were Lucifer’s daughter, rather than a gentle dame whose husband’s lust for danger put her and her son at risk.”
Haven felt grief and guilt surge sourly in his stomach. “Roger may have been careless, but he was not mean. He would not falsely accuse his wife.”
“Did he accuse her? You said he could not trust her. That does not sound like an accusation of treason to me.”
“You did not see him as he said the words. He was my best friend. He could mean nothing else.”
“As you say, sir, I was not there. But you might talk to Lady Genvieve and discover if she loved Dreyford.”
Haven bit his tongue on a sharp response. To discuss the more intimate aspects of Roger’s marriage with his widow seemed completely inappropriate, yet the idea pricked at him. Dark emotions stirred him. At their source stood the widow Dreyford. “I agree, Soames. I shall speak with her before we leave this place.”
Soames gave him a long look. “I pray you and Lady Genvieve will come to a better understanding.” Then he turned and left.
“So do I, Soames. So do I,” Haven whispered to the air as memory overtook him.
Roger had stood at the foot of the scaffold, his wrists bound behind his back. The executioner motioned him forward. Roger set his foot upon the stair, but looked back at his friend. “My son is barely five, Haven. He cannot protect himself and I cannot trust my wife. Swear to me that you will guard his life in my stead.”
Haven hesitated, feeling the pull of his friend’s request like a noose. “Roger, I cannot…”
Roger gave a dry laugh. “You would deny me your oath, when you are the one who brought me to my death?”
“Nay,” the word crawled from Haven’s throat “I did not bring you to this. For all that I love you as the brother I never had, you brought death upon yourself when you drew a blade upon the king.”
“The king is a curse upon England, with threats to tax the clergy and his defiance of the Pope.”
“That is folly, and you know it. The king seeks only the funds he needs to protect that same clergy who without that protection would fall prey to every thief and vandal.”
Roger spit on the ground. “That for the king. He matters not to me now. What matters is that e’re this, you and I were friends. Sworn to each other in battle, the only oath that cannot be broken.”
“I have never sworn to you, nor you to me.”
“You would deny it.” Roger’s widened eyes and jutting chin dared Haven to oppose him.
Haven’s eyes slid away. He could not look Roger in the eye and say him nay. “Not in words. I never swore to you in words.”
Roger sneered. “Pah. We needed no words. How many times have you and I saved each other’s lives? How many times did we speak of the marriage of our children? When your family died of sickness, did my father not take you in and give you a home? How can you not promise to care for my son as my father cared for you?”
Haven felt heat flush his face. To refuse an oath to a confessed traitor was not wrong. So why did he feel guilty? Why did Roger remain defiant? Haven set his jaw. He had always done what was right, not just what was easy. Why else would he bring his own friend to the hangman, if it were not the right thing to do? ’Twas surely not the easy thing to do. Before Roger had been a traitor, he had been Haven’s friend. And the right thing to do was to safeguard an innocent child’s life.
“Please, Haven. Swear to protect Thomas.”
The priest who stood behind them silently urged Roger up the stairs, and the space between the two friends grew.
Haven gave a curt nod. “Aye.” He reached out and grasped the cross that hung from the prelate’s neck. “I swear to protect your son and all his family.”
The priest’s movements up the stairway pulled the cross from Haven’s hand.
“Tell me one last thing, Roger.” Haven’s voice broke. His friend looked to him from atop the scaffold. The executioner gripped one of
Haven felt grief and guilt surge sourly in his stomach. “Roger may have been careless, but he was not mean. He would not falsely accuse his wife.”
“Did he accuse her? You said he could not trust her. That does not sound like an accusation of treason to me.”
“You did not see him as he said the words. He was my best friend. He could mean nothing else.”
“As you say, sir, I was not there. But you might talk to Lady Genvieve and discover if she loved Dreyford.”
Haven bit his tongue on a sharp response. To discuss the more intimate aspects of Roger’s marriage with his widow seemed completely inappropriate, yet the idea pricked at him. Dark emotions stirred him. At their source stood the widow Dreyford. “I agree, Soames. I shall speak with her before we leave this place.”
Soames gave him a long look. “I pray you and Lady Genvieve will come to a better understanding.” Then he turned and left.
“So do I, Soames. So do I,” Haven whispered to the air as memory overtook him.
Roger had stood at the foot of the scaffold, his wrists bound behind his back. The executioner motioned him forward. Roger set his foot upon the stair, but looked back at his friend. “My son is barely five, Haven. He cannot protect himself and I cannot trust my wife. Swear to me that you will guard his life in my stead.”
Haven hesitated, feeling the pull of his friend’s request like a noose. “Roger, I cannot…”
Roger gave a dry laugh. “You would deny me your oath, when you are the one who brought me to my death?”
“Nay,” the word crawled from Haven’s throat “I did not bring you to this. For all that I love you as the brother I never had, you brought death upon yourself when you drew a blade upon the king.”
“The king is a curse upon England, with threats to tax the clergy and his defiance of the Pope.”
“That is folly, and you know it. The king seeks only the funds he needs to protect that same clergy who without that protection would fall prey to every thief and vandal.”
Roger spit on the ground. “That for the king. He matters not to me now. What matters is that e’re this, you and I were friends. Sworn to each other in battle, the only oath that cannot be broken.”
“I have never sworn to you, nor you to me.”
“You would deny it.” Roger’s widened eyes and jutting chin dared Haven to oppose him.
Haven’s eyes slid away. He could not look Roger in the eye and say him nay. “Not in words. I never swore to you in words.”
Roger sneered. “Pah. We needed no words. How many times have you and I saved each other’s lives? How many times did we speak of the marriage of our children? When your family died of sickness, did my father not take you in and give you a home? How can you not promise to care for my son as my father cared for you?”
Haven felt heat flush his face. To refuse an oath to a confessed traitor was not wrong. So why did he feel guilty? Why did Roger remain defiant? Haven set his jaw. He had always done what was right, not just what was easy. Why else would he bring his own friend to the hangman, if it were not the right thing to do? ’Twas surely not the easy thing to do. Before Roger had been a traitor, he had been Haven’s friend. And the right thing to do was to safeguard an innocent child’s life.
“Please, Haven. Swear to protect Thomas.”
The priest who stood behind them silently urged Roger up the stairs, and the space between the two friends grew.
Haven gave a curt nod. “Aye.” He reached out and grasped the cross that hung from the prelate’s neck. “I swear to protect your son and all his family.”
The priest’s movements up the stairway pulled the cross from Haven’s hand.
“Tell me one last thing, Roger.” Haven’s voice broke. His friend looked to him from atop the scaffold. The executioner gripped one of
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