by Lynn Kurland
“I would suggest you go to bed,” Nicholas said, “but I know where that would lead you and I vow that won’t happen.”
Robin looked at his brother and couldn’t even muster up enough irritation to thrash him as he might have another time.
“You needn’t fear for her,” Robin said wearily. “She cares nothing for me.”
“Oh?” Nicholas said, his ears perking up. “Think you?”
“Aye, I know it. She cannot abide my presence.”
“How perfectly lovely,” his brother said, sounding as if nothing could have pleased him more.
It was that tone that woke Robin from his stupor. He eyed his sibling with disfavor.
“I daresay she wouldn’t have the stomach for you either, if you’d been the one to bury her in the dirt this afternoon. At least I saved her precious skin. What have you done for her of late, save leaving a goodly amount of slobber on her hands?”
“I would make a fine husband for her.”
Robin didn’t even bother to reach for his sword. He shook his head slowly and prayed he wasn’t making a mistake by speaking with seriousness to Nicholas.
“You might,” he agreed, “but you do not love her truly. Do you?”
Nicholas, for a blessed moment Robin wished had gone on for the rest of eternity, was silent. Then he sighed. “I could learn easily enough.”
“She’s mine, Nick,” Robin said, plunging ahead before he lost his courage. “And she has been from the moment I clapped eyes on her.”
“You put a worm down the front of her gown, Rob. I doubt she remembers that with fondness.”
“What was I to do?” Robin asked crossly. “Go down on bended knee and profess my love? I was but a lad! Lads do things that only lads would do.”
Nicholas stared at him for several moments in silence, then turned and looked into the fire for a like amount of time. Robin suspected he was trying to decide if the fight were truly worth it. Robin hoped he chose well. He would have hated to have run his brother through, but Anne’s hand was at stake here.
Assuming she would have him.
But he would stand a far better chance if he didn’t have Nicholas underfoot. Besides, he had spoken the truth. Nicholas might have loved her, but it was a brotherly affection. Robin could not possibly imagine the two together. Nicholas would pamper her overmuch, she would grow restive under his care, and they would be unhappy within months.
But that was beside the point. She was his, not his brother’s. She had always been his.
Assuming, of course, that he could convince her of that.
Nicholas sat back suddenly and sighed. He raised his cup. “Very well, I concede the battle.”
“Wisely done,” Robin said, feeling a rather unhealthy sense of relief.
“I still say I would have made a fine husband for her.”
Robin suppressed a shudder at the thought of Anne’s sweetness coupled with his brother’s. Too much for one family, to his manner of thinking.
“Find your heart’s desire elsewhere,” Robin said. “Far away from Anne, if you please.”
“I could have loved her. I do love her.”
“As a sister,” Robin said, hoping the glint he knew to be in his eye left a deep impression upon his brother. “Your feelings for her are of a fraternal nature, nothing more.”
“Her sire prefers me,” Nicholas said, a small smile beginning to play around his mouth.
“He’ll accustom himself to me in time. And if not to me, then to my inheritance.”
“You have that aright, at least. I can see the advantages of being the firstborn.”
And for once, Robin could too. He put his shoulders back. “See to the keep, will you? I go to keep watch over Anne.”
“Watch your back.”
“I fear no one,” Robin said confidently.
“Anne might stick you while you sleep.”
Robin grunted as he rose. There was truth in that. Perhaps he would do well to redon his mail before he took his rest. “Come to me first thing on the morrow,” he said. “We’ll plan how best to see the day’s tasks accomplished between the two of us.”
Nicholas nodded. “As you will. Oh, and Rob?”
Robin stopped. “Aye?”
“Sleep on the floor,” Nicholas suggested.
As if he dared sleep on the bed! Anne would do him in for a certainty then. Robin gave his brother a flick on the ear for the sheer sport of it, then retreated up to his sire’s chamber.
And as he walked down the passageway, he felt a shiver go down his spine. One day he would walk the same passageway, only he would be lord of Artane.
Assuming Anne didn’t slay him before he could outlive his father.
He shook aside his thoughts and approached the door. After confirming with his men that no murderers had entered and no stubborn wenches had escaped, he entered and bolted the door behind him.
He saw Anne immediately, lying before the fire in her cloak. He scowled. Didn’t she know she would catch her death from a chill? He crossed the room quietly and squatted down next to her, grateful for the time to gaze at her in peace.
It was a miracle she hadn’t been betrothed already. Indeed, she should have been. He remembered very well the year she had turned ten-and-five and her sire had arrived with what he deemed to be a suitable mate: a lad of a score-and-five. Robin had been beside himself with jealousy but completely unwilling to show it. Fortunately his father had had more sense than Anne’s and talked Fenwick out of the plan.
After her accident, there had been no more offers of marriage. Robin couldn’t have been happier about it. Men could not see her for her leg and he was perfectly content to let them be blind.
Aye, she was a beautiful creature. Vexing, but beautiful. How could any man look down at those angelic features and not be moved to lyricism? Unless he was Robin of Artane and found himself tongue-tied in her presence. Robin smiled grimly to himself. Perhaps it was his thoughts running amok in his brain that confused his tongue so. He’d done his damndest never to think of her while he was away.
But since his return to Artane, he’d thought of nothing else. Especially whilst he’d watched his lackwit brother try to woo her. Saints, but he wanted to strangle Nick for the deed! In the past few days, he’d been reduced to staring at her from the shadows in the evening, watching the way the firelight played over her hair and fair skin, the way her hands tortured her gown or smoothed it down, depending on her mood. And he’d wanted to sweep her up in his arms and stalk off with her, never to release her again. But he hadn’t. Anne didn’t like stalking and she didn’t care for him either. She wanted a chivalrous, gallant knight with fine court manners and pleasing ways.
Which was precisely what he wasn’t. A man had no use for fine manners and minstrelsy when he was tromping across blood-soaked ground and trying to keep his head on his shoulders. You bloody well didn’t ask permission before you cleaved a man’s skull in twain!
He sincerely doubted he could remember how to play the fine lord and didn’t know if he cared to stir himself to try. After all, he had acquired a reputation for ruthlessness. It would be a pity to lose it simply because his men saw him trailing after Anne like a moonstruck calf. Nay, it was best he remain hard and cold. It would save his good standing with the men, and it would also save his pride, as he had no doubts Anne would spurn him at every turn.
He frowned down at his charge, noting the dark shadows under her eyes and the creases that didn’t leave her brow, even in sleep. Sleeping on the floor had been foolish. Her muscles would stiffen up and leave her in pain the next day. What the girl needed was a few lessons in how to care for herself.
Robin paused. That wasn’t such a poor idea after all. He’d known a man who had had his leg crushed, in much the same way as Anne’s. And now the man was fit and hale, claiming that hot baths and the rubbing of his muscles with oil were what had cured him of his stiffness. And he had forced himself to strengthen the muscles each day. That was surely wh
at Anne needed to do. Taking her for walks outside would give him relief from being prisoner inside his own chamber and it would aid her as well. And though he was certain she wouldn’t allow him to touch her leg, he could show her what she needed to do.
And it would give him one more reason to be near her. Even gruff, surly knights longed for the company of their ladies.
He put his hand on her arm. “Anne, wake up. You cannot sleep here before the fire.”
“Go away,” she muttered, pulling her arm away.
Robin paused and reconsidered. Perhaps this would be more difficult than he thought. Fortunately he was a man of action, so he heeded her words not at all. He lifted her up into his arms.
“You’re hurting me!”
“I’m hardly touching you,” he retorted. “I’m just carrying you to bed. You needn’t sound as if I’m beating you.”
She bit her lip and said no more. Robin gently deposited her on the bed and pulled a blanket over her.
“Will you be warm enough?”
She nodded, not meeting his eyes. Well, the girl was half asleep. He couldn’t blame her for not showing him any gratitude.
He pulled his cloak off the back of a chair and sat down before the fire. After putting more wood on the blaze, he rolled up in his cloak and tried to make himself comfortable on the hard wood. It was no easy task, and he was certain that come morning he would regret his actions. But it was a small bit of chivalry and perhaps in time Anne would come to appreciate it.
Robin tossed and turned on the floor for a goodly while before he gave up and sought the comfort of a chair. He sat with his chin resting on his steepled fingers and gave thought to the mystery with which he’d been presented.
It was a surety that Stephen of Hardwiche had not been the killer’s true target. The accident that morn in the lists had left him with no doubts about that. But why would anyone want to hurt Anne? And who in the keep could possibly have anything to gain by it?
Robin’s first suspect was Baldwin, of course, but even that made no sense. Baldwin’s quarrel was with Robin, not Anne. And Baldwin couldn’t possibly know of Robin’s feelings for the girl. Why would he hurt Anne, if Robin were the one he hated? Besides, Robin couldn’t credit Baldwin with the imagination to think up such a scheme. Nay, it had to be someone else and for a reason none of them had seen yet.
Robin sighed and pushed away those thoughts. He would begin his training before sunrise and hopefully something would occur to him then. Perhaps Amanda and Isabelle could be deposited inside the chamber; they would be company enough for Anne. Miles could be left with them. Nicholas was no longer a problem, which left Robin free to think on other things.
And first among those was helping Anne recover from the crushing he’d subjected her to. Perhaps that would induce her to think more kindly of him, though he suspected that she would have less than genial feelings toward him after what he planned to do to her leg.
He rested his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. On the morrow. He would see to it all on the morrow.
18
Maude of Canfield stood at the end of the passageway with folded linens clutched in her arms. She had just watched Robin go into the lord’s chamber. She shook. Indeed, she trembled so badly, she had to clutch the cloth to her to keep from dropping it. But it wasn’t from fear.
It was from anger.
She could scarce believe her eyes. He had gone inside that chamber to be with her! It was all she could do not to run screaming down the hall and pound on the wood to bid them cease.
But she couldn’t do that. There were guards aplenty in the passageway, guards likely put there to protect her. And Maude had seen the dogs downstairs, tasting all that came from the kitchen.
She would have to find another way. And soon. Before anything happened between them. She had to stop Robin before he made a terrible mistake. And she would pay dearly for the pain she had already caused Maude.
Maude leaned back against the passageway wall and indulged in her memories. She’d had Robin to herself for almost a fortnight. Of course, she’d only had him in her bed one night, and that after a solid fortnight spent working to get him there. And once she’d had him, who had come between them?
She had.
Maude pushed away from the wall, turned, and retreated back down the passageway. She would have to wait, but she wouldn’t wait long. Edith might have had a plan, but it required too much waiting. To be sure, Maude wanted to avoid Baldwin’s fists again, but perhaps he could be dodged as well. Besides, she didn’t trust either of them. She’d been promised that she would have Robin and she had yet to be allowed to speak to him. Not only that, her most glorious beauty had been shorn straight from her head, leaving her with ragged locks that would attract no simple man, much less Artane’s heir.
Nay, she would wait no longer. She would have to leave the chamber eventually. And when she did, Maude would be waiting.
A pity, though, that she didn’t have Edith’s skill with weapons. Maude had watched her on the journey to Artane. She’d dispatched a ruffian or two with blades she seemed to produce from some hidden place on her person. She’d killed without noise, or apparent pleasure.
It had been frightening to watch.
Maude put her shoulders back before she entered the kitchens. Never mind that she didn’t have such skill herself. Edith might have been handy with a blade, but Maude was handy with her wits. And she had far more than she’d ever been given credit for. She would just have to use them. Because once she was dispatched, then Robin would be free.
And then Maude would have what she’d been promised.
19
Anne woke to an empty bed. It took her a moment or two of panic to realize that she wasn’t in her lone bed at Fenwyck; she was at Artane. But she wasn’t in her usual chamber. She was in Rhys and Gwen’s bedchamber.
With Robin.
There was a hearty bit of snoring going on so she could only assume that he still resided within the walls. She had vague memories of him carrying her to the bed and laying her down. She quickly determined that she was still wearing all her clothing, save her shoes, and she couldn’t decide if she should be disappointed by that or not. Had she been naked, at least she could have taken a blade to him in good conscience.
A pressing need presented itself almost immediately and she groaned as she struggled to sit up. How was she to take care of such a thing with Robin loitering about? Perhaps she could leave and seek out a garderobe before he was alerted to her plan. She bit her lip as she swung her legs to the floor. By the saints, she felt as if every bit of flesh she possessed had been bruised. At least now, though, her wrist was the least of her pain. She was heartily tempted to crawl back beneath the blankets until she felt better.
“Anne?”
Damn, but the wretch had finely tuned ears.
“Go back to sleep,” she said firmly, hoping he would recognize the tone and obey without question. She waited until she thought Robin might have fallen back asleep before she shifted her weight and put her feet on the floor.
The bed curtains were jerked back to reveal Robin standing there rubbing his face sleepily.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing?” he rumbled. “Escaping?”
“I’ve needs to attend to.”
He yawned widely, then pointed to a corner. “There’s the chamber pot. Make use of it.”
“Robin!”
He blinked. “What? What have I done now?”
“I will not do this with you here!”
“Anne, we’re going to be together in this chamber for several days. You may as well accustom yourself to it now.”
“I will not,” she said. “You’ll have to leave.”
“I brought in a privy screen yestereve. Surely that’s sufficient to protect your modesty.”
She gritted her teeth. It wasn’t just her modesty she was worried about, but she was hardly going to admit that she doubted her legs would hold her up long enough
for her to finish the deed.
“It isn’t that,” she muttered.
“Ah,” he said, wisely. “Foolish of me not to think on that. You’ll require aid.”
Anne glared at him. “If you think for one moment that I’ll ever allow you close enough to me to aid me in this, then you’re a bigger fool than I thought. Get out of my way. I’ll use the garderobe.”
He began to frown. “You’ll not leave this chamber.”
“I am not your prisoner.” She forced herself to her feet.
“Aye, you are. Until this mystery is solved, you’ll go where I tell you and stay when I command it.”
“What difference does it make to you?” she asked hotly. “Whether I live or die?”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” he said, through gritted teeth. “That’s why I almost took a spiked ball in my head yesterday and that’s also why I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night from sleeping in that bloody chair!” His voice had risen with every word until it had become a shout. “I’m a lackwitted fool and you’re a shrew! Now, use the bloody pot and get you back in bed.”
She was momentarily tempted to burst into tears, but she would be damned before she gave him that satisfaction. So she folded her arms over her chest and gave him what she hoped was a formidable glare.
“Get out,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Nay.”
Almost before the thought had taken shape in her head, she watched her hand reach out and snatch the dagger from his belt. She watched with faint admiration as that same brave hand pointed the little blade at Robin’s chest.
“Move,” she said.
Robin looked down at the knife, then snorted. “You wouldn’t use that on me.”
“The temptation is almost overwhelming,” she said.
Damn the man if he didn’t stand there without making a hint of a move to protect himself. Anne wished she had the spine to stick him firmly between the ribs, hopefully in a place that would pain him greatly. Perhaps it would be a slow, agonizing death. Nothing would have pleased her more than to sit at his bedside and watch him linger on for several weeks before expiring in a great, painful rush.