Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Please, Father, I beg you do not force me to this.”

Anwyn extended both hands to her father in supplication. She would get on her knees and weep, if need be. All night long had she lain awake, her thoughts beating against the cage of her mind, seeking a way out. She had even risen in the darkest hours and crept to the door, planning escape, only to find her father sleeping there, his body a barrier stretched across the opening.

Now, with morning come, they had mere moments before they went to meet Havers at the chapel, and she argued the only way she might.

Her father avoided her eyes and his hard expression did not relent.

She seized both his hands. “Da, please!” She used the name she had employed for him since earliest childhood. “Do not be so cruel.”

“That is just it, Anwyn: I am at last being kind. Lord Simon has convinced me I did you no service by indulging you so long.”

Asslicker, Anwyn thought irreverently.

Her father went on, “Only look to what it has brought us. You ruined! Your mother would never forgive me.”

“She would,” Anwyn avowed passionately. “Mother understood about love, for she loved you. That I saw my whole life long.”

That did make her father look at her. “What part plays love in what you have done, Daughter? Running like a wanton, giving yourself to some man you will not name. Or was your virtue taken?” he appeared almost hopeful at the possibility, and Anwyn’s heart sank. Was she truly such a disgrace he would prefer to think her the victim of violence?

“Da!” Desperate, she squeezed his hands. “Do not make me wed Havers. I am in love with someone else.”

“With whom?” Her father’s eyes narrowed. His quick mind made a leap. “Never say you became enamored of one of your captors?” His hands smoothed her hair. “Daughter, such things happen. Why, even in the Holy Land men have thought to become friends with their jailers.”

“Not that, Da. He of whom I spoke is a good man, an honorable man.”

“Honorable? And was it he who defiled you? What sort of honor is that? Nay, Anwyn, I have harmed you too much with my overindulgence. I do take most of the blame. But you shall go to Havers now.”

“No, please!” She sank to her knees and her fingers twisted in his. “Would you have seen my mother go to another when she loved you?”

He hesitated, and for an instant Anwyn believed she had won. Only let him cry off on the wedding and all would be right. She would find a way to return to Curlew, to Sherwood, where she belonged.

But then regret filled her father’s eyes and he shook his head. “We are fortunate, Anwyn, that Roderick is still willing to take you, and you so sorely damaged.”

“He wants not me but a place in your favor. He wishes to elevate himself in your esteem.”

“Is that so terrible? Ambition is a fine thing in a man, and what benefits him will benefit you as well. Together, Lord Simon and I have worked out the plans for appointing an overseer for Sherwood, a man with authority in his own right. He will carry Lord Simon’s business and demands to the folk in and around Sherwood. I think Havers is the right choice.”

“He would be a disastrous choice! His harshness and cruelty would only make more enemies and spread hatred.”

“Child, you know little about the workings of the world. Strong men often seem harsh. It is how they enforce their will.”

Nay, Anwyn thought, Curlew was both strong and kind. He led with humor, wisdom, and an eye to the good of all. In that instant she longed for him so intensely her heart convulsed in her chest. Surely she had been born for the touch of his hand, the kiss of his lips, and to watch the light move in his eyes. Aye, and she would journey through any pain or darkness to reach him. But how? Could she survive her treatment at the hands of Havers, if she knew she might eventually be away to Curlew and Sherwood?

“Father, please,” she breathed once again, and pressed her forehead against his hands.

“Do not weep.” Very gently, he raised her up. She could feel his love; her Da did care for her still. And he believed he acted for the best of reasons. But oh, he dealt her a dire blow! “Courage, Daughter. ’Tis time you put your fancies from you and took up the duties of a wife.”

****

The rain poured down like hard tears all through the wedding rite. The chapel felt cold and damp, and the priest rushed through his words, no doubt eager to get back to his fire.

Anwyn, not in the least anxious to go home with Roderick Havers, clung to her father when it was done. She could not believe such frail things as muttered vows, spoken unwillingly on her part, could place her in this man’s possession. She would never belong to anyone but Curlew, not so long as she lived.

“Da,” she whispered in her father’s ear at the end, “is there time to change my mind? I would choose the nunnery after all.”

He merely shook his head and went out into the rain. Done—it was done. No glad tidings, no celebration. Only home with this man she detested.

According to her Da, they would move to larger quarters soon. For now Havers and his two children lived in nothing more than a room with a sleeping alcove, half a hut partitioned from space occupied by two other foresters.

Anwyn’s heart struggled to rise with hope even as they tramped to it through the rain. Outside the castle proper, it did not seem so impossibly far from Sherwood. Yet, she quickly realized, it offered no such thing as privacy. The two men who occupied the other half of it were away on their rounds when she arrived, but Havers’ children were there. And he quickly made it clear Anwyn would be expected to care for all.

“Put your things away and begin making the supper. When the lads come back they can join us to eat. Might as well make use of you, eh? And you will keep their room tidy as well as ours. Do as you are told and you need not feel the back of my hand.”

Anwyn merely nodded. Nothing but a wattle-work wall divided the two halves of the hut, and she told herself Havers would not think to exercise his marital rights this night, with both his children and those men listening. She could endure his hard words and his cruel stares until tomorrow. Then, while he was away about his duties, she would flee to the forest.

Curlew’s face swam in her mind as she struggled to prepare a meal on the poor hearth, with some assistance from Havers’ daughter, Agnes. The girl flinched each time Havers spoke, making Anwyn certain she had more than a passing acquaintance with the back of her father’s hand.

The meal passed in tense silence. When Havers heard the men next door, he hollered for them to come in. They hovered in the small room, dripping with wet and with mud still upon them.

Agnes leaped to her feet and fetched a rag, with which she began to swab the floor. Anwyn’s lip curled—if Havers expected her to scurry round like a trained hound, he had another think coming.

“This is my new wife. She might as well do for you until we move to our new quarters.”

Havers did not even pay her the courtesy of telling her their names. Both were rough men, one older and one younger, with leathered skin, like her father’s, that bespoke a life spent outdoors.

“Mistress,” the younger murmured and avoided her gaze. She saw what might be sympathy in the elder’s eyes.

“Well,” Havers barked in his hated voice, “are you stupid? Get you up, Wife, and serve them.”