Matthew stared at her, hearing her selfless sacrifice. He found himself blinking rapidly to chase off the tears. “I am not angry with you, but I am sorry, Lys. So very sorry. I feel as if I have failed you.”
Lysabel shook her head. “You did not,” she said softly. “You did not know how this would end up, Papa. None of us did. After we were married, Benoit… changed. I could never tell you any of this, but it was true. It started after you would not give him my inheritance. After that, I could see any warmth or affection he ever had for me disappear, day by day. When Cinny was born, he was so disappointed that it was not a boy. When I was pregnant with Cissy, it was the best he had treated me in a very long time. I think he was fearful to take a hand to me and risk damaging his son, but when a girl-child was born, he became worse than ever before. But I felt strongly that it was my burden to bear.”
Matthew felt sick as he listened to her speak. “I wish you had not,” he muttered. “I wish you had told me.”
Lysabel gave him a squeeze, unsure what more to say. Brencis and Cynethryn rushed up to Matthew and begged him for a comb for the ponies, and not a brush, and he sent them to the nearest stable servant, who went on the hunt for a comb. With the girls away, Lysabel turned to her father.
“The girls were never touched, and other than hearing what their father did to their mother, they were spared the brunt of Benoit’s rages,” she said. “But they, too, are healing slowly. Cinny is still very fearful of loud sounds and Cissy is afraid of the dark, so I am hoping that they will heal at Wellesbourne. I do not want to return to Stretford, Papa. May we please remain here?”
Matthew pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. “Of course,” he whispered. “Even if you had not asked, I would have insisted. You will remain here from now on. Stretford will be but a bitter memory.”
Lysabel felt so very warm and safe in her father’s embrace. “Thank you,” she said, feeling more comfort and peace than she had in years. “I cannot face going back there, if ever. But I must have your counsel on how to proceed regarding Benoit’s death. His men do not know, except for Markus. Trenton told you that.”
“He did. He also said you took the blame for Benoit’s death. Why did you do that?”
Lysabel shrugged as she lowered her gaze. “I suppose I did not want Markus to think ill of Trenton,” she said. “He was already suspicious enough of him. It was easier for me to tell him that I did it in self-defense. Did I do wrong?”
“Probably not. To tell Markus that Trenton had killed Benoit would more than likely only complicate the issue.”
“Then what shall I do now?”
Matthew released her from his embrace but he still kept an arm around her shoulders. “I must consult with Henry about it,” he said. “We will decide what’s to become of the Ilchester title.”
“It was Henry who sent Trenton for Benoit, in fact,” she said. “Did Trenton tell you?”
Matthew nodded. “He did.”
Lysabel’s expression seemed to change at the mere mention of Trenton. Matthew could see something light up in her eyes. “He came with his men to take Benoit away,” she said. “They burst into my bedchamber and captured Benoit. He was killed when Trenton removed him from the chamber.”
“I know.”
“Trenton and his men were very brave, Papa.”
“I am sure they were,” Matthew replied. He eyed his daughter a moment. “This was the first time you have seen Trenton in a long time, is it not?”
Lysabel nodded. “Aye,” she said. “I did not even know it was him until he recognized me. I would have never known, in fact. He has changed a great deal from the last time I saw him. Have you seen him regularly?”
Matthew shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “I see Gaston fairly frequently, but Trenton spends all of his time with Henry, doing Henry’s bidding.”
“He told me what he does for the king.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That he is an assassin.”
Matthew lifted his eyebrows to her honest answer. “He is all that and more,” he said. “Your Uncle Gaston… well, he does not approve of what Trenton does.”
“Trenton told me that, too.”
“Trenton de Russe has become a very powerful man. Henry uses him like an attack dog.”
She smiled. “He is nothing of the sort,” she declared. “He is a kind man and my daughters think he is wonderful.”
He is wonderful. In that statement, Matthew knew that Lysabel thought that Trenton was pretty wonderful, too. He could hear it in her voice, the adoration of a hero worshipper. Perhaps, that’s really all it was but, in any case, Matthew felt the need to nip it in the bud. Perhaps, this was where he needed to interject some of his fatherly advice.
“Is that so?” he said casually. “Has Trenton told you what he has been doing all these years, other than carrying out Henry’s orders?”
Lysabel shrugged. “Not really,” she said. “He did tell me that his wife died in childbirth.”
“The first wife did, aye.”
She looked at him strangely. “What do you mean the first wife? He has had more than one?”
“Three. His third wife lives at Penleigh House, one of Trenton’s major properties. She’s a bastard daughter of the Duke of Brittany.”
Lysabel stared at her father, clearly struggling with what she’d been told. “He’s… he’s married?”
“He is. Did he not tell you that?”
It was as if his words had a physical impact on her. As Matthew watched, a rush of color flushed Lysabel’s cheeks and she stared at him for a moment before quickly looking away.
“Nay,” she muttered. “He did not tell me.”
Matthew eyed her as she averted her gaze, obviously shocked. She appeared nervous, even upset, and he wasn’t sorry. It was clear that Trenton hadn’t told her anything about Adela and Matthew realized that he was quite upset to realize that. Had Trenton been toying with her? Perhaps that thought infuriated him more than anything but before he could continue the conversation, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
A big knight with a tanned, hawk-like face and dark blond hair to his shoulders was heading in his direction from the walls of Wellesbourne. Matthew noticed the captain of his army, Sir Ransom “Ranse” de Troyes, and when de Troyes lifted a hand to him, Matthew waved back.
“Come,” he said to Lysabel, hoping to change the subject away from Trenton. “I want you to meet someone.”
But Lysabel dug her heels in. “Not now,” she said, her voice sounding strangely tight. “I… I must go into the keep, Papa. Will you bring the girls in when they are finished?”
She pulled away from Matthew before he could stop her. “Of course,” he said. “What is the matter, Lys?”
Lysabel was moving away from him quickly, her head lowered. “Nothing,” she said. “I am simply tired, I suppose. I will see you later.”
With that, she darted off towards the keep, leaving Matthew looking after her, thinking the impact of Trenton’s marriage had rattled her greatly. That told him that, indeed, there was something between the two of them and Trenton had clearly been dishonest about it. But he was prevented from stewing about it as de Troyes approached and the subject turned to a small escort party from the north, riding through the village of Wellesbourne.
Since Wellesbourne was on a major road from Warwick to the south, that kind of thing wasn’t unusual, but Matthew liked to know who was coming and going, and de Troyes delivered a smart report. It was almost enough to cause Matthew to forget about Lysabel and Trenton, but not quite.
Even as he made his way to the battlements to see the party passing through, Lord Bedworth he thought, his thoughts lingered on his daughter. He hated upsetting her so, but if Trenton had, indeed, been untruthful with her, then it was better she know the truth about him now rather than later.
But Trenton was going to get an earful from him the next time he saw him.
CHAPTER TEN
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br /> There was a fight going on outside, but Lysabel didn’t want any part of it. Sitting on the window seat with a view that looked off to the north, over towards the village, all she could feel was deep and abiding sorrow.
Trenton was married.
She could hardly believe it. He’d saved her from Benoit, then had come back to ensure she was well, and then he’d escorted her to Wellesbourne Castle as if he didn’t have a responsibility in the world. And then, last night… God, last night he’d said such things to her, sweet and romantic things, things she’d never heard in her life, and then he’d made love to her in a way she’d never imagined possible. He’d made her feel safe, and warm, and adored.
But it had all been a lie.
Lysabel couldn’t tell her father any of it. Given how he felt about the entire situation with Benoit, he was more than likely to take Trenton’s head off if he knew the man had toyed with her, so Lysabel vowed to keep her mouth shut about the entire situation. There was too much embarrassment on her part, anyway. She didn’t want her father to know she’d been so gullible.
But, God… it hurt.
Therefore, she decided she wouldn’t see him anymore. She would remain in her chamber until he left Wellesbourne and after that, she never wanted to hear his name again. And the ponies… he had purchased them for her daughters and she clearly could not return the gifts because her girls were already so attached to them. So that being the case, she would have to give him money for them. She didn’t have a lot, as Benoit never saw fit to give her any real money, but she would give Trenton what she had and be done with it.
Lysabel felt stupid weeping tears over the man, but in her defense, he’d made her feel safe and warm and wanted. His touch had awakened something in her, something she’d hoped to explore, but that was not to be.
It was so disappointing.
Instead of dreaming of their future together, she found herself searching her baggage for her coin purse so she could pay him for the ponies. She finally came across it, pulling out a single gold coin, the only one she had, and she’d had it for years. She didn’t know how much Trenton had paid for the ponies, so the gold coin should be enough to repay him and then some.
With the gold coin placed upon the tabletop, she would wait until his battle with William was over before sending the money with a servant. Wringing her hands, and periodically wiping at the tears that would escape her eyes now and again, Lysabel made her way over to the bed and laid down, staring up at the ceiling.
In truth, there was something more than Trenton’s betrayal on her mind.
It was a betrayal all her own.
A deception of unfathomable proportions was happening at this very moment. It was something that had been in the back of her mind for a couple of weeks now, ever since her menses had failed to show. But she’d put the thought out of her mind, and prayed every day that her cycle would come, but God was not listening to her.
As the days passed, Lysabel suspected that she was with child, but when she started feeling poorly in the evenings, as she did the night at the tavern when she and Trenton had shared that lovely conversation, she was fairly certain of it. The same God who had sent Trenton to save her was now cursing her with everlasting memories of Benoit.
Her thoughts shifted to the child in her belly, a child conceived the night that Benoit had been killed. The screaming that all of Stretford had heard, and that Trenton had heard, had been Benoit punching her into submission because he had come to her for sex and she had told him that she was too tired.
That had been the catalyst.
First, he’d hit her with a closed fist in the face that had sent her to the ground, and half-unconscious, she’d tried to crawl away. He’d fallen on top of her, right there on the floor, and had tried to toss her skirts up. When she resisted and begged, pleading with him not to do it, he’d slapped her several times, as hard as he could, and she’d ended up on her back, struggling to defend herself as he’d thrown her skirts up completely and cursed her for denying him his husbandly rights.
After that, it had all been a blur, something she’d endured more times than she could count. Lysabel had never known intercourse to be anything other than rough and painful, but with Trenton, it had been a beautiful and emotional thing. Perhaps that’s why she’d lured him to the small chamber in the storage vault – because she wanted to know what intimacy between a man and a woman was really meant to be like.
Now, she knew.
Even so, she couldn’t help but ponder the irony of bearing a child from her dead husband. That vicious, painful act had come to fruition, and the night Benoit was killed, another life was sparked within her.
Perhaps it was Benoit’s final revenge.
But she’d kept it all from Trenton. It wasn’t as if it was any of his business, truly, but last night when she’d taken him into her bed, it was a dirty trick she’d played on the man. She should have been honest with him. Perhaps if he’d know of her suspicions, he wouldn’t have touched her, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She’d wanted him to touch her. It had been a hunger she couldn’t deny, something she’d put her heart and soul into, and now she was paying the price because Trenton de Russe was a man she could never have.
Now, that dirty trick had been turned against her.
As Lysabel lay there and pondered the situation, she was coming to think that Trenton already being married was perhaps for the best, for both of them. She had no right to be angry with him, after all.
She was just as guilty as he was.
With resignation and disappointment in her heart, she pushed herself off the bed and ran a comb through her hair, re-braiding it and pinning it. There was a polished bronze mirror on the table against the wall and she picked it up, eyeing herself and smoothing at her hair. With the hell she’d endured for so long, she often found herself looking for the positive in any given situation, even this one. The positive was that Trenton had made her feel things she’d never felt before, and she was grateful. He’d made her feel alive, and that told her that Benoit hadn’t killed all that was soft and emotional within her.
He hadn’t killed her ability to love.
Picking up the gold coin, she took a deep breath and departed the chamber, closing the door softly behind her.
It was time to end it.
William didn’t stay on his feet long.
The very fast, very arrogant knight may have been a trickster, confident he could send Trenton to the ground through careful planning and swift timing, but Trenton was on to his game.
At the onset of their challenge, William had literally run circles around Trenton, trying to wear him out and make him dizzy, making him more vulnerable to the attack William was planning. He tried to confuse the man by using swift movements with his sword, leaning one way and then going the other, and through it all, Trenton simply fended off the strikes William did manage to throw at him and nothing more. He didn’t make any offensive moves. In fact, he was waiting for William to tire himself out and at the rate he was going, it wasn’t long in coming.
The moment William actually stopped all of his fancy footwork, laughing at Trenton and taunting him, Trenton pretended to strike out at him, which caught William off-guard. He very nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to get away, and it gave Trenton the window he needed to kick William in the back of his left knee, sending the knight to both knees. Then Trenton lashed out a big boot and shoved him over, kicking him right into the dirt. As the gathering crowd of soldiers roared with laughter, William Wellesbourne was swiftly brought down.
Trenton assumed that was the end of it, but that was his mistake. With a grin on his face, he bent over William and offered him a hand to pull him up. William pretended to accept it, but he yanked on Trenton so hard that the man nearly went down, and would have had it not been for the fact that he was simply too big for William to pull over. But William managed to get to his knees and ram Trenton from the side, sending him off-balance and onto his back.
After that, it turned into a wrestling match.
Neither one was throwing punches; they were simply trying to dominate each other. Trenton had the size and strength on William, but William was as wily as a fox. He refused to be pinned, even when Trenton shoved his face into the dirt. On and on it went, with soldiers and knights standing around, laughing, including Markus and Matthew’s captain, Ranse. They were having a good time at the expense of William, and Trenton to a certain extent, as the two of them wrestled each other like a couple of wildcats.
Eventually, Trenton ended up on top of William, with the young knight on his belly, pinned in an awkward position. At this point, Matthew had turned his granddaughters over to a trusted servant and wandered out to the bailey to see what was going on. When he saw Trenton with William shoved into the dirt, he put a hand over his mouth to cover his laughter. That was most definitely not the position William had been hoping for. When Trenton caught a glimpse of Matthew, and his expression, he twisted William’s arm behind his back even further.
“School is in session, Willie,” he said, loud enough so that Matthew could hear. “It is time for you to learn your lesson. Tell me that a de Russe is always better than a Wellesbourne. Say it!”
William howled as Trenton twisted his arm, not enough to break it, but enough to hurt. “Never!” he cried. “Tear my arms off, but I shall never say it!”
Trenton was grinning as he tightened his grip and William began to squirm. “I will tear your arm off if you do not say it.”
“I won’t! You’re a brute, Trenton de Russe. You cannot make me say it!”
Now, Trenton couldn’t stop the laughter. “You are dead wrong, little lad,” he said, twisting his arm a little more. “Say it and I shall end your pain.”
William’s face was turning red. “Never!” he said. “Do your worst, but I will not say it!”
By now, the men standing around were having a good laugh at William’s expense, including Matthew, who decided to end his son’s pain. He walked up on the pair, bending over so he could look his son in the face.