Warrior's Deception

“’Tis in code!” A familiar pattern emerged from the confusing phrases. “We used this code during the war with Stephen!”

King Henry nodded and reached for the paper. “It took me some time to discover it. If I did not know the sender so well, I might have missed it. He has purposely mentioned battles where the code was used.”

Roen glanced through the letter again, using the code to glean the true message. “He asks for help to protect his family and his land. A traitor is in his midst.” He turned toward the king. “What will you do?”

“This—” Henry took the letter from his hands “—could simply be a letter on a land case and the code a coincidence. Or a good and loyal friend could be in need. Sir Edmund has aided me countless times. I shan’t abandon him now. That is why I need you to help him. First, because he is a loyal compatriot. Secondly, there are still those who secretly oppose me as king. I cannot afford to let his keep fall into a traitor’s hands.”

The dull ache in the back of his head turned into a crashing storm of pain. Sir Edmund! Heaven would not punish him like this. He searched his memory for every knight named Edmund he had served with. Unconsciously, he massaged his left temple. Sharp daggers of pain lanced through his head. Roen asked, “Is the man Sir Edmund de Marchavel?”

“Aye. I’m surprised you could tell that from his letter. I want you to think of some excuse and investigate this matter. His daughter—”

“I’ve met!” Distaste flavored his voice. “Why hasn’t Sir Edmund married the shrew off to some poor fool?”

Henry threw back his head, and his laugh boomed across the room. “So you’ve met the sharp-tongued Lenora. I see no blood. Her wounds could not have been too deep.” The king chuckled while he poured a tankard of ale for himself and Roen. “Ah, Lenora, she’s a favorite of mine. Always asking questions and demanding answers. She must be what Eleanor was like in her younger days. Before life made her hard.” The king paused thoughtfully and sipped his drink.

“The girl has a tongue as hideous as Medusa’s hair.” Roen took a long gulp of ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ll warrant ‘tis just as deadly to a weaker man.”

The king slapped his knee and gave a belly laugh. Then he pointed his finger at Roen and warned, “Don’t let the girl fool you into thinking she’s had no suitors. There have been several, but she spurned them all. Books and horses hold her interest more than marriage. Since her older brother stood to inherit, Sir Edmund paid the fee to keep her unmarried. Allowed her to follow her fancies at home. There was some discussion of her entering a convent to further her education.”

“I pity the abbess who receives her as a novitiate.” Roen could not picture the fiery girl in drab gowns and the bleak surroundings of an abbey. Nor could he see her taking vows of silence and obedience.

“Things have changed recently, perhaps the reason Edmund is in danger. Her brother died last year in battle against one of Stephen’s men, which leaves Lenora as Edmund’s only heir to Woodshadow. The girl must marry and have a child in order for the keep to stay in the family.” The king shook his head and muttered under his breath. “So many good men lost their lives for me. I owe England much in restitution.”

“Who inherits if Lenora remains childless or—” Roen hesitated “—dies?” Although the woman vexed him sorely, the thought of the spirited girl dead did not sit well with him.

“The property is held through Lenora’s mother. If she dies or is without an heir, then Woodshadow will revert to her aunt, the Lady Matilda and her daughter, Lady Beatrice. Both have motive. They are landless and living on Edmund’s good graces at Woodshadow.”

“They should be easily dealt with. Bring the women in and let them view the rats and roaches of the dungeon. A few threats and they will break quickly.” Roen took a gulp of his drink and considered the matter settled.

“And what if ‘tis not them? Then the traitor will know we are on to him. We may push the treacherous party too far and forfeit the lives of both Sir Edmund and his daughter. We must go carefully and gain the proof we need.”

Roen gave him a resigned nod. “What is it you want me to do?”

The king stood and continued, “So far, Lenora has not been harmed and is unaware of the danger. The traitor may hope she will still enter the convent and thus give .up her inheritance. But if she had plans to marry, it might flush our prey out.” King Henry gave him a speculative look.

“Nay!” Roen roared his refusal. “I would never consider marrying that sharp-tongued hellcat. Nay, Henry, you are my liege lord, but do not ask this of me.”

“’Twas—” the king spread his hands out eloquently “—a suggestion. A possible solution to two problems. But if ‘tis unacceptable…”

“Unacceptable? Your Majesty, can you imagine a lifetime with that woman? She’d drive a man insane.” Roen didn’t think Henry understood the depths of his strenuous protest. “‘Tis obvious her father has not kept a strong rein on the girl. I doubt she even knows how to run a household.” A groan erupted when he saw the king fold his hands across his chest and give him a steely look. “Your Majesty, the Lady Lenora is definitely not what I want in a wife….”

Henry leaned back in his chair, pursed his lips and contemplated the strong ale in his goblet. He knew Roen well, and the knight’s protest intrigued him. The man was more interested in Lady Lenora than he cared to admit, or he would not still be cursing the girl. Perhaps marriage was a viable solution to his problem. His siege commander would be repaid for his military aid with a wealthy keep, Woodshadow would be secure with a vassal loyal to the throne, and his old friend’s daughter would be protected. He just had to deliver the solution to Roen in a more digestible form.

“Perhaps you are right,” King Henry agreed. “After all, since the fee has been paid, she would have to agree to marry you. I could not command it or even request it. She may refuse you.”

“She wouldn’t dare!” Roen could not believe that any woman would not be eager to jump into the marriage bed with him. “I may be landless, but I don’t enter the contract with nothing. I’ve enough in booty and ransom money to impress even the likes of the Lady Lenora.”

“Nevertheless, we must think of a ruse for you to visit Woodshadow for a time. Long enough for you to discover if there is a threat, and if there is, the source.”

“I already have one,” Roen admitted with reluctance. His mood did not improve when the king raised his brows in mock surprise. Above all things he respected loyalty; he would help his liege’s friend. “I need a few days to collect my winnings from the tourney. I’ll be in Woodshadow before the next fortnight.” He took leave of the king and met Hamlin at the end of the hall.

“What happened?” Hamlin asked. “I heard you bellowing from here.”

“Come with me.” He strode out of the hall, leaving his friend behind. Unmindful of Hamlin’s pleas to slow down, he strode toward the stables. Reaching Destrier’s stall, he checked the horse’s feed and well-being.

“Well, my friend,” Roen said, patting the horse’s neck. “At least one of us will be enjoying himself at Woodshadow. You’ll be busy with the mares and I’ll be…” His mouth grew dry and his voice died out. Like a bit of fog, a dream of Lady Lenora enticed him. An image of her long, slender white legs wrapped around his waist seized his imagination. Her hair, like copper bracelets, tangled in his fingers. The ragged sound of his breath shook him from the spell. He ran his hand across his forehead and down the back of his head. His body’s reaction to this woman did not make sense.

A quiet, demure, obedient wife was what he sought. He would go to Woodshadow and protect the girl and her father because the king had asked him. But he would use the opportunity to exact his revenge against the woman’s dagger-sharp words. As with any battle, Roen intended his revenge to be costly to his opponent, Lenora.

Chapter Four (#ulink_efeb64ac-c00f-57d1-83c2-648ccee16bcf)

“By the blessed saints!” The gnarled old man threw down the twig broom in disgust. “Lady Lenora, I’ll never be gettin’ my morning work done with ye tramping back and forth.”

Lenora halted her relentless pacing and looked down at her feet. The stableman’s neat piles of dirt lay scattered, her footprints visible in each.

“I’m sorry, Tom. I was so worried about Silver I didn’t look where I was walking. I promise to be more careful.”

“Aye, ye promise to look out. Just like ye promised to not be worrying yeself sick over this mare…and Gladymer…and ye father…and…” Tom poked an arthritic finger at her. “And about whatever happened over at that tourney.”

The desire to deny the charges stuck in her throat. Tom’s one-eyed stare silenced all her rebuttals. He pointed to the black patch that covered his left eye and added, “I may ‘ave lost an eye in battle, but the one I still got works good enough for me to know somethin’s amiss. What was it that made ye have to leave Tintagel so quick ye barely had time to brush the sweat marks off your horses?”

“I was homesick. I wanted to be at Woodshadow with Father and Silver Maple.” Lenora smiled. “And you.”

“Humph! There’s no need to be trying to grease me. It won’t work like it does on your aunt. So ye don’t want to talk to me. A loyal servant all my life. Served with your father, saved his life countless times, taught some pesky little miss to ride.” Tom began to number off on his fingers all of his numerous sacrifices.

“Believe me, nothing out of the ordinary happened.” She fixed a bright smile on her face to reassure her father’s retired infantryman. To escape from Tom’s prodding questions, she moved to her mare’s stall. Leaning her elbows on the gate, she rested her chin on her hands.

How could she tell her father’s man about her confrontation with Roen de Galliard? Anything she told the old man would be channeled to her father’s ear. She wanted desperately to talk to someone about her fears and confused emotions concerning Galliard. Beatrice had her own concerns, Aunt Matilda was out of the question and she didn’t dare tell her father. Lenora knew she had pushed the golden giant beyond the safety point. ‘Twas only luck that had spared her from the man’s bad temper.

Closing her eyes, she sought the comfort the stable always offered. Images of thunder gray-blue eyes and wide shoulders splintered the stable’s calming aura, leaving her tense and full of nervous energy.

Tom scrutinized the young girl he had watched grow up and mature into a spirited young woman. So, something happened at the tourney you don’t want me or your father to know, he deduced to himself. He winced when his troubled mistress, lost in thought, once more paced through the dirt, destroying his morning’s work.

“There’s only one answer for this, your ladyship,” Tom announced in a loud voice. Her worried eyes broke from their trance. He shuffled toward the back of the stable. Hoof stomps and angry snorts cracked the silence.

Lenora heard several grunted curses before Tom reappeared moments later with a prancing dapple-gray stallion, tacked with her father’s saddle. Shoving the reins into her hands, he commanded, “Ride him.”

“You want me to ride Father’s stallion, Jupiter? Astride?” The horse pawed the smooth dirt floor of the stable, irritated with Tom’s restraining hands. The stallion jerked his head, almost dislodging the reins from her hands.

“Aye, lass. I know ye can handle him and he needs the workout. With the lord ailin’, Jupiter here is sorely in need of his daily gallop.”

“But Father has always been with me when I rode him. I don’t know if I should.”

Tom’s twinkling eye squinted and studied her. “You’re needin’ to ride your worries away, a ride that’ll make ye one with the wind. Ye can’t do that perched on a saddle like a pet bird. Ye gotta dig your talons into the saddle, hold on and outride the devils that are a-plaguing ye so. Jupiter is the horse that can outride any demon ye’ve got tagging after ye.”

The truth of his words hit home. She paused a moment, then lifted the back of her grass-stained work dress and tucked it into the front of her girdle. Tom tossed her a coarse woolen hood from a peg. She stuffed her thick auburn braid into the loose hat. In her makeshift braes, she mounted Jupiter. The long, well-oiled reins cut into her hands as the stallion strained to break free. A quick nod of her head to her old friend and she clicked her tongue against her teeth.

Tom dropped his hand from the bridle and watched the girl he loved like a daughter—and the horse he cursed like the devil—walk out of the stable toward the outer bailey and the open fields beyond the castle gate. “Don’t worry, Lady Lenora, there are those of us here a-watchin’, out for ye,” he whispered to himself, and then retrieved his twig broom.