Warrior's Song (Medieval Song 1)

He said, looking at her now, “There is much you do not know, Chandra, much your father has not told you. Speak to the dwarf, Crecy. He will tell you that I have sought an honorable marriage alliance with Lord Richard for two years. I was at first refused, your father’s reason being that you were too young for a husband, which I accepted even though you were sixteen and surely old enough. Since that time he has sent Crecy to me with empty promises to keep me at bay. I grew tired of waiting, tired of all the lies, and now I have come to take what is mine. Your father will not come after you, Chandra, for I will wed you this evening in the Great Hall of Croyland, by your priest, with all honor that is due you. And this night, you will share your bedchamber with me and your virgin’s bed will become our marriage bed.”

Of all he had said, she heard only that her father had kept him away from her. She felt warmth in her heart. He wanted her to remain here with him. She smiled as she said, “From what you say, it is obvious that my father didn’t want an alliance with you. It is as I told you. He wants me here at his side. He would never sell me to another man.”

He drank deeply from his goblet, his eyes never leaving her face. He said s

lowly, “You speak of your father as if he were your lover.”

Graelam saw the shock on her face, her sudden pallor. “Does that notion distress you? It should. You are a woman, meant to serve a husband honorably and bear his children. You are not meant to remain with your father, despite any feelings you may have for him and he for you. Now, enough.”

When he had drunk his fill of the Croyland ale, he led her through the great hall, eerily silent now, for the servants had hidden themselves. She heard his men, some of them yelling, some giving orders, one of them even singing. Crecy, the dwarf, stood in the open door.

“Well, Crecy,” Graelam said. “I have come for what is mine.”

The dwarf bowed low. “It would appear so, my lord. It is a pity that you would not wait. Lord Richard will not be pleased.”

“He should not have played me false. Now he will lose his precious daughter anyway. Tell her that I have dealt honorably with her damned father.”

Crecy said, “What he says is true, mistress.”

“It matters not. I will not wed him, Crecy. My father was right not to want an alliance with him. He has shown what he is—a thief who must needs steal what he wants.”

Graelam didn’t say anything to that, just continued to Crecy, “Tell me where the boy and Lady Dorothy are hidden.”

She yelled at him, “Even if you find them, I will not wed you.”

He turned to smile at her then. “Of course you will. If you do not, then I will take both you and the boy back to Cornwall with me. Do you think that your father would want you returned more than his son, his only heir? Surely he must prize his son more than you.”

The pain sliced deep. It always did because she knew he was right. “You will not find him, so it won’t matter,” she said.

“I cannot tell you, my lord,” Crecy said, and he drew himself up to his full four and a half feet. “I cannot, or Lord Richard will kill me. If you kill me for not telling you, why then, I have only lost perhaps three days of life.”

Graelam dismissed him, then said to Chandra, “I wish to see the rest of the keep.” He said to the two men with him, “Keep an eye out.”

“There are no soldiers hidden about to come out and slit your throat. More’s the pity.”

“Come.”

But where he wanted to go was her bedchamber. They went up the winding stone staircase. He knew where she slept, she realized, watching him stride toward the door at the landing of the second level. He opened the door and walked in, motioning his two men to bring her. The shutters were drawn over the narrow windows. The room was dim and chill.

Mary stood in the center of the room, a pale hand pressed against her breast. Chandra heard one of the men draw in his breath behind her.

“One of your servants, Chandra?”

“No, she is one of my ladies. Mary is the daughter of Sir Stephen of Yarmouth, a vassal to my father. She has lived with me since we were children. She is too young to understand what is going on here. Have your men leave her be.”

“How old are you, Mary?” Graelam said to her.

“I am seventeen, my lord.”

He smiled at Chandra. “Not a child at all.” He walked to Mary. He took her chin in the palm of his hand and forced her face up. “Tell me where the boy is hidden, Mary.”

She stared up at the man, dark as a moonless night, his voice deep and calm as the waters in the Edze River she had fished in just the previous day. She shook her head. She wasn’t a fool. She understood exactly what he would do if she did not tell him. He would kill her. But she wasn’t a coward and she said, “I cannot tell you, my lord.”

Graelam said over his shoulder, “Hold Lady Chandra.”

Her arms were grabbed and pulled behind her.

“You really must tell me, Mary,” Graelam said.