The Dark Lady (12 page)

She reminded herself that she could not be angry with his sons. They were innocent and not responsible for the sins of their father, and they were more than his sons. They were her brothers. “Brothers,” she whispered.

“
Aye, two of them, though neither look like me.” He glanced at her and smiled. “Like us, nor do they have my temperament.” His flicked the reins and his mount moved smoothly into a trot. Damien matched speed without encouragement.

He turned and studied her closely. His intense scrutiny slid across her skin like a caress. “Though you seem to have it.”

Goosebumps tickled right beneath the surface of her skin and she fought to suppress a shudder. She forced her gaze to remain on him. She could feel her shield slipping and a sneer twitching on her tightened lips.

His eyes met hers and his smile widened. “I would like the chance to get to know the girl who seems so much like me.”

Van wrenched Damien to a stop, nearly unseating Amy who rode close behind her. She whipped around and glared at her father. “I am nothing like you, Matthew.”

He recoiled and pulled his mount to a stop. His eyes widened and his mouth grew slack. She was not sure if his surprise came from the comment or the low deep voice.

She forced herself to straighten and concentrated on her voice instead of the darkness that boiled from within her, clouding her vision and threatening her judgment. “I would never do the things that you have done.” Her fists tightened into white trembling balls around the reins and her arms shook with the effort to remain seated. The darkness swirled and caressed her, whispered to her to get revenge on the man who had wanted her dead. For years she had wanted to see him pay, and now she could accomplish that.

Her mother’s pale face appeared before her and her last wish, her trembling words, echoed in her mind. Van fought a tear that threatened to spill. She had to get away, had to be alone, if only for a moment.

She spurred Damien into a gallop, leaving Amy and the men behind. She raced across the hard-packed road, trying to dispel the darkness, to leave it behind as she had believed she had done so long ago.

Her jaw tightened until it ached and her teeth grated. She had not felt this anger and need for vengeance in many years and had mistakenly believed she had mastered it. She took a deep breath and reined in her steed.

A quick flare of pain erupted from her clenched jaw. She forced it to relax. Anger flamed within her chest at her father’s careless words. She did not want to believe there were any similarities between her and the man she had grown up despising.

“
I am not like that man,” she said with conviction. She looked at Damien as if he would agree with her and snorted when he only flicked his ears to roust the flies. “Some help you are. I am not like that man. He has done awful things.”

She looked back at the approaching party and sighed. Painful flashes of dead men strewn across the battlefield, of running blood, and men who would never return to their families raced across her exhausted mind. A broken and beaten woman lay dead within the recesses of her memory. Tears blurred her vision.

She reminded herself that part of living a life of honor was being honest, even when you did not want to be. “I too have done awful things,” she admitted reluctantly. Perhaps there was more resemblance between them than just appearance, after all.

Damien looked over his shoulder at her and drew her gaze back to him.

“
Shut up,” she said irritably. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm.

Looking back again at the men, she knew she had no choice but to wait for them to catch up. She patted the quivering horse and she spoke softly to him. “After all, I do not know where we are going.” She hung her head limply against his mane until she heard the sound of hoof beats catching up to them.

The entourage rode on in silence with only the soft snorts and nickering of the horses sounding into the still air. The quiet was broken occasionally by the soft questions of her father, but her sharp, one-word answers soon left him silent.

Her mind was focused on her uncertain future. How would she pull off this pretense? What her husband would be like? Those ranked amongst the main worries. She pictured the men that she knew, the angry, the kind, the gentle, and the violent. Which would her husband be?

She wondered tremulously what her new husband would expect of her.

Her concerns rampaged through her mind, balling her into a tense knot of nerves that nipped at her self-control.

The scenery went unnoticed. Van took little conscious stock of where she was. She kept watch for anyone who might be following behind and for possible ambush sites up ahead, but this she did with the subconscious ease of time and experience.

Soon the scenery became more familiar and she sat straighter in her saddle. Her gaze roamed the well-traveled road and took in the large boulders that were strewn beside it.

The trees were tall and old. She grinned. They were heading toward Lynton. Castle Grayweist sat in Lynton—Castle Grayweist and Peter. She was unsure of how she would get to see him, but she would try. It would be nice to have him see her as a woman. A small shudder of excitement raced through her.

Her delighted smile fell away. What good would it do for him to see her? She thought irritably to herself. He would not be seeing her as a woman; no he would be seeing her as a married woman.

Another thought crossed her mind, what if he had married? News of his father’s death had reached her several months ago, and with it had been rumors that he had arranged a marriage between Peter and some unknown woman. Others had said the rumors were untrue, so she had chosen to dismiss them. Now her heart sank at the reality that they may indeed be true.

The thought left a jagged line of pain deep between her temples. She raised her hand to massage the sides of her head and tried to make the thought go away, but it refused to release its dark hold on her.

Van’s mood was foul when they reached Matthew’s manor. She grumbled crossly as she slipped her leg from the saddle, only to have the flowing skirts of her dress hang up against it. She cursed foully, yanked it free, and jumped to the ground.

Amy came to stand beside her. “Are you all right, my lady?”

Van replied with a snort. She watched quietly as her father’s dark, black carriage was made ready and her heavy trunk loaded onto it.

Matthew offered to show her his home, but she just scowled at him and shook her head. She had no desire to see the home she should have grown up in.

She climbed into the carriage and sat tensely on the hard seat as they made their way to her new husband. Her breathing grew painful and her mood darkened with every rough step of the horses.

“
The castle grows near,” Matthew announced, pulling her from her troubling thoughts. Van pulled the curtain from the window and leaned her head out. Castle Grayweist sat proudly before her. The dark cloud of regret that had encircled her was gone as if it had never been there.

If this was her new home, then there was no doubt as to the identity of her new husband. She smiled, her heart racing with excitement. She was the unknown woman to whom Peter was to be wed.

She allowed her mind to drift to Peter and relaxed against the side of the carriage, still staring out the window at the castle she had called home for three years.

Her heart raced faster than the galloping horses pulling the carriage, as if it wanted to get to the castle before them. She had not seen Peter for three years, not since the day she had saved him and become a knight.

Doubt began to cloud her excitement and a tickle of concern brushed against her. Peter had seen her only three years ago and she had changed little in those three years. When she looked in the mirror she still saw herself as Van the knight, no matter the amount of powder she spackled on. She pushed away the doubts the best she could, but they remained low in the back of her mind.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She could only hope that his injuries had made his memory foggy and he would not recognize her for who she really was.

She opened her eyes to the sprawling old castle that sat high upon the rugged cliffs, overlooking the sea. The massive grey castle looked the same as it had when she had been a young child there. She had changed so much since she left and she was surprised to find that the castle had not.

The heavy salts from the sea wafted through the carriage, tickling at her nose and flooding her mind with memories. She sucked in a sharp, painful breath.

This was where she had endured her page training, where she had met Peter and Richard, and where she had always felt at home. She could almost see herself wandering the halls of the castle when she was supposed to be in the barracks. She smiled deviously, recalling that she had never been caught.

The driver pulled the carriage into the courtyard. Van saw a large number of warriors, all in full battle garb. She recognized several of the men that she had served under as a squire and a sad smile crossed her lips.

An empty sense of jealousy washed over her. She was finally in the only place she had ever truly felt at home, but now she felt as if she were an imposter. She missed her time in the castle, she missed her training, but mostly she missed her men. A deep hollow opened up inside her chest and beckoned her toward the cool darkness. She sank into it.

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the men. She could see maybe a hundred more disappearing over a hill in the distance. She smiled in disheartened recollection. The lists were right over that hill. She had spent many a hot afternoon training in those grassy fields.

Matthew swung the door open and stepped from the carriage. He turned and offered her his hand. She arched one brow and stared at his outstretched hand. She didn’t want to accept help from him or anyone else.

Amy nudged her from behind and she realized it was more than pride that made it difficult to take his hand. She was afraid to face this new step in her life. Unease swelled, closing her throat and threating to stop her breath.

Van tightened her shoulders and her resolve. Unwilling to give into her fears, she reluctantly took her father’s hand and, on shaking legs, allowed him to lead her into her new life.

She glanced across the courtyard, taking in the men. Her gaze locked on Richard and her heart lurched painfully into her throat. He stood before about twenty of her men. They all were staring at her.

Surprise quickly turned to fear. If by some chance Peter was unable to identify her, the men she had left mere days ago would have no trouble seeing her for who she was.

Loneliness hit her hard in the pit of the belly as if from a physical blow. Her hand flew to her stomach, and it was all she could do to keep her feet beneath her. She had never felt as alone as she did staring at the men she cared for, men she could not go to. A sudden sense of loss overwhelmed her. At least if they were gone she could move on with her new life, but how could she forget them if she had to see them from a distance every day and not be able to be who she truly was with them.

CHAPTER 6

Peter’s stomach rolled uneasily as he watched Matthew’s carriage come to a dusty stop before him. He took a deep breath and, though his innards twisted and complained, threatening to bring up what little he had managed of his morning meal, forced himself to be outwardly calm.

He had been a nervous ball of tension ever since Vanessa had been located. It had been easier to agree to a marriage with a woman who was lost than it was to face that same marriage once she was found.

The carriage rocked and the door swung open with a slight creak. Peter watched in anticipation as Matthew jumped lightly to the ground before turning back to the carriage and extending his hand to what could only be Peter’s new bride.

Peter was anxious to have this first meeting complete so he could get back to the training of his men, but he found he was curious, curious about her manner and her looks. He could picture her mother, small and dainty. He smiled, wondering if there was a resemblance from mother to daughter. He had always had a soft spot for petite women.

As the moments slid by and no one took Matthew’s outstretched hand Peter began to worry, tension hammering at his already rolling stomach. The horses hitched to the front of the carriage seemed to echo the anxiety that tormented him as they snorted and pawed at the dusty ground.

He had heard rumors that Vanessa had been a shut-in and that no one in the village had ever seen her. His mind captured the image of a small, shy woman.

Afraid of people and perhaps even her own shadow, he thought, shaking his head sympathetically. The longer no one took the offered hand, the more his mind insisted that his assumption must be true, and the more his anxiety grew.

It didn’t matter that society, and his father, had said he was getting old and should have married long before now. He was not ready for a wife. At least, he thought—in hopes to placate himself—a shy and timid woman was more likely to keep out of his way. The last thing he needed was a woman under his feet. He hoped that she would be as obedient as his mistress had been.

His despairing thoughts were interrupted by slow movements beside him. His men were casting quick glances at the carriage and each man was taking his time to gather his weapons. Peter knew they were lingering to catch a glimpse of his new bride, and understanding their curiosity, he did nothing to rush them.