and antipathy that came from people’s unreasonable fear. And if boldly displaying his injury kept people away, the better. “A test that you might have prematurely passed,” Ranulf gritted out.
“Your eye did not matter to me then nor does it now,” Laon declared, ignoring the tension growing in his friend, “then again, I have seen bad injuries, disfiguring ones like yours. Most, especially the coddled women and men of court, have not. I have watched you, my lord, and have concluded that you are uncomfortable with your limitations and therefore desire to make others just as uncomfortable. You drive people away just so you don’t have to watch them squirm, shrink in fear, or just stare outright. You do it to protect yourself.”
“What do you want from me?” Ranulf growled. He steeled his face from emotion, clamping his mouth and gritting his teeth, but it belied the truth. He had been flung back in time, to the day, to the very hour, that changed what he was to those around him.
“I just want you to be honest with yourself, my lord. Until then you won’t be free of your past and neither will those who are around you.”
Ranulf shot Laon a penetrating look. He wasn’t ready to consider the nagging man’s comments or admit the truth to them. “I think, knight, we have conversed enough for one trip. And since you will want to go directly home upon our arrival and I will be staying for the coronation, it may be some time before we will have the opportunity to speak again. Until then, Sir le Breton,” Ranulf finished and, then with a quick nod, pivoted to walk away.
Riggers were swinging above and Ranulf ducked to avoid the massive ropes that were falling to the deck as they were adjusting the sails once again. A warning shout bellowed from behind him, echoed by several loud rebukes to move. Ranulf whipped around to search for the danger and issue a warning of his own for addressing him in such a way when he realized he wasn’t the one being shouted at.
The solid beam used to manipulate the sail had come loose from the cordage holding it in place. Every available seaman had been called and was working feverishly to secure the spar. Even riggers had left their positions, leaving lines unsecured in the wind.
Ranulf was about to continue his march back to his cabin when he spied one of the free lines tossing precariously close to a young deckhand no more than eleven or twelve at the ship’s edge. Ranulf hollered at him, but the aspiring seaman was struggling to push back heavy crates that had fallen and were getting drenched by the crashing waves against the rail. The boat swayed and a rope with a large heavy iron hook flew up in the air and was about to crush the boy as gravity pulled it back down. Ranulf reacted. He dove, sliding across the wet deck, yanking the slender form out of the hook’s deadly path just in time. Their bodies slammed into a stack of crates. The top box wobbled for a moment and then crashed down on the other side.
Ranulf let go a sigh of relief and eased his grip on the boy, who was himself visibly trembling, realizing just how close to death he had come. Ranulf patted his arm as blood began flowing within it again and stood up just as another wave crashed over the side, soaking his clothes. Grabbing the hem of his wool tunic, he twisted the dark red material and wrung out the freezing seawater, knowing the activity was fruitless. He would have to change and quickly before he became chilled.
He was about to return to his cabin when out of habit, he glanced to his left to see what others would have registered in their peripheral vision. The men, who had been steadying the spar, were now gathered around the spot where the top crate had actually fallen.
He had escaped death, but someone else had not been so fortunate.
One of the men looked up and glanced his way. Ranulf, seeing the stricken expression, suddenly knew who had been standing on the other side.
Forcing his limbs to move, Ranulf staggered around the cluster of men to see Laon lying on his back with shards of broken wood around him. The old man was struggling for breath. He was not dead, but would be soon.
Loss was never easy, but the old knight’s would be especially difficult to handle. Ranulf had friends; some he trusted with his life. One was already in England, waiting for his arrival. Ranulf had been looking forward to introducing Laon to Tyr, eager to hear their blunt exchange. But it was not to be. Ranulf knew he would never meet another who would dare to be not just candid, but honest on topics no one ever ventured.
Kneeling, Ranulf raised Laon’s head and clutched his hand. The dying knight squeezed as pain ripped through him. “I’m here, Laon.”
The old man opened his eyes and rasped, “Promise me, Ranulf, promise me you’ll marry her.”
“I’ll take care of them. This I promise. All your daughters will be safe. I swear it on my life.”
Laon squeezed Ranulf’s fingers as he clung to life. “I need you to promise me you will marry her.”
“Marry who?”
“Lily, the youngest,” Laon gasped. “She is so lovely and so young. She will learn to love you and make you a good wife as my Aline was to me.”
Ranulf instinctively let go and tried to release his hand from Laon’s grip. He had no intentions of marrying anyone and a dying request was not going to change his mind. “I made you a promise, Laon. I cannot do more.”
But the fading knight was not appeased. He reached out and seized Ranulf’s wet tunic, giving him the choice to either forcibly remove the dying man’s grip or come closer. “You don’t understand. Marriage is the only way you can protect them all from—” And the rest was drowned out by gruesome coughs that accompanied internal bleeding.
Ranulf struggled to understand why Laon believed only marriage could protect his daughters and said so, but his fading friend refused to release his painful hold on life. “Family. Must be family. Do this one thing for me…and…for yourself. Be my son. Marry her…marry my Lily.”
Agony coursed through Laon’s face and every man around him knew that Ranulf held the manner of the old, admired knight’s passing in his hands. “I’ll marry her, Laon. Your family will be safe, and if that is what needs to be done, then it will be done. I promise.”
Calmed by the vow, Laon closed his eyes and gave a brief nod. A second later, his hand dropped to the deck as he exhaled his final breath.
Never before had guilt or pressure swayed Ranulf’s decisions, and although it might have appeared otherwise to those men who heard the exchange, neither emotion drove his promise. Ranulf doubted few could understand the real reason he had agreed, but in those last few seconds, Laon was not just a man, a vassal, or even a friend. He was a father, and to Laon, Ranulf was a son. Such requests could never be denied and so Ranulf had agreed.
He just hoped that the duke saw reason and would refuse to allow the match. Because Ranulf was not going to get married, and he was damn sure not going to be snared for life to a shallow creature the world doted on because of her beauty.
Chapter One
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 19, 1154
THE CORONATION OF KING HENRY II
Though crowned in October after King Stephen’s death, Henry II wasn’t coronated the king of England until December 19, 1154, in the Westminster Abbey. Appearing at his coronation dressed in a doublet and short Angevin cloak earned him his immortal nickname “Curtmantle.” Eleven years his senior, his wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, was absent from the event due to being heavily pregnant with their second son, Henry III, causing her own coronation to be postponed
