With a heavy sigh, she wiped the last of her tears.
“Come in,” she said.
The door creaked open and Ranse stepped in. Lysabel could hear him. She wasn’t really looking at him but she forced herself to at least turn her head in his direction even if she couldn’t bear to look at the man.
“Is there something I can do for you?” she asked, her nose stuffy from crying.
Ranse lingered by the door. “I came to ask your permission to take your daughters riding on the ponies I procured for them, my lady,” he said politely. “The children are in the garden, but your mother says that they would prefer to ride and she told me to seek your permission.”
He had a nice, deep voice. Soothing, even. Lysabel rubbed her eyes as she lifted her head towards the window that overlooked the bailey, hearing the noise from outside.
“The black and white pony tries to bite Cissy,” she said. “She says the pony does not love her.”
Back against the door, Ranse smiled. “He loves her, my lady,” he said. “He simply does not know how to show it. I found the pony in a livery in town, corralled with many other horses, so I think he is used to having the other horses bite at him. It is what he knows.”
Lysabel nodded, but she didn’t reply. She simply sat there, leaving Ranse by the door, until the silence grew awkward. Then, she spoke.
“My father told me that you and I are to be wed,” she finally said.
Ranse, who had been poised to leave the room when the silence between them grew lengthy, now paused.
“Aye, my lady,” he said. Clearing his throat somewhat nervously, he took a few steps towards her. “May I say that I can think of no greater honor than to be married into the House of Wellesbourne.”
Lysabel turned to look at him, giving him a second glance. As she’d noticed before, the man was handsome. He was long-limbed, but muscular, with tanned skin and angular features.
“Is that all this means to you?” she asked bluntly. “Being married into the House of Wellesbourne?”
Up until that point, Ranse had been uncomfortable and uncertain what to say to the lady, who had clearly been weeping. When Lady Wellesbourne had asked him to go to the solar to ask her about her daughters and the pony rides, he’d been disheartened to her sobbing through the door. He knew without a doubt it was because of him, and a marriage she’d clearly not wanted after the very recent death of her husband, so he was coming to feel hugely guilty in all of this.
Now, with her question, he realized that he had to say something to make his position plain, if only to alleviate some of the lady’s concerns. He didn’t want to start off this relationship on a bad note. He wanted to build something that he and his first wife once had – he wanted a friend, lover, and companion again.
“Nay, my lady, not at all,” he said sincerely. “May… may I sit?”
Lysabel lifted her shoulders and looked away, but Ranse took it as an affirmative. There was a chair a few feet away from her and he went to it, settling his big body into it as he looked at her.
“I did not mean that to sound as if that is all I am concerned with,” he said quietly. “The truth is that your father’s offer was quite unexpected. And even as he spoke of it, I could not believe he meant it for me. My greatest honor will be to be your husband, and a father for your children. Being part of the House of Wellesbourne is secondary to that, I assure you. I am sorry that my clumsy words did not convey that.”
Lysabel turned to look at him; he seemed quite sincere and eager, in fact. In any other circumstance, she might have been happy about this, but all she could think of when she looked at him was that he wasn’t Trenton.
“It is, in no way, a reflection upon you, but I am not pleased with my father’s contract,” she said. “I have no wish to remarry.”
Ranse suspected as much. Even Matthew had told him that his daughter had some issues, so this wasn’t unexpected.
“I understand,” he said. “I am a stranger, so there is no reason why you should wish to marry me. Moreover, your husband’s death was recent. Your father told me the circumstances, so I do not presume that you are mourning his loss.”
She looked at him with some surprise. “He told you how Benoit died?”
“He did.”
Lysabel’s expression flickered, her eyes narrowing somewhat. “Did he tell you why?”
Ranse nodded. “I asked him, and he obliged me,” he said. “My lady, please allow me to be plain – what your father told me was revolting. I am very sorry for what you had to endure at the hands of Lord de Wilde, but let me assure you that as Lady de Troyes, you would know nothing but respect and honor and gentleness. De Russe is a champion in my eyes for having killed Lord de Wilde for what he did to you and he shall always have my greatest respect because of it.”
His words were kind and she wanted to believe him. In fact, it made her take another look at the man. He’d always been polite in any contact they’d ever had, and it hadn’t been for show. She was coming to suspect that was simply his nature. But according to her father, he’d not told the man about Trenton because he didn’t feel it was necessary. Since Ranse and Lysabel would be starting a new relationship, the ghost of Trenton hanging over it could only do harm and, in a sense, Lysabel understood. If she wanted Ranse to know about it, then she would tell him.
But the truth was that Trenton’s ghost was already hanging over them, like it or not. It was smothering her, attached to her, and keeping a barrier between her and Ranse. For now, it was a barrier no man could penetrate.
Lysabel suspected it would always be that way.
“Aye,” she finally said. “He is my champion, too. Were it not for Trenton, I would still be enduring my hell. Since my father told you of my past, I will not elaborate. Know that it is not something I wish to speak of, so I would appreciate it if you would not bring it up. It is a painful subject, as you can imagine.”
Ranse nodded quickly. “Indeed, I can, and I will not speak of it again.” His gaze lingered on her a moment, as if there was much he wanted to say, but didn’t want to upset her. In truth, he wanted to comfort her. “I simply wanted you to know that our marriage will be much different. I was married before, as I mentioned to you that day in the garden, and my wife was not only my spouse, she was a great friend. I had the utmost respect for her. It is not in my nature to treat a woman as anything other than someone to be cherished and protected.”
More kind words. Lysabel was almost coming to feel sorry for the man, for he had no idea that she had no interest in him. Perhaps, she should have told him the truth, but she didn’t see any need. It was that dignity that Trenton had seen in her from the beginning, that woman who kept her troubles to herself to spare others the pain and suffering of them. Ranse was genuinely trying to be kind and she didn’t want to tell him that all the kindness in the world wasn’t going to bring him any affection on her part. Perhaps the best he could ever hope for with his new wife was a polite formality.
Her heart would always belong to another.
“You have been taught well,” she said. “Did you have parents who set a good example for you, then?”
He shook his head. “Nay,” he said, an ironic twist of the lips. “My mother died when I was young and my father never remarried. I have two older brothers who are constantly trying to kill each other, but as the battles were going on when I was younger, I spent much time with one of my father’s knights, a man who was married to a woman for many years. They had no children, but he treated her with the greatest respect. He said women were precious and needed to be tended gently. I… I suppose that has always stayed with me, because when I married my wife, I tended her gently up until the day she died.”
Lysabel could sense that the man had a tender heart and her pity for him grew. He seemed genuinely likable, and she knew her father had a good deal of faith in him, so under any other circumstances this would have been welcome match. She was truly sorry that she had no interest at all, and even so
rrier that she had no choice in the matter. She feared that she would come to resent this kind, gentle knight.
“I am sorry for your wife’s passing,” she said. “Having given birth to two children of my own, I know what a frightening and exciting experience it can be.”
“And you will know that experience again very soon, I am told,” he said softly, smiling weakly when she looked at him in shock. “Aye, your father told me of the child you carry. Have no fear, I will love the babe as if he or she were my own flesh and blood.”
He was too good to be true and something in Lysabel snapped. He was too kind and she felt what her father had done to him was so very wrong. They were all wronging him. Standing up, she made her way over to the lancet window overlooking the bailey, the one where she’d been watching Trenton form the escort. Looking from the window, she could see that they were all still there. Feeling sad, and frustrated, she turned in Ranse’s direction.
“De Troyes, it seems to me that you deserve better than what this situation has brought to you,” she said. “Did my father tell you why I have no desire to remarry?”
Ranse shook his head, but he looked at her curiously. “Other than the fact that this is all rather sudden and you do not know me?”
So that’s what he thinks it is, she thought to herself. Sounds from the bailey were wafting in through the window and she turned to see Trenton as he moved among the horses that had been brought out. She could see the sun gleaming off of his dark head. Oddly enough, the more she watched him, the more she came to feel as if holding on to him would be futile.
The situation between them, for the most part, was over.
It was strange, really. There wasn’t just a wall and her father separating them; there was a marriage and his wife. For the first time, she was coming to understand just how much of a barrier that was, whereas only minutes earlier, she hadn’t cared. The truth was that she did care, and she cared enough to know that, at some point, she would want to be Lady de Russe and it was something Trenton could never give her.
To be a man’s wife… she’d seen how her own parents behaved with each other, and being Lady Wellesbourne, for her mother, gave the woman a sense of pride and status. It was more than the love of a man. It was knowing he loved her enough to give her his name.
That had been the example set for her.
Perhaps now, she was coming to realize that it meant more to her than she realized. Respect and protect is what de Troyes had said. She could tell he’d meant it.
Then perhaps this betrothal, as her father had hoped, was the best choice, after all.
“Aye,” she said belatedly to his statement. “This is all rather sudden. So much of my life has been in turmoil as of late. But… but I hope to move forward and I hope to heal. Your patience is appreciated.”
Ranse stood up, a smile on his lips. “I can be as patient as you need me to be, for as long as you need me to be. May… may I call upon you again tonight to see how you are feeling?”
It was a sweet question, but everything in her screamed denial. “Not tonight, please,” she said. “Tomorrow… tomorrow would be acceptable.”
If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “Thank you, my lady,” he said. “Now, with your permission, I shall go to the stables and prepare those two frothing beasts for your daughters to ride.”
Lysabel simply nodded. She was about to say something more, a forced polite acknowledgement, when commotion in the bailey caught her attention. Turning to the window, she could see two men charging in through the open gates, scattering soldiers and others in the bailey because they were moving so fast.
In fact, it was enough of a commotion that Ranse came to stand next to her, seeing that the bailey was in some kind of chaos because of the two reckless riders. Cocking an eyebrow of disapproval, and perhaps concern, he turned for the solar door.
“You will excuse me, my lady,” he said. “It seems we have visitors.”
Lysabel didn’t reply. Her attention was still on the bailey, where the two knights had pulled their horses to a halt and had bailed from them, pushing through the de Russe escort until they came to Trenton. She could clearly see Trenton as he engaged the men in a discussion, but because of the armor and helms the men wore, she couldn’t see who they were.
It never occurred to her that Dane de Russe and Cort de Russe had made an appearance.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Trenton!” Dane was shouting as he pushed through the de Russe escort in Wellesbourne’s vast bailey. “Trenton!”
He was bellowing as men began pointing, showing him the way to where they had last seen Trenton. Dane and Cort followed the pointing fingers, shoving men and horses out of the way, until they came to Trenton and Gaston, who had been heading in their direction. They had heard the bellowing, too.
“Dane?” Gaston said, both puzzled and incredulous. He saw Cort coming up behind the man. “What are both of you doing here?”
Dane and Cort were exhausted from a very hard ride that had taken them a little over a day. Wellesbourne Castle was closer to Penleigh House than Deverill Castle was, so it was a shorter distance for them to travel, thankfully. They knew that their father and eldest brother had traveled to Wellesbourne and they were hoping they were still there, relieved to see that the men hadn’t left to return to Deverill as of yet. Even though Gaston had asked the question, Dane went straight to Trenton with the answer.
The man was going to want to hear this.
“Adela is dead,” Dane said. “Penleigh House burned to the ground, and her with it. She is dead, Trenton.”
Trenton’s jaw went slack. “She’s what?” he hissed. “How do you know?”
By this time, Gaston was standing next to Trenton, having heard Dane’s revelation. He grabbed Dane by the arm.
“How do you know this, Dane?” he demanded, looking between Dane and his other son. “Cort? What is going on?”
Cort was dirty and sweaty, appearing more agitated than Dane was. “We went to Penleigh,” he said. “We wanted to…”
Dane threw up a hand to stop his younger brother from perhaps delivering the facts in a rush. Cort was excitable that way. For the story that needed to be told, the facts needed to be concise, and Dane was trying to do just that.
“Do not be angry, Trenton, but Cort and I left Deverill the night before you came to Wellesbourne,” he said. “We headed for Penleigh House because after speaking with you about Adela… and your problem with… well, you know… I told Cort the entire story and we decided to pay Adela a visit. She had been a thorn in your side long enough and we thought – we hoped – that we could bribe her into disappearing.”
Trenton’s mouth was still hanging open. He was having a difficult time following any of what his brother was telling him. Reaching out, he grabbed Dane by both arms but it was more a gesture of support. He had to grab on to something or he would surely fall over. Dane had just told him Adela was dead and he was reeling.
Adela was dead!
“Bribe her?” he managed to sputter. “Dane, what are you saying? What happened?”
Dane could see how shaken Trenton was. He pulled at the man, pulling him out of the cluster of men and horses, as Cort went to Gaston and pulled the man along, too. They all moved in a huddle, away from the escort, until they had a moderate amount of privacy. Only then did Dane come to a halt, facing Trenton and his father once again.
“Cort and I decided something needed to be done about Adela,” he said, his gaze moving between his brother’s ashen face and his father’s astonished one. “She was a wicked, horrible bitch when you married her, Trenton, and she’s done nothing but shame you and the de Russe name since that day. You have ignored her, and Father cannot do anything about her, so we took matters into our own hands. Cort and I made plans to confront her and try to bribe her into leaving Penleigh and going back to France, never to contact you again.”
“And if she did not agree to our terms, then we were going to abduct her and t
ake her to the slave market in Northwic,” Cort put in excitedly, talking over Dane. “We were going to sell her to the highest bidder so she would be taken away, never to be heard from again.”
As Gaston’s eyes widened, Dane punched Cort in the arm, greatly annoyed. Cort flinched and shut his mouth, and Dane continued.
“We hoped that you would think she was dead, Trenton,” he said, looking at the man. “If you thought that, then mayhap Uncle Matthew would let you be with Lysabel. God knows you deserve some happiness. We wanted to give it to you.”
Trenton was beyond overwhelmed. He was overcome. “You… you were going to get rid of her?”
“Permanently.”
Trenton could see that Dane was deadly serious. “But you said she was dead,” he said. “What happened?”
Dane nodded grimly. “Believe me, it was not our doing,” he said, “because I would happily lay claim to such a thing. We went to Penleigh and Adela was having a grand party. Bretons everywhere.”
“Smelly bastards,” Cort growled.
Dane ignored him. “Adela was not happy to see us, as you can imagine. As we were trying to coerce her into naming her price, she became angry and picked up a fire poker. When she swung it at me, I grabbed it, and it was her own momentum that toppled her backwards into the hearth. She went up in flames and set the entire house on fire in the process. She’s dead, Trenton, by her own wicked hand. We never touched her.”
Trenton stared at him. Then, he slapped a hand over his mouth as if he could scarcely believe what he’d just heard. He looked at Gaston, who was looking back at him with equal shock.
“When did this happen?” Gaston finally asked.
“Two evenings ago,” Dane replied. “Penleigh is in ashes. We should all return to ensure we collect what we can from the ruins, including Adela’s jewels or anything else of value that hasn’t already been taken. Cort and I did not stay long enough to sift through the ruins.”
“But you are certain she is dead?”