The Winter Promise (14 page)

“Oh, my lady,” he said, and then he couldn’t help touching her cheek with his hand. “I cannot imagine you being a disappointment to anyone.”

She moved her face away from his hand. “Perhaps you enjoy my company. But Simon wanted sons, and he thought he would get them on me. I had no reason to think he would not. If he had lived longer, he would have repudiated me.”

Robert’s gut clenched. He knew the workings of the world but it seemed cruel to him right now. How could a man like Simon have Imma and think it was not enough? Could a man truly think Imma’s worth was only in her ability to breed?

“Edward knows my — situation. He will marry me to someone with sons enough but lacking treasure,” she said. Robert could see her hands trembling as she pulled the needle through the cloth. He wished she would put the damned sewing down and let him take her in his arms.
He
did not need to get children on her,
he
did not need her wealth — he took a deep breath and mastered himself.

“I suppose it is a fair exchange,” she finished.

“What do you get out of it?” he growled.

She gave him a startled look. “Why — a marriage-bond. Protection. A place.” Then she said gently, “A home, Robert.”

He looked down at her violet eyes, troubled. “I hope it will be a good home,” was all he could say.

“So do I, my lord,” she said.

“They say you are Lord Robert’s lover.”

Imma spun in surprise, facing her accuser. Malcolm stood near the wall to the weaving workshop, where she had spent the past several hours.

The Welsh soldiers were free to go most places at Athelney, though not allowed to take horses from the stable. Robert did not host them in his great hall, which was an insult she was sure Malcolm noted and added to the list of injuries the English had done him and his, an excuse for whatever outrageous behavior he was planning. She wondered if he had waited all morning for her to finish weaving so he could confront her. She would not be in the least surprised if he had. She did not dignify the accusation with an answer, and turned away from him.

“Imma!” He grasped her arm, his anger igniting anger of her own.

“What?” she demanded.

“You have sacrificed your honor, and to what end? What do you think to accomplish?”

How could he have known her all his life and still believe an allegation such as that? She shook his hand from her arm. “It isn’t like that.”

“Did Robert force you? I know what English men are like.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Malcolm.” The last thing she needed was for him to confront Robert with such an accusation.

“Then explain to me what is between you and Robert.” Malcolm narrowed his eyes at her. Though angered by his accusation, she knew he did have every right to know what was between her and Robert, but she couldn’t imagine trying to tell him. Even worse was what her uncle would think.

Gruffydd would approve of her for engaging in a flirtation with Robert for the purpose of worming out his secrets, but he would never approve of her caring for his enemy. He would be deeply disappointed in her, hurt by what he would see as her shame and betrayal, after he had placed such faith in her.
You will make the peace, daughter of my heart,
he had said.
We must have peace with these English, else all the people of Cymru will be dead or enslaved.

“He did force you,” Malcolm said, taking a step closer. “I will kill him myself.”

“No,” she said. “No, of course not.”

Malcolm’s face tightened as he reached an unwelcome conclusion. “Then you have
chosen
him,” he said. The expression on his face was more humiliating than if he had raised his hand against her. He stepped away from her, his mouth twisting in disgust. He spat at her boots, then turned on his heel and walked away.

She stood for a moment watching his back, the anger radiating from every line of his body. She heard a sound behind her and turned. Robert stood there, his alaunt at his side. He must have come to the inner bailey to exercise Theox, a task often left to Kenneth or another servant. But not of course today.

“That is one of my prisoners,” he said mildly, nodding at Malcolm’s back.

He was no happier about Malcolm than Malcolm was about him. They were giving her a headache. “Yes, my lord.”

“And did you tell him what he wanted to know?”

Another slap, another accusation, this one more hurtful than the one Malcolm had hurled at her.

“My lord?”

“I am quite sure you heard me,” he said, his face expressionless, and he was the Lord Robert she’d first encountered all those weeks ago.

Why had she even bothered defending him to Malcolm? Now he expected her to defend herself when, like Malcolm, he should know her character by now. She had found him in the forest and seen him safe home, and she had tried to be friend to him and still he thought she would hurt him.

She would never win his good opinion. But with care she might recover Malcolm’s. If she were to guard against being alone in Lord Robert’s presence, and if she were to beg Malcolm’s forgiveness for her confusion. If she were to be seen as Lord Robert’s unwelcome guest, and not his bard, making his thanes laugh and cry with her stories. Then she might convince Malcolm that she was not his enemy, and with luck he would convince Gruffydd to let her come home.

She pushed past Lord Robert and went into his keep.

“My lady, you may stop if you are tired,” Elizabeth said, with more patience than she ordinarily showed. Since her illness and Robert’s injury, she had been quieter than usual and just yesterday had expressed her wish to see her loved ones happy. It was enough to worry Imma, but Tilly had laughed and said it would pass; it always did.

Imma set the book aside, glad for the permission to stop. No matter how she tried to concentrate, she couldn’t keep her mind from wandering. Instead of picking up her sewing, she got to her feet and walked the length of Elizabeth’s room. Her restlessness was new and unwelcome.

She stopped in front of one of the tapestries, wondering if it might have been one that Tilly had made. It depicted a hunting party on a background of rich blues and greens, careful and intricate work, more difficult than anything Imma had ever done.

After a moment, Elizabeth’s voice broke the quiet. “I am sure Robert is sorry for whatever he has done that has upset you.”

Imma swung away from the tapestry, wondering what could have prompted Elizabeth to broach the topic. Robert had insulted her, but it was more than that; she needed to show Malcolm that she had not betrayed him. And the only way to do that was to demonstrate that she had not given her allegiance to Robert. And so she must just keep herself separate from Robert. She did not want his apology for his accusation. Not having it made it easier to do what she must do.

“I’m sure my lord has more pressing matters to concern himself over,” she contented herself with saying.

“I’m sure, too,” Elizabeth said crisply. “And yet he is too befuddled and out of sorts to attend to it.”

Oh, now it was her fault! Goaded, she said, “That is because women are somewhat more complicated to deal with than dogs. Or horses. I am sure women have always left him befuddled and out of sorts.”

Elizabeth let out a bark of laughter. “He is no Osbrycht, that is true. I tried, Imma. I did. If you had known his father, you would see what a chore I had.”

Imma turned away from the tapestry. “What about his mother?” She couldn’t help her curiosity. Many women did not survive childbirth to raise their own children, but Imma had never heard a word about the lady.

A moment of silence made Imma wish she hadn’t asked. If the answer had been something sad but ordinary, Elizabeth would not have balked at saying it.

“She ran away with a Welshman,” Elizabeth finally explained. “Many years ago, now.”

Imma winced. Lord Robert’s father would not have taken such a betrayal lightly. He would have raged against her infidelity. But for Robert, then a small boy, it could never have been as simple as that. His mother had abandoned him, and he might have known why, or even been told, but he never would have understood it. What child would? In her mind’s eye, she could see him standing on the road outside the keep, waiting for his mother to come back.

Now, all these years later, a war with the Welsh threatened his lands. His past would make that war with Gruffydd even more galling.

When Elizabeth spoke again, it was on a completely different subject and Imma was just as glad she’d changed the subject. “Christmas is coming.”

“Yes, my lady.” She took her seat and picked up her sewing.

“I would like to give you a gift, Imma.”

Imma looked up at the other woman, startled. She knew Elizabeth’s affection for her had never been shaken. Even when her riders had found no sign of Imma’s company in the forest, Elizabeth had believed her. Even when Imma so rashly announced that Lord Robert was lost, precipitating Elizabeth’s illness, Elizabeth had not blamed her. Elizabeth genuinely cared for her.

Still, Imma felt awkward. She had wealth of her own, but none at hand. How would she reciprocate? Not that Elizabeth would expect it, just that it should be done. “Please, my lady. I don’t need anything.”

“Child, I would like to give you a new dress.” Elizabeth looked up from her sewing. “Robert does not see what a woman’s needs are. I don’t like you to go without.”

“That’s not necessary, my lady. In the spring — ”

Elizabeth cut her off with a sharp gesture. “Nevertheless, I would be glad if you would accept my gift. I insist.”

“Very well,” Imma said, knowing better than to persist in the face of Elizabeth’s determination. “It is very generous of you.”

“Tomorrow we’ll see what cloth is available in the storehouse. Dark blue would look well with your black hair. The seamstress we have at Athelney is quite skilled with a needle.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Imma said, it was the only thing she could say. “I will look forward to it.”

Elizabeth nodded and returned her attention to her handiwork. Imma bit her lip, then made a decision. She bade Elizabeth good night and went to the bedchamber she shared with Tilly.

Sitting on her bed, she opened the small purse that she’d had on her belt when the company was attacked on the road from Glastonbury. She sighed as she probed its meager contents. Hardly enough for a box of sweets from the market at Glastonbury. If she could even send someone to Glastonbury to get it. Who? Lord Robert’s messenger would hardly accept such a charge from her.

Then she realized that the abbot there knew her full well. She had brought Simon’s books for his monks to copy, and he had entertained her and Helen and Harold for that evening. She gave a rueful smile. She had never told Robert the details about her task in Glastonbury, nor about meeting the abbot. In her mind, that episode was linked to telling English secrets to Gruffydd, and not with what had happened in the forest after.

Robert had asked her to tell him anything that would support her story, and she could have told him that. He wouldn’t have had to send anyone to Winchester to confirm her story, just through the forest to Glastonbury. She considered for a moment. No, not even that would have made much of a difference to Robert. He didn’t trust her, and there would never be enough proof in the world to make him believe she would never betray him.

Dismissing Robert from her thoughts, she picked up her purse again, knowing what she could do. Taking a candle with her, she went into the lesser hall where Robert kept his library. She opened the writing chest in the corner and withdrew parchment, feather-pen, and ink. At the desk, she scraped the parchment down and sharpened the quill, then composed a letter to the abbot, thinking she should have done it long before now. She thanked him for his kindness in receiving her in the fall, telling him briefly what had happened in the forest, then asked if he would return whichever one of Simon’s books had already been copied so she could give it as a gift to Lady Elizabeth.

After a moment, Imma added another line asking if he would send a servant to Glastonbury market for her, to buy sweets for Tilly. That token would delight the girl and Imma’s purse could bear the cost. She knew it was a small thing the abbot would be happy to do for her. Enclosing a suitable payment for the price of the sweets, she sealed the letter, satisfied with her action. When the opportunity arose, she would send the letter with the messenger to Glastonbury. Surely Robert — who would undoubtedly read it — would allow it to be sent since it was harmless.

“Imma.”

She glanced up with a start to see Lord Robert had stopped short in the doorway.

“My lord,” she said, getting to her feet.

His eyes narrowed and she realized he was suspicious of what she was doing in this room, unattended. Anger flared, but with an effort she tamped it down. When had it ever done her any good to let it rage? She indicated the feather-pen and ink-stone on the table. “I borrowed some supplies from you.”

He barely glanced at the letter she held out to him.

“That’s what you are doing here?” he asked. “Writing a letter?”

“Yes,” she said, forcing herself not to respond the way she wanted, railing against his distrust. She let the letter drop to the table. Of course he didn’t believe her. He would suspect her of spying —

“And not because you wished to see me?”

She stared at him. She would never understand him. He made hurtful accusations, and then expected her not to be hurt by them? He insulted her, then thought she would seek his company out afterwards?

His jaw worked, but his face was as impassive as ever. She let her gaze drop from his face, and saw that his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. Somehow that gentled her outrage. She knew it was not anger but uncertainty that bit at him, and she knew how much he must despise being uncertain.

The silence had gone on too long and he began to turn away.

“My lord — ” she said to forestall him.

She got to her feet. She had set him straight before, at the very beginning, and he had listened to her then. Perhaps that was what she needed to do now.