The Conquest

  Zared's mouth dropped open. "With child?"

  "Swear to me. You cannot go otherwise."

  Zared grimaced. Her sister-in-law understood nothing. Severn was going to get a wife, not to kill anyone, and she was going to see the sights. Besides, people thought she was a boy, so no man was going to try to impregnate her. A brief memory of the youngest Howard kissing her crossed her mind. He'd known she was female, but that was probably because he was half female himself, fainting over a little cut!

  "I swear," Zared said.

  "I guess that shall have to do. Now get a good night's sleep, because tomorrow you leave with your brother."

  Zared grinned broadly. "Yes, I will, and thank you, Liana, thank you. I will do the Peregrine name proud."

  "Don't say that or I'll think you mean to return with a dozen heads on pikes. Goodnight, Zared. I will pray for you every day." Liana left, shutting the door behind her.

  Zared stood where she was for a moment, then jumped high, her hands hitting the cracked plaster ceiling. She felt as though the next day her life would truly begin.

  Chapter Three

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  For two days Tearle listened to Oliver rant about the Peregrines. Most of what he heard was useless information, but Tearle listened just the same. He found out that the girl's name was Zared, and it was Oliver's opinion that the "boy" would never be the equal of his brothers.

  On the afternoon of the second day Oliver received the news that Severn Peregrine was to enter the Marshall tournament, and it was rumored that he was going to try for the Lady Anne's hand in marriage.

  Oliver had been quite jovial at the idea. "I shall take him prisoner while he is there."

  "With the king watching?" Tearle asked, yawning. "I don't imagine Anne's father would like this feud of yours taken onto his land."

  "Anne, is it?" Oliver asked, his ears perking up like a hunting dog's. "You know the woman?"

  "Only by sight. She lived in France for a while."

  "Then you shall go."

  "To the tournament? To spy on the man as he goes courting?"

  "Yes." Oliver's eyes were feverishly bright. "You will see what they do, watch them, report to me about—"

  "Them?" Tearle sat up in the chair. "Who is to go besides the second son?"

  "The boy is to be his squire." Oliver snorted. "He cannot afford a true squire, so he has to use his own brother. He will be a laughingstock, for they are a dirty, crude lot, and the Marshalls are people of great refinement. Would that I could see the Peregrines' humiliation."

  "I will go," Tearle said.

  Oliver grinned. "You will fight him. I shall have to go. I must see this. On the jousting field a Howard will down a Peregrine. The king—the world—shall see that a Howard—"

  "I'll not fight him," Tearle said. He knew that he would never have an opportunity to spend time with the youngest Peregrine were he to announce himself as a Howard. "I shall go in disguise." Before Oliver could open his mouth Tearle continued. "I shall spy on them," he said, feeding Oliver's obsession. "No one in England knows I have returned. I shall attend the tournament as… as Smith. I shall watch and learn more about the Peregrines than I could if I announced myself as their enemy."

  Oliver looked at his brother, and his expression changed. "I was not sure you understood," he said softly. "But I should not have doubted our blood."

  Tearle smiled at his brother. He did not feel the least bit guilty for deceiving his brother, for Oliver's hatred of that family did not deserve respect. I shall protect them, he thought. I shall see that no harm comes to the Peregrines, no misaimed arrows, no pieces falling from the roof, no cut saddle cinches. I shall see that for once they are safe from Howard hatred.

  "No, you should not have doubted me," Tearle said. "I have always been as I am. I have never changed."

  Oliver frowned a bit at that but then smiled. "Yes, I see. You have always been a Howard. When do you leave?"

  "Now," Tearle said, and he rose. He wanted to hear no more of Oliver's venom, but most important, he wanted to get to Anne Marshall. He hadn't told his brother the truth when he'd said he barely knew Anne. He'd tossed her on his knee when she was a child, had kissed her tears away when she'd fallen, had told her ghostly stories at bedtime and then received tongue-lashings from her mother for causing Anne to wake screaming in the night. An adult Anne had comforted Tearle when his mother had died.

  Tearle knew that if he was to appear at the Marshall tournament in disguise, he had to get to Anne first and tell her of his plans.

  Tearle sat on top of the garden wall and watched Anne and her ladies walking. One lady was, as usual, reading aloud. Tearle had often teased Anne for her scholarly ways; she seemed forever buried in a book.

  He leaned back against a branch of an old apple tree and smiled at the sight. The women in their bright gowns, their elaborate headdresses trimmed with jewels and gauze veils, were a beautiful sight, but Anne stood out even from those women. Anne was a beauty among beauty. She was tiny, barely reaching a man's shoulder, and she was vain enough that she always surrounded herself with tall women. She looked like a precious jewel, and the towering women were a setting for that jewel.

  As she and her women moved forward he had no doubt that Anne would see him. The other women would probably never look up, but Anne didn't miss anything. If possible, her brain was even brighter than her face was lovely. And, Tearle thought with a wince, her tongue could be as sharp as a blade. Too often he'd been on the receiving end of her barbs, and he knew how they could sting.

  When Anne glanced up and saw him, only for a second did she look startled. Startled, but not fearful, for it would take more than one mere man to frighten Anne Marshall. Tearle gave her a smile, and she looked away quickly.

  Within moments she had dismissed her women, sending them all away on errands, and she stood below Tearle, looking up at him.

  He jumped lightly to the ground, took Anne's small hand, and kissed it. "The moon has no beauty compared to you. Flowers hide their faces in shame when you walk past. Butterflies close their wings; peacocks do not dare show themselves; jewels cease to sparkle; gold—"

  "What do you want, Tearle?" Anne asked, pulling her hand away. "What causes you to skulk about my father's garden? Are you in love with one of my maids?"

  "You wound me," he said, his hand to his heart as, stumbling as though he had been stabbed, he sat on a stone bench. "I have come merely to see you." He looked up at her with a bit of a grin. "I would forgive your accusations were you to sit on my knee as you used to do."

  Anne's beautiful face relaxed its sternness, and she smiled as she sat beside him. "I have missed your silver tongue. Do you not find these English a sober lot?"

  "Most sober. My brother is…" He didn't finish.

  "I have heard. My sister has filled my ears with naught but gossip. Your family is at war with another family."

  "Yes, the Peregrines."

  "I have heard much of them," Anne said. "My sister attended the wedding of the eldest son to Lady Liana." She gave a delicate shudder.

  "They are not so bad." He was on the point of telling Anne about Zared but stopped himself. It would not do to tell anyone she was female. If a person could not tell by looking at her, he did not deserve to be told. "The second son is coming to the tournament and means to win your hand."

  Anne turned to look at him, astonishment on her beautiful face. "To win my hand? A Peregrine? For all your family's feud with them, you must not know much of those men. They are a filthy, ignorant lot. The oldest brother did not attend his own wedding feast. He was too busy counting the gold his bride brought him. When Lady Liana's stepmother was justifiably so angry she threatened to dissolve the marriage, he took his virginal bride upstairs and… and…" She stopped and looked away. "He is more animal than man."

  "All hearsay," Tearle said in dismissal. "I have seen the men fight. The one who comes will do well in your tournament."

  "He can beat you?"

/>   Tearle smiled. "I don't plan to find out. I do not enter the games. I have come to ask a favor of you."

  "Ah, so you have not come merely to see the flowers bow down in shame at my beauty?"

  "Of course that was my first reason." He reached for her hand, but Anne pulled away.

  "I would think more of your compliments if I hadn't heard you use the same ones since I was eight years old. Really, Tearle, you are too easy in your lovemaking. You need a woman who will not give in to you at hearing your same old tired flattery."

  "A woman such as you? I could be happy if you would marry me."

  "Ha! I shall marry a man who uses his brain instead of his brawn. I want a husband to whom I can talk. If I tried to speak to you of something besides armor and lances, you would fall asleep snoring."

  He smiled at her sweetly. She didn't know him at all if that was what she thought most interested him. "I swear I would not fall asleep were I married to you. And I would give you something to do besides talk."

  "Your bragging is wasted on me. Now tell me what favor you have to ask of me."

  "I plan to help the Peregrines, and I do not want them to know I am a Howard. I shall pose as a man named Smith."

  Anne gave him a cool look. She had dark hair, mostly hidden under her headdress, dark brows, and dark eyes that could burn a man when she chose to do so. "You ask me to endanger a man who will be a guest at my father's house?" She rose, glaring at him. "I had thought better of you than this."

  He caught her before she'd gone two steps. "I said I meant to help them, and I am telling the truth." He said no more, just looked at her, praying she would believe him.

  "Why?" she asked. "Why do you wish to help filthy beasts like these Peregrines? Isn't it true that they believe all your lands to be theirs? You wish me to believe you would help men who would make you a pauper?"

  "It is difficult to believe, but it is true. I do not even know these brothers. I've seen them only from a distance, but I have no hatred for them as my brother does. I merely wish to…" He couldn't tell her more and couldn't think of an excuse for why he wanted to help the Peregrines without telling her of Zared.

  "There is a woman involved," Anne said.

  Tearle blinked. Clever brat, he thought. "A woman? How could a woman be involved? There are two brothers coming—an older one to compete and a younger one to be his squire. Can I not do something out of my love of mankind? My brother hates these Peregrines, and I am sick of the talk of hatred. Could I not merely wish for the end of this hatred? Perhaps I wish only to make peace between our families."

  "What is her name?"

  Tearle narrowed his eyes at her. "I recant my marriage proposal. I have known you since your birth, yet you doubt my good intentions. You dishonor me and my family."

  Anne smiled at him in a knowing way. "Are you in love with her as much as you loved that young count's wife?"

  "That was something altogether different. She was a woman married to a boy. And I told you, this has nothing to do with a woman." Tearle vowed to go to confession as soon as possible. "I am hurt that you think so little of my character."

  "All right," Anne said. "You win. I will keep your secret, but I swear to you that I will find out why you wish to dupe this poor stupid Peregrine man."

  Tearle didn't answer her because he had no answer to make. He had no idea why he was interested in a girl who dressed as a boy, a girl who was the daughter of a house that had been at war with his family for generations. Her brothers had killed his brothers. By rights he should hate the girl, should have been glad his brother's men had captured her.

  But he hadn't been glad, and later, when she'd tried to dress his wound, he'd wanted her to remain with him.

  He looked back at Anne and smiled. Perhaps it was merely that the Peregrine girl was a novelty. He'd had many beautifully dressed women, so perhaps it would be different to bed a woman who might fight him for his clothes in the morning.

  "There is nothing to find out," Tearle said, looking innocent. "I but want to help some poor, misunderstood people."

  Anne gave an unladylike snort. "You may keep your secrets, but keep those Peregrines from me. I do not wish to be the fool Lady Liana was. Now leave here before someone sees you and tells my father."

  Tearle gave a nervous glance toward Hugh Marshall's big house. "Thank you," he said, quickly kissing her hand and bounding over the garden wall out of sight.

  Anne sat on the bench after Tearle had left and smiled. It was so good to see a person who could laugh, a person who could take life less than seriously, people such as she had known in France. Anne's mother had taken her daughters home to France when Anne was only five years old and her sister Catherine six, and Anne and her sister had grown up with their mother's family. They'd been surrounded by laughter and learning and beauty. Their mother's family's household had been a place where they'd felt free to say whatever they wanted, where they were encouraged to use their wit and intelligence. They were praised for their beauty, their skill at cards, their talents on a horse or when they read aloud. It was almost as though they could do no wrong.

  Looking back, Anne knew she had not been appreciative enough of those wonderful years of freedom and happiness. They seemed so long ago and far away.

  When Catherine was seventeen and Anne sixteen Hugh Marshall had demanded that his wife bring his daughters back to England, saying it was time to get them husbands. Since neither Anne nor her sister could remember their father, they felt no fear. Instead they looked at their journey with anticipation, and they whispered excitedly about the idea of husbands.

  But Hugh Marshall's demand had sent their mother into a decline. Overnight her face had lost its sparkle, her hair its sheen. At first the girls were too caught up in their own excitement to notice their beloved mother's misery, but by the time they boarded the ship for England they saw that their mother was wraithlike in her thinness, and her face had no color in it.

  It didn't take two weeks at their father's house to learn the cause of their mother's misery. Hugh Marshall was a humorless, uneducated bully of a man who ran his rich estates by terror and brute force. He also tried to run his wife and daughters that way.

  After the women returned to England there was no more laughter, and certainly no more praise. Hugh Marshall made no attempt to hide his disappointment in how his wife had reared their two daughters.

  "You give me nothing but daughters," he bellowed at his wife, who seemed to lose weight daily, "and then you fill their heads with books. They try to defy me!" he yelled.

  When Catherine had told him she didn't like his choice of husband for her he'd blacked her eye, then locked her in a room for two weeks. Tearfully Catherine had finally agreed to the odious old man her father had chosen for her. Her father, already a rich man, wanted more riches, but more than that he wanted power. He had visions of grandsons who sat at the king's right hand. So he was marrying Catherine to an earl who was a distant relative of the king and enjoyed some society at court.

  Six months after they'd returned to England their mother had died. Hugh Marshall had shown no regret at the loss, saying she was never a wife to him, that she'd been able to bear only worthless daughters. He'd allowed her to go to France when he was told she could bear no more children. She was useless to him as a wife if she couldn't give him sons. Since she was dead he planned to get himself another wife, one who could give him a dozen sons or more.

  Anne had stood at her mother's grave and felt deep, deep hatred for her father. He had killed her mother as surely as if he had taken a knife to her throat.

  After her mother's death and her sister's betrothal Anne had declared war on her father. There was a part of her that didn't care what happened to her, so she dared to defy him and to make some demands of her own.

  Anne knew that her father would use her as a pawn in his life game, just as he'd used Catherine, but Anne planned to do better than her sister had. Anne used all her knowledge, used everything she'd ever learned,
to talk Hugh Marshall into giving a tournament at Catherine's wedding. At the tournament Anne planned to choose her own husband and to use her powers of persuasion to get her father to marry her to a man who would make her a proper husband. She was not going to allow him to marry her off to a man like himself, as he was doing to Catherine.

  She looked up at her father's house and narrowed her eyes. From that point on it would be a battle between her father's brawn and her brain. And how she fought the battle would determine the rest of her life. If her father had his way and married her to a man like himself, she would spend the rest of her days in an even worse hell than she'd known since she had returned to England.

  At the tournament she would see what England had to offer, and she would find a man who would please both her father and herself.

  She turned when she saw her ladies returning, and she remembered Tearle's visit. She was glad Tearle wasn't going to enter the tournament. Her father would no doubt like Tearle. He was second in line to his brother the duke, and his family was very, very rich.

  But Anne had no desire to marry Tearle. He was young, handsome, rich, and suitable, but he was too glib for her, too much a ne'er-do-well. Were they to marry they'd probably kill each other within a year.

  "My lady, you have had bad news?"

  Anne looked up at her maid. "Nay, I have heard nothing I have not heard before. Come, let us walk. Or better yet, we shall ride. I feel in need of exercise to clear my brain."

  Zared stood to one side and watched her brother's men straining to push the big cart out of the mud. They had been traveling since the day before, and now they were within hours of reaching the site of the tournament. Zared was so excited she hadn't been able to sleep and had, instead, pestered Severn with hundreds of questions. Usually he would have snapped at her to be quiet, but he didn't seem able to sleep either. At one point Zared thought perhaps he was excited, too, but she knew that couldn't be. Severn had been to lots of tournaments—hadn't he?

  "Did you win the others?" she'd asked.