Only For You

by Hannah Howell

  “I let him touch me.”

  “He forced you to bear his touch. Did you think I would blame you for that?”

  “He said you turned away from Alice.” She struggled to control her weeping as he stuffed a cloth into her hands for her to dry her tears.

  “Alice was not tied and gagged, her gown cut open, and her chastity threatened at knifepoint. Alice lay down for sweet words and smiles. She always did. She was a whore, but I fought not to see that. When I caught her with Cecil, I could no longer ignore the truth. That is when I turned from her.”

  Saxan stared at him, but she found it hard to read his expression. The tears in her eyes blurred her vision. “Are you certain?”

  “Aye, I am certain.” He stood up. “ ’Tis clear you are not.” He started to take off his clothes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I intend to prove to you, in a way words cannot, that I am not going to turn from you because of this.”

  He smiled crookedly as she watched him with wide, unsure eyes. The first thing he had wanted to do when he had seen Cecil’s mark upon her was to obliterate it by making love to her, but he had reined in that urge. She had been badly shaken by the accident with Cecil, and he had felt that that was not the way to comfort her. She did not look certain that it was what she wanted now, but he could think of no other way to erase the doubt and fear in her eyes.

  When he slid into bed beside her, Saxan warily let him tug off her robe and pull her into his arms. There was such a soft look in his eyes that she began to lose her doubts. As he made slow, gentle love to her, she was freed of them completely.

  For a long time after their lovemaking, Saxan held Botolf close, resisting the inevitable ending of their embrace. It was like a healing balm to have him so close. She was certain no man could make love to a woman so sweetly if he were filled with distaste.

  “Convinced?” Botolf asked as he eased the intimacy of their embrace and turned onto his side to look at her.

  “Aye. You are very persuasive.” She slipped an arm around his waist and cuddled up to him.

  “Can you feel our child yet?” He slid his hand down to her stomach, but was careful not to touch the cut there.

  “A little. There is a quickening.” She smiled. “I thought it was bad beef.”

  He laughed softly then grew serious. “You have learned a hard lesson today, but I wonder if you will heed it.”

  “You mean I must not elude the men you set to guard me.”

  “Aye. ’Tis not just your life you put at risk now.”

  “I know.” She shivered and huddled closer to him.

  “When did you know that you were carrying our child?”

  “God saw fit to have me see the truth just as Cecil’s knife touched me.” She heard him curse, and his arms tightened around her. “I thought it a harsh punishment for my folly of being caught out alone. So strong was that sudden truth that I could not question it and thus ease my added fears. Do you know what I feared most? That I would not die the moment he cut me, that I would live long enough to see the murder of our child. I think there could not be a worse death.”

  The images her words evoked horrified Botolf. He could only guess at how deeply it had affected her. Unknowingly, Cecil had inflicted a bruise that would take far longer to heal than all of the others. Botolf could hear the lingering fear in her voice.

  “You must always be on your guard, Saxan, or, by Christ’s foot, I shall lock you in these chambers until Cecil is dead.”

  “I will go nowhere without my guards,” she vowed.

  For a while they simply held each other. Botolf knew instinctively that Saxan sought to absorb his strength, to refortify her own lagging courage. He relished the fact that she was alive and thought hard on all the things he could do to insure that she stayed that way until Cecil was no longer a threat.

  Saxan reluctantly eased out of his hold. She sat up, clutching the coverlet to her bruised breasts, and looked at him. It was time to tell him about how badly she had treated his mother. It was very tempting to leave it until he found out on his own, but she could not practice that sort of deception. If nothing else, he might be able to mend at least some of the damage she had done. She could only pray that she had not committed a sin beyond forgiving.

  “Botolf, your mother came to tend me,” she said.

  “Aye, she would.” He grimaced. “I suppose she would not heed any talk that it was Cecil who had committed these crimes.”

  “Nay.” She sighed. “I was so angry, Botolf.”

  “What are you trying to tell me, Saxan?”

  “I was cruel to Lady Mary.”

  “You? Nay.”

  “ ’Tis comforting that no one can believe I would act so badly, but, aye, me. When your mother insisted that Cecil could not have done this to me, I fear rage seized me by the throat I could still feel his hands, the point of his dagger, and there she stood, saying that it was not Cecil.”

  He took her hand in his and asked gently, “So what did you say, little one?”

  “Far too much.” She took a deep breath and related her tirade. “Then I asked if she would finally believe it when her son and his family lay dead at her feet and Cecil came here to rule, his hands soaked in our blood. Then I asked if she would believe it if I delivered the proof to her on a silver salver as John the Baptist was delivered to Salome.”

  “And what did my mother do?” he asked quietly.

  “She burst into tears and fled the room. I am so sorry, Botolf. She had done me no wrong. I knew that even as I lashed her with my cruel words. She had come to help me, soothe my hurts, and I treated her wretchedly.”

  He pulled her into his arms, turning onto his back and holding her close. He felt bad for his mother’s hurt, but he could not blame Saxan for inflicting it Fresh from her ordeal at Cecil’s hands, it must have been more than she could have borne to hear his mother denying Cecil’s guilt If he had been there at that moment, he felt sure he would have acted much the same.

  “My mother’s hurt in this matter is mostly self-inflicted. She will not see the truth,” he said.

  “That was no reason to be so unkind to her,” Saxan replied.

  “You were speaking only the truth, sweeting. ’Tis her own folly if she cannot heed it Can you blame your uncle for her pain because they are apart when they should be together?”

  “Nay, but ’tis not quite the same.”

  “Nearly. He will not turn from the truth. He has vowed to end the life of anyone who tries to end mine, and that is Cecil. She cannot accept that, for she will not believe that Cecil is the one. Thus she denies herself a chance of companionship and affection in her latter years, something I know she deeply needs and wants. I, too, have raged at her and made her weep, but the guilt of that fades quickly. ‘Tis Cecil who brings her pain, not us. ’Tis her refusal to see the truth that hurts her. If I had been here, I would have been no kinder. I swear it.”

  “You will not go to her now?”

  “Nay. I cannot soothe her in this. God’s beard, the time for coddling her in this is far past. If I go to her now, she may again try to deny that Cecil did anything and I shall think on this,” he touched the wound on her stomach, “and your words will probably seem kind next to the ones that would spew from my mouth. Nay, not this time. She must seek her own comfort, if there is any to be found for her.”

  “There is something else I must speak on,” she murmured after a few moments of silence. “It is something that could be important.”

  “Am I to find the maids cowering in the corners?” he teased, languidly moving his fingers through her thick, bright hair.

  “Nay.” She laughed, then grew serious. “How intensely did you look for a wife, Botolf? Was it halfheartedly or did you court many ladies?”

  “An odd query.”

  “Please, I ask for a good reason, not out of jealous curiosity. In truth, I do not really wish to know whom you held before me.”

  “Few and only
briefly. None as I hold you,” he murmured and kissed her even as he cursed the weakness that prompted such words. They were impossible to restrain, however, as he held the woman who now nurtured his child within her body.

  When the kiss ended, Saxan had to take several deep breaths to still the desire he had stirred inside her. “Please, I cannot think clearly when you kiss me, and my mind must not be foggy now. Botolf, please answer my question.”

  He shrugged and replied, “Everyone knew I had to take a wife. Many ladies were presented to me as possible choices; but, aye, my courting was half-hearted. In truth, only Odella could be considered a possible pick, but I do not believe I truly courted her. Mostly, I did not avoid her attempts to gain my interest. That made her appear to everyone and herself as my most possible choice.”

  “Then it is she,” Saxan muttered, growing angry as she began to see, all too clearly, the game Odella had played.

  “What is she?”

  “When Cecil spoke of seeding your first wife and gaining everything that way, he said it was a game that could still work. He said he had tried again with the woman you had courted; but although it was a near thing, the game was lost to me.”

  “Odella.”

  “It has to be she he was talking about.”

  “She and her father disappeared along with the assassin that morning. They are in league with Cecil.”

  “It would appear so.”

  “More than appear. They sought to wed her to me and thus make it easier for Cecil to be rid of me.”

  Saxan said nothing, simply pressed closer to him, trying to soothe the sting of such treachery. He was such a proud man. This attempt to play him for a fool had to cut him deeply, especially since it had almost succeeded. There was little she could think of to say to ease the sting. She was sorry she had had to tell him of the game, but knew she had had no choice. It was always best to recognize one’s enemies. Now Odella and her father could not sneak up on Botolf, hiding murderous treachery behind smiles and friendship.

  “Is there no one I can trust?” he finally muttered.

  She looked up at him and brushed her lips over his. “There are many you can trust. You can trust me, husband.”

  Botolf could read the clear honesty in her eyes and held her close. “Aye, I can. I do.”

  As she smiled against his chest, she felt her heart skip with pleasure. Those were not the words of love she ached to hear, but she was not fool enough to ignore their importance. Instinct told her that Botolf was a man who no longer trusted easily. She would treasure the gift of his trust and vowed to do nothing that would abuse it.

  Twelve

  “A week, Saxan. A full week. Mayhap I should just break down the door to her chamber.” Botolf grumbled as he paced the garden path in front of her.

  “Sit down, Botolf.” Saxan tugged Botolf down onto the garden bench at her side.

  Saxan was torn between guilt and worry over Lady Mary, but now she had to calm Botolf. It was hard for Lady Mary had shut herself away, refusing to see anyone. Only her maid was allowed into her bedchamber.

  “She eats regular meals and bathes, Botolf. That is a good sign. She needs time,” Saxan reassured him.

  “For what?” Botolf demanded.

  “Mayhap she is in there truly looking at the trouble you suffer. Mayhap she finally fights to come to a decision about Cecil, to heed our words and the evidence right before her eyes. It would take time for her to accept and adjust to the truth.”

  “And mayhap she hides from the truth by closing out the world. Her woman Elizabeth will tell me naught.”

  “You must not keep testing the woman’s loyalties,” she scolded. “She has told you that your mother’s health is good.”

  “Her body fares well, but what of her heart and mind?” Botolf asked.

  “We can only wait and see. Lady Mary is a grown woman. If she wishes to see no one, surely that is her right.”

  He sighed, put his arm around her, and held her close. As his worry over his mother’s strange behavior increased, he turned to Saxan more and more. That was not in keeping with his plan to maintain a distance from her, but he could not help himself. Everything about his wife pulled at him, drew him closer and closer to her despite his plans.

  In the night, as he lost himself in the sweet passion he and Saxan shared, he heard himself speak words that might have been better left unsaid. Nevertheless, he could not stop himself from repaying her for the delight she gave him with sweet words. It was only afterwards that he feared he might have said too much, revealed too much of his confused emotions.

  He looked down at the fair head upon his shoulder and decided that, if he had revealed too much, she had either not noticed or was not going to put it to use. Her manner toward him had not changed at all. She asked little but gave a lot. At times he thought he was being unfair to her, but within him lurked a wariness he could not ignore. In all honesty, it was fear, a fear of giving too much. He knew that if Saxan abused what he gave, it would cut him far more deeply than Alice’s games ever had.

  His thoughts swung back to his mother, and he frowned. Saxan was right, Lady Mary was a full-grown woman and, if she wished to play the hermit, it was her right. It did not ease his worry, however. His mother had never acted this way.

  “I will give her another week, and then I shall break down her door if I must,” he said.

  “If you feel you must,” Saxan murmured.

  “I do. She has never behaved like this before, and that alone is cause for worry, whether she eats well or not. There is one other thing we will do. I will wait no longer to announce that you are carrying my child. Tomorrow eve I shall speak out. Who knows? If she hears that, she may come out. I will tell Elizabeth to let my mother know what my plans are.”

  “Aye. ’Tis an occasion your mother may feel it is her duty to attend.”

  By the following day, Saxan saw little change in Lady Mary’s self-imposed exile, although she kept a close watch out for the woman. At midday two new arrivals stole all thought of Lady Mary from her mind. Her uncle returned to Regenford and brought Tuesday and her family with him.

  “Let the women ready your chambers,” Botolf suggested with a grin as he viewed the confusion caused by Thylda, Saxan, and Tuesday greeting each other in the hall.

  “You tend to your sons, Godric,” Tuesday called as she started away with her new daughter in her arms. “And no more talk of heads rolling. You know that it gives poor little Alhric bad dreams.”

  “Nay, it does not,” the small boy cried out, but his mother had already left.

  Edric sat at the head table and gratefully accepted the ale a page served him. “I had forgotten how much Tuesday loves to talk,” he said mournfully

  “Papa, might Sennet and I look for Uncle Pitney?” Alhric asked his father.

  “Aye, there is a good idea,” Godric replied.

  “I last saw him with the armorer,” Botolf called as the two small boys hurried away.

  “Tuesday shall have a word or two to say about that,” Edric murmured.

  “Or four or five,” Godric said with a grin, “but, mayhap, she shall tire her tongue chattering with her sisters.”

  “Aye, they shall wear themselves out talking about you husbands.” Edric laughed heartily at the identical scowls Godric and Botolf wore.

  “Oh, she is lovely, just lovely,” Saxan said as she sat on Tuesday’s bed and held her new niece. “I am sorry I was not able to be at her christening.”

  “If you traveled to all of the christenings in our clan, you would never be home,” Tuesday quipped.

  “ ’Tis such a surprise to see you.”

  “Ah, I see that he did not tell you.”

  “He?”

  “Your husband, Lord Botolf. He wrote to Denu and me after you were attacked. You appear to be all right.”

  “Aye. If that is why you hastened here, there was no need,” Saxan said.

  “Nay, ’tis not the only reason I came. I missed your weddi
ng and wished to see how you fared. Denu and I tossed the dice to see which one of us would come. I won.”

  “As always,” said Thylda.

  “And you met Uncle Edric on your way here?” asked Saxan.

  “Nay,” replied Tuesday. “He stopped to tell us that he was traveling here and to ask if we wished to send anything with him.” She laughed. “I think he was taken aback when I told him it would be all of us.”

  Saxan joined her sisters in laughing, but her attention was quickly diverted by the lively baby she held. She knew Botolf wanted sons, but surely one of the children she would give him would be a daughter. Her musings were ended by Tuesday putting a hand on her shoulder.

  “When is your child due?” Tuesday asked.

  “How could you know?” Saxan could not believe her sister had any special insight.

  “It was the look that settled upon your face as you watched little Honey Pipere. It did not say when will I have a child, but will mine be as healthy as this one.”

  “Botolf is to announce that I am with child tonight.”

  “To brag of his prowess to his men, you mean. When is the child due?”

  “In late March or early April.”

  “Ah, the spring. ’Tis fitting. How do you feel? Any illness?” Tuesday asked as she sat on the bed next to Saxan.

  “I feel quite well. No illness, no fainting,” Saxan replied. “I think that is why I was so slow to realize that I was with child.”

  “Aye. I was ne’er sick. Not truly. A few foods could set my innards to swimming. And I could not let myself become too emotional or I emptied my belly in a trice. Godric could not argue with me for near to six months at a time.” She grinned. “He said it was no fun when it ended with my head in a bucket retching fit to die.”

  “That is when I got ill. Shortly after the attack and when I was still in a sad confusion of emotion. I was afraid and angry and worried that Botolf would set me aside. ’Tis the only time I was ill. Although,” she grimaced, “I find I cannot go near the stables for very long. The smell, I suppose.”