Never Kiss A Stranger (34 page)

Barely touching the inside of Bevan’s left nipple, and as big as a fist, a raspberry colored patch stained his skin. Two rounded humps at the top, a tapering point at the bottom.

The shape of a heart. And Alys thought in that moment that it was the only one the evil man would ever possess.

She gasped and held the trembling Layla to her breast as she stepped back and watched the guards separate Piers from Bevan. Alys looked down and saw that Judith Angwedd had collapsed to her knees on the floor, her face frozen in shock and fear. Her bulging eyes blinked repeatedly.

“You fucking pig,” Bevan shouted at Piers. “I had you bested. I had you!”

“You’ve never bested anyone in your life,” Piers spat as the guards shoved him away and stood as barriers between the two men. “You and your mother are naught but scavengers.”

One guard lay hand to the hilt of his sword, and nodded at Piers in warning. Piers lifted his chin in answer and came to Alys’s side, and when his forearm braced against her lower back, Alys wanted to melt into him and weep.

“Good girl, Layla,” Piers whispered, and scratched the monkey’s head. Alys could feel the solid rise and fall of Piers’s chest at her shoulder and for the first time since her mother had died, she felt she had come home.

After several moments, the guards had the scandalized crowd and Bevan under control, and Edward rose from his throne.

“John Hart!” the king called out. In moments, a tall, gray haired bear of a man, whose face Alys now recognized
was an older, sagging replica of Bevan’s, reluctantly stepped forward at the urging of two guards. “Do you deny that this man is your son?”

John Hart’s eyes narrowed. But then perhaps thoughts of defiance left him. “I have never claimed him,” was all he would concede.

Edward ignored the strangled murmurs of the audience who were all but swooning with the excitement afoot at a simple morning court.

“Bare your chest, Lord Hart.”

The man hesitated for a long moment. “May my dead wife forgive me.” He began to slowly unlace his tunic, only far enough so that he could pull down at the neckline, revealing a faded burgundy patch, like bloody angel’s wings, beneath sparse gray chest hair.

The crowd was oddly silent, as if they were witnessing an execution. Perhaps it was only now that they realized the gravity of the situation beyond the mere sensation of gossip.

Lord Hart returned his tunic and then suddenly looked to Piers. “I am sorry for your plight, Lord Mallory. I knew naught of you before this day, and I have had no hand in any of the wrongs done to you. I vow now before the king, it was never my intention to acknowledge this viper’s offspring as my heir. She was trying to woo me with Gillwick as late as last evening, when she accosted me in the dining hall, but rather would I take my own life than give either of them my home or my name. Your father was a man who lived his convictions. I regret that I have never.”

Alys knew her mouth was hanging agape when Lord Hart turned to the king, assumedly to receive Edward’s next command. She noticed with a pang of sympathy that the man had refused to meet her eyes.

“Is that all you have to witness, Hart?” the king asked.

John Hart nodded once, his mouth set, his cheeks flushed and quivering. Alys could not help but think the man might not survive the humiliation he’d been dealt, and she was amazed at the idea that only weeks ago, this lord had been a guest at Fallstowe, with intentions of taking Alys for his own wife.

“Your wishes as to your estate have been duly recorded. You are dismissed,” Edward said mercifully.

John Hart bowed low and then turned on his heel and strode quickly down the aisle, his head up, despite the onlookers who followed his exit, gaping openly at him.

The king remained standing, and once the chamber was properly silent, he spoke. “I have arrived at my verdict. Lady Judith Angwedd Mallory, for your perjury, kidnapping and imprisoning of a peer, and false witness in order to hold lands, I hereby strip you of your title as Lady of Gillwick, and sentence you to one year in prison.”

Judith Angwedd cried out faintly as the guards approached her.

“Bevan, son of Judith Angwedd Mallory, for your collusion and the attempted murders of two peers of the realm,” Alys gasped at this, and wondered if Piers had caught the king’s meaning. “You shall die by beheading in one week. May God have mercy on your soul.”

“I cannot be imprisoned! No!” Judith Angwedd shrieked as she was pulled to her feet. “Bevan, save me!”

Alys winced. Bevan had made no move, his eyes were trained on the floor between his feet, blood trickling down his still cheek.

“Do you understand, man?” the king demanded.

Slowly, Bevan brought his head up. He looked at the
king for a moment, his face an expressionless mask. “Why wait out the week?” he asked levelly.

Then in the next moment, he had reached into his torn tunic and pulled out a short dagger. Without so much as a shout, Bevan turned and dove at Piers.

Alys was shoved aside, falling to the floor and rolling to protect Layla. She flung herself onto her back to find Piers with her eyes and screamed his name.

Bevan’s arm was raised, the blade arcing down. Piers, weaponless, threw up a blocking hand.

And then Bevan crumpled to the floor, following his clattering blade with a hoarse cry. One of the king’s guards stepped away, pulling his bloodied sword free.

Judith Angwedd gave an eerie, keening wail as she was dragged away. From somewhere in the crowd of witnesses, someone retched.

Edward looked down on the body from his dais as guards stepped quickly to remove the lifeless bulk of a very disturbed man. “Why wait out the week, indeed.”

When all that remained was a swash of bright blood, the king looked to Piers. “Piers Mallory, I dub thee, and rightly so, Lord of Gillwick Manor.” Edward held out his hand, fingers first, palm down.

Alys felt the catch of breath in Piers’s chest. He left her side to mount the dais and kneel before the king. Taking Edward’s hand, he kissed the royal symbol. When Piers rose, Edward handed him the carnelian signet ring.

“I trust you will keep close watch over this particular piece in the future?”

Piers nodded and then after another bow, returned to Alys’s side. She felt her heart would burst when he slid his fingers around hers.

Edward spoke in a low voice to his agent, who then addressed the hall. “No more audience this day. Come back
on the morrow. Good day.” His face swung around. “Save the pair of you,” the man said pointedly to Alys and Piers.

Alys gulped. It was time to answer for Fallstowe, for Sybilla. And although Alys was in truth frightened of how the king might punish her in her sister’s stead, Alys was ready to face the king. For the first time, it would be Alys who would protect Sybilla.

The monkey had saved the day.

Piers waved Ira on with the rest of the crowd, signaling that he would join his grandfather as soon as he was able. In the last instant, Ira came back and took charge of Layla, who went willingly enough. Piers vowed silently that the monkey would have all the pomegranates that Gillwick could afford to buy her. Alys blew Ira and Layla each a kiss from her fingertips. Piers squeezed her hand as they turned in the emptying chamber to face the dais.

She had come back for him. She had survived Judith Angwedd and Bevan, grasped her freedom, and turned it away in favor of him. Piers did not know what her plans were, or in truth how she would feel about him once they were out of sight of the king, but he knew he loved her, more than he’d ever thought possible. And now he would stand with her before Edward, as she had stood with him.

Her lovely face was milk-pale, and he could feel her trembling. But other than those signs which only he, at such close proximity, was privy to, she appeared calm, confident. She was the Alys that Piers knew.

Edward fell back onto his chair and took a chalice from
a tray offered by a serving boy. The king took a long drink, and then appraised Alys over the rim.

“Where is your sister, Lady Alys, and why has she ignored my repeated summons?” he demanded straight away.

Piers felt rather than heard Alys’s deep intake of breath. “Fallstowe keeps her very engaged, your majesty. The death of my mother was a sharp blow. She and Sybilla were very close.”

“People die, Lady Alys. That is no reason to dismiss a direct command from the king.”

Alys nodded. But all she said was, “I understand.”

Edward stared at her. “Do you have her blessing to be here, with this man?”

Then Alys smiled. “No, Sire. In fact, I have done naught but disobey my sister’s orders. I am in direct defiance of her at this very moment.”

Edward returned the smile. “Then mayhap you are not the enemy I mistook you for, if you would go against one who defies
me
at every turn.” He paused, as if thinking. “Is she taking up arms against me?”

Alys shook her head. “No, your majesty.”

Edward’s eyes narrowed.

“I swear it to you,” Alys insisted.

Edward tapped the base of his chalice against the carved marble armrest for a moment. “I know things about your family, Lady Alys. About your mother, in particular. Things that perhaps you yourself have no idea about. Sybilla would deny me further investigation.”

“I can assure you that what little I know is of no consequence, my lord,” Alys said, without a trace of mockery.

“I agree, else you would not be risking your life by appearing in my court.”

Alys’s eyes widened and Edward nodded. “Oh, yes—
‘tis indeed that serious.” He took another drink. “You said you were Lord Piers’s wife, and yet I cannot fathom how that is possible.”

Now it was Piers’s turn to speak for her. “We met at the Foxe Ring, my liege. ‘Tis a stone ring at the old—”

“I know the legend, Piers,” Edward interrupted mildly. “You both acknowledge the tradition?”

Piers looked to Alys, and she only stared at him.

“I do,” he said, never breaking eye contact with her.

“I do,” she replied faintly. “Of course, I do.”

“And you also know,” Edward said musingly, a touch of humor in his voice, “that Lady Sybilla will likely be much put-out at the thought of you, a Foxe, marrying a humble farmer, no matter that he is now titled.”

Alys chuckled sweetly. “Oh, my liege, I indeed am aware of how displeased she would be. She had arranged a betrothal between myself and Lord Clement Cobb of Blodshire.”

Edward winced. “That so? His mother is a beastly woman.” Then the king shrugged, drained his chalice, and then set it aside, rising leisurely. “Regardless of your sister’s notions, it is still I who rules this kingdom, and it is I who decides if a marriage shall be constituted binding or otherwise. You may tell your sister to pay the Cobbs your dowry for her arrogance.”

Piers’s heart dropped into his stomach.

Edward waved his hand at them nonchalantly. “Alys Foxe, Lady Mallory.” He pointed to his agent. “Witnessed.” And to the scribe behind him. “Witnessed. So be it, and my blessing on you both. It is my most sincere wish that your sister suffers a fit of apoplexy.”

Piers heard Alys gasp and then she sank into a deep curtsey. Piers followed her lead with a bow of his own.

Behind the king, the scribe continued to scratch frantically at his parchments.

The king gestured to the court agent again, spoke low to him and then began to turn away, adding to the pair still below the dais, “Stay on for a fortnight if you wish, as my guests. But Lady Mallory,” Edward said interjecting a heavy pause, and oh, but Piers thought that title was the sweetest pair of words he’d ever heard.

“Yes, my lord?” Alys said, sounding breathless.

“I am coming for Fallstowe. I am coming, and I will not be denied.”

“I will give Sybilla the message, your majesty.”

Edward nodded. “You are dismissed.” He turned away and disappeared through a nondescript panel, his scribe scrambling to gather up the sheafs and sheafs of parchment scattered over the small table. On the floor before the dais, servants were already at work erasing the blood of Bevan Mallory.

The king’s agent approached them and handed Piers the key belonging to Julian Griffin. “His majesty has granted you use of Lord Griffin’s rooms. He shan’t be needing them.”

Piers smiled at the dour faced man, and wondered if his job was always so harsh that his face was permanently scowling. “Spending time with his new son, I’d wager.”

The agent paused, looked up at Piers. “‘Twas a daughter. Lady Griffin did not survive.”

Alys gasped and whispered, “Oh, no!”

Piers felt an odd, heavy sense of loss for this man, Julian Griffin, who was little more than a kind stranger to him.

“I am most saddened by that news. Please give him my—”

“Our,”
Alys interjected.

“Yes, our regrets,” Piers amended. Was it ‘our’ now? Piers had never been an ‘our’ before.

The agent looked to Alys briefly and his eyes narrowed. “Likely you will be able to make your regrets personally.” He bowed slightly. “Good day, my lord. My lady.” He turned and was off on swift, clicking feet.

“A damned shame,” Piers murmured.

“Heartbreaking,” Alys agreed. “But I wonder what he meant when he said we’d be able to make our own regrets? He was looking at me when he said it.”

“I suspect Lord Griffin carries a heavy responsibility for Edward,” Piers guessed. “My thought is that ‘twill be none other than Julian Griffin whom he sends after Fallstowe.”

“Surely it won’t be soon—the man’s just lost his wife.”

Piers shrugged because he had no answer for her. Then turned to look down at Alys. In that instant, Julian Griffin and his misfortune were forgotten, as was the fate of Alys’s childhood home. He was faced with a woman he had nearly lost himself. His own wife now, was she? Was she, truly?

She looked up at him. And then she smiled.

“I told you we were married.”

Piers didn’t know what to do, how to react. He wanted to grab her, kiss her, beg her to come home to Gillwick with him and Ira. But although her smile was sweet and relieved, he didn’t know how she felt about their hasty and very legal marriage that had just taken place.