The Sorceror's Revenge (13 page)

             
‘I have had men searching for her these past five years and more,’ Robert said, holding his temper on a tight rein.  ‘I looked for you both as soon as I returned to England, as I have told you many times. She is not to be found in the length or breadth of England. You blame me for her disappearance, Melloria, but I was not even in the country the night she was stolen.’

             
‘You deserted me when I was close to my time,’ Melloria replied.  Her eyes, which were more green than blue at that moment, flashed scorn at him.  Her dark auburn hair was streaked with white in an arch to one side of her face. The streak of white was a constant reminder of her terrible suffering – of the night when she had almost died giving birth to twin daughters. ‘Had you cared more for your wife than your duty to the prince I should not have come so close to death.  It was only the skill of a good man that saved both my children and I – a man whom you killed.’

             
‘Nicholas Malvern lied to you.  He told you that you were his wife and he kept you hidden from me.  You belong to me, Melloria.  I took back what was mine by right – and it was not by my hand that he died.’

             
‘It was done by your man at your bidding.’  Melloria lifted her head proudly.  ‘Let me go, Robert.  Let me take Iolanthe and leave. Take another wife to give you more sons…’

             
‘How can I marry another when you are my wife?’

             
‘It did not stop you before,’ she replied bitterly.  ‘Your son is living proof of your betrayal.’

             
Robert moved towards her. He was a handsome man, his hair the colour of sun-bleached straw, his eyes at this moment like blue ice, crackling with anger. Tall and powerful, he could, had he wished, have broken her with his bare hands.

‘Will you never forgive? I have adopted Harry because I was not certain you would give me a son.  When I took Rhoda as my wife I thought you dead.  As soon as I found you again, I sent her away.’

             
‘You sent her to her death…’ seeing the look of pain that passed across his face, Melloria was sorry for her harsh words.  ‘Forgive me. I know that neither her death nor that of your best friend was your fault.’

             
‘Jonathan loved her and would have wed her.  I was angry or I should have sent an escort with them that day, but I did not dream that they were in danger.’

             
‘I know…’ Melloria’s brow creased in a frown.  ‘You have never been sure who killed them, have you?’

             
‘I believe it may have been a man named Sir Kerrin of Shrewsbury. I thought once that he was in love with Rhoda – and perhaps he was jealous.  Jealousy will drive a man to many things, Melloria. I cannot know for certain but I do know that the man who strangled her had exceptionally strong hands.  Some of the bones in her neck had been broken…’ His voice softened and he stretched out his hand to her.  ‘Will you not forgive me after all this time?  I still love you.  I have never loved any other woman but you. I could not find you or your children and I needed an heir. I regretted my hasty marriage afterwards, because I knew she could never take your place. As soon as I discovered where you were I came for you.’

             
‘I cannot forgive you while my daughter is lost,’ she cried and her voice caught.  ‘The sound of my lost child crying haunts me, Robert.  I know that she is alive and that she is unhappy.  Until she is safe, I shall never rest – and I cannot forgive you unless you bring my daughter back to me.’

             
‘You have Iolanthe and you are like a mother to Harry.  Is that not enough for you?  I would bring her to you if I could, believe me.  Do you not think that I too wonder where she is and if she lives?  If you would let me love you we might have other children to comfort you.’

             
‘No!’ Melloria held up trembling hands to ward him off.  ‘In the hermitage I took an oath that I would lie with no man until my child was restored to me – or I knew for certain that she was dead.  I shall not break my vow, though you break yours – and I believe the Church court would support me.  A vow such as mine is sacred, Robert.’

             
‘You want the child or proof that she is dead.’ Robert glared at her.  ‘Damn you, Melloria!  You demand the impossible.  I should force you to pay the marriage debt.’

             
‘If you do I shall hate you until I die.’

             
His hands worked with temper and a vein bulged at his temple but he held his frustration in check.  ‘Sometimes I think you do hate me – and that is why you torture me so.  Do not expect me to be faithful, Melloria. I cannot remain celibate forever.’

             
‘You must do as you wish,’ she replied, her manner distant.  ‘I ask nothing of you but that you keep your promise.’

             
‘I will send out more messengers to look for the child but I think she must be dead or I should have found her by now.’

             
‘She lives. I know she lives.’ Tears filled Melloria’s eyes.  ‘Bring her back to me, Robert, and I shall be the wife to you that I was when you wed me.’

             
‘It would serve you well if I took you at your word and put you from me,’ Robert retorted and brushed past her as he left the room.

             
Melloria sank down on the edge of the bed.  She covered her face with her hands as the tears flowed.  Once again she had defied her husband, and once again he had raged at her and pleaded with her.  In her heart she knew that one day he would simply take his will of her.  If he chose to force her she would not be able to stop him.  He might have done it before now.  She knew he had come close to losing his control several times, and yet something held him back.

             
She suspected that when he left her he went to the serving woman Joanne.  The woman had given her sly looks when she thought herself safe.  She was Harry’s nurse and her pride made her careless and insolent at times.  The way she smiled told Melloria that she believed her lover’s wife was jealous, but she was far from the truth.

             
Some of the rage and hatred inside Melloria had softened since the day that she had seen Nicholas Malvern struck down in front of her.  At that time she had believed she was Nicholas’s wife – as she still was in her heart.  At the convent her memory had finally returned to her.  Her true husband was Robert, Earl Devereaux, and when she wed him she had loved him in her way.  Yet she had learned to love someone else and that man was Nicholas Malvern, the gentle, loving apothecary who had saved her life and that of her children.

             
She might have died alone in the snow the night the castle of Devereaux had been taken by Robert’s enemy.  Nicholas had taken her in, cared for her, given her a life of ease and content, and she had loved him.  She thought that she would always love him, though she was not certain if he were dead or alive.  She had seen him struck down in front of her, but when she returned to Malvern to collect his journals and her own possessions, she had been certain that he was still alive.

             
For many months she had hoped that he would come for her, that somehow he would find her firstborn child and then take her, their son and Iolanthe with him…to wherever he was now. However, as the years passed and she heard nothing from him, she had come to believe that he must be dead, despite the story that Griszelda had told her about his body having disappeared in the night.  Anything could have happened to his body.  Perhaps one of the servants had buried it secretly or…perhaps the old woman was right and he had somehow come back from the dead.

             
Griszelda herself was dead now.  Melloria’s sister, the Abbess of Saint Innocent, had occasionally visited Malvern to see the old woman and take her food.  She had found her dead one winter day and the servants of the convent had buried her.

             
So there was no one left who might know the truth.  No one unless Nicholas himself was living somewhere, but if he were alive why had he never tried to contact Melloria?

             
Did he believe that she had returned to her husband of her own free choice?  Did he think that she had forgotten him?

             
‘Nicholas…my love…’ she whispered and the tears trickled down her cheeks.  ‘I felt you with me when our son was born but since then you have deserted me. I need you so.’

             
For a moment she felt the warmth of his love surround her.  She remembered the scents of his body as they had lain together at night and she had touched him, traced the scars on his back and his cheek, where the Church Inquisitors had tortured him. As she remembered, she knew again the pleasure that only he had given her. Never once as Robert’s wife had she experienced such content and happiness, as when Nicholas held her.

             
Melloria’s heart ached as she thought of the child she had born in secret – a child that Robert must never know existed.  She sensed he suspected that she had lain with Nicholas but he had never spoken the words aloud.  It was as if he did not wish to know.  If he ever discovered there was a child he would kill both her and the boy.

             
Melloria wept bitter tears for the loss of her son, whom she could never see, Nicholas, whom she had never ceased to love, and her poor stolen child. 

             
Where was the babe she had brought forth in pain and suffering?  The belief that she lived and was unhappy haunted Melloria day and night.

             
She would never be at peace until she knew whether the child lived and held her in her arms.  Nicholas might be lost to her forever, but if she could have her poor stolen child perhaps she could accept her duty as Robert’s wife.

17

The heat of the sun was relentless and Marta felt weary, almost too tired to continue their journey towards Rouen, where there was to be a great fair on the morrow.  This constant moving from one place to another was all very well while they had the horse and cart to carry them and their belongings.  Will had lost it months ago in a game of dice, leaving them with nothing but the few gold coins that remained in her pouch, of which she had never told him for fear he would gamble them away.  The coins might buy them another cart but Will was careless with his money, generous when he had it – and not just to her and the child.  He could not pass a beggar without taking a coin from his money pouch and he was, she had learned to her cost, a gambler when the mood was on him.

             
‘I’m hungry, Marta.  When can we stop and rest?’

             
Marta looked sourly at the child who pulled at her skirts.  At least Mary was sturdy enough to walk these days and not continually begging to be carried.  When they had left England in fear of their lives more than three years gone, the child had been forever weeping and asking for food. Here in France they had found food and work for them all and the child had filled out as she grew. Mary was seven on her last birthday. She was a striking child who drew curious eyes wherever they went. Marta knew that people looked at her and wondered how she could ever have given birth to such a beautiful daughter.  Her guilt pricked at her constantly, for, though she had not known the name of the child’s mother the night she stole the babe, she believed Mary to be the daughter of the Earl Devereaux.  He had sent messengers to look for her all over England, and it was partly because of this that they had fled to France.  Their other reason was the murder of Marta’s brother Todd Carpenter.

             
Marta’s mind blocked the memory of that night.  The sight of Todd’s brains spilling out of his head was too horrible to be born and she had done her best to forget it, though sometimes the memory haunted her and she would wake in the middle of the night, sweating and terrified. If their crime were ever proved both she and Will Hern would hang.  It was the reason they could not return to England, because Will might be accused of the murder and she of being his accomplice, even though he had been protecting her. Todd had been desperate for money and angry because she had taken the gold chain he had hidden under the floor of the shop where he had done his work as a master carpenter.

             
‘Marta…why is that man following us?’

             
‘Who – what man?’ Her wandering thoughts recalled, Marta glanced over her shoulder fearfully as the child spoke.  It was not the first time of late that she had sensed they were being followed.  She had believed it was her imagination, the consequence of the guilt that never left her, but this time Mary had noticed.  ‘Where is he?  I can see no one…’

             
‘He comes and goes but I have seen him lots of times,’ Mary said.  ‘He is there wherever we go.  He was at the last fair and now he is following us again.’

             
Marta strained to see back down the dusty road.  There were woods to either side of them but she could see no sign of a traveller on the road.  Yet she too had a feeling that someone was watching them.