The Redeeming (6 page)

She stared at his fingers covering hers, then made a small, strangled sound and stood. “’Tis time I return to my chamber.”

Silently berating himself for not heeding the voice of caution, Christian stood to watch her go.

Upon reaching the back of the chapel, she looked around, but there was no anger in her eyes. “I should not ask, but I would have you come again on the morrow.”

Once more surprised by this woman who seemed less and less a shrew, Christian said, “I shall be here, my lady.”

When she had gone, the solitude of the chapel closed around Christian, and once again he felt the weight of his deception and knew that the longer he denied his conscience, the harder it would be to tell Gaenor the truth. He would, but not now when he was just beginning to know her. However, it would have to be done before he left Wulfen, else she would be shaken at her sister’s wedding, and that portended ill.

In a sennight, then. Seven days to learn the woman who was to be his wife. Seven days for her to learn the man who was to be her husband.

S
he should not have gone, should have stayed away as she had vowed she would. But after three days of pacing her chamber, she had ventured to the chapel. And would do so again. Though she had told herself it was the many months of near solitude that had made her seek out Sir Matthew, it was more than that.

On the stairs to her chamber, she halted. What had possessed her to make light with the knight? Despite Beatrix’s attempts to influence her older sister to behave less severely, Lady Gaenor Wulfrith was not one disposed to such absurdity as her sister had sought to pull from her. And yet, with little more than a prompt from Sir Matthew, she had teasingly inquired after her prize. One moment she was appalled by her brazen response, the next shocked when he acted upon it. Remembering the warmth of his hand, she shuddered.

Betrayal,
a voice warned.
Your woman’s heart cannot be two places at once, especially not with a man of whom you know so little.
But neither could it be with a man whose heart lay so distant from hers—at least, it should not be, she reminded herself as she had often done since her arrival at Wulfen.

She remembered her first month here. For those few weeks, there had been hope of deliverance from marriage to Baron Lavonne, even though it would have been by scandalous means, but she could have borne the taint and shame had it meant the baron would reject her—and he surely would have, regardless of the king’s decree. However, God had denied her as he denied her almost everything for which she prayed, including relief from the unexpected turmoil that had arisen from her first meeting with Sir Matthew.

What did God want from her? As her marriage to Lavonne was inevitable, why did He place another man in her path? To test her? She, who had been tested more than she cared to acknowledge?

She gripped her forehead. If only He would clear her mind of the knight in the chapel that she might ready herself for her meeting with Christian Lavonne. Instead, He cruelly allowed her a glimpse of yet one more thing forbidden her. And perhaps forbidden in another way as well, for it was possible Sir Matthew was betrothed. Or wed.

“Gaenor?”

She pulled her hand from her face and found Everard four steps above, brow furrowed. Though he could not know with whom she had been minutes earlier, she felt the heat of guilt.

“You are well, Sister?”

She smoothed her hands down her skirts. “I was…thinking.” She winced at how feeble her words sounded. “You wish to speak with me?”

He inclined his head. “I did not expect to find you absent from your chamber.”

She knew she should not take offense, but her words were chill. “As I am permitted the chapel, one of the few places I am allowed outside of my chamber, I sought prayer there.”

Regret replaced the concern on his brow. “Of course.”

“Of what do you wish to speak to me?”

When he gestured for her to precede him, she stepped past him into her chamber and turned.

Everard settled in the doorway. “I received word from Garr late last eve. He will arrive three days hence to escort you to Stern Castle for Beatrix’s wedding.”

Three days. “For what purpose when our sister’s vows are not to be spoken for more than a sennight?”

“That you might have time with her and our mother ere—”

“I am sacrificed.” How she hated the self-pity that dripped from her voice, but it would not be contained. “That I might celebrate my sister’s good fortune in wedding a man of her choice. An honorable man. A man she loves.”

Everard stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Gaenor, you know what happened at Beatrix’s trial, that Christian Lavonne—”

“I know. Thus, I do not need to hear again that the baron is unlike his father or brother. He is honorable. He will make a good husband. All these things I know.”

He dropped his hand from her. “You do not know, but if ever you have trusted me, do so again. Upon my word, the match with Baron Lavonne is a good one. Indeed, ‘tis fair possible you will come to care for him, mayhap even love him as Beatrix loves Michael D’Arci.”

She wanted to believe him. “You say all this, and yet you know him no better than I.”

He looked away. To compose an anger to which he was unaccustomed? Had she pushed him so far? “I trust Garr’s judgment.” He returned his gaze to her. “I but ask that you do so as well.”

“If not that there is a motive for this marriage, I might, but one must not forget how highly peace is valued by the Wulfriths. Thus, peace they will have, no matter the price.”

A muscle in his jaw worked. “You are wrong. These past months, we did not risk all by defying the king that we might surrender you up to a beast, Gaenor. I tell you, Lavonne has proved himself.”

Like Garr, he had set his mind to the union of Wulfrith and Lavonne. He might be the most contemplative of her three brothers, and, on matters of import, his opinion was often sought, but there was no comfort in his assurance.

Gaenor crossed to the window. A glance at the meadow before the wood showed it was empty. Wishing Abel and Sir Matthew practiced at swords amid dewed grass that sparkled in the light of the new day’s sun, she sighed.

“Is there anything you require, Gaenor?”

“Apart from the obvious? Nay.”

“Then I shall send word to our brother that you will be prepared to depart Wulfen three days hence.”

“The messenger has not returned to Stern?”

“Nay, he leaves within the hour.”

She turned back to Everard. “There
is
something I require.”

As if pleased that he might provide her with some small pleasure, he smiled. “What would you have me deliver you?”

“A sennight. Send word to Garr that you will escort me to Stern Castle a sennight hence.”

Gaenor did not think she had ever glimpsed such confusion on his face. An instant later, it was reduced to a frown. “I thought you would be eager to return home.”

“Eager if it were yet my home, but ‘tis a temporary stay. Will you grant me this, Everard?”

“I shall.” His uncharacteristic lack of contemplation surprised her. “Garr will have word this day.”

And be displeased, as would be her mother and Beatrix. “I thank you.”

Once more left her to her solitude, Gaenor sank onto the chest at the foot of her bed. A sennight she had bargained for and been granted. A sennight in which to salve her terrible loneliness in the company of a man who did not look upon her with mere tolerance, who could not compare her to her beautiful sister and find her wanting.

Though naught could come of their short time together, Sir Matthew was hers. And perhaps in the dark days as Christian Lavonne’s wife, memories of the knight’s attentiveness would be a salve to her discontent.

W
ithin four days, all to which he aspired would be set in motion.

From the woods that bordered Broehne Castle, Sir Robert, the illegitimate issue of Aldous Lavonne and half brother to Christian Lavonne, surveyed the outer walls that stood against him—walls he would scale in his brother’s absence.

He almost laughed at his good fortune of finding the castle without its lord. Despite months of plotting during his imprisonment for the attempt on Lady Beatrix’s life, what he planned should have been more difficult and carried more risk.

He chuckled. Though he was not a man inclined to prayer, it seemed God favored the wronged son of Aldous Lavonne.

“Sir Robert?” the man at his side queried.

“I am pleased, Sir Timothy,” Robert acknowledged the one who had delivered tidings of Baron Lavonne’s absence an hour past.

The knight, along with a dozen others who had been released from service by Christian, had thus far proved useful—foremost in securing Robert’s escape from his London prison. No easy feat, that, as evidenced by the lives lost. Fortunately, only one of those who fell to the sword was among Robert’s men. The other two who bled out their lives had been prison guards. The fools should have taken the coin offered.

“Your father will be pleased to lay eyes upon his eldest son,” the knight said.

Would
the old man be pleased? After all, he had entrusted Robert to repay the Wulfriths for the death of his second son and heir, and no satisfaction had he been given.

Remembering the trial that had found Lady Beatrix innocent of murder, Robert’s mouth turned bitter. As the Wulfrith woman had escaped the noose, a dagger in the back was to have been her fate. Instead, it was Robert who had taken a dagger, and it had been thrown by his own brother, Christian.

As Robert had done every day since, he fed hatred of his younger brother with imaginings of a tortuous death. But regardless of his dark thoughts and past sins, it seemed God yet favored him. For all he had suffered in being born illegitimate—in watching from afar as his younger brothers enjoyed lives of privilege and position, of being given little more than their leavings—his cause was just. And the realization was almost enough to make him gain his knees. Though all of his life he had merely tolerated religion when the situation demanded it, he felt a sudden need to set his hands upon a psalter. Of course, what good when he could not read?

“Something is amiss?” Sir Timothy asked.

“All is well. Soon I shall give my father what he seeks—an eye for an eye.” No sooner did the words pass his lips than he was struck by how spiritual he sounded. And found he liked it. Not that he was entirely certain “eye for an eye” was of the Bible, but it was from a priest he had heard it spoken.

“The old baron will finally have his revenge,” Sir Timothy mused. “You could not please him more.”

Nor suffer more his displeasure if his father learned that the death of his youngest son was nearly as inevitable as the death of a Wulfrith. Unfortunately, despite Christian having proved a bitter disappointment, Aldous Lavonne clung to his one remaining legitimate son. But, eventually, he would have to let Christian go.

“To the grave,” Robert muttered.

“Sir Robert?”

Robert smiled so wide his parched lips cracked. “Let us lay our plans.”

S
he had not spoken a word upon entering, but he had known she knew he was among the shadows. Now, as she rose from the altar where she had knelt the past quarter hour, he stepped into the light.

“You will sit with me, Sir Matthew?”

He almost winced at the name he had given her. Suppressing the urge to set her right, he nodded.

She crossed to the bench, unclasped her mantle, and drew it from her shoulders. Despite the mass of hair that fell nearly to her hips, there was no concealing her figure in the simple gown cut of dark blue cloth. Though her shape was not much different from a boy’s—small breasts, a slight pinch to the waist, and hips that possessed little flare—it was not displeasing, for the lady was well-proportioned and did not slump in an attempt to appear nearer the ideal height for a woman. Indeed, as if to defy any who might counsel otherwise, she stood erect with shoulders square. Because, unlike most men, he stood taller than she?

Struck by the realization there were few men in England who would match well with Lady Gaenor, he frowned. Was this the reason the eldest Wulfrith sister had thrice suffered a broken betrothal? That none of those to whom she was promised could bear to be looked down upon by a wife? Might his own betrothal to the lady, which he had embraced only for the peace and healing it would bring to his people, be the work of God?

Christian saw that she watched him. Though her gaze had been level moments earlier, there was now wariness there. Lest his thoughtless scrutiny cause her to flee, he softened his mouth into a smile.

It did not put her at ease, as evidenced by the white-knuckled hand with which she gripped the mantle.

Christian gestured for her to sit and, when she hesitated, seated himself. When she finally joined him on the bench, she did not perch on the edge as she had done before but sat back and carefully arranged the mantle on her lap.

“I thank you for coming, Sir Matthew.” She looked up, and he was relieved to see her wariness had cleared.