The English Heiress (14 page)

Several times Leonie thought of doing to Roger some of the things Louis had taught her. That would almost certainly cause Roger to satisfy her desire, but how could she explain knowing such things? Leonie was well aware that, Roger had no contempt for her at present, even though her maidenhead had been wrested from her. His embarrassment, his fear of frightening her, his apologies showed that he considered her pure in mind, if not in body, and worthy of respect. To behave like a whore and invite his lust would certainly alter that attitude.

Fortunately, long-lasting frustration is almost as exhausting as satisfaction. When added to the physical exertions of the preceding night and the tension and grief endured, extreme fatigue was the natural result. Although the minutes seemed long to Leonie and Roger, they were really very few. The time passed, tiredness conquered desire and both slept.

Chapter Eight

Marot kept his men at their searching until every possible spot in the house had been examined. There was no repetition of the weird sound, but the thin, drawn-out howling of a miserable dog, which drifted through the broken doors and windows, somehow made the desolation of the ruined château eerie. Particularly when the sun was covered by clouds and it began to rain. Therefore, it was not surprising that, in spite of Marot’s prodding, the examination made of the dim, cold cellars was less minute. All obvious hiding places were investigated, but the men were far more cursory in delving into heaps of broken rubbish and rags so that Henry’s body escaped detection.

Forced to concede that his prey was not in the house, Marot was still not satisfied. He ordered two men to remain and watch—and met opposition. Grumbling and resentful, those designated to watch wondered aloud why such an intense effort should be made to recapture de Conyers. He was ruined and powerless—let him go. He was no danger to them. Furious, Marot fell back on threats and imprecations. Anyone who wished to try strength with him could face the civil guard. Naturally, that ended the argument for the time being. Those assigned to stay at the house sullenly watched the others depart, but remained where they had been ordered.

As the day stretched to evening, however, the dog began to howl again, and the dark bulk of the house behind them—one guarding the front and one the rear—grew more and more menacing. At last the man at the front door cursed that Marot was mad—de Conyers would never come to the château now. Convinced by his own reasoning, he marched firmly around to the back and stated this to his comrade. He found instant agreement and support. The other man even suggested they could watch far better from the gatekeeper’s cottage at the foot of the long front drive south of the house. It had been looted too, but it was much smaller and de Conyers had never lived there. Before darkness had really settled over the countryside, Marot’s unenthusiastic henchmen were comfortably settled in the empty gatekeeper’s cottage with a cheerful fire of broken furniture warming their hearts as well as their bodies.

In the cellar, Roger had wakened periodically because of being cold and cramped. Leonie, more accustomed to sleeping under such conditions, slept soundly. At first Roger was afraid to move much for fear he would wake Leonie, and each wakening was a renewal of hell. He would lie still as long as he could, but then he would have to more to ease a cramp, and Leonie would move also, following his warmth. That would start him off again, precipitating him into a desire that could have no satisfaction. The third time, Roger could endure no more. He inched out of Leonie’s arms, slipped out of his coat, and covered her with it. After listening with his ear pressed against the cask for a while, he eased it open.

The cellar was quite bright to his eyes, so it was not late enough for any real activity. However, after listening intently and hearing nothing, Roger took off his boots and crept carefully to where Henry’s body had been hidden. He sighed softly with relief when he saw it was undisturbed. His next act was to find a distant corner and relieve his full bladder. Again Roger listened without result. Then, foot by foot, he crept to the stairs and up them. Judging by the light, it might be evening, Roger saw the wet spots the rain had left and decided it was probably late afternoon. Holding his breath, he crept along the corridor, to the servants’ stairs. Ears and eyes strained to the uttermost after each step told him there was no one moving in the house. Praying he was not deceived, Roger turned right past the stairs and eased himself into what had been the breakfast room. His goal was the formal salon where he had found the drape used to wrap Henry’s body. There had been another drape hanging in that room, and Roger was going to get it. The cloth was heavy and would serve admirably as a blanket for Leonie. Even at the cost of his life, Roger was not going to endure again the unsatisfiable stimulation Leonie’s embrace gave him.

The adventure did not cost Roger’s life, but it was near thing. He managed to get the hanging down without noise and was retracing his steps, a trifle incautiously, because he had examined the ground through the window of the salon and has seen no one. Just as he was about to step into the front hall, which was shorter route, a creak of wood froze him. Roger did not leap for shelter. He did not breathe or blink his eyes. Still as a hunted hare, which escapes detection by immobility, he waited. The wood creaked again, and a heel scuffed the stone steps of the porch. Another scuff, but the doorsill did not creak nor was the step onto the wooden hall floor—another step.

Roger’s breath trickled out, and he shifted the hanging to his left arm so that his sword hand was free. Simultaneously he realized he could not afford to attack whoever was on the porch. There was no guarantee the man was alone. Roger had heard the phrase “minutes like hours”. He had thought the minutes long while he fought his own body in Leonie’s arms, but he now learned that fear and regret can draw time much longer. Fool that he was! To provide himself with comfort, he had probably thrown away everything, including his life and Leonie’s. There was plenty of time for Roger to contemplate his own weakness and idiocy, to taste the bitter bile of fear and shame.

Finally, Roger realized it could not be merely the stretching of time. Several minutes had gone by, more than long enough for the man to have come in if he was going to come in. Softly, slowly, scarcely breathing, Roger backed toward the end of the room from which he had come. He faded out of the salon, silently offering prayers of thanksgiving. The unlit corridor to the back of the house was far safer, but Roger did not make another mistake. He crept along close to the wall and eventually came safely down the stairs and into the black haven behind the cask.

It was then the work of minutes to put on his coat again and wrap the drape around Leonie. To his pleasure, he found the hanging long enough to serve as a cover for him also, even when he was far enough away not to touch her. He was somewhat discouraged by the evidence that watchers had been left, even though Henry’s body had not been discovered. Perhaps they had found the horse or recognized that the carriage did not belong in de Conyers’ stable. He tried to guess how long the men would stay, but he soon concluded that such speculations were useless. After a while he came to the not very brilliant conclusion that he would simply have to investigate periodically, but he was warm now and he was sure there were hours before dark. He slipped into a doze again.

The idea of investigating was still in his mind when he woke, and he muttered a soft curse because he had no idea how much time had passed or how to judge the further passage of time.

“Are you awake?”

The soft murmur made Roger turn his head. “Yes. Have you been awake long?”

“I have no idea,” Leonie relied, a smile in her voice. “I think not very long, but I haven’t been thinking about time.”

Leonie had been awakened by an urgent need to relieve herself. This she had accomplished without waking Roger, by feeling her way along the wall until it turned. Then, having felt her way back, she slipped carefully under the covers Roger had provided, drifting into a soft, pleasurable half-dream, comforted by the warmth of her covering and by Roger’s steady breathing beside her.

“How in the world did you find a blanket?” she asked.

“I have been up into the house.” Roger told her the rest of it and at first Leonie could think of nothing that would help. After a moment, however, she exclaimed that it must be near evening or even night already, because she was quite hungry.

Roger laughed shortly. “That is not much of a guide. I was starving when I woke, and it was barely dinnertime then. Neither of us had had anything to eat, really, since yesterday.”

“Yes and it is reasonable for you to be hungry. You are accustomed to eating breakfast and perhaps even a luncheon, as well as a supper at night after dinner, but I am not—not for many months. We were only fed once a day, and I have grown accustomed to much less food than you are used to eating.”

Roger stared through the dark. He could not see Leonie’s face, but the voice… Again he was finding it hard to believe his ears. She sounded so good-humored. It was as if she were delighted that her deprivation had led to something that could help them. “My dear,” he urged, his heart wrung with the thought of her suffering, “eat some more of the sausage.”

She laughed. “But that would spoil everything. I must wait until I am really hungry, until I begin to have images of food in my mind. Then it will be time for us to try again and see if it is night.”

“No!” Roger managed not to shout, remembering the way sound acted in the tunnel, but the depth of his revulsion at the idea of using Leonie’s suffering to increase his safety rang through the controlled tone.

“What is wrong?” Leonie asked, stretching her hand to seek him in the dark.

“Do you think I would let you go hungry so that I could know the time?”

“But—”

It had always been assumed that Leonie would help and protect, and yield her convenience, to the other members of her family. She had never resented it because no unkindness was meant or practiced. It was a simple and natural outgrowth of the situation. Leonie was the elder child by many years, and naturally protected and cared for her younger brother. Yet François was the male child, the heir to the lands and name, and his preferences came before hers.

When their world had been turned upside down, Leonie had, little by little, become the leader, the strong and responsible member of the family. Papa had been destroyed by what happened that first night. Mama had remained strong, but only for long enough to support Leonie over the shock and terror that had crumbled her world. When François fell sick, all Mama’s attention had been centered on him. She had accepted the little comforts Leonie had brought for him without question. Then Mama had also sickened. Leonie had struggled to save them all, never thinking of assuaging her own hunger with the tidbits she “stole” from Louis. She was so accustomed to the acceptance of the sacrifices that she was startled and even a little angered by Roger’s rejection.

“There are no ‘buts’ for such a thing,” Roger said harshly. “I am trying to protect you, not torture you more.”

That statement, of course, wiped away Leonie’s brief anger and filled her with a warmth mixed with gentle amusement, so that when Roger pushed a substantial piece of sausage into her hand, she took it without argument.

“Eat,” he insisted, “and do not tell me you are accustomed to doing without. I cannot bear it. I will get out of this house and get more food for you, even if I have to kill that guard.”

Leonie giggled, although her eyes were full of tears of gratitude. “Don’t be silly,” she murmured. “A full stomach is not worth a man’s life, and more especially, it is not worth the danger you would face. Besides, we have enough food for now.”

Nonetheless, she did eat what Roger had given her because she realized it was the only thing that would relieve his anxiety. She was quite right. As he heard her chew and swallow, Roger calmed down. The violence of his reaction surprised him in afterthought. Of course he would be distressed at the idea of any gentlewoman suffering hunger and would help if he could, but the sensation of hysteria with which he had urged food on Leonie was excessive. Most likely it was because he was hungry, he told himself cynically, not wishing to investigate the feeling that if he lost Leonie he would have lost everything. After all, it was ridiculous. He did not “have” Leonie.

“There is no need to judge by our stomachs anyway,” Roger said suddenly, shaking his head over his own slowness at a seeing an obvious fact. “All I need to do is open the cask a little. Our eyes are so used to the dark that the slightest bit of light in the cellar will seem bright to us. When I went out, it was like day to me and the light above blinded me for a while.”

They did just that and it worked perfectly. The first time Roger slipped the hook from its hasps there was still a dim grayness, and he pushed the cask shut again. Actually, they could have come out then, because the men Marot had left on guard had already retreated to the gatekeeper’s lodge. However, the second time the cellar was nearly as dark as the tunnel. Roger tried to convince Leonie to remain in safety while he reconnoitered, but she would not, and indeed, she was as silent and steady as he.

It took them nearly an hour of watching, hiding and listening, but at last they were convinced that the house was empty and there was no one in the immediate vicinity. Possibly men might be hiding in the shadowed area of trees that edged the lawns. Roger went to investigate, and this time Leonie did not argue when he forbade her to come. In the house she could have been of help if Roger was attacked. She could have struck an enemy with a broken piece of furniture or thrown rubbish in his face. In the open she would only increase Roger’s peril.

However, there was no peril to increase, although twice Roger had been startled by a mottled shadow that seemed to approach him and then skitter away. It must be a rat, Roger told himself, but it was very odd behavior for a rat. More important, as far as Roger had penetrated it, the park was empty. It was not reasonable that watchers would be farther away, because the house would not be visible to them. Roger returned and gently broke the subject of their next duty—to bury Henry. There was a brief silence, Leonie’s face quivering on the verge of tears in the light of the rising moon. Then she sighed.

“Yes, but—but how?”

“I will manage. There are broken shafts and other things I can use for tools in the stable. What I need to know, Leonie, is where? I am sorry, but I do not think I would be able to take him to the churchyard. I—”