Warrior's Deception

Lenora schooled her features to look attentive and copied her cousin’s repentant posture.

“Aunt Matilda, thank you so much. You are truly wonderful to show such interest in the day-to-day chores here.” Lenora grinned; she had learned quickly that flattery was her aunt’s weakness.

“I’m glad you are finally realizing that. Three years with that woman has filled your head with all kinds of nonsense. Imagine, adultery with her own uncle, divorcing the King of France, and scarcely a month passes before Eleanor manages to ensnare Henry II. Why, the man is nine years younger than her.” Matilda sniffed her nose in disdain. “Someday you must fulfill your position as Lady of Woodshadow. Your father allows you to shirk your duties. You must begin to oversee the servants, the replacing of the rushes, the soap and candle making. A keep this size must be supervised vigilantly. ‘Tis my deep sense of loyalty to your father that forces me to assume the role of Woodshadow’s mistress.”

“I understand that, Aunt Matilda.” Letting her Aunt Matilda relive her glory days as a chatelaine served both Lenora’s and her father’s interests. The action kept Matilda busy in the keep and unaware of Lenora’s actions on behalf of her father. Actions that would earn Lenora several lectures from her aunt on proper decorum and would herald the seriousness of Sir Hywel’s illness.

“Good. Enough of this foolishness. You will enjoy yourself, both of you.” Matilda tucked an imaginary strand of hair into her wimple. “The king will be at Tintagel for less than a fortnight. He will preside over a tourney and hear grievances from nearby lords. That evening there will be dancing and entertainment.”

Lenora released a slow breath of air when her aunt turned her attention away from her. Beatrice became the new target.

“You will wear the lapis necklace your father gave me at our wedding. We must make sure that you are the loveliest young woman there. I’m sure you will catch the eye of a suitable partner.” Her aunt began to rattle off a list of elaborate gowns for Beatrice to pack for the coming trip. Meekly, she nodded at each of her mother’s suggestions.

Bored with details of gowns and matching slippers, Lenora decided now would be a perfect time to escape. She jumped up from the massive carved pew.

“Wait.” Her aunt motioned for her to remain seated. “You can’t leave yet, we must also plan your wardrobe. The maids need to be directed as to which gowns you will be taking and-”

“My position hasn’t changed.” Lenora’s calm voice caused her relatives to gasp in surprise. She took leave of her vexed aunt and escaped up the narrow curved stone stair that led to her father’s chambers. On purpose, she climbed the stairs two at a time, knowing it would infuriate her aunt.

A step sagged beneath the weight of Lenora’s foot. She made a mental note of the slight wood rot in the wooden section of the defense stairs as she sped to her father’s third-story chamber. Tomorrow, she must maneuver Sir Hywel to notice the decay. Right now, she wanted to talk with her father.

Without knocking, she barreled into her father’s private chambers and announced, “She’s at it again.” Lenora bounced up onto the red velvet coverlet, tucked her long legs under her and wrinkled her nose.

Her father, Sir Edmund, smiled from his bed, the curtains pulled back to let in the welcomed cool spring air. “So, you’re having a spat with your Aunt Matilda, are you? And why are you so determined not to attend the king’s festivities at Tintagel? The occasion should be quite merry.”

“How do you know that’s what the argument was about?”

“You forget about the squints. I keep well informed of what goes on with those to help me.” Her father pointed toward the floor. Lenora was just able to make out the small peephole concealed in a knot in the lumber floor. She slid off the bed and peered down through the squint.

The old Norman device enabled her to spy on the activity of the great hall below. She stifled a laugh when she spotted the bald head of her father’s seneschal, Sir Hywel, pass below her. Light whispers of his instructions to a passing servant floated upward. The high-pitched voice of her aunt drifted up as she continued to discuss the upcoming trip to Tintagel.

“You, sir, are an unscrupulous spy.” Her voice sounded with false indignation. She stood and shook the wrinkles from her tunic and rearranged the simple rope girdle at her waist. “You promised you would remain abed.”

“You, daughter, are a mischievous wench who needs her backside warmed for talking to her father in such a manner! It wasn’t I who peeked, but Tom.” Sir Edmund’s smile abated his threat.

“With your direction, I’m sure.”

“Of course,” he agreed readily.

Laughing, Lenora wished she could transform into a little girl and once more cuddle up next to her tall, strong father. She could listen to his stories of battles and the courtship of her mother over and over again.

Although bedridden for more than a month, Sir Edmund still possessed a commanding figure. His lanky form stretched the length of the six-foot bed. Red gold hair showed no signs of gray. Clean shaven, he reflected the rugged, handsome features of his youth.

“So, tell me what you have accomplished today.” Her father punched his silken pillows and snuggled back to rest against them.

“I managed to have Sir Hywel notice that the east bailey wall needs to be fortified, and I saw the smithy as you asked. His proposal to enlarge the blacksmith shed has merit. Oh, and as I climbed the stairs I noticed there is some rot in the wooden steps.”

Sir Edmund knit his fingers together and placed them behind his head. “I’ll talk to Sir Hywel about the blacksmith. I’ll also mention those damn steps. Those wooden Norman steps are a great defense in case we are invaded, but they are in constant need of repair.” He cast her a concerned look. “It’s not been easy on you, Lenora. You are my eyes and ears while I’m stuck in here.”

“Father, I don’t mind. ‘Tis rather entertaining to invent ways for your steward to discover things.”

“Aye, I can imagine it would. Hywel is a good man. He warned me his father suffered from senility at an early age. He had to be watched for fear he would leave the keep and lose his way. Toward the end, the man didn’t even know his own name. I fear our good friend suffers from the same ailment.” Her father defended his seneschal. “Sir Hywel is as loyal as a hound and as fierce as a boar. I should replace him, but would do so when I have someone I can trust to take over. For now, I must lay this boon at your feet and trust you to do my steward’s thinking for him.”

“Aunt Matilda is doing his thinking for him now.” Lenora giggled and rotated her index finger around in the air. “She has him running circles downstairs in preparation for the King’s tourney.”

“Daughter, I believe you should go to this tourney.” Her father’s voice interrupted her musing.

“Father, I don’t want to go. I have too much to do here. Mother’s mare, Silver Maple, will foal soon. I need to be here to help. Then there are the new spring herbs to tend. I have several new ones given to me by knights from the Crusades. And of course there’s you….” Lenora stopped, bit her tongue, and wished once again she would think before opening her mouth. Her father’s eyes blazed liquid gold. Another inherited trait from her father, she recognized this sure sign of anger. She prayed the blast would be short.

“The only thing wrong with me is that I have too many women trying to tell me what to do! A few days without female company will do me good. You women are always seeing disaster. I’ve a tiny cough, a little weakness in the legs. This will pass if I’m not coddled up like a nursing babe. I’m still lord of this keep, and I can manage quite well with my seneschal. Sir Hywel may not worry about your precious plants but he and I can manage for a fortnight on our own. If ‘tis proof you need, I’ll be up out of this today.” Edmund jerked backed the ermine-trimmed coverlet and twisted his long legs toward the wooden floor.

“Nay!” She rushed to her father’s side and replaced the coverlet. “Please, Father, the physicians ordered you to rest.”

“And rest I will, but only if you attend the tourney,” Sir Edmund countered. “King Henry needs me to fulfill my vassal obligation of counsel. He intends to use the tourney as an opportunity to plan alliances and settle a dispute between Sir Champlain and Sir Ranulf. Since their claims are on land that borders ours, I want to have input into the outcome.”

“But, Father,” she protested, “surely the king will understand that you are ill. Besides, I could not speak at counsel.”

“I do not expect you to. Just keep those quick eyes and ears open and deliver a message to the king on the land dispute. I have a fear that whatever the outcome, the conflict will spill over onto Woodshadow.”

“Aunt Matilda would not approve!” Lenora cautioned.

Edmund gave her a wary look. “Then perhaps ‘twould be best for you not to mention the letter to her. Just as you neglect to mention those messages your cousin receives from her suitor.”

She wagged her finger at her father. “Nothing escapes you. You know everything that goes on in your demesne. Very well, I’m not eager to hear another lecture on how I am not in the reins of propriety. We will keep the true nature of my visit a secret.”

“Beatrice will be glad you are going, and I think ‘twill do her some good. She can’t overcome her fears if she’s never given the chance to face them,” Edmund reasoned.

Lenora’s chin lowered. “She was counting on me to help her escape Matilda’s matrimonial plans.”

“Do you really think Geoffrey is the man for her?”

She sighed and leaned her head against the canopy bedpost. “I fear he is the only man for her. Never have I seen him take the smallest liberty with her. He treats her more like a brother than a suitor. But he is the only man I have ever seen her with that does not drive her to fits of terror. How can Matilda offer her up to the highest bidder knowing how Beatrice feels about men?”

“The girl is Matilda’s only asset and daughters are married off to improve or protect the demesne. I blame your attitude toward marriage on myself. I’ve filled your head with stories of your mother and me. Ours was a love as well as a political union. ‘Twould do you well, my daughter, to use this opportunity to search for a husband for yourself.” He raised his hand to silence her expected protests. “You have enjoyed your books, gardening and your time galloping wildly around the countryside. Before Louis died, I obliged your wishes, I paid the king’s fee so you could remain unmarried. Now you are my only heir, and Woodshadow’s future. Rest would come easier if I knew that your inheritance could not be taken from you.”

“Beatrice could inherit.” She searched for excuses to ease her father’s worry and still keep her freedom. “Aunt Matilda has mentioned many times the abbey she and Beatrice stayed at. The enormous library there, the peaceful gardens. I had thought to perhaps spend time—”

“Beatrice is not a Marchavel. I inherited most of these lands from your mother, but they were poor and ill-kept. ‘Twas I that built up these properties for my descendants. I have fought with sword and words to keep Woodshadow for my heirs, for you. I do not want all of your mother’s and my sacrifices to be handed over for another’s prosperity. This was not our dream.” Sir Edmund struck his chest with a clenched fist.

Lenora bit her lower lip. She rose from the bed and moved slowly to the window. Her gaze followed the ramblings of a small boy as he chased a multicolored butterfly through new spring grass in the bailey. The steady beat of the blacksmith’s bellows blended with the clip-clop of a passing draft horse and cart. The soft sound of the grooms sweeping out the stables, the reassuring neighs of her treasured white mares whispered to her. Everyone in the demesne carried on about their business, happy to be outside after the long confining winter.

Lenora thought, If my brother had not died, I would be out there, reading or tending to Silver, or working on the new herbs. Louis would be the one with a duty to provide an heir. She had a duty to her father and to her home.

“I’ll go, Father, and deliver your letter. My eyes and ears will be open.” Lenora breathed deeply. “And I will consider what you said. But please, Father, let me choose.”

Sir Edmund relaxed his tense muscles. He opened his arms, which were quickly filled by his dearly loved only child.

Chapter Two

Roen slammed his fist against the trestle table. The crash of the waves outside the castle added to the thunder of the sound. King Henry had laid a trap for him under the guise of a tourney. His victory at Tintagel became bittersweet.

The young man with his feet propped up against the table scrambled to elude the crimson wine sloshed from the goblets on the table. “Take care, Roen! You’ll stain my tunic!” he admonished his friend. “I plan on stunning some young heiress tonight.”

“Take care? I am being cheated of my due, Hamlin, and you ask me to take care.” Once again his giant fist crashed onto the table. The wine goblet rocked, nearly toppling over. Hamlin dived across the table and successfully righted the containers before the precious liquid stained his finery.

Roen crushed the letter under his friend’s nose. “I have fought his wars, defended his castles and captured his robber barons. And this is how he repays me. Henry owes me gold, not a wife!” He stared at the wilted piece of paper. “I curse the day I learned to read.”

“Your mother did you a service. The ability to read—”

“My mother never did me service. ‘Twas not a kindness she sought, but a mark. A mark to show my father and brothers I did not belong.” Roen roared his outrage. “Henry would wish on me a conniving bitch instead of relinquishing the gold he owes me.”

“Stars! Roen, he offers you not a wife, King Henry offers you any wife you want. You can have your pick of beautiful heiress maidens.” Hamlin winked at his outraged friend. “Or lusty landed widows. I wish I could be so rewarded, but alas, I am to always be covered by your exceeding large shadow.” Hamlin’s chestnut eyes took on a resigned expression.

Roen de Galliard raised his clenched hands in the air like the talons of a hawk. Cast a large shadow, indeed he did. Both in size and reputation. At well over six feet, he dwarfed most men in England and in his homeland of Normandy. His reputation as a warrior was well-known throughout King Henry’s realm.

“And what good has that shadow done me?” Roen demanded. He didn’t wait for his friend to answer. “I’m one of Henry’s elite siege commanders. The sound of my name causes any of the adulterine lords to quake in his shoes. And do you know why?”

Hamlin pointed his finger at him and opened his mouth.

Roen didn’t give his friend the opportunity to interrupt him. “Because I never give up. They know I’ll bide my time. I’ll find their weakness, no matter how formidable their stronghold.”

How many attacks had he survived? It seemed endless. He always made short work of his enemy. Fast and brutal attacks, over and over again until the besieged lord surrendered or died in battle. Study, calculate, attack. An anthem for battle, his philosophy of life.

Hamlin jumped into his friend’s one-sided conversation. “I can think of no other man who needs a wife worse than you!” He held up a hand to check Roen’s outburst. “You are happiest when planning and executing a battle. Do you wish to give up such challenge when you are landed?”

“Do not be foolish! Of course not!” Roen thundered.

“Then will you remain landless? Never to be a senior, always a landless juvenis,” Hamlin countered.

“You know I wish a keep of my own. There will be no inheritance from Normandy, my mother saw to that. You have known me since we were pages. Why ask questions you already know the answers to?”

“To make you see that a wife is the answer to your needs. I see it and the king sees it. You’re too stubborn to see the practicality of a wife. Who will oversee the needs of your villeins and keep the servants in line when you are gone on one of your battles for the king? Who will keep an accurate account of spending and entertain your guests while you plan a siege or serve your aid and knight’s fee to Henry?” Hamlin asked the questions, then took a deep gulp of his wine.

Roen pondered his friend’s words but refused to concede defeat. Self-justified anger seeped from the pores of his skin.

His second in command pushed the point further. “A wife will bring you land and make sure your castellan does not rob you blind. She is trained to be her husband’s helpmate, to take charge when her lord is away on the king’s affairs. A wife is the answer to your needs, unless of course you wish to personally oversee the making of candles, the changing of the rushes, the weaving, the—”

“Enough! I see your point. The prospect doesn’t thrill me any more than before. Women are nothing more than vessels for tricks and tears to get their way. They’re not to be trusted. My own mother…” Roen clamped his jaws tightly. The veins in his neck pulsated with hot blood.

“My friend, I know the way your family has treated you. Through no fault of your own, you have born the brunt of your father’s suspicions. But do not mark all women by your mother.”

“I have not seen any who are different.” Lowering himself to a three-legged chair, he rested his elbows on his knees. The rickety chair groaned in protest at Roen’s weight. He raised his wine goblet from the table to his lips. All those years fighting and sacrificing for the chance to own land…Whatever Hamlin and the king thought, he knew the truth. He was being cheated.

His too-cheerful friend gave him a broad smile and slapped him on the back. “And what women have you-associated with these past ten years? Camp followers, a lord’s cast-off mistress, tavern wenches? We will find you a comely woman tonight with an impressive dowry and sizable inheritance. One who is properly trained to be a lady and servant to her lord husband.”

“We?” Roen arched his brow as he brought the wine goblet from his mouth.

“I do have an interest in the outcome. As your second in command and boyhood friend, I know that you will always want me near. So I want to make sure that I, um, you get the best possible arrangement.”

“By the blessed saints!” Roen finished off his wine in one huge gulp. “How do you always end up missing the manure pile, my friend? I am to be stuck with a wife and the duties of a lord, while you enjoy a home, your freedom, and serve only light duty.”

A sly smile played across Hamlin’s face. “I resent that. ‘Tis extremely hard work being your friend. See how diligently I have had to work to show you the king’s wisdom? Light duty, indeed. Come, Roen, ‘tis time to…evaluate…your choices for a bride.”

Roen followed his friend reluctantly from the chamber down the narrow steps to the great hall of Tintagel. The sound of the crashing ocean waves synchronized with the throb in his head. He did not relish the idea of sharing a trencher with a lady or the necessary polite conversation he would have to make with prospective brides to “evaluate” their identity and wealth.

An ember of hope began to flame in his chest. “Henry cannot force a woman to marry.”

“But what lord would deny the king’s request. Especially those who did not openly defend Henry against Stephen. The king’s vassals are all eager to prove their loyalty to him now that he has the throne. Do not worry, Roen. Anyone you pick will surely agree,” Hamlin reassured his friend.

“Very well.” He sighed deeply. “I will attend this function with an open mind. But remember, Hamlin, I want obedience in a wife. I will not suffer as my father did.” Closing the door, he took a deep, cleansing breath as he always did before engaging in a battle, and headed toward the enemy—the single women of King Henry’s realm.

Lenora slipped through the rough planks of the stall gate. The magnificent animal inside tossed his head to warn her off. She paid no attention to the gesture; she had itched to examine the horse since reaching Tintagel late yesterday.

“Easy, I’ll not harm you.” She crooned while the ivorycolored war-horse stomped his hooves. Convinced she could win the steed’s trust, she reached out and placed her fingertips on the velvety nose. The stallion didn’t nip or bite so she drew closer. On tiptoe, she brushed aside the mane and scratched the horse’s ears.

“Not one flaw,” Lenora marveled. “’Tis a model you are for every knight’s destrier.” A toss of the horse’s white blond mane signaled agreement. “I have some mares at home I would love to breed with you. ’Twould be a handsome sum I could call for those foals.”

“Lenora, are you in here?”

She turned to see her cousin enter the shaded stable. After the bright light of the noonday sun, it took a moment for Beatrice to spy her in the stall. Her cousin’s face drew up in mock surprise. “The stable is the last place I would think to look for you.”

Lenora squeezed through the slats of wood and the hem of her dress snagged on a splinter. The gown tugged her back and she reached to yank it free.

“That is your best kirtle.” Beatrice threw up her arms in annoyance. “Mother will have your hide if you show up at the meal with another ripped hem.” Her patient fingers extricated the cloth from the jagged piece of wood.

“See. No damage.” Lenora pushed the edge of her dress under the younger woman’s nose. “Your mother will have nothing to complain of, though ‘tis little reason she needs to complain.”

“She needs not little reasons when you are so adept at providing big ones.” Her cousin shook her head and her blond curls bobbed.

Lenora drew a piece of straw from the fresh bale and chewed on the end. After a moment of reflective munching, she announced the result of her contemplation. “Life is not fair, Beatrice. I work long hours to train and plan the breeding of Woodshadow horses, yet I cannot take credit for my work.”

Her cousin gave her a sympathetic nod. “’Twould be a surprise indeed for all the mighty lords who clamor for a Woodshadow mount to discover their perfect animal was bred and trained by a woman.”

“Aye, but I do not fear that day will ever come. Nor is it likely those men will discover ‘twas I that divided our fields into threes and planted the fallow field with grain. ‘Twill not happen because no man would believe it. Every success is attributed to my father. ‘Tis not fair.”

No offer of solution came from the petite young woman. “’Tis a woman’s lot, cousin. There is naught we can do.” Beatrice shrugged her shoulders.

“The queen would not say so.”

“The queen has land to back her up and a husband who awaits us now,” her cousin reasoned.

“Aye, yet I will seek out the owner of this destrier. Perhaps, in Father’s name, I can contract his loan as a stud. The horse will suffer none for it.” She gave the animal one last perusal. “Come, we must find Geoffrey and lay out a plan.”

The idea caused Beatrice’s eyes to sparkle. Lenora surveyed the deep azure tunic and kirtle that matched the wide blue eyes. A delicate gold-link girdle accentuated her cousin’s tiny waist. “He’s sure to fall in love with you all over again.”

“Enough to speak to my mother and your father?” She lowered her head and spoke in a tight voice. “I don’t care if I’m a lady of a great castle. All I want is to be safe.”

The statement made Lenora uneasy. Too often when her cousin spoke of her feelings for her suitor she expressed them in terms of safety instead of love. But she had informed Geoffrey of the deep-seated fears the girl suffered. He accepted them as part of loving Beatrice.

She started to speak but a page barreled past her. He ran to the war-horse’s stall and began to scoop grain into the empty food bag. “Boy, to whom does this animal belong?”