The Protector (24 page)

But he had already walked away when she said that. “I will send you my answer in the morning, Anna. But if I were you, I would see if there is a bigger fool than me waiting downstairs.”

M
ORVAN STORMED INTO
the castle practice yard, borrowed weapons from the armory, and joined the knights practicing with swords and axes. He threw himself into the game with a black ferocity.

When the day waned and his partners deserted him, he headed toward the poorer section of town where the common laborers dwelled, and found a rude tavern with strong ale.

Settling into a dark corner, he was dismayed to find that all of the afternoon's exertions hadn't dimmed his outrage in the least.

He forced himself to consider Anna's proposal. He understood all too well its value. Rich lands, at least during his lifetime, and the chance to fulfill his destiny were there for the taking. She was giving him the opportunity to change his life, to avenge his family, and to amount to
more than a hired sword. She was offering a way out of obscurity.

Yet, just as clearly he saw what she would not give. The income would permit her to leave at will and would provide a degree of independence unheard of for most women. The provision to retire to Saint Meen did the same, and meant the marriage would simply be a temporary delay in the future she had chosen for herself. And even while she lived with him, he would not be her husband in truth. Her terms denied him her dependence, her body, her spirit, and her submission. She was refusing to give him herself.

It was late at night when he finally stepped from the tavern into the deserted street. Thumps and scurries caught his attention as he walked through the dark. He was being followed. No doubt some other patrons at the tavern had noticed his garments and purse and decided he would be an easy job.

Good. He was in the mood to break a few heads.

Darting down a side street, he pressed against a wall and waited. The moon was out, and as his pursuers turned the corner he could see their forms before the dark shadows swallowed them. He tensed for the attack.

“How many are there?”

Morvan swerved with his fist halfway to its mark before he recognized the voice. “What are you doing here, David?”

“Your sister made it clear that I either find you or I sleep alone. She has been worried since you left so ungraciously and suspects that you are looking for trouble. So how many are there?”

“At least three. Perhaps four.”

“I have my sword. Let's just brandish it a bit and be done with this,” David said.

“Nay. They are unarmed, I'm sure. Have you gotten any good with it?” Sounds indicated that the footpads were approaching, and Morvan and David backed down the narrow lane.

“I have kept up my lessons. I'm about as skilled as you were at sixteen.”

“I am impressed.”

“Conceited bastard. So we don't use our swords, and I presume it is ignoble to simply run.”

“Highly ignoble. And no fun at all.”

They had reached the end of the lane. The only way out was along a short dead-end alley. “You are in luck, brother. I am much better with my fists than a sword anyway. While you were tilting at the quintain as a lad, I was surviving in the alleys of London. This brings back old times.”

“On your left, David.”

“I see him. Just one question. If there are four of them, and we are in danger of being beaten to bloody deaths, are we then allowed to use our swords?”

“Aye.”

Shadows darted in and out of the moonlight.

“Here they come,” David muttered. “Damn, Morvan, you are too drunk to count. I see six. Hell.”

A half hour later they were back in the tavern, sitting on a bench against the wall, soaking their fists in pitchers of warm water that David had charmed out of the serving woman.

Morvan looked over at his brother-in-law's bruised cheek and cut chin. It had been an exhilarating and harmless brawl, and the footpads had eventually scurried off without any swords being drawn. He decided that
David wasn't such a bad companion to have along in a fight.

He unsheathed David's sword and admired it. “For someone who barely knows how to use the weapon, you pay for the best.”

“It is from Damascus. They forge steel differently there. Lighter in weight, which I find useful, but very strong.”

Morvan tested its balance and heft and decided the lighter weight would not be a disadvantage.

David pulled his fist out of the pitcher and examined it. “Is there any particular reason why you are trying to get yourself killed tonight?” he asked casually.

Morvan set the sword down, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes. He still felt sufficiently full of battle camaraderie to answer.

“Anna de Leon, daughter of Roald and heiress of La Roche de Roald, Breton amazon and saint—you don't know about the saint part, do you?—proposed marriage to me this afternoon.”

“Well, that is certainly something to die over. Christiana had hoped that was why Anna sent for you, but when you left as you did…I assume that you accepted and have been out mourning your carefree life.”

“Nay.”

“Don't tell me that you refused.”

“Not yet.”

“In terms of property, you are unlikely to ever get a better offer.”

He knew that.
She
knew that.

“Forgive me for prying, Morvan, but you make no sense. She is beautiful and rich and how you feel about her is written all over your face when you look at her. None of your usual cold calculation.”

“Her terms are unacceptable.”

David shrugged. “So change the terms.”

“It is all or nothing.”

“The hell it is. People always say that and never mean it. This isn't one of your sieges where the choice is yield or die. This is commerce. Everything is negotiable. Speak with her. Work from your strengths—give where you can and take where you must. It is very simple if you don't let your pride rule you. If you want, I will do it for you.”

Don't let pride rule.
Easier said than done.

“It is in her interests to marry you too,” David said. “Edward thinks to give her to Sir Giles, to repay a debt. She will not have the choice of the man like she thinks, unless she chooses another one to whom Edward is also in debt. Like you.”

“You seem to know a lot about this.”

“One hears things.”

Aye, Morvan reflected, but David de Abyndon always managed to hear more than most. “Have you been planting ideas in the King's head, David? Is your hand behind this?”

“You flatter me. I am only a merchant who sells the King silks.”

“Like hell. If you have interfered, you are playing a dangerous game.”

“Only if the knight fails to check the king, and lets some pawn cut him off.”

“The danger I speak of comes from treating the knight like a pawn.”

“Is that a threat, Morvan? No one is manipulating you. The move is yours to make or not. Stay put if you prefer.”

“And what of what the woman prefers?”

“You mean the abbey? She cannot have it. Edward
decided that on his own. Marriage is the best of the options he debated, I assure you, and he is still considering the others. Besides, she would not have been content there. She is neither pious nor obedient. If ever a woman would have been wasted in such a life, it is your lady.”

David set aside his pitcher. “Let us go home and allow Christiana and Anna to fuss over our wounds and scold us for our bad behavior.”

“I will go back to Salisbury's.”

“Why not come back and settle it now?”

“I have to even the odds before I reopen negotiations. I have seen this woman plan a battle strategy better than most barons, and get half again their value for her Breton horses. Nay, David, only a fool would go unprepared to bargain with Anna de Leon.”

Morvan was ushered into the King's chambers soon after dawn. There had been no waiting in the anteroom with the other petitioners. The message he had sent to the castle had gotten Edward's immediate attention.

No secretaries or clerks attended the King. This would be a private audience. That was a good sign. Morvan made his greetings, then followed Edward's gesture to sit.

“I am sorry that I was unable to see you before this, but matters of state have distracted me,” Edward said. “I received your earlier note, however, and made time for Lady Anna as you requested.”

“That was generous of you, but I do not come today to speak on her behalf.”

“Nay, you come to speak for yourself. Your note made that clear, signed as it was ‘Morvan Fitzwaryn, Lord of Harclow.’ ” He did not speak with annoyance, but his discomfort was palpable.

Morvan was glad to see the King's ill ease. It meant that Edward had not forgotten, despite the passing years. “I have decided that it is time to go north and regain my father's honor. I have come to ask for your permission and your help.”

A veil came down over Edward's eyes. Morvan suspected that the King was seeing himself fourteen years ago in a tent on the Scottish border, swearing an oath to avenge the death of Hugh Fitzwaryn. Was his memory as clear as Morvan's own? Did he also see the trusting eyes of the sick and broken woman before him, and the awestruck boy who stood by her side?

“Your father was a good friend,” Edward said. “He was one of the first to stand beside me when I went against the usurper Mortimer. He was a strong voice on my behalf with the border lords. I will never forgive myself that I could not relieve him at Harclow.”

Morvan waited.

“I understand your resolve to regain your family's honor, but it is not a propitious time. The French question must be settled first, and the situation with Scotland is precarious. I cannot spare an army, and would not have a family matter disrupt the peace we have there. In a few years, perhaps …”

Morvan had known for some years that Edward would never spare an army for such an expedition, but it was just as well that the King didn't admit as much to himself.

“I would not plan an action without your approval, of course, and am willing to wait a few years if that is necessary. But not much longer, I hope. I would have my father rest finally in his grave.”

Edward nodded in a way that looked oddly grateful for a king.

“As to the army, I have thought of a way to take care of that. If you agree to it, I would need much less help from you.”

“Have you indeed? Let us hear it.”

“I have learned that you commanded Anna de Leon to marry. Give her to me.”

Edward frowned. “I had intended those lands for Sir Giles….”

“She will not accept him, and believes the choice is hers to make. Find Sir Giles a different estate.”

“If she does not accept my will, there are other ways to deal with her.” A steely look accompanied the statement.

“Let me deal with her.”

The King considered it. “Damn Bretons,” he muttered. “They are an irascible race. They will eat each other alive in this war of theirs. The men are bad enough, but these women … Do you understand what you would get in her? The lands may be rich, but the woman goes with them. I know all about her, and I wonder if she is not half mad, or a witch.”

There it was, explicitly. The thin line that she walked. The other ways of interpreting her behavior. Anna might have Breton law on her side, but this was an English king who would see the worst if it suited his purpose.

“Her people think that she is a saint.”

“Oh, aye, and that is worse. I do not need a saint in Brittany. If the forces loose there gather around her, who knows what will transpire. I cannot afford such trouble. The ports are too important to our trade and war plans. Best if I keep her here. I have debated it since I met with her and saw how she does not know her place. If she won't accept my choice of husband, I will confine her with that other Breton madwoman.”

“Give her to me. I am known by her people, and by
her. A virgin warrior might be the stuff of saintly legends, but a married woman is not. If you command her to marry me, you will be spared the worry of her, and know the loyalty of the man who holds that coastal fortress.” He paused, then added, “And you will have fulfilled your oath, to my mind.”

Edward's gaze sharpened. “Would you trade Harclow for La Roche de Roald? Would you trade an army for a woman?”

“Aye.” Except that he traded nothing. If Edward consented to this,
all
of it would one day be his. He was bargaining for the means to fulfill his destiny, and Anna was not merely the path to do so—she was part of that destiny. His soul knew that with certainty.

“You are so sure that you can get her to accept
you
?”

“I am sure.”

“She must be controlled. Nay, the more I think of it, the more I am convinced that confining her here—”

“I will control her.”

The King studied him, then rose and walked to a table. After dipping a quill, he scratched some words on a piece of parchment. “The day may come when you do not thank your King for approving this. Still, I will permit it if you agree to wait on Harclow. Give her this, and let her know my displeasure. If she still insists that choosing another is her right, we will know for certain that she is mad.”