Only For You

by Hannah Howell

  “Very, and now I think Cecil spoke of her. He told me he had tried to seed Alice and gain all he desires through the child, then said that he had tried again with the woman Botolf courted, that he came close that time, but the game was lost to me.”

  “Odella.”

  “Aye, I think so.” Saxan yawned. “I must not forget to tell Botolf.”

  “I will be sure to remind you. I think he now mistrusts the Alansons, but ’tis best to make sure he does.”

  “It all grows so tangled.”

  “And dangerous.”

  “Aye, and dangerous.” Saxan moved her hand to her stomach and felt Thylda cover it with hers. “For all of us.”

  “I will speak to our kin.”

  “Mayhap—”

  “Nay, no mayhap,” Thylda said, her voice firm. “R will be done. There is no doubt now. You saw your assailant. ’TWas Cecil who threatens you.”

  “Aye, ’twas Cecil.” Saxan winced as she thought of Lady Mary.

  “The word shall be put about. The eyes of all of our kinsmen will be turned his way.”

  “So many eyes,” Saxan jested weakly.

  “Let us pray that there are enough to find him.”

  “Poor Uncle Edric.”

  “Lady Mary still refuses to believe it is Cecil?”

  “I think not,” murmured Saxan.

  “’Tis sad, but there is naught which can be done about that. As you say, it is not just men against men now. You are threatened and so is the life of an innocent, helpless babe. This must be stopped. Cecil must die. ’Tis the only answer.”

  Saxan made no reply, but clung to Thylda’s hand. It was the only answer. It was the only way to dispel the danger that loomed over Botolf, herself, and now their child. Saxan knew that only Cecil’s death would fully cure her of the fear he had bred inside her.

  Eleven

  “There is no sign of the man, m’lord,” Pitney said as he rode up beside Botolf.

  Botolf looked into the distance and swore. It was already dusk, and there was no point in continuing the search for Cecil. The man had disappeared as completely as if he had never existed. The only thing they had seen to prove that Cecil had been on Regenford land was the blood on the ground near the spot where he had accosted Saxan.

  Closing his eyes, Botolf fought to quell the helpless rage churning inside him. Not even when Cecil had seduced Alice had he been so eager to kill the man. He could not dispel the image of the bruises on Saxan’s fair skin. Those images kept his anger hot and fierce.

  “There is no point in continuing, m’lord,” Pitney said, interrupting Botolf’s thoughts.

  Looking at the youth who was swiftly becoming one of his closest men-at-arms, Botolf nodded. “He has slithered off into the deep grass.”

  “Aye, and though I should like to look beneath each blade, I know it will gain us nothing to do so.”

  “Let us return to Regenford then. I should like to see how my wife fares,” Botolf said as he turned his mount back toward his keep.

  “At least Cecil was not able to accomplish what he so clearly planned to do,” Pitney said as he rode alongside.”

  “So young Robert assures me. Mayhap I should have stayed behind to be certain.”

  “Nay, m‘lord. Saxan expected you to lead this search. If she had felt a need for you to stay with her, one greater than the need to find Cecil, she would have said so. My sister has e’er spoken her mind.”

  “Aye, she has. If she told me to go, it is exactly what she meant me to do,” he murmured, speaking mostly to himself.

  His worry was not fully eased, however. After such an ordeal a woman would expect some comforting, but he had not even held her for a moment before dashing off to join in a fruitless search for Cecil. It was possible that she would think he cared little about her hurts.

  A harsh laugh echoed in his head, and he pressed his lips together tightly to keep it from escaping. Nothing could be further from the truth. He cared more than he wished to, but the first thought in his head when he had seen her bruises had not been to soothe her hurt. It had been a craving to hack to pieces the man who had inflicted them. That was undoubtedly the usual way for a man to react, but he was not sure Saxan would understand, not if she were in great need of comfort, a comfort only he could give her.

  When they reached Regenford, Botolf headed straight for Saxan’s bedchamber only to have Pitney halt him on the stairs. “I must see how Saxan fares.”

  “Aye, m’lord, but I am asking for only a moment of your time,” Pitney said.

  “ ’Tis important?”

  “Very, m’lord. Cecil must be stopped, do you not agree?”

  “Completely”

  “ ’Tis a fear for and a love of my sister which prompts me to speak so boldly. The attempts to end Cecil’s deadly game have thus far been weak, m’lord. You fight off his assassins and look about some whenever he strikes, but I see little else being done.”

  Botolf sighed and gave a reluctant nod. “ ’Tis a family squabble. I did not wish it to become too widely known.”

  “I think you must now ask yourself if the cost of saving your lady mother’s feelings grows too high.”

  “You do speak boldly, lad.”

  “I am driven to it. I am not sure you can understand what Saxan is to me. The bond runs deep and strong, m’lord.”

  “Aye, I know. I have seen it. So, continue.”

  “I believe it is past time to set aside consideration for Lady Mary’s feelings, although it pains me to say so as I am fond of her. Still, she remains blind to the evil that is Cecil. In order to serve that blindness, you must court death at Cecil’s hands. And, now, so must Saxan. Allow me to speak to my kinsmen.”

  “And what will that gain?” he asked.

  “Their numbers are many and they are spread far and wide. You would have many people searching for Cecil and, mayhap, it could still be kept somewhat private. At least there would be many more sword points poking about in the rushes to flush out this adder. That is all I ask, m’lord. Just allow me to spread the word amongst my kin.”

  “I am surprised that has not been done already.”

  “Nay, m’lord. I cannot promise that the privacy you crave in this matter will continue, however.”

  Botolf briefly clasped Pitney’s shoulder. “I can see the value in what you say, but I must think on it. I do not wish to say aye or nay when anger still rules me. I will have an answer for you on the morrow.”

  As he watched Pitney descend the stairs, Botolf cursed softly then turned and strode toward his chamber. The boy was right. It was past time to stop proceeding quietly, to try and keep it as private a matter as possible in an attempt to protect the feelings of his mother. That was going to be a hard step to take, however, and he needed some time to think about it.

  “M’lord,” Thylda said in surprise when Botolf entered the room, keeping her voice only slightly above a whisper. “She is asleep.”

  “I will stay with her now. Have some water for washing sent up and some food as well, please,” he requested.

  “Aye, m’lord,” she said and slipped out of the room.

  Once Thylda was gone, Botolf took her place on the side of the bed, his gaze fixed upon a sleeping Saxan. He was barely aware of the delivery of the food and water except that it forced him to move from Saxan’s side. He did so reluctantly and hurried through his meal and toilette. He wanted to be able to give her his full attention when she woke up.

  When he returned to her side, he sat down and held her hand as he watched her sleep. She looked so delicate, so young, and he felt swamped with guilt over the danger he had pulled her into. He had dragged her from the safety of Wolfshead Hall into the midst of a battle for the rule of Regenford. He had turned the point of a madman’s sword in her direction. Despite all his vows not to, he had let his feelings conquer his good sense yet again. Marriage should have waited until he had settled the matter of Cecil and his deadly plans.

  He brushed a lock of h
air from her face and sighed. Waiting to marry had not been a luxury he had been able to enjoy. However, there had been some time left before he would have been forced into a decision. He could have put that time to better use. Instead, he had allowed his loins to lead him along. For all he had looked at the reasons for wanting her for his wife and his careful inspection of her suitability, it had been his lust for her that had lurked behind his every step.

  Nay, not just lust, he thought. Lust was too empty a word for what he felt. Lust was what you spent on the whore in town or on that adulterous wife who smiled so invitingly. Lust was not what you gave a slim girl who could set your blood afire with a smile.

  He frowned down at her. She was pulling him into her hold. If he was not careful, she would be in full possession of all he had tried to lock away—his heart, his soul, his love. He had to fight harder, but it was not going to be easy. It was impossible to be cold to her and, without that wall between them, he was vulnerable. Somehow he was going to have to find some compromise in which he kept his heart safe, yet did not wound Saxan with indifference. If he failed in that, if his heart were still delivered into her small hands, then silence would be his protection. She might win his love, but he would never let her know it. Never again would he put that power into a woman’s hands. He had learned his lessons well and would not allow Saxan to make him forget.

  Saxan slowly opened her eyes. She had sensed her husband’s presence even before sleep had fully released her from its grip. She knew it was Botolf who held her hand. When she saw the dark frown on his face, she wished she had stayed asleep.

  “Did you find him?” she asked with a touch of hesitation.

  “Nay,” Botolf replied. “Not a sign. The worm has slithered back into the ooze. I am sorry I left without even asking how you had fared.”

  “ ’Tis more important to find Cecil, and he was so close this time. And, you did inquire about me. You even offered to stay. I said go. There were plenty of women here to tend to me.”

  “Saxan,” he began carefully. “I spoke to obert—”

  “You have not punished my guards, I hope. It was not really their fault.”

  “They were supposed to guard you.”

  “Aye, and they did.” She shrugged. “But the day was hot and lazy and I wandered away without a word to them.”

  “Well, they have been punished, but not harshly. The chores they despise and consider beneath them have all been assigned to them for one week’s time. They failed in the duty assigned to them, Saxan. I could not allow that to pass unpunished.”

  “Nay, of course not,” she agreed.

  “Now, as I was about to say, I spoke to Robert and he told me that he felt certain you were not raped. Is he correct?”

  “Aye, he arrived in time. I ... I was just touched.” She dreaded admitting that to him, but felt she had to tell him the full ugly truth.

  She tensed as he reached to undo her robe, gently prying her fingers loose when she tried to clutch the garment shut. Such a dark look came over his face as he viewed her bruises that she shivered. She could not stop herself from wondering how much of that fury was directed at her.

  “What is this?” he asked in a tight voice as he touched the cut upon her stomach with the tips of his long fingers. “Why did he cut you like this?”

  “ ’Tis not a bad cut.”

  “Cecil had a reason for doing this, Saxan, and I think you know what it was.”

  “Aye, I do. Cecil spoke of seeding me to gain what he wants through a child.” Her voice began to shake as the look of fury on Botolf’s face hardened. “Then he wondered if you had already accomplished that. He did this as he spoke of seeing for himself.”

  Suddenly, Botolf yanked her into his arms. Saxan could feel him shake with the anger that pulsed through his body. It was frightening, for he was a man who was almost always in control. She wondered fleetingly just how much emotion he did keep reined in and why

  “And he meant the threat?” Botolf asked in a hoarse voice.

  “Oh, aye, he meant it. I feared he would carry it through when Robert called out for me, but Cecil chose to run instead.”

  “So close,” he whispered.

  “Closer than you think,” she said with an equal softness.

  Botolf grasped her by her shoulders and held her a little away from him. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that, if he had cut me to fmd out if you had seeded me, he would have discovered that you had.” She almost cried out when his grip on her shoulders tightened painfully.

  “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I can be.”

  “You have not been sick.” He moved his hand to her stomach, and the cut there chilled him even more than it had before. “I have watched for that sickness in the morning. They say it is the first sign.”

  “The first sign is that a woman ceases to bleed,” she said quietly and blushed.

  “But you have bled.”

  “Once. A fortnight after we were married. I have not bled once since then, and we will be four months married next week.”

  He stared at her as his mind worked to accept what she was saying. “Aye, not once since then and I would know. I have never left your bed. That means the child will come—”

  “In late March or early April,” she finished and clutched her robe together when he abruptly left her.

  Botolf strode to the door and flung it open. He took one step out into the hall and bellowed, “Pitney! Pitney Todd, come here now.” He began to pace outside the door, then grabbed a servant’s arm as the woman timidly walked past. “Find Pitney Todd.”

  A moment later Pitney hurried up to him. “What is it, m’lord?”

  “You may send word to each and every one of your kinsmen. I want Cecil found, and I want him dead.”

  Pitney’s eyes widened. “M’lord, you said you wished that decision to wait until your blood had cooled. Excuse my boldness, but I feel that your anger is far greater now than it was then.”

  Grabbing the youth by the arm, Botolf dragged him over to where a wide-eyed Saxan sat on the bed. “Show him,” he ordered her.

  Nervously, Saxan obeyed, opening her robe so that Pitney could see her injuries. When her brother paled, she said, “ ’Tis only a few bruises and a shallow cut.” She hastily closed her robe.

  “Beneath the knife point that drew that line lies my child,” Botolf said, his voice hoarse as he battled to control his rage.

  “God, beard,” Pitney breathed, staring wide-eyed at Saxan for a full moment before a weak smile curled his mouth. “So quick.”

  “Now you must see why, angry or not, I have made my decision,” said Botolf.

  “Aye, m’lord,” agreed Pitney.

  “As you told me, the cost of saving my mother’s feelings grows too high. When it was but myself in danger, I felt it enough to just meet his attacks and keep a close watch for him. Even Saxan is not helpless, although this incident has shown me, more clearly than the attack on our wedding night, that she is not safe either. But this, this goes beyond all excuse and reasons.” He took a deep breath as he continued to fight for calm. “Tell your kin that, too, if you wish.”

  “I will do so immediately, m’lord. Have I your permission to order your runners and dispatch messages?”

  “You are free to use whatever means you deem necessary to carry out the plan.”

  “Pitney,” Saxan called as her brother started to leave. “You had best tell Thylda what you plan, for the same thought occurred to her.” She glanced warily at Botolf. “I am not certain that Thylda would ask permission first.”

  Pitney nodded. “I will speak to the brat. She may wish to send her own message to Denu or Tuesday.”

  As soon as Pitney left, Botolf brought Saxan the food and drink sent up for her along with his own meal. He then moved to gaze out the window. He stared blindly at the waning activity in the darkening bailey as he fought to calm the turmoil inside him. Anger and fear warred with the joy and wonder he fel
t at the promise of becoming a father. Before he faced Saxan again he had to be rid of the former and show her only the latter. She had had enough of an ordeal today. He had to put himself into a mood that allowed him to be calm and soothing.

  Saxan warily eyed Botolf’s stiff back as she tried to eat, knowing that it would be best for the child, but the food stuck in her throat. Each bite she forced down made her stomach churn anew. With a soft groan, she pushed the food aside and dove for the chamberpot under the bed. She barely reached it in time before the little she had managed to get down forced its way back up.

  Weak and shaking, she was faintly aware of Botolf rushing to her side. He grasped her in his strong hands and held her steady while she was ill. Once her illness had passed, he bathed her face. Numbly, she rinsed her mouth clean and let him help her back into bed.

  “I thought you said you did not get sick,” he teased a little weakly, her abrupt illness worrying him.

  “I have not. Not once.”

  She took several deep breaths, but it did nothing to quell her sudden urge to cry. Ever since Botolf had entered the room, she had waited for some sign that he was not going to turn from her. She had not seen enough to still the fear Cecil had planted in her heart. Botolf did not appear to view her with disgust, but, except for that one brief hug, neither did he hold her close. Saxan was not sure what she wanted, but there had to be something he could do to ease her fear and he was not doing it. He is being so controlled, so calm, so distant, she thought wildly and burst into tears.

  “Saxan,” Botolf breathed her name in shock and confusion as she began to weep into her hands.

  “I am so sorry. I should have killed that bastard when I had the chance.”

  “It was Cecil’s blood on the ground then.”

  Continuing to hide behind her hands, she continued brokenly. “Aye, I stabbed him, but I hesitated. He looked so much like you that I lacked the strength to plunge my knife into his heart. That allowed him to get me, and that is my shame.”

  Botolf sat on the edge of the bed and took her into his arms. “Saxan, there is no shame in this for you.”