Davies shook his head. “I did not challenge the marriage,” he said. Then, he thrust up his chin in defiance. “We went to raid the market at Shrewsbury and when the duke rode from the castle to protect his town, we killed him. It is as simple as that.”
Eolande’s mouth popped open in shock, in outrage. “Simple?” she hissed. “You have murdered a man. And how do you know it was the duke? What certainty do you have?”
Davies would not let his sister stick holes in his victory. He was proud of it. “He rode from the castle, surrounded by his men,” he said. “He rode a fine horse and wore fine armor, and he was protected by a small army. Of course it was him. Who else would it be?”
Eolande couldn’t believe he was so blind. “It could have been another Saesneg knight,” she pointed out. “They all come from wealthy homes. They all have fine horses, Davies.”
“But they are not all protected by soldiers,” Davies insisted before she’d even finished. “He was with many soldiers and we killed him, and I am not sorry for it. I am not sorry for the death of any Saesneg.”
He sounded so cold and Eolande shook her head. “You are not sorry for the death of the man who married Grier,” she muttered, not surprised when he didn’t deny it. “That is why you did this. All of your talk about our people starving and stealing from the Saesneg because we need to eat was only an excuse. You meant to kill Grier’s husband all along.”
Davies considered her words, thinking it made him sound like a calculating murderer, but he didn’t care. He was not ashamed of his actions and, quite truthfully, she was right.
It had been his plan all along.
“I am going to Shrewsbury tomorrow,” he said, avoiding addressing her accusation. “I am returning to pay a visit to Grier.”
Eolande gasped. “What?” she said. “So soon?”
“Of course,” he said. “And I want you to come with me.”
“But why? I have no need to go to Shrewsbury. My home is here.”
Davies reached out to take her cold hand. “You are dying here,” he said simply. “You are nothing but bones, Eolande. They do not feed you. You have no future. Would you truly waste your life this way, like this?”
Eolande was upset by his words. Now, the focus was shifting to her and she didn’t like it. “Papa sent me here for an education,” she said. “It has become my home.”
“And it has served its purpose,” Davies stressed. “You have had your education and, now, you are slowly withering away. Come with me, Eolande. Come with me to Shrewsbury to see Grier and pay respects to her dead husband. Be present when I marry her.”
Eolande was appalled. “Don’t they know it was you who killed him?” she asked. “And you think to simply walk into Shrewsbury and marry Grier? You are mad!”
But Davies shook his head. “They do not know it was me,” he said. “How could they? There were fifty of us. They cannot know that I was part of the raiding party.”
“Then how will you explain knowing the duke was killed if you were not in the raiding party?”
That brought him pause. “I will simply say that I have heard,” he said, thinking it sounded rather weak but he wasn’t going to back down now. “News travels along the Marches. Do they truly think a raid, and the death of a duke, would not travel among the villages and towns nearby? Of course it would.”
Eolande took a deep breath, shaking her head. “But you cannot be certain,” she said. “I think what you are doing is dangerous. I fear for you.”
There was the tender side of his sister, the one that made him love her so. Eolande was, if nothing else, caring and compassionate. He could see the fear in her expression.
“Do not fear for me,” he said. “Be happy for me. I shall marry Grier, and you can live with us and have warmth and comfort, and all of the food you could ever want. Please, Eolande – will you not come with me?”
The way he made it sound, it was going to be difficult for Eolande to resist. Davies had all the answers, and the truth was that she was lonely since Grier left. She hated being cold and she hated being hungry but, unlike Grier, she’d never had a future waiting for her. She wasn’t an heiress, and she had three brothers who would inherit the lordship of Godor. Unless she had a marriage offer, which there was no chance of at a convent, then Davies was correct – she would die here.
She didn’t want to die here.
“But… but I cannot simply leave,” she said after a moment.
“What is keeping you here?” he asked.
“Papa’s honor,” she pointed out. “He gave me over to St. Idloes for an education and, in return, I am expected to work for it. I was never to be a nun, Davies. You know that. At least, that was not the intention at the first, but now… this is all that I know. It is my home.”
Davies grasped her with both hands. “But I will provide you with a better place,” he insisted. “What is better than Shrewsbury Castle? You can live with Grier, and with me, and we shall be happy there.”
It sounded like a wonderful life and Eolande could feel herself being swayed. To live with Grier all the rest of her life and, perhaps, even find a husband? There was nothing bad about the proposal that she could see except for the fact that her brother had just murdered the duke. If she accepted his invitation to live at Shrewsbury, somehow, she felt that would make her an accomplice in the man’s death or, at the very least, signify her approval with it.
Turning, she glanced at St. Idloes behind her; the steeply pitched chapel roof, the cloister, the garden that hadn’t produced anything for two years. Did she really want to remain here and starve when she could go to Shrewsbury with her brother and live in comfort?
It was not a difficult question.
She was tired of being cold and hungry.
“Davies,” she said. “Your offer is generous, but you must know that I do not approve of what you’ve done. You killed a man who had done nothing to you other than marry the woman you wanted.”
Davies lifted a dark eyebrow. “He is a Saesneg,” he hissed at her. “How many of our cymry have they killed? None of them are innocent.”
“Yet you want to marry one.”
That stopped his rant and averted his gaze. “I do not see her that way,” he said quietly. “She was in Wales when I first met her. I suppose… I suppose I have always considered her one of us.”
“But she is not.”
“She will be,” he snapped, looking at her. “She will marry me and our children will be Welsh. There is no one to deny me now – no father, no duke, and no king. I shall marry her before Henry realizes what I have done and, by then, it will be too late. I will be Grier’s husband and the Duke of Shrewsbury.”
No matter what Eolande said, Davies would do as he wished. She had known from the beginning that his obsession was mostly with Grier. Shrewsbury had been secondary, but it was quite a prize and Davies knew it. There was nothing Eolande could say that would dissuade him from his goal, from going to Shrewsbury and claiming Grier.
Ironic, Eolande thought. Davies was perfectly willing to forget about Grier as long as she remained at St. Idloes as a nun, but the moment another man claimed her, Davies could not let it rest. If anyone was going to have Grier other than St. Idloes, then it would be him.
Now, the new Duke of Shrewsbury was dead because Davies couldn’t let any man have Grier de Lara. Perhaps it was best that Eolande go with him into Shrewsbury, if only to keep him from doing anything too foolish. Having him go off alone seemed far too risky.
Her decision was made.
“When do you wish to leave?” she asked, sounding defeated.
Davies realized she was agreeing to go with him. “I told you that I want to be in Shrewsbury tomorrow,” he said. “Leave with me now. Go collect your possessions. I will wait for you.”
Eolande was hesitant. “I should like to say farewell. There are some that I shall miss.”
Davies shook his head to that. “If you speak to anyone, they will make you stay. They wi
ll probably lock you in a room and keep you there. It is best if you do not tell anyone, Eolande. Promise me.”
Eolande didn’t like the idea, but she couldn’t disagree with him. Mother Mary Moria could very well force her to remain, and if Eolande had to choose between the Mother Abbess and Grier, then she would choose Grier.
She wanted to see her friend.
Before the day had reached noon, Eolande joined her brother along the road to Welshpool, where his men were waiting. They were privy to Davies’ plans also, and they were prepared when Davies and Eolande joined them. It was then that Eolande realized that her brother intended to enter Shrewsbury with his teulu, and have those men present with him at all times.
It was with a heavy heart that she understood her brother’s intentions and she sincerely doubted that any of this was a good idea. But Davies seemed convinced that the duke was dead and there were no barriers between him and claiming Grier. He seemed convinced that he could enter Shrewsbury Castle and Grier would, perhaps, even welcome him. But only a day after the death of the duke and the raid on Shrewsbury, even Eolande could see that it was a foolish idea.
But Davies was blind to all else but Grier, so consumed for his want for her that he was jeopardizing his safety because of it, and Eolande knew it would be his undoing. Although she had never wielded a blade in her life, she was from a family of warriors. If she had to protect her brother by drawing a weapon, then so be it.
But damn the careless man for driving her to it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Shrewsbury Castle
Grier didn’t think she’d slept at all.
It was dawn on the second day after the horrible scene with Dane and Grier found herself standing at the lancet window of the chamber she’d once shared with him, a chamber that had now become her prison. He’d locked her up and the only time she saw him after that was when he unlocked the door for the servants to bring her food, which she didn’t eat.
Even now, the boiled mutton and other items of food from the night before sat near the door where they had been delivered, untouched. The mutton was like leather and everything else was either hard or stone-cold, making it particularly unappetizing. But it wasn’t as if Grier had any inclination to touch it; she hadn’t eaten anything in two days and she hadn’t slept.
All she’d done was pray.
Weary and pale, she watched the sky as the sun began to rise, clutching her marriage brooch against her chest. She’d taken if off of her garment the day Dane locked her in and she hadn’t let go of it. It was something Dane had given to her on the day of their wedding, along with the gold ring on her finger, and she clung to it as if that small bejeweled piece of metal was the last link to Dane.
She wasn’t going to let it go.
God, how could she have been so stupid. It never occurred to her that Dane would consider her letter a sign of betrayal. Never, ever had that entered her mind. She had only been trying to help him, and for keeping it a secret, she was guilty. But that was the only thing she was guilty of – trying to help her husband by not telling him. Yet Dane thought she was sending messages to her Welsh lover, the one who had tried to kill him.
God… she was stupid.
The tears came again. It seemed to be a constant flow. She wept for the misunderstanding that was going to cost her everything, and for the shattered trust between her and her husband. She didn’t blame Dane for thinking what he did; she knew it looked bad. And he must have gotten the letter from Euphemia, who was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she was locked away, too, somewhere, punished for her mistress’ actions. Grier had no idea how Dane came across the letter, but she hoped Euphemia was well and hadn’t been hurt in the process. The not knowing was eating her alive.
The master’s chamber had several windows in it, three of which overlooked the inner bailey gatehouse as well as the outer bailey beyond. Grier could very nearly see all of the outer bailey from where she stood, and she could clearly see that men were assembling at this early morning hour.
A carriage had been brought out as well as a wagon. Perhaps it was an escort of some sort. Worse still, perhaps those two vehicles had nothing to do with the soldiers that were assembling. Perhaps, the Welsh raiders had returned. The mere thought nearly drove Grier mad with worry, so very worried that, somehow, Dane would be another target for the Welsh.
Worried that Davies had returned.
But there was nothing she could do about it. She’d tried and it had cost her everything. She had no idea what was going to happen to her now, if Dane was going to send her back to St. Idloes and forget he ever had a wife. Exhausted, unable to eat, and emotionally shattered, Grier kept the brooch clutched up against her chest because it was the only thing left from Dane.
She’d lost the man.
Turning away from the window, she wandered over to the hearth, which was dark and cold at this hour. Since Dane had locked her in, she hadn’t let anyone in to tend it. She’d rather be cold. There was an iron bolt on the inside as well as the door lock, which could be locked from both sides and, as of last night after her supper was brought, she’d thrown the bolt from the inside. She didn’t want anyone to come in, period. Frankly, she was content to starve to death at this point.
In truth, there was nothing to live for.
But it was dawn now and she expected her morning meal to be brought to her at any moment. Since the door was bolted, there was no way for anyone to get in. Sitting heavily before the black, sooty hearth, she was staring into the dark abyss of the fireplace when she heard a key in the lock. Someone, more than likely Dane, unlocked the door but when they went to open it, they found it bolted from the inside.
Predictably, that brought a confused pause. She heard someone try the lock again and, realizing the door was, indeed, unlocked, they tried the latch. The door didn’t budge. They rattled the door slightly, a couple of times, and then stopped. There was silence for the longest time.
“Grier?” It was Dane, his voice muffled from the other side. “Unlock the door.”
The sound of his voice brought tears to her eyes and she turned her head away, stifling the sobs. The door rattled again, stronger this time.
“Grier?” Dane said. “Open the door, I say.”
Grier ignored him, at least for the moment. But she quickly realized that he wasn’t going to go away. He’d shake the door again, and tell her to open the door, and then if she didn’t, he’d probably kick the door in. Grier began to think that she should open the door if only to avoid having the door smashed and splinters all over the room. But the more she sat there and thought about it, about her situation, the more unstable and edgy she became.
Dane had locked her in like an animal. Perhaps, he expected her to act like one. Rising from the chair, and feeling woozy from lack of food, she made her way to the door.
“Go away,” she said loudly. “I do not want your food, so you can return it to the kitchen. I do not need anything from you, so do me the courtesy of leaving me alone.”
There were several seconds of silence on the other side of the door before she heard the reply.
“Unbolt the door, Grier,” Dane said again. “I would speak with you.”
The tears streamed down Grier’s face as she leaned against the door, putting her hands onto as if to touch Dane on the other side. God, she missed him so badly, but she knew he only wanted to speak with her about what she’d done.
She didn’t want to hear it.
“Nay,” she said. “I will not unbolt it and I will not hear you tell me again how I have betrayed you. I have heard enough. I did not do it and I will go to my grave swearing that I have done nothing wrong. It is you who are a faithless soul, unwilling to believe a woman with true intentions and an even truer heart. You do not deserve me, Dane de Russe, so go away and leave me alone. I do not want to hear you and I do not want to see you. You locked me in here, and here I will stay for the rest of my life. Go away!”
She pounded on the door to punctu
ate the last two words, breaking down into sobs as she went back over to the chair by the hearth and collapsed in it, weeping. She half-expected him to kick the door down in his anger because she had refused his command, but he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t touch the door again. Grier didn’t know how long she’d been sobbing when she realized there was dead silence on the other side of the door. As she’d asked, he’d gone away, and the realization of it hurt her more deeply than anything ever could.
God help her… he’d done as she’d asked.
… gone.
“I am sorry, Charlisa,” Dane said. “Grier is still feeling terrible and is unable to come to bid you a farewell, but she told me to wish you a good journey. She shall see you when you return.”
Standing in the cold, shadowed bailey as dawn broke, Charlisa was greatly concerned at Dane’s words. Grier had been ill for a couple of days and she’d not been allowed to see the woman, per her own request according to Dane. The fact that she was still ill gave Charlisa pause.
“Then mayhap I should not leave,” she said. “Dastan and Laria can take Syler home to for burial. If Lady de Russe is feeling poorly, then mayhap I am needed most here.”
The escort to return Syler to Netherworld Castle, a two-day ride into Powys, was gathered in the outer bailey and preparing to depart. Netherworld Castle was an enclave of English amid the Welsh, and had been for over three hundred years. The House of de Poyer had never lost its Saesneg heritage and, strangely, had historically had very little trouble with its Welsh neighbors. Syler had grown up in that world, and it was to that world he would be returning.
But Dane was determined that the entire family should go, mostly because he didn’t want them at Shrewsbury at the moment. They had no idea what had happened with Grier because he hadn’t wanted to add to their burden. To know his wife had been part of the raid that had killed Syler would have been too much for them to deal with, and Dane simply didn’t wish to burden them.
Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 21