From This Moment On

  “He sent word that he will arrive within the se’nnight.”

  Colin could not shout at his brother. It would likely cost him any potential meals from the monks, and to be sure, it wasn’t the lad’s fault. Colin took a deep breath and looked about him for some kind of distraction.

  It arrived in the form of his younger sister, Agnes.

  Now, that one had at least inherited a bit of their mother’s fairness. And she fairly bubbled over with good humor, something Colin couldn’t understand in the least. He watched her come running across the courtyard, then submitted to her enthusiastic embrace.

  “Colin, you’re here!” she said, sounding as if his arrival had actually pleased her.

  Colin never knew what to say to her. His brother he could dismiss, his father he could ignore, but Agnes he could only be baffled by. He patted her head.

  “Aye,” he said, then lost all inspiration for further discourse.

  “And you brought your friends. How lovely!” Then Agnes’s eyes widened and her one fatal flaw manifested itself in its fullest glory. “Oh,” she said, her hand moving briefly to her heart before that hand stretched forth with one of her fingers pointing in a most purposeful manner, “who is that?”

  Colin followed her pointing finger and found that, aye, nothing had changed with her. Give his youngest sister an entire garrison to choose from and she would choose the least suitable man there.

  In this case, Sir Etienne of Maignelay-sur-mer.

  Colin had the fleeting satisfaction of seeing horror sweep across the man’s face as Agnes started toward him, her eyes fixed upon his hapless self, her finger still indicating whom she had chosen to pursue during this fortnight.

  His prospects for amusement having brightened considerably, Colin cast about him yet again for some kind of servant bearing sustenance. He’d not thought but to open his mouth to demand the like from Peter when who should come striding down from the hall as if she owned the bloody place but his next youngest sister, Ermengarde.

  Damn.

  The only good thing Colin could find about seeing the whole cluster of his siblings in one place was that at least Magdalina, curse her rotten soul, was safely dead and buried and could not come and torment him as well.

  “You’re late.”

  Colin scowled. “And well met to you too, sister.”

  Ermengarde came to a halt directly in front of him, put her hands on her hips, and gave him the kind of look he was wont to give errant guardsmen. More was the pity that she didn’t have to tilt her head back all that far to meet his eye. The wench was only a few fingers shorter than he, and he considered himself quite enormous. ’Twas little wonder Ermengarde had found no man brave enough to have wed her. Even Colin, who considered himself the bravest of men, was often tempted to cower before her.

  Not that he ever gave in to that temptation, of course.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded. “Father sent for you almost a fortnight ago.”

  “I had business to see to.”

  “What business?” she asked, sounding as if even defending the gates of Heaven could not qualify as a proper excuse. “Decimating Blackmour’s garrison? Terrorizing the countryside? Wenching yourself into senselessness?”

  “All noble pursuits,” he returned sternly.

  “Not,” she said, poking him in the chest, “when you had business here. Important business. Business particular to the carrying on of the illustrious line of Berkham!”

  “If that was so important, where is that damned sire of yours?” Colin asked hotly.

  “Likely following you to make certain you did as you were told!”

  “I am not,” Colin growled, “his trained cur to come to heel when he calls.”

  “Nay, you’re of less worth than that,” Ermengarde snapped, “for you cannot follow the simplest instruction, nor see to the least taxing of your responsibilities.” She used her fingers and began to tick off his failings. “Neglecting your estates. Shirking your duties. Befouling our illustrious name with your foolish antics.”

  He suppressed the urge to hoist her above his head and heave her into the nearest cesspit. He gritted his teeth instead. “I see to my duties when they need seeing to.”

  She snorted, then turned a critical eye on his company. “And who is this ragtag group of half-wits?”

  Colin waved his hand expansively. “My bride, her entourage, a lordling or two, and a clutch of healers.”

  Ermengarde pursed her lips, then swept him with an unfriendly glance. “Your hair is overlong.”

  Colin stuck his chin out and remained silent. Better that than say the first of all the uncomplimentary things that were fighting to get out of his mouth.

  “And can you not take a brush to those clothes now and then? I daresay I can divine your last years’ worth of meals from the front of your tunic.”

  His hands began to flex of their own accord. Perhaps Ermengarde was still a virgin due to more than her height. Her vile tongue was enough to keep any sensible man away.

  “Anything else?” he said tightly.

  “Aye,” she said, reaching out to poke him sharply in the belly. “You’ve gone to fat.”

  Colin threw up his hands with a curse. “That’s enough!” he exclaimed. He turned around to face the company behind him. “Settle yourselves. Agnes, see to Sir Etienne. No doubt he’ll enjoy your attentions. Jason, see to the healers and our gear.” He strode over to where Sybil still sat astride her horse, her hand buried in her veil.

  Fondling foodstuffs, no doubt.

  Colin reached up and removed her saddlebag from her horse. Her look of horror told him all he needed to know about its contents. Well, at least he would have a decent meal.

  “There will be food inside,” he said shortly. “Seek it out, Lady Sybil. My sister Ermengarde will make you quite comfortable and direct the monks to spare no effort for you. I’ve no doubt,” he added half under his breath, “that she’s fair to booting the abbot himself from his quarters and taking over his position.”

  “I heard that!” Ermengarde bellowed.

  Colin threw a glare her way, then stomped over and nodded curtly to Henri.

  “Come with me. Training is the only sensible activity for the rest of the day.”

  “B-b-but ... ,” Peter spluttered, “where ...”

  Why did the lads around him have such unmanly articulations? Colin turned a formidable glare on his brother.

  “They have a cloister, do they not?”

  “But,” Peter said, aghast, “you cannot!”

  “The garden then.”

  The blood drained from Peter’s face and he fell to his knees. “I beg you, brother, nay!”

  “Then I’ll find a bloody farmer’s bloody field and pay him for the privilege of frightening his bloody crops to failure!” Colin bellowed. “Henri! Come!”

  He had the satisfaction of seeing the lad immediately descend from his horse, his sword in hand. At least there was still someone in the company who was obeying him. Jason had dismounted as well, but he was laughing as he called out things to be done. Colin toyed with the idea of pausing and beating manners into that one, but decided that perhaps that was a pleasure better saved for after he’d had something to eat. For now, teaching Henri the rudiments of swordplay would have to suffice him.

  He looked at Henri as they walked out the gates.

  “My family,” he said grimly.

  Henri nodded in understanding. “I have one too.”

  “As bad as mine?”

  Henri squirmed and seemed to cast about for something polite to say. Colin sighed heavily and waved a dismissive hand Henri’s way.

  “Never mind, lad. I know. There are few like them.”

  “Aye, my lord. I’d have to agree.”

  Colin took stock of his situation, looked to his future, then decided on his course of action. The list of his immediate activities was very short and took very little time to make.

  Wed.

  Esca
pe.

  Satisfied he’d planned out the next few months of his life to his satisfaction, he turned his mind back to the pleasures of the sword and looking for an appropriate place to enjoy them.

  Chapter 16

  Ali stared up at the darkened ceiling above her and listened to the sounds of breathing. She wasn’t unaccustomed to that, having spent most of her life sleeping with many people surrounding her. But this was different. Firstly, she was sleeping in the guest hall of a monastery. Secondly, she was sleeping between Colin of Berkhamshire and Jason of Artane. As if she needed protection.

  Which, oddly enough, she did.

  Though Sir Etienne would have had to have been a fool to have assaulted her with these two as her guardsmen. He’d certainly left her in peace for the whole of that day. She hadn’t seen anything of him besides a lump under his blankets that night. Perhaps she was safe.

  For the moment, at least.

  She sighed and continued her study of the ceiling. The monastery was, she had to admit, a very peaceful place. A priory would be just as peaceful, wouldn’t it? Perhaps becoming a nun wasn’t such a poor idea after all. She’d actually been considering it for most of the day. She’d hazarded the odd glance at the monastery during her afternoon’s exercise with Colin in the farmer’s field. She’d supposed there must be a priory close by, perhaps close enough that she might be on her way there before anyone was the wiser.

  During dinner, she’d looked over a pair of monks, trying to judge their willingness and ability to provide her with an answer to that question. She’d espied Peter, Colin’s brother, but had immediately dismissed him as a choice. He likely would have run straight to his brother with the tale and she would have been finished from the start.

  The monk who had been in charge of seeing them fed hadn’t appeared all that helpful either. He had gazed at them critically, as if he begrudged them each scrap of food that went into their mouths, and the very space on the floor they planned to use for bedding down. When she’d taken courage in hand and asked him where the nearest nunnery might be found, he’d looked at her as if she’d sprouted horns and threatened to steal his soul that very minute.

  She supposed, upon further reflection, that a knight asking where the nearest convent was had to seem a bit like a fox asking directions to where the plumpest hens were kept.

  Perhaps finding some kind of sanctuary would be a bit more difficult than she had supposed.

  A body came inside the hall. Ali didn’t bother to look to see who it might be. There had been comings and goings all night long; trips to the garderobe, no doubt. She wished desperately she’d had the courage to do the same, but leaving the safety of the guest hall meant leaving Colin’s protection as well. The saints only knew how lightly Sir Etienne slept.

  The footsteps stopped.

  Ali looked down to find Sir Etienne standing at her feet.

  He made no sound, made no motion. He just stared, his face full of evil intent, his eyes glittering in the torchlight.

  Ali closed her eyes to avoid looking at him, but he stepped on her foot so hard that she gasped in surprise and pain. He kept crushing her foot beneath his, forcing her to look at him, until he seemed to be satisfied with her terror.

  Then he smiled coldly, and returned to his bed.

  Within moments, he was snoring loudly enough that none of them should have been able to sleep. Well, at least that way she knew where he was and what he was doing. The pain in her foot and the ache in her belly were enough to convince her that perhaps with Sir Etienne asleep, she could safely leave the hall and see to her needs.

  She rose as silently as she could and limped toward the door. It opened more readily than she’d dared hope and she slipped outside before anyone could stop her. She hastened across the courtyard toward the guests’ privy. She’d almost reached it when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  She whipped around, a scream in her throat, only to have Jason clap his hand over her mouth. He smiled briefly.

  “I thought you might want companionship.”

  “A keeper, more like,” she muttered.

  He shrugged with a smile. “Call me what you like. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. She nodded her thanks, then continued on her way and did what she needed to. When she opened the door, he was standing with his arms folded over his chest, staring up at the sky.

  He looked at her and smiled. “My turn.”

  He was even quicker. The blessings of being a man, no doubt. Then he took her hand and pulled her along toward the monks’ cloister.

  “We shouldn’t go there,” she protested.

  “Likely not,” he agreed.

  Ali dug her heels in, but he was easily as strong as he looked. She realized by the challenging glint in his eye that if she didn’t give in, he would find other ways to make her come with him. Being hoisted over his shoulder was guaranteed to bring forth someone to see what all the howling was about, so she cursed him and gave in as ungraciously as possible.

  He led her to the darkest part of the courtyard, then sat down on a bench there. He stared at her expectantly until she sat down next to him with a gusty sigh.

  “What does Sir Etienne want?” he asked bluntly.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, praying that he’d been too sleepy to notice what had just happened in the hall.

  “I have two eyes and an excellent nose. The man is tormenting you and I want to know why.”

  “He wants nothing from me.”

  “You are a tremendously bad liar. They beat nuns who lie, you know.”

  “They do not.”

  “They do. They beat you for all sorts of reasons, but I’m certain lying is the most common. I’d think about that before I trotted off to a convent.”

  “They’ll have two years’ worth of things to beat me for,” she said. “Another lie or two won’t make any difference.”

  “What does he want, Aliénore?”

  She bent her head and sighed deeply. “Nothing.”

  “Shall I ask him—”

  “Don’t!” she exclaimed, whipping her head up to look at him. “Don’t say a word to him, if you value my life.”

  He looked at her with frank speculation. “I think I’m beginning to see.”

  “I’m certain you see nothing.”

  He stared off into the darkness thoughtfully. He was silent for so long, Ali half wondered if he had forgotten they were speaking. Well, he was guessing and she was denying. That hardly qualified as a conversation.

  “You could solve this all,” he began slowly, “by just telling Colin who you are.”

  She gaped at him. “Of course I can’t! He would slay me on the spot.”

  “And I say he would aid you.”

  “Say what you like, but I will not tell him. He has little use for me as Henri the guardsman. He would have even less use for me as Aliénore the former bride. Nay, I must find my own way, by myself.”

  Jason was silent for a moment or two, then he reached for her hand. “I could wed you.”

  She looked at him, blinked a time or two, then laughed.

  “Well, I’m so pleased the thought amuses you,” he said dryly.

  She shook her head with a smile. “I appreciate the offer, but I daresay your road will lead you to another who can give you what I cannot.”

  “A hand with no blisters from swordplay?” he asked, but there was no sting in his tone, just gentle amusement.

  “Aye,” she said heavily. “A soft, girlish hand with blisters only from too much stitching. No calluses from swordplay. No murderous stepmother waiting to pounce. No evil knights lurking nearby with fiendish purposes on their minds.”

  “How exciting it all sounds,” he said.

  “No doubt it does, unless you are forced to live it.”

  He gave her hand a squeeze. “Then we must find you another life. We’ve hardly begun to list all the things you might do with yourself.” He rose and patted her o
n the back. “Let us return before we are found out here. The saints only know what kind of ire that would bring down upon us.”

  “As if being in Colin’s company isn’t enough for these monks already,” she grumbled. She walked with him for several paces, then a thought occurred to her. “Could your father use another guardsman?”

  Jason laughed softly. “No doubt he could, but I feel certain this life has more to offer you than a place in Artane’s garrison hall.”

  “I could be happy with much less than that. A small patch of ground and a bit of peace. That would suffice me.”

  “Then I wish you luck in the finding of it,” he said quietly. “Truly I do.”

  So did she.

  She walked with him back to the hall and slipped back inside behind him. She lay down on her straw pallet and closed her eyes to the accompaniment of Colin’s snorts. Jason ruffled her hair affectionately. It made her feel safe for the first time in years.

  Two years.

  Ah, that such peace could be hers for longer than a single night.

  She had scarce closed her eyes, when she realized what was missing. She sat up with a start and looked over to where Sir Etienne slept.

  Only he slept there no longer.

  Jason sat up next to her and followed the direction of her gaze.

  “By the saints,” she gasped, “by all the merciful saints of heaven ...”

  “He didn’t hear,” Jason whispered. “He couldn’t have. There was no one there but us.”

  “It was dark,” she said frantically. “How would we know who was there and who wasn’t?”

  Jason lay back down, pulling her down alongside him. He leaned over toward her.

  “Leave it,” he whispered in her ear. “The morn will bring what it will. I’ll stand by you against whatever the dawn brings.”

  And dawn would come, of that she was certain. It would arrive with its relentless brightness and throw her entire, sorry life into full relief. Not a secret would remain unrevealed, and she would likely find herself speared on the end of Colin’s sword come midday.

  Dawn did arrive and Ali met it open-eyed and exhausted. If she’d slept, which she doubted she had, it had only been for moments at a time. She had startled herself awake so many times, she half wondered why she hadn’t just risen and gone to pace. It would have been much less exhausting. She supposed, though, that she must have slept some, for she remembered quite vividly waking up several times and seeing Jason always awake watching the darkness. Mayhap he had slept often enough in the past that he needed no more sleep at present.