"Was it? You swore last evening that you do not care."
Leonie opened her mouth, then thought better of speaking. They had been through this and gotten nowhere. He had made his position clear.
He would not give up Amelia. She would not ask him again.
Rolfe sighed. "Do not drug me again, Leonie. And never run from me again either."
"Yes, my lord."
He said no more.
Chapter 37
HARVESTING had begun on the Crewel manor lands, that portion of the lands devoted to the lord's use. But Crewel lacked a bailiff to oversee the villagers' work, and although Leonie was able to do the overseeing, she recalled the animosity of the villagers to her and decided not to try.
She did appoint an acting bailiff, however, the village headman. It was an unheard of choice, but a logical one, for the serfs would listen to him.
She had made the decision on her own, because Rolfe was away. He had been gone for all of the two weeks since their return from London.
His absence was only one of the difficult things Leonie had suffered since the night Guy of Brent received his twenty lashes. Rolfe left directly after the punishment for the siege at Warling, and hadn't returned since.
Warling Keep was nearly fifteen miles north of Crewel, a long distance. She understood that he couldn't come home, but she missed him. She caught herself listening for the sound of horses approaching, and even considered riding to Warling herself, but she knew Rolfe wouldn't approve.
Missing Rolfe was not the only unhappiness in her life, either. There was the endless presence of Lady Amelia.
One evening, at dinner, Sir Evarard was called away from the table, which left the two women with only his empty chair between them.
Although Leonie had every intention of being civil to Amelia, it was not easy. The other woman positively radiated smugness. Leonie was perplexed by this. What could be the reason for Amelia's attitude?
That night at dinner, when Sir Evarard was gone, Amelia asked Leonie for a potion to quell nausea.
"Should you not be in bed if you are ill?" Leonie asked her.
"Heavens no!" Amelia laughed. "There is nothing wrong with me that another month's time won't cure. I have this difficulty only at meals."
Leonie grasped the meaning then. "You are insinuating something, Lady Amelia. What is it?" She meant there to be no mystery about this.
"Surely Rolfe told you!" Amelia seemed aghast. "It is hardly something that can be kept secret."
"You are saying you will bear my husband a child?" Leonie said levelly.
"The babe is Rolfe's, yes," Amelia replied. "He does not deny it."
So much fell into place in that moment. No wonder Rolfe refused to send Amelia away! It was almost a relief to understand this.
Leonie's gaze moved down over Amelia's figure, as pathetically thin as ever, and she said icily, "When did you conceive?"
"What difference—?"
"Answer me, Amelia!"
Amelia shrugged. "It has been a month."
Leonie figured swiftly. It had been a month since she was brought to Crewel to live. She could remember clearly the night Rolfe left their chamber angrily. Amelia had been in exceptionally good spirits that next morning.
Leonie left Amelia without saying another word. What was there to say? But that night was the most miserable of her life. Alone, she cried and stormed, cursing Rolfe for his weakness and his lying. But she cursed herself as well—because it mattered to her, it mattered much too much.
When another note arrived from Alain Montigny the next day, Leonie was too distracted to think about it. She tucked it away with some other papers and forgot about it. She sank into a terrible melancholy all the remainder of the week, an unhappiness caused by the shock of learning that she, too, was pregnant.
The fact that the babies would be born about the same time was most telling. It was not unusual for a lord to ask a new wife to raise his bastard children if he had any. The wife had no grounds to refuse because those children had been conceived before her marriage to their father. But it was another thing entirely to accept children conceived by other women after the marriage.
Leonie did not think Rolfe would ask her to raise Amelia's child. But she had little doubt that he would want to keep both child and mother near him. This would not be the child of a serf. A serf could be expected to give up her child because the father would give it a better life than she could. But such was not the case with Amelia. Amelia would never give up her child, and so Rolfe would never give up Amelia.
The future looked progressively grimmer. She no longer had the hope that Rolfe would send her away one day, not if she had his child. Rolfe would never let her go if he knew there was a baby on the way.
She was not going to tell him. She could hope to leave him before her body gave the truth away. Perhaps she could lock herself away in Pershwick until after the child was born. She would not, she determined, give him an excuse to keep her.
Leonie could share some kinds of love, could share her gift for healing, but she could not share her husband with another woman. Always there had been the hope that Amelia would leave. Now that hope was gone. It seemed her heart flew out of her, for she bore an ache in her breast that did not diminish, even with the passing of many days.
Sir Bertrand and his oldest son Reginald came to Crewel late one afternoon with news that Rolfe had sent for them to meet him at Crewel.
Bertrand was Leonie's own vassal at Marhill Keep, one of her holdings.
Why her husband should ask to see Bertrand was a mystery.
All she could think about was that Rolfe would be home soon. She managed to ask the proper questions about Marhill, about the harvesting there, but she could not later recall what was told her. Her mind was in complete confusion over Rolfe.
It was a busy time. She entertained her guests as best she could, with Sir Evarard's help. Thankfully, Amelia kept herself absent from the hall.
It grew late and still Rolfe had not come. Leonie readied rooms for her guests, but the men preferred to remain in the hall, curious as to what Rolfe wished to see them about.
Sounds of his arrival were heard at last, and Leonie quickly excused herself, retiring to her room. She had finally concluded that she could not face Rolfe without her resentment bubbling over, and to let that happen in front of her vassal was unthinkable. Safe here in their room, she did not have to conceal her feelings.
There was no time, however, to prepare herself for what she assumed would be a full-fledged battle. Rolfe came to her immediately, so quickly that she realized he could not have spared more than a moment's greeting for their guests below. What might excuse such rude behavior?
After all, he had sent for the two men.
Her brows narrowed suspiciously. "You have not shamed me, have you, my lord?"
"How so?"
Rolfe tossed aside his helmet and gauntlets, but his eyes did not stray from Leonie. She kept her position by the hearth, standing stiffly at attention.
"You sent for Sir Bertrand and his son. What can they think of your ignoring them?"
Rolfe grinned, moving to close the distance between them. "I told them I was tired and would speak to them in the morning. They understood."
"How could you?" Leonie hissed. "You must go below and speak to them now!"
"They have already retired, dearling, and—"
He fell silent as Damian came into the room. Leonie swallowed her ire and turned her back while Damian assisted Rolfe with his heavy hauberk.
It did not take the young squire long, and it was only moments before Rolfe said agreeably, "Off to bed with you, lad."
Openmouthed with surprise, Damian left the room. Never had Rolfe spoken to him so pleasantly. It was amazing how the sight of his wife could change his manner completely.
Leonie waited only until the sound of the door closed before she swung around, ready to get everything off her chest at once. But the sight of Rolfe in only shirt a
nd chausses stopped her. The thick muscles straining on his long legs, the breadth of chest—always startling because it was just as wide with his armor removed—his hair curling riotously about his head, all of it brought out the man and the boy in him at once. It was unfair that he could affect her so powerfully that she couldn't even remember what she'd been about to say.
"You have missed me, dearling."
"I have not, my lord," she said stiffly.
"Liar." He had moved over to her before she could move away. He tilted her chin up and gazed into her eyes. His eyes were velvety brown, yet intense. "You are angry because I stayed away so long."
"There are many things I am angry about, my lord, but that is not one of them."
"You may tell me what they are tomorrow, Leonie, for this is no time for anger."
She tried to move away, but Rolfe caught her to him and kissed her.
"I missed you, Leonie. God, how I missed you," he exclaimed as his lips trailed along her cheek to the soft contours of her neck.
She was nearly lost. She could not let him do this to her again, but already her desire was ignited, despite all her misery and bitterness. "If—if you must have a woman . . . go to your other lady . . . I cannot—"
"I have no other lady."
She leaned into him, pliant. She could not fight their passion, and for the time being, she gave up trying.
Chapter 38
ROLFE leaned back in his chair and fixed Thorpe with a steady gaze.
It was always good to consult his old friend. The talk with Bertrand of Marhill and his son Reginald had gone well. They had begged off staying any longer once the meeting was over, because they had left guests of their own in order to meet with Rolfe. Rolfe was well pleased. It was as Henry had said. Bertrand had several sons that Rolfe could make use of, and that was just what he needed. Rolfe's own men were loath to take the responsibility of governing his remaining keeps. They preferred soldiering.
"What do you think of Sir Reginald? Will he make a good castellan of Warling?"
"He seems eager enough, overeager in fact," Thorpe replied thoughtfully. "Until now he had only the prospect of Marhill, and that only after Bertrand dies. I think he will serve you well, if only to prove he is worthy of Marhill when the time comes."
"I agree. Now we have only to win Warling."
"Another week or two, and the walls will give," Thorpe predicted confidently. "The tunnel at Blythe is in the works as well. Kempston should be well secured before the first snows. And what will we do then?
We will have peace across your lands, and nothing left to do."
Rolfe grinned. "Let me enjoy peace for a while, before I go looking for another war."
"You may come to like being a landed lord too well to go hieing off to war."
Rolfe said nothing. He was considering the truth of that statement, and Thorpe knew it.
Thorpe grunted. "At any rate, I see your point. It was wise to sound out Sir Bertrand and his son before you actually need them. To tell the truth, I thought you were only using this meeting as an excuse to see your wife."
Rolfe grinned, and Thorpe guffawed. "Damn me! I was right!"
"Whatever brings me back here is welcome." Rolfe shrugged.
"And what did she think of your enlisting two of Bertrand's sons for your own keeps? He did say he had another son who would do well for Blythe Keep?"
"Yes, but I have not told Leonie yet."
Thorpe rolled his eyes heavenward. "What can you be thinking of, my friend? Sir Bertrand isherman."
"I know."
"You should have consulted her before you made him the offer."
"I meant to, but last night . . . was not the time. And this morning"—he smiled fondly—"she was sleeping so peacefully, I couldn't waken her.
But what can she object to? I have simply bound the family more firmly to us. The father will work for her, the sons for me."
"A woman can be more jealous of what is hers than a man would ever be."
Rolfe frowned. "How is it that you know so much about women all of a sudden?"
"I know a good deal more than you do, apparently."
Rolfe grunted, stretching his arm to reach the cold meat on a platter which the young serving maid was just bringing to the table. Rolfe noted her smile and his eyes followed her as she walked away.
"If you know so much about women," he demanded of Thorpe, "tell me what the devil has plagued the women around me. I do not mean my wife."
Thorpe choked on a bit of bread. "What women?" he managed without grinning.
"All of them! The servants, the wives of my men. For weeks every one of them behaved as if I were diseased. Now suddenly I get smiles all the time. Lady Bertha even rode over to Warling to bring me a fruit pie, and Warren's wife sent flowers—flowers!"
Thorpe could not hide his amusement any longer and laughed with delight. "They are doubtless trying to make amends for thinking it was you who beat your wife on your wedding night. Lady Leonie was the one who corrected the mistake. I hear she was quite angry when she learned you were being blamed for what her father did."
"She was beaten. Who says so?"
Thorpe's humor fled. Rolfe had paled, and his body was still as death.
"Damn me, Rolfe, do you mean you didn't know? But you spent the night with her. How could you not know?"
"Who?" Rolfe repeated. His voice was a whisper.
"Lady Roese caught a glimpse of her face the next morning when the ladies came for your sheets," Thorpe said uneasily.
"How badly was she beaten?"
Thorpe realized he had to tell all he knew. "Apparently it was a harsh beating. I heard it said Lady Leonie's face was swollen grotesquely and blackened with bruises. That is what shocked Lady Roese so badly.
Thinking you were responsible, she did not keep quiet about the beating."
"You knew all this, and you never spoke to me about it?"
"I thought surely youknew.I would not have mentioned any of this now except for the gossip and . . ."
Thorpe watched as Rolfe leaped from his chair and bounded out of the hall in six strides. A few moments later, he jumped as a door slammed shut upstairs.
Chapter 39
LEONIE looked up in dismay as her husband towered over her, in a rage about something, glowering in a terrifying manner.
"Why did you never tell me what was done to you?"
"Done?" Was he drunk again? "You will have to be more specific if—"
"You were beaten severely! Was everyone to know of it except me?"
Leonie stiffened, her eyes turning a stormy silver gray. This was not a subject dear to her, but then he already knew that.
"I have told you before that I will not speak of what happened," she said frostily.
"Damn me, you will! You will tell me what you gained by hiding your beating from me!"
"Hiding it!" she came back furiously. "There was nothing to hide, except from Sir Guibert, and that was to prevent murder being done.You knew! Judith admitted to me that she told you. Why else do you think I stabbed you that night? I awoke in pain, caused by your touch on my bruised face. It was a thoughtless, normal reaction. You must have understood that, since you never mentioned the stabbing to me."
Rolfe's anger was tempered somewhat by hers, but only somewhat. "I never mentioned that little prick you made with your knife, Leonie, because that is all it was. And your stepmother did warn me you had to be forced to marry me, but she didn't tell me how you were forced. I thought you were denied a few meals, the standard practice for reluctant brides."
"There was no time for that, my lord," she said bitterly. "My father did not tell me I was to marry until the day before the wedding. As usual, his drunkenness made him thoughtless."
"Does drunkenness excuse him?"
"Ido not excuse him!"
"For your beating, or because you are now married to me?" he asked harshly.
Leonie turned her back, but Rolfe whirled her around, his fingers bi
ting into her arms, his eyes black with rage.
"Why, Leonie? Why was I so abhorrent to you? Why did you have to be beaten before you would consent to marry me?"
He was shouting at her, stirring her already churning emotions. Never mind that she was beaten. Never mind that she had suffered. His vanity was wounded, and that was all that concerned him!
"I was afraid of you, my lord. I had been told you were a monster, and that was all I knew of you. I thought you wanted me only for revenge, because of the trouble you felt I had caused you. A beating was easier than what I believed you would do to me." Reflectively, she added, "I thought I could withstand a beating, but I was wrong. The cur would have killed me had I not sworn on my mother's grave that I would wed you."
This was uttered with all the hatred she felt for Richer Calveley. Rolfe thought it reflected her anger at being forced to marry him.
"So you thought me a monster?"
"I did."
"And still do?"
"I did not say so, my lord."
"No, of course not, but I must assume it is so. Why else do you still scorn me? Why else do you refuse to be my wife in truth?"
Something in his tone made her wary. What kind of confession was he looking for? And then it struck her. He wanted to hear her rail at him again about his mistress. How appeased his vanity would be to have her act the jealous wife. She would not give him that satisfaction.
She dropped her eyes. "I do not scorn you, my lord. Whyever would you think so?"
"Do you not?" he said harshly. "You are just cold by nature then?"
"Perhaps," she agreed glibly.
He turned away from her. "Or perhaps you love another!"
"Another?" she replied incredulously, her temper flaring despite her resolve. "Look who talks of another! I take marriage seriously, my lord, even ifyoudo not!"
"Be damned if you do, or you would have renounced your first love and accepted me. Well I would hear the truth now, madame, and have done with it. No longer will I let these suspicions gnaw at my insides."
Leonie found it hard to believe what he was saying. How dare he accuse her of infidelity when he . . .