The Woman Inside (22 page)

She gathered up the other scrolls and took them to their bedroom to show
Uric. By the time he responded to her messenger she had read them all. They
appeared to be copies of his correspondence with the queen, and ranged from the
initial, stiffly polite inquiries to the strident tone of his last letter.

Uric read the letters without expression. When he was finished he held the
scroll in his hand and stared at unseeing at the floor for a moment. Then he
tossed it on the table and stared at her as he leaned a hip against the table.
“Leister was mad and a power hungry fool besides.”

The silence lengthened.

“I’ve never heard any rumors about the king being alive,” she said
tentatively from her perch on the settee. Why did he seem so cool? “Where would
he get such an idea?”

“In the bottom of beer barrel?”

She frowned at him. It wasn’t like him to be sarcastic with her. “I suppose
all the people who would know are dead.”

“I personally guarantee it.” His expression softened a bit as she drew back.
He moved to her side and stoked her hair. “I’m sorry. Working in this atmosphere
is making me tense. Fortunately we’ll be out of here in a week or less.” He
gathered the scrolls and took them with him. “I think I’ll show these to Roland.
He could use the amusement.” His smile didn’t hold its usual light.

“All right.” She stared as the door clicked shut behind him. Uric didn’t like
the scrolls, not one bit. But why did the writings of a dead man disturb him
so?

On a hunch, she followed him.

The study doors were thick, but the keyhole made a good place to listen. She
just hoped that none of the servants wandered by and caught her. How mortifying!
With one eye on the hallway, she tucked her hair behind her ear and strained to
hear them.

Roland’s expletive scorched Ceylon’s ears.

“Paranoid buzzard would leave a record,” he growled. “That wife of yours has
a nose for trouble.”

“I know it.” Ceylon peeked as Uric tossed the scrolls into the fire and
watched the flames blacken, then consume the parchment.

Hey! Those were mine! she thought indignantly.

“What did you tell her?”

“Nothing. You know better than that.” He scowled at the fire. “This would all
be so much easier if he wasn’t so vain.”

Roland propped his hip on the desk. “Can you blame him?”

Uric sent him a dark look. “I’ll admit I’m glad I’m not in the position to
test what I would do.” One hand raked through his hair, the first time Ceylon
had ever seen him do that.

Roland grunted his agreement. “What will you do about your woman’s
curiosity?”

“Perhaps it will pass if no more is said about it.”

“And perhaps pigs will sprout wings and magically fly to the moon.” Roland
nodded sagely.

The comment earned him a dark look.

Fearful of pressing her luck, Ceylon slunk away. No wonder she never
eavesdropped. It brought more questions than answers. Who was the mysterious
‘he’ they had referred to? The late duke? But they’d spoken in the present
tense. Obviously they knew more than they wished to share.

The puzzle made her itch to know more. She bit her lip and pondered. Might
there be more documents lying around? Someone in the castle who knew something?
And if there were, what were the odds of persuading them to speak with her?
There was little time, for Uric planned to leave soon, and she wasn’t eager to
stay her alone, even if he’d let her.

Not for a minute did she forget Eville. They’d hoped the rat would venture
after her here, but so far there’d been no sign of him. Maybe he was smart
enough to figure out the trap and was still waiting in the city. She doubted
he’d given up.

* * * *

As she’d predicted, the remaining servants were too scared to talk, or they
didn’t have any information. A thorough search of the castle yielded no more
clues.

They had no more arrived in Queenstown when Uric received an urgent message
from Shardsvale. His face rigid, Uric looked at Ceylon, who had yet to remove
her coat. “My mother jumped from the cliffs on her island. The fall broke her
back. She can’t move her legs.”

Tension made her body rigid. It seemed as if Maude had found another way to
tug her son’s leash. Anger wiped away what pity she might have felt for her
mother in law. If he didn’t go Uric would feel tortured. If he did go Maude
would try to twist the knife, make him feel responsible for her own
failings.

What could she say? After a deep breath, which she let out slowly, she
nodded. “I am ready if you wish to go.”

He stared at her a moment, then blinked and looked away. “It might be better
if you stayed here.”

No! She recognized that look. Fury made her grit her teeth, for she was not
about to lose him to his mother again. “Where you go, I go.” Poised for action,
she dared him deny her.

“As you wish.” This time he only partly turned away as he gave orders to the
staff.

It was a small victory, but a start.

It was nearing sunset, so plans were made to travel in the morning. While
Uric secluded himself in his study--his body language had made it clear he
wished to be alone--Ceylon tried to relax in her sitting room with Anne.

She couldn’t seem to sit still, so she paced. “I’m worried, Anne. I’ve seen
Uric like this before.”

Anne looked up from her mending and said quietly, “Just love him, girl. Don’t
try to force him to take sides; his mother does that. Just love him with all
your heart and hold him when he’ll let you. Take pains to let him know you
care.”

“How can that be enough? His mother treats him like a dog, but still he
cleaves to her side. How could I possibly just stand aside and watch her hurt
him?”

Expression deeply troubled, Anne shook her head. “I see you’ve made your own
mind up on this one. Just promise me you’ll remember my counsel later, should
you need it.”

Already deep in her private war plans, Ceylon just nodded. Anne meant well,
but nothing so submissive as passive love was going to win this battle. What she
needed was power, the influence over Uric’s heart.

* * * *

Five months later....

“Right. I’ll put it on my list,” Uric snapped. “Exercise my horse, review the
taxes, bed my wife.”

Ceylon inhaled sharply. “I wasn’t aware it was such a chore for you. There
was once--”

His ale mug descended on the table with more force than necessary. “Yes.
There was once, when you weren’t a nag and a shrew.” For a moment he looked as
if he regretted the words, but he didn’t say it. They finished their meal in
silence.

Ceylon blamed his mother for her decent into hell. The woman remained where
she’d been exiled while they lived in Shardsvale, but not a week went by when
Uric didn’t visit her. Always he returned in a dark mood.

The little things she’d done to try and lift his mood weren’t working. The
one time he’d found her in his study, slaving to balance the accounts for him,
he’d shut the ledger book, probably smearing the ink, plucked the brush from her
hand and escorted her to the door. Then he’d firmly shut the door with her on
the outside.

She grimaced and poked at her dinner with her fork. Very well, so maybe she
should have asked first, but she’d only been trying to help.

Then there’d been the time she’d organized the armory for him. That didn’t
bear thinking on.

Worst of all were his reactions to her advice. As a woman well used to taking
care of herself and ordering her own world, she considered herself qualified to
speak to him on any number of topics. There were so many ideas floating in her
head about how to improve crops and provide incentives for the locals to try new
things, but he seemed resistant to most of them.

Nor was he consistent, to her mind. He didn’t bat an eye when she redecorated
their bedroom, but when she dared to remove his ratty old chair from their room
with the intention of giving it away, he threw a fit. Then he went and got it
from the junk pile in the spare room. Every time she looked at it she got
annoyed. Why would he want such a battered thing when they could well afford a
nice one?

Therein lay another source of friction. Uric was a giver. When their marriage
was new he often surprised her with a new fur cloak or an expensive bauble she
didn’t need. As kindly as she could, she’d explained to him that she didn’t need
those things, would be happy with something simple like flowers or walk in the
sunset. After all, she reasoned, why should she wallow in luxury when there were
children dressed in rags in other parts of the land? It made her feel guilty.
Besides, a part of her thought he was just working on his mother’s training. So
she resisted his giving, and gradually the gifts, both small and big,
stopped.

Just like their love life had stopped. Things had gotten so bad that she’d
begun to wonder if he had a mistress, or wanted one. Certainly he didn’t seem to
want her.

She said as much to Anne when she came to visit from Queenstown.

“I don’t know if he loves me anymore,” she said in small voice.

Anne, who had observed them for the last five days before this confession,
sighed. Her eyes rolled under her half shut lids. “Child, that man doesn’t
suffer from a lack of lust. My guess is he’s simply too hen pecked to play the
rooster.”

Ceylon’s mouth fell open. “What!”

“Think about it. You’ve bossed and order the poor man’s life around, invaded
his space, tried to take over his work, and expect him to do everything your
way. No wonder he’s balky.”

“That’s not true!”

“Tonight at dinner you practically stood over him to make certain he ate his
vegetables.”

“But they’re good for him. If he had his way he’d live on steak and beer. I’m
surprised his teeth haven’t fallen out.”

“He loves onions and root vegetables.”

“Drowned in sauce.”

“If that’s the way he likes them, then that’s what you should serve. Set the
more exotic dishes near him and let him choose. Eventually he’ll grow curious
and find they’re good.” Before Ceylon could protest, he added, “He’s a fine
looking man with all his teeth, and was perfectly healthy before he met
you.”

That shut her up.

“You can’t treat the champion of her Majesty’s armies like a child, Ceylon.
Think how you would feel if he were the one telling you how to dress, what to
eat, how to conduct your affairs. Anyone would resent it.”

Ceylon swallowed. Suddenly she felt lowly. “But I care for him. I just want
to help,” she said plaintively.

“He doesn’t need your help. He needs your love and respect.”

“But I do love him. I respect him.”

“Good. Show him in a way he can understand. Don’t question his judgments in
front of others. Respect him by speaking about it in private. Anytime you argue
in public he loses face. Another man would have taken you to task for it.”

A little mulishly, Ceylon asked, “But what about when I’m right?”

“Would you rather be right or happy?” Anne asked. “Besides, your husband is a
smart man. You could do worse than to trust his judgments.”

Shoulders slumped, Ceylon sunk into her chair. Maybe she had been a little,
well, critical lately. But it was only because she was so unhappy.

On the other hand, her way wasn’t making things any better. Maybe she could
try Anne’s way, just as a trial.

When asked, Anne had other ideas about how to improve her marriage. Most of
them made Ceylon nervous, such as the old fashioned notion of making herself
softer, more womanly. Frankly it sounded suspiciously like submission, but at
this point she was desperate. Once Uric responded--if he did--she could always
reassert herself. Besides, she’d know she was only acting.

Since Uric hadn’t been coming to bed until after he assumed she was asleep,
she couldn’t do much that evening, but she did leave a candle lit for him.
Previously she’d snuffed them, both as ingrained economy and as a signal of her
displeasure. It was a small thing, but maybe he would notice.

* * * *

Uric did notice, but his first thought was that she’d fallen asleep and
forgotten to douse the light. It wasn’t really needed, since he’d managed to
find his way across the room by firelight often of late. There hadn’t been much
reason to join her in his cold bed these nights.

He stared at the shadowed ceiling as he lay down, careful not to disturb her
by cuddling. She was prickly when woken from a sound sleep, as he’d learned
early on. More often she pushed him away in the middle of the night or at dawn,
preferring sleep over his lovemaking, so he’d finally given up initiating during
those times.

At other times, when it suited her, she could be outspoken about her desires,
like this evening. It still annoyed him. Instead of a sweet invitation her
comment had come across as yet another demand.

He was tired of demands, tired of trying to please her, so he’d mostly given
up. Occasionally he still tried, but she barely seemed to notice.

He still wanted sex, but not when she demanded it of him. He wasn’t her serf.

Full of frustration, he rolled over and tried to sleep.

* * * *

He woke to the tantalizing scent of roast venison and eggs. Certain he was
dreaming, he opened his eyes. His wife stood beside the bed with a covered tray.
When she saw he was awake she unfolded the short legs and fitted it over his
lap.

“What is this?”

“Breakfast in bed.” She took the cover off and smiled as if unsure of his
reaction.

He lifted the steak and eggs inside with his fork, certain this was another
veiled attempt to sneak the dreaded vegetables into his gullet. When he found
none, he eyed the steak, wondering if she’d suddenly found a way to disguise
spinach to look like prime meat. It smelled like meat, tasted like meat. “Thank
you,” he said warily.