The Unveiling - Tamara Leigh (rooftoppers TXT) 📗

moment she was gifted with the certain knowledge of what he did not allow to pass his lips. He did love her. Garr Wulfrith, once her enemy, now her husband, loved her in spite of all.

For the moment putting the argument of Jonas aside, she laid a hand to his cheek. “I tell you true, Husband, I love thee. And though some may try, neither can any take you from me.”

To her surprise—and hope—he pressed a hand over hers where she cupped his cheek. “We stand together, Annyn,” he denied her the words she longed to hear. “Husband and wife.”

It was not enough, but for now it would do.

“’Tis done.” Lady Isobel stepped from the window. “Now come, Daughter, there is much to do ere you are presentable.”

Annyn winced at the sight of the sheet in the window. Now all would know. Of course, what had happened in the solar on the night past was certainly expected of those who were newly wed. But that knowledge helped little. Though the solar was cooled by rain-scented air, the heat of embarrassment kept the chill from her.

“Be of good speed,” Garr murmured as she turned to follow his mother and Josse from the solar.

Annyn hefted the coverlet higher to prevent it from dragging and stole a final glance behind. “And you, Husband.”

His brief smile sending a shiver up her spine, she left him to prepare for his meeting with Henry.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“That is not me.” Annyn stared at her transformation in the mirror that Josse held. “I do not know who that is.”

Lady Isobel clapped her hands. “It is Lady Annyn Wulfrith, my daughter, my son’s wife, the mother of my grandchildren.”

Grandchildren. Would there be any? Might there now be one growing inside her?

She touched her face. Though she had refused powder, Isobel had coaxed her to apply a bit of rouge to her cheeks and lips and a light shadowing to her eyelids. But it was more than that which held her transfixed, more than the voluminous white head veil with its jeweled circlet of gold wire, more than the wisps of dark hair pulled forward and made to look feminine against her pale skin.

It was the bliaut woven of purple and gold silk on which Isobel and Josse had worked far into the night so that Annyn might wear it to receive Henry—the cause of their weary faces, and over which Annyn had cried when they had presented it. With its delicate embroidery at neck, hem, and wrists, its sleeves that fell open past her knees, its low waist and long train, it was  more beautiful than any of her mother’s gowns that had sufficed at Castle Lillia. And it fit her every curve, showing she did, in fact, possess some.

She stepped back to see more of herself in the mirror and thought one might even call her pretty.

“Who could deny you anything, hmm?” Lady Isobel’s reflection joined Annyn’s.

Annyn met her gaze in the mirror. “Never have I owned a gown fashioned just for me.”

“I thought not.”

“Thank you. And you, Josse.”

“’Twas an honor, my lady.” Josse dipped, causing the mirror’s light to shudder around the chamber.

“Your husband awaits belowstairs,” Lady Isobel said.

Annyn patted her skirts and was strangely thrilled by the slip of silk beneath her palms—and shocked that she should find pleasure in something so womanly. Would Garr be pleased? Would he even recognize her? Pushing back her shoulders, she hitched up the train of her bliaut.

Isobel preceded her down the corridor, then the stairs, beyond which voices were raised.

Had Garr let Henry in? Annyn prayed not, wishing to be at her husband’s side when the duke descended.

A few steps up from the hall, Garr’s mother looked around. “Do not forget that you are now a Wulfrith.”

“I never shall.”

When Annyn stepped into the hall, she became the dearest object of attention. A murmur rippled through the gathered knights, squires, pages, and servants—though not from Henry, for he was not yet within, as witnessed by her husband who was alone on the dais except for Abel.

Garbed in a tunic of red girded by a silver belt hung with a sword and misericorde, silver hair brushed back off his forehead, Garr stared at her.

What did he think? Annyn gripped her hands at her waist as she crossed the hall with carefully measured steps as Uncle had taught her—a waste of steps when half as many would suffice, but to stride the hall would detract from the image that Lady Isobel and Josse had taken such pains to afford her.

Garr’s mouth curved, and he descended the dais. “My lady wife is most becoming.” He caught up her hands and pressed his lips to them.

For this, the ladies swooned, but not Annyn. Though her clothes might make it appear she had been bred such a lady, and she more and more felt one, she could not so easily put out the things of men that had given meaning to her life when there had been none. And even if she could, she would not. Garr Wulfrith had not seen his last swordplay with Annyn Bretanne now Annyn Wulfrith.

“You are ready?” he asked.

“I am.”

“Let Henry in, Abel.”

The youngest brother’s usually droll face now disturbingly grave, he nodded.

Garr led Annyn around the table, seated her to his right, and lowered to the lord’s seat. Lady Isobel and her daughters also took their seats at the high table.

The hall fell silent, save for unintelligible whispers. In that silence, Annyn found Rowan where he stood near an alcove, flanked by men-at-arms, face gaunt even from a distance. As this was her day of judgment, so it was his.

Had he eaten anything this morn? she wondered when their eyes met, and only then realized her own belly was empty. But she was not hungry. Not when Duke Henry was without—and soon within—Stern’s walls.

She considered Sir Merrick who leaned against the wall alongside the stairway. Several days back she had heard he would be leaving the service of the Wulfriths and wondered if it had anything to do with her questioning. Somehow, she must get him alone before he departed.

As she returned her regard to the table, she was struck by the absence of Henry’s messenger, Sir Drake. He was nowhere among the many, meaning he had gone out to meet Henry. Meaning Henry did not need to look upon her humiliation hung from the window to know Garr Wulfrith had taken a wife.

Shortly, the pound of hooves reverberated through the hall as Henry and his men came into the inner bailey.

Annyn looked to Garr whose gaze was fixed on the open doorway. Jaw set, he was once more the warrior.

The clink of metal, scrape and thump of boots, and grunts and curses preceded the entrance of Henry and his men. Sir Drake on one side, Abel on the other, the young Henry who did not look like one who would be king, came first. With his quick and loose stride, his careless garments speckled and streaked with mud nearly up to his waist, his cropped red hair and beard, he looked more like a commoner.

He knew of the marriage, his color so livid he appeared only a shade off the purple of her bliaut—as did Lavonne who came behind him.

Beneath the table, a hand briefly covered Annyn’s. “It is well,” Garr softly assured, continuing to hold his gaze to Henry.

Lesson four, was it not? Keep your eyes on your opponent.

He stood to receive the duke, and Annyn and the others stood with him.

“Duke Henry!” Garr called. “We are most pleased to receive you in our hall.”

The broad man stepped up to the dais. “Such a lie is better told by a woman, Baron Wulfrith,” he spat in his cracked, hoarse voice, then stabbed Annyn with his blue-grey gaze.

Eyes upon your opponent. She held to him and was glad she did, otherwise she would have missed the startle in his eyes. It seemed she was, indeed, transformed, and not even the mighty Henry could hide his surprise. But would it soften him?

He returned to Garr. “’Tis an enemy you wish to make of me, Baron Wulfrith?”

Though Garr stood before a man who might soon call all of England his own, he did not flinch. “An enemy I would not allow within my walls.”

Henry’s freckled nose flared. “Then why do you defy me by taking what does not belong to you?”

Whatever Garr’s emotions, he did not show them. Still, Annyn felt his ire and foreboding for this man who was many years younger than he. “My lord, as you know, the lady Annyn and I were wed yesterday. In all things, we are now man and wife. Hence, on the matter of to whom she belongs, I must differ. Lady Annyn Wulfrith belongs to me.”

Annyn was not offended by Garr’s claim on her, for on the night past, she had as thoroughly claimed him as her own. She glanced at the ring that shone silver on his left hand.

In Henry’s pause, Lavonne snarled, “She was promised to me!”

The future king swung his head around, and before he spoke a word, Annyn almost pitied Lavonne. “Get you back!” the duke roared.

As the baron retreated, Henry returned to Garr. “All know that your marriage is clandestine.” His tone was slightly milder, perhaps for having eased some of his wrath upon Lavonne. “You would risk excommunication for a woman who disguised herself as a man that she might set upon you?”

A muscle in Garr’s jaw spasmed, but when he spoke, his voice did not betray him. “Surely, Duke Henry, you did not come to Stern to speak of things that cannot be changed.”

Henry’s eyes bulged.

Garr laid his palms flat on the table and leaned forward. “Especially as there is something far dearer to your heart that can be changed, and all the sooner if you make me your ally.”

Henry stared, then, by degree, turned thoughtful.

As if everyone held their breath, the hall resounded with a silence so deep that the soft snore of a dog could be heard.

“Your earl is in agreement?” Henry asked.

Then Rowan might also be delivered of the duke’s wrath? Annyn prayed so.

Garr straightened. “He agrees he shall go whichever side the Wulfriths go.”

Was that how it was? Though it was known that the Wulfriths were highly regarded by their overlord who often bent his ear to their counsel, it was surprising that he allowed one of his barons to decide all of his lands for him. Was the man truly so weak?

“Feeble fool,” Henry muttered, then shouted, “Clear the hall! Baron Sevard and Baron Cheetham, you shall remain.”

The two older men stepped forward.

“As shall my brother, Sir Abel,” Garr said.

Henry shrugged. “As you will.”

“I yield the high seat, my lord.”

With the hall emptying around them, Henry skirted the table. At his approach, Annyn looked to Garr.

“Go,” he said softly, then softer still, “Say your farewell to Rowan. He leaves Stern this day.”

Before Henry remembered him? Were they alone, Annyn would have kissed her husband. “I thank you.” She turned, but Henry blocked her path.

Though a stout man, he was not tall. Indeed, he topped Annyn by little. Gaze hard, he said, “Pray your husband keeps bargains better than you, Annyn Bretanne.”

She dipped her head. “I am now Annyn Wulfrith, my lord.”

His upper lip curled.

Suppressing a smile, she stepped around him.

“Annyn Bretanne,