The Protector Read online

  Doreena broke the spell, pulled all attention her way and as she did, Veri slipped away, as steadily as her legs would carry her. She would seek her asylum, her room, the only place within the castle left to her.

  Her only sanctuary.

  Or was it?

  Someone had put that viper in her basket within her room.

  Oblivious to the excitement in the great hall, Roland calmed another conflict. His men in a bout of fisticuffs, castle guards against war seasoned knights in the yard. No better than boys on the cusp of being men, as though their weapons were mere toys.

  Thankfully, they were equally matched. No disabling wounds. Bad enough to be injured by an enemy, but from your own side, the height of foolery. He shamed them, when he caught them, after getting between the worst of them, breaking them apart with his own fury.

  He shamed them and sent them to the cold waters of the river to bathe away their anger.

  But he did not blame them. Not completely. He knew where it started. Tanya. He looked toward the huts on the inside of the castle wall. She would be somewhere in there, no doubt waiting for him to make it worth her while to leave.

  So be it. If that’s what it took, he would see her gone this very day.

  CHAPTER 6 ~ BREAKING BOUNDARIES

  Afraid to go back to her room, of what she might find there, she headed to the great oak doors of the castle. Locked indoors for far too long, the breeze she’d felt earlier, the promise of the outdoors, beckoned..

  A mighty shove against the heavy oak doors and she was outside, her face to the sun. Glorious! One slow draw filled her lungs to bursting. She released it in a heartfelt moan.

  Such a simple act with such heady reward. It was not natural to spend so many days indoors. Especially with days as beautiful, and full of sunshine as these past few had been.

  Spring, in its finest, rain washed the skies, earth at its most fertile. From atop the castle steps, she could see the bustle of activity below. A lively bustle; basket makers, bakers, shoemakers. All fine craftsmen, supplying those who lived within Oakland.

  Hannah, even in her plainness, ensured only the best crafters allowed to supply the castle.

  But this was not what drew her outdoors. Veri wanted, needed, the gardens, the fresh greens, the fecund smell of the earth. She missed the toil of planting and potting, pruning and weeding. All of that, no more than a walk around the castle, just past the inner bailey.

  She set her course, entertained by the ebb and tide of people. All nodded and bowed as she strolled by. There were those, too, who backed away, turned their heads lest she catch their eye. Those people signed the cross, averted their gaze.

  That hurt.

  Roland wanted her to live a secret, could not share the most precious part of herself. Not even Roland could save her if her truth were known. She would be hung, or burned or drowned. Any manner of destruction, to ensure she could never return to life, and all because she was a healer. Raised by the Women of the Woods, a society of women who toiled to help others, to mend and heal and cure.

  The priest, Father Ignacious, condemned them as witches, set the people against them. So the women scattered, hid their talents.

  The path took her around the back, past the mews, the falconry. A rose garden, bordered by hedges, beckoned with its twisted, gnarly bushes, just barely green with spring. That’s when she found the kitchen gardens filled with a crew of workers.

  Veri watched, noting that no one paid her much heed, too busy clearing winter’s debris and spring planting. Food would be abundant soon, now that the harshness of winter had past.

  She looked beyond to the herb garden, her true destination. Only two older women were within the walls of that little space. Veri stood just inside the hedges that bordered the area and watched with heartsick longing. She knew the plants, could spot and name them without moving from where she stood. The women, intent on their work, offered her a quick curtsey before continuing.

  Startled by a tap on her shoulder, Veri looked up to find a rugged boulder of a man, standing beside her. Harold, a knight who had traveled the crusade with Roland, often sat at the head table with his Lord.

  “Sir Harold,” Veri smiled, at ease. Roland’s men held no interest in her past, or the accusations that clung to that time. “A beautiful day, is it not?”

  “Aye,” he took her arm, to lead her along as he walked toward the front of the castle.

  Veri pulled free. “I was looking to the herb garden, Sir Harold. I do not wish to return to the castle.”

  Huge, powerful, a man with crags and fissures from wounds too numerous to count, he took her arm again.

  “You mean to stop me?”

  He shifted, uncomfortable. “His Lordship would prefer you stay away from the herb garden, Milady. For the time being.” He cleared his throat, caught by Veri’s disbelief. “If you are not pleased with his command, Milord said you could address him.”

  “Did he?” She snipped, trying her hardest to be civil, for Sir Harold had not set her boundaries, set her few rights or privileges.

  Restriction from the battlements she understood, a plausible edict, but this was just too, too much. She just wanted to watch them.

  She jerked away, frustrated, infuriated, not caring that it was not what the Lady of the Castle should do. Then again, she was not the true Lady of the Castle. Not if the people refused to accept her. Not if she was forbidden the right to attend the gardens.

  As though testing his edicts, looking for more forbidden territory, Veri set off for the castle gates. Past the rose garden, the mews, the stables.

  The stables?

  Without second thought, she marched straight into the building, with its rich musty scent.

  “Who goes there?” A muffled voice called out.

  “Lady Veri,” Harold followed her, “Come. You have no need of a beast today.”

  Casting a sharp glance over her shoulder, she snapped, “Do I not? And how is it that you know such things, Sir? Do you imagine yourself to have the second sight?” She walked further into the stable, “For if you imagine such things you are wrong. I do have need of a beast today.”

  “Lady Veri.” The stable master bowed.

  “Lady Veri,” Harold echoed, taking her arm.

  She shrugged him off, “Nay,” and walked by him to the fresh air outside the stables, knowing full well why he waylaid her.

  She stormed on, ignoring all those she passed. The Chapel, the shelters, homes, shops. Smartly she headed to the front gates, heard, but ignored, the heavy footfalls behind her. Sir Harold, probably, and more of Roland’s men should she put up a fight. They would encircle her, stave off embarrassment, a scene.

  She had no care for docility right now. If a scene needed to be made, they could count on her to make it. She’d earned the right this day, her first day out of her small room. Even the one-room shelters she passed, those used by the shopkeepers and castle servants, were more home to them than this whole castle and its land were a home to her.

  If he refused her access to the open countryside and the woods beyond, she’d leave, she would. She would run away, flee by any means she could find. The idea had been brewing, teasing at her, testing her mettle. That mettle had been met. If only the people were right, and she could change shape, turn into an eagle and fly away, she would fly overhead long enough to leave droppings in auspicious places.

  Like Roland’s eye!

  It was no surprise to see three guards standing in a line across the gateway, barring her passage. She would not be surprised to see a matching wall of soldiers behind her.

  Once more, she tried not to direct her ire to the soldiers, but could not contain the huff of fury when she turned to go back. As she expected, five knights stood shoulder to shoulder behind her. She broke through them with a hard, angry shove. They didn’t stop her, but then she suited their purpose by heading back toward her ‘cell’ within the castle.

  That was when she saw him. Roland emerged from one o
f the shelters within the walls. Tanya, the foreign woman, hung onto his hauberk as she followed him out. Testily, he tried to brush off her hold.

  Odd the woman clung so, but of little import. Veri had greater concerns to tackle.

  She stood and glared at Roland, willed him to look at her, see her. She did not have to wait. Everyone’s gaze passed from her to him and back again. He couldn’t help but turn to where she stood, startled. She smiled at the guilt and embarrassment that shifted over his features.

  “What business have you out here, Veri?” He asked, leaving the other woman behind.

  “It would seem," she said, her anger and pace having robbed her breath, "that there is no business for me anywhere!”

  With a flick of her head, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and set off, ignoring his calls.

  Let him fume, she thought, let him wonder what I will do next.

  Halfway through the little village, within the walls of the castle, he caught her by the arm. “Veri.”

  She pulled away, ignored his attempts to hold her still.

  “Veri!” There was enough command in his voice for her to enjoy thwarting him. She turned down the only other pathway through the village, back the way she’d come.

  “It was not what it seemed,” he argued, as he came up along-side her.

  She spun on him. “Not what it seemed,” she asked, too softly for his good, though he did not know that. “What could it seem other than I have no right of passage in any part of these grounds? This domain is not open to me in any way. I have become a prisoner. If that is not so, Roland, then how is it?”

  He looked blank, as if he couldn’t comprehend what she spoke of and then, as though he suddenly saw her anger for what it was, he laughed. Not a quiet chuckle, or an indulgent appeasement, but a loud, hearty laugh.

  She hit him. A clear, clean punch to his midsection that hurt her hand more than his belly. Still, it gained his attention, and that of the crowd gathered around them. Everyone, from villain to knight, chuckling over the confrontation.

  “That was not a saintly thing to do, Veri,” Roland warned quietly, as he rubbed where her punch made contact.

  “It was not a knightly thing to do, Roland, laughing at a Lady.”

  “Veri,” he warned her.

  She didn’t wait to see what he warned her of, before she turned to the crowd. “For any of you who still fear that I am a witch, know now, if I had the power to turn this man into a frog, he would be hopping away at this moment!” To Roland she hissed, “And if I could fly to freedom I would be in the air faster than you could blink!”

  She left him to deal with the others, as she passed through the crowd, passed by the woman whose shelter Roland had just left.

  Tanya.

  Veri pivoted, thoughtfully. Roland had ordered Veri to sup with him at the table. If that was what he wanted, then she would set her terms.

  “Tanya, is it not?” The other woman nodded warily, Veri asked, “Will you dine with us this evening? I have seen you dance in the courtyard. I would like to see you dance after we sup.”

  “I am not to sit at the table,” the woman pouted, hips forward, body swaying as a cobra’s head would sway with the hypnotist. “The Lord, he tells me to leave.”

  “Veri!” Roland grabbed her arm, “come with me!”

  She pulled against his hold as he headed for the stairs. As they neared them, Dori came out, unsteady, a goblet in her hand. She stopped at the top of the stairs to watch their approach, a malicious smile teasing the corners of her mouth. Roland halted, shot a glance toward the back of the castle, any direction other than Dori.

  “Afraid I will explain to your wife what ‘whore’ means? Your whore?” Dori stumbled back to the great oak doors, ignoring Margaret as they passed in the portal.

  Much as Dori had, yet with a reassuring steadiness, Margaret stood at the top of the stairs.

  Roland signaled to his knights and waited for their approach.

  Veri refused to be stalled.

  “Say nothing, Margaret,” she snapped, striding up the stairs, “For it is my turn to be in a shrewish frame of mind!”

  “Nay,” Margaret informed her calmly, “For I would not care to hear what your plans would be for me if you were a witch.”

  Veri’s head snapped up until Roland shouted for her from below.

  She looked to where he stood, tall and dark, his best knights behind him. The concern in their faces meant nothing to her. She glared at them in return. She’d not give him the satisfaction of a response. Let him shout her name again. Let the wind carry it off over the countryside. She’d pay no heed.

  With a lift of her shoulder, she pivoted away from the sight of him, to confront her sister-in-law.

  “Goose,” she stated coolly, “I would turn you into a goose.”

  “Goose?” Margaret gasped.

  “Aye,” Veri smiled, well- pleased with her display of anger, the wonderful release of it. She would try it again.

  “Veri!”

  One look over her shoulder proved Roland to be charging up the stairs, knights in tow.

  “Actually,” Veri told Margaret, as she hurried toward the door, “It is a compliment, strange as that may seem. Geese guard their own.” The great door slammed shut behind her and, she guessed, right on Roland’s toes.

  **********

  “Roland, wait!” Margaret detained him, her hand upon his arm.

  “What?” He barked.

  “Leave her to her victory.”

  Roland’s scowl deepened. “It is not in her character to act this way.”

  “And who do you think has driven her to this?”

  Crossing his arms, Roland stood and studied his sister. “What is it you want? To gloat over my wife’s bad manners?”

  “Nay, Roland, I came to tell you a messenger has been and gone. Cynthia is coming. She could arrive this day.”

  “Cynthia?” He asked, thinking of his older brother, Edward’s widow. “I do not need this!”

  “No, you do not.”

  “Does she bring her son?”

  Margaret shook her head, negating the worry.

  “You have told Hannah?”

  “Aye, she is seeing to her chamber.”

  Roland nodded thoughtfully.

  “Brother,” Margaret addressed him gently. He looked at her suspiciously.

  “She will not be pleased that you are wed.”

  “It is no concern of hers.”

  “You are her guardian.”

  “That pleases me not.” He admitted, running a hand down his face.

  “Perhaps if she were to marry again.”

  Roland looked over to his men, and gestured toward the stables. “See that the horses are ready. Prepare one for Lady Veri.”

  “Roland,” Margaret continued.

  Roland looked out to the land beyond, as though expecting his sister-in-law to arrive on the horizon.

  “Could it be that she has found someone? That she has come to tell me of a suitor?”

  “She comes because of the boy.”Margaret watched her brother, the play of emotions, barely noticeable except to one who knew him.

  “No,” he said at last, taking his sight away from the countryside, to settle upon his sister. “No,” he stated again, more firmly. “We will not claim the boy as ours. Care for him, aye, but he will not inherit Oakland. He is not of Montgomery seed.”

  Again, the far horizon beckoned. Such a great expanse beyond those walls. So much space, he thought, for so few people. Why did it come to this? Power in lands, hanging on, refusing to let go, it was not the boy he wished to punish, but his sister-in-law. The woman who bore a son seven months after her husband’s death, ten months since she’d last seen him.

  The boy was no heir to Oakland.

  “I have problems enough without Cynthia,” he stated baldly, as he left to confront his wife.

  CHAPTER 7 ~ LESSONS FROM THE PAST

  "Stop it, Roland!”

  Rol
and ignored the flush rising along his neck, the stares from five of his best knights, twisting in their saddles to look at him. He'd done nothing wrong, unless she could hear his thoughts. He certainly hoped she could not.

  Veri turned in her saddle, "Stop looking at me."

  "You are riding in front of me. Where would you have me look?"

  One eloquent glance and she turned forward, raised one long, delicate hand, to lift the heavy braid from the nape of her neck. Sunlight glinted on gold and amber strands fallen free from restraint. A soft breeze teased those locks as he would, could he touch. Imagination ignited temptation to his beleaguered celibacy.

  He groaned.

  Veri's shifted to see him, "Roland? Are you well?"

  He rubbed his belly, a half smile breaking free. "Just a tender bruise."

  She studied him, chin tilted, no hint of guilt.

  Again, he rubbed the spot she'd hit, wincing. She turned away with a snort.

  Naïve, but not stupid.

  Thank heaven he wore his leather hauberk and not chain mail. She could have broken her hand.

  “And who do you think has driven her to this?” Margaret taunted.

  Him? He freed her from toil. Gave her the best of silk and velvet, a king’s ransom in jewels. Nothing to drive her to rage.

  And he protected her from herself.

  Roland visited Tanya’s hut, a woman happy to ease these tensions. No enticement there, though others would whisper differently, already did. He did not doubt the accusation would settle in Veri’s mind soon.

  No, not stupid. But would she believe him, trust him?

  Tanya caused trouble between his men. He offered her a pouch of silver to leave. As an added incentive, he explained exactly what she could expect if she stayed. No pleasure to be found in a dungeon.

  Veri knew of Oakland’s dungeon, been forced to endure it when she should have been lauded for saving his life. Nearly died while he lay recuperating in his bed, unaware of her trauma. Lord, forgive his people. She had good reason to hate his home.