"So you would have redeemed my father even had I not married you?"
"I would. He made me swear I would look after you, that I would never hurt you. It seems my word does not mean as much as I supposed." He turned to look down at her, then turned her face gently toward him and kissed her. "I really am sorry, My Lady. I have no excuse for my behaviour, except that I lost my temper when I saw that man climbing down from your window. I hope you are able to forgive me. I did not want to frighten you and I most certainly did not want to hurt you."
She wanted to know about his first wife, but she had to consider carefully how to ask the question without making it sound like an accusation.
"I know I am not your first wife, My Lord," she asked hesitantly. “I would be interested to know more about her.”
He had volunteered no information about his marital history so she was not sure if the question would offend him.
“There is little to tell. It was a match arranged for us when we were very young, only children. We knew little about each other but she was allowed the freedom to find another during our betrothal. She came to me already carrying his child.”
“And you were angry enough to bury her as you did?”
"Yes, I was. I found out too late I had tied myself to a whore, that she was already weeks gone with child when we wed. She hoped to make me think it was mine, but she left it too late. I am not a fool."
"I am sorry," she murmured lying her head down on his chest once more. "It must have been a painful time."
It was indeed a painful time. Not only did the woman make him look a fool, she actually thought she could seduce him with promises for the future. As if he would consider a future with such a whore. He locked her in the east tower until the birth, when he intended to banish her to one of his other estates. He could remember very well her screams and demands, but he made no response. He gave her a woman companion to see to her safety, which was more than she deserved.
"I am only glad the good Lord chose to relieve me of them," he answered. "It spared me the problem of how to deal with them both."
There was no sorrow in his tone, or even remorse. All she heard was hatred and contempt, but she could hardly blame him for that. The woman must have been either very brave or a complete fool to attempt to foist another man's child on to a man of Lord Christopher's temperament.
"Why did she not marry the child's father?" She asked.
"That was the worst of it," he answered. "He was married already. She may even have planned to carry on her adulterous affair, who knows? All I know is that she was no maid when we wed; I knew that straight away. That was the first and last time I shared her bed."
His tone became angry again, but she did not want to leave the subject just yet.
"Was she the reason you were so quick to condemn me?" She asked, certain her question would not be welcome.
"Should I trust any woman after that?" He answered sharply. "If you speak the truth that you intend to be a faithful wife to me, then that pleases me. But if Viscount Lindsay comes here again, I cannot swear I will not think the same."
"If he comes here again, My Lord, I would be glad if you would deal with him as you would any robber come to steal your property." She paused but felt his eyes on her. "See what a coward he is? See what damage he almost caused? I swear to you, Christopher, I want nothing to do with him. I am very content with my husband."
His arm tightened around her and he kissed the top of her head affectionately.
"I hope you will be just as content with your wife," she said softly. "I want so much to give you a son and I want there to be no doubt in your mind. You have no reason to be jealous."
"I am not. Jealousy is a weakness I can ill afford."
She was astonished. Was he going to deny his earlier words? She sat up and looked down at him, half expecting to see he was joking, but his expression was a serious one.
"Then why did you say you were driven by jealousy?"
"It was a poor choice of words."
"I think not," she argued. "Perhaps you forgot yourself in your fury."
His body tensed and his eyes blazed with sudden anger as he swung his legs from the bed and reached for his shirt. He sat on the edge of the bed and turned to look at her, his face a mask of fury.
"It takes little to arouse your anger, My Lord," she commented stubbornly.
He flushed and turned his face away.
"It does," he answered. "If I have a weakness it is that I am ruled by my temper."
"You must be very unhappy," she remarked. She reached out and touched his cheek affectionately. "Will you let me in? Will you let me do something to change that?"
"You can give me a son," he replied coldly. "That is all I want from you."
She swallowed the hurt, but as he moved to turn away, she took his hand once more.
"Please stay," she said. "It is a cold night. I would welcome your warmth."
He watched her suspiciously as she pulled him down on to the bed and beneath the covers to lie beside her then put her arms around him. Her contrary nature was determined to chip away at that shield of ice, to create an opening through which she could pass.
***
It was the following morning when Viscount Thomas Lindsay emerged from his father's house, his thoughts preoccupied with the narrow escape he had had the night before. Lord Christopher almost caught him, climbing down from Felice's bedchamber. He shuddered; he only barely got away in time. He could be dead now, or at least maimed. Like everyone else for miles around, he was in awe of the man and knew he would show no mercy to his wife's former betrothed, if he thought for one moment there was still something between them.
Perhaps persuading her to run away with him was not such a good idea, now she was married to the man. He might hunt them down, just to get her back; he might kill them both. If he was honest, Thomas was not as heartbroken as he pretended about losing Felice and it was true what she said, that he was just annoyed at losing her. But it was understandable, since he had expected all his life to have her for his wife and now he had to start all over again and most of the suitable ladies were already spoken for.
He stopped walking abruptly when he heard his name being called in a whisper from around the corner of the wall. Curious, he turned and walked toward the sound, past a narrow passageway that led to the kitchen garden.
He had been dallying with a kitchen maid since his betrothal to Felice was broken, and now he wondered if it was she who called to him. It was hard to tell, being a whisper like that, but he smiled to himself. He could think of no one else who would be calling him at this hour.
As he passed the passageway, peering ahead at the entrance to the kitchen garden in anticipation, a strong arm shot out from that opening and he found himself held from behind by an arm around his neck. Thomas's heart jumped when he felt cold metal against his throat. His eyes grew round with fear and he began to tremble, wondering what sort of robber had the courage to come right up to the house like this, wondering where the servants were and if it were worth the risk of calling out to them. The metal was awfully cold, and as he moved, he could feel that it was awfully sharp as well.
He could not guess who on earth this was who had captured him; he did not have to guess for long.
"I shall give you this one chance," Lord Christopher told him in an icy voice which sent a shiver down his spine, "to take my word that it would be detrimental to your health if you attempt to see my wife again. If you do not take my advice, there will be no further discussion on the subject and your father will have to look for a new heir."
Thomas said nothing but he was trembling like a leaf in the wind.
"Do you understand me?" Christopher demanded, pressing the dagger closer to his throat.
"Yes, My Lord," Thomas answered falteringly.
"I could end your miserable existence without a second thought for what you almost made me do," Christopher went on. "Rest assured, the only reason I caution you at all is f
or her sake. Were it left to me, I would kill you now for the coward you are. But I know she would not want that, so I will give you a warning. There will be no other."
CHAPTER FIVE
The Peasant Woman
Lord Christopher had vast estates to oversee and spent most of his days doing just that, riding about his lands, checking on his estate managers and his workers. After her experience the first time, Felice had no desire to accompany him a second. She did not wish to be reminded of his ruthlessness, or the source of his reputation. She was not happy to know her husband could order such harsh punishment to a man merely for being hungry, but when she questioned it, he had been angry.
Felice had nothing to do with this part of his life, nor with any other part of his life really except his desires and passions. She still felt like a convenience, but she could swallow her pride and live with that.
Her father was able to hold his head up once more, to go about in public without being afraid to face the local tradesmen, to employ more servants and pay Lisa for her devotion. He was able to live as an Earl should, drawing a comfortable income from his estate, and seeing him whole again gave her more pleasure than she could have put into words.
She owed all of that to Lord Christopher and if she was to be used for his satisfaction in return, then so be it. It was not as though she did not enjoy their encounters, far from it. She even began to listen for his approach when he returned to the castle in the late afternoon, or later in the evening when he returned from visiting his peasant family. She really wanted to ask him about that family, to ask if he went only to see his children, or if their mother gave him something his wife did not. She recalled telling Thomas that she expected no man to be faithful, but she found she did want his loyalty and was very much afraid she was not getting it.
She enjoyed their conversations at supper, limited though they must be with the servants in the same hall, and felt she was gradually chipping away at his armour.
There had been no repeat of his jealousy and anger and Felice tried very hard to forget it had ever happened, but she doubted she would ever be able to. She did not want to live with a man she was afraid of, so she made a determined effort to stand up for herself.
She would wait for him at night and always felt a thrill of excitement when she heard him coming. She would have been more than disappointed had he not come to her; she would have felt cheated. When these feelings began she could not have said, but the spark of jealousy she felt when he went off to be with his peasant woman grew into a fire that almost consumed her.
What was the attraction that made him continue to visit her, to bed her, and she had no reason to suppose he did not bed her? It would have been nice to tell herself he went only to see his children, but she could not believe that. He would not need to see them three or four times a week, would he?
Did he love the woman? Did he get more satisfaction from her than from Felice? She wanted to know if he thanked her when he had finished with her, or if that particular sentiment was reserved for his wife.
She would not question him about the peasant. but she noticed his temper did not flare quite as easily as it once had.
The castle grounds were vast, as was the castle itself, and it took her weeks to explore the inside before she even thought about the outside. The weather was chill and she had only recently ordered winter clothing. All those years of poverty were difficult to abandon and Christopher said nothing about how much she could spend or what she could buy. He was a very proud man and as such she expected him to want to see his countess dressed as she should be, but he did not seem to notice.
He gave her a puzzled frown when she asked him.
“My dear,” he said distractedly, “your clothing is your own concern. Order whatever you need, even what you do not need if it takes your fancy. You are my wife; you have no need to ask.”
Those were words she had not expected. She thought he would be miserly, having already spent so much just to have her as his wife, but here he was telling her that his money was freely available to her.
Having a dressmaker in the house again was a delight she thought she had only dreamed about. The fabrics, the silks, the velvets, the lace, all in such beautiful colours, and she had her choice of all of them. Christopher said so, said she could order whatever took her fancy.
In her new fur cloak and red velvet kirtle, she made her way around the castle walls, wanting to see how long it would take her to go all the way and back to where she started.
The short queue of people she saw in the distance made her stop for a moment. There was a heavy frost and a mist which obscured her view so she had to go closer to see what was going on. It appeared there were five or six peasants, some with children, and one of the cooks was handing out wooden bowls of stew.
Felice waited until the last of them had gone before going to the door to find herself looking into the castle kitchens. Servants working inside began to curtsy and bow when they saw her, but she gestured them to stand with a wave of her hand.
“Who were all those people?” She asked. “What were they doing here?”
“They were peasants from the village, My Lady,” the cook answered, wiping her hands on her skirts. “They come every day for the leftovers when the weather is cold.”
“Really? On whose order?”
“Why, Lord Christopher’s orders, My Lady.”
She was silent for a moment, surprised to hear this news.
“So there is no need for anyone to ever be hungry?”
“Oh, no, My Lady. Lord Christopher would not like that at all.”
Felice was bewildered. Had she found the goodness in him for which she had been searching? She mentioned it just before supper.
“Of course not,” he told her. “A hungry worker is of no use to me.”
“So the man in the pillory for stealing food did not have to be hungry?”
Christopher shook his head.
“He did not. He thought his neighbour’s meat was of better quality than his own, and he was likely right but that did not give him the right to help himself.”
The servants were filling the hall so she said no more on the subject, but his reply did not explain why he fed their children as well.
It was just before Christmas when she found the hothouse. It was sheltered within the small garden at the castle wall, a little hut made entirely of glass. The extravagance of building a whole hut from this precious substance crept into her thoughts, but she pushed it aside and approached the serf who kept the garden. The door of the little hut was open and she stepped inside, making the man jump guiltily.
"My Lady," he said nervously, bowing obsequiously. "I did not hear you approach."
The air inside the hut took her by surprise. It was hot, but a dry heat she had never felt before. Felice had to loosen her cloak to keep from flushing, but as she did so she looked around at the shelves of pots containing little rose bushes flowering in different colours. There were red ones, white and pink, even yellow roses. The scent inside the glass shed was overwhelming.
"How long has this been here?" She asked.
"A few weeks now, My Lady," he replied. "His Lordship ordered it built just before his marriage and he had the roses sent from Europe until I could start to grow our own. He got a specialist in, someone who knows about these things. I only tend them and do the hard graft. They seem to be coming along nicely now. I hope you like them, My Lady."
Felice turned to look at him and felt tears gathering in her eyes, but for the first time since she was a child, they were not tears of sorrow, but tears of joy.
"Like them?" She repeated. "I love them."
She hurried back to the castle to await the return of this enigmatic man who had done this for her, for a woman whose only use was to satisfy his lust and hopefully give him a son. Those words of his, when he hastily said he was driven to hurt her by jealousy, suddenly made sense. Surely he must care something for her.
They ate supper to
gether, but she had no chance to talk to him without the servants overhearing. He never said so, but she felt sure he would not want servants to hear anything which might make them think he had a heart.
They sat at the huge, oak table together, just the two of them looking out on to the great hall, whilst the servants and stewards ate further down on their own tables. She watched him carefully, desperately wanting to thank him, but he kept that stern, intimidating expression before his underlings. He liked them to fear him for reasons of his own and he certainly achieved his wish.
She waited until they were in her bedchamber, which he had taken to sharing with her each night since the first time she persuaded him to stay, and she no longer had to ask. She believed he enjoyed spending the whole night in her bed as much as she enjoyed having him there.
Once inside, she turned to face him and reached up to caress his cheek, put her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to kiss his mouth passionately; she was rewarded with his firm embrace and his warm smile. It was unlike her to make the first move and she worried for a moment what he would think of that, but he seemed pleased.
"I found the roses, My Lord," she said, pressing her face against his chest, her arms slipping around his waist. "Thank you."
"You deserve them," he said. "Most women would ask for precious stones, for gold and silver, not a simple flower. I find that enchanting, just as I find your need of me enchanting."
She slipped her hand inside his shirt and stroked the hair on his chest then her fingers moved up to caress his breast and he bent his head and kissed her neck. This was the time of day when he would sometimes leave her and ride into the village but tonight she wanted desperately for him to stay here with her. She wanted him, and she wanted him to tell her she meant more to him that his peasant. She wanted him to give her up and be faithful to his wife, and she could not achieve that without finding out how he really felt about the woman.
PESTILENCE: The Scent of Roses Page 6