by Sahara Kelly
He was reduced to praying that the Swanns would say nothing to force his hand, but the greedy smile on Mistress Anne’s face as she spoke with him and teased him about something or other, told him otherwise.
She wanted him and his Keep, and what that girl wanted, she pursued. With a vengeance. The thought crossed Magnus’ mind that she’d make a hell of a battle commander. Single-minded in pursuit of her goals, she allowed nothing and no one to come between her and her target.
He managed to dodge her for most of the day, and was congratulating himself on his stealthy success as he took the stairs to his chambers in preparation for his bath and the night ahead.
A sudden commotion brought his head around with a snap.
A young maid was crying, and running down the steps from the tower room.
“Little one, what’s amiss?” asked Magnus, staying her flight and bending low.
“Lady Constance…that other one…she’s…she’s…oh so cruel, my Lord. I can’t believe it…”
The young girl raised weepy eyes to Magnus, whose heart constricted. “Is Lady Constance all right?”
“She don’t know yet. She won’t be all right when she does.”
With this cryptic comment, the girl ran off down the stairs sobbing.
Magnus took the steps to the tower room two at a time.
The sounds of chatter and giggling and raised voices met his ears as he closed the distance between himself and the half open door.
“But Mistress Swann…”
“Get out, you idiot. This is not a matter for servants. Get back to where you belong.”
The strident order was quite out of keeping with the golden image Mistress Swann preserved so industriously when in his presence. And what was she doing in Constance’s rooms? A maid slipped from the room, jumped at seeing Magnus in the passageway and opened her mouth, but closed it again as Magnus held his finger to his lips. He motioned the girl off and his senses heightened as he raised his arm to the door.
He pushed it open quietly, and his breathing all but stopped as he saw the scene within.
Mistress Swann was standing alone, her maids huddled in a corner. She was brandishing a small pair of sewing shears, and around her lay the wreckage that had been Constance’s tapestry!
Threads were ripped and slashed, and there were only tatters left hanging on the frame.
Magnus burned.
Mistress Anne turned, saw him and immediately replaced her sour expression with one of gentle concern.
“Lord Magnus, I am so glad you are here. You’ll not believe what my maids discovered in this very room…I’m so distraught.”
She raised a hand to her cheek in delicate distress. “I am aware that she is your guest, but permit me to tell you that Lady Constance has thoroughly abused your hospitality. She was producing a—I hesitate to use the word ‘tapestry’ to describe something so foul. It contained—terrible things.”
The color rose into Mistress Anne’s cheeks and she lowered her eyes. “Things no gently bred lady should be aware of, let alone preserve within the stitching of her work. It was appalling, my Lord. I am pleased you were spared the sight.”
Magnus felt the bile rise up in his throat. He swallowed, his brain whirling amongst a thousand emotions, prime amongst which was the urge to take this—this—Swann and drown her. Then pluck her, stuff her, and serve her at this evening’s banquet with an apple stuffed in her mouth. No, wait, that was for pigs.
Perhaps, given this vicious act, it would be appropriate.
She glided across the room and rested her hand on Magnus’ sleeve, forcing him to physically restrain himself from pulling away, and also to curb the temptation to perfect his crushing blow to the skull which had rendered many an enemy unconscious. His hand fisted anyway.
“What are you doing here, Madam?” he asked, his voice harsh, his manner cold.
“Why, merely safeguarding the interests of our—your Keep, Lord Magnus. As a properly-raised lady should. Such material is evil in the extreme. It has no business at Ravynne, of a certainty. I know you agree…”
She raised her cold blue eyes to his, and Magnus saw the little gleam of triumph within. It disgusted him, and he plucked her hand from his arm, wanting to wipe the feel of her skin from his fingers.
“Return to your Solar. These are Lady Constance’s rooms. As you pointed out, she is a guest in this Keep. Whatever propriety you think you have maintained, it certainly did not include the invasion of her privacy.”
With a slight shrug, Anne beckoned her maidservants, who gathered behind her like a trail of ducklings following their mother.
“I shall be looking forward to this evening’s entertainment…Magnus,” she said with a soft smile as she left the room.
Magnus’ teeth slowly unclenched as he surveyed the damage. He knelt and retrieved a portion of a damaged sheep. He could just see the figures entwined within the wool, and recognized the moment Constance had preserved.
His fists tightened around the fabric and his fury rose once again.
A sound at the door caught his attention, and suddenly she was there. Her cheeks were flushed, there was a half-smile on her lips and she had eyes only for him.
At that moment, Magnus knew, with complete certainty, that this was his woman. For life, and hopefully for the rest of whatever eternity might follow. Damn the consequences to Ravynne and its future. He would have her beside him to face what lay ahead, or else suffer a lifetime of misery.
He looked into her eyes and read the love there, plain for all to see. No wonder Mistress Swann had been so assiduous in her attempts to dislodge Constance.
In the few moments they shared a gaze, Magnus’ life had shifted, become settled, fixed and on its course once again. He knew what needed to be done; all he needed to figure out was how to do it. But first, he had to ease his beloved’s pain.
Her eyes drifted away finally, narrowing then widening in distress as she gazed at the wreckage littering her chamber.
“By Saint Beatrice…” she whispered as she absorbed what had been done to her tapestry. “Who…why?” She stared blindly at Magnus, then her face hardened. “Let me hazard a guess. Mistress Swann.”
Magnus swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “I found her in here with the shears in her hand. I was too late to stop it, Constance. I’m so sorry.” He reached out in a gesture of comfort, and Constance laid her hand absently in his.
He squeezed it, and held on as she sank onto the edge of her bed.
“Well, at least she left the frame intact.” Hearing the pain in her voice, Magnus sat beside her and cuddled her to him, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
“I’m so sorry, love. It was a needless act by a vicious woman. All your hard work…”
“And yours,” she half-smiled at him.
His heart turned over once again and he took her face between his hands. “I love you, Constance Atherton.”
She trembled at his touch. “You do?”
“I do. By the Saints, I do.”
“Then perhaps this was not such a great loss after all. For I love you too, Magnus. Since the first moment you touched me at the lake although I had no idea who you were. God help us, I love you too.”
She turned her head and placed a kiss on his palm as if to seal the vow.
Once again, Magnus was lost for words. He simply held her next to his heart and wondered why it had taken him so long to realize that she belonged there.
Permanently.
*~~*~~*
The great hall was glowing.
Torches flickered high upon the walls and brought the colors in the hangings to life. Musicians were playing quietly, tuning up for the dancing which would come later.
Guests from nearby properties were arriving, and Magnus was everywhere at once, welcoming, smiling, chatting, and making sure that no one’s needs went unattended.
Stable boys ran frantically around the bailey, stabling mounts, and tidying up after the riders had dismounted. Maids
ervants carried large bowls of steaming food amongst the tables, and ale flew freely into the goblets of the male guests, while their ladies sipped wine.
The chatter was loud, cheerful, and excited—Ravynne’s Keep was noted for its hospitality and the quality of its table, and everyone agreed that it was looking better than ever.
At the head table, seats had been arranged for the Swanns, with Sir Augustus in his customary chair to Magnus’ left. But this evening, his daughter had been placed next to her father, rather than on Magnus’ right. There was an empty space in that place, and it brought a frown to Mistress Anne’s brow.
“My Lord, I had hoped we might share a trencher this evening.” The soft whisper reached Magnus’ ears as he passed her chair.
“I must keep that place free, Mistress Anne. There’s a chance one of our neighbors, Baron Lymington, may join us this eve. As you are well aware, his presence would take precedence over most of us here.” With a brief nod, he moved away, leaving her with a pout marring her perfect lips.
The meal progressed, and Magnus took pains to appear jovial and at ease, yet never once meeting Mistress Swann’s curious gaze.
Sir Augustus did what he usually did, ate and drank with gusto and ignored everything except what was set before him.
Constance was not present.
Magnus smiled inwardly. All was progressing as he had planned.
It had taken some doing, but he’d persuaded Constance to go along with his scheme. His lips softened as he remembered kissing away her objections and overruling her arguments with his hands and his tongue.
His cock stirred. By the Saints he wanted her even now. At his side, supporting him with her love, and bolstering his whole being with her presence.
The noise grew as the trenchers were emptied and with a cheer, tables were cleared and the musicians ordered to strike up a lively dance.
Mistress Anne straightened in anticipation of being asked to join the revelers. She glanced across her father’s corpulent belly, but again, Magnus avoided meeting her eyes.
The measure progressed, with much encouragement from the guests, as the dancers outdid themselves to the sprightly tune. As it wound to a close, Magnus joined the applause, and then stood, tapping his goblet on the table and raising his hand for everyone’s attention.
He could almost feel Mistress Anne preening, and he forced his lips away from the snarl that was so close, and into a polite smile.
Beside him he sensed a chair being slipped into the empty space. The smile became genuine.
“Go to it, lad,” whispered Edward. The old sod, thought Magnus. He knew all along.
He suppressed a chuckle, and glimpsed Mistress Leigh as she slipped into the brightly lit hall, staying well back from the crowd. She quietly raised her hands and clasped them above her head in the well-known gesture of victory.
The smile became a grin of sheer joy.
“Friends and fellow drunkards,” he began, voice echoing to the rafters. Laughter and shouts greeted his words.
“I welcome you all to Ravynne’s Keep and trust that you do not empty my alehouse completely, as you enjoy my hospitality.”
“‘Tis too good an ale to waste, lad,” called one merry guest, who had obviously been enjoying the brew in question.
“Good point, my friend,” laughed Magnus. “I think little will go to waste this night, however. Most will end in the privy.”
A gust of laughter followed his earthy comment.
He raised his hand again and silence fell. “However, as it is occasionally a part of such evenings to include a minstrel or a troubadour, I have taken upon it myself to entertain you this evening.”
He moved to the front of the dais, and leaned back against the edge of the table, casually crossing his legs at the ankles and folding his arms. He could almost feel the intensity of Mistress Anne’s eyes, which were doubtless boring holes in his back right about now.
“Shall you sing, Magnus?” asked a woman’s voice.
“Saints, no, Lady. I want to entertain you not scare the mice from the walls.”
The crowd was now completely in his thrall, and loving his jests and the way he spoke to them all as equals.
“I shall tell you a story.”
There were some muttered moans from the younger lads who had hoped to dance once more with their favored ladies.
“‘Twill be short…” Cheers erupted, and Magnus laughed. “But it has a very charming ending.”
He paused and glanced deliberately behind him, just flicking his eyes over Mistress Anne, then turning back to face the hall.
‘‘It is a love story.”
This time the groans were louder.
“Come lads,” encouraged Magnus. “A day will come when you might wish to use it on the lady of your choice. So pay attention.”
With mutterings, the guests settled themselves in preparation.
“There was once a lusty knight, who had traveled far, fought many battles and returned home to his—his castle.” The hesitation in his words seemed to catch the attention of the crowd, many of whom would now be wondering if he was talking about himself. Which, of course, he was.
“This knight knew it was time to wed, and in his journeys, he had met someone he considered to be an ideal lady for his castle. She was beautiful, and many described her to be as golden as the sun.”
Eyes shifted to Mistress Anne. Magnus didn’t move at all, but focused on the faces before him.
“The knight returned home and realized he needed to change some things in order to welcome this golden bride into his home. He felt he needed to be worthy of her. But then…”
He paused, and there was no sound, just the crackle of the torches high on the walls.
“Then he met a woman living within his castle as an honored guest. He found himself falling in love with this woman.”
A slight sound from Mistress Anne’s direction caught his ear, but again, he did not turn around. He hoped she was squirming, the bitch.
“They discovered in each other something that is very blessed, very special. A shared passion and joy that surpassed any this knight had experienced in his life before. Yet they knew their love was doomed.”
A sniff came from one of the ladies in the front. “Oh Magnus, no…”
“Peace, Lady…let me finish my tale.”
She sniffed again. “Hurry, please. ‘Tis too sad.”
He chuckled. “Now, where was I? Oh yes. They were in love but unable to wed because—because she had no property to offer him, and knew he’d already found someone who could offer him just what his estates required. The likelihood of an heir.”
Even Sir Augustus had stopped eating by this point Magnus could tell, as he heard a slight belch from behind him.
“However, when the golden bride arrived at the knight’s castle, the knight had to take a long look at his own situation. Was it better, he asked himself, to change his castle, dress in fine clothes and marry the woman he had chosen, even though he didn’t love her? Or was it better to toss those reasons out over the moat and take his true love to wife?”
The shouts began. “True love!” Magnus noted many women enthusiastically supporting the “true love” side of the argument. He snickered again.
“His decision was a hard one, but made easier by the behavior of his golden would-be bride. For he discovered that beneath the gold, there was only dross. There was no substance to the shine, it was simply a polish, and when rubbed would turn into a dull and unpleasant veneer. The gold had turned to lead, a lead which poisoned and destroyed anything in its path.”
A smothered gasp from behind him pleased him enormously. Take that, you little sow.
“Thankful that he’d not made a terrible mistake, the knight packed her belongings and ordered her from his Castle, realizing that although he might be able to change his Castle, he could never change his heart.”
Now Magnus turned, and in a quieter voice, addressed Sir Augustus and Mistress Swann.
<
br /> “Sir Augustus, I thank you for your visit. I trust the future will treat you and your family well. However, I suggest you keep a close eye on this daughter of yours, who is little better than a shrew in her manners and her behavior. Your belongings have been packed and your horses are ready. I hesitate to turn you into the night unaccompanied, so you’ll find ten of my best outriders ready to accompany you. Farewell.”
He turned his back on the Swanns and looked at the faces of his guests and now most of his tenants and servants as well. The hall was packed to overflowing.
“Friends, you may have guessed the ending of my story. I am that sad knight who learned a costly lesson. But the ending will be a happy one, because it is my great happiness to share with you the name of my future wife and your future mistress. Lady Constance Atherton.”
He looked towards the end of the hall, and smiled, and all heads turned in that direction.
There she was.
Constance glowed like a beacon, eyes fixed on Magnus and a smile of joy on her face.
And pandemonium broke out.
Chapter Fourteen
Constance felt her stomach rising up into her throat and threaten to choke her. Everyone was looking at her with a mixture of surprise and delight on their face.
“Constance?” The question was a politely voiced command. To go to him. To place her hand in his and take her place where she knew she belonged—at his side.
“Well, get on with it, lass, afore my bladder bursts.” The hiss from behind her brought a smile to her face, and she turned to flash a quick grin at Mistress Leigh who was grinning broadly at her and flapping her hands, shooing Constance towards the head table.
She stepped into the hall, and to her surprise, the guests began to stand as she slowly walked the length of the chamber. Someone started clapping and before she knew it, the entire room was cheering and applauding, and showering her with approval.
She colored and dropped her eyes, unable at that moment to meet Magnus’, which were fixed on her as she made her stately progress through the crowd.
She did glimpse Mistress Swann’s pale blue gown, at the edge of the shadows, and suppressed a giggle as a servant “accidentally” slurped a bowl of something over that lady’s skirts.