Chapter 14
M ary walked into her father’s solar just before noon. He didn’t look particularly displeased, but his expression wasn’t welcoming, either. At least he had given up on his fury. She imagined if she were to make note of the days, she would have said that his anger had lessened for every day that Zachary had been gone. Now, he simply looked impossibly grim, as if he were just as unhappy with the entire situation as she was. Not that there was any situation to be unhappy about. Now that he had forced her hand by having the banns read, there was nothing to be done save wait for her future’s relentless approach. He had given his word and if there was anything that could be said about her father, it was that he never went back on his word.
“You could have knocked,” he pointed out.
“I could have, my lord,” she said shortly, “but I chose not to. I have been locked in my chamber or sequestered in my mother’s solar for almost a se’nnight and I refuse to bear it any longer. If I must listen to Suzanna of Styrr instruct me in the proper way to hold my work or how ladies of fashion sew their seams, I will fetch a fire iron and clout her over the head with it. I am only here to inform you that I am taking my horse for a ride. Outside the gates. If you don’t care for my plan, you may put me in the dungeon.”
He only pursed his lips and said nothing.
It was singularly unsatisfying. She wanted nothing more than to have him shout at her—which he had never done, but she had often imagined how shocking it might be—so she might shout back.
She shot him a glare instead, then turned on her heel and left his solar, slamming the door shut behind her. She walked swiftly through the great hall only to hear cousins scrambling to catch up with her. She ignored them and bolted for the stables.
She’d already saddled Rex before she’d gone to see her father, so she was several minutes ahead of her cousins in any sort of equine preparation. She swung up onto Rex’s back whilst they were still tripping over each other to simply get themselves inside the stables, then sent him trotting right on into the press.
Lads dove out of her way.
Rex’s trot was an enormous thing, but his canter was even more impressive. His gallop was, in a word, breathtaking. She didn’t allow him anything but a trot until they were free of the castle and over the dunes that lay between her and the sea, but once she reached the strand, she gave him his head, and he flew.
But not fast enough to outrun her thoughts.
She didn’t spare any for Styrr. She would face him when she had to and either survive or not. For now, whether it was wise or not, she intended to spend her thoughts on another man.
She remembered the day she’d first seen Zachary and what she’d been doing. She had been flying atop Rex, outrunning her ordinary life in an ordinary keep. She hadn’t known that Styrr would come with whip in hand and determination to break her in his mouth. She hadn’t known that she would meet a man who was in his own way as quietly dangerous and intimidating as her father was, a man who thought nothing of plying chivalry on her, or putting off his own affairs long enough to attempt to help her with hers.
How much a fortnight could change things.
Mary closed her eyes at one point because the wind in them made them tear. She wasn’t weeping, of course. The wind was simply bitter and Rex’s speed drove it against her face with force enough that she needed to avoid it. She didn’t even dare move enough to drag her sleeve across her face. It was work enough to simply keep herself balanced in her stirrups and allow Rex to run his heart out.
She rode for a very long time.
The sun was falling quickly toward the west when she had to concede that it wasn’t only the wind to make her eyes tear. Nay, ’twas a bit of sand, or perhaps something carried in from the sea. She certainly wasn’t weeping over a man who couldn’t decide if he were staying or leaving.
She sat atop her horse and looked out at the ocean. It took a moment for her eyes to clear enough for her to actually see it. That was well, for it gave her a moment or two to gather her thoughts into something more rational than they had been.
She had no use, she decided firmly, for a man who couldn’t dance, or make a proper sword, or stop himself from pulling her behind him every time he thought there might be danger coming her way. And she most certainly didn’t need to be the beneficiary of any romantic notions of chivalry demonstrated by a man who slipped her horses treats when he wasn’t supposed to and had left bruises on her hand where he’d held it almost a se’nnight ago as he’d been scampering out of her father’s stables.
She looked at the ocean once more, then turned away from it. Styrr’s keep was on a barren, unpleasant bit of soil that held no delights whatsoever. It wasn’t in the midst of lovely rolling hills like Wyckham, and it certainly wasn’t on the edge of the sea like Artane or Raventhorpe. She would travel there after her wedding and likely never see anything again but bleak moors.
’Twas a certainty she would never again see her cousins, who had spent the better part of the past three hours simply huddled in a group a quarter league down the strand from her, well away from anything unpleasant she might have shouted at them.
She pursed her lips. As if she would have done something so unladylike. And why would she shout? She was on the verge of becoming a bride.
She turned Rex and sent him walking back toward her cousins. She reined him in only to have Jackson look at her sternly.
“You shouldn’t have been out here alone,” he growled.
“I wasn’t alone. You were here.”
He blew out his breath. “You should have allowed us to ride with you,” he said, his tone slightly less fierce. “Though I can’t say I blame you.”
She nodded, though she couldn’t look at them. It reminded her sharply of what she was going to be leaving behind. She turned Rex back toward the keep. Connor rode on one side of her, Jackson on the other, and the rest of the lads followed along behind.
She wished she could have ridden forever, to a place where death didn’t lurk in the shadows.
She put her shoulders back and tried to shake off the premonition, but she couldn’t. She’d heard about Zachary, Connor, and Parsival’s journey north and what they hadn’t found, but that didn’t convince her she was imagining things. And that didn’t mean that those imaginings wouldn’t catch her up when it was too late for her to do anything about them.
She walked Rex up the way from the gates to the stables, then continued to walk him in a circle as her cousins tended their mounts. She found, much as she might have wanted it otherwise, that she simply couldn’t stop moving. If she did, those dark, terrible things would lay their hands on her and never let her go.
She wondered, absently, if she was going to lose all her wits before her doom found her.
“Mary?”
She realized Thaddeus had come to stand in the middle of her circle. She couldn’t answer him. She could only stare at him, mute.
“Maryanne, shall we stay?” he asked, his expression very grave.
She could only shake her head.
“Your horse is weary,” he said quietly. “Put him away, love, and come inside the hall. We’ll wait.”
“Nay,” she croaked. She cleared her throat. “I’ll be well, Thad, though I thank you for the consideration.”
He smiled, pained. “As you will. But make haste. We’ll come look for you else.”
She nodded, then continued to walk Rex in a circle until the last of her cousins had honored her wishes and gone inside the great hall. Her father didn’t come out to look for her. Her mother was likely keeping Suzanna of Styrr from causing an uprising in the kitchen with her complaints. There was no one in the courtyard but her and her horse. It was tempting to get back on him and ride until he couldn’t run any longer.
Only there was nowhere for them to run to.
She sighed, then led Rex into his stall and put his tack away. She brushed him far longer than she needed to simply because it gave her something to do with her hands. She stood with him for as long as it took him to finish his grain, then resigned herself to the necessity of supper. She pulled the stall door shut behind her, then turned to leave the stables.
She ran bodily into Geoffrey of Styrr.
He said nothing. He simply looked at her with eyes that were so full of evil that she did something she never did.
She took a step backward.
A shadow loomed up behind Styrr. She would have screamed, but she realized there was no need.
“My lord,” Zachary said coldly, “I think you’re missing supper inside.”
Styrr spun around to face him. “You, here again.”
“To keep the lady Mary safe, as it happens.”
Mary heard a sound escape her. She wasn’t sure if it was a half sob she hadn’t been able to contain or if it had been a hastily stifled sound of relief. She clapped her hand over her mouth and backed up again as Zachary walked around Styrr to put himself in front of her. He turned to face Styrr.
“Anything you care to say to her, you can say to me.”
“I wouldn’t spare the breath.”
“Then perhaps you should retreat inside and warm yourself comfortably by the fire,” Zachary suggested. “Before something untoward happens to you.”
“Is that a threat?” Styrr asked with an ugly laugh. “How dare you.”
Zachary said nothing, but his hands down by his side clenched briefly. If Styrr noticed, he said nothing of it. He only sniffed disdainfully.
“Toy with her now, if you can stomach it, smith, but I will have her in the end.”
He shot Mary a look of promise, then turned and strode away. Mary watched over Zachary’s shoulder until he was gone.
Zachary turned and took her by the shoulders. “Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head, but she could say nothing. And then she didn’t care to say anything. Zachary gathered her against his chest and wrapped her in an embrace that left her breathless—and not simply because he was holding her tightly. She wasn’t sure why he’d come back. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know why he’d come back. She was simply relieved he had.
“My betrothed has no manners,” she managed finally.
“He isn’t.”
She lifted her head and looked at him. “What?”
“He isn’t.”
“Don’t you mean he hasn’t? As in any manners?”
“No, I don’t mean that at all,” he said, his expression perfectly serious. “I mean he isn’t your betrothed.”
“But I’m going to wed him.”
“When hell freezes over,” he said. He pulled away and took her hand. “Let’s go.”
“What do you mean?” she asked as she trotted to keep up with him. “Zachary, wait!”
“I’m sorry,” he said shortly, “I forgot to ask you if you were interested in wedding him.”
“Of course I’m not—”
“Then let’s go.”
“Where?”
“To talk to your father.”
“That is kind of you,” she said weakly. She had no idea what had changed his mind, where he had been for the past week, or why the hell he had chosen now to return and rescue her. She supposed it was enough to know he was willing to try again.
He swore. Quite inventively, truth be told. She supposed it might be best to simply not offer any more opinions on his chivalry at the moment.
He didn’t seem particularly inclined to discuss it, either. He merely strode across the courtyard, pulling her along after him.
Or at least he did for a bit. He stopped and stepped in front of her so quickly that she ran into his back. She peeked around his shoulder to see Jackson standing there in front of the steps, his arms folded over his chest, as if he’d been a bloody gatekeeper determined to see that no one but those who pleased him passed by.
“Move,” Zachary said shortly.
Theo and Samuel immediately appeared to her right, their eyes alight with something akin to pleasure. Connor, Thaddeus, and Parsival came loping down the stairs, as if they’d been waiting for just such a confrontation.
Jackson’s expression was stony. “Release my cousin.”
“Get out of my way,” Zachary growled.
Jackson drew his sword. Mary found herself pushed into Parsival’s arms and pulled out of the way. She started to speak, but Parsival tightened his arms around her so quickly that she squeaked instead. She jerked away from him with a curse. By the saints, when would these louts ever treat her as a lady instead of just another of them?
Likely when she started wearing skirts.
She was certain Zachary would die, then she felt her mouth fall open as she watched him kick Jackson’s sword out of his hand and send it flying up into the air. Zachary leapt up and caught it before Jackson could, then flung it away. In the next heartbeat, he had Jackson flat on the ground with Jackson’s arm wrenched behind him, his knee in Jackson’s back, and his free hand pressing Jackson’s face into the dirt.
And then he told Jackson just what he could do with himself in very vile terms.
“Ohhh,” Samuel said, his eyes wide.
Theo purred in satisfaction.
Parsival leaned close to her. “Ah, but he has made no friend there, n’est-ce pas?”
“Shut up,” she whispered miserably.
Jackson had several things quite a bit more violent than that to say.
Zachary let him curse for quite some time before the fight seemed to go out of him. Zachary finally released him and leapt well out of Jackson’s way. Mary thought it was best to do something besides stand to the side of the battle and wring her hands. She jumped in front of Zachary just as Jackson lashed out, narrowly avoiding being hit as a result.
Zachary, predictably, pulled her behind him.
“If you want more of me, then you can have it,” Zachary said shortly. “After I’ve talked to your uncle. I don’t want to make it so you can’t get up again, but I will if you don’t back off”
Mary wasn’t quite sure what back off meant, but Jackson seemed to come to terms with the meaning, if not the actual words.
“When you leave my uncle’s solar, you’d best pray you have someone very skilled to guard you,” Jackson said, his chest heaving. He dragged his sleeve across his mouth. “You unchivalrous whoreson.”
Mary watched Zachary shrug, as if he’d heard worse. He reached for her hand and pulled her toward the steps. She looked over her shoulder in time to watch Thaddeus grin as he said something to his elder brother, who then dashed after him with murder in his eye. Connor and Parsival only smiled at each other, then trotted up the stairs behind her.
Within moments, she found herself standing in front of her father’s solar. Zachary rapped smartly.
“I’m busy!”
Zachary cursed, then reached for the latch. Parsival caught his wrist.
“You shouldn’t,” he said mildly.
Zachary considered for a moment or two, then pulled his hand away and rapped again against the wood.
A moment or two later, Robin himself jerked the door open. His eyes widened only briefly. Mary tried to pull her hand from Zachary’s before her father might note that and school his features any more than he had already, but Zachary wouldn’t release her. She looked at her father helplessly.
He only stood back and allowed Zachary inside. Zachary pulled her along inside after him. Mary looked over her shoulder in time to watch her father shut the door in the faces of her cousins. No matter. They would stand there with their ears pressed against the wood anyway.
Styrr was sitting in a chair by the fire, nursing a mug of something and looking particularly comfortable. He couldn’t have been there more than a handful of moments, but he gave the impression of having been there for most of the evening already. He might not have looked so comfortable had he watched what Zachary had done to her cousin not a handful of minutes earlier.
Her sire walked over to his table and leaned against it. His hands were merely curled around the edge of it, not grasping it furiously or fumbling for a blade, so perhaps that boded well.
“Well?” Robin asked. “What could possibly be so important that you need to interrupt my parley with my daughter’s future husband? And, if I might ask, why the hell are you holding my daughter’s hand?”
“I’m protesting the marriage.”
Mary felt her heart stop. It took her a moment or two before she managed to take any breath at all. She looked at her sire, but he was only watching Zachary with mild curiosity.
“Are you indeed?” he asked.
“I am indeed.”
“On what grounds?” Robin asked, lifting an eyebrow in challenge. “Consanguinity?”
“Incompatibility.”
Styrr guffawed. Mary looked at him and thought his laughter might have sounded a bit forced. He looked at Robin lazily.
“Throw him out, my lord, and let us return to our pleasant conversings. Listening to this peasant chatter on is going to ruin my appetite.”
Mary watched her father glance at Styrr, then turn back to Zachary.
“Incompatibility is not a reason to pass up a perfectly suitable marriage partner,” he said slowly. “Have you any other reasons to put forth, or shall I do as Styrr suggests and throw you out?”
Mary looked up at Zachary. She had absolutely no idea what he intended next. He’d already tried to convince her father of Styrr’s perfidy, but would he try again with the man sitting right there? Surely he hadn’t been loitering near Styrr’s hall to look for things to use against the man. She had assumed he had started for home.
Apparently she’d been mistaken.
Zachary gave no sign of what he was thinking. He simply returned her father’s look evenly, as if he wanted to make certain Robin knew he was serious.
“Well?” her sire prodded. “You don’t want Mary to wed with this man here. Your reason?”
Mary looked up at Zachary and watched his mouth move. It took her a moment to realize what he’d said.
And when she did, she thought she just might faint.