Susan Spencer Paul (21 page)

Alexander’s eyes narrowed. “It is, but—”

“And she is marriageable, for she was once your betrothed, is this not so?”

“De Burgh—” Alexander warned.

“Good,” Jason said, slapping his gloves in his hand. “She’s the one I want, then. I shall send a missive to the king at once, making the request. Tell your cousin I’ll come to court her as soon as you’ve sent me formal permission.” He smiled at Alexander’s angry countenance and added, pleasantly, “Good day, Baldwin.”

I
t was a quiet time of the day, late afternoon and close to being dark, almost time for the evening meal. Lillis stood by one of her chamber windows, carefully folding her needlework, her eyes gazing outside at the hard-pouring rain.

“It will be raining still tomorrow, most like,” Alexander said quietly from where he stood beside the fire, watching his wife. “You should at least wait until the weather has cleared.”

“No,” she answered softly. “We will go tomorrow.”

“As it pleases you.”

“Yes.” Lillis lowered her head. “Thank you, my lord.” She turned, keeping her eyes from him, and went to place the needlework in the bag she was packing.

“Are you certain you’ll not have Lady Edyth go with you? Will you not be lonely for her?”

“Oh, I think I will,” she admitted, swallowing against the painful lump in her throat, “but the children need her so much more than I do. I couldn’t take her from them.” She pressed her trembling lips together briefly, and her voice wavered when she spoke again. “You would never find another tutor to replace her, I think.”

“No. I do not think I could.”

There was silence for a moment while Lillis continued to fold her belongings.

“There will be no women to give you company at Wellewyn,” Alexander said at last, “other than the cook and serving maid you allowed me to hire. I wish you will let me send suitable companions for you.”

“No.” She shook her head, still turned from him. “I’ve told you already, Alexander, that there is no need for you to do more than you already have. Your kindness to the people of Wellewyn has been great, especially in light of all the misery they suffered at my father’s hands, and I am so very thankful. I could not ask more of you.”

He made a sound of irritation. “I’ve done what I am now responsible to do as the Lord of Wellewyn, and it is little thus far—not half of what I mean to do in the future.”

“You are modest, my lord, especially when you know very well that you’ve kept the people of Wellewyn from starvation and death. You’ve sent food and supplies to help them through the coming winter, and have been more than generous in sending carpenters and masons and land managers to make repairs to their dwellings, and to the land. They will think you a god come from the heavens, after having lived under my father.”

“Well I’m glad if I’ve pleased you,” he grumbled. “I only wish you would let me send a few servants with you. Only a few—”

“No, Alexander,” she said more firmly, moving to her open clothing chest and kneeling before it, drawing clothes from it. “I am used to caring for myself and others. Being at Gyer has spoiled me, I think, and I must keep myself from growing overcontent and lazy. And I’ll have the twins for company, and Willem.”

“Willem,” Alexander muttered angrily, pacing before the fire and rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes, you’ll have Willem.” He’d sent Willem to Wellewyn several days before to act as chamberlain there. It had seemed, at the time, a good way of getting him away from Lillis, who had more and more turned to Willem for comfort and companionship, but now, when a month of her grief and silences had finally driven Alexander to set her free, he regretted the decision. Now she and Willem would be alone together, save for the twins, who had surprised one and all by announcing their determination to accompany Lillis to Wellewyn and live with her there.

“Alexander.”

Her voice broke into his unhappy thoughts, and Alexander turned to find Lillis looking at him, for the first time since he’d come to watch her packing. She looked so sad that he wanted to take her into his arms and hold her and beg her to put an end to this madness that he couldn’t understand. He’d never felt so lost and confused in all his life as he’d begun to feel when he’d finally told her last night that she could go. There was nothing for him to grasp on to, or to understand, in any of this. She loved him. She’d told him so, and Lillis was no liar. She loved him, yet she was packing all of her belongings, and she was leaving him.

“Alexander,” she said again, and tears dropped onto her cheeks. “I’m deeply sorry for what I said—that day. For my terrible behavior.”

“Lillis—”

“I didn’t mean it,” she said, her hands making a gesture of helplessness, “and I’m sorry if I hurt you. I would never hurt you apurpose, ever.”

In all the days that had passed since she’d learned of her father’s death, she’d not spoken so many open words to him. She’d hardly spoken to him at all, or to anyone else for that matter, not even to Edyth, but had grieved alone. Her pain had been one of the hardest things Alexander had ever known; accepting that he must let her go had been the hardest.

“You were in great pain,” he told her, clenching his hands behind his back to keep from reaching for her. “I knew that then, and I know it now. I never held it against you.”

She wiped her cheeks and lowered her eyes. “You are kind, my lord. Thank you.”

“Don’t speak of thanks to me,” he murmured desperately. “I cannot bear it. I cannot bear your tears, Lillis, or your sadness. I love you.”

She set her face in her hands and began to sob. Alexander was across the room and holding her before he even thought to do it.

“I love you,” he said again. “Don’t leave me, I—God, Lillis!” He enfolded her with desperation, stricken by the fear that she would never return to him. “Can you not forgive me? Only tell me what I must do to make matters right and I will. I swear by God I shall.”

She shook her head against his chest. “It will always be there between us, if I don’t find a way to accept it. There were so many things I wanted to tell my father—that I loved him when no one else did—so many ways I wanted to help him. But he’s gone.
Gone.
” She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself, rather than him. “I need a little time, Alexander. If you tell me to stay I will, but it will always be between us, no matter how I might wish it otherwise.”

“I know,” he said, and it was true. Her eyes had once been filled with love and desire; now there was only pain and distrust, and sometimes, accusation. She’d accepted all of his apologies, yet the look in her eyes had not been banished, and he’d finally realized that it never would be, unless he let her go. “I’ve brought this down upon my own head,” he said. “My foolishness was great, and so should my punishment be. Believe me, Lillis, when I say that I wish to God I’d taken you to see your father. I doubt I will ever regret anything more in all my days.”

She lifted a hand to touch his cheek. “Let us speak no more of wrongdoing. You know I have forgiven you, and that I love you, Alexander. And if there has been any foolishness it is mine, from my foolish heart, which refuses to obey me and makes me go. I will learn to master it at Wellewyn, perhaps. I will try, my lord, and when it is obedient I will return to you, if you still wish it.”

“I shall always wish it,” he vowed, bending to kiss her. “I shall pray each day for your return.”

“As I shall, my lord.”

He kissed her once more, then asked, “Will you send for me, Lillis? If the time comes that your heart has opened to me once more, will you send for me?”

She smiled tremulously. “Yes, Alexander. I’ll send for you. I will.”

He let out a breath. “Then I shall wait for your summons, and I will come.”

* * *

Several hours later, after the evening meal had been finished, Lillis stood once more by her chamber window, contemplating the ceaseless rain and thinking of what lay ahead in the coming days.

The sound of the door opening made her turn, and she saw the last person she either expected or wanted to see on this, her last night at Gyer—Barbara, pale and breathless—standing against the now closed door.

“Wonderful,” Lillis muttered under her breath.

Barbara had made a point of keeping her distance during the past few days, and Lillis had been glad of it. Yet now the beautiful, redheaded creature stood against her chamber door, one hand over her heaving chest, looking like a pursued criminal.

“I don’t have much time,” she said, pushing from the door and coming toward Lillis. “I wanted to come to you sooner but I couldn’t.”

Lillis crossed her arms over her breasts. “What sort of nonsense is this, Barbara Baldwin? I must tell you that I’m not in the mood for such playacting.”

“It’s not playacting!” Barbara insisted, moving closer. “You know John is forever watching me and all that I do. I couldn’t let him know I’d come to see you, and I only now just managed to sneak away unseen.” She looked around the room and lowered her voice. “You must believe me, Lady Gyer. I’ve not enough time to say what I must and explain everything else.”

Something in the girl’s demeanor made Lillis believe her, and it was true that John Baldwin guarded his sister closely, especially since that night when she’d run away. “Very well. I’ll listen to what you have to say, but you must calm yourself, Barbara. I’ll let no harm come to you.”

“You are kind, my lady,” Barbara said gratefully, following Lillis to the chairs set before the fire. “Kinder than I deserve, I know. But I hope to make amends for my wretched behavior.”

Lillis sat in one chair and expected Barbara to do likewise, but, surprisingly, the girl knelt on the floor beside her. “First I must show you something,” she said, looking around again as she pulled a leather pouch from beneath her surcoat. She shoved the pouch into Lillis’s hands.

“Open it, please, my lady.”

The pouch was tied with drawstrings and Lillis unknotted and separated them, then opened the pouch and put her hand inside. She drew out a small ceramic oval on which was painted the portrait of a beautiful, white-blond lady who smiled back at Lillis with stunning blue eyes. Lillis’s hands began to tremble.

“This is my mother,” she whispered in disbelief. “Where—how did you come to have this?”

Barbara bent to look at the portrait as well, smiling as she did. “Yes, it is your mother. She was very beautiful, was she not? My own mother looked very much the same, though her hair was red, like mine.” She turned her great green eyes upon Lillis. “They were sisters, you know, or rather, you probably did not know.” She nodded at Lillis’s dumb expression. “Yes, it is true. Our mothers were sisters and we are first cousins. I know that you look upon this portrait and see your mother, but I have always looked and seen my Aunt Eleanor.”

“You—
you
are my cousin?” Lillis repeated. “My mother was your—?”

Barbara nodded again. “You never knew of your mother’s family, did you? John and I didn’t know about you for a long time either, until our mother died and our father told us. It is strange to be kept from part of your family when you are a child, is it not? I’m not quite certain as to why we never knew one another, though I suspect it had something to do with your father.” Barbara looked regretful. “When my Aunt Eleanor married him she disgraced her family name and was cast aside as one dead by her father, who is our grandfather. He’s a rather harsh man,” she said, adding, at Lillis’s expression, “Oh, yes, he is much alive, and as mean as ever. I was scared to death of him when I was a child. It was because of him that my father agreed not to allow my mother to have any contact with her sister. It was terribly hard on my mother because the two sisters had been very close. She never spoke to John or me of our Aunt Eleanor, but father said she pined for her until her death. When she died he felt guilty for keeping the sisters apart, and for giving my mother such sadness, so he told John and me about our Aunt Eleanor and gave me this little portrait. It is a sad story, is it not? If you and I had known each other as children we might have grown to be great friends, instead of rivals.”

Barbara couldn’t have shocked Lillis more if she had hit her across the head with a club. She stared at the girl, openmouthed, for a long, silent moment. She wanted to disbelieve her. She wanted to say that Barbara lied, that she had made up with the whole ridiculous tale, but she couldn’t. Somewhere in the depths of herself, Lillis knew that what Barbara said was true. Her heart told her to cry and hug Barbara closely in a fit of familial joy; her mind got the better of her. “Tell me everything, Barbara. There is more to this than our merely being related. Why did you bring me this now? Why did you wait so long to tell me? And what of John? He never spoke a word of this to me, or to Alexander, either.”

Barbara shook her head. “There isn’t enough time to explain, my lady. John would kill me if he knew I’d told you—he never wanted anyone to know the truth. I cannot tell you why. Please, please don’t ask me to do so, and please don’t tell Alex. I would never have told you myself, save that I felt you should know before you left Gyer, and because I wanted to make amends for my behavior. Promise me, please, that you’ll speak of this to no one.”

“I cannot like it,” Lillis told her. “Alexander should know.”

Barbara looked like she might faint. “Oh, sweet mercy! If you tell him John will be furious!
Furious.
You don’t know how terrible that can be.”

“Come now,” Lillis said soothingly. “Surely you know that Alexander would never allow him to bring you harm.”

“It won’t matter,” Barbara insisted, panicked. “It won’t matter at all. John will never, ever forgive me. Oh, I wish I’d not told you. I thought I could trust you, but I can’t, and now my life will be miserable.”

She was about to burst into tears, Lillis realized, and that was the one thing Lillis couldn’t bear any more of. She gave way.

“Very well, Barbara, I’ll say nothing for now. You have my promise on that. But one day soon, when you feel a little braver, you must speak with Alexander and tell him the truth.”

Barbara looked thoroughly relieved, and brightened. “Oh, I shall, my lady. I promise you that I shall. One day soon. I promise.”

“Good.”

“There is something more I must tell you,” Barbara said. “Something you will find very hard to believe, but which is true, nonetheless. But you must promise me beforehand that you’ll not tell anyone about it, either.”

“Barbara,” Lillis said irately, “you sorely try my patience.”

“But it’s so very important,” Barbara answered with a tiny pout. “Please, my lady, give me your promise. You’ll not regret it.”