Rebellious Love (15 page)

Thought of the child she fought so desperately to protect made him even angrier. The world did not need another d'Arcy. He would see to it that this one would never be born alive. But in the meantime, he would use the baby as a weapon to control her.

Pulling Verony roughly to her feet, John warned: "If you want the brat to live, you will say nothing of this. Breathe a word of it to Curran or anyone else, and I will make your punishment tenfold." He shook her hard to emphasize the threat. "Do you understand?"

Mutely Verony nodded. She did not for an instant consider such a promise given under brutal coercion to be binding. But neither did she have an immediate plan for avoiding the king's attention. With the political situation so delicate, she did not dare tell Curran what had happened. His inevitable rage and the terrible actions that might stem from it could destroy the family.

Satisfied for the moment, John released her. He strode away grinning, anticipating the pleasure he would find in humiliating so beautiful and proud a woman.

Verony watched him go with wide, horror-filled eyes. The king's touch seemed to linger on her skin, making her cringe. Instinctively she wrapped slender arms around her belly as the child moved within. Terror reverberated through her, equaled only by rage so compelling as to make her tremble.

Never in her life had she felt so helpless. When she had only herself to consider, courage was second nature. But now that the fate of her babe, and

perhaps even of the d'Arcy family, were tied to her own, she was powerless to act.

A sound halfway between a moan and a snarl broke from her. John chose his weapons well. He sensed enough of her character to know she would not dare report this confrontation any more than she could risk the safety of her child.

Repulsion at the mere thought, no matter how remote, that she might have to give in to him made her stomach heave. Waves of nausea washed over her as she slumped against a pillar.

She was huddled there, weeping softly, when Lady Barbara found her. Heading for the garderobe, that good matron was at first startled and then horrified to discover Verony on the bench. Fearing that something might have gone wrong with the baby, she rushed to her side.

"My dear! What is it? Are you in pain? Are you bleeding?" Gentle hands brushed back the spill of red-gold hair. At the sight of the young girl's ashen face, Lady Barbara inhaled sharply. "Don't move! I'm going for help. I'll be right back. Don't move!"

Long years of coping with all manner of emergencies had trained the lady well. Her broad girth sped down the corridor as she called out to the first servants she spotted. The unmistakable authority and purpose of her manner sent them racing to obey her orders. Within minutes, Lady Emelie was summoned from the solar along with Arianna, and Curran was brought from the Great Hall.

He reached her side first, steely arms engulfing her with utter tenderness as he drew her trembling body into the shelter of his own. "Verony, my love, what is it? The baby . . . ?"

"No ... no ... the baby is fine," she managed to reassure him. "I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to disturb anyone. ..."

Unconvinced, Curran studied her urgently. He took in the total absence of color in her face, her wide, dilated eyes, the quivering of her mouth. A gentle hand brushed her skin, feeling its coldness.

Determinedly he rose with her in his arms. Cradled against his massive chest, Verony hardly heard the swift words he exchanged with his mother, Arianna's anxious questions, the worried exclamations of the other lords and ladies who saw her carried swiftly from the keep.

Laid across Curran's saddle, still snug in his arms, she buried her face against him. For the short time it took to cover the distance from the White Tower to the d'Arcy family compound, she allowed herself to luxuriate in a sense of utter safety.

Murmuring soothing words, Curran mounted the steps to their chamber in rapid strides. Lady Emelie and Arianna followed as he laid her carefully on the bed. Her cloak was slipped from her and a warm blanket tucked around her slim form. Only then did Curran move away to make room for Lady Emelie.

Her still beautiful face suffused with concern, the older woman took Verony's hand gently. Managing somehow to keep her voice steady, she asked: "Can you tell us what happened? What you are feeling?"

At the love and worry so evident in her mother-in-law's tone, hot tears rose in Verony's eyes. She was just able to blink them back as her free hand

clenched the coverlet. "I'm all right, really. . . . There's no reason to be concerned. . . . I'm so sorry I frightened you. ..."

Lady Emelie exchanged a silent glance with her son. Neither thought Verony was telling them everything, but they could not imagine why she should do otherwise. Unless she felt some embarrassment at the natural physical problems that could occur with pregnancy.

"Are you certain?" Lady Emelie prodded gently. "There is no bleeding or contractions?"

"No . . . nothing at all," Verony insisted, appalled by how her voice trembled. "I just became
dizzy . . . and a little sick to my stomach . . . that's
all "

Lady Emelie studied her a moment longer before apparently deciding she was telling the truth. Remorsefully she said: "You have been doing far too much, and I blame myself for allowing it. After your exhausting trip to London, you should have done nothing but rest."

"It wasn't your fault," Verony protested. "Curran will tell you how stubborn I am and how eager I was to see the court again." A faint smile touched her pale lips. "I'm afraid I would not have seen reason, no matter how hard you tried."

"Well, you are certainly going to do so now," Lady Emelie proclaimed with loving sternness. "I don't want you to move out of that bed until we are absolutely certain everything is all right. And then you're going to take it very easy. No more rushing back and forth to court." Her hand tightened on Verony's. "You must allow us to care for you, my dear, not simply for the baby's sake, but for yours as well. You are already very dear to us."

Deeply touched, Verony could only nod silently. Unshed tears burned the back of her throat as she relaxed against the down-filled bolster. After assuring Curran that she really did think Verony was all right, but was not to be allowed to lift a finger, Lady Emelie took herself off. The memory of her own early months as a bride was still firm enough for her to know that her son and his young wife needed to be alone.

When the door closed behind her, Curran allowed the firm grip he had maintained on his self-control to ease. Beneath his tan, his rugged features were gray. A nerve pulsed near his square jaw, and his mouth was drawn in a hard, tight line. Strong, calloused hands shook as he sat down beside Verony.

"When I saw you there on the bench," he muttered thickly, "so pale and trembling . . . never have I felt such fear ..."

Reproaching herself as much for having so alarmed him as for not being able to tell him the true cause behind her upset, Verony drew his powerful head close against her breast. Gently stroking his hair, she had to be content with admitting that perhaps his mother was right and she should rest more, even though she really was well and there was nothing wrong with the baby.

Hesitantly, Curran allowed himself to be convinced. From an acute pitch of dread more intense than any he had known in battle, he slowly regained composure. Verony still looked very strained and fragile, but some color had returned to her cheeks, and her skin was once more warm to the touch.

He stayed with her awhile longer, even after the lids had fluttered over her luminous eyes and she drifted into sleep. Not until he was certain she was resting comfortably did he slip quietly from the room.

Verony woke several hours later. Muted sounds filtering across the courtyard told her preparations were under way for the evening meal. Most of the servants would be busy in the kitchens and the Main Hall. Curran was most likely with his father and brothers, talking over the day's events at court. No one stirred in the house around her.

Grateful for the solitude, Verony sat up slowly. Her body still ached from the combined effects of severe tension and John's mauling, but she felt considerably more herself. Enough to understand full well the dangerous dilemma she faced.

Half regretting her decision not to tell Curran of the king's demands, even as she still believed her reasoning had been correct, she realized the moment for revealing the truth was past. Were she to speak now, her husband's rage might easily be directed at her as well as her assailant. She did not for an instant believe that Curran might harm her, and for far more reasons than simply the child she carried, but the mere thought of his displeasure sickened her. More than ever, she needed his love and comfort.

Yet if she did not speak, and John followed through on his threats, she would be helpless to protect either herself or the baby.

Slipping from the bed, Verony made her way cautiously to the washstand. She splashed cold water on her face and toweled it vigorously, trying to banish the fog of doubt and fear still clouding her thoughts.

Her best hope, she decided, was to maneuver for time. Her collapse at court provided an indisputable reason for her to remain safe within the walls of the family compound. If the king could not get at her, he might eventually lose interest.

Telling herself that strategy made sense, she wondered how long it would take before John decided she was not a worthwhile quarry. His mercurial temperament predisposed him to sudden fascinations and equally abrupt dismissals. Surely not very many weeks would have to pass before some other, more accommodating lady caught his eye.

Reassured that her problem might not be as great as it first appeared, Verony began to leave the chamber with the intention of joining the family for supper. But at the door she paused. Well-run though the d'Arcy household was, some slight chance lingered that John might have spies among the servants. Failing that, there could be some weak enough to be bribed for information. If her plan to remain within the compound was to succeed, she must play the invalid for all.

Returning to the bed, she resignedly slid back between the covers and propped herself up with the bolster. A quick search in the adjacent chest located her needlework. She was industriously, if not cheerfully, occupied when a light knock brought her upright.

Schooling her voice to sound weak, she called: "Who is it?"

The only answer was a faint creak as the door eased open. A serving woman slipped inside, eyeing Verony warily. "Beg pardon, m'lady, I didn't mean to disturb you."

Thinking the woman might have been sent to check on her welfare, Verony smiled kindly. "That's all right. I wasn't asleep."

The woman nodded but did not return the smile. She remained poised by the door. "I have a message for you, from one who thought you should receive it as quick as possible."

A frown marred the smoothness of Verony's brow. "What message?"

The woman came a few steps nearer, betraying her nervousness with twisting hands and quick looks back over her shoulder. "The gentleman you spoke with this afternoon wanted you to know he still looks forward to your company. He charges you to find some means of leaving here tomorrow when the rest of the family is at court. An escort will await you on the river road to bring you to him."

A leer twisted the woman's mouth, clear evidence of what she thought lay behind the message. If Curran d'Arcy's wife chose to play the whore, so be it. The servant was well paid by a messenger who wore the royal crest, and she was far too wily to question her betters.

Verony did not notice the woman's condemning stare. Sickened, she had turned her head into the bolster, her slender body heaving with fear and anger. The servant watched her for a moment, then shrugged and left. Let the lady solve her own problems. She had far too much to do as it was.

Much later, when she looked back on that time, Verony was never sure how she got through it. Not for a moment did she consider obeying the king's summons, but it took all her strength to keep from revealing her distress to Curran. The fact that she took her meals in the chamber and always pretended to be asleep when he returned from court helped. But even so, by the end of the week her endurance was almost gone.

Twice more the king sent word through the serving woman that he expected Verony to come to him. Each message was more sharply worded, hinting at dire punishment for her disobedience. But each she stalwartly ignored.

He will lose interest, she told herself, so repeatedly that the words became a prayerful chant. Sequestered in her chamber, bereft even of Lady Emelie or Arianna's company since they were in attendance to the queen, she wavered between dread and faintly flickering hope.

The messages were frightening, but the simple fact of their repetition seemed to indicate that the king could do nothing but sling words at her. He might be able to torment her mind, but he could not touch her body while she remained within the compound.

Slowly a tremulous sense of safety grew within her, only to be abruptly shattered five days after her removal from the tower.

On the morning of that day, John's patience ended. Driven to the brink and beyond by frustration and rage, he called his nobles together. Before them all, he announced that the marriage of Curran d'Arcy and Verony de Langford had taken place without his permission and was therefore invalid. The couple, he declared, were living together in contradiction of the laws of God and man. They must be separated at once.