Elizaveta stole eggs she found at a farmhouse along the road as well as carrots she’d ripped out of the ground. The food didn’t do her nausea much good and more than once, she vomited it up, but she was hungry and had to eat something. She had to make it to Romford and she needed strength. Therefore, the two-day trip was frightening, and cold, and disorienting, but the one thought that kept her going was seeing her grandmother and telling her that her plan had failed. There would be no more information from the House of de Winter.
Of course, she fully expected grandedame to berate her and perhaps even beat her and try to disown her. Elizaveta decided fairly early on not to tell her grandmother about the child she carried, fearful that the woman would try to use the child somehow. Nay, she couldn’t tell her. She would coerce money from grandedame and disappear somewhere, perhaps back to Rochester’s convent and commit herself to the order. She couldn’t go back to her father, for she knew the man would only return her to Drake. Nay, she could not go back to Thunderbey. A convent was her only option.
On the morning of the third day, the weather was surprisingly clear from the fog that had plagued the land for quite some time. Elizaveta began to recognize her surroundings as she rode into the outskirts of London, becoming familiar with the dirty streets and leaning buildings, of the children playing in the gutters, knowing she was near The Black Goose because she recognized the area. She wasn’t entirely sure where the building was, however, so she wandered up and down a few cluttered streets, trying to find the building, finally recognizing it on the corner of one of the larger intersections. It looked like a crumbling, old structure but she knew the interior was much better and she also knew, as she drew closer, that her grandmother and mother were inside. She could feel their presence.
More hatred filled her.
To be so close to the women who had forced her to betray her husband put knots in her stomach but Elizaveta had never felt so strong or in control of herself. She had a good deal to say and, for the first time in her life, she wasn’t afraid to say it. She had nothing more to lose and if grandedame wanted to send assassins out after her father, so be it. Elizaveta would no longer let that frighten her. She shouldn’t have let it frighten her before but, like a fool, she had. She’d had nothing to lose at the time. Now, she was finished being the woman’s pawn, for it had cost her everything.
It had cost her Drake’s love.
… I hate you!
Leaving the palfrey in the livery with a young stable boy to tend the beast, Elizaveta made her way inside The Black Goose with nothing but hatred on her mind.
The fear, the manipulation, would end today.
*
The Black Goose.
After the nervous stable boy had told of witnessing Lady Elizaveta leaving on a palfrey, it had taken Drake the better part of the morning to remember that name, the name written on the missive that Elizaveta had sent to her grandmother. He remembered catching a glimpse of it when he had passed the missive off to the messenger and as the reality of Elizaveta’s disappearance became more grave, his mother had mentioned that Elizaveta had received a missive from her grandmother.
Like hunting down the magic clue, they’d searched the chamber she had been sleeping in and found the missive tucked into a box, greedily reading it. The Black Goose had been written into the message itself, as Elizaveta’s grandmother had made it clear that she and Agnes were staying there indefinitely.
Staying there, awaiting more missives from the granddaughter she had forced to spy for her. It was starting to reinforce Elizaveta’s story of a vengeful grandmother, but Drake pushed those thoughts aside. He was only concerned with finding his wife and speaking to her, of telling her that he understood she had been in a difficult position. A woman bent on retaliation who had threatened her. God, he told Elizaveta he’d hated her when he hadn’t hated her at all, and that thought turned his blood cold. It was the last thing she had heard from his mouth. He couldn’t believe he’d said such a thing but he had, and she had taken it to heart and fled. The panic to get to her, to find her, grew by the hour.
Therefore, The Black Goose was a critical clue. It was the one and only place Drake could think Elizaveta might go. He didn’t think she would go to Thunderbey or to her father, because he clearly hadn’t been part of her life as of late. He thought perhaps she would run back to her mother and grandmother because that was all she knew, trapped beneath her grandmother’s iron fist. He simply couldn’t see her going anywhere else so with The Black Goose in mind, they now had a starting point.
They had to go to London.
But there was a major issue with that; Dallan had to be buried and Drake knew he could not delay in finding his wife, not even for his brother’s funeral, so there was some family strife when Davyss, Devon, and Denys all demanded to go with him to find Elizaveta. Drake held off his family, insisting they had to attend Dallan’s imminent burial, but none of them wanted to let Drake go alone. Devereux got involved, and so did Daniella, and only when Daniella was reduced to tears over some very strong arguing between Drake and Devon did Davyss and Devereux step in to calm the heated heads. The solution, in fact, was quite simple.
At noon on the day they had discovered Elizaveta’s escape, Dallan was transferred to Norwich’s massive cathedral, where generations of the de Winter family were buried, and placed in the vacant crypt meant for Davyss and Devereux next to his grandmother and grandfather. The crypt was plain, without any decoration, but that would come later.
For now, Dallan was in his final resting place and that was all that mattered. It was a very small service, with only the immediate family, two priests, and several acolytes present, but Dallan was prayed over and given an honorable send off. Each member of the family kissed the crypt, saying their final farewells, and it was at that point that Devereux’s tears finally came. She had tried so incredibly hard to remain strong and stoic, but when the heavy lid was replaced on the crypt, covering her son from view, she realized that it would be the last time she ever saw him and her sorrow surfaced. Tears from a mother weeping over a lost child were the most painful tears in the world.
As Davyss remained with his distraught wife, both of them weeping quiet tears over the passing of their youngest child, Drake, Devon, and Denys, along with Daniella, headed back to Norwich Castle where Denys would mobilize the de Winter army for its imminent departure to Thunderbey Castle whilst Drake and Devon, ever the pair, mounted their steeds and headed south towards London. The twins, who were never easily separated, were once again united to find Drake’s wife and bring her home.
Still, Drake had not told his brothers the real reasons why Elizaveta had left, only that she had run off, distraught at Dallan’s death, which was mostly the truth. But there was obviously more to it. As Drake and Devon traveled to the outskirts of London at a frenzied pace, Drake finally broke down and told his brother the real reasons behind Elizaveta’s flight. Devon’s only response was that he wanted the pleasure of stringing the old cow up.
No scorn, no anger or blame, and no hatred. Simply a comment on the true root of the issue – Mabelle Maxwell. Drake was coming to see that was probably how he should have reacted all along, and he loved his brother for it.
The bonds of brotherhood that would never die.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Elizaveta remembered Maude.
Big, smelly, and with hands like a man, she remembered the woman all too well and the woman certainly remembered her. When Maude saw Elizaveta enter her establishment, she made way to the woman and greeted her like a long lost relative. Exhausted, and in turmoil, Elizaveta wasn’t polite in the least when the woman came at her and tried to hug her in her dirty, smelly clothing.
Elizaveta dodged the arm that came out at her and demanded to know where her grandmother was. Maude, unoffended because she was afraid any reaction like that would reduce the generosity of Mabelle’s tips, simply pointed up the stairs to the rooms where Elizaveta and Mabelle and Agnes had stayed
once before. Without thanking the woman, Elizaveta charged up the old stairs that creaked under her insignificant weight.
The chamber door was closed when Elizaveta approached it, tucked back away from the head of the stairs towards the east side of the building. Elizaveta didn’t even both to knock; she was beyond mannerly thoughts and beyond anything remotely pleasing at that point. She was in the realm of blind resolve, full to the brim with anger and hatred and hurt, and it was all begging to come out. Lifting the old, iron latch, she shoved open the door.
The chamber was big and roomy, with its two beds, and light streamed in through the big window that overlooked the street. The shutters were open, in fact, allowing the brisk morning air into the room, which was clouded with smoke as a fire burned strongly in the hearth.
The first thing Elizaveta saw was her mother, who was sitting by the fire with some manner of sewing in her hand. She gasped when she saw Elizaveta and her reaction alerted Mabelle, who had been lying on one of the beds. Elizaveta saw her grandmother sit up and look at her with surprise and, as their eyes met, Elizaveta shut the door and bolted it. She knew there was about to be a row and she didn’t want anyone attempting to intervene, especially nosy Maude who had taken a liking to Mabelle.
She didn’t want anyone trying to defend the old bitch.
“Elizaveta!” Agnes cried as she bolted out of her chair. “What on earth are you doing here?”
Elizaveta didn’t even look at her mother; she was solely focused on Mabelle, who had come off the bed and was moving in her direction. Before Elizaveta could speak, Mabelle answered her daughter’s question.
“She has come with great news for us,” she said, excitement in her voice. “Look at her face! It must be great news, indeed. What have you brought us, child, that you could not tell us in a missive? Is it great and terrible?”
Elizaveta began to shake. She couldn’t stand the look in her grandmother’s eyes, a look of vengeance fulfilled at the death of English knights. Dallan’s death. The woman thought that Elizaveta had come to deliver the ultimate betrayal and when Elizaveta realized that, her rage soared. Everything she had ever wanted to say or do towards her grandmother began to bubble up, words tumbling over each other, begging to be spoken. But Elizaveta couldn’t speak; she was too tense, too emotional, and too weary. There was only one thing she could think to do, a release that she desperately needed. Something that begged to be done from deep in her soul. Something she should have done a long time ago. As Mabelle came close, her eyes alight with glee, Elizaveta lashed out a hand and slapped the woman across the face as hard as she could.
Agnes yelped as Mabelle fell over with the force of the blow. The old woman crashed into a chair, which toppled over with her upon it. Everything went crashing as Elizaveta, seized with her own sense of empowerment, finally found her tongue.
“You wicked bitch,” she snarled, standing over her grandmother and shoving her down again when the woman tried to push herself up. “Nay, you will stay down. You will stay down on the ground where you belong, lying in dirt and filth because that is all you are – dirt and filth!”
Agnes, shocked and frightened by her daughter’s behavior, was trying to help her mother stand even as Elizaveta shoved the woman down, again and again.
“Elizaveta!” she gasped. “Have you gone mad?”
Elizaveta whirled on her mother, her anger gaining strength. “Shut your mouth,” she snapped. “You are a weak and worthless excuse for a mother. You let her do this to me! How could you do that? I am your daughter, your flesh and blood, yet you allowed your mother to manipulate and use me as if I were no better than an animal. Now, sit down and do not move until I tell you to. Do you understand me? Sit down!”
She was yelling at her mother by the time she was finished and, stunned, Agnes fell back into the nearest chair. Meanwhile, Mabelle was on her knees, trying to stand, but Elizaveta pushed her again, hard, and the woman collapsed onto the floor. Elizaveta stood over the woman, resisting the urge to beat her to death. That was the extent of her fury at the moment.
“Now,” Elizaveta said deliberately, “I want you to listen to me and listen well. I have permitted you to push me about, order me about, threaten me and belittle me, but that ends today. You are a vile, despicable creature who lives in a world of hate and violence, and you have pulled me into that world as well by forcing me to spy on the man I married. I have come to tell you that I will no longer allow you to treat me that way. I will no longer fear your threats of assassins and I will no longer cower to your demands. From this day forward, you will be dead to me. I will no longer send you information on the English or information on anything else for that matter. I hope you die soon; with God as my witness, I hope you die a painful and lonely and terrible death, because that is what you tried to consign me to. You forced me to live in your world and it was the most horrific place possible. After today, I choose to live in my own world and I will pray for forgiveness for the rest of my life for the things you forced me to do. I hate you more than words can express, grandedame. I hope you spend eternity in hell paying for your sins.”
By this time, Agnes was weeping softly as Mabelle lay on the floor, propped up on an elbow, shocked as Elizaveta cursed her. When Elizaveta was done speaking, Mabelle’s instinct was to gain control of the situation. It was natural for her to want to dominate her granddaughter and she reached for that command, unwilling to relinquish it.
“And what are you?” she demanded. “A foolish chit who has eaten my food and benefitted from my wealth. You do not know what you are saying, girl. You are mad!”
Enraged, Elizaveta slapped at the woman again, around her shoulders and head, and Mabelle was forced to cower as Elizaveta slapped. They weren’t painful slaps, but more a flurry of flying hands, angry and emotional.
“You are the one who is mad,” Elizaveta hissed. “You are mad with vengeance over something that happened thirty years ago. Many men are killed in battle, so what makes Argyle Maxwell any different that you must spend thirty years avenging his death? Do you realize you have wasted your life and my mother’s life and my life with this old and twisted sense of revenge? This ends today, I tell you. You end today. To me, you are ended!”
Mabelle, seeing that her young and pliable granddaughter would no longer be pushed around, was starting to feel some rage of her own. Rage and shame and, if she was honest about it, some fear. She had never seen Elizaveta so bold or strong. She would have never guessed the girl could stand up to her so.
She had never imagined that Elizaveta could rebel.
“What happened to you?” she demanded. “What have the English done to you that you would shame your own grandmother this way? They have poisoned you!”
Elizaveta wanted to go in for another round of furious slapping but she refrained. In fact, she was feeling rather drained and strangely weak after her outburst. She moved away from her grandmother, going to stand near the window to take in some fresh air. She inhaled deeply, thinking on the English she had spent such a short amount of time with, people she loved. In just the few short months she had spent with them, they had shown her what a family truly is. It was an example Mabelle had been incapable of setting.
“Nay, they have not,” Elizaveta finally said, her manner calmer now than it had been. “Shall I tell you of the House of de Winter? They love one another. The parents love their children and the children love their parents. They laugh together and fight together. And they loved me. The day I married Drake, they accepted me as family without question. They loved me and they trusted me. And what did I do? I betrayed them. I destroyed any sense of honor I ever had by doing what you told me to do. I was afraid of what you would do if I did not do your bidding, so I betrayed these wonderful, loving people and one of their sons was killed because of it. But you would not understand any of this considering your mind is a cesspool of hate. You do not understand what it is like to have people who love you and who would never hurt you. Well, I knew it for a tim
e and I destroyed it. It is because of you that I destroyed it. Therefore, I will no longer associate with you. I am going away and you will never see me again.”
Mabelle had listened to her speech with both concern and interest. She was sitting up now because Elizaveta was over by the window, no longer trying to push her down, but as Mabelle listened to the diatribe, one thing became clear – she had lost Elizaveta completely.
Something had happened with in the House of de Winter that had turned the girl against her. Mabelle had lost her greatest tool in gaining vengeance against the English and her great plans for destroying Edward were now ruined. Elizaveta was loyal to the enemy now which made her an enemy. Enemies had to be destroyed.
She had to destroy Elizaveta.
“I understand what it is to love,” Mabelle said, keeping her eyes on Elizaveta as she struggled to stand. “I loved Argyle and he loved me. Why do you think I must avenge him?”
Elizaveta noticed that her grandmother was struggling to her feet but she did nothing about it; she remained by the window. She’d expended her fight and fury against the woman and was finished with the physical demonstrations. It was occurring to her that the old bitch simply wasn’t worth it.
“I do not wish to live my life feeding your polluted sense of justice,” she said. “If you want to destroy the English, then you must do it on your own. I will no longer help you.”
Mabelle stood on unsteady feet. “Then you are a fool,” she said, feeling stronger. “I have threatened you with assassins before. I can do it, you know.”
Elizaveta shook her head. “Then do it,” she said, exasperated. “Do it and get it over with. Go kill my father and send them to kill me. I no longer care, you see. You throw these foolish threats about and I know you have ordered men killed in the past, but I simply do not care any longer. You are a sick woman, Mabelle. Sick and old and terrible.”
Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 67