Warrior's Deception. Diana Hall

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СКАЧАТЬ am Lenora de Marchavel of Woodshadow. My father is Sir Edmund. Now, do we have a bargain?”

      Roen racked his memory for information on Sir Edmund. The king spoke of him often and considered the man a loyal friend. From what he had heard, the girl’s father was a man of honor and integrity. Would the same hold true for the daughter? Still reluctant to enter an agreement with a woman, Roen assessed his alternatives.

      “You drive a hard bargain.” Lenora’s eyes gleamed. “I will give you the choice of one foal your animal sires. The foal will be worth a hefty bag of gold, not to mention the prestige of owning a Woodshadow mount.”

      “Agreed. You will tell me truthfully of any woman I choose. In return, Destrier is yours for a month.” Roen knew he had the better deal, yet Lenora’s eyes troubled him. Instead of defeat, her warm spice-colored eyes shone with victory. Roen nodded toward the ladies milling about in the great chamber. “Pick one and tell me what you can.”

      “Roen, there is no use wasting Lady Lenora’s time on all of these women.” Hamlin gave Lenora a crooked smile and pointed toward the crowd. “How about that one in the yellow gown? The one seated at the feet of the rather large dowager.”

      “Lady Daphne. She is two years my junior. Her father is Sir George Champlain. He lays claim to much land, though ‘tis spread widely and difficult to oversee.”

      “The condition of her inheritance?” Roen asked impatiently. He barely registered the presence of the flaxen-haired young girl.

      “Well, she stands to inherit a sizable fief on the birth of her first child. In fact, that property is the major income for Sir Champlain.” Lenora bit her upper lip, the edges of her mouth upturned in an engaging grin.

      Roen eyed his informant carefully. A faint light danced through her eyes. She held something back. “The rest,” he demanded.

      An impish smile slid across her lips. “The only thing I could add is the fact that she is thrice widowed.”

      “Three husbands!” Hamlin jumped up and peered at the innocent-looking beauty across the room. Daphne, her eyes downcast, continued to listen to the never-ending complaints of the older woman. “What happened to them?” Hamlin asked in a hushed voice.

      “The usual—hunting accident, illness, thrown from a horse—things like that,” Lenora replied matter-of-factly.

      “Why so many husbands lost to accidents?” Roen queried. He noted the intelligent sparkle in Lenora’s eyes. A ripple of admiration intrigued him, but he brushed the emotion aside.

      “’Tis no secret, Daphne’s father does not wish to part with her dowry land. By allowing his daughter to marry but not to conceive, he keeps control of his best property and gains from Daphne’s inheritance as a widow.”

      Roen slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. “He should be hanged. Why have you not taken this matter before King Henry?”

      “Because I have no evidence. Though I nursed the poor girl through two miscarriages, I’ve no proof her father caused them or the demise of her husbands. A village woman who came to me to speak of the tea Sir Champlain forced upon his daughter prior to her miscarriages died on her return home. Daphne knows what her father and brothers are capable of, as do I. She would never live to testify against them.”

      Lenora drew back and leaned against the cold stone wall. Misery dulled the glow in her eyes and face. “Someday that man will pay for the way he treats his daughter.”

      Brittle agate eyes displayed anger, sadness and fear. Roen knew Lenora did not lack spirit, for few men stood up to him as she had. Lord Champlain must be a monster to cause her such dread.

      “Your counsel is well taken, go on to the next.” Roen waved his hand dismissively toward the great hall. For the next hour lie listened to Lenora recite all she knew on each woman Hamlin pointed out. She informed them of gambling debts, land disputes, how complex their obligations to area lords and the disposition of each woman. Roen sat on the pew with his long powerful legs stretched out, ankles crossed, disinterested. If he bothered to ask a question, it dealt with the woman’s holdings or family reputation. Finally, he rose, his frustration and disdain erupting.

      “I have had enough. Every woman here has either a poor dowry, a plain face or some other shortcoming.” Roen paced in front of his two confidants. He stopped and turned to face Lenora. “Are there no women here capable of meeting the most basic of standards?”

      “What do you expect?” Lenora could hold her anger no longer. “You look over a possible wife with the same enthusiasm as purchasing a…a cow for pasture. Do you feel that you are so great a prize? Think what the woman gets in return from a marriage to you. Nothing, since you bring no land and she becomes the brood mare for an overbearing oaf. A dullard who can’t even think up a proper name for his own horse.” Lenora took a breath, ready to continue her tirade.

      “Who is that?” Hamlin interrupted the tongue-lashing and pointed to the opposite side of the room. Lenora swiveled, looked at the young woman Hamlin pointed at and groaned. She swallowed hard and cursed Beatrice’s timing. Why couldn’t she have remained hidden for just a while longer? By Hamlin’s dropped jaw, she could tell Beatrice had made an impression, the wrong impression. Lenora stepped back and stumbled into the wall-like chest of Roen de Galliard. His strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her tight against him.

      “Steady, Lady Lenora,” Roen whispered in her ear. His breath caused gooseflesh to race down her neck. She closed her eyes to regain her composure. Instead, it fortified the sounds and sensations about her. She heard the pounding of his heart, felt the rise and fall of each breath he took. Suddenly, the sensations stopped. Roen released her as if she were a cocklebur bush. He stepped away from her and moved toward Hamlin. The siege commander took a deep breath and surveyed the room. His eyes settled on her cousin. Lenora knew his thoughts, what size dowry did Beatrice possess and would she act the docile servant of her husband.

      “Who is she?” Hamlin did not drag his gaze away from Beatrice. Lenora hesitated. When she did not answer, Hamlin looked over his shoulder, misery evident on his boyish face. “She’s married to someone already, isn’t she. A beauty like that could not remain unclaimed for long.” He sighed and shook his head sadly. His ashen locks swayed with the movement.

      “Tell him,” Roen ordered.

      Lenora thought fast. If she told them Beatrice was married it might work for a time, but Aunt Matilda would find a way to introduce Beatrice to Roen and eventually her lie would be discovered. The greedy lout might marry her cousin just to get even with her; he was mean enough. The knight had more pride in himself than any man she had ever met. Pride! The answer to her problem unfolded. She could save Beatrice.

      Lenora straightened up to her full height and crossed he arms. She looked the knight in the eyes and stated, “That is my cousin, Beatrice de Greyere. She is unmarried, but unavailable.”

      “Why is that?”

      “Because she is in love with someone.”

      Roen stared at her, incredulous. “And why should that deter me? Women are always falling in and out of love. It means nothing as long as she has an acceptable dowry and is obedient to her vows.” He laughed like a satyr and turned to his friend. “Come, we will introduce ourselves to this beauty that has so bewitched you.” Roen pretended to close Hamlin’s gaping mouth and lead him toward Beatrice.

      “Very СКАЧАТЬ