Defy Not the Heart (31 page)

R
eina had forgotten about her guests until Gilbert, looking for her, met her in the forebuilding. Lord Roghton and his lady wife were requesting lodging for the night, on their way to London. It was a common enough occurrence. When the court was in London, they would get parties of travelers as often as two or three times a week.

“I have not heard the name before. From where do they come?”

“Northumbria.”

“
Jesú
, as far away as that? Well, make them welcome, Gilbert, and find a chamber for them. And if I can manage to get through the hall without their notice,” she added with a grin, looking down at her filthy clothes, “tell them I will join them at the evening meal.”

“Aye, my lady, but the lord has stopped here before, many years ago, I believe it was,” Gilbert felt it necessary to warn her. “He asked for a night’s lodging then, too, but ended up staying nigh a sennight.”

Another common occurrence, a practice of those with large retinues or only one estate who frequently exhausted their own stores, and so would travel about for months at a time, stopping at one keep or another until they had worn out their stay, all at little or no cost to themselves.

“One of those, eh?” She chuckled, not minding for the simple fact that Clydon could afford such extras at table.

She still could not place the name, but she did remember when she came down to supper later that day and saw the man. She had been five or six at the time of Lord Roghton’s last visit and she had thought him the ugliest creature alive. He was still hard on the eye, though she was no longer a child to be frightened by it. A man nearing two score years, he had been overweight before and was even more so now, but that had naught to do with it. He had cruel eyes, there was no other word for it; a large, bulbous nose that distracted from them if you let it; and two hideous scars, one that twisted his mouth into a permanent sneer, and one that puckered his cheek and pulled down the skin near his left eye.

His wife was not yet present. Reina could only pity the woman such a husband. ’Twould be different were there any kindness in him, but she was remembering more and more of his first visit, and that was not the case at all. In fact, she believed Roghton had made himself so obnoxious with his subtle insults and little cruelties that her father had finally asked him to leave. Well, she would see if he had changed any, but she wished mightily that Ranulf were here to deal with him instead of her.

He stood with Sir William and Lady Margaret. Reina’s younger ladies were all mysteriously absent from the hall. She could not blame them. Roghton really was the stuff of nightmares.

Searle and Eric both appeared simultaneously at her side ere she reached the group by the hearth. They were ridiculously protective of her whenever Ranulf
was away and they were left behind, and had been the recipients of her sharp tongue more than once since she had become so testy. But for once she was grateful for their presence.

Searle had married Louise de Burgh as Ranulf had intended, so Reina did not see much of him anymore, except when Ranulf was gone. That match had worked out rather well, considering the lady had had to be dragged screaming and kicking to her wedding bed. The last Reina had seen of her, she had been blissfully contented. Whatever Searle had done or said to her, it had had a magical effect. Would that she could do the same with Ranulf.

“Ah, Lady Rhian, is it not? The child with the witch’s black hair. Do you remember me, lady?”

Reina stiffened. Two insults in as many sentences? Did the man think she was a complete idiot, that she would assume his words an innocent mistake? Gilbert would have told him her name.
He
had to be an idiot could he not remember a simple first name given him mere hours ago.

“Actually, Lord Ralston,” she replied, paying him in kind, “my name is Reina—Reina Fitz Hugh. Do you care to forget it again, you may simply call me lady, as is my due. And were I a witch, you would not feel safe to sleep under my roof, so ’tis fortunate I am not.”

She was not her mother, to ignore innuendos and sly taunts, and pass them off as unimportant in deference to keeping the peace in her hall. If Roghton thought he could get away with that nonsense here, now, he had better think again.

She had managed to surprise him. He had not ex
pected to have his disrespect tossed back at him, not by a woman at any rate.

Disconcerted as he was, his reply was civil. “I understand you are newly wed, Lady Reina.”

“Aye, if you can call four months newly wed. My husband is away to London, however, with his father, Hugh de Arcourt.”

“Lyonsford?”

“The same.”

She did not hear another offensive word after that, which was amusing did she care to think of it, since Clydon was more powerful than Lyonsford. This just went to prove that a lady in charge of a small kingdom was not as impressive as a warlord owning much less—unless she cared to mention the names of those warlords as being relations.

His wife arrived, and Reina, like everyone else who had not seen her yet, went into mild shock. In complete contrast to her husband, she was a woman of stunning, incomparable beauty. Blond, fair-skinned, with the face of an angel. Even Eadwina had cause to be teeth-gnashingly jealous.

’Twas inconceivable that this vision of loveliness could be wed to a man like Roghton. Who could be so cruel as to have arranged a match between such opposites?

Searle and Eric were both awe-struck. Actually, every man in the room had gone silent and still, in some way affected by the lady. Reina was mayhap the only one to notice the delight of the husband in the reaction to his wife. He enjoyed the sensation she caused, and then the horror that such a desirable, exquisite thing could be his. Despite that, he took the lady to task for being late, embarrassing her and any
one near enough to hear his deliberately harsh scolding. And Reina was sure it was deliberate. ’Twas more a demonstration to dispel the disbelief and clarify for anyone still in doubt that she really did belong to him.

Reina had little opportunity to talk to Lady Roghton, at least not until supper was nearly finished. Roghton had dominated the conversation, and his lady had sat meekly to his left, uttering not a word and looking as miserable as she must feel. Reina tried to imagine herself in the lady’s position. Had she not had a loving father, such could have indeed happened to her. It made her sick to think about it.

When Roghton, who had stuffed himself with everything near to hand, was finally replete, his interest was snared by the more uninhibited talk among the men at the lower tables. Reina was left alone with Lady Roghton, who moved closer on the bench as soon as her husband left. But she was now faced with the dilemma of what to say that would not smack of sympathy. She need not have worried. The blond beauty was not at all hesitant, now that she was no longer cowed by Lord Roghton’s presence.

“I was told your husband is Ranulf Fitz Hugh?”

“Do you know him?”

“I am not sure,” Lady Roghton demurred. “Is he tall, very tall, and all golden?”

Reina was amused. “Aye, that could well describe him.”

“Then he
is
my Ranulf,” the woman said excitedly. “This is incredible! Ranulf? Lord of Clydon? ’Tis a shame I missed him, but I heard someone say he is in London, so I will be sure to find him there.”

Reina could do no more than stare. Had the woman forgotten whom she was speaking to? Was she even
aware of that possessive “my” she had let slip? ’Twas difficult to tell. Her manner had completely changed. She was fairly bubbling with excitement.

“When—when did you know Ranulf?” Reina asked.

“Oh, ’twas long ago, but he will not have forgotten me.” She laughed, a sweet, musical sound. “Of course you can guess our relationship. Every woman at Montfort wanted him, he was so beautiful to look at. How could I resist him? I even bore him a child.”

Anne? Sweet
Jesú
, this was Lady Anne!

The shock must have been apparent in Reina’s face, for the woman added mistakenly, “You did not know? But ’tis naught to concern yourself with. Men are never faithful, you know. They spread their bastards all over the countryside. Why, Ranulf is one himself.” And then she smiled. “’Tis why I am so amazed he has come to be Lord of Clydon.”

Reina took a sip of wine, hoping it would defuse the fury she suddenly felt. What kind of woman would say such things to a man’s wife—unless she hoped to make trouble between them? Walter was right about the lady. She was naught but a calculating bitch beneath the sweet smiles and angelic looks. And
she
had pitied her?

“You did not say what happened to this child you bore,” Reina said tightly, realizing Anne wanted her to think she had this link to Ranulf.

The lady was disconcerted by the question. “Did I not? He died, poor thing. I was so devastated.”

“He?”

“I believe—” she started doubtfully, but was quick to correct the impression. “Well, of course ’twas a boy. I would know what I gave birth to.”

Sweet
Jesú
, she actually did not know, had not cared. To Reina, as an expectant mother, that fact was nearly as inconceivable as what the lady had done with the child, her daughter, her flesh and blood—oh, God!

Reina stood up, unable to bear another moment of Lady Anne’s presence. “’Tis fortunate Ranulf is not here,” she said and walked away.

Anne smiled, misunderstanding what had been a warning were she smart enough to realize it.

R
anulf bounded up the stairs to the Great Hall, uncaring of the noise he made or of the hour, which was late. He had missed Clydon. Three weeks was too long a time to be away from—well, he might as well admit it. ’Twas his wife he had missed, not Clydon. She might be willful, temperamental, at times extremely aggravating, but when he was with her, he felt more special than he ever had in his life—cared for, important, needed. She saw to his every comfort, nursed him when he was ill, scolded him when he pushed himself too far, worried over him. He did not have to be on his guard with her, or suspect her every word and motive, for she had proved herself to be different from what he had come to expect in women. Even his new relationship with his father did not come close to the way Reina made him feel.

He ought to tell her, but he knew not the courtly words a lady would expect to hear. Did he try to wax lyrical, she was more like to laugh at him than take him seriously. Besides, she must know how he felt. Women were supposed to be intuitive about such things. And he knew how she felt, had known since she first called him lackwit, a name she reserved only for those she cared about.

Aye, he knew her well. The only thing he did not know was why she was taking so long to tell him of the child she carried. But as his father had warned
him, and Walter, too, who had been at home for the birthing of two younger sisters, ’twas not unusual for a woman to behave strangely in that condition.

Considering his thoughts and where he was rushing to, Ranulf was ill prepared for the woman who stepped into his path as he crossed the darkened hall. She appeared so suddenly he nearly knocked her over. He started to apologize, then saw who she was. The words died in his throat.

Anne had seen him coming. She had been trying to wake her drunken husband, who had fallen asleep by the hearth. Now she was glad he had drunk himself into a stupor. The opportunity was heaven-sent. She would not waste it.

“So you do remember me, Ranulf,” she said with satisfaction, and added for good measure, knowing no man liked to be taken for granted: “Your wife would have had me believing you had forgotten all your previous lovers when you wed her. She claimed to have your affections firmly in hand.”

All of Ranulf’s old wariness came rushing to the fore. He knew his wife would intimate no such thing, leastwise not to a stranger, but that only proved that once a liar, always a liar. This woman had not changed at all. She was as beautiful as ever, nay, more so with the added fullness of maturity. Her soul was still black as sin, however, and if she had been in Reina’s company for any time at all, there was no telling what mischief she had caused.

He decided to play along with her for the moment, though his hands itched to close around her throat. She was a woman who picked her words carefully. Everything she said was for effect, good or bad. She
had to have a reason for wanting him to feel resentment for his wife’s loose tongue.

“’Tis a surprise, lady, to find you here.”

“Did you think we would never meet again? I always knew we would.” She stepped closer to whisper, “You cannot imagine how often I have thought of you, Ranulf, remembering the passion we shared.” Her hand came to rest on his chest. “Is there not somewhere we can…speak alone?”

It was a seductive offer. At one time it would have had the power to inflame his senses and make him mad with lust for her. All it did now was make his skin crawl with revulsion.

He looked about him at the servants in the shadows, fast asleep. “For all intents and purposes, we are alone.”

“I meant—never mind.” She pouted. “You must have forgotten how often we sought dark corners.”

He was growing tired of waiting for her to get to the point of what she wanted. He knew ’twas not him, so it had to be something he could do for her.

“I am a man now, Anne. I prefer a warm bed.”

“I have one in my chamber.”

“Which brings to mind the question of what you are doing here.”

For a moment her carefully controlled expression wavered to show her irritation with him. “Is that all you can think of? We were in love, Ranulf.”

“I was, or thought I was. You chose a different path, however.”

“For which I have been punished ever since!” She then stated her plea with appropriate feeling. “Oh, God, Ranulf, you cannot know the monster Montfort gave me to.” She stabbed a finger toward the hearth,
where a candle was lit and Roghton could be seen sprawled on a bench. “There, that is my husband, and his soul is as grotesque as his body.”

“The man did not matter, as I recall,” he replied coldly. “Only his wealth.”

“Can you not see I am trying to tell you I was wrong?” she cried. “He is wealthy enough, but all the wealth in the kingdom cannot make up for the hell he has made of my life all these years. Do you know he trains falcons to attack people, then sets them loose on his poor villeins for sport? That is the kind of man he is, and I cannot bear it anymore.”

Whether that was true or not, Ranulf was unmoved. “Then leave him.”

“Do you think I have not tried? I am kept as a prisoner—watched, followed, locked in my chamber whenever he is not about.”

Ranulf looked again at the sleeping man. “Go now. I see no one to stop you.”

“He would only find me and drag me back as he has done before.”

As Ranulf had thought, this was not what she was after. “Why do you tell me all this?”

“You could help me, if you would.”

“How?”

She moved closer again, this time to brush her breasts against his forearm. “Kill him for me,” she pleaded huskily. “He has told his men that does he die by suspicious means, I am to be tortured to death. And they will do it. They are as mean and vicious as he. He could choke to death on his food and they would kill me. He must be challenged fairly, die by the sword. Please, Ranulf, free me from him.”

So there was justice after all. He almost laughed
aloud. She wanted him to free her from a hell she well deserved? Not likely, but he did not tell her so just yet.

“For what reason would I challenge him? I see no marks on you to show you are mistreated. In fact, Anne, I find it hard to believe the man does not cherish you.”

“He did, at first, but I could not stomach his touch and he knew it, and came to hate me because of it. Then he found me with a—with a lover, and he killed him with his bare hands.”

“But he did naught to you?”

“He—he waited until my grief had lessened. He wanted me to grieve. He was glad of that. He did naught as long as he thought I was suffering, but as soon as I began to heal, he beat me. He wanted me to remember, you see. He thought my grief was so strong at first that a beating would not have mattered in comparison, so he waited. That is the kind of diabolical man he is. And now he beats me if I even look at another man. Oh, please, Ranulf,” she begged, throwing her arms around his neck. “I cannot live like this any longer. Can I not be free of him soon, I am like to kill myself.”

“You think I would care?”

She leaned back slowly, frowning, but disbelieving his meaning. “You loved me once,” she pointed out.

“Now I love another.”

“Who?” When he did not answer, her eyes widened incredulously. “Certainly not that little mouse you married!”

“Mouse? She is more beautiful to me than any woman I know—or have ever known.”

“You do not mean that,” Anne scoffed, and be
came bolder in her desperation, pressing her hips to his. “You must remember all we—”

Ranulf reacted with violent disgust, shoving her away from him. Then he closed the distance again and caught her hair at the nape of her neck, yanking her her head back. At last she saw what he had kept under tight control. Hatred blazed from his eyes and sent a cold shiver down her spine.

“Lady, you killed my daughter,” Ranulf said in a deadly snarl. “You did not even kill her with mercy, but let her starve to death.
That
is all I remember about you. Now get out of my home ere I take the retribution you truly deserve.”

“I cannot leave without my husband!”

“Then best you wake him right quickly—or I will.”

“And what am I to tell him? ’Tis the middle of the night!”

“You will think of something, lady. Lies are your specialty.” With that he walked away and did not look back.

“That miserable whoreson,” Anne hissed, but only after he was gone. “How can he care about a bastard that was not even his own? I should have told him. That would have put the stupid wretch in his place.”

“Aye, you should have,” Walter said quietly behind her. “But I will be sure to correct the matter. ’Twill not take away the pain he has carried all these years, but it might lessen the memory of it some small bit.”

Anne had swung around at his first word and now smiled at him. “Sir Walter, is it not? Were you standing there long?”

“Long enough, lady,” and he too walked away, not hiding his contempt.

She glared after him until she heard the cruel laughter by the health and turned around with a gasp to see her husband sitting up and watching her. “Not having much luck tonight, are you, my dear? I see I should have come to bed sooner, for now I have no bed to go to at all. How do you think I should thank you for that?”

Anne paled and fled the hall to the chamber they had been given, to cower there in a corner. Her husband’s laughter could still be heard, which meant that he had been titillated by what he had heard and seen, which meant that he would want to bed her ere they departed. And that was far worse than any beating that might come later.