The Protector Page 13

  “A message, milady?” Cwen’s hand slowed as it smoothed imagined creases out of the garment.

  “For the foreigner, Tanya.” She ignored Cwen’s sharp breath. “You know who I speak of?”

  Cwen did not respond.

  “I need her to meet me in the entranceway prior to dinner.”

  “I don’t think you want to be meeting her, milady.” Cwen braved.

  Veri crossed to the gown, resting her hand upon Cwen’s. “Oh, Cwen, but I do. I would like very much to meet with her.”

  “Lord Roland would not be pleased.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” Veri admitted.

  This afternoon she realized if she wanted to leave, it was as simple as fetching herbs on a rainy day. Yet today she returned.

  She returned to a man who would give her gems in place of himself.

  She didn’t want gems.

  “Cwen,” Veri turned the girl to face her. “Lord Roland would not have wanted me to go out as we did this afternoon, but you’ve seen the good that has come with that? We have made salves and steam mixtures for those who suffer.”

  “Milady, could you not send Maida, or someone else?”

  “Maida’s not here, Cwen.” Veri tried again, “I can’t trust Maida as I can you and I need to meet with this Tanya. It’s extremely important.”

  “Tomorrow, then? We could . . .”

  “No, please, Cwen. I need you to go now.”

  The door to Roland’s chamber opened. Both looked toward the entrance that separated her chamber from his. Urgent now, Veri pressed. “Please, Cwen.”

  Cwen looked down at the satin gown, then up at Veri as Maida crossed the portal.

  “You know what to say?” Veri asked her.

  “Aye.”

  “I won’t be long. Only the time it takes to dress.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  Cwen left, skirting past Maida without a glance.

  Maida stared into the chamber, empty but for Veri. Her eyes wide with fear, but she no longer trembled.

  “She will be back,” Veri promised. “In the meantime, Maida, help me to dress.”

  Neither spoke as the maid helped Veri into a richly embroidered gown, gold girdle anchoring chains for scissors and purse. Maida eased enough to hum as she brushed Veri’s hair.

  “Do you have younger sisters?” Veri asked.

  Maida dropped the brush. “How did you know that?” She squeaked. Veri laughed.

  “The way you fix my hair, the way you hum as you do it, as if a familiar and happy task.”

  “Oh.” Maida nodded. “Aye, three younger sisters and two brothers. One older, one younger.” She had picked up the brush, deftly stroking it through Veri’s thick hair as she twisted one side into a coil.

  Sitting quietly at the dressing table, Veri watched in the polished glass as Maida finished, pleased by the resumed humming, sorry that by the end of the evening, the fear would be back.

  “That will do, Maida. Thank you.”

  **********

  Roland left his wife’s room, empty except for the new maid who sat, ramrod straight, on a stool by the fire. A quaking leaf of a girl. Roland sighed and tamped down the escalating fear.

  Gone all afternoon, she returned, had not stayed away. The maid assured him Veri changed and went below stairs.

  Roland crossed back to the doorway that divided the rooms, realizing he should have asked the girl where Veri had been.

  “Maida.”

  “Aye, milord.” Her voice cracked.

  How did a man ask where his wife had been, especially when he wasn’t at all certain he wanted an answer?

  “Milord?”

  Roland’s head snapped up. “I, ah, wondered how my wife liked the Opal.”

  The silly girl stared at him, wide-eyed and fearful. “She liked it fine, milord,” she squeaked. “She has it with her.”

  “Good.” Roland nodded, a smile tugging at his lips.

  The stone gave her the courage to go below stairs without him. She would show them all what she meant to him. And with this gift she would be more open to him, offer to let him see the missive she had held so close to her chest.

  She would also tell him where she had been all afternoon.

  He descended the stairs to the great hall, rounded the corner. No one lingered by the great fire, waiting for his presence. Instead, they sat in silence, staring at his wife’s place at the table. His lips thinned. The stillness would make her feel uneasy.

  Albert looked up at Roland, his face hard and cold. Just so the others looked at Roland then back to where Veri sat. None offered smiles, none offered conversation. That’s when he noticed his sister’s absence.

  A ripple of unease tore through him.

  Roland ignored the lot of them, intent on his wife and no one else. He pulled back his chair, made to sit down, looking over at Veri’s seat.

  His smile froze. He shot a glance to his personal guards, each as cold and still as Albert. He glanced back at the chair of honor, reserved for his wife, and felt the roar build from the depths of him, even before it exploded.

  With a thunderous crash, he threw the table over to land among the rushes, serving trenchers, goblets, platters and jugs flying through the air. Tumbled candles lit the dry straw. Servants and diners both, rushed to stop the fire, even as they strained to keep track of the confrontation between Roland and the woman sitting at the head table.

  Roland saw none of it, oblivious to the commotion he ignited. His full attention was on the woman who sat upon the dais, next to his own place.

  Tanya!

  “Out!” he bellowed, his face a furious red. “How dare you?” he growled. And then he saw the opal, the priceless gift that hung like a gaudy trinket upon the whore’s breast. He reached to tear it from her neck, but she backed away, scrambling away from her seat, clutching at the stone.

  “‘Tis mine, she gave it to me . . .” Tanya cried, until she looked up, into Roland’s eyes. Quickly she pulled it over her head, throwing it at him as she backed farther away.

  “Where is my wife?” Roland snapped, each word sharp and clear, a threat lest anyone think to keep the information from him.

  Silence.

  Roland’s gaze raked the Great Room. A bench scraped the ground.

  “Here, milord,” Veri’s voice carried from where she stood, before the lowest place of all the tables. A place reserved for beggars and unfortunates, unwanted guests.

  He had not realized, until this moment, how afraid he was that she had already gone. That he would not find her. But there she stood, the only one within the room who remained calm and unflustered, completely unaware of the exploding tension.

  Roland looked to her, then back at Tanya.

  “Out!” he commanded, his words distinct with the control of his fury. “Out.” Though softly spoken, all could see the tremor of rage as he gestured to the outer doors. “Out of this castle, this domain, this country!”

  Veri eased away from the bench, where she had been sitting.

  “Do not send her away without aid for travel.” Veri ordered.

  He looked to her, his eyes narrowing.

  “I will do as I please!”

  Though she did not move closer, Veri held her ground. “‘Tis my fault, Roland. Do not send her away without aid.”

  He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Veri, mindful of the stillness of the room.

  “You meant for her to have the Opal?” He was sick with the thought, with the idea that he would honor his wife, who would so dishonor him. He was pleased to see her flush.

  “Aye, I would.”

  “Why?” He asked no more, did not trust himself to grander speech than that one word.

  “Do you need to ask?”

  He stared at her, hard, willing her to remember his request, that she not judge him on the words of others.

  “I gave it to her,” Veri straightened, stood taller, “because she is more wife to you than I.”

  Quie
t as they were, her words rode upon a wave of scandalized whispers.

  He felt the blow, brutal as a mace though mere words.

  “More wife than you?” His chair toppled, as he stepped back, to move around the lower tables.

  He signaled to Johnson, the steward, a gesture clearer than words to remove Tanya from the castle. His knights fell in, surrounding the woman, as he stopped just shy of Veri’s side.

  Veri ignored him, though he stood so close he wondered she didn’t flinch from the blaze of his emotions.

  “Do not take her away.” She defied him.

  “Remove her!” Roland countered, his eyes never once leaving Veri. She met his stare. Matched it.

  “If she goes, without aid . . . ,” Veri shifted, to see the soldiers roughly lead Tanya away. She looked back to Roland. “You will find me gone come morning. ‘Tis a promise.”

  “You cannot go without my permission.”

  “You think not?” She challenged.

  “Nay!” “We shall see!” She taunted, stepping lightly around him.

  He knew, then, just how angry she was, just how easily she could leave. She had already done so.

  But she had returned.

  He prayed there was more to this confrontation than a jealous wife shaming her husband.

  Warily, he watched as she moved to pass him. Only then did he stop her, a gentle hold of her arm. She looked to Tanya, he gestured to his men.

  “Halt,” he relented, “it pleases me to amuse my wife.” He released her long enough to untie a purse from his belt. He tossed it to the nearest man.

  “I do much to please you, wife,” he admitted solemnly.

  “Do you?” She asked, finally facing him.

  “I do naught to please that woman.” He kept his words for her, intimate in their privacy.

  “Do you not?”

  “Nay,” Roland shook his head, “I try only to please you.”

  For the first time he saw a fissure in her fight. The light of battle dimmed to wrenching sadness.

  “How Roland, how is it you mean to please me?” She whispered and his own need for battle broke, for he knew what she meant. He knew what she asked for. But he could not allow her to risk her reputation. Nor could he let her go.

  Could she not be pleased with his gifts? Could they not be enough?

  “Roland,” he barely heard her. “You have been one with her . . .” Roland tried to stop her from voicing the thought, from even thinking it but she ignored the tightening of his hand on her arm, ignored the hard stare. “I know little, but I do know what it means for a husband and wife to become one. I do know what we learned in the convent. That makes her more wife than I.”

  With his knuckle at her chin, he tried to ease her face up, to see the tears he heard pooled in her voice, but she pulled free from his hold, to head for the stairs.

  “No, Veri!” He commanded, scrambling to be angry, to push away guilt. He gained her side in two strides, took her arm once more, swinging her about to face him.

  “You are wrong, wife. I am not one with her. Since we have been man and wife, I have been true to you.” He held her by both shoulders, forcing her to listen, to understand. “It takes more than the joining of bodies to make husband and wife. It takes caring and giving and sharing!”

  “And you do naught of that.” She cried, “You take. You do not give.”

  He jerked back, as though from a blow.

  “What of the opal?” He grasped at the value of gifts, the things he gave her, painfully aware that things were not what Veri prized. Still, he tried in the only way he knew how. “What of your hair ornaments, jewelry, belts? What of the clothes upon your back, the fabrics and furs? Are those the gifts of a man who does not care?” He shouted, no longer able to keep his frantic fear at bay.

  He was losing her.

  “Do you say these things were for my pleasure?” Veri confronted him.

  “Aye, Veri. They were what I could give you, until I could offer you more.”

  “Well, then,” she whispered, “you have much to learn of giving My Lord.” Helplessly he watched tears rolled down her cheeks. “I wore those things because you told me I must dress to please you, to gain respect. But for myself, I have no need of such worldly things. ‘Tis not for my pleasure I wear them”

  As she spoke, she slipped the jewelry from herself, letting it fall to the floor, to the rushes, her fingers awkward with her sorrow.

  “Noooo!” He roared, lifting her from the floor, to hold her cradled in his arms. He tilted his head toward the jewels, bellowing for Johnson to see to them, fighting the mad urge to cry himself as he stalked to the stairs, Veri bundle within his arms. He took them two at a time.

  “We will discuss this in private.” He promised, as he stormed into his room, slamming the door behind him, to lay Veri upon his bed.

  She scrambled from her landing place, heading for her own room.

  “Roland,” she stood within her doorway and he didn’t know if he should follow her or leave her be, to settle within herself. “We have discussed it, over and over and over again.”

  “Don’t leave.” He never begged, could do naught but order when he was certain that was the wrong way about it.

  “I am your wife and will not leave, but when we talk it just goes around in circles.” She reached out for the door. He knew she would close it, close him out. “We both see only with our own eyes, our own heart. You want me to be what I cannot be.”

  “I want you to be you.”

  The shake of her head was so slow, so weary, he wanted to pull her into his arms, to hold her against him, but dared not. And so he was left, to stand in the middle of his room, envisioning her tear stained cheeks, as she shut the portal.

  Then he heard it, the sound of the wooden beam sliding into its locking slots. He charged the portal, fought with it, but was too late.

  Veri locked herself within her rooms. Barricaded herself, as though enemies had run over the castle. And it was true. She was in a place of enemies.

  “Veri,” he swallowed against the emptiness.

  Efficiently, his hands moved over the seams of the doorway, seeking a weakness, an unknown means to breach its barring. “Do not be fearful. Come,” he grimaced at the command. Had she not complained that he ordered her about too often? “Please,” he tried, finding it hard to issue the word, “speak to me.”

  “The wood is not so thick that we cannot speak.”

  He closed his eyes. “You will find more ease if we speak face to face.” He argued, his hands still measuring the strength of his obstacle. “It is not natural to talk to a wooden barrier.”

  “Then do not do so,” tears hindered her words, “for I do not care to discuss anything of import until Father Kenneth has been summoned and has arrived.”

  Roland’s face set. “It could be months before we get word to him. Longer for his arrival.” She would have to remove herself from that room before then. Otherwise she would die, entombed.

  “I will not speak to you until Father Kenneth has been sent for and arrives.” Veri reiterated. Her tears turned to sobs, breaking her words, “he is the only one I can think of who will make sense of this mess of a marriage.”

  He slammed the door, hard, with the heels of his hands.

  ‘Twas a measure of safety, to have heavy iron slats to fit solid wooden bars upon the inside of each door. Were they invaded, enemies to descend upon the castle, the castle household could bar themselves inside for safety.

  He had been trying to protect her.

  She would come to her senses. She would have to. Though he would send for Father Kenneth. In truth, she made sense. Father Kenneth could help her understand his vow, help her to see that she was better for it.

  The problem wasn’t sending for Father Kenneth. The problem was finding the portly friar and getting him here before Veri suffered from lack of food and water. Kenneth could be anywhere, as near as St. Albans, as far as Rome.

  He’d heard the
man had been summoned to France.

  And his wife? Ah, it would take great faith indeed to roust her from her place. She was not a woman to say things lightly.

  Nor was she a woman to play with words. She meant what she had said. Come death by starvation, she would not leave her room by her own hand. Not without Kenneth present.

  Not without the friar.

  Roland fell to his knees, clasping his fists above his head as he faced the ceiling, that ephemeral world beyond. His voice rose and fell, speaking in Latin, swearing in many languages. He prayed, he plotted, planned for some way to breach the fortress of his wife’s room, and the citadel of her heart.

  Pounding at his door roused him. He stood, hand to the hilt of his sword. Harold entered at his summons. Despite having witnessed the dispute between husband and wife, there was neither humor nor caution in his face. Nay, he wore the look of a soldier at arms.

  “What is it?” Roland asked, sensing, knowing, that there was more to this night than a wife secured within her room.

  “The dogs, milord.”

  “What of the dogs?”

  “They’re dead, from eating the food from your table.”

  “The table was turned over, there were no . . . Of course, the food fell to the floor.”

  “Where the dogs found a feast.”

  Roland looked to Harold. Both knew his wife had not planned to sit at his table.

  “They will fault her for this.” Harold warned.

  “She was gone all afternoon. Did anyone know where she went?”

  “Aye,” Harold admitted, “there is one who was with her the entire day, even when she went to the woods.”

  “She went to the woods?” Roland barked, “and you failed to tell me?”

  Harold held his hand up, “I only heard of this before the even meal. There was no time. I meant to tell you at sup and then, well.”

  “So there are others who can account for her movements?”

  “Aye. One a serving girl, uncomfortable with your wife’s understanding of the woods.”

  Roland nodded. That would be Maida.

  “There is more.” Harold stood, just inside the room. He now moved closer.

  Roland sank wearily down upon the bench before the fire, his hands braced on his knees. “What is it?”