Rexanne Becnel (5 page)

“Lady Lilliane,” he began, his old eyes infinitely sad. “They have—”

“No! Not here.” Lilliane would hear the terrible news in private, and no matter how Odelia and the other ladies complained, she ignored them. She was beside herself with worry as she slowed to match the old man’s pace. But even as she passed through the crowded courtyard, she could hear the gossip begin.

“All right, Thomas,” she began when they had reached the privacy of the falcon room. “What is it those two are about in there?”

“’Tis your betrothal contract, milady,” he explained. “Young Colchester demands that you wed him.”

Lilliane took a deep shaky breath. “And … and my father? What does he reply?”

“Well, he hasn’t rightly said yes. But …”

“But?” Lilliane whispered, aghast. She put a trembling hand to her throat.

“I’ve been with Lord Barton since I was a mere lad and he a mere babe in his mother’s arms.” Thomas shook his grizzled head. “He’ll agree. ’Tis what he’s always wanted.”

“But why! There is simply no logic in it at all.”

She was suddenly struck by an awful thought. “It could even be a terrible trick, Thomas! A way for Colchester to get close enough to strike my father down and filially get their misguided revenge upon him!”

The old man seemed to consider her words, but then he spoke up. “You discredit Lord Barton if you think he could so easily be taken in.”

“But why would he want to see me wed to our enemy? Has he forgotten how they accused him and sought to murder him? Or how they cut down poor Jarvis? Has he no pride?”

“Beggin’ your pardon, milady, but ’tis Orrick that must come first with the master. And such a union would benefit Orrick.”

“It would ruin us once and for all,” Lilliane contradicted him angrily. But she knew her anger was poorly directed at Thomas. It was her father—and that barbarian he bargained with—who deserved the force of her anger. Bound to do just that, she hastened from the falconry. The grim determination on her face deterred anyone from questioning her, and she proceeded uninterrupted to the large pair of carved wooden doors that led into the great hall.

She went to push one of the heavy panels open. But at precisely that moment it swung inward, and she stumbled into the hard chest of the man who was just leaving. His powerful hands grabbed her and prevented her from falling. As she looked up, appalled, her vision was filled with the disapproving expression of Sir Corbett of Colchester. His dark eyes narrowed and he seemed to see right through her as he pulled her upright. Then he set her aside and turned back to his host.

“It appears Orrick is in need of a firmer hand if serving wenches are free to interrupt their lord during his deliberations!” Then with a last frown in her direction he quit the hall.

Lilliane was so stunned at the absolute gall of the man that she could formulate no retort until he was mounted and riding away. In anger she went to slam the door, using all her strength. But as if to mock the futility of her fury, the massive panel only screeched in slow protest as it closed with a dull thud.

She was angry and frustrated; her heart was pounding and her breath came fast as she turned toward her father. But the contented expression on his aged face drained all the emotion from her. Already knowing the answer to her question, she slumped back against the solid wooden door.

“Father, what have you done?”

He did not answer at once but peered keenly at her. “I’ve only done what any overlord worth his salt would do—”

“Sell your own daughter to the devil himself?” she whispered in anguish.

“He may not be precisely to your liking, daughter, but he’ll make Orrick a good master. And you a fine husband.”

“I’d sooner take vows at Burgram Abbey,” Lilliane retorted in freshening anger. “You cannot truly mean for me to wed him!”

“Indeed I do mean it, Lilliane. The betrothal contract was never officially broken. And he and I are in agreement.”

Impotent rage gripped Lilliane. “But I am not in agreement! When I said I would marry as you directed I knew it unlikely it would be for love. But you said you would seek a man of honor for me. Someone I could at least respect!”

“Do you now question my word?” Lord Barton thundered. “Sir Corbett is a man of honor! He has fought long and hard for his country and his faith! By God, woman, if you choose not to love him, then so be it. But you’d best learn to honor him, daughter. And to give him the respect a wife owes her lord husband!”

Lilliane was speechless. Her father continued to stand at the end of the table, his thick brows lowered as he dared her to contradict him. But no words would come, and she turned and scurried from his presence. She did not hear his heavy sigh, nor was she there to witness the sorrowful expression that crossed his lined face. With a groan that mingled frustration and pain, he pressed a hand to his side and leaned heavily on the table. In an instant old Thomas appeared to ease his lord back into his chair.

“’Twas you, wasn’t it? ’Twas you told her,” Lord Barton said, wheezing.

The servant frowned but his hands were no less gentle as he made his master comfortable. “Aye. But ’twould have been out soon enough. She needed to hear it from someone other than the gossips.”

“Meddling old fool! Don’t you think I know that? I’d have told her in good time.”

“So you say. But you would have put it off and off. Now ’tis done,” Thomas answered with flawless reasoning.

“’Tis done indeed,” Lord Barton said with a growl. “But she bears watching, that one does. She loved Jarvis dearly. His death was a hard blow for such a young girl. She’s never forgiven the Colchesters. She’ll not take this lightly.”

“Shall I post a guard near her chamber?”

Lord Barton nodded, his face grimacing in pain. “Their marriage must be soon, Thomas. This rot in my gut gnaws at me night and day. I would see Orrick secure before I go.”

“And Lilliane?” the old man prompted.

“Aye.” Lord Barton’s faded blue eyes met the other man’s gaze. “I would also see my Lily settled before I go.”

L
ILLIANE WORKED LIKE
a demon. There was not a servant who did not jump at her first bidding and tackle whatever task she set before them with a fervor. She knew their diligence was born of fear of her angry countenance and brusque manner. But she could no more disguise her anger than she could ignore it. Let Odelia and Tullia see to the guests and prattle at small talk, she fumed. If she had to be civil to anyone, she knew she would explode.

Although the work in the pantry and storerooms proceeded with little talk, even so castle gossip managed to find its way to her. By the late afternoon when she dismissed the weary servants from their work she knew that the contingent of Colchester soldiers had established their camp in the fields just beyond the moat. She had found some small solace in hard work and anger, but now she could almost feel the chill hand of doom hovering over her.

Her father was seated in a chair near one of the hearths when she entered the great hall. Like fretful children, Odelia and Tullia fluttered around him. Beyond them Sir Aldis thrust an iron poker in and out of the fire. His ruddy face was redder than usual, and Lilliane knew at once that he was no happier than she about Sir Corbett’s arrival. Although she certainly knew it was his own interests that concerned Aldis, not hers, she was nonetheless encouraged by his support.

As she approached the group Tullia spied her and immediately rushed to her side.

“Oh, Lilliane! Tell him I cannot do it. I cannot!” Her young face was so distraught and her words so desperate that Lilliane turned to her father in alarm.

“What do you plot now? What have you done to so upset her?”

“She has been mistress here for two years now, ever since Odelia married and you left,” Lord Barton replied determinedly. “It is only fitting that she should see to our most esteemed guest’s bath.”

“That’s not a custom in common use any longer. We’ve not followed it since Mother died,” Lilliane countered as she put an arm around Tullia’s trembling shoulders.

“We’ve had few enough guests since your beloved mother died. And none of such importance.”

“Was Aldis of no importance?” Odelia cut in. “Are Santon and the rest of Tullia’s guests of no importance? That man is most likely an assassin come to lower your guard so he may strike you a death blow, and you court him like some—”

“Silence, daughter!” Lord Barton roared. “Sir Corbett is the betrothed of my firstborn daughter. He will rule at Orrick when I’m gone and he has traveled long and hard. That is reason enough to honor his request for a bath.”

“If he’s come from Colchester then he’s not come so far,” Aldis bit out the words.

“His stay at Colchester was brief. I doubt Hughe gave his younger brother much welcome.”

“And so he beat a hasty path here?” Lilliane put in. “Well, he can just as easily be on his way.”

“He stays! And if Tullia will not attend his needs as a good chatelaine, then it falls to one or the other of you two.”

“Don’t look to me,” Odelia hissed. “I’m only a guest here now. You’ve made it quite clear that Lilliane and her husband shall rule Orrick. Let her tend her bridegroom,” she said with a sneer.

Lilliane was so taken aback by the venom in her sister’s tone that for a minute she was speechless. Lord Barton was equally stunned. As Odelia stormed away with her husband hurrying in her wake, the old lord turned to face his eldest child. “Then it must fall to you. I trust you will not shame me or Orrick with some childish display of temper.”

“You call it childish to show a temper when you would wed me to our enemy? Well, I shall see to his needs,” she snapped. “I shall see his bath prepared. But if he expects a warm welcome, he’ll be sorely disappointed.”

But her father only shrugged at her sharp words. “He’s a man. ’Tis unlikely a woman’s waspish ways can unsettle him.”

Her father’s easy dismissal of her feelings seemed to pierce Lilliane’s heart. She had to bite her lip to still the sudden quiver in her voice. Forcing a wan smile, she gave Tullia a small squeeze. “See that Magda heats water and send up the biggest tub and adequate linen. I’ll go and prepare a chamber.”

“I already instructed Thomas to have the tower room prepared for him,” Lord Barton stated as the two women turned to leave.

“What?” Lilliane whirled to face him. “You had him put in the tower room?” Absolute shock reflected in her disbelieving eyes.

“Am I not still lord here? Can I not put a guest where I will? I said the tower room. And Lilliane,” he added, “do see that he’s very comfortable.”

She was too furious to reply. As she mounted the stairs that led past her sleeping chamber and up to the tower room, she seethed with resentment.

The exalted Sir Corbett—their enemy—was receiving her father’s every attention. He was to be installed in the very room that had been her parents’ domain all during their wedded years. Her father had not set foot in it since her mother’s death. Yet this … this … this usurper was to be given free rein to it.

And to her.

A chill coursed down Lilliane’s spine. That dark, glowering man was to become her husband and to be given complete control of her life. Unbidden an image came to mind of Sir Corbett as he’d appeared when their betrothal had been announced. She’d felt small and insignificant next to his tall frame. But if he’d been pained at the thought of marriage to such a skinny child, he’d hidden it admirably. They’d supped from the same trencher, and he’d been most patient with her shy bumbling.

But she was not that same impressionable girl, she reminded herself. Nor was he the cavalier of her dreams.

Lilliane was in a dither by the time she reached the iron-hinged door to the master’s chamber. With hands that trembled, she eased the door open. The room had already been swept and aired. Thomas had been most efficient, for new linens lay over the high bed and a small fire now burned in the stone fireplace.

Lilliane had always loved this room, and although she’d not been in it in years, its effect on her was profound. For a moment she was caught in time, remembering a long-ago life that suddenly seemed as real as yesterday. Her mother had used the room as a retreat, a place for solitude or quiet conversations with her fast-growing daughters. It had been warm and inviting, and very special.

As quickly as that, Lilliane’s anger fled, leaving in its stead a sad longing for a time that could never be again. She let her eyes sweep the room, noting the familiar furnishings and rugs. There were differences, though, she saw. The tapestry stand had been put away. Now only a chair stood before the tall, narrow windows.

Then she spied the heavy leather pouch leaning against the large trunk in the corner, and she felt a returning surge of anger. He had ridden into Orrick in the most arrogant manner. He had dismissed her as a mere servant, a maid of no importance whatsoever. And now he was using this room as if it was his due!

Swiftly she crossed to the pouch and shoved it away from her mother’s long-emptied trunk. It fell with a dull thud, spilling a few garments and a sheaf of papers from beneath its loose flap.

Lilliane did not care one whit about his belongings. However, the papers did catch her interest. For a moment she hesitated. Then, with a wary glance over her shoulder, she knelt down and lifted the packet of tied papers into her lap.

Her slender hands were quick as she sifted through the documents. They were all written in the flowing hand of a scribe, she determined, with flourishes and wax seals in profusion. But it was in a language she could not fathom. Not French, nor Latin, nor even English, the words were completely foreign to her, and her brow creased in bemusement.

She was sitting on her knees, puzzling just what it could mean, when she felt the fine hairs on the nape of her neck raise. With a gasp she looked over at the door only to be met with the dark scowling vision of Sir Corbett.

He did not speak a word, but his fierce stare pinned her to her spot. Helpless and horribly embarrassed to be found thus, she nervously made to rise. But with three quick strides he was across the room and had planted one leather-booted foot on the skirt of her faded work gown.