in the shadows than walking in the light.

  Thomas crossed his arms over his chest and nodded once more. “Go on.” From the way the man seemed to search for words, this rumor could not be good.

  “Someone I know spoke to their friend who spoke to someone close to de Aumfreville’s stablemaster, who—”

  “Bloody hell! Speak the name!” he yelled.

  “Laurence le Govic.”

  Of all the names he’d expected or thought to hear, this one was not any of those. This name came from his own dark past. Never named but also involved in the conspiracy against the king of Scotland. Safely ensconced in the lands of his powerful father, a nobleman who counseled the French king, Laurence had not roused himself in years. Not since...

  The food recently ingested rolled now in his gut at this news.

  “So, ’tis true then?” Martel asked. “You lied to the king about never being defeated?”

  Flashes of the fight surged in his memories. Laurence turned a playful practice bout into a full-fledged challenge. He claimed Thomas had insulted his father. He claimed many things—some true, some not. Even now, Thomas could taste the mouthful of dirt and feel both the broken jaw and the loss of face when he had to apologize to the lord. Fifteen years had passed, but those memories had not.

  “I did not lie to the king,” he forced out through clenched teeth. “I have never been defeated in tourney nor in battle. Neither has le Govic. Concern yourself not with that long-ago day and instead find out from your sources his past in the last five or so years. Find out when he arrives. Make yourself useful to your king and to me.”

  Thomas strode past the man and out into the field where tents now lay strewn like the acorns of autumn. Without purpose or aim, he walked and walked, weaving between those tents and the ones being erected in an ever-growing quilt across the green fields next to the castle walls. If any spoke to him, he knew not. He cared not. He stopped only when he reached the road that led to another gate into the village. Staring at nothing or no one, Thomas thought on the new twist to his situation and what he’d promised the king.

  Laurence was a dirty fighter. He observed no rules, whether in life or battle. He won by deceit and cheating, by any means possible. He was relentless. He was skilled. He was a beast when armed with lance and shield and sword. And now, he was a mature man with the experience of many battles. Unhorsing him would be difficult at best. Beating him with a sword would be nigh on impossible. Thomas needed another way to overcome le Govic.

  Running his hands through his now-short hair as he stared at the endless line of travelers riding down the road towards Rose Citadel, Thomas began running possible battle strategies in his thoughts. Lost in those plans, he never saw her until the last moment.

  Chapter Four

  Riding some distance behind her father, Annora was content to simply watch the countryside go by as they crossed what she’d been told were the last miles before reaching Rose Citadel. A name like that had her wondering if the castle would be surrounded by huge rose bushes grown high enough to be trees. As they neared the sea, a dearth of such flowering shrubs made her think that mayhap the castle had been named after a person—a daughter? A mother? A saint?

  As the castle grew in size at their approach, peasants, merchants and soldiers gathered to watch them pass by. They reached the last curve in the road before the gate when a man who waited at the edge of the path met her gaze.

  ’Twas him.

  Sir Thomas Brisbois.

  A man called the Bone-breaker because of his history of doing that and doing that well. A shiver coursed through her body, reminding her of the danger he presented.

  He wore no chain or armor of any kind now, just a well-worn tunic and breeches. No cloak surrounded those shoulders and their shape suffered not for the lack of armor or cushioning to fill them out. Due to his height, he could be seen clearly, even among others.

  Annora met his gaze without faltering, though her heart raced, and her breath halted. Even without the trappings of destruction and war, he was stunning. No one could look at him and not know it. When one corner of his mouth rose in an enticing tease of a smile, she finally blinked. He smiled again, and a slight nod of his head acknowledged her.

  Did he know how he affected her? Could he tell she was terrified? Nay, not terrified, but some other feeling she could not name now. What was worse was the way reacted to him? Even now, she grew heated, and a trickle of perspiration made its way down her neck and spine in spite of the warmth of the summer’s day.

  “Good day to you, my lady,” he said when she was close enough for her to hear his words. Oh, the expression in his eyes now, as they deepened in color and intensity, said he did indeed know what he did to her. “I hope your journey from Prudhoe was a pleasant one?”

  Before she could reply, her name echoed along the train of travelers.

  “Annora! To my side!” her father called.

  Whether he’d noticed the knight there, she knew not. But it gave her the excuse she needed to remove herself from his close scrutiny. She touched her heels to the horse’s side, and the animal responded.

  “Good day, my lady Annora,” the knight called again.

  When she did not turn back to acknowledge him, his laughter—deep and masculine—followed her, and something inside her want to join him in that. A pull and push that had her wondering if she could or should or would ignore her father’s call and answer this man’s instead.

  “Annora!”

  Her name echoed in the air, and she urged her palfrey towards the front of those riding between her and her father. Yet, she could not resist the curiosity, nay need, to turn and look at him once more.

  Annora had known only a small number of the men who guarded or served her sire or the other noblemen who visited him. She’d encountered some who had an interest in marrying her. She’d also had the chance to interact with farmers and merchants and traveling jongleurs and musicians. Never in her life had Annora crossed paths with anyone like this man. As moth to his flame, she wanted to learn more about him. No matter that she knew he was dangerous. No matter all the stern warnings to be mindful of her behavior on this journey. And, it mattered not that this man could be the very downfall of the de Aumfraville family.

  “Come,” her father called, drawing her out of her risky thoughts. “You should be at my side to greet the baron. Pay heed to my words, Daughter. My very life could depend on this tournament and its outcome. Your future certainly does.”

  Alarm coursed through her, and the horse beneath her recognized it, becoming skittish and dancing a bit under her control. Annora tugged on the reins, and the horse settled.

  But she did not. Could not.

  “Father—”

  “Not here, Annora,” he whispered harshly under her breath. “When we are within and have privacy to speak. But not now.”

  His attention turned to some matter brought to him by his guard, and she glanced ahead at the looming castle before them. A wall enclosed the town and the castle, and Annora had seen nothing like it before. Baron de la Rose, Yves Le Strange, hosted this tournament, a scandal on its own due to the king’s imprisonment across the sea and the turmoil throughout the kingdom. Knights and lords from all across England, from the continent, from Wales and Ireland in the west and from Scotland in the north, would be here to fight for prizes or answer challenges of honor before the highest in Richard’s demesne. Titles would be won or lost. Marriages would b
e arranged. Lands would at stake in the matches. Fortunes would be won or lost in the tourney and the melee to follow. And, from the whispers she’d heard, supporters of the king’s brother John were gathering as well.

  Interested more in the grand meals and gatherings than the fighting, Annora was certain she would never see the likes of this again in her life. Gossip spread amongst the groups of travelers they’d met along the roads about the king’s brother and his part in this. And the Church’s as well. All she knew about their situation was that a challenge had come from the king of Scotland. One that involved their lands and castle. One about which she comprehended little, while her father shared even less. Only her maid and others in the household had shared bits of what they’d heard spread through the servants.

  So, she must find out the truth of what was to come, and how her father had been involved and earned the ire of the Scots king. Her father owed her that much.

  Just before they reached the gates, a warrior in mail and helm on horseback met them. Though Annora recognized him not, he wore their colors of blue and gold, and the wolf and sword heraldry on his shield and surcoat and appeared ready for battle now.

  “My lord,” he called out. His voice was thunderous and alarming. “I have been awaiting your arrival.” As he drew closer, he nodded to her. “Lady Annora, welcome to the town of Gracious Hill. Lord Yves awaits your arrival in the Rose Citadel.”

  With the livery he wore, he must be in service to her father, and yet he greeted them almost as one of the baron’s men would have. Annora nodded politely as her father drew to a halt beside her.

  “Annora, this is Laurence le Govic, our champion against...” He waved his hand to avoid saying the name.

  “My lady.” The knight held out his hand for hers, moving his horse close enough that their knees touched. Unable to refuse this gesture, she offered her hand, and he leaned closer still.

  ’Twas at the last moment before he bowed his head to touch his mouth to her hand that she saw it. Not the open expression of desire in Sir Thomas’s gaze that made her want in return, but a naked lust that made her stomach tighten and her skin itch. The kiss bestowed was, thankfully, brief before her father called for them to move on. Rubbing her hand against the skirt of her gown, Annora could not ease the terrible feeling that now filled her.

  As they rode on through the town, the knight spoke to her father and pointed out places of interest along their path. Once or twice, he spoke directly to her about a vendor who sold flowers and the best of the cloth and ribbons in Gracious Hill. All she could think about was that menacing threat in his eyes.

  What had he been promised if he won the challenge? Could she be only the prize he received? At the end of this, would she be his?

  His? She swallowed against her belly’s urgent need to empty itself and tasted the bitter bile in her mouth. All she knew was the disturbing way she’d caught him staring at her, and it did her nerves and stomach no good to think on his intentions.

  “Annora! Pay heed!”

  She broke free from the frightening reverie and noticed that they now sat before the steps leading into the castle. Barking out orders, le Govic took control, and her father allowed it. After directing the other men, the servants and the carts carrying their clothing and supplies for their stay to different places, he walked to her side and reached up to assist her down.

  “Here now, my lady,” le Govic said, plucking her from the horse as though she weighed nothing, and placing her on her feet before him. Too close to him.

  He held her there more than a respectable amount of time, his large hands encircling her waist and pulling her against him. When his thumbs crept up and caressed her breast, she pulled away. His strength prevented her from moving an inch.

  “Sir!” she whispered. “Free me now.” Annora did not wish to bring attention to this scandalous embrace, but she would not be accosted. When she tilted her head to look at his face, that terrifying look was staring back at her. “Sir!”

  “You will be mine, Annora. And this will be yours,” he said so that only she could hear. Worse, he tugged her hips closer until she could feel the hard ridge of flesh that he pressed against her. “All of it, my lady. All of it.”

  She drew in a shocked breath, ready to call for help, when he released her and bowed in what would appear to be a respectful gesture.

  “May I escort you into the hall, my lady?” He hid behind polite language when others were watching.

  Saying neither “aye” nor “nay,” she rushed up the steps, moving away from him and towards her father. Reaching him on the landing in front of the doors, she took his arm. Though it should have comforted her, it did not. Indeed, the guarded and shuttered look he gave her spoke more than his words could.

  He knew! Her father knew of this man’s disrespectful actions. And he would do nothing to stop them.

  She had been sold already, passed on to the winner of the challenge. She tugged his arm, slowing their progress through the entryway and into the hall filled with all manner of people now.

  “Father, you would have me marry such a man as that? Truly?” she asked. When he would not meet her gaze, she had the answer. His reply, when they came, worsened the whole of it.

  “He has just lost another wife in Normandy and has need of a new one.”

  “Another wife?” The words tumbled out of her. “How many has he had and lost?” she whispered, holding onto her fear and anger as best she could.

  “You will be his fourth wife.”

  The truth hit her like a blow, forcing the very breath from her body. Wives of Laurence le Govic did not survive. From his rough, raw touch, she understood that in barely the time it took to inhale a breath.

  She was being given to this man with no regard for her safety of life or limb. Little more than a bedwarmer or a broodmare if she survived his treatment before that. Annora had known all of her life of the little regard her father had of her. She’d comprehended in her early years that she was of less value than a prized son, who would have cleanly held onto their legacy and property. But the truth of it being spoken openly to her now stunned her into silence.

  “Lord Robert de Umfraville of Prudhoe and his daughter, the lady Annora.”

  The loud voice of the baron’s servant calling out their names at their arrival startled her, and she tripped up the first step that led to the dais. Her father took hold of her and guided her, and from the strength that he used, he must have believed she was trying to resist his plan. When they reached the place directly in front of the baron, she fell into a deep curtsy and remained there until her father lifted her to stand.

  “Welcome to Rose Citadel, Lord Robert, Lady Annora,” the baron said. When she finally lifted her head and met his eyes, she noted the serious mien about the man. Though she’d heard rumors that questioned his allegiance to the king or prince floated about, no one mentioned such a thing aloud in company.

  Her father accepted his outstretched hand, and they chatted quietly, the topic she could not hear. Then she followed the baron’s servant to a seat where she was offered all the amenities that a great house like this could. Only after she’d washed her hands in the bowl held out to her did she realize that both the baron and her father watched her.

  Unfortunately, neither man’s gaze gave her any hope of getting herself out of the future she faced regardless of which man won the challenge and which king or prince prevailed.

  Chapter Five

  The high and mighty lords of the lands took their seats at the baron’s table so that the opening feast might begin. Thomas had once more eschewed being placed as William the Lion’s official representative, allowing one of the others who also kissed his royal arse to take the honor. He preferred being down at the lower tables, moving about, watching, studying and gathering knowledge about those attending, those fighting and those with grudges that would be brought to bear in the next week.

  The coming days would be filled with
individual jousts and fights to settle arguments and claims such as his. There would then follow on the final day of fights, a huge melee involving dozens, possibly more than a hundred, with prizes and honors going to the winner. Many a knight could earn great wealth in ransom taken that day. The long daylight of midsummer allowed even more time each day, so this would be one of the largest tournaments of the year.

  Thomas walked the edge of the baron’s Great Hall, greeting the few he knew, nodding to those who had challenged him and smiling at the maids or women who had already shared his pallet. It took him some time to find his quarry, but he did finally see her—not far from the dais, at her father’s side at one of the tables in the front. Le Govic sat across them at the same table, and Thomas stood close enough that he could see the exchanges between his opponent and the lady.

  One of the reasons Thomas had found such success in jousts and battles was his ability to read the truth in an opponent’s face and body movements. He could see a feint coming before it happened—watching his adversary’s eyes or the way their muscles readied. And right now, looking on Lady Annora as she sat there with her father and his designated champion, she was exposing all sorts of truths to him.

  Fear was the most obvious one. In the way that her eyes flitted away when Laurence spoke to her and in the way that she held her body stiff and on-guard. Any shift by the man brought on a retreat from her, lifting her hands out of his reach or picking up something from her plate or her cup to drink. Only when le Govic moved back or repositioned his hands did she relax back towards the table.

  Anger at her father rode clear on her face. Her lip curled in a mutinous response to his every word. Oh, she was careful that the man did not see it, for she turned away or eased the expression if he looked directly at her.

  And yet neither of those stirred him to any response. A lady in her standing and heritage understood her place in the world—grow up in her father’s household and control, travel to her husband’s and live out her days in her son’s. So, the fact that her fate was tied to something her father did or promised was the usual turn of things in a life like hers.