The Protector Read online

  The cliff edge was crumbling, falling away. She thought that she was going to be sick.

  “In order to hold the estate for the duke, we must see that you are safe. It is obvious that you must marry.”

  She was falling, falling. The room was gone, the chair, the very substance of herself. Far away she heard the King's voice continue. “We will find a suitable husband for you forthwith.”

  Space righted itself and her wits cleared. She raised her gaze on this English king.

  He didn't like clever women. Well, she no longer had anything to lose. “My lord, I claim my father's testamentary rights according to the Assize of Rachat.”

  Edward looked at her, startled.

  “In return for the freedom to execute the testament as written, the estate will pay the duke one year's income from the estate,” she continued. “The right was agreed upon by Duke Jean II and the Breton lords in 1276. My father's will clearly states that I am to enter the abbey if I so choose, and even sets aside a dowry for that purpose.”

  “She is right, cousin,” a young voice said. “I know the Assize of Rachat. It was so agreed.”

  “Get me this testament,” Edward said icily to the secretary.

  Anna calmly handed over the copy she carried. Edward read the whole thing.

  “You have misinterpreted your father's will,” he said. “Let me read the clause to you. ‘To my daughter Anna I give the properties at Rennes, to follow her to the Abbey of Saint Meen or to her husband as she so chooses.’ There is no assumption there that you will go to the abbey, and indeed a husband is mentioned.” He dropped the parchment. “I will find a suitable husband for you who will protect the estate for your duke. You will be betrothed while you are here.” His tone communicated dismissal. Harvé began rising.

  She would not be used in this way. She would at least salvage something and show this English king what Breton women were made of.

  “Excuse me, but those last words must mean something. If that clause does not give me the choice between the abbey or a husband, it must reserve to me the choice of the husband himself.”

  Edward's eyes fell on the document, still beneath his hand.

  The duke looked up from his paper falcon. “I think she is right.”

  The King glanced coldly at the child, but Anna could have kissed him.

  “Whom do you choose?” Edward asked, his eyes boring into her.

  “I will need a day or so to think about it. This is not what I expected.”

  “Listen to me. You will choose a man known to me as faithful to your duke's cause, and I must approve him as such. I will draw up a list of suitable nobles who have shown themselves worthy of your estate and send it to you. You will make your choice in one day, and be betrothed in the castle chapel this Saturday after mass. Your kinsman here will negotiate the marriage contract for you, and advise you on your duties in this matter.”

  He looked away, and Harvé took her arm. As she turned to go, young Duke Jean gave her a conspiratorial wink.

  Perhaps Brittany had a future after all. Her own, however, had just become a disaster.

  Morvan slept long into the day, the wine and the fury of the night before taking a toll worse than a battle could have. In mid-afternoon he finally dragged himself out of the merciful oblivion that obscured the memory of what had happened with Anna.

  He was disgusted with himself. He had never forced his attentions on a woman before and was dismayed that he had done so with her. She was driving him mad—that was all there was to it. He could not blame it on the wine, much as he would have liked to. Raw jealousy had provoked his darker reactions to her, and the desire to conquer had driven him. He ruefully admitted that he had enjoyed their little battle too much.

  He undoubtedly had insulted her beyond forgiveness. And so, when Salisbury mentioned that a message requesting his presence had come from Anna, he was surprised but not very hopeful.

  As he approached David's house he saw several men whom he knew lounging in the lane. They were all unmarried and dressed up like popinjays. Anna had made even a bigger impression at the feast than he'd thought. Suitors, undeterred by rumors of the abbey, were literally lined up to woo her.

  Christiana sat with two more men in the hall. She jumped up when she saw Morvan and pulled him aside.

  “Where have you been?” she asked, smacking him in the chest with exasperation.

  “Sleeping.”

  She studied his face. He studied hers. Nay, she didn't know about his behavior last night. He owed David a debt for that.

  “You haven't heard then. It would appear you are the only one who hasn't.” She rolled her eyes in the direction of the hall.

  “What has happened?”

  “Let Anna tell you. She is hiding in the solar.”

  Perplexed and curious, Morvan mounted the stairs.

  Anna sat on a stool staring into the fire, her hands folded on her lap, her back as straight as ever. She wore the brown gown with the lacing at the neck. She had her right hand placed over the left.

  He knelt on one knee and uncovered the hiding hand. An ugly bruise showed where his grip had crushed her. It was the least of what he had done, but he lifted the hand and kissed it.

  “Can you forgive me for this?”

  She was startled out of her daze, and looked down at her hand. “Oh, that,” she said absently. “It doesn't matter.”

  He saw a veil of worry on her face. Something was very wrong. He was reminded of the days after she had learned that Gurwant was coming.

  “I have been to see your King,” she said. “This morning. My kinsman Harvé was there. Your English king has decided that I must marry. He has drawn up a list from which I can choose.”

  He stood so that she wouldn't see his reaction. Tucking her away at Saint Meen was one thing. Watching her marry was another. His reaction to seeing her with Ian had taught him that much.

  “Do you want my advice on these men?” he asked, even though giving her such advice would be hell itself. “Let me see the list. I probably know most of them.”

  She looked up with an expression of determination stronger than he had ever seen before. She rose and walked to the desk. She returned with a sheet of paper in her hand, handed it to him, and retook her seat on the stool.

  The paper contained no names, just three numbers. He glanced at her in question.

  “That is the income from my family's estates. The first is the income reported to the duke and King. The higher figure is the true income. They do not know the real size of the stud farm. The third figure is the coin on hand at the castle. My father always believed that one could never have enough coin. But the plague was costly. Still, it is more than most estates hold.”

  Morvan looked again at the figures. The income was sizable, even the false one. The estate must be bigger than he thought. He had never ridden over its entirety. She was a very wealthy heiress. No wonder the men lined up.

  “Why do you show me this?”

  “Although one year's income must now go to the duke, there is enough there to support a small army very shortly. An army that could cross a sea and fight to reclaim a family's lost honor. It appears that I am in need of a husband. Are you willing to consider it?”

  “Are you saying that I am on the King's list?”

  “Nay, but I was not specifically limited to the list. Though it was your King's intention, I have witnesses who heard what he in fact said. He set conditions, but you appear to meet them.” She told him the gist of her conversation with the King. “Will you consider this? If not, Christiana tells me there are some men waiting to make my acquaintance.”

  Something inside him tried to break free and soar, but an instinctive wariness made him halt its flight. He brought a chair to the fire and settled into it, facing her. “Aye, my lady. I will consider it. Who will speak for you?”

  “I will speak for myself, and I will speak now. I have less than one day to resolve this—your King insists on a quick betrothal.
My kinsman Harvé is charged with negotiating this contract, but I will give him a completed bargain.”

  She was wounded and angry, and he couldn't blame her. After last night he could hardly expect her to throw herself into his arms. Still, her distant manner pricked his caution.

  “Well then, Anna, perhaps you should tell me your terms.”

  Anna lowered her gaze to her bruised hand. She looked at it while she began the litany of conditions she had rehearsed. “The written contract will be straightforward. All of the lands will be yours, except the property near Rennes that was to be my dowry to the abbey. I want that put in my name.”

  “As dower lands? In the event you are widowed?”

  “Chartered in my name, the income to be mine from the start.” She looked at him. “Like Lady Elizabeth.”

  She saw a flash in his eyes, but continued. “The inheritance of the estate will revert to my family if you die without an heir by me. It will go to Catherine and Josce or their children. It will go to Bretons. Of course, your own testament can dispose of any additional lands added to the estate or reclaimed by you any way that you wish, and La Roche de Roald will be yours while you live.”

  “An unusual provision, but not unheard of,” Morvan said. “Is there anything else? I have no objection to this.”

  Anna stroked her skirt. She was a little surprised to be giving her performance. A part of her had expected him to refuse outright. But marriages were practical arrangements. She was counting on his being very practical.

  “Those are the terms of the written contract, the terms that I will give Harvé. But I also want an unwritten agreement between us, bound by your honor, and the terms of that are more extensive.”

  He contemplated her in silence. She began to feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny and rose from the stool and paced as she spoke.

  “I want you to give Josce and Catherine some property. As it is they will have little. Her dowry lands, as you will see when you read my father's testament, are small.”

  “I would have done so anyway. I know that your marriage will be a disappointment to them.”

  “Carlos and Ascanio are to be allowed to stay. As long as they want.”

  “If they are loyal to me, why would I ask them to leave?”

  Because they belong to me, she thought. There was loyalty and then there was loyalty. “The serf girl Marguerite must never be married against her will.”

  “Don't you trust me to find a good man for her? I know what she has endured.”

  “She may not want to marry at all.”

  “As you do not?”

  “She suffered far worse than me, Morvan. I know that.”

  “And what of you, my lady? Do you negotiate nothing for yourself ?”

  “There is quite a lot I want for myself.”

  “Somehow I thought so. Unlike with Gurwant, you will bargain hard with me.”

  “Unlike Gurwant, I know that you are honorable and will keep your word. It is one of the reasons that we are talking at all.”

  “And what are the other reasons, Anna?”

  She had planned to lay down the terms and be done with this. She hadn't expected such a question. “There is affection and friendship between us. You are not a stranger. And my estate is more valuable to you since you are landless.”

  “And so you can press your advantage,” he said coolly. “Continue, then. Let us hear it.”

  His quiet voice did not hide his increasing rancor, and she knew it wasn't going to get any better. But she did have the advantage now, and she never would again. Ever.

  “The income from the lands I receive is to be mine, to use as I choose without interference.”

  “And how will you use it?”

  “That is to be my business alone.”

  He waited silently.

  “After three years, if I choose, you are to let me retire to Saint Meen.”

  “Nay.”

  “It is all or nothing, Morvan.”

  “No man will agree to these things. No other will give them to you.”

  “I may not be able to get this from another man, but if you do not agree La Roche de Roald will still not be yours. Should I finish?”

  He responded with a cold silence.

  “You will have no rights over me. I will not interfere with your authority, but I am too old to be told what to do every minute. Even without any rights you have been too overbearing, and I will not be commanded by you.”

  “You go too far, Anna—”

  “There is one more thing.”

  “What more could there be?”

  She realized she probably shouldn't have saved this point for last. Part of it would be easy to accept, but the consequences would infuriate him. She went over to the desk and stood behind it, to form a barrier. “La Roche de Roald will eventually revert to Catherine and her children. You will have no heirs by me.”

  Hot anger would have been preferable to the cold fury that strode through the room and faced her from across the desk.

  “Do you have reason to think that you are barren?”

  “Nay.”

  “Do you know some woman's tricks to stop pregnancy?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then I can assume that you are insisting on a chaste marriage.”

  “I do not expect you to be a monk. You can continue as you always have. You can even have children by your women, and they can inherit your lands near Scotland. A bishop can be found who will legitimize them. Regaining Harclow is the main reason for this marriage anyway. If you want to bring a woman into the castle I will not object. And your children can be raised there.” She spoke lightly, as if these things were of no consequence, when in fact they would be a form of hell.

  “You are most generous.”

  “I know that you would not need my permission. I am simply saying that I would not make life hard for them.”

  He moved around the desk. She fought the urge to retreat.

  “You would deny me in marriage what you once offered in sin?”

  “I would deny you under obligation what I once offered freely. You are making too much of this, Morvan. It is, as you say, a simple thing.”

  “You call refusing me children a simple thing? Is this about last night? Are you so angry that it is your goal to see me unmanned?”

  “This has nothing to do with last night. And it is my goal to see my father's lands remain Breton and not English.” She paused and added quietly, “And it is my goal to never see you unmanned.”

  But he had already walked away when she said that. “I will send you my answer in the morning, Anna. But if I were you, I would see if there is a bigger fool than me waiting downstairs.”

  CHAPTER 17

  MORVAN STORMED INTO the castle practice yard, borrowed weapons from the armory, and joined the knights practicing with swords and axes. He threw himself into the game with a black ferocity.

  When the day waned and his partners deserted him, he headed toward the poorer section of town where the common laborers dwelled, and found a rude tavern with strong ale.

  Settling into a dark corner, he was dismayed to find that all of the afternoon's exertions hadn't dimmed his outrage in the least.

  He forced himself to consider Anna's proposal. He understood all too well its value. Rich lands, at least during his lifetime, and the chance to fulfill his destiny were there for the taking. She was giving him the opportunity to change his life, to avenge his family, and to amount to more than a hired sword. She was offering a way out of obscurity.

  Yet, just as clearly he saw what she would not give. The income would permit her to leave at will and would provide a degree of independence unheard of for most women. The provision to retire to Saint Meen did the same, and meant the marriage would simply be a temporary delay in the future she had chosen for herself. And even while she lived with him, he would not be her husband in truth. Her terms denied him her dependence, her body, her spirit, and her submission. She was refusing to giv
e him herself.

  It was late at night when he finally stepped from the tavern into the deserted street. Thumps and scurries caught his attention as he walked through the dark. He was being followed. No doubt some other patrons at the tavern had noticed his garments and purse and decided he would be an easy job.

  Good. He was in the mood to break a few heads.

  Darting down a side street, he pressed against a wall and waited. The moon was out, and as his pursuers turned the corner he could see their forms before the dark shadows swallowed them. He tensed for the attack.

  “How many are there?”

  Morvan swerved with his fist halfway to its mark before he recognized the voice. “What are you doing here, David?”

  “Your sister made it clear that I either find you or I sleep alone. She has been worried since you left so ungraciously and suspects that you are looking for trouble. So how many are there?”

  “At least three. Perhaps four.”

  “I have my sword. Let's just brandish it a bit and be done with this,” David said.

  “Nay. They are unarmed, I'm sure. Have you gotten any good with it?” Sounds indicated that the footpads were approaching, and Morvan and David backed down the narrow lane.

  “I have kept up my lessons. I'm about as skilled as you were at sixteen.”

  “I am impressed.”

  “Conceited bastard. So we don't use our swords, and I presume it is ignoble to simply run.”

  “Highly ignoble. And no fun at all.”

  They had reached the end of the lane. The only way out was along a short dead-end alley. “You are in luck, brother. I am much better with my fists than a sword anyway. While you were tilting at the quintain as a lad, I was surviving in the alleys of London. This brings back old times.”

  “On your left, David.”

  “I see him. Just one question. If there are four of them, and we are in danger of being beaten to bloody deaths, are we then allowed to use our swords?”

  “Aye.”

  Shadows darted in and out of the moonlight.