Vengeance 02 - Trust In Me (15 page)

“This is another attempt to seduce me.” He shook her. “You will not succeed.”

Shock splayed across her face. “Nay, Nicholas. That was never my intent – ”

He released her arms and took another step back. “Our original agreement stands. I will hold up my end of the bargain. I only ask that you do the same.”

She swallowed hard as she pulled up the neckline of her gown to cover herself. “You’re wrong.”

For a long moment, he wondered if she spoke the truth. What if he was wrong? What if her intentions were honorable? Surely, that could not be. Not after everything he’d done to her.

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes, then coursing down her cheeks. “The day will soon come when you realize just how very wrong you are.”

Unable to bear the hurt on her face, he spun on his heel and left the chamber.

Chapter Fifteen

The bright morning sun lit the bailey and brought with it the promise of spring. Buds lined tree limbs, casting them in a velvet sheath of green, echoed in the emerald grass below.

The air held an underlying warmth that kindled hope after the dark, cold days of winter. Clouds hung on the horizon and threatened afternoon rain, but for the moment, the day promised to be a fine one.

Nicholas surveyed his holding with pride as he noted the touches spring had wrought along with the changes his men had made in the past week since his return.

Repairs were moving forward, mainly thanks to the funds he’d gained when he’d taken a wife. Both the blacksmith’s and the alemaker’s thatched roofs had already been fixed. Some men mended fences while others repaired damage to the curtain wall. He and his men-at-arms trained in the morning, then worked on the holding in the afternoon. Though much remained to be done, the progress felt good.

Then why couldn’t he shake the restless feeling that plagued him? Surely the cause of it was William, and it would fade if he recovered. Nay, he corrected himself. When William recovered.

Nicholas ran his hand through his hair, determined to focus on things in his control. Brom had sent a message saying that he’d not yet found out anything on the mystery of the sword with the green-eyed dragon hilt or its owner and so was traveling on to another location that held more promise of success. Nicholas knew the odds were against them to discover who the man was from the little information they had, but the pursuit was worth it to Nicholas.

Unfortunately, there was little more he could do for his brother. The apparent lack of William’s progress toward healing troubled him. If only he’d open his eyes. Mildred insisted he was getting better and that soon, he’d awaken. She also maintained that Nicholas would have Elizabeth to thank when he did. Nicholas had to admit that his wife seemed to be doing everything she could possibly think of in that area. She’d spent so much time dribbling that tea into his mouth, talking to him, keeping his room fresh and clean.

The complications their marriage had made to his life nearly outweighed the advantages. Nights were the most unbearable. Lying beside her in the dark without touching her was wreaking havoc on him. A dark part of him almost hoped she’d attempt to seduce him in full, for he was certain she’d succeed.

He’d waited for her to make another request to make their marriage a true one. He’d braced himself against the appeal of those big, brown eyes, prepared to reject her again with cool logic. But each evening when they retired, she acted as though he wasn’t even in the same room with her, let alone in the same bed. He’d seen enough of her back to last a lifetime.

Even as thoughts of her surfaced in his mind, she appeared as though to taunt him.

Christ
.

Did the woman have to be everywhere?

Nicholas stared. How could he not? Her gown was a pale golden color, and the sun seemed to light it from within. Her slender, long-limbed form crossed the bailey with a unique grace that drew the eye. Well, his eye at least. He stifled a curse as he glanced around. Every male in the bailey had stopped to watch her as well.

It mattered not where he went. She was there or soon followed. Did she trail him on purpose? Was her intent to drive him mad? Nay, he decided after thinking it through for a moment. That could not be. She had no reason to follow him. Not after his rejection of her.

Annoyed with himself and her, he watched as she strode from the alemaker’s toward the blacksmith’s on the opposite side of the bailey. She stopped briefly to visit with the smithy who paused his work with his bellows to exchange a greeting with her. She left the man grinning and continued on to the small cottage that sat adjacent to it and disappeared inside.

Now what was she up to? What business could she have with the blacksmith’s wife? Walter should be keeping better watch over her. Nicholas followed in her wake, as if pulled along like the moon drew the tides. As he neared the small cottage, she stepped out into the sunshine with a small babe in her arms.

She glanced up at him as though surprised to see him there. Perhaps she wasn’t following him after all. “Good day, my lord.” Her smile for him was fleeting, for her attention was caught by the babe in her arms.

The infant seemed equally fascinated by her as they eyed each other with wonder and delight. The babe reached out its tiny fingers to catch hold of a strand of her hair that had come loose from the simple braid that trailed down her back.

The same impulse he’d had numerous times.

She held the infant as though to do so was the most natural thing in the world. As though the babe was hers.

Lord Crefton’s words came back to him:
she has always wanted a family of her own
.

Nicholas’s stomach dropped like a rock from a cliff. He’d stolen that dream from her, crushed it beneath his heel in his quest for vengeance. Even if he relented in his insistence that they never consummate their marriage, he didn’t want to have a child. He couldn’t risk passing on the curse he bore to another.

Unaware of his dark thoughts, Elizabeth chuckled at the infant’s firm grip as she freed her hair, the ring on her left hand winking at him in the sunlight. Her face shone with happiness as she looked at Nicholas to share the moment.

His heart didn’t have a chance.

“Have you met young Edgar?” she asked. “Isn’t he amazing?” She cooed at the infant as women seemed inclined to do.

A memory flashed through his mind of a happier time. He could see his mother looking down at William as a newborn, her face luminous. She’d pulled Nicholas close, eager to show him the babe. His heart squeezed at the memory.

“My lord?” Elizabeth looked up at him, her brow creased. “Does a headache plague you again?”

He stared at her, dismayed that she’d noticed. Surely she didn’t know what came with the headaches. For if she did, she’d look at him with horror, not the concern she displayed. “Nay. All is well.”

“Perhaps your lack of sleep wears on you.”

“I don’t believe you’re sleeping any better.”

She dropped her gaze, her face flushing.

“I’m fine,” he said as he reached out a finger to touch the baby’s cheek, amazed at the softness of his skin. “Edgar, is it?”

Henry, the smithy and proud father of Edgar, put down the piece of iron he’d been hammering and walked over to them. “Good day, Lord de Bremont.” His grin was contagious, matched by his big size.

“That is a fine young lad you have, Henry. Well done.” Nicholas slapped the smithy on the shoulder.

“Thank you, my lord. He’ll be an excellent blacksmith in a few years, eh?” He laughed at his jest.

His wife stepped out of the cottage, wiping her hands on a cloth. She dropped a curtsy to Nicholas. “We’ve been praying for Sir William’s recovery, my lord. How is he farin’?”

“About the same.” Nicholas glanced down at Elizabeth, but she continued to play with the babe.

“’Tis a terrible thing, my lord. Just terrible,” the smithy’s wife exclaimed. “What kind of person would abandon him at the gate like that? In a cart, no less.” She shook her head, her disgust obvious.

Nicholas watched his wife, saw her stiffen at the woman’s words. Saw her radiance vanish like a candle’s flame suddenly extinguished. She kept her gaze on young Edgar.

Nicholas waited for her to hand the child back to its mother and flee.

Instead, she raised her chin. “Mayhap the person had no other choice and did what he thought best.” She caught Nicholas’s gaze. “Perhaps we’ll hear the truth of the matter one day and thank the person for returning Sir William to his brother. Who better to care for William than Lord de Bremont?”

Startled, the smithy’s wife glanced between Nicholas and Elizabeth, then sent a confused look to her husband. “I never thought of it quite like that. I’m certain you have the right of it, my lady.”

Elizabeth nodded as she held the woman’s gaze.

Nicholas pushed away the doubt and guilt her words brought. He hoped Elizabeth realized that he’d never accept her explanation, regardless of what the villagers thought or how many might take her side.

What she and her father had done was wrong, and he’d continue to make them both pay. Justice was on his side, of that he had no doubt.

Never mind that the need for justice seemed to have disappeared from his heart, leaving him longing for something else entirely.

*

Elizabeth started up the stairs in the keep, thinking to check on William after her visit with young Edgar. But the smithy’s wife’s words taunted her, weighing her down, a cadence to match her every step.
A terrible thing. Just terrible.

No more than halfway up the stairs, she halted and pressed her hands over her ears to make the chant stop.

The idea of another afternoon spent staring at William was more than she could bear. She couldn’t do it. She simply couldn’t. The optimistic mask she’d held tightly to for so long had been torn off, ripped away by the words of the blacksmith’s wife. Looking at William lying there pale and still was like holding up a mirror to reflect another of her failures.

Tears welled in her eyes and a lump burned in her throat. She leaned back against the cold stone of the stairwell, trying to catch her breath. The walls of the keep seemed to press in on her.

Perhaps what the woman had said was true. She
was
a terrible person. Somehow, she brought a black cloud of foul luck with her wherever she went. Her desertion of William at the gate had been done to protect her father, never to harm William. Yet how could anyone understand the desperation that had filled her once she’d realized William was innocent?

No one could.

Nicholas’s accusations of her attempting to seduce him joined the taunting of the woman’s words.

Do not lie to me.

Terrible thing.

Again, she covered her ears with her hands, but still the words came, each phrase striking her anew. Stifling her sobs, she turned and fled back down the stairs. She had to escape even if only temporarily. Each breath she took scorched her throat.

“Lady de Bremont?” Walter called to her from the great hall.

Without sparing him a glance, she ran past the hall entrance to wrench open the heavy door of the keep. Down the steps she flew and across the bailey. She didn’t stop until she’d arrived at the stables.

Young Thomas poked his head out of a stall with a pitchfork in his hands, his brows arched at her sudden appearance. “My lady? Were ya needin’ your mare?”

“Aye. Please.” The answer left her lips before her mind arrived at an answer. That was exactly what she needed. A long, hard ride would clear her mind and let her breathe. Surely it would ease the tight band across her chest.

Thomas flashed a shy grin and bowed low as color stained his cheeks. He set down the pitchfork and stepped around her to move toward a stall farther back. “I’d be happy to saddle her for ya. She’s a fine horse, my lady.”

Elizabeth listened to him prattle to the horse and found her breathing had already eased. The tranquility and quiet in the stables, the familiar smell of horses and straw, all brought her comfort. In a matter of moments, she’d be free for a short time, and that gave her peace as well.

Thomas was even quicker than she’d hoped. He soon had the mare ready and led her forward to where Elizabeth stood waiting. “It’ll rain soon, my lady. You won’t be gone long?”

The idea of impending rain held no worry for her, but she didn’t want the boy to fret. “Not long. I’ll be all right.”

“I’d be happy to go with ya. The lord would have my hide if anything happened, my lady.”

Elizabeth doubted that. “I’ll be fine,” she said as she ran her hand along her mare’s withers then gave her a scratch between her eyes. The horse snuffled in her palm and jerked its head in greeting. A large wooden block served to help her mount, and she adjusted her skirts to cover her legs as best she could.

She thanked Thomas and rode toward the gate.

Much to her relief, the portcullis was raised, and she passed through quickly, waving to the guards as she left. She had no desire to make up an excuse as to why she needed them to open the gate.

She hadn’t given any thought as to which direction she’d take, but the road curved downhill, and she followed it as she looked over the rolling, wooded hills before her. A few cottages were strewn outside the curtain wall, their tofts boasting green grass and gardens here and there that held the promise of new growth. In the distance, she could see villagers in the fields, their backs bent low over the brown soil.

Already, her spirit lightened. She continued on the road for a short distance, and then took a narrow path that followed the edge of the trees along the valley floor. The sun was bright overhead and felt reassuring on her shoulders. The scattered gray clouds didn’t worry her one bit.

Her mare seemed as pleased as she was to be out in the countryside and pranced between a fast walk and a trot, tossing her head. Since she had no particular destination in mind, Elizabeth let the horse lead the way.

Deep breaths of the clean, fresh air eased her heavy heart. The scent of pine cleared her mind. She avoided the dark depths of the forests for the undergrowth looked too dense to traverse through. At last, the narrow trail opened up into a long meadow, and she gave her horse its head. The mare needed no urging and launched into a thundering gallop.