The Unveiling - Tamara Leigh (rooftoppers TXT) 📗

something kept him from bellowing a halt to it. Annyn’s smile? The glee that lit her face following her roll? Beatrix and Gaenor who hovered near, countenances illuminated as he had never seen them? The air of revel over the hall that was usually grave? Whatever it was, it appealed to something he did not dare try to understand.

Annyn sat back on her heels. “Do you think you can do better, Squire Charles?”

The young man puffed himself up. “A man can always do better.”

Her smile showed beautiful teeth, turning her more comely than Garr had thought her. “Then you say Sir Abel is not a man?” she baited.

Meaning Everard was not the only one to whom Abel lost. Amid Charles’s sputtering, Garr searched out his younger brother. He stood near Isobel, arms crossed over his chest and brow furrowed.

“Of course not,” Charles finally managed, having lost much of his puff. “What I meant was—”

“Roll the dice, Squire Charles,” Abel snapped.

“Aye, my lord.”

The dice did not fall well for the young man, as evidenced by a murmur and titter. He stood. “You win, my lady. I shall no longer scowl at you.”

That was their wager? And what if Annyn had lost the roll?

“I am much obliged, Squire Charles. Who is next? Sir Merrick?”

The levity rarely seen on the knight’s face departed. “I am content to watch, my lady.”

Annyn rose. “But a simple wager, Sir Merrick. If you win the roll, I vow to no longer bother you with silly questions. But if I win, you shall indulge me with an answer to that which I put to you this eve.”

What had she put to him?

The muscle in Merrick’s jaw quickening, he said, “I do not wager women.”

She turned to those gathered around. “Mayhap one of these men will play my wager for me.”

“Still I will not accept.”

She put her hands on her hips and swung back around. In doing so, her gaze swept over Garr and, an instant later, returned to him. Eyes large and round, her expression caused the others to follow where she looked and vent muffled groans.

Garr stepped from the stairs. “’Tis you who are responsible for this abomination in my hall, Lady Annyn?”

She clasped her hands at her waist. “No other, my lord.”

He strode through the space made for him. “Were you not told gaming is forbidden at Stern?”

She moistened her lips. “I assure you, not a coin has passed hands this eve. It has all been in fun.”

As he stared at her, he felt a stirring that mocked the long hour spent on his knees in the chapel. If he lost his soul, it would surely be over this woman.

He considered the three dice that had rolled a one, a four, and a five, and found himself wondering what Annyn would wager him. Though he fought the urge, he scooped the dice to hand and turned them.

“A wager, my lord?” Annyn asked, pulling a murmur from the others.

In her eyes, Garr saw her expectation that he would refuse. “I accept.”

“Oh. Very well. What shall it be?”

He looked to her lips and immediately tossed out the unseemly. Distance was what he required of Annyn Bretanne, not a meshing of mouths. “If I win, you are to conduct no more gambling in my hall.”

Was that Gaenor who grumbled at his back?

Annyn’s lips tightened. “I accept.”

“Your wager, Lady Annyn?”

“If I win, you shall take the guard from my person that I may move freely about the castle.”

He nearly smiled. There was nothing to lose, for he had decided just that before leaving the chapel. “I accept. One roll each, the highest being the winner.”

She held out a hand. “A lady always rolls first.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Whence comes such rules for a game expressly forbidden women?”

She beckoned for the dice. “My game, my rules, Lord Wulfrith.”

“Indeed.” He dropped the dice into her palm.

She knelt and shook the dice. The resulting spill landed a six, a five, and a three.

“Fourteen,” Beatrix called.

Garr bent, swept up the dice, and cast the ivory cubes. They settled to a four and two fives.

“Also fourteen,” Gaenor called.

“Lo!” Abel piped. “You and the lady are well matched, Brother.”

Garr knew what he implied. Happenstance only, he told himself and scooped the dice from the floor.

Annyn averted her gaze when he passed them to her, but this time she blew on them. A one, two, and five tumbled face up.

“Eight,” Beatrix called ahead of her sister.

From Annyn’s turned mouth, Garr knew she thought she was about to be bested. He claimed the dice, then did something even he did not expect. He reached his closed hand to her. “I hear tale they roll best when blown upon.”

It seemed all held their breath, Annyn Bretanne notwithstanding. With raised eyebrows, she cupped his hand between hers and drew it to her lips.

It was a mistake. The feel of her mouth and the warm breath she pushed between his thumb and forefinger thrilled him. What a spell she spun!

She released his hand and sat back.

Acutely aware he was watched, Garr threw again. It hardly seemed possible, but up came two twos and a three.

“Seven!” Gaenor called.

Amid the chatter and mirth, Annyn’s smile nearly melted him. “’Twould seem, Lord Wulfrith, the blow works only on one’s own dice.”

Garr glanced at Abel who shrugged. “I did not say perfectly matched,” the youngest brother derided.

Garr stood and reached a hand to Annyn. “You may move freely about the castle, my lady.”

“And play dice.”

“So long as coin does not pass hands.” He pulled her to standing and released her.

Her exaggerated frown cleared away the last of the smile he would like to know better. “I do not recall that limitation being set at the time of wagering.”

“It goes unspoken, Lady Annyn.”

“Then I must abide.”

Garr looked to the others. “The night is old. Find your beds.”

Though clearly disappointed, they began to disperse.

When Garr looked back at Annyn, he saw she had started for the stairs. And following her was Samuel. However, before Garr could call the young man back, Annyn turned around.

“Did I not win the wager, Squire Samuel?”

He peered over his shoulder. Garr’s nod caused relief to sweep the young man’s face.

Knowing Annyn might now escape, Garr started forward but halted when a hand touched his sleeve.

Lady Isobel’s chin was high and haughty, but her eyes sparkled. “Methinks you did not wager what you truly wanted from the lady.”

Irritation flushed Garr. “I am surprised you allowed dicing in our home, Mother.”

“As am I.” She skirted him.

Garr stared after her until she disappeared around the bend in the stairway.

“My lord?”

It was Sir Merrick whom he had denied an audience these past days. Though the night was late, he could no longer deny him. “Sir Merrick?”

“After consideration of what happened in the wood, I have determined it is best that I leave your service.”

Garr was not surprised. “Aye, methinks ’tis best, though I would ask that you remain until our return to Wulfen.”

The knight’s expression told he preferred sooner than later, but he nodded. “If that is what you wish, my lord. Good eve.”

“Sir Merrick, what answer does Lady Annyn require of you?”

He looked away, denying Garr the reading of his eyes. “She believes I know something of her brother’s death and would have me speak of it, my lord.” He raised his palms up. “But what more is there to tell?”

Garr stared at him, and when he could not summon the man’s gaze back to him, said, “Good eve, Sir Merrick.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Come see, Lady Annyn!”

Grateful for something to distract her from her task, Annyn looked up from the loom before which Lady Isobel had settled her an hour earlier.

Beatrix stood inside the great doors, grinning as she motioned for Annyn to follow.

“What is it?” Lady Isobel asked where she sat at the high table posting to Stern’s journals.

“The merchants, Mother! They have come.”

“Ah. They are early this month.”

“Blessedly so.” Beatrix looked back at Annyn. “You are coming?”

She longed to, but last eve she had lost a wager to Lady Isobel. And for it, she must complete a hand’s width of tapestry that was to be part of Gaenor’s dowry when she wed. If Annyn had known a sennight past that her wheedling of Garr would come to this, she would have lost to him. “I have hardly begun my work.”

The girl’s bottom lip pushed to a pout. “But you must see this. Why, even Gaenor agreed you ought to come.”

She had? Though Beatrix had warmed considerably since the night Annyn had taught them dice, Gaenor was slower to accept the woman who had worked ill on her brother. Of course, the older sister’s wager over the needlework had ended the same as Annyn’s wager with Lady Isobel.

“Go, Lady Annyn,” Garr’s mother surprised her, “the tapestry can wait.”

Had she wings, Annyn could not have sooner flown from the chair. “I thank you, my lady.”

The woman waved a dismissing hand, dipped her quill in the ink pot, and returned to the journals.

Outside, the day was blue, not a cloud to blot the sky. Annyn drew a breath of the sweet air as she kept pace with Beatrix through the inner bailey, faltering only when her gaze found the tower in which Rowan resided. Though she had not asked, the physician said he had recovered—in time for Duke Henry’s arrival a sennight hence.

Entering the outer bailey, Beatrix’s excited chatter muted by the forging of arms in the smithy, Annyn clenched her teeth. A sennight. Seven days. How many hours?

She shook her head. She did not wish to think on it, having determined she would enjoy as best she could what was left before she was given to Lavonne. And she would be given to him, for it could mean the ruin of the Wulfriths if Garr remained at Stephen’s side.

Still, the thought of being forced to wed Lavonne was nearly enough to tempt her to flee, especially as she was no longer watched by the squires. However, she would not have Garr and his family pay the price of her freedom. She had done them enough ill. Her only hope was that when Henry came she could convince him that she had given Rowan no choice but to accompany her. If she succeeded, her conscience would be clear of him as much as was possible. He, alone, must deal with what he had done to her mother.

“Look!” Beatrix exclaimed. “Did I not tell you?”

Past the raised portcullis of the outer bailey, beyond the drawbridge, wagons and brightly colored tents dotted the land before Stern. And though all the stalls were not yet fully erect, the merchants did a brisk business with the castle folk and villagers.

The sight was not new to Annyn, but it had never thrilled her as it did now. For once, she itched to see and touch and taste the wares, probably due to having spent so much time indoors. She was restless, and more so these two days since Garr had begun retraining his arm.

Though she had been tempted to venture to Stern’s outer walls to watch his training in the field beyond, she had known she would not be welcome. Too, it was better to keep distance between them so this yearning of hers would not pain