Chapter 7

N o fire of their own lest they become the ones watched.

The light of the moon casting no warmth across the spring night, Fira hugged her mantle to her and tucked her chin where she sat before a stone wall overlooking the valley.

Amaury and she having spoken little since pausing at a stream that ran so cold and clear they were able to quench their thirst without grimace, once more she looked to him where he stood to the right.

Still wearing his cap as if to hide the silvered black her sister-in-law told he possessed the same as Fira’s eldest brother, sister, and uncle, he leaned against the jagged stone and stared at the distant fire occasionally blocked by movement of those warming themselves before it.

What was he thinking? That all would be different if she did not hinder him? Or did he plot as told? If the latter, when would he act? And what of her?

Beneath her mantle, she set a hand on her bag and imagined helping him retrieve his friend. Not that he would allow it—as neither would her brothers. Once more regretting her family discovering her missing and their escalating fear as the search for her proved fruitless, Fira whispered, “Forgive me. Had I known…”

But you did not want to know how dangerous the world, she silently scolded.

It was true. Each time apprehension struck, she had assured herself her family’s lands were safe for one who knew them well. But though they were secure compared to many across England, those of evil bent could travel just as well as the godly. Now that it was known evil had come to the Barony of Wulfen, they would believe her disappearance related to the brigands from whom Amaury and she fled.

Poor Stace, she thought. Even if the horse Ermine’s son provided was not seen by any of Wulfen after Amaury plucked her from it, by now her brothers would have discovered it was how she ventured into the wood. No harm would befall Stace whose mind was much younger than his years, but Wulfrith displeasure would be felt.

Seeing Amaury shift, Fira also rued the ill she might cause one likely recognized by the patrol as a laborer accommodated at the old hunting lodge. Though they could not question whose side he stood since he aided the squires, there was much else to question about him.

Why was he on the road to Wulfen on a day of rest? How was a man of pickaxe and shovel adept with a warrior’s weapons? How had he so suddenly disappeared on the horse of the brigand he put down? Where had he gone if not to the hunting lodge? Was he behind Fira’s disappearance?

Of course, there were other questions they would want answered if the fallen brigand survived and revealed Amaury first fled him and the others with a woman of fiery braids. So many regrets, and nothing she could do any time soon unless she found a way to take the horse and start for home in the dark of night.

Leaving behind Mace’s sire whose life could be forfeit lacking a mount, her conscience stabbed. And what of his friend whose survival could depend on leaving here quickly?

How she wished she could do this day over, being content inside Stern and remaining unaware of what went between the old hunting lodge and Wulfen Castle—even the wondrous revelation Mace’s sire was not dead.

Her sister-in-law, yet clinging to hope the boy was not fatherless, would be overjoyed to learn Amaury lived. Unfortunately, he was right to name himself an enemy of England, which greatly complicated a future with his son.

Hearing a light step, she saw he approached. When he dropped to his haunches beside her, she wished he had not. But at least they were no longer astride, the beat of his heart felt nearly as strongly as his breath in her hair. And each time she put an arm around him to firm her seat…

She was not immune to attraction, but neither was she so vulnerable it overly disturbed. Occasionally, vestiges lingered when a young man departed her company and she smiled stupidly in remembrance of their encounter, but Amaury so discomfited that regardless of awareness of him warming away her chill, it was best not to sit near him. Because he was a man in full? Though many visiting squires with whom she conversed were men as well, only recently had they come into their manhood, whereas this chevalier…

He is too much a man, she thought and nearly laughed at what seemed a complaint though her womenfolk valued that about their husbands. Of course, they had been receptive to marriage. As for Fira, the onset of what others called The Falling Sickness had mostly convinced her she would be a better aunt than mother. She told none this, and since no betrothal was sought?—

“Are you well, Lady?”

Now embarrassment warmed her. Looking into a face whose small scars moonlight and stubble rendered nearly unseen, she said, “I am but tired.”

He narrowed his lids the same as her brothers when they suspected she hid something, and guessed he would also watch her closely should his instincts prove more trustworthy than her words.

“You must be hungry,” he said. “Unfortunately, I was unprepared for the day to go this way.”

She began to nod in mutual commiseration, then recalled what she had forgotten. “Since I intended to linger over my explorations, I ensured I would not want for sustenance.”

His eyebrows rose.

She removed from her belt the purse that held coins and more items than most ladies carried and pushed it past her mantle lapels.

His smile was fleeting as if not permitted. However, that which made him more attractive was not so brief she missed its flaw. “Two of your lower side teeth are short,” she said. “Were they not fairly even, I would think it due to breakage.”

“And you would…think right,” he said flatly but for a brief cessation of speech that called to mind her youngest brother’s stammering when Rémy paused for words that seemed to stick to his tongue. Jutting his chin, he said, “Show me.”

She withdrew food wrapped in cloth ahead of Cook’s return to the kitchen. The woman was kind, but being aware of the youngest Wulfrith’s penchant for slipping out of the castle, she would have reported the attempt to smuggle out food.

Fira set the bundle on the rock between them and turned back the cloth. “Bread not as soft as when cut and slices of dried apple and meat.” More than enough for me, but not enough for one his size, she thought. “I am happy to share.”

“I thank you.” Rather than take a portion and return to his lookout, he eased to sitting and removed his cap.

Fira caught her breath.

He looked to her. “I do not think that the surprise of seeing silver but surprise that at last I confirm it and my hair is quite short.”

She moistened her lips. “Why so short?” No sooner said than she understood. “Ah, to move among those of Wulfen without being identified as a descendant of the D’Argents, though methinks you are less mindful of recent—hence, the cap.” She looked to hair moonlight showed was silvered at the peak and sides, then stubble beginning to appear on his jaw. “Doubtless, you are more cautious with your beard, which I am thinking will show silver come morn.”

“It shall, my lady.”

She frowned. “What of your hair when first we met upon Woodhearst?”

“Keeping my head down and use of the cap postponed shaving it as required once I came to Wulfen. And more imperative that when, hopeful of laying eyes on my son, I took the opportunity to employee a particular skill.”

“Mining.”

He nodded. “As you say, I have been less mindful of recent. Having intended to remedy that later this day, on the morrow you would find me exceedingly spare of hair.”

“I would not like that!” she exclaimed. For that and prickling fingers longing to touch the silvered strands, heat rolled up her neck.

Again, eyebrows lacking silver rose, and his serious mouth went a bit crooked, but then his expression sobered. “Since it does render one’s face stark, my beloved wife, Alainne, would not have liked it.”

Beloved— spoken with emphasis as if to inform her she had no cause to like nor dislike his appearance.

Though stung as if he slapped her hand, she told herself, My due for behaving an infatuated girl, then plucked a piece of bread from the cloth and joined him in eating and drinking in silence.

“More?” He offered his wineskin when the food was consumed.

She took it, sipped, and as he leaned forward for its return, moonlight streaked from his lower lip to his chin—or so it appeared until she realized that stubble was not black. Running a finger beneath her lip to her chin, she said, “A silver streak.”

“If already that appears, by the morrow you will see silver curves both sides of my mouth down to my jaw.”

“I am unaware of such silvering of beard in other D’Argent descendants. ’Tis more a sprinkling among the dark.”

“Just as this pattern of silvering hair was passed by my sire, so too that of the beard, both skipping my older brother.”

Stopping herself from pondering aloud if his son would sport such a beard since she did not know if he was able to draw near enough Mace to see the silver beginning to appear in his hair, she probed another curiosity. “Whereas I understand you acquired the skill of pirating while dwelling in Calais, I am ignorant of where you learned mining.” Hardly true since she overheard his exchange with Richarde about the conditions at Caen, but she wished to know more of how he went from chevalier to dread pirate to prosperous merchant to quarrier of stone.

“A long tale, my lady. For now, suffice to know that occupation kept me from Mace all these years and is among the reasons it is not the right time to reunite with him.” He looked toward the campfire, and she knew another reason had to do with those who captured Richarde.

“You are very angry,” she said.

He continued eyeing the distant flames, and though he shrugged, his words were dark, “I have cause.”

“I know.”

His head came around. “You do not.”

Having misspoken, she said, “You are right. I am ignorant of all that drives you, but ’tis no great reach to know life must have been very bad to keep you from your son for years.”

He considered her, making her long to look away, then said, “That hardly sounds the woman who took me to task for…long abandoning him.”

“For that, I apologize.”

“How is it possible in so short a time you revise your opinion of me?” he said with some sarcasm.

Though Fira was not in the habit of abusing her lower lip, it was hard not to drag her teeth over it. “Not only has much happened this day since I investigated voices in the wood, but for Lady Séverine’s high regard of you and your honorable behavior toward me—even before you knew me for a Wulfrith—methinks you a good man afflicted with ungodly anger. For that, the sooner you reunite with your son, the better.”

Breath raised his shoulders, and less gruffly he said, “I will have my boy back when it is safe for him.”

“How?”

“In a way your family is likely to disapprove, after which I shall become the father long denied him.”

He spoke confidently, and yet she sensed doubt. “Still, you fear that opportunity will be lost to you.”

He frowned. “Not only are you perceptive but adept at prying from a man things he would hold close. ”

“Am I?”

“You know you are.”

Lest a twitch at her mouth yield to laughter, she let a smile on her lips. “If I am adept at prying, likely it comes naturally. Hence, it seems wrong to take that as a compliment.”

“Naturally inclined or not, it makes you dangerous, Lady Fira.”

Ignoring his serious tone, she exclaimed, “Dangerous? Though my eldest sister has been named that, not this lady of slight form who is nearly as far from the guile of the ungodly as she is from years of great wisdom.”

Amaury’s eyes went to her lovely mouth over which he ought not linger.

Is that so? challenged the man longer denied intimacy than he had enjoyed it before an enemy unknown to him proved greater than those besieging his city. Fira Wulfrith is young, but a grown woman. You have considerably more years, but far fewer than many who would make her theirs. You are kin, though barely for three hundred years between the De Chanson and Wulfrith branches.

“Not dangerous, then,” pronounced she whose attraction he must resist regardless of how persuasive the argument he once more acquaint himself with the delights of a kiss—and beyond.

Oui, dangerous, he silently disputed, especially to my purpose which must travel as straight a path as possible. You, Lady, have too many curves.

Though that last referred to ensuring her well-being that could further delay his plans, it also applied to her body, awareness of her having made the ride more uncomfortable than it should have been. A pity she had matured considerably since their first encounter when a knave sought to steal her virtue—something over which he guessed she remained in denial for continuing to venture out alone and quickly becoming comfortable in his company.

Oui, too many curves, he confirmed. But of greater detriment, I have too much dark seeking to once more haunt my waking hours as it does my dreams. And that makes me more dangerous to this lady.

With what sounded a note of music, she sighed. “What I believe dangerous is your plan to reunite with Mace of which you say my family will not approve.”

Deciding not to speak further on it, he looked to the valley and saw the fire shone steadily as if those warmed by it had settled for the night. Though surely one keeps watch, he mulled.

“Think of Mace,” Lady Fira prompted. “You told you saw him at Wulfen.”

“I did.”

“Were you able to get near enough to see he begins to silver?”

“I saw.”

“A fine lad of much credit to my sister-in-law and his Wulfen trainers, and of whom I am fond as he is of me.”

As they were well acquainted, Amaury was tempted to ask her about the son Gert had made a stranger, but it could wait.

“Despite the cruel years before Lady Séverine brought Mace across the sea,” she continued, “your boy is happy.”

From Amaury’s search for the two following his escape, he knew more of this than she thought, his greatest source Lady Eugénie D’Argent of the Barony of Valeur in Normandy. It was there, several years after Calais fell to the English, Séverine took Mace in the hope kinship would provide safe shelter.

Unfortunately, Amaury’s audience with the lady who gave Mace and Séverine a home had been brief since, following the death of Valeur’s baron, wardship of her and her siblings was awarded to one whose family had made enemies of the D’Argents three hundred years earlier.

The stunning lady whose hair was the reverse of Amaury’s—pale silver interspersed with dark strands—had reported Séverine was forced to depart when the nobleman who controlled the barony severely punished Mace for aiding Valeur’s young heir in attempting to alert others of the abuses his family suffered and misuse of their income.

Had Lady Eugénie not assured Amaury his son had recovered well enough for him and Séverine to journey to England and gain a warrior’s training with Wulfrith kin—and with funds in addition to treasures he entrusted to his niece—he might have risked all to punish Louis fitz Géré. And greater that temptation for how near the man who came pounding on Lady Eugénie’s door and ordered her to prepare for their afternoon ride.

Amaury had drawn his dagger and started forward, but she had jumped in front of him and whispered words entreating him to do nothing. Reason prevailed. Just as he dare not risk plans for an enemy far greater than Fitz Géré, he could not be the cause of ill done the lady who pointed him in the direction to reclaim his son.

Hearing Lady Fira mutter something and certain his silence frustrated, he resurrected her last words and said, “I am aware my son and niece suffered much before coming to England.”

“How?”

“As Séverine knew of my kinship with the D’Argents, my search for them took me to the Barony of Valeur.”

She gasped. “Last year my brother, Warin, met Lady Eugénie when…” She trailed off as if to reconsider her words. “…Lady Vianne with whom he traveled and thereafter wed took ill at a neighboring castle. Lady Eugénie was summoned to tend her. ”

He nodded. “I would guess that around the time I spoke with her.”

With such delight he questioned if she truly was nearly a score of years, she said, “Then mayhap you crossed paths with Lady Vianne.”

He had, though in Calais rather than upon Valeur. However, revelation of that could wait until he reunited with his son and might need to offer proof he was no longer an enemy of England. “It is possible,” he said, then asked, “How old are you?”

Her expression became serious as if she realized her enthusiasm gave him cause to question her age, then she put the question back on him. “How many years have you?”

Jaw tightening over the seven lost that felt more than all those come before, he said, “This past January, I attained thirty and one.”

“That is my month as well. What day?”

“Easily remembered for it being the Feast of the Epiphany.”

“Goodness!” Once more she was all delight.

He guessed what she would tell, but that was not what made him put a hand over her mouth. “Not so loud. Sounds carry farther in the night.” When she nodded, he lowered his hand that tingled as if she had put a kiss in it.

“That is when I attained my eighteenth year,” she confirmed they shared that day and she was nearly a score of years. “Why, ’tis as if we were meant to be.” She blinked. “Well, not in that way. You know what I mean.”

He did. And agreed that, regardless of attraction, not in that way.

She cleared her throat. “Quite a day this has been.”

“Adventure seems fond of you, my lady.”

“And I it,” she said, then grimaced. “Though not like this, nor when first we met upon Woodhearst.”

He inclined his head. “I was surprised to learn your name that day, it being unthinkable Wulfrith men allowed their womenfolk to go to the wood alone no matter how safe their lands since, as well you know now, men of ungodly intent do not always stay where bred.”

“Pray, do not think ill of my brothers, Chevalier. Though I am to have an escort, I rebel for preferring not to bother or rely on others. Too, there is something wondrous about being alone in a wood.”

“Had you an escort, you would not now be in danger, Lady Fira, and that day on Woodhearst?—”

“Naught happened,” she said sharply, “and when you meet my family, it would be wrong to worry them with such talk.”

He considered her, said, “You believe they will watch you more closely.”

“Aye, and with no good cause.”

Missing lightness about her, he said, “Tell me of your undertaking the day we met.”

She considered that, said, “Being a chronicler of our family’s history, I searched for eleventh-century ruins, and was fairly certain of finding them before you happened on me. Unfortunately, I could not further explore them before the visit with my brother, Warin, ended. As for my undertaking this day, I sought to discover what is named the Annyn Arrow after my twelfth-century ancestor. After trying to slay Baron Garr Wulfrith over the wrongful belief he killed her brother, the lady fled and was captured by him when he put an arrow through a tree at a height that knocked her off her horse.”

Being passionate about her family’s history, Lady Fira was light again.

“Fortunately, the baron and she fell in love during her captivity, and after this…that…and that again, they wed.” She caught her breath. “I should have mentioned how Lady Annyn was able to get so near a great warrior. She cut her hair, donned tunic and chausses and, disguised as a young nobleman, entered Wulfen for knighthood training. Can you believe it?”

Disliking it was hard not to smile, Amaury said, “Now that I am somewhat acquainted with her descendant, I can.”

“Oh,” she breathed, and he thought were it day he would see a blush.

Deciding to gain what rest he could, he started to rise, but she said, “Many times I have searched for the Annyn Arrow, but though I know the area, it eludes.”

“Two hundred years is a long time, my lady. If someone—even an animal or foul weather—did not remove it and the tree yet lives, two centuries would see bark grown around the instrument of its wound. And likely so completely even the arrow’s nock would not protrude.”

Another sigh, then a mischievous curve to her lips. “Aye, but a good reason to go venturing. Too, previously elusive treasures—some much smaller than an arrow—have come back into Wulfrith hands.”

Guessing she wished him to probe, he said, “Such as?”

“When Séverine and your son first came to us, they did not trust the ladies of Stern with their identities. Thus, they hid the cask entrusted to your niece.” As if hearing Amaury’s heart beat faster, she said, “Be assured neither Lady Séverine nor the Wulfriths failed you. The treasures and your letter to him were secured for when Mace reaches an age of responsibility, and I do not doubt all will be returned to you at your request.”

Unsettled by how much was owed the Wulfriths, Amaury took a draught from his wineskin to compose his emotions. “I appreciate what your family has done for mine, Lady. Now tell of the small item you say came back into Wulfrith hands.”

Despite his distress, her smile so tempted he feared it could undo his determination that she never have cause to draw so near as to risk seeing the dark in him. The sooner he distanced himself, the better.

And not only to ensure I keep my mouth and hands from her, he considered this night’s plan.

“I speak of the bishop’s ring given to your ancestor, Ma?l d’Argent, who took his beloved to France and changed his name to De Chanson to escape King William’s wrath.”

Amaury knew that treasure well.

“Believing he left the ring behind, I searched for it. Though I did not find it in a wood, what was lost hundreds of years earlier was found when Mace revealed it was one of his family’s treasures. Thus, I thought an arrow of greater size might be found and, despite naysayers, continued the hunt.”

“Tenacious,” he said as he stood. “Now, my lady, rest.”

As she folded the cloth that held her meal and returned it to her purse, he sensed more than saw her disappointment over his lack of enthusiasm, but she accepted the hand he offered and rose.

Releasing her, he nodded at the bedroll that would have warmed its owner this night had Amaury not put him down on the road to Wulfen. “It is yours,” he said as she must have known for him placing her canvas bag beside it.

“What of you?” she asked. “No good sleep can be had on cold, hard earth.”

For how long it was since a woman was concerned over his well-being, that bothered. “Having slept harder, no great discomfort this.” And no exaggeration that for the snatches of sleep stolen standing against limestone when punishment for one offense or another caused a day’s quarrying to continue into the night.

“I am sorry for what you do not tell,” she said, then pressed to her toes and touched her lips to his cheek. It was no intimate gesture, and yet when she averted her eyes and quickly turned, he thought her nearly as affected as he. Had she been too inexperienced to know a chaste woman should not tempt a man so, she knew now for feelings flitting about her insides.

As he crossed to the place where he could best watch the camp, he sent heavenward, Though I must return her to her family, greater the need to save Richarde. Since I would not regret putting him before her, aid me in ensuring all goes to plan this night, keeping Richarde alive and the lady safe.

Leaning back against the stone wall alongside his newly acquired sword, he looked to the youngest Wulfrith sibling as she settled on the wool blanket and drew it over her.

“All will go to plan,” he murmured. “When I come back for you, I will set my mind on getting you home.”