She drew herself up sharply, eyes a wintry gray. "If you are searching for an excuse to send me away, my lord, you need not go to so much trouble. I will be more than happy to leave."
His eyes flared before his lips tightened into an ominous line. "No doubt you would like that, wife."
"Indeed," she retorted, her anger flaring. He was going to sever their relationship. How easy everything was for men!
He took a step toward her, and she thought for certain he was going to strike her, so black was his expression. He towered over her, body rigid, fists clenched, eyes like hot coals.
"If it has been your hope that you can still have him, you hope in vain," he rasped furiously. "I may indeed grow tired of your icy demeanor one day and have done with you, but you will never have him.
I will kill him first!"
"Who?" she shouted.
"Montigny!"
Leonie was so surprised she might have laughed. It was unfortunate she did not, for Rolfe saw only her surprise and it inflamed him.
"You thought I did not know it was that young ne'er-do-well? I knew it before I wed you!"
Leonie tried to comprehend but couldn't. She said simply, "You are wrong, my lord."
"You have always loved him, madame. It is why you set your people against me. It is why you refused to marry me. It is why you hate me still, because I have you, while you yearn for him!"
Leonie did laugh this time, and it was Rolfe's turn to be bewildered.
She couldn't help herself. He was jealous of poor Alain. How absurd.
She smiled at her husband. "I do not mean to take this matter lightly, for no doubt you have harbored these suspicions for some time. But you see, Alain is only a friend. I did once fancy he might do as a husband, but that was long ago when he was theonlyyoung man I knew and I despaired of ever having a husband, confined as I was to Pershwick. But it was only a fancy, and quickly forgotten. Alain grew to be a man sadly lacking in character, and I no longer yearned for a husband by then anyway. Yet I could not forsake him simply because he had a few weak traits, so we remained friends."
Rolfe was still scowling. "You expect me to believe you would set your people against me for the sake of—of friendship?"
"Would you not go to war for a friend?"
"You are a woman."
Leonie kept a rein on her temper. "I will not argue that point with you, my lord. The fact is I did not set my people against you. The day Alain told me what had befallen him, and that you were coming here to take his lands from him, I wished a pox on you. There, I have finally confessed what I did," she said, relieved. "I thought the worst of you, and my people took this to heart."
Rolfe did not know what to think. He wanted to believe her, but if she did not love Alain, then why would she not love him?
"If all you have said is true, Leonie, then there is no reason for you to still hate me."
"But I do not hate you, my lord."
"But you will not accept me, either."
Leonie lowered her eyes and said softly, "I could accept you, my lord, if it wereonlyyou. But you ask more of me than that I accept only you."
"Is that supposed to make sense to me, woman?" His voice rose in frustration.
Leonie did not look up. Rolfe stared hard at her for several moments more, then turned and stalked out of the room. Seeing Thorpe waiting for him downstairs reminded him of what had set him off, and his frustration over his wife's cryptic remark turned once again to burning anger. He had to put an end to these secrets and confusions and upsets, and he believed he could end the turmoil by going back to its beginning.
Chapter 40
JUDITH rolled her head back, giggling as Richer's thick beard began to tickle her breasts. He had come upon her in the storeroom and proceeded to play his little games with her, refusing to take no for an answer. Backing her into the meal sacks, he thrust his body against her, stilling with his lips her protests over the hour and place.
How forceful he was, this cruel man. And he was cruel. She could see in his eyes, when he touched her with a gentle hand, that he desired to hurt her instead, as he did his other women. But he did not dare use rough ways with her. They both knew he did not dare, but knowing what he was capable of made him all the more exciting to her.
When he began to lift her skirts, Judith gave another token protest. It was what he liked, her resistance. It always fired his blood. When they met at agreed-upon places, she was usually too ready for him, too eager.
He liked to catch her unaware, to take her in unlikely places where he knew she would fear discovery and try to put him off.
"Can you not wait until this evening, Richer, and come to my room as we planned?"
He grunted. "I do not like taking you with your husband snoring drunkenly beside us."
"But that is what is so exciting, love," Judith purred. "If he wakes, he thinks he is having another delusion."
He glowered at her, but she knew it rather suited Richer's dark sense of humor to cuckold his lord right in front of him. It suited her, as well, for she hated William more every day. It was thrilling to have another man mount her while her besotted husband slept beside them.
"I will have you now, and then again later." Richer grinned darkly, pressing the lower half of his body firmly into hers.
His flames of desire were well met by hers, as he knew they would be.
Her thighs parted to accommodate him, even as she sighed and said dramatically, "You will do as you will, Richer. You always do."
He laughed, but his laughter was cut short by a whining servant's voice outside the door. "My lady?"
"What?" Judith shrieked.
"My lady," quavered the voice. "Your son-in-law is here. Rolfe d'Ambert awaits your pleasure."
To Richer she said curtly, "Let me up, love. You must wait for this evening after all. Faugh! What the devil does he want?"
Judith made haste to straighten her bodice and her hair. She shouted to the servant that she would greet their guest momentarily.
"I will make myself scarce," Richer said, "in case he has brought his lady with him."
Judith glanced over at him, startled. She had never heard uneasiness in Richer's voice before.
She frowned, a touch nervous herself. "Yes, that would be best. If the lord of Kempston has gained any fondness at all for my stepdaughter, it would not do to remind her of you. She might talk to her husband about you, and there is no telling what would come of that."
In the great hall of Montwyn, Rolfe d'Ambert stood waiting with two of his knights. This was not a simple courtesy visit, and Judith became frightened immediately upon seeing Rolfe's menacing countenance.
There was not a cordial line in his face, not even a feigned smile of greeting as she approached. At least Leonie was not with Rolfe, she noted, hoping her absence would make him a bit less confident than he seemed.
Judith graciously nodded to him. "Lord Rolfe—"
"Your husband, madame. How long will he keep me waiting here?"
"Waiting? William is indisposed, Sir Rolfe. The servants know they must not disturb him."
"Then I suggest you disturb him, madame."
She gave him her most beguiling smile. "Surely you would not mind spending time with me instead? I will tell William later that you were here."
"I think not," Rolfe said. "It is your husband I wish to have words with, not you. Will you rouse him, my lady, or shall I?"
"But he trulyisindisposed," Judith insisted worriedly. "I—I doubt he would even know you, my lord."
"He is already drunk at this early hour?" Rolfe growled in disgust.
Judith shrugged. It was just as well he knew, for then he would not bother her again. "It is an unfortunate truth, my lord, that William is very seldom sober."
"I see."
Rolfe turned to his men and said, "We will stay here and see the man wrung out to dry. Send word to Sir Thorpe that we will not return today.
He might as well go back to Warling—Damn me
!" he said explosively.
"There is no tellinghowlong this will take!"
Judith was finding it difficult to hide her increasing fear. "What is it you want with my husband, my lord?"
Rolfe's black eyes fixed on her. "That is not your concern, madame."
"But—but you cannot simply—"
"No?" he interrupted, his voice low. "Perhaps you like having a sot for a husband?"
"Of course not." She managed to appear most affronted. "I have tried to stop his drinking, but he cannot function without it. I have been unable to help him."
"Then you will thank me for taking a hand. I will soon see him functioning well and understanding me perfectly. Now please lead the way. I would begin this distasteful duty immediately."
Panic mounted in Judith and grew steadily worse as days passed and Rolfe d'Ambert stayed doggedly at the task he had set for himself. She even considered killing the arrogant lord, or killing William, but the former was impossible and the latter, well, if William died, Leonie would inherit everything. Judith would be cast out, penniless. Leonie would do her no good, that was certain.
If only she knew what it was that had brought the lord of Kempston there, but he continued to ignore her pleas to explain. Richer insisted she worried for nothing, but why was Rolfe d'Ambert so angry, and why did he have a ruthless determination to see William coherent and sensible?
The lord of Montwyn was bathed and sheared and bathed again countless times despite his curses and attempts to ward off his persecutors. He was stuffed with food, only to retch it up. He was denied all but milk or water to drink. He was ignored when he screamed for something more potent, ignored when his body shook uncontrollably.
And all the while d'Ambert's anger was a palpable thing, held in check only by heaven knew what.
Judith could only stand by helplessly and watch all that she had accomplished over the years being undone. Her only hope was that William was too far gone to remember any of the recent past, and that once d'Ambert left them alone, William would run back to his drink.
Chapter 41
ROLFE rubbed his face wearily. He was sick of this room, sick of the pathetic man who had drunk his life away.
"If you meant to kill me, why couldn't you do it quickly?"
Rolfe had heard that lament a dozen times in the last grueling days.
William of Montwyn was feeling deeply sorry for himself, and hurting miserably. But his hands no longer trembled quite so much, and his nightmares had begun to lessen.
Rolfe decided he had waited long enough. He finally replied, calling across the room, startling Montwyn and his servants, Rolfe's men, and Lady Judith. "Because, my lord," Rolfe drawled, "I want you to know why I wish to kill you."
The voice was so emotionless that William did not quite credit the statement. His eyes, still slightly streaked with red, fastened on Rolfe. He had been fully dressed that morning despite his protests, and forcibly seated at a table where a feast of wholesome foods awaited him. He ignored them, staring hard at the man responsible for his miserable condition.
"Do you, indeed, Sir Rolfe?" William asked sarcastically, his voice cracking. "Be so good as to tell me why."
"William, no!" Judith rushed forward, alarmed. "Do not provoke him!"
"It is you who provoke me, madame," Rolfe said harshly as he rose and came forward. "Out, all of you," he ordered, nodding to Sir Piers to indicate that Judith would need help in leaving.
"You take too much upon yourself!" William blustered, but he did not even rise.
Rolfe waited until the door was closed before his eyes pierced William. "You know me now?"
"Of course I know you. I just married you to my daughter. God's pity for that."
"Just?"
"What do you mean, sir?" William demanded.
"It has been a full three months since I wed your daughter. Do you know that?"
"Three?" William deflated. "Where has—the time gone?"
"Do you remember the wedding?" Rolfe's voice was coldly menacing now.
"Well, most of it."
"And before?"
"You signed the contract."
"Before that," Rolfe hissed, leaning across the table. "Before you came to Crewel."
"Now, see here." William sighed, exasperated. "If you have something you want to say, then say it. Do not keep prompting me. I am very tired."
"I want to know exactly what you remember doing to your daughter!"
Confused, William rubbed his temples, trying to think. What could he have done to so incense his son-in-law?
"Ah, yes, I do recall she was very upset with me, and with reason," William admitted frankly.
"Upset?" Rolfe growled. "What you did merely upset her?"
"I make no excuse for myself," William said contritely. "I gave her no warning about the wedding because I did not remember it myself. In truth, I still have no memory of receiving the king's order that insisted she marry you."
"Damn me!" Rolfe shouted furiously. "You speak of trifles after the brutal beating you gave her!"
William came slowly to his feet, his fact mottled with rage. "What knavery is this? How dare you suggest—"
"Shewasbeaten, my lord, forced to marry me, as she has finally admitted to me. I did not know it myself, but God knows everyone else did."
The crimson turned to pallor. "It is impossible."
"Impossible that you do not remember, or that you did the despicable deed?"
William shook his head. "I tell you, whether I could remember or not, I would never hurt that child. She is all I have left of my Elisabeth. I could not hurt her. I love her too dearly."
"Love her?" Rolfe was truly astonished. "You love her so much you banished her from here and forsook her for years?"
"What lies are these?" William demanded. "I . . . sent her away for a time, in the agony of my grief, yes, I remember that. But not for long. I could never be long away from my only child. She was—" He pressed his palms to his temples, trying to remember. "Judith swore . . . Leonie was busy . . . I . . . Judith swore I . . . God in heaven!" He moaned. "I did not recognize her that day at Pershwick!I cannot rememberseeing my Leonie grow up!" He looked at Rolfe, stupefied, as though expecting some clarification from him.
Rolfe frowned. Something was not right. The man's anguish was genuine.
"What are you saying, Sir William?" Rolfe asked carefully. "That in your drunkenness, you thought Leonie was still here with you?"
"She was." The voice had weakened to a whisper.
Rolfe sighed, disgusted. "If you had been sober when I came in here, I would have killed you for the pain you have caused your daughter. Now
I can feel only pity for you." He turned slowly and moved toward the door.
"Wait! I do not know who has told you these lies about my Leonie, but Judith can tell you—"
Rolfe swung back around, eyes flashing. "Fool! It is Leonie who told me."
"No! God's mercy, no! May my hand be struck off if I ever hurt her. I swear—"
"Let me think!" Rolfe bellowed, and William subsided.
"Who else was with you when you told Leonie she must marry me?"
Rolfe asked.
"I can barely remember being there, and you expect—"
"Think, my lord!"
"There were servants . . . Leonie's man Guibert . . . my wife."
It made no sense. Leonie's people would not hurt her, and Judith wasn't strong enough to do Leonie harm. Sir Guibert wouldn't have hurt her.
"What did Leonie say when you told her the news? Did she attempt to leave Pershwick?"
"I have already told you she was upset. She said not a word to me but fled to her room. If she came out before the next day, I do not know."
"You didn't even try to talk to her?" Rolfe demanded. What was wrong with this man?
William dropped his head abjectly. "Judith felt it would do no good, after my unpardonable forgetfulness had caused Leonie's dismay. She insisted I leave the matter . . . to her." Wil
liam's voice faded again. "She pointed out that I would be in the way of the preparations. She had Guibert amuse me with a hunt. You see? I am beginning to remember things."
Rolfe stepped to the door and called for Sir Piers. "Where did you take Lady Judith?"
"Below."
"Bring her back—quickly." To William he said, "She is a woman. What man here would do her bidding without question?"
"All," William admitted. "I am ashamed to say I cannot remember the last time I dealt directly with my people for anything."
"Do you tell me your wife has had full control of Montwyn for a matter of years?" Rolfe asked incredulously.
"I . . . she must have," William whispered.
William's mind was still very slow, but one thing was becoming crystal clear. If he could believe all that his son-in-law had been telling him, then Judith was not simply guilty of tricking him into marrying her—and yes, he did remember that—but she had also kept him separated from his daughter. He didn't know how she had done it, but she had.
Leonie's husband was enraged over the pain inflicted on her because of the wedding, but William was devastated by the pain she must have borne thinking her father had abandoned her for so long. And he had abandoned her, in truth, abandoned her to his grief, to his weak will, and to a woman who manipulated and lied to him so easily, for so long.
He was remembering too many things all of a sudden, and the blackest rage engulfed him from deep within himself. He was to blame.
He had let it happen, let his scheming wife take over his whole existence.
When she stepped into the room, Judith was met by such a murderous look from her husband that she knew she had been found out in some way. She couldn't brazen it out with lies, for William was sober and in control of himself. She hadn't seen him like this since the time he discovered she had tricked him into marrying her. He was looking at her as if he wanted to kill her. She would have to throw herself on his mercy and play for time until they were left alone and she could get him to drinking again.
Her fear was real enough as she threw herself at her husband. Tears came quickly, and she looked up at him beseechingly.