“Rodrick is dead, my king. Dennis has come to speak with you on a most urgent matter.”
Henry gazed at his Master of the Chamber through pale, small eyes. When he rose from his gilded wooden chair, there was no mistaking that he was a king in a long line of kings; his royalty was in the very air he breathed. He appeared lost in thought as he paced around his Master of the Chamber, and the chamberlain watched him carefully.
“I have no use for distant relatives,” he finally said.
“He is your nephew, my king.”
That was true. “I have many illegitimate relatives running about,” Henry snorted. “This one is no different.”
“Perhaps not, my king,” the chamberlain replied. But he was a wise man and knew how to manipulate his liege. “Yet I understand the d’Vant’s are fabulously rich. They control St. Austell harbor, one of the largest harbors in Cornwall.”
Predictably, Henry’s interest was teased. It would do well for the expensive Welsh war he was financing to be civil to a rich relative, no matter how distant. He appeared to rethink his harsh stance. “Isn’t my brother at war with d’Vant?”
The chamberlain shrugged. “For years there have been disagreements, Your Grace. The Earl of Cornwall is also, no doubt, aware of d’Vant’s wealth. Perhaps he wants it for himself.”
Henry pondered the idea of his brother becoming more wealthy than he already was, and the very thought recoiled him. “A vital matter, did you say?”
“He said that it was vital and most urgent, my king.”
The king lifted an eyebrow. The day outside was waning and he was looking forward to the evening feast, which was really a liaison. He had sent a man to France to solicit mercenaries for his Welsh campaign, and he had returned and was eager to speak to the man. Even now, his chamber servants were preparing his garments, which were tunics of silver and shoes of leather and gold. The fine wine he had been sampling for the last hour had given him a glorious mood. Dennis d’Vant was not a part of his immediate plans.
But he had to be careful not to offend a rich relative. “Send him away,” Henry said. “I will see him later, tomorrow perhaps. House him in fine chambers and tell him I shall send for him.”
The chamberlain bowed deeply. “With respect, Your Grace, he has ridden all the way from Cornwall in three days. He says that that the matter involves your brother, Richard.”
Henry’s interest was immediately peaked. “Why did not you say that before?”
“You did not ask, Your Grace.”
Henry’s thin face tensed. “You toy with me, Faison. An unwise choice.”
The man bowed low, so low that his face nearly touched the floor. It was an exaggerated gesture of obedience; if Henry was wily and cunning, Faison du Rennic was twice that with a ruthless streak to match. Of all Henry’s obedient courtiers, Faison would be the one most likely to find himself in the vault with his questionable tactics. But he and his king made a troublesome, oddly comfortable pair. In spite of his character, Faison was nonetheless a very wise man.
“Never would I attempt to do so, my king,” he lied sincerely. Then, his head came up ever so slightly and his bright eyes looked at Henry. “But it would be my suggestion that you see him. Perhaps he brings news of your brother. You did send him a missive requesting funds for Wales, did you not?”
Henry’s look of anger vanished. “Why would d’Vant bring news of my brother?”
Faison straightened. “There is but one way to find out, my king.”
The king almost looked excited. “Perhaps he’s come to tell me that my brother is dead as a result of their skirmishes.”
The chamberlain smiled. “Then the earl’s vast fortune has defaulted to the crown.”
The idea struck Henry and he was consumed with the possibilities. The servants were waiting patiently to dress their king for supper but he waved off the entire group and they scattered like chickens. Planting himself in his gilded chair, he flicked an imperious wrist at Faison.
“Show my dear nephew in.”
*
“You really should not be angry at him, you know,” Lyla said impatiently. “The way you were begging and carrying on, I do not blame him for leaving in the middle of the night like he did. You gave him no choice.”
Ryan stood before the lancet window, brushing her long amber hair with a bristly horse-hair brush. Over two weeks since her accident, she was quickly gaining better mobility in her right arm and shoulder, but her improving health had no bearing on her sour mood. Her pretty face was terribly dour as she gazed into the bright morning beyond the window. In the distance, sea birds rose and fell, and the sun glittered off the diamond-like waters of the bay. But Dennis’ absence made the beauty surrounding her seem colorless and sad.
“I simply cannot believe he left without saying goodbye,” she muttered. “When we went to bed that night, he never said a word about his plans.”
Lyla was trying to repair the gown that had been damaged by the arrow attack. Patrizia had managed to dye the gown a darker gray color to cover the blood, but the torn woolen material was another matter. While Patrizia sat on the floor hemming the torn skirt, Lyla’s steady hands focused on the shoulder.
“Ryan, you cried and begged for Dennis to take you with him until he could stand it no longer,” Lyla set the mending in her lap. “He is only a man, for pity’s sake. How much begging and tears did you think he could take from you?”
Ryan turned away from the window. She was wearing a gown of thick blue brocade this day, embroidered with yellow and pink and green flowers about the bodice. Gathering her long hair at the nape of her neck, she silently secured it with a pale blue ribbon.
“He could have at least told me goodbye,” she said again. “I hate him for it.”
“No, you do not,” Patrizia said quietly. “You love him just as he loves you.”
“I do not!”
Lyla shook her head. “Enough, Ryan. We have been listening to you bemoan him for the past few days and I am tired of it. The man must do as he must and he does not need your troubles.”
A flash of anger moved through Ryan’s golden-brown eyes. “I wasn’t giving him trouble. He needs me, whether it is at St. Austell or in London.”
Lyla looked down to her mending. It was Patrizia who spoke the obvious. “He is going to Wales.”
Ryan stared at the women a moment, fighting off the feelings of terror and loss. They seemed to grow stronger by the day. “Precisely my point,” she said after a moment. “He needs me to take care of him as he fights for the king.”
Lyla gazed up at her as if she was mad. “Needs you to take care of him? The last thing he needs is to worry about you while he is fighting battles!”
The hurtful words were nonetheless true. But Ryan still hated the feelings of abandonment and betrayal, even though she knew Dennis had done nothing wrong. Recalling their last night together, he had perhaps held her more closely than he ever had, and their lovemaking had encompassed the better part of the night. He could not seem to touch her enough, or kiss her enough. She should have been smart enough to realize they were the final touches of her husband. It hadn’t even occurred to her. But as far as she was concerned, Dennis had not won the war. He had merely won a battle and she was determined to have her way in all of this.
“Perhaps you are right,” she sighed, hoping she did not sound too acquiescent. “I would only be in the way.”
Patrizia smiled up at her sympathetically while Lyla, predictably, was immediately suspicious. “What do you mean by that?” she demanded.
Ryan tried to look innocent. “Exactly what I said, Lyla. You are right; he does not need me hanging about and diverting his attention.”
Lyla’s eyes narrowed. “What are you planning, Ryan?”
Ryan gave her an impatient look. “What could I possibly plan with my shoulder only half-healed?”
Lyla did not believe her for a moment. “A great many things, I would think.”
Ryan waved a
hand at her. “You are mad.”
She turned to the polished mirror against the wall that had once belonged to Dennis’ mother. The girl staring back at her somehow seemed older, more mature. It wasn’t so much in her features as in her eyes; she looked like a child who had finally learned what it meant to be a woman.
“Who is going with me?” she asked, still staring at her reflection.
Patrizia looked confused but Lyla suddenly bolted up from her chair and began stomping about. “I knew it!” she hissed. “I knew this would happen!”
“What has happened?” Patrizia asked.
Lyla whirled to her. “She is going after him!” She threw her hands up in the air as if to beseech God for wisdom. “Why does she always do this? Why?”
Patrizia looked at Ryan. “She has done this before?” she sounded confused.
Lyla was raving. “It’s always one stupid scheme after another. We are forever running about, to and fro, like mindless animals. And it’s all her fault!”
Ryan ignored Lyla. She went to the trunks still stacked against the wall and opened a particularly large one to reveal not only her clothing, but also a worn satchel shoved in with her shoes. She removed the satchel and threw it on the bed.
Patrizia watched with growing apprehension. “You are really going after him?” she repeated in awe. “But… you cannot!”
“I can and I will,” Ryan said calmly. She was tossing garments onto her bed at an alarming rate. “My husband needs me.”
Patrizia looked stricken as Lyla continued to march about. “You are mad!” she raved. “He does not need you and you know it. You are simply going after him because he told you that you could not. You are a spoiled little girl, Ryan de Bretagne!”
Ryan reached out and grasped her cousin’s arm as she passed by the bed; the gesture was swift and harsh and Lyla gasped as Ryan’s sharp nails dug into her soft flesh. But when she met her cousin’s eyes, there was no mistaking the deadly intentions within the golden-brown depths, and Lyla’s protests died in her throat.
“My name is the Lady Ryan de Bretagne d’Vant, and I am going with or without your help,” Ryan hissed. “Dennis has literally saved my life many times over and I shall not leave him to the mercy of King Henry, or Welsh crossbows, or court whores, or anything else that might threaten his well-being. It is my duty as his wife to protect him, just as it is his duty to protect me. If you try to stop me, I shall kill you or anyone else who stands in my way. Is this in any way unclear, Lyla?”
Lyla could not ever remember being frightened of her cousin. But at this very minute she was, because she knew that Ryan meant every word. “No, Ryan,” she said softly. “But as it is your duty to protect Dennis, it is my duty, as your only living family member, to protect you. Do you understand why I must point out the folly of your intentions?”
“I do,” Ryan let go of her arm. “But I say again that I am going to London, and to Wales, and everywhere else Dennis d’Vant goes. He belongs to me, and I to him, and we belong together.”
Patrizia had been silent from her comfortable position on the floor. Thus far, her dark eyes had merely watched everything very carefully. But she had been absorbing and analyzing every word.
“Charlotte will not let you go,” she said softly. “Whatever you do will have to be by the stealth of night and someone will have to remain behind to make sure your absence is not immediately discovered. Moreover, it would not be good for you to go unescorted. You must have a man to protect you. Travelling simply isn’t safe, Ryan.”
Ryan and Lyla both looked at her. “No one here at the castle will escort me to London,” Ryan said flatly. “Riston went with Dennis, and Clive and Charlotte have their hands full with the rebuild of the keep. Every moment that passes brings the threat that Launceston will march upon us and demand the return of my father and de Lohr. I have no choice but to go on my own.”
Patrizia stood up and brushed off her skirt. “Then I will go to town and solicit an escort to London in one of the inns.”
Lyla blanched. “But the only people who visit those inns are cutthroats and hooligans and…”
Patrizia cocked an eyebrow. “And traveling bachelor knights and merchants. Not all outside of your cozy little castle is evil, Lady Lyla.”
Slightly rebuked, Lyla thrust her chin up and turned away. But Ryan was more than interested. “Do you think you’d find someone?”
“Possibly,” Patrizia said. “How much money do you have?”
Ryan thought a moment. “I have jewels in my chest, and ten gold coins my father has given me over the years for Martinmas and other occasions. Would that be enough?”
“I do not know. Let me see.”
Ryan opened the wardrobe again and brought out a small but elaborately carved chest. Lovingly, she placed it on the bed. Opening it, it was filled nearly to the brim with fine belts, necklaces, and other accessories. Patrizia studied a pair of emerald bob earrings.
“Aye,” she said after a moment. “It ’twill be enough.”
“You are sure?” Ryan was concerned. “We shall be able to find a reputable man?”
Patrizia put the earrings back in the chest and shrugged. “I do not know about a reputable man, but I am sure we can find someone of measurable honor to escort you to London.”
Ryan wasn’t in the habit of worrying about things like Lyla was. While her cousin muttered about the dangers that lay ahead and the foolishness of the venture, Ryan mentally prepared to go with Patrizia into town. The Spanish woman was hardly fearful of venturing into the mysterious, dark realm of inns, and her bravery fortified Ryan’s determination.
“Do you think we can find someone to take me tonight?” she asked. “Dennis has several days advance start. He’s already in London, I am sure of it.”
“Of course he is,” Lyla snapped softly. “He’s probably already on his way to Wales. You shall be wandering London in vain looking for him. All alone in that horrid city.”
Ryan would not be pulled into a confrontation; her thoughts were already on the road that lay ahead and the variety of obstacles she might face. Patrizia pulled a borrowed cloak of Ryan’s around her shoulders, having nothing warm of her own.
“She will not be alone,” Patrizia said calmly. “I am going with her.”
Ryan and Lyla looked at her. “You cannot go!” Lyla exclaimed softly. “Ryan going is bad enough, but you….”
“She is right, Patrizia,” Ryan said, putting her hand on her friend’s arm. “I cannot allow you to expose yourself to such danger. You have your family to think about.”
Patrizia’s pretty jaw tensed and she pretended to busy herself with the cloak. “My husband has decided that I no longer have a family,” she said quietly. “When the pirate attacked and I helped Dennis tend your wound, my husband decided that St. Austell was too dangerous a place for our girls. He left with them this morning.”
“What?” Ryan was aghast. “Why did not you tell me? I would have had Clive stop him!”
Patrizia shook her head, trying to smile bravely. “’Twould have been of no use. Christian took them to his mother’s home in St. Looe. They will be safe there.”
“Then why are you here?” Ryan demanded softly. “Why did not you go with him?”
Her olive cheeks pinkened and it was difficult for her to maintain eye contact. “Because his mother hates me. She does not want me around.”
Ryan could not imagine anyone not wanting Patrizia. “But she must have wanted you for her son at some time in the past. You married him, did you not, with her blessing?”
Patrizia looked her in the eye. “I married Christian in payment for a debt my father owed his father. Christian’s father helped my family when we first came to England and some expenses were incurred. I came with a dowry, a very small one, but it was enough to repay the debt. His mother, however, hated me because of my father and also because I was not a fair-skinned English flower. She would look at the color of my skin and call me dirty.”
&nb
sp; Ryan remembered the story of Patrizia’s flight from Spain, but she had no idea of the history or cruelty behind her marriage. The thought of Christian’s mother being unkind to Patrizia made her angry. “Why would she hate you because of your father?”
Patrizia shrugged. “Many people hated my father.”
It was obvious in her manner that she did not want to speak of him and Ryan knew she should let the subject go. “Your father had a habit of incurring debt, did he not?” she asked with a forced smile.
Patrizia returned her smile with some embarrassment. “He was a generous man, but not very wise in some respects.” She squared her shoulders resolutely. “So now it is my duty to aid you in your quest to find your husband. Surely if I cannot be with my husband, I must help you be with yours.”
“But why?” Ryan asked. “Why do you feel as if assisting me is your duty?”
Patrizia seemed to falter slightly, unusual for the normally confident woman. “Because very few people in England have been as kind to me as you and Dennis have been,” she replied quietly. “For that, I owe you a great deal. Your family has made me feel accepted. And I consider it a privilege to help.”
Ryan gazed into her dark brown eyes, full of sincerity. “It will be dangerous.”
“I know. But I am somewhat familiar with the dangers of the world, whereas you are not.”
That was true. “So you intend to guide me?”
“I cannot let you go alone.”
It was a firm, devoted statement that required no response. In truth, Ryan was glad for Patrizia’s insistence. She turned back to her satchel and crammed items into it until it was overstuffed and she had difficulty closing it. But there was a true sense of urgency swelling in her breast, a great desire to see her husband that nearly drove her mad, and in truth she was glad that Patrizia was going with her.
While Lyla pouted in the corner, Ryan had Patrizia help her with a royal blue cloak with the brown rabbit-fur lining. She winced as she moved her injured shoulder about, but she was determined that her injury would not stop her from doing as she must, and she was further determined that Lyla would not see any flash of pain across her face. Her cousin, as resistant as she was, knew that Ryan was completely capable of carrying out her plans.