THE WARLORD (29 page)

The unusually warm weather soon changed the winter-dulled countryside from drab gray to the bright colors of spring. An entire week had passed since the joust, yet Tess was certain it had been at least a year. The sudden change in seasons only made the time she'd been in the solar seem longer. Each day she waited in hopes that Kenric might visit her, yet each day she waited in vain. His "perhaps" had been a polite way of saying no. Helen and Miriam were the only two who came to her door, but sometimes Tess propped it open when Simon and Evard were in talkative moods.

Although she'd been apprehensive about Helen's first few visits, they were now something she looked forward to each day. The long afternoons nearly flew by while her sister-in-law related all that was happening in the castle.

She learned that the bailiff and Roberto's men were captured only a few hours after the joust, but Helen knew nothing more of the traitors' fates. It took two days before Helen would speak a word of Fitz Alan, then she explained all, in a seemingly endless torrent of words. Helen was embarrassed by the abruptness of her betrothal, and she was still furious that Fitz Alan and her brother had placed wagers to decide whether he would marry her or not. Then she announced that she'd fallen in love with the man.

Tess was certain her jaw was on the floor that day. It took a lot of convincing on Helen's part before Tess even began to believe her, wary of another time she'd been duped by Helen's mooning. On the other hand, it was no secret that Fitz Alan was a ladies' man. Helen would complain of Fitz Alan in one breath,
then
sigh over him in the next. Tess could hardly believe this was the same cold woman she'd met the day she arrived at Montague.

Today Helen was unusually quiet on the subject of Fitz Alan. Nearly an hour of their daily visit had passed and Tess still hadn't heard his name mentioned.

"When are you going to do something about those awful gowns?" Helen asked, drawing a needle through her tapestry. Their needlework frames were placed in the middle of the room where the sunlight was best, facing each other to make conversation easier. Helen leaned around her frame and eyed Tess's linen dress with disapproval.

Tess gazed down at her worn garment, knowing its best days were long gone. "There seemed so much to do when I first arrived here that new gowns seemed far less important. They would have been ruined with all the cleaning we were doing. I thought to wait until spring when the cloth merchants returned with the traveling fairs."

She'd also waited for Kenric to take some notice of her wardrobe and offer the coin required to replace it. In her stubborn refusal to point out his oversight or wheedle him for the money, she'd ended up spiting herself. She eyed Helen's gown wistfully, though it was just a simple moss-green daygown. Tess could hardly remember what it was like to have a gown so spotless and no more than a year old. It was unlikely she would know the feeling any time soon. There would be no spring fairs for Tess this year.

"I'd give you some of my fabrics but they were all made up into gowns last fall," Helen told her, frowning slightly. "But a few of my gowns could be easily altered to your size."

Tess was tempted. Any one of Helen's gowns would be a great treat, yet she was still stubbornly set on the matter of clothing. She'd not take castoffs from another. It was bad luck. Tess shook her head, refusing the offer.

"Kenric thinks you dress that way a purpose," Helen said evenly. "Last night he asked if you were still wearing that gown with the yellow bodice. When I said that you were, he scowled and called you colorblind."

Tess frowned. "Did you point out to his high and mightiness that I have no colors at all to choose from?
That his great wealth might eventually recover from the staggering debt incurred by a bolt of fabric?"

Helen smiled at Tess's show of spirit. "I intend to point that out at dinner tonight. He caught me off guard, or I would have said something very similar at the time.

"Do you know anything about the particulars of betrothals?" Helen asked suddenly.

"A little."

"When you were betrothed to your stepbrother, did you and
he
… That is, were you… intimate?"

"Nay, never," Tess answered surely. "Gordon had no interest in me. In fact, women in general hold no interest for Gordon MacLeith, if you know what I mean."

Helen stared blankly.

"Never mind," Tess mumbled. "Why do you ask?"

Helen blushed furiously and bowed her head over the tapestry. "No reason."

"Are you and Fitz Alan becoming intimate?" Tess ventured, trying to keep her voice casual.

"He would have me believe it common for betrothed couples to… well, do certain things together." Helen still refused to look up from her work.

Tess smiled, almost picturing Fitz Alan wooing and coaxing the reluctant Helen. "Actually, I believe it is quite common for many betrothed couples to become as intimate before the marriage as they will be after. Indeed, 'tis the reason Fitz Alan was born at all."

"What do you mean?"

"Kenric told me that Fitz Alan's parents were betrothed, but his father was killed in a battle just days before the wedding. Though a betrothal is as binding as any marriage, Fitz Alan's father was the heir to a great estate and his uncles made haste to destroy any legal evidence of the betrothal. His mother's family was outraged and the two houses waged wars for many years, yet neither side could win and they finally declared a truce. Unfortunately, that left Fitz Alan unable to claim his estates, though he seems to have done fine on his own."

"Why, that lying cur!" Helen's hands turned into fists. "He told me his mother was a common tavern wench! That she wasn't sure if his father was the village fish monger or a swineherd." The sound of Tess's laughter only made Helen angrier. "He made me think the circumstances of his birth were
more base
than a serfs!"

"It seems he would have you accept him no matter who he is," Tess said quietly, though she was still smiling. Helen's mouth opened to object then snapped shut again. "You've made it no great secret that you resent your brother because he is a bastard. Why would Fitz Alan think you hold him in any higher regard?"

"Nay, he tries to sink my regard to new depths with his lies," she retorted, her eyes narrowing. "Fitz Alan would have me think him born of sin when in fact the church blessed his parents' union by betrothal."

"Is the difference so great?" Tess asked reasonably. "Whether the union was blessed or unblessed, the same child resulted. It does not make the man who grew from that union any better or worse. The world sees that Fitz Alan can prove no legal claim to his father's name or estates, so he is called a bastard. That does not make it right, and it should not make him any less worthy of respect."

"He should not be made to bear the foul name," Helen said forcefully, growing frustrated with the tangled mess.
" 'Tis
not fair!"

"I agree," Tess said slowly. "Yet you would have Kenric bear that name, even though your father agreed to accept him as his own by marrying your mother. Aye, that seems very unfair, Helen."

"The two are nothing alike. Kenric was not denied estates that were rightfully his!"

"You think not?" Tess asked mildly, remaining calm in the face of Helen's mounting anger. "Has it never crossed your mind that Kenric is at least ten years older than Edward's son by the queen? Do you realize what would have been Kenric's had the church recognized
his
parents' union?" Tess remained silent a moment to let the thought flourish, for Helen's expression said she'd never considered the possibility. "Do you truly believe that thought has never crossed Kenric's mind? Montague and Remmington together pale in significance."

"Their union was not blessed," Helen muttered, stubbornly trying to cling to her beliefs.

Tess shrugged. "God saw fit to bless them with a child."

"Ooh, you are trying to confuse me." Helen picked up her needle and began poking at the tapestry again. "The three of you are like to drive me mad."

Tess was silent for a moment, drawing her own needle through her tapestry several more times as she waited for Helen's temper to cool. When Helen's stitches became less driven, Tess began speaking quietly, her head bowed to hide her expression.

"I have listened for days to the way you talk about the man you will marry. You seem to hold some affection for him, yet you will let yourself be swayed by what others would call him, see nothing in him but what you think you should see. You are my friend, Helen, and I would not want to see you make the same mistakes in your marriage that I made in mine. Bastard or not, Fitz Alan has as much pride as my husband. If you do not judge him fairly, he will turn against you. When that happens…" Tess couldn't continue. She'd revealed too much of her pain.

"I'm sorry," Helen whispered, watching tears glide down Tess's cheeks and onto her tapestry. Tess's nod was barely perceptible as she acknowledged the useless sympathy. Helen shifted uncomfortably. "Would you like me to leave?"

Tess shook her head, wiping her eyes with her cuff.
"Nay, 'tis I who should apologize.
I'm a woman grown and have no business weeping like a child." She sniffed a few more times then managed to give Helen a weak smile. "I will have you believing marriage is an awful thing when it can truly be quite wonderful. Have you discussed the date of the ceremony?"

"Nay," Helen replied, visibly struggling to adjust to the change in the conversation. "Fitz Alan tells me he is in no hurry."

"It sounds as if he is in a great hurry indeed, if he is anxious already for the more intimate aspects of marriage. I believe I would make him wait until he could be bothered to set a date for the nuptials."

"Wait for what?" Helen asked innocently.

Tess rolled her eyes, certain that Helen would drive Fitz Alan crazy.

"Well!"

Kenric glared at Helen, wishing she'd stop fidgeting. Days ago he'd stopped pretending idle curiosity about her visits with Tess and started demanding a full report, with strict orders that she not repeat a word of his interest to Tess. These nightly interviews in his chamber before evening meals were becoming tortuous. Helen invariably spent a good five minutes being stubborn, blushing and stammering as she stood before him, finally prodded into a sketchy account of her afternoon.

"Well, she'd like a few new gowns," Helen blurted out. "There is no cloth left from last year's supply to make them. I thought—"

Kenric waved his hand in a quick motion meant to silence her. "You will have two of your gowns cut down to her size."

"But she—"

"Don't you dare
object.
You have enough gowns for ten women." Helen's mouth opened slightly as if she meant to defy his order, then she changed her mind and gave him a slow nod. "What else?"

"We talked of the fine weather we've been having. She noticed how much sun I'd taken yesterday and advised I wear a wimple or risk freckles."

Kenric wondered if Tess still looked as pale as the last time he saw her. Some fresh air and sunshine would probably do her good. Perhaps he would allow her to walk in the gardens for an hour each day. Perhaps that was an incredibly stupid idea. "Is she eating well?"

"I shared midday meal with her again today and her appetite seems healthy." Helen knew that was an understatement. Tess had done all but scrape up the crumbs. She found it amazing that the slight woman found a place to put it all.

"Did she speak of me today?"

Helen hesitated a moment too long.

"What did she say?"

"She does not complain of you, milord." Helen knew he had a purpose for extracting this report each night, but she still wasn't sure of its purpose. If he meant to gloat over Tess's misery, she would tell him nothing to please him. Yet if he was waiting for some sign that Tess had suffered enough, she didn't want to withhold that, either. Remaining vague was becoming increasingly difficult as his questions became more pointed each night. The first day she visited the solar, Tess had looked awful. In the days since then, Tess's appearance had improved steadily while Kenric's became haggard. He looked as if he hadn't slept for days, certainly hadn't shaved for a number of them, and his mood had become more volatile. It was telling, but telling of what? "I believe she mentioned that Fitz Alan has as much pride as you do."

There. That was surely vague.
A comment that could be taken as a compliment or an insult, or neither.

"You talked about Fitz Alan?"

"Well, um, there were a few remarks here and there about our betrothal. Let me see. Aye, she asked if I knew the date of the nuptials and I told her I did not, and she said that I should ask Roger what date he would like and I said that Roger did not seem interested in any particular date and maybe I would suggest that myself.
Milord."

Kenric's eyes narrowed dangerously. "And what did Tess say in response to all that blathering?"

"She said that sounded like a fine plan."

His glare turned menacing. "Exactly where in this conversation did Tess mention that Fitz Alan had a surplus of pride?"

Helen thought hard on that question. Her brows drew together over her eyes and she chewed on her lip. Kenric gritted his teeth when she started fidgeting again.

"If you can't think up anything believable, why not try the truth?" Kenric crossed his arms against his chest, waiting.

Helen stopped moving, nearly stopped breathing. "She warned me not to abuse Fitz Alan's pride. She said if I did, he would turn against me."

Kenric mulled that over, trying to decide if he should read anything more into Tess's remark than a friendly warning. His wife was right. Fitz Alan
would
turn against Helen if she tried to humiliate him. Aye, he supposed Tess was a veritable font of knowledge concerning a man's pride. She'd certainly given his a bath.

Tess must be turning bitter. She thought she should be forgiven since she'd saved his life. The warning she gave Helen today meant she knew that would not happen. His mind conjured up an image of Tess in one of her pitiful gowns, not the one that made him dizzy, he decided, shifting the mental image of her to a gown that lacked color entirely. Yes, that was it, this picture was much clearer.

She was sitting on the small bed in the solar, growing thinner, growing paler, everything he'd liked about her fading with the image.

" 'Tis
all we talked about today, milord."

Helen's voice trembled noticeably. Kenric knew without a doubt that she was lying. He didn't want to hear any more of what she would tell him. Rubbing his brow with one hand, he dismissed her in curt silence with the other.

He didn't go down to dinner at all that night, didn't eat, didn't drink, simply thought of his wife, trying to decide what to do with her. He'd wanted her to suffer, and she'd suffered. He'd wanted her to pay for her deceits, and she'd saved his life. He'd wanted to torment her with the knowledge that she would never see him again and had instead created his own private hell. He wanted her to come to him again, giving herself to him as she had that night before her attempted escape, and he wanted to hear words she would never speak. He'd even started lying to himself as he lay sleepless in his bed, reliving each moment of their last night together, telling himself it was real, that she'd meant every word. He was going mad.

He leaned back in his chair and flipped open the lid of the trunk behind him, searching only a moment before pulling out Tess's mirror. He'd retrieved the bag of her hidden belongings from the garden the day she'd tried to escape, thinking he'd enjoy knowing that she was doing without these meager comforts. Now he was morbidly attached to them. They represented the woman he thought she'd been. He turned the mirror over and stared at the image reflected back at him. It was not a pretty sight. Could he really blame her for trying to flee it? The image frowned.

Questioning his sister each night was becoming odious. He needed to see for himself how she fared. Tess would not consider his visit all that odd or even promising. In a moment of weakness he'd said that he might visit her. He'd thought it a lie at the time. Now he would make it truth.
He nibbed his chin, examining the rough growth of beard in the mirror.
This face would frighten her. With a new purpose to his step, he found a pitcher of water, the blade he used for shaving, and scraped away the stubble. He considered his clothing then decided the breeches and simple linen shirt he wore would be sufficient, otherwise she might think he'd dressed
specially
for their visit. Then he began wondering what they would talk about.

Before he sent her to the solar, there had never been a lack of words between them. Well, perhaps occasionally, but even the silences had been comfortable. Silence between them tonight would not be comfortable. He pulled his chair up to the table and rested his elbows there, propping his chin in his hands, trying to find some topic he could keep on neutral ground. He knew nothing of tapestries or sewing, the task that seemed to consume the lion's share of her day. A handful of words and he'd be done for. Asking about her day would only point out that he'd taken away all the tasks she used to tell him about so proudly, even with a hint of boasting. And why on earth would she want to know about his day? She would no longer feel a part of it. Lord, would Tess be wrong in that assumption. She
was fast possessing
every hour and every minute of his days. Even the training grounds could no longer distract him. Every time he looked onto the field, he pictured Roberto trying to run her into the ground.

Perhaps it was time to talk about their marriage, how he would visit her occasionally until she conceived. That was bound to be a jolly conversation. No, he would visit her once or twice before imparting that bit of news. Staring into the dying embers of the fire, Kenric finally realized the hour had grown late, probably well past midnight. She wouldn't even be awake. Knowing how soundly she slept, he thought it doubtful she'd rouse to a conversation that would probably consist of five words; "greetings," "how fare you," and "good-bye." No, she would sleep right through that. She could sleep through… almost…

anything
. There was a shadow of a smile around his mouth as he rose from the table and left his chamber.

Three soldiers were at her door. The flickering light of rush torches revealed Simon and Evard fast asleep on the bedrolls they'd spread out in the hallway. Bertram had been assigned to stand guard while they slept, although he was actually sitting, whiling away the night hours with a solitary game of dice. He leaped to his feet the moment he spied the baron, ready to bellow a greeting that would wake the other two.

Kenric held a finger to his lips and quickly shook his head, relieved when Bertram nodded. The soldier reached for the latch to open the door but Kenric slapped his hand away, easing the door open with a fraction of the force Bertram would have used in his eagerness. He stepped silently into the room and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The barely discernible glow from the hearth was the only source of light, any moonlight that might have shed its weak light through the windows obscured by a clouded sky. He wanted to see her.

Tess could sleep through almost anything, he told himself again, finding several logs in the pile of kindling laid out for the morning fire. The weather might be warm outside, but the thick stone walls would hold the cold of winter for another month. He stirred the coals until they came to life again, flickering a little higher as the logs fed the tiny flames. He made his way across the room, crouching down on one knee when he reached the side of the bed. She was lying on her side, her face toward the fire, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. The lines of her face were vague in the dim light but he studied her intently, searching for signs of illness or distress. He could barely see her.

One of the logs burst into flames just as he leaned closer, the flickering lights bathing Tess's face in a brilliant glow of gold. Kenric's breath caught in his throat and he sat back abruptly on his heels, startled by the sudden radiance of her beauty. The memories did not come close to this vision. He reached out with one hand and trailed his finger along the soft curve of her cheek. Her lips turned up slightly in a smile and she rubbed her other cheek against her pillow, the same way she used to rub against the middle of his chest. Kenric used his free hand to massage away the ache there, where she should be, becoming motionless when she murmured his name in her sleep. It was a sweet sound, one he'd taken so much for granted that he'd forgotten how often she did it until now.

Afraid of disturbing her, he drew his hand away from her face, down her bare shoulder and arm to the hand resting against the covers. Her hands were not as soft as the rest of her skin, but they were much softer and considerably more delicate than his. He pressed a tender kiss in the palm then turned his face to nuzzle against it, the same way she'd just rubbed against her pillow. She mumbled something unintelligible then scooted to the edge of the bed, closer to him. Slowly, inch by inch, Kenric moved first one arm beneath her then the other until he'd eased her into his arms and himself onto the bed, sitting cross-legged in the center. Holding her sleep-warmed body was an exquisite torment. She curled up trustingly against his chest, shifting occasionally in her sleep to snuggle closer. He bent to press his lips against her forehead, turned to lay his head against the crown of her hair and stroked the satiny surface with his cheek, lifting his head to treat the' other side of his face to the softness. His hand found her braid tucked over one of her shoulders and he eased the knotted ribbon from the end, loosening her hair one plait at a time, knowing he'd find hours of pleasure just sifting the silky strands through his fingers.

The solar door opened again an hour before dawn and Kenric slipped quietly into the hallway. All three soldiers were awake now, obviously waiting for the baron to emerge, their heads bowed to hide wolfish grins. Kenric ignored them and stalked off toward his own chamber.

"I told you he'd give in eventually," Evard boasted 'after Kenric left, elbowing Simon's ribs. Simon gazed thoughtfully in the direction of the baron's bedchamber. "Now that he has succumbed to temptation, he will have her moved back to his chamber by nightfall. Our hallway duty will come to an end. We can spend our nights in our own beds at last, or in the company of a lively wench," he added with a lewd wink.

"We shall see," Simon murmured doubtfully.

Tess awoke remarkably refreshed, feeling more rested than she had for weeks. There was something different about the morning but she couldn't quite put a finger on what it might be. Leaning up on one elbow in her bed, she realized her hair had come undone in the night, but that wasn't it. Tossing the covers back, she rose from the bed and headed to the garderobe. It wasn't until she was pulling her gown on for the day that she perceived what made this day different from others. The sickness that still troubled her in the mornings had disappeared entirely. At last!

Smiling over her reprieve, she finished dressing then propped her door open for the day. Simon and Evard were outside the door as usual, both looking at her rather expectantly. She bade them her usual good morning then enjoyed her breakfast a short time later.