Lord of a Thousand Nights (26 page)

Does your father who sought to make you a priest still live?
It had been such a simple question. Perhaps a simple answer would have sufficed, but he doubted it. This question would lead to others, as was the way with such things. He had not emerged into the world with their meeting, and eventually she would seek the story of the years that had brought him here.

Little could she know that the dishonor of the past four, the part that she already knew, had been the least and last of it.

He had considered answering that question, but had found that he could not risk it. He did not dare test the delicate ties that had been forming between them, because his isolated soul relished those tenuous connections more
than he thought possible. But in the tense silence of his rebuff and then later in bed, he had felt some break just the same, as surely as if she had snipped them with a pair of shears.

T
wilight was gathering when the troop straggled down the road to Black Lyne Keep. They made slow progress, what with the carts loaded with the spoils of armor and the trailing line of Armstrong horses.

It had been a brief battle, following a surprise attack, and had ended sooner than it might have, when Ian challenged Thomas Armstrong to individual combat. Defeating the man had been easy enough, and Ian had spared Thomas's life in return for an oath to keep the Armstrongs at Clivedale, north of the border with Black Lyne Keep and far from the siege at Harclow.

The mood in the company was high-spirited. On their own the common soldiers decided to share the spoils with their members who had missed the fun by being sent to Harclow. Ian traded jests, and soaked in the familiarity and friendship. Most of these comrades would depart from his life soon, he realized. In six months the company would be back in France, laying siege to some exhausted town. The majority were brigands at heart and could know no other life.

He stayed in the camp outside the wall for many hours, sharing the ale and food brought out the gate by some servants. He listened to the old stories of past campaigns and adventures, letting the good cheer flow around him. A fine drizzle had been falling for some time when he finally rose and drifted away.

He had removed his armor, and wore only a long cloak and tunic and soft low boots. He approached the
gate looking like a mendicant, and had to call out before the guard recognized him in the torchlight.

The portcullis rose. He paused and glanced back to the fires. Then he walked through, into the deserted yard. With a loud thud the iron gate bit the ground behind him, cutting off the sounds of his company.

He approached the keep. A single torch sputtered in the drizzle by the door, and in its dying light he saw a huddled form in the middle of the wooden stairway. He slowly mounted the steps toward it. Reyna's pale face peered out from a cloak swaddled around her seated body.

He had forgotten that he had ordered her to wait for him.

“You could have stayed in the hall. It is damp and cold here.”

“I am warm and dry enough. I have little experience in greeting a man after battle, but I met Robert here when he came home from a journey. There are those within who remember that. I would not have it thought that I honored you less.”

He accepted the statement of duty without comment. He could not see her expression, but her tone had been soft and careful. How does one end an argument that never started? No words had been spoken that could be retracted, no insults hurled for which to apologize. She had merely asked for a small thing, but still it was more of himself than he dared to give. And yet he knew, to the core of his soul, that she had resigned herself to never ask for anything again.

“You may have little experience in greeting a man after battle, Reyna, but you have many more years as a wife than I have as a husband.”

She cocked her head thoughtfully, and when she
spoke again her voice sounded more natural. “Aye. And the wife is going to scold you now, for waiting so long to walk through that gate. I heard about your combat with Thomas, and you have wounds that should be cleaned. There is warm water heating by the fire in the solar, and I will use some salves on your cuts.”

The idea of Reyna's fussing over his cuts pleased him. He opened his cloak with one arm to take her small body next to him. She was neither warm nor dry as she claimed, but he would take care of that very soon. He wanted her, and would accept whatever she gave, and perhaps with time it would again be as it had been before last night.

“They say that you let Thomas live,” she said.

“There was no profit in killing him. If I thought that his death would end the accusations against you—”

“Nay, nay—I am glad you did not. People would say it was because—” Her voice trailed off.

Because I desired Thomas's wife, and sought to have Margery free of her husband.
He did not care what other people thought, but he would not have Reyna wondering about that. This at least he could give her.

“There was never anything between me and Margery,” he said. “Now come out of the rain.”

With his cloak floating around them both, he guided her into their home.

Chapter SEVENTEEN

I
an looked out over the moss from his position on the southeastern curve of the wall walk. Below him spread the wildflowers and heather, and further off snaked the line cut into the land by the river. Beside him stood Giles, his most experienced sapper.

Ian pointed to the land due south. “Andrew Armstrong says the river once flowed closer to the keep, years ago, and ran more broadly, covering that wetland there.”

Giles nodded. “I've seen such before. A river's flow moves or thins sometimes.”

“I am wondering if it can be moved again. Why couldn't one excavate and bring the river close to the wall?”

“It is how moats are cut, of course.”

“Not just divert part of the river for a moat, but move the whole thing. I want to know how many men, and how long?”

“Let us say a hundred men from the farms. Can not use them during planting and harvesting, so it is only the
growing months and a few before winter. If you do not find rock, and if it is easy going, maybe three seasons.”

Two months ago, if anyone had proposed a project taking so long, Ian would have laughed at the suggestion. Now, three years seemed a small investment in a lifetime.

Ian gave Giles orders to draw up plans for the project, then strolled along the wall toward the stairs. As he descended to the yard, he saw Reyna walking by. She wore her hair in a thick plait wound around her head, but he knew that she would arrive at dinner with it flowing freely the way he preferred. She did that to please him, despite the inconvenience.

He watched her amble to the garden with a basket over her arm, going to pick the flowers and herbs with which to flavor the food. She helped Alice at every dinner now, because he preferred her cooking. At the meal she would chat about his plans for the keep and the news of the siege at Harclow. In the evening she would retire to read or write her philosophy, and at night her arms and body would welcome him. Those intimacies throbbed with pleasure, but were always marked in silent ways by boundaries that she did not let herself cross anymore.

She was beautiful. Not a perfect face or body, but beautiful to him just the same. Dutiful and cheerful and compliant and lovely. More than he had ever expected.

So why did he find himself gritting his teeth over her courteous banter, and longing for the days when she cursed him as a bastard and a whoreson? At least her earlier conflict with the despicable Ian of Guilford had possessed blood and life, and a peculiar friendship. In contrast, this polite wifely duty promised to stagnate into boring routine very quickly.

He began mounting the steps to enter the keep.
Movement and noise at the gate stopped him. A guard announced that a lone knight approached.

The portcullis rose and a horse passed through the gate in the wall. Its rider turned and studied the white-and-green pennants flying from the towers, then cast his gaze over the yard. He sat on his steed straight and proud, in full armor, with a long black cloak thrown back from his shoulders.

The man was maybe thirty years old, with golden hair waving around his head and neck. He turned his narrow, delicately sculpted face toward the keep, and his liquid blue eyes lit upon Ian. As he swung off the stallion, his black cloak fell forward and unfurled.

Ian took in the white cross on the cloak's shoulder, and knew at once who had arrived. Edmund the Hospitaller. He stood there like the embodiment of an archangel, as perfect and clean as if he had stepped out of a colored glass window in a cathedral.

A squeal erupted from the garden gate. Ian watched Reyna drop her basket and run like a doe into the outstretched arms of the smiling blond knight. She gave Edmund a kiss of greeting and smiled up with a delighted, trusting expression.

Forcing a smile of welcome that he hardly felt, Ian approached the knightly monk. Reyna stepped back, turning in the arm resting around her shoulders. “Ian, this is Edmund, whom I told you about.”

“Welcome, Edmund. We are honored to have a knight of Saint John visit us.”

“Some business for the preceptor brought me to the area. I thank you for the welcome, since I have heard during the last few days that there have been many changes here.”

Aye, Edmund would have heard the news about the
siege of Harclow and the fall of Black Lyne Keep while he rode through those hills. How much else, though? Ian decided to clarify the situation. “Our hospitality is always open to my wife's friends.”

The man was good, Ian had to give him that. His expression barely changed at all. Just a blink of vague surprise.

Edmund's arm fell away from Reyna. Ian could tell that the knight had many questions for the lady, and that Reyna felt some need for explanation, but of course they couldn't hold that conversation now. Eventually they would find time alone to do so, and Ian imagined Reyna's half of that discourse and not much liking what he heard her say.

“I have met your brother, Reginald, of course,” Ian said.

“I heard that you hold him.”

“He said he swore to Robert to protect me, Edmund, but before taking me to you he was going to force a marriage,” Reyna explained sorrowfully. “He was like a different man. I did not understand it.”

“He was wounded, but he heals well,” Ian added.

“I would like to see him, if you will permit it.”

“Of course. I will take you to him now. Have the servants prepare a chamber for our guest, wife, while I bring Edmund to his brother.”

“I know my duties, Ian,” she said. “We will talk at dinner, Edmund. It is so good to see you again, dear friend.”

“My brother is not the smartest of men,” Edmund said quietly while Reyna walked away.

“I disagree. He forged a brilliant plan, and would have gained both the lady and her lands if it had worked.”

“I know nothing of her lands, and if Reginald offered marriage it was only to protect her.”

“You may be avowed to chastity, but your brother is
not. Surely more drove the man than chivalry, and it is a strange offer that does not permit refusal.”

Edmund's face colored. “Since she is bound to you now, it is clear that you know all about offers accepted under duress.”

“At the least, we can assume that I offered more courteously than Reginald did.”

“Or more violently.”

“Or more persuasively.”

Ian led the way down to the cellar chamber where Reginald languished. He unlocked the heavy door and stood aside.

Seeing the two men together, Ian could note their resemblance. Edmund was a smaller, finer version of his older brother. He possessed a more handsome face and, he knew from Reyna, a much sharper mind. Still, their relationship was obvious.

“I will leave you together for a short while.” He closed the door and locked them both in. The temptation to leave Edmund there for good, to ensure that Reyna never again saw this friend, played in his mind.

The short passageway was only dimly lit from light seeping down from atop the steps, and so he didn't notice the other door until he rested against it.

He turned and felt along the heavy planks, finding the iron hinges and finally the rough handle. The door swung smoothly, and light flooded to his eyes from a tiny high window. A confusion of complex aromas filled his head.

His gaze took in a crude table covered with terra-cotta bowls and a variety of flora hanging in bunches from the low ceiling. He dipped a finger into the crushed, dried contents of some of the containers.

Herbs.

Pacing around the chamber, he told himself that Reyna had not deliberately kept the location of this chamber hidden from him. It had been unlocked, and the whole castle must know of its existence.

He remembered a tour of the building that he had demanded of Andrew Armstrong the day after the keep fell. The steward had merely gestured down the stairs and said the prison cells were there, and Ian had not doubted their predictable location. If there had been any deliberate deception, it had been Andrew's.