Warrior's Surrender Read online

  Voices of doubt that had cried out so loud and so often over these past months were now subdued. Not gone completely, but they were reduced to an indistinct hubbub below a stronger voice that plucked at the string of her soul.

  Trust him.

  When she opened her eyes, they were looking directly into Sebastian’s own, which were waiting for her answer.

  “Yes, I am willing.”

  The hands holding hers squeezed lightly, but his lips pressed firmly on her knuckles.

  “Tonight belongs to your sister and her husband,” said Frey. “Our announcement ought to be made tomorrow.”

  “Agreed,” Sebastian answered, picking up Frey’s cloak from over a chair and draping it around her shoulders. He wagged his eyebrows comically.

  “See what an easygoing husband I’ll make?”

  Frey fought the temptation to throw her arms around him in an embrace and shook her head, unable to disguise from him a lighthearted smile instead.

  Yes, she thought. It would be easy to surrender.

  * * *

  Since the arrival of Rhys and the sanction from the Crown to contract marriage, Sebastian found himself thinking about Frey more often, and those thoughts frequently ended with an image in his mind of her writhing in ecstasy beneath him. Although separated by dozens of people in the Great Hall, Sebastian looked for Frey every few minutes and just as frequently found her looking back at him with a small, secret smile. It warmed him and in a way aroused him too.

  Despite her professed dislike of bedding, he saw she was a woman of great passion who kept that part of herself hidden behind a brittle façade. He was irresistibly drawn to her. Frey was a treasure to be uncovered and be treated with reverence.

  He had come to the somewhat uncomfortable conclusion he was in love with Alfreya of Tyrswick some months ago, but he was content to bide his time until permit was granted.

  He was only too aware of the Crown’s intense interest in which alliances were formed by marriage. It paid to be sure certain barons did not become too powerful and therefore a threat to the monarch. While Sebastian ruled Tyrswick well, his loyalty not in doubt, he still needed to foster the support of the Crown in case Malcolm decided to break the truce and send his Scottish forces south.

  A battle such as that he had trained for since his youth and was confident, with the support of King William, he would be victorious. However, the battle between himself and Frey was another matter altogether, though he was equally determined to win.

  He would not be content to simply have use of her body; she had conceded that much to him and he agreed. No. Sebastian de la Croix was determined that Frey surrender her heart to him as well.

  At the sound of his name, Sebastian turned to find Heloise looking up at him earnestly.

  How old was she now? Fourteen summers old? Fifteen?

  He wondered if Rhys had considered a husband for her. Rosalind was about her age when they wed.

  Heloise was as much as sister to him as Rosalind, so he smiled at the girl.

  She blushed in response and bobbed him a curtsey. “I need to speak with you my lord.”

  “I’m at your disposal, dear lady.”

  Heloise led him to a quiet, shadowed corner of the Great Hall where the light did not quite reach.

  Sebastian positioned himself comfortably on a seat from which he was able to observe Frey in comfortable conversation with Dorcas and Gwenda, and he waited for Heloise to speak.

  The girl noticed his distraction. There was an odd look on her face, one that spoke of some hidden emotion.

  “You’re an aunt now. You must be pleased,” he said.

  “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course I am. Rosalind will be a wonderful mother.” Heloise hesitated before continuing. “I need to speak to you about a serious matter regarding the Lady Alfreya.”

  Sebastian was peripherally aware of Heloise’s displeasure that Frey assumed the duties of mistress of Tyrswick Keep but was not much in the mood to waste time and energy on domestic disharmony while Drefan posed an uncertain external threat.

  Still, whatever her grievance was it couldn’t be too severe.

  “And what serious matter is this?”

  “I believe she has a lover outside these walls.”

  Sebastian's eyebrows disappeared under his fringe.

  “And how would you know of such a thing?”

  “She receives letters from him all the time.” Heloise paused, dramatically. “I’ve seen them.”

  Sebastian straightened in the chair and folded his arms across his chest. His men-at-arms would know what the gesture meant from their lord; Heloise did not.

  “And why have you made Lady Alfreya’s lovers a concern of yours?” Sebastian asked frostily.

  Heloise blinked at him with an expression that for all the world told him she thought the question was plainly self-evident.

  “I love you and I would not have you hurt,” she answered plaintively. “Lady Alfreya does not belong here. She belongs with the man who has vowed to come for her.”

  Then her words came in a rush.

  “You need a wife who loves you and will not play you false. I would never do that, Sebastian, believe me. Were we wed, I would be the best of wives to you…”

  Sebastian was struck by the absurdity of the conversation and started to laugh, but he quickly stopped at Heloise’s crestfallen face.

  “Come now, don’t fall to tears,” he soothed. “You’re a big girl now.”

  “That’s right. I’m not a little girl anymore.”

  She wiped the tears from her eyes and, as she brushed her fingers down her sky-blue gown, Sebastian saw the signs he had missed—the budding breasts, the definition of a waist. And large eyes that spoke of unmerited adoration.

  Oh hell. Rosalind was about her age when she and Rhys wed.

  He had walked right into a bramble patch and every move he made would only ensnare him further.

  Think, man, think!

  “Heloise,” he started gravely, taking both her hands in his. “I am deeply humbled that you have entertained the thought I might make you a suitable husband. And I believe you would make some man an excellent wife indeed.”

  At this, Heloise’s gaze lifted and something like hope danced in her eyes.

  Sebastian wished he were somewhere else, anywhere else. Trial by combat could not be as fraught; in fact, he would even have volunteered to take Rosalind’s place in childbirth than face this.

  “I’m sorry, Heloise, I’m not the man for you.”

  Heloise’s face fell and Sebastian’s heart along with it.

  “Why?”

  He considered telling her she was like a sister to him, that he was in love with another, that he valued his friendship with Rhys too much to further bind their two families when Heloise might make an advantageous match with another noble house.

  Here he was, baron of Tyrswick, a man none would call coward, who faced enemies in battle with courage and fortitude, yet brought to his knees by a slip of a girl and her tears.

  If she were a man, they would come to blows and shake hands at the end of it. However, her weapons were not his, and he had no defense against them.

  So he took the coward’s way out.

  “Your brother brings news from the chief justiciars in London. They have authorized my marriage to Lady Alfreya.”

  Heloise stared at him openmouthed for a moment before closing her lips and giving every impression of renewed composure.

  Then she snatched her hands from his with a sharp cry and ran from the hall.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Despite the cold driving down from the North, the first day of the Hallowmas revels dawned sunny and clear. For three holy days—All Hallow’s Eve, All Saints Day, and All Souls Day—all work ceased in Tyrswick Keep and in all the villages beyond to mark the end of the agricultural year.

  The graveyard by the village church was trim and tidy, ready for the Office of the Dead to be read in two days’ time, when
family members would remember loved ones and prayers were said for the souls of the deceased.

  Villagers from around the district left their winter preparations of curing meats and making preserves to take part in the revels in a field just outside of Tyrswick village.

  Two large tents had been erected on the field and surrounding them were dozens of covered stalls selling goods from all parts of the globe. Merchants hawked the finest silks and spices from the Far East, ribbons and satin from France, intricately woven lace from Flanders, as well as local produce, of which there was plenty.

  Sebastian insisted on accompanying Frey for a walk among the stalls, and she accepted his arm. They walked in the company of Baron Rhys and Lady Rosalind, along with Heloise and a couple of men-at-arms, to accept the good wishes of villagers.

  While some of the superstitious, clinging to the old ways and old gods, prepared their fetishes and muttered about ill omens under their breath, the majority of Tyrswick was delighted by the unification of Saxon and Norman England.

  Frey faced the announcement of the betrothal with a great deal of trepidation. She knew Gaines held her in disdain and sensed Baron Rhys, who treated her with lukewarm courtesy, was heavily influenced against her by Heloise.

  She glanced back to spot Heloise sullenly staring ahead.

  How could she have been so blind?

  She had no idea Heloise’s feelings for Sebastian ran so deep, so it was a blessing that the past week had been busy. The only time they crossed paths was at the main meal, where it was a simple-enough matter to avoid one another.

  Rosalind and Rhys fell a few yards behind, stopping to examine wares at a stall, so the rest of the party paused to watch a cluster of minstrels playing the lute, lyre, timbrels, and flute.

  At the end of their performance, the small audience who had gathered applauded and dropped coins into an open case.

  Sebastian patted Frey on the arm where it was tucked into his.

  “Rhys and I should head back to our tent soon to prepare for the games. Will you come to watch?”

  The slight uncertainty in his voice touched her. This thing between them was like a newly sprouted seedling drinking thirstily of the rain of little acts of gentleness.

  “Of course.” She smiled at him, and the smile she received in return warmed her from within. “You’ve promised, archery, and I will certainly be there to critique your training methods.”

  Sebastian’s smile broadened. “Then I’d better make all haste, I would hate to disappoint my lady.”

  Sebastian slapped Rhys on the shoulder and the two men departed down the row of stalls from whence they came.

  Lady Rosalind passed a package to one of their escorts and took Sebastian’s place at her arm.

  “You’ll discover one of the advantages of being married to a baron is having someone to carry purchases,” she confided.

  Frey thanked God for Lady Rosalind, the family peacemaker and the only person besides Sebastian who made her feel truly welcome.

  Theirs had become an unlikely friendship. Rosalind was gracious and eloquent, a woman who commanded a quiet respect, so different to Frey in many ways. Yet Sebastian’s sister went out of her way to treat her as an equal, even doing her best to counsel Heloise from her disappointment, which had appeared to grow more acute.

  A brightly colored piece of silk caught Frey’s eye, drawing her to a rainbow-hued table displaying small lengths of silk in myriad shades.

  She couldn’t resist. The silk was a vivid blue-red, an exact match for the lions rampant on the de la Croix cipher, and was beautiful to the touch. Frey ran the gossamer-light textile through her fingers and asked the price.

  “For a foot-long square? Surely that price is for a bolt of this fabric,” exclaimed Frey on hearing the stall holder’s price.

  “But it is the finest silk from the East, my lady,” the swarthy man protested. “Such a color is made with only the finest handpicked safflowers from the Holy Land. Why, it’s the very shade of red as bled by Our Lord!”

  Frey raised a skeptical eyebrow and heard Rosalind choke back a snigger at the hyperbole. She turned to Rosalind and held up the fabric.

  “What say you, Lady Rosalind? I must confess to being quite taken with the color, but now I’m not so sure it is what I’m looking for.”

  Rosalind appeared to give the matter serious consideration.

  “I do agree it is an interesting color, but when you hold it to the light, I can see the weave is not of the finest quality. How much did you say the man wanted for it?”

  Before she could answer, the stallholder rolled his hands in seeming anguish and named a price one third less than he had told Frey.

  “Well, it is up to you my dear, but I recommend you set a good example for your marriage. I’m sure the baron would not be happy to learn his betrothed was profligate with coin,” continued Rosalind.

  Frey pretended to consider her advice before replying gravely.

  “Of course, my lady. I should not want to displease him for, although he is kind to me, he is stern and will want a full accounting of my expenses.”

  “You are very wise,” approved the other woman. “Especially since three rows over I saw a much finer piece of silk that was half that price.”

  “Really?” Frey exclaimed, moving away from the table. “Let’s go there now.”

  The merchant interjected swiftly.

  “My lady! If only I had known you were the beautiful young woman betrothed to the baron of Tyrswick, I would not have insulted you with such a price. Pray forgive me and my misspoken words,” he said, and named a new price just a quarter of the original.

  Suppressing a smile, Frey turned to Rosalind.

  “You are far more experienced in these matters than I, my Lady Rosalind; does that sound like a fair cost?”

  “Perhaps,” she pondered. “But I believe you could obtain a better price if you haggled.”

  * * *

  Heloise drifted toward the back of the group, her chaperones too engaged by the performance of nearby jugglers and acrobats to notice her detachment from the assembly.

  She idly browsed through the stalls of beads, ribbons, and trinkets, staying within sight of the party, which, to her mind, did not break the promise she made to her brother to not wander off on her own.

  Following the end of a performance of mummers, a crowd of villagers surged past, threatening to push her out of sight of her brother’s men-at-arms, but a firm yet gentle hand at her elbow was there to steady her.

  “Forgive me, my lady Heloise, permit me this service to you.”

  Heloise looked up into the bright blue eyes of the young man only a few years older than herself. “I think I know you.”

  “I would be honored if you did,” he said, offering her a courtly bow. “My name is Baldwin; I used to be a knight in Baron Tyrswick’s service.”

  The face and the name instantly rang true.

  “I remember now!” she said, taking in his clean, well-made clothes. “You were at the Keep when I arrived, but then you were gone. Tell me, what do you do now?”

  “Leaving Tyswick was the best decision I ever made. I’m employed by a wealthy baron as his man-at-arms. He is on his way back from a pilgrimage to Lindisfarne.”

  Heloise nodded absently, wandering a step or two away and looking across to where Alfreya and Rosalind were exchanging confidences as they watched the jugglers. She scanned the sea of faces, failing to find her brother or Sebastian. When she returned to Baldwin, he held two small paper cones filled with comfits purchased from a nearby stall.

  “Is that Lady Alfreya?” he asked, feigning innocent curiosity. “The one betrothed to Sebastian de la Croix?”

  “It is. But I don’t want to talk about her, although everyone else does.” Heloise pouted. She started to move away more decisively this time, and Baldwin fell into step with her.

  “Why is that?” he asked. “You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve been away for so many months.”
r />   He pressed the second cone into her hand.

  She halted her stride and considered him. Her judgment was swayed by the fact she stood in a crowded fair no farther than thirty feet from her brother’s men-at-arms.

  “I shouldn’t accept these,” she said, attempting to hand the candied nuts back.

  “Nonsense! I can easily afford these and, besides, I think you need someone to talk to.”

  “I hardly know you, it wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  Baldwin shrugged.

  “Suit yourself, but I would have thought I was the perfect confidante.”

  Heloise watched his retreating back for a moment.

  “Why?”

  He turned.

  “I’m only here until after All Souls Day. You can tell me all your secrets knowing you’ll never see me again, and I’ll never let on.”

  Heloise hesitated.

  “Your loss,” Baldwin said carelessly, turning and striding away again.

  “Wait!” Heloise cried out.

  Baldwin walked back to her. Heloise fought to contain a blush.

  “I don’t want to be disloyal to my brother or to Sebastian…,” she began.

  “But you love the both of them very much.” Baldwin nodded. “Follow me,” he said. “You can tell me everything while we watch the knights at their sports.”

  Heloise followed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  In a dry, grassy corner of the field, a tourney tent in stripes of red and blue stood for the comfort of the noble household of Tyrswick. Inside it, a brazier with glowing coals kept the tent warm for William Villiers, the earl of Goscote's new son, who fussed a little at being placed in a cradle, having just been fed by his wet nurse. Rosalind made herself comfortable on a cushioned chair and rocked the lad to sleep.

  Dorcas, Heloise’s nanny, the only other person in the tent, dozed on a chair. Most of the party sat outside on a temporary viewing platform, where the bohort would be conducted.

  Unlike a tourney in which experienced knights would line up on either side of a field and engage in a melee—first the knights on horseback, then the archers, and lastly those with a prowess with swords—a bohort was an informal event for squires to show off their skills.