Warrior's Deception

“Release Lady Lenora!” a voice ordered.

“Sir Hywel.” She craned her neck to see a group of her father’s men blocking the road. Roen’s men waited, their hands resting on the hilts of their undrawn swords.

“Release her now!” In unison the knights of Woodshadow drew their swords, their upheld blades casting a blinding reflection of the sun.

Roen moved forward, his men parting for him. He stopped his horse a few paces from her father’s seneschal. “Greetings, Sir Hywel. I and my men aided her when she lost control of her mount. See, yonder is my squire bringing the horse back.”

Sir Hywel glanced over Roen’s shoulder at Landrick, who was walking the two horses back. “Lady Lenora?”

She gritted her teeth and seethed with inner frustration. Galliard gave her a benign smile that only served to stoke her anger. If she contradicted Roen’s story, the two groups would come to blows. To admit, in front of her men and his, that she needed his help galled her.

“Tis as Galliard says,” she managed to get out through clenched teeth, “I was riding Jupiter and—”

“Jupiter! Girl, are you daft? That horse is more than most men can handle.” The steward raised his hand and signalled her protectors to resheath their swords. The knights surrounding her relaxed.

“I thank you for your aid to our lady. She is at times a trifle foolhardy.” Sir Hywel approached Roen and Lenora. “I will take her back to Woodshadow. I am sure her father would like to extend his thanks, also.”

Roen did not remove his arm from around her waist. “Lady Lenora has graciously extended the hospitality of her home to my men and me. Since we travel the same way, I will be glad to take the lady home.” Spurring his horse, he led the group of knights through the gates of Woodshadow and into the inner bailey of her home.

Damn Roen de Galliard! Lenora swore to herself. The man had caused her nothing but trouble and embarrassment since she met him. Gawking villagers lined the hard-packed road to the castle entrance. The sight of her aunt and cousin on forebuilding steps caused her to cringe with mortification. Roen swung her down and deposited her at Matilda’s feet. Dust, from the horses, stirred whirlwinds of dirt around her. She coughed as grime coated her hair, face and clothes.

Roen gave her aunt a polite smile. “Your niece was in need of help, Lady Matilda. I was more than happy to assist her.”

“Sir Roen!” her aunt gushed, as she brushed past Lenora, pulling her skirts close to avoid soiling them on her filthy niece. “I recognize you from the tourney. We are honored to have a knight of your reputation as our guest.”

A stableboy took hold of his horse. Destner tossed his mane and twisted his head to take a bite from the lad’s arm. One of Roen’s squires scrambled from his saddle and took a tentative hold of the animal. A one-word command from his master and the horse settled. Roen dismounted and Matilda latched onto his arm. She waved to her daughter and steered the knight in the direction of the steps. Eagerness and hope rushed through the older woman’s voice. “I would like to introduce you to my daughter, Lady Beatrice.”

“Galhard! I want a word with you.”

Roen turned casually toward Lenora. She stood covered in dust, her skirt partially tucked into her belt. Her hair formed a red gold mantle; her anger caused it to sizzle around her shoulders like tongues of flame.

“Lenora, you should not delay Sir Roen,” Matilda scolded, and tried to tug Roen up the forebuilding steps.

“I don’t mind. I am sure Lady Lenora wishes to give me her thanks in private. Pray, continue on with my men. We will follow shortly.”

Lenora held her tongue until her aunt and cousin disappeared into the keep. “Things have not changed. My cousin remains off limits to you.”

Roen shook his head in amazement. Regardless of how she looked, she sounded like the mistress of the keep. He had bested the girl in front of everyone and she still dared to oppose him. Her use of his family name needled him. She remembered Hamlin or Landrick’s title with no problem. His should not be any harder to recall.

“I am Sir Roen de Galliard of Normandy. You may address me as Sir Roen or Sir Galliard.”

“The way that I address you is not what I wish to discuss.”

“’Tis what I wish to discuss.”

Lenora shook her dust-caked apron, a delighted look on her face when a light cloud of dirt hovered over Roen. Her full lips curled into a sarcastic smile. “I do not wish to keep you from your admirers, Galliard.” He heard the relish in her voice at the insult. She spun around and trudged up the step to the keep.

Left in another cloud of her dust, he started after her. “And I do not wish to keep you from your much needed bath, Nora.”

Lenora stopped, her mouth moving like a fish gasping on dry land. “My name is Lenora.”

Roen skipped up the stair past her, “I don’t wish to discuss that right now. My admirers await.” His laugh rang triumphant as he entered the great hall.

Lenora fumed. If today was Galliard’s payment for her loose tongue, then they were even.

“Lady Lenora.” Sir Hywel stood on the top step. “Your father wants to see you. Now!”

Her chin sank to her chest. The scales had just tipped. She owed Galliard now and she intended her payment to be a painful one to the arrogant lout.

Chapter Five (#ulink_164aa0e9-e0e9-5da7-8511-92eaa9e8f85e)

“Sir Roen, I’m so glad you came along when you did,” her aunt cooed. “Poor Lenora could have been killed trying such an outlandish stunt.” She took a sip from the wine goblet she shared with Roen. The rest of the meal participants listened with rapt attention to the knight’s exaggerated account of the rescue.

Lenora felt a needlelike jab in her head and tried to fix her concentration on her meal. Under the table, her foot tapped the floor in a staccato beat. She wished it was Galliard under her foot instead of the rushes.

“You were so brave to attempt such a rescue.” Matilda continued to heap praise on Roen. Every word of gratitude triggered another pain. Lenora’s head felt like a pincushion.

“Lady Lenora, you have a fine cook. The meal is…” Her dinner partner, Sir Alric, stopped his polite conversation at her icy look.

Alric retreated into a quelled silence. Lenora grabbed their shared wine goblet without asking for help from the knight seated next to her. She dared him to comment on her breach of proper etiquette, which demanded the knight hold the goblet. The last thing she wanted was help from any of Roen de Galliard’s men.

Just as she took a huge gulp of wine, she heard Roen say, “’Twas pure luck that she stayed on the beast’s back after the first jump. Then to see her barreling down toward a second! Well, dear lady, I knew I had to intervene or a terrible accident would occur.”

Her wine almost spewed across the table. She forced the liquid down her constricted throat and was seized by a fit of coughing. All eyes at the head table turned toward her.

“It seems the lady needs my assistance once again.” Roen smiled ruefully at Matilda. He started to rise from his seat of honor next to the saltcellar.

“Nay. Nay.” Lenora waved him back to his seat. “I am fine. The wine was sour.”

“Really!” He took a long swill from his cup. “Mine is deliciously sweet.” Roen gave her a crooked smile. Mischief brought out the blue in his eyes. “Perhaps, ‘tis not the wine that’s sour.”

He turned to Hamlin, seated next to Beatrice on his right. “I have heard, my friend, that the flavor of the meal is enhanced by one’s disposition. I myself feel extremely well satisfied, and my meal was extremely savory. Perhaps ‘tis the lady’s disposition that soured her meal.” The high table exploded with laughter.

Beatrice opened her mouth to defend her dear cousin. Hamlin lightly placed his callused hand over her delicate one. “Nay, Lady Beatrice, this battle is not for one as gentle as yourself. Besides,” he whispered, “I do not think the Lady Lenora is ready to admit defeat just yet.”

As if in response to Hamlin’s statement, Lenora, her eyes aflame, parried back. “Nay, Galliard. My disposition is wonderfully content after my refreshing bath. How could one help to be otherwise when the water was so soothingly warm and scented with mint. I trust yours was the same.”

Roen tapped his index finger on his wide, generous lips, forcing his smile to remain. When he had seen the scrawny, toothless old woman sent to assist him at his bath, he suspected Lenora had arranged it. His men relaxed in hot tubs while he nearly froze in a bucket of tepid water. Not to mention he had had to bear the tale of the hag’s many ailments. Roen nodded appreciatively toward his adversary. Lenora was not a woman to give up any battle easily.

“My bath was exactly as you would expect it to be.” Roen turned toward his dining partner. “Lady Matilda, your niece sent the…”

Matilda giggled like a young girl. “Lenora is too interested in her horses and plants to be concerned with taking proper care of her guests. I am afraid the stress of managing this keep falls on my shoulders and those of my daughter.”

“Then I have you to thank for my bath and the care I received?” Roen questioned.

He was surprised to see Matilda accept the statement as a compliment when he knew Lenora was responsible for his inhospitable treatment. He turned toward the young woman, her face radiant with triumph.

“Sir Roen, my lord will see you now,” the castle seneschal announced. Roen tore his gaze from Lenora. Sir Hywel continued, “Sir Edmund apologizes for the delay in addressing you, but his illness forces him to rest at midday. If you are finished with your meal, I will lead you to his chambers.”