“I do. I cannot deny there may be a risk, and I do not wish you to come all the way through. If you could just help me get her halfway, I will be able to manage.”
The grey eyes widened. “Not so, Abbess, I cannot leave that to you. I will come too.”
“No! You will not. It’s too dangerous. And consider Isabella! What will she do if you do not return? Would you leave her bereft?”
Giles brought his fist down on the desk, making the candle wobble. The flame licked up wildly, and Hildegarde grabbed for it as Giles spoke, for it seemed ominously as though he might suddenly overturn the table.
“Abbess, Rohese is my responsibility! My blood. Already, I have failed her; I’ve not taken the care of her I should. It is not for you to do. She is mine, and I will return her.”
“No, Sir Giles, you will not. If you do not care enough to stay with Isabella, let me ask this of you – if you cannot get back to her, how will your descendants be born? I do not even know if I can return, but it is my world at least, and I leave no dependents behind. If this can be managed without you, then it must be.”
His anger subsided. As I knew it would, if I could but make him see sense.
“I see your reasoning. Very well, let us say, if it can be done without me, then good. However if not, know this, Abbess. Marion risked her life coming back for me, and I will do no less for her daughter.”
Hildegarde looked at the set of his mouth and knew that, with this concession, she must be content.
“But, I need to speak to my wife. In case there is risk, I must at least prepare her a little.”
Oh! She had hoped to avoid this. Though I suppose he must.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Isabella seethed. She had thought Giles to be different to Baldwin, learned to trust him. She had believed he would not dishonour her like this. No matter if he had another woman, then? For sure, he would not be the first. Yet jealousy seared her heart like a flame.
“My lord?” Giles stiffened. Isabella was clearly not pleased. Her face had set into sharp lines. “My lord, why should the Abbess wish you to aid this woman? This Marion, what is she to you?”
Giles knew many husbands would not tolerate this from their wives, would ignore them or beat them; however, he had no wish to rule through fear. How should he deal with her? It had taken long for Isabella to even begin to trust him, though he had made slow yet steady progress. He did not want to see her retreat from him now, but how could he share this with her? Better to stand firm.
“It’s naught for you to concern yourself with, Isabella.”
It was as though a curtain fell between them. Her eyes flickered briefly, and the light died from them like a snuffed-out candle.
“Bella, it’s a long, strange story. If you do not trust me now…” Isabella took a step backwards. “If you do not trust me now, by all the saints, you’ll not believe my tale.”
Isabella flushed. “My lord husband, did I say I do not trust you? I know full well how blessed I am in having you as my lord. You treat me well, have not given me reason to doubt your word.” The words were said docilely enough, though the flash from her eyes before she lowered them and turned again to her embroidery belied her tone which cooled another degree as she added, “I know my place.”
Giles caught at her hands, taking the cloth from her. “Indeed you do know your place. And I know you. You will give me no reason for anger. You will be dutiful, obedient – and cold as ice. I would prefer you to warm my bed, not freeze it cold as January snow.”
She ignored him, refusing to raise her eyes to his.
“And this chill between us will not be good for the child.”
“I assure you, my lord, Dickon will be as warmed by my love as ever.”
Giles placed a finger below her chin, forcing her face upwards. “And what of the other child? The one in your womb? Will that one also not feel the chill in your heart?”
Isabella gasped, finally meeting his gaze. “But you…I…”
He pulled her to him, sat her down on the bed beside him. “Think you I had not noticed how greensick you have been in the forenoons? Or a certain fullness here.” He stroked her belly. “Or here?”
“Giles! I was going to tell you, but I wanted to be sure first. I did not want to disappoint you in case it wasn’t so. And then, the time was never right. How came you to guess?”
Tightening his arm round her, he drew her close, kissing her. “My love, I do know the signs. I’m not so simple as you appear to think. When will the child be born?”
“Dame Margery thinks December.” She put her hand to his face, and he felt the thaw in her. Then, tentatively, she asked, “Husband, now you’ve discovered my secret, will you not tell me yours? I know it isn’t my right to be told, nor is it my business. If you don’t wish to tell me, I will not tease.” She paused. “And Rohese? What has this to do with her? And why must you escort her? Cannot the Abbess send word to her kin? It is not that I do not care for her, Giles, but…” She paused. “Bolohovenia? Why must you needs accompany her there?” She shook her head. “I do not understand.”
Giles tensed. She had softened, was merely puzzled now; how would she react to what he must say next? Her initial response had not been good. He braced himself and said gently, cautiously, as though feeling his way like a blind man, “My love, it seems she and I have family connections.” He watched as her face closed in again and continued, spilling out the words, trying to convince her. “I swear to you, I had no knowledge of this, no idea. I am as bewildered as you, my heart.”
“How, then? She told me Hildegarde was her aunt. Is that truth or fable? Are you also related to the Abbess? I do not understand.”
Giles shifted. Isabella stood and stepped away from him, that wooden expression back on her face, and his heart sank.
“Ah, Bella.” His voice was sombre now. “She is not Hildegarde’s niece. That is a story she told us. I know not for what purpose.”
She gazed at him dumbly, then, with a set expression and tightly pursed lips, withdrew a hand’s breadth further from him as a cold finger seemed to nudge at her spine. She didn’t want to know, yet forced herself to ask, “Who, then?”
He sounded exhausted, as though he bore the weight of worlds, as though his words were torn unwillingly from him. Why had he to tell her? Why now? Just as she thought she had his measure. Her world tilted a little on its axis, and she felt her bright hopes for the future begin to splinter.
Giles reached for her, but she moved further apart, and the gap between them yawned like a chasm. Speaking slowly, as though he weighed each word, he said, “She bears my blood.”
The castles Isabella had been building in her head crashed around her, and she whimpered slightly, wrapping her arms around her ribs as though to shield herself from a blow. Hot colour came and went in her cheeks as she whispered, “Yours? By this Marion?”
He held his hand out as though he would take hers; she evaded him, slipping from the bed, standing on legs that trembled. Giles rose and in one swift movement rounded the bed, flinging one arm about her, his other hand under her chin, lifting it, compelling her to look up at him. She veiled her expression, refusing to meet his eyes. And all the time, the wall of ice which he had so painstakingly thawed between them was rebuilding itself as though by an invisible hand.
“Not just mine, Bella. Ours. Yours as well as mine.”
Now her gaze did fly upwards, shock mingling with anger. “So what are you saying? You want to take her in?” He had the effrontery to ask her? “Sweet Mary, Giles, she is almost of an age with me. And what of her mother? Do you wish to house her also?” She shivered in his arms, sick with jealousy that he had a daughter by this, this…what was she? Concubine? Lover? And not so much that, for many men had misbegotten offspring, more that he had not told her. He had promised her there would be no secrets. He’d promised. An old lover she could handle if she had but known about her earlier.
“Why now, Giles? Why could you not have told
me about her at any time in these years we have been together?”
Gone her bright dreams and gone the flash in her eyes as she retreated back into herself. “She is your daughter, my lord. You must do as you wish.”
Giles held her to him. She remained rigid in his arms, and he pushed her down to sit on the bed again, kneeling before her, taking her ice-cold hands in his.
“Bella, sit. You distress yourself unnecessarily. I did not say I wished to take her in, nor her mother. And I only said she was of my blood – she is not my daughter.”
The stiffness left her. The relief was so great that, had she not been sitting, she would have fallen. She stared at him, her eyes rimmed with unshed tears, and he wiped them gently with his finger. “Whose, then? Ralph’s?”
“Not Ralph’s either, my love. Mine, yet not mine. Ours, yours and mine, yet not a daughter.” He gave her an odd look, his eyes troubled. “I know not how to explain this to you. Bella, have you noticed a strangeness about her? Different ways to ours? The way her speech differs slightly?”
Isabella was puzzled. “A little. Is that not because she is not from here? Because she comes from Bolohovenia? I had never heard of it before.”
He shook his head. “She is not from Bolohovenia; that, too, was a story, a fable to give her a background. She had to come from somewhere, and she could not tell you or anyone else from where.” His tone was wry. “No one would have believed her. In truth, she should not even be here. Her parents did not send her.”
Isabella regarded him stonily. “A lie! It was all a lie. And I trusted her, for I thought her to be my friend.”
“Sweetheart, it is not that she would not tell you; she could not. Even had she told you, you would not have believed her, as I did not believe her mother. And her mother was never my lover. Indeed, I thought at one time to kill her.”
Her eyes were huge, her mouth worked. He got up and poured her a measure of wine. “You should drink this.”
She took the cup mechanically, watching him.
“You will not believe me. It’s why I did not tell you before. Bella, Marion was not my lover. She was…is…my descendant.”
Isabella blinked, took an automatic sip of the wine, swallowed the wrong way and choked. Giles removed the cup from her and set it down, turning back to her, bending over her, saying, “She comes from our future. And if she is my descendant, she is also yours.”
“You are crazed!” The words were whispered, her hand covered her lips.
“I know it sounds like madness. I did not believe it either. Yet you need only ask the Abbess to verify the truth of it. It’s why I have been able to escape from court, and why I have to return each year around Whitsun.”
“John? This is what links you to him?”
“And why he hates me. Because he needs me and I know the one vulnerability that no one, no one, apart from the Queen, knows. I cannot tell you, for if I did, you might not be safe. And I need to be able to appear before him with a clear conscience, knowing I’ve kept my own counsel. Marion is the link between us. Marion, who came here once by mischance, twice, and we knew we would never meet again. Her daughter should never have found her way here, but she was headstrong and wilful, and now we need to get her safely back to her own time.”
Isabella gazed at him, expressionless. “And you expect me to believe this?”
He stood, running his hands through his hair. “I cannot make you believe me, and I know it sounds as though I have run mad or that I am lying through my teeth, yet I ask you to believe me because of the love you bear me. Ah, Bella,” as tears sparkled on her lashes and brimmed over, “trust me, love, for I swear it’s the truth.”
She lifted her chin, dashing at the tears angrily with her hand. “How can I? You make mockery of me, of us, of our life together.”
Giles turned and smashed his fists against the door, then came back and, grasping her wrist, pulled her to her feet. She resisted at first, but his grip tightened, bruising her, and she cried out.
“Bella, I don’t wish to hurt you, but you must believe me, and I know of only one way to convince you. If you do not come willingly…” He shook his head. “Ah, I will not drag you.” He let go of her abruptly, slamming out of the chamber.
Isabella fell back onto the bed, sitting there alone, shocked, motionless, numb as she heard his footsteps fade. Her thoughts, which had tumbled over each other at first, seemed to have left her. Her head felt as though it was stuffed with rags.
She did not know how much time had passed before footsteps sounded again outside and the latch was lifted. Hildegarde stood in the doorway. Isabella looked up at her and broke.
As she choked with sobs, Hildegarde embraced her. “My dear, I know, I know.” The Abbess rocked her against her breast as though she had been a child, until she shuddered convulsively and pulled away, searching for a scrap of linen to wipe her face.
Isabella had, at last, been calmed, and Hildegarde had settled her onto the bed, propped up by cushions and sipping at a steaming cup of one of Ursel’s remedies.
At first, she had been so overset, her teeth chattering so much, she was unable to drink. Hildegarde had removed the cup from her and soothed her again, and as Isabella had started to accept the tale, her trembling had subsided although her eyes were still puffy and red, and she scrubbed at them with the edge of the sheet.
“I suppose, if you say it’s true, then I must believe it.” She eyed Hildegarde doubtfully.
“My child, it was as much a shock to your husband when Rohese’s mother came through the tree. Indeed, had I not been there, I think he would have killed her, for he took her to be a demon.”
“As would I. But, Abbess, how came you to accept this thing with such equanimity? Did you not think her to be a demon also?”
Hildegarde pondered how to answer. To tell Isabella that she, too, had come from Rohese’s time, would, she thought, be too much. And, since she hoped to live the remainder of her life here, the fewer who shared her secret, the better. She made a mental note to ensure Giles kept silent.
“Lady Isabella, I’ve come across many strange things in my life, yet with prayer, it is possible to discern truth from lies.” That would have to do. Her brain had been so cudgelled today, to explain further was quite beyond her.
A tap at the door heralded Giles. He came in hunched, warily. As well he might, thought Hildegarde. Evidently, he was reluctant to cope if his wife was still hysterical. Isabella smiled tremulously up at him, and his shoulders came down from his ears as he covered the space from door to bed.
“How is she?”
Typical man! “Your wife is perfectly capable of speaking for herself, Sir Giles.” She sounded waspish even to herself and took a deep breath. It had been a long day already, and there was so much more to come. It would not do to be short-tempered now, however glad she would be when the next few days were over, and life at Sparnstow was returned to its usual serenity.
Isabella held a hand out to him, and he took it, turning it and dropping a kiss on the palm, folding her fingers over, saying gently, “Shall we cry peace, love?”
She nodded.
“I know you’ve had much to take in. I will tell you the whole tale later, but for now, the Abbess tells me we need to plan Rohese’s return to her own time.”
Isabella pressed his hand to her face. “Only promise me you will not go to this future time too.”
He nodded. Hildegarde forbore to say more; she trusted they could do this without his leaving their century, and to suggest the possibility would do Isabella no good. All she could do was pray this thing could be done safely.
“Then go, love. But mind you keep your promise.” He nodded again, and as he turned to go, Isabella called him back. “Wait. If this is true, if Rohese is truly my, er–”
“Shall we say granddaughter, to eliminate confusion?”
This time, she gave a small laugh. “Very well, my granddaughter, Giles. That seems so strange; a granddaughter of an age with my
self. Is it possible I might see her?”
Hildegarde quailed. It would be all too easy for them to speak heedlessly and be overheard. Still, she would not, could not forbid them.
She opened her mouth to speak, closing it again as Isabella continued. “Yet, she is in pain and overwrought, I know. I suppose it would be better to allow her to rest today. But I look forward to seeing her on the morrow. And I should like to give her something – a keepsake, if you will. Would you pass me that?”
She gestured to the casket where she kept her embroidery silks and, when he gave it to her, rummaged inside, pulling out a small silver thimble. “It was my mother’s. She gave it to me before she died.” She held it up. “Do you think she would like it?”
Hildegarde took it from her. “She will treasure it, my lady.”
Isabella smiled. “At least, then, she will have something to remember me by. I shall give it to her when she feels well enough for me to go to her. Please tell her I look forward to seeing her when she is a little stronger.
“And Abbess, please call me Isabella. ‘My lady’ sounds too formal when I have just soaked you with tears. Besides, you cannot call me ‘child’ in one breath and ‘my lady’ in the next.”
Giles laughed. “She’s right, Abbess, and by the same token, Giles is sufficient for me.”
Hildegarde cast up her hands. “Very well, my children. And now,” her voice became serious again, “Giles, we need to make plans. Rest now, Isabella.”
Isabella’s face shadowed again, and Giles bent, kissing her brow. “Come, sweeting, trust me to come through this.”
She flung her arms around his neck briefly, whispering words Hildegarde could not hear. Giles returned her embrace, then he followed Hildegarde from the room, and Isabella was left alone with none but her prayers for company.
As Giles closed the door behind himself, he looked at Hildegarde. “So, how is this to be done?
“That is what we need to think on.”
A Promise to Keep (Out of Time Book 2) Page 18