Yearning Heart (14 page)

Rebecca was wrong. She did, indeed, look different.

Stephen watched her when she wasn't looking his way. The shiny crown of hair resembled a rope of gold. Her voice lilted as she gave directions for the kitchen workers to make meals for them. Her laughter trilled as she stood with her arms deep in flour, making bread, which had become a favorite activity.

Small breasts, firmly pushed against her dark blouse, had swollen and even to his gaze, appeared tender. He wanted to hold them and caress them, to kiss and suckle. He jerked himself upright as the familiar heat stirred in his loins. Most of all, he wanted to grab her up in his arms and stride up the stairs and take her to bed, there to fill her with his hard, demanding muscle, to spill his seed into her womb already carrying his child.

With an oath, he slammed the king's property books closed and hurried out the back hall toward Tor's stable. Only activity would keep him from driving himself insane wanting Rebecca.

* * * *

Rebecca heard Stephen slam out the door and watched his long strides towards the stables. A little later, she saw Tor depart the stable, Stephen astride him, running like the wind towards the cliffs above the water. He did not return until the end of the day.

She was tired. She had baked bread until almost time for the evening meal, hoping Stephen would return and speak to her. When he did come in, he went straight to his bedroom to emerge only when Aubin summoned him to eat. Now, she sat listlessly pushing at the roast meat on her plate, Stephen eating silently beside her.

What had happened to them? Had she only imagined his attention at the Christmas celebrations? Had the night she had gone wild in his arms in the royal palace been only her pleasure? Had the look in his eyes when he returned home from the long journey only been because he needed her body? And when he found she was carrying his child, he no longer needed her.

“You do not eat enough to nourish the child, Rebecca,” Stephen said.

She turned quickly to him, but he was looking at his plate, still filled with meat and the hot bread she had baked.

“Is the bread not to your taste, Stephen? It seems you eat little as well.”

He pushed the plate away.

“I am tired and do not need food. But I have only myself to feed. It is different with you. Eat.” His order was given in a cold voice as he might to a lazy servant.

She ate without tasting and when he rose to leave, she followed him up the stairs. He stopped near his door, watching her slowly approach him.

“Stephen, have I done something to displease you?”

Seldom had she seen him so angry, a harsh frown tightening the mouth that could turn her body into molten response.

“Do you not know how to prevent getting with child?” Icy disgust was plain in his questions.

Her face lost its color. “No,” she said. “No, truth I do not.”

“After this one comes, ask Malvina to instruct you. If she does not know enough, go to the woman back of St. David's Mission. I have heard she grows herbs known to bring the flux when needed.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and entered his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

For a moment, Rebecca stood stiffly, staring at the door that had slammed between them. A closed door had come to be a common thing, something that happened each time Stephen came home from the fields or from a trip for the king.

She hated it.

Teeth pressed into her lips, she waited for her temper to subside, for her blood to calm so that she wouldn't shout at him, so that she could think what she'd done to alienate her husband, what she could do to bring him back so he'd come to her bed once more. She needed him.

The temper she'd tried to hold onto got away from her. With her head high, she marched to the closed door, grabbed the shiny, brass knob and yanked hard. Before she could think what might happen, she shoved the door open and walked into the room. A room she seldom saw. It was Stephen's private domain where she didn't intrude. If he wanted her, he came to her bedroom, or took her in the great room, or the hallway, or anywhere else his desires could be met.

By God's eye, he had a nerve. Shut
his
bedroom door in
her
face, would he? She'd never, but
never
turned him from her bedroom. Why should she allow him to refuse to let her into his?

At the sound of the door hitting the wall, Stephen whirled. His brow lowered over angry-bright eyes.

“Rebecca?”

“Yes, Stephen. Rebecca. What in the name of the king is wrong with you? Why are you angry with me when I've done nothing wrong? We're going to have a baby, Stephen. We. You and I. It isn't something I did alone. You were there also.”

“And I won't be remiss again, I can assure you, Rebecca. Now if you're through throwing your tantrum, I'm busy.”

“Too busy to talk to your wife? To tell her what your troubles are? Is it the king's demands making you hard to deal with? Is it because you don't want a son to carry your name? What, Stephen? It's best I know in what way I have insulted you so that I can make amends.”

He came to her, his fingers dug into her shoulders.

She flinched.

He let her go, all but shoved her away.

“See, Rebecca. I do not need to handle thee whilst carrying the child. Do not come in here or I might forget and handle you roughly.” He turned toward the bed and began to unfasten hooks to the gold chainse.

Rebecca's mouth quivered, her heart hurt. There was her answer, for a certainty. Stephen not only didn't love her, he could no longer stand the sight of her. She turned blindly to the door, said not another word, and left Stephen alone.

When she'd gone, Stephen's fists clenched at his sides.

Dear God, what will I do without her
, he wondered?
If the baby causes me to lose her, I will never forgive myself. I must ... I must leave her alone for now. I could not live without Rebecca.

Numbly, he realized it was true.

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Chapter Nine

Stephen's legs trembled as he leaned on the heavy door he had slammed against the sight of Rebecca staring at him, shocked by his command. It mattered not. She must be made to be as careful as he intended to be to prevent another child. He could not go through this nightmare again. No matter that Rebecca thought he should be happy about a child, mayhap a son. He could not, would not, take a chance on losing her, just for the sake of having a son. This child would be the last one for them, no matter if it was a girl child.

He had lost Mary. If Rebecca could live through having the first child, no matter how much he wanted a son of her body, there would not be another. He could not live with the thought of losing her. She had become more important to him than anything in his beloved country. Even King Henry and Queen Eleanor. Everything. She was more important to him than his own life.

He loved the wife he had thought only a convenience. She was only the payment of a gambling debt, just a body he could use for his own satisfaction. He groaned at the memory of that business transaction, a cold settlement for lands he did not need, did not want. He did not need money. He did not need anything, anyone, save Rebecca. Shaken by the knowledge, he bowed his shaggy head over crossed arms, wishing he knew the words to tell Rebecca how he felt.

But he was afraid.

* * * *

Stephen tried every way to keep from thinking of Rebecca, but none was successful. Workers in the wide fields saw more of him than ever before. He toiled alongside them, sweating and dirty, from the sun's first appearance until he could no longer see a straight furrow. He trudged over his lands, talked to his workers, discussed grain and ways to work and harvest more valuable crops. Discussed the breeding and care of animals, worked in the stables until he was weary to the bone.

What he would not do was journey to London on extended royal business, nor did he stay more than overnight where the manor house was being built in Salisbury.

He spent long hours riding Tor, then brushing the strong stallion until his coat shone. Sometimes the pale hair beneath the stiff brush reminded Stephen of Rebecca's blonde tresses, and he would press his face against the patient horse.

It was here Aubin found his master after a hard ride on Tor along Moon Cliffs. Stephen had watched Aubin become Rebecca's willing slave, and though Stephen sometimes came second to his wife, he did not quarrel. Aubin had never shown affection to another human being that Stephen had noticed. He was a simple man who preferred the stables where animals were his companions. So Stephen approved his attention to Rebecca. She would be safe as long as Aubin was close.

“What say, Aubin?” Stephen said.

Aubin bowed.

“Malvina, my lord. She is with Lady Rebecca and wishes you to come straight away.”

His heart tightened, and then pounded. It is not the baby's time. That could not be the reason for this summons.

“What is it?”

“I do not know, my lord,” Aubin said. “Lady Rebecca was at the table peeling fruit when she stumbled.”

He stared at Aubin. Stumbled at the table? How so? Stephen dropped the brush and ran towards the rock wall of the garden, crashing through the closed gate as though it wasn't there. It was the straightest way to the workroom off the kitchen where they dined.

Inside the big room he saw no one at first, and then he caught sight of Malvina on her knees with Rebecca. He knelt beside them.

Rebecca's eyes were wide but they looked through him at the high ceiling.

“What? What is wrong?”

“I do not know, my lord,” Malvina said. “She fell from the bench without a word. She has not yet spoken.”

“Stephen.”

He had to bend to catch Rebecca's low words.

“Stephen.” She reached up and caught his arm. “My chest hurts.”

“Rebecca, my darling.”

He was unaware of the endearment. He caught her hand, holding tightly, and watched in horror as her eyes closed, and she gasped for breath.

He picked her up and carried her up the stairs into his room and placed her on the big bed where he had made love to her so many times. She was so quiet, and though he murmured words to her, stroked her cheek and her arms, she didn't respond. She was tiny and pale. The bed dwarfed her.

Malvina was there as he straightened. She warmed a cloth and placed it over Rebecca's forehead, then bathed her cheeks, holding the dampness against her lips.

Malvina did not look at him as she said, “Best you get the Lady Dinsmore. She is the best with childbearing.”

“It is not time,” Stephen said.

“It is Lady Rebecca's time. Send Aubin.”

* * * *

As soon as she opened her eyes and saw the curtains blowing at the open window, Rebecca knew what had happened. The baby was no more. The baby she had wanted so badly, the one Stephen would have prevented.

Her mind went over their conversations of fortnights ago when he instructed her to find someone who knew how to keep from getting with child. She remembered every word, every instruction he'd practically shouted at her, all of the things he'd coldly announced she would do. Because he did not want a child from her body. Mary had died in childbirth, therefore he refused to allow Rebecca to have one.

Was that why her body rejected the one she already carried? Was that the simplest way of fulfilling Stephen's wishes?

She did not know, and she cared not. Her body rid itself of the baby for Stephen, and that was the important part. At least, to Stephen. For her, it no longer mattered.

Stephen came to see her when Malvina told him she was awake, but as soon as she heard his voice outside the door, Rebecca closed her eyes, pretending sleep. He stood by the bed a long while, then his footsteps moved away and the door closed once more.

She was in Stephen's room, in his bed. Idly, she wondered how she came to be here, but that did not matter, either. The important thing was that Stephen no longer had to worry about the child she carried for so short a time. And she had orders to be careful she did not nourish his seed within her body again.

Slowly, day by day, Rebecca regained strength. Lady Dinsmore told Stephen the deep lung fever Rebecca suffered weakened the baby's system until it could not survive.

Rebecca knew better. Her heart had simply refused to support the child because Stephen was displeased.

A message came from the royal palace that Stephen should sit on the new council for raising taxes on royal lands, but he would not leave Rebecca. He visited her room often, but she seldom spoke or looked at him. Her paleness frightened him, the deep shadows under her eyes, her lack of industry. Rebecca, who was always busy at something, lay like a rag doll in the center of his bed, making no effort to dress herself. Sometimes she ate bread. Most times she drank the thick soup Malvina brought and that was all.

How did this happen? How did it happen she became so ill, and he took no notice? Rebecca did not complain of feeling unwell, but he should have taken note of the weariness in her face, pale cheeks and dull eyes. He was to blame. He'd been determined that she would obey him and find ways to keep from becoming with child, that after this birth, if she lived through it, he would never have to worry about losing her again. The very thought of living without her turned him stiff with cold.

“I can send Aubin for Lady Elizabeth, Rebecca, if you would like her to visit,” Stephen said. He sought desperately to interest her in something.

A slight smile passed her lips and was gone.

“Papa is taking her to Genoa this summer. He does not offer her a vacation often, and she would not want to miss this one.”

“You should allow me to tell her you are ill.”

“No.” Rebecca coughed and caught at her chest, then turned her head away. “I am much better and there is no need to worry her.”

“Rebecca?”

But she had turned on her side with her face to the window and did not answer. After a bit, Stephen walked from the room, turning once to look at the still, small figure of his wife before he closed the door behind him.