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Authors: Rexanne Becnel
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to their family was sound, Lady Harriet took over the planning of their deception. No one else was to know—save perhaps Norma and Ida. Linnea was to assume Beatrix’s role in everything, while Beatrix was to disappear. They would dress Beatrix as a serving girl, covering her bright hair and dirtying her lovely face. They would employ Father Martin to help remove her from the castle, perhaps to Romsey Abbey on the road to Winchester.
“Father Martin will not believe that you wish to spirit Linnea away from here,” Linnea pointed out. Though it was strange to think of herself in the third person, it seemed the only logical thing to do. She must become Beatrix now, in what she said and how she behaved. She must be quiet and calm—demure, though it would be nearly impossible.
Lady Harriet stared at her, dislike still evident in her lined face. “Father Martin is of no moment. Leave him to me.”
So it was agreed. As they prepared for the coming confrontation with Axton de la Manse, Linnea immersed herself in the details of their plot. She would continue to nurse Maynard—as Beatrix. She would meet the new lord of Maidenstone as Lady Beatrix, his soon-to-be-bride. She would take her vows to him as Beatrix, and she would go to her marriage bed with Axton de la Manse as Beatrix.
She could take some pleasure from the rest of the deception, some satisfaction at deceiving her family’s vengeful enemy. But to lie with him as his wife … Linnea could feel her heart’s pace increase and her palms grow damp.
No matter how well she played the role of Beatrix, the fact was, the woman who went to his bed would be Linnea.
Only Linnea.
Chapter 4
T here was no dinner in the hall the first night, at least not for the de Valcourts and their personal retainers. They kept to their chambers—or rather, they were locked in the two chambers on the top floor of the keep. Sir Edgar, Sir John, and her father’s manservant, Kelvin, occupied the west chamber. Lady Harriet, Norma, Ida, Linnea, and Beatrix crowded into the other chamber. Beatrix had been well disguised as one of Lady Harriet’s personal maids. Sir Reynold, de la Manse’s captain of the guard, had not questioned them at all about her. He’d simply had the rooms searched for weapons, assigned a pair of guards to the top of the stairs, and left. Bread, ale, and a vegetable soup had been provided for them. Then they’d been forgotten.
Below stairs the conquerors celebrated. Linnea could hear the drunken shouts, the raucous laughter. From the window she could see the spillover into the bailey. The villagers had gladly fled back to their homes, and now a veritable army camped in the bailey.
How did the castle folk fare? Linnea wondered. She’d heard tales of war all her life, how the victors robbed and raped whomsoever crossed their paths. Was that happening down there somewhere beyond her view? Was Hilda from the dairy being raped this very minute? Or Mary and Anna, the alewife’s budding young daughters?
She squinted hard into the darkened yard lit here and there with a torch or lantern. But though she searched for signs of violence and mayhem, she saw only soldiers. Drinking; telling tall tales of their exploits; relieving themselves in the shadows; and, as the evening progressed, vomiting in their hastily prepared beds. But she saw no rape and only a scuffle or two among the men themselves.
When she finally slept lying in the window enclosure with her head pillowed on her arms, dawn was already approaching. And when the first streaks of mauve-gold light fell across her face, she came instantly awake and recalled at once everything that had happened the previous day.
So did Lady Harriet, it appeared, for she was already up as well, sitting in a plain oak chair, staring out at nothing. Plotting, no doubt.
“Guard!” she called out, startling Linnea and jerking the others into an uneasy wakefulness. “Guard!”
A bleary-eyed young giant and an older grizzled
“Father Martin will not believe that you wish to spirit Linnea away from here,” Linnea pointed out. Though it was strange to think of herself in the third person, it seemed the only logical thing to do. She must become Beatrix now, in what she said and how she behaved. She must be quiet and calm—demure, though it would be nearly impossible.
Lady Harriet stared at her, dislike still evident in her lined face. “Father Martin is of no moment. Leave him to me.”
So it was agreed. As they prepared for the coming confrontation with Axton de la Manse, Linnea immersed herself in the details of their plot. She would continue to nurse Maynard—as Beatrix. She would meet the new lord of Maidenstone as Lady Beatrix, his soon-to-be-bride. She would take her vows to him as Beatrix, and she would go to her marriage bed with Axton de la Manse as Beatrix.
She could take some pleasure from the rest of the deception, some satisfaction at deceiving her family’s vengeful enemy. But to lie with him as his wife … Linnea could feel her heart’s pace increase and her palms grow damp.
No matter how well she played the role of Beatrix, the fact was, the woman who went to his bed would be Linnea.
Only Linnea.
Chapter 4
T here was no dinner in the hall the first night, at least not for the de Valcourts and their personal retainers. They kept to their chambers—or rather, they were locked in the two chambers on the top floor of the keep. Sir Edgar, Sir John, and her father’s manservant, Kelvin, occupied the west chamber. Lady Harriet, Norma, Ida, Linnea, and Beatrix crowded into the other chamber. Beatrix had been well disguised as one of Lady Harriet’s personal maids. Sir Reynold, de la Manse’s captain of the guard, had not questioned them at all about her. He’d simply had the rooms searched for weapons, assigned a pair of guards to the top of the stairs, and left. Bread, ale, and a vegetable soup had been provided for them. Then they’d been forgotten.
Below stairs the conquerors celebrated. Linnea could hear the drunken shouts, the raucous laughter. From the window she could see the spillover into the bailey. The villagers had gladly fled back to their homes, and now a veritable army camped in the bailey.
How did the castle folk fare? Linnea wondered. She’d heard tales of war all her life, how the victors robbed and raped whomsoever crossed their paths. Was that happening down there somewhere beyond her view? Was Hilda from the dairy being raped this very minute? Or Mary and Anna, the alewife’s budding young daughters?
She squinted hard into the darkened yard lit here and there with a torch or lantern. But though she searched for signs of violence and mayhem, she saw only soldiers. Drinking; telling tall tales of their exploits; relieving themselves in the shadows; and, as the evening progressed, vomiting in their hastily prepared beds. But she saw no rape and only a scuffle or two among the men themselves.
When she finally slept lying in the window enclosure with her head pillowed on her arms, dawn was already approaching. And when the first streaks of mauve-gold light fell across her face, she came instantly awake and recalled at once everything that had happened the previous day.
So did Lady Harriet, it appeared, for she was already up as well, sitting in a plain oak chair, staring out at nothing. Plotting, no doubt.
“Guard!” she called out, startling Linnea and jerking the others into an uneasy wakefulness. “Guard!”
A bleary-eyed young giant and an older grizzled
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