by Sarah Hegger
“Well met, my lady.” A beautiful smile split his harsh features.
She wanted to smile back, but she was wroth with him. Over the wager and not his lack of eagerness to see her, of course.
“Good morrow, my lord.” She gifted him her frostiest glance.
The smile died on his lips. Helena missed it immediately.
“I would speak with you,” she said.
“Indeed.” Guy nodded and returned to his pupil.
Clearly, he had better things to do with his time than speak with her.
Geoffrey manfully swung his sword. The blade whistled through the air and Guy leapt out of the way.
In truth, she had to admit that Geoffrey was a bit of a menace with steel in his hand. Her heart went out to him. Poor lad.
“Wrists,” Guy said. He leaned toward Geoffrey and spoke so softly, Helena couldn’t hear what they were saying, but observed Guy correcting the position of the squire’s hands. Geoffrey’s face tightened with concentration.
“Bridget said to bring you this.” Willie piped up from beside her. He handed her a half loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese.
“Thank you.”
Willie’s attention was fastened on Guy and the squire. His eyes sparkled with intensity, a red flush staining his cheeks.
“Would you like to learn?” she asked him.
“I could do better than that lummox,” Willie scoffed.
Guy came up behind Willie and cuffed the page lightly about the ear. “Mind your manners and I might just teach you.”
He would teach Willie? Willie wasn’t even his squire. It was such a generous offer. The ice within her melted, just a tiny bit.
Willie’s mouth opened and shut, as if he couldn’t find the words of gratitude. “Now?” he demanded, his little face awash with excited colour.
“Nay.” Guy shook his head. “Now, I am teaching Geoffrey. Respect comes first, then the sword.”
“Really?” Willie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Indeed.” Guy cuffed him again. “Respect first.” His eyes met hers. “You would speak to me, my lady?”
“Willie, fetch his lordship some ale.” Helena sent the boy running across the bailey eagerly. “I heard about your wager.” She kept her voice low. It was difficult to nurse a good measure of anger, when he acted thusly with the young boys around the keep.
“Wrists,” Guy called out as Geoffrey almost lost his grip on the sword. “Your pardon,” he said and strode over to the boy and went through similar motions before returning to her side.
He was so patient with his squire. Helena had seen knights strike a lad for much less.
Geoffrey thrust at the stuffed hay bale, the sword bobbling in his fingers. Helena winced as it passed within a hairsbreadth of Geoffrey’s foot.
Guy kept his eyes on Geoffrey, who needed watching as he narrowly avoided impaling the hay bale.
“You think he will win a challenge against any of Sir Ewayne’s men?” she asked.
“Not a chance,” Guy murmured beside her ear. “But a boy needs to know somebody has faith in him.”
Helena’s ire evaporated like mist and she desperately wanted to hug him. How could such a large man be so sweet? One would never know it to look at him.
“Do you have twenty marks or was that my money you wagered?”
“Yours.” He grinned.
His playful mood tugged at her to join in. “I should not be surprised,” she sniffed, but with an answering smile.
“You are not wroth with me?”
“Not too wroth,” she replied.
“Good.” The wariness disappeared from his eyes and he tipped up her chin with a gentle finger. His gaze caressed her face and Helena’s head went giddy as she stared into his pewter eyes. He stroked his thumb across her bottom lip. “Pretty smile.”
“You and your smooth words.” She pushed his hand away, but slow heat crept over her skin. “Shall I have a bath prepared for you?”
He took a careful sniff of his gambeson and pulled a face. He raised one brow in a silent question.
“Verily,” Helena laughed, light-hearted and girlish under the knowing gleam in his eyes. “I could attend you.”
“Aye.” His expression grew slumberous.
Helena’s pulse started to thrum. The touch of his gaze across her lips was as palpable as a kiss. It stirred her blood and her body swayed slightly toward him.
He dipped his head closer. “Three days,” he murmured.
It seemed longer than three days since he’d left. And much longer than that since he’d kissed her. Her eyelids fluttered closed.
“Jesu have mercy.” Bridget pierced the bubble around them.
Helena swung around, her face growing even warmer.
The nurse marched in their direction, looking like a spry bunch of twigs held together by sacking, but her eyes were locked on something beyond them.
Geoffrey had managed to embed his sword into the wooden support of a target. He pulled for all he was worth at the recalcitrant blade. Sweat poured down his face as he tried to free the sword.
“Soon.” Guy sauntered over to the red-faced Geoffrey. He leaned over and grasped the sword with one hand. A quick tug and it was free. “Wrists,” he repeated and started adjusting Geoffrey’s grip. Placing his hands on Geoffrey’s, Guy took him through some basic forms. He did it thrice more before he let the boy try on his own.
Helena had tasks awaiting her in the keep, yet her feet stayed planted to the spot.
Bridget gave her a smug smile. “I saw that.”
“What?” Helena crossed her arms over her breasts and kept her attention on the man and the boy. Again, Guy took him slowly through the motions. Correcting his balance, adjusting his grip, praising Geoffrey’s every success.
“It seems to me you are pleased he is back.”
“Watch your mouth, woman.” Bridget was right, not that she would tell her so. “I hear Sir Guy has his saucy serfs beaten. Especially the ones that have not been with him since birth.”
“That soft sod.” Bridget hooted with laughter. “He would not beat a mouldy rug if it needed it.”
Helena returned her attention to Guy. The corners of her mouth tilted upward. “You are most likely right,” she murmured.
Chapter 16
Much more in charity with her husband, Helena wandered back into the keep. She passed Colin just leaving the hall with a satchel over his shoulder, and nodded shortly. They had barely spoken since he’d struck her.
“I see he is back.”
Helena firmed her lips to stop hasty words from spilling out. Just this morn, Colin had been jesting and talking with the men in the hall. Now he was back to a sullen scowl.
“Did you think he would not be?” She had few words for Colin anymore.
His shoulders grew as stiff as the hard expression on his face. “I saw you smiling and laughing with him.”
“He is my husband.” Helena kept her tone deliberately calm. She wouldn’t allow Colin to draw her into a repeat of their confrontation in the corridor. Not that Colin would dare lay a finger on her with a husband hard by. She’d said it right. He was a coward.
“Aye.” Colin gave a mirthless bark of laughter. “How soon you have become accustomed to the notion.”
What did he expect? Helena’s hand twitched with the desire to strike him. It was pointless. No matter how hard she cuffed him, it still wouldn’t unstop his ears. Colin heard only what he wanted. And at this moment, he desired only the sound of his own woes.
“Verily I have,” she said and took a step away from him. “I would suggest you do the same.”
Colin sneered at her. “I am not so fickle.”
Refusing to be further baited, she stro
de briskly away.
Helena approached her solar to change her garb for the evening meal, a secret smile tilting the corners of her mouth. Guy is back. A tiny slither of anticipation unfurled in her chest.
She stopped at the door to her solar. Maids were rushing in and out with buckets.
Mayhap Geoffrey had ordered the water for a bath? It would not be Willie, who regarded bathing as akin to having his teeth pulled. She couldn’t imagine he would think Sir Guy liked it any more. A young maid almost bumped into her, flushed an apology and rushed away.
Then Helena stepped further into the room and her smile died. She must have uttered some sort of sound because Rosalind looked up immediately.
“Well met, Lady Helena,” she called cheerfully.
Guy was seated before the casement, stripped to his braies. He raised his head and nodded in her direction. The rest of the activity in the chamber receded. She didn’t see much past her nearly naked husband with another woman leaning over him tenderly.
What in the name of hell . . .?
Rosalind gave a smug smile and bent her head closer to Guy’s sculpted chest.
Helena’s eyes locked on the pair. She wanted that woman’s hands off Guy. Her fingers bent into claws and dug into the fabric of her bliaut as a maid dodged around her with a bucket of water.
Her anger built until it spun like a whirlwind. My husband. That woman! She could not bear it.
Guy uttered a sudden, harsh grunt.
Rosalind slapped him on the shoulder. “Do not whine.”
In the light from the window, Rosalind’s needle flashed as she plied it through the swell of muscle in the arm Guy had raised above his head. He was . . . wounded?
Rosalind merely tended him. And Helena had thought the worst.
Even so, why did she, his wife, have no knowledge of it? She should be the one tending him. She opened her mouth to say as much and then shut it again. She desperately wanted to ask what had happened, but nobody had seen fit to tell her aught. Yet Guy had told Rosalind.
Betrayal twisted like a rusty dagger in her belly and rendered her foolish and unwelcome. Standing there and watching as Rosalind did what was a wife’s task by rights, Helena fought the urge to whirl about and storm away. She wouldn’t leave them alone.
She tore her gaze away from the pair and cast it around the room, noting the lined tub filled with water and the spicy fragrance of sandalwood perfuming the air. She could see what Rosalind was about. The conniving strumpet had laid a scene of tender seduction. Nay, Helena wasn’t going to leave and let her have sway.
“You have prepared a bath.” Her voice strangled in her throat. Her hands twisted the delicate velvet of her bliaut.
“I know it is what Guy wants just as soon as he returns.”
Yes, I would wager you do at that. Helena silently fumed.
Rosalind threw her a friendly smile, which didn’t quite warm the cold blue of her eyes.
“Have done, Rosalind,” Guy groused.
“Guy and I are such old friends. I am able to anticipate his every need.” Rosalind stroked her hand over his shoulder.
Helena dug her nails into her thigh through the bliaut. She refused to give the trull the satisfaction of seeing the words had hit her sharper than a slap. She would have enjoyed taking Rosalind’s fingers off Guy’s flesh and snapping them, one by one.
“I feel sure you are.” She managed a cool smile.
“Is it done?” Guy interrupted. His jaw was clenched and a fine coating of perspiration covered his top lip.
“A few more stitches, dearling,” Rosalind cooed and bent back to her task.
He grunted and his eyes found Helena’s. There didn’t seem the remotest vestige of the lover about the grim lines of his face.
“Is the wound deep?” She ignored Rosalind and kept her attention on Guy.
“Aye.” Rosalind refused to remain ignored. “It is his own fault.” She gave Guy’s shoulder another stroke. Helena tensed. Guy merely frowned at Rosalind’s hand on his shoulder.
Rosalind dropped her hand, but chattered on blithely. “That idiotic boy should never be allowed near a sword.”
“Nay,” Guy growled at Rosalind.
“Geoffrey did this?” Helena paid Rosalind no heed.
“Aye.” Guy nodded curtly. “He missed.”
“Poor Geoffrey.” At Guy’s raised eyebrows and glare of reproach, Helena stifled a laugh. “And poor you,” she hastily amended. “I am sure he did not mean it.”
Guy grunted again and shifted his weight on the stool.
“Hold still,” Rosalind snapped. She leaned forward until her mouth was almost at his flesh.
Dark spots danced in front of Helena. Her thighs would soon be bruised by the marks of her nails.
“There.” Rosalind bit off the thread with her teeth and rose again. “Another scar to add to your others.”
“My thanks.” Guy rolled his shoulder experimentally.
“My pleasure,” Rosalind purred. “Shall I attend you?” She motioned toward the steaming tub. “You should be careful to keep the stitches dry.”
“I believe I can manage that,” Helena fairly hissed at the brazen woman.
“Do you?” Rosalind raised one dark eyebrow. “I believe I could manage better.”
“Do not be daft,” Guy barked. “My wife attends me.”
Ha! Helena had the satisfaction of seeing her own surprise registering on Rosalind’s face. Victory was sweeter than honey.
“I believe we no longer have need of you. My thanks for the bath,” Helena added as Rosalind slid past her. “I was about to order it and you saved me the trouble.”
“How very wifely of you,” Rosalind sneered.
“Which is what I am. His wife.” Helena narrowed her eyes.
“Are you?” Rosalind laughed softly. “‘Tis not the way I heard it.”
How could Rosalind know what happened—or didn’t—in their bedchamber? And how to deny such a thing when it was the truth?
Rosalind turned back to Guy, a lovely smile blooming across her face. “You know I would do anything for you, Guy. After all you have done for me.”
The brazen strumpet!
Her words seemed to have little to no effect on Guy, which was all that stopped Helena from snatching the woman bald.
Guy looked up at her suddenly. “I was meaning to tell you, the king is coming.”
“What?” Helena and Rosalind spoke at the same time. Helena’s eyes glinted as she stared down the idiot woman until she glanced away.
Grimacing, Guy started untying his cross gartering. “Stephen comes. Geoffrey just informed me.”
“But if the king comes here, then so does the rest of the court!” Rosalind collapsed onto the bench before the fireplace, all signs of the seductress gone. She went alarmingly pale. “They cannot see me. How could you allow this?”
Guy merely raised an eyebrow. “He is the king, Rosalind. I cannot deny him the keep. You brought this on yourself.”
“You need not sound so pious.” Rosalind’s eyes flashed fire. “This babe could very well be . . .”
“Leave off, Roz,” Guy snapped. His eyes flickered in Helena’s direction.
“Oh, she knows,” Rosalind snorted and waved a dismissive hand. “She knows you and I were lovers.”
The room seemed to tilt momentarily.
Rosalind had lain with him. Helena had known this. Still, the idea was as bile in her throat. Deny it, she wanted to scream at Guy. Tell her she is a liar and deny it. Lie to me, if you must, but do not let it be true.
Instead, guilt clouded his expression until Helena wanted to howl. She ached as if she’d just taken a direct hit to her vitals.
“Leave us,” Guy barked at Rosalind.
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Helena dropped her gaze. She couldn’t look at either of them. She was raw within.
Rosalind’s skirts brushed against hers as she made for the door. Then she turned in the doorway. “Oh, Guy,” she called softly, “I am gladdened to see you wear the surcoat I embroidered for you.”
The barb flew wide as Helena stared at the floor.
After the door slammed behind Rosalind, Helena spun to face her husband. “The babe? Is it yours?”
“I do not know,” he replied slowly. “But mayhap.”
The blood drained from her face. It hurt more than she could have imagined. Blindly she turned to the fire, her back to him. Rosalind had taken great delight in telling her as much, but to hear Guy confirm it made her chest spasm in pain. I do not care. The vow whispered furiously in her mind.
Yet she did care, and the knowledge made her yearn to lash out.
“Helena?” He spoke from just behind her.
She spun to face him, a silent demand for him to tell her all. He just stood there, saying nothing further. In disgust, Helena shrank from him.
“Helena.” His growl of frustration followed her.
“I am going to require more from you than a few growls.” Her voice shook, choking on the need to scream and rage.
He closed his eyes as if asking God to grant him strength. The silence stretched out between them. His muteness was a slap in her face. He didn’t even consider her worthy of an explanation.
“Get in.” She motioned to the bath.
He hesitated for a moment and then dropped his chausses. Water slopped onto the floor as he climbed into the tub. It reminded her of Rosalind again and she bit down on the inside of her cheek.
“I will fetch Geoffrey.” Helena didn’t trust herself to be near him at this moment, preferring to go somewhere and hide her hurt.
“Stay.” It wasn’t quite a command, but near enough.
Damn him and his whore. Helena turned on her heel and marched for the door.