by Tamara Leigh
Quintin frowned. “You think Lady Elianor was influenced by that witch? So much she can be excused for what she did to my brother?”
“Very likely she was influenced, but perhaps more importantly, indebted.”
“What do you mean?”
“Once her lovely hair was not so lovely. During her marriage to Farrow, it was shorn—severely, not merely shortened as you wear yours.”
As punishment, he inferred. And if a man so publicly humiliated his wife, what might he do behind closed doors?
Quintin did not wish to understand where Griffin was dragging her, but she would have to do more than tightly close her eyes not to see what was well supported by the fear the lady had exuded as she was led abovestairs. “You believe Farrow abused his wife. That just as Agatha first drugged my brother to keep him from Constance’s bed, she aided Lady Elianor.”
He inclined his head. “And since it was Thomasin who was to suffer marriage to your brother, it is quite possible Lady Elianor moved against him to save my daughter from abuse.”
If he was right, might the lady be forgiven for what she had wrought? Not that Quintin was ready to extend such, but for Bayard’s sake, she prayed the woman to whom he was bound could be redeemed enough that the life he spent upon her would not be miserable.
“Pieces only,” Griffin said, “but a good fit, do you not think?”
Quintin wondered how, in so short a time, they had moved from captor and captive to…
Was it possible they were compeers—equals? “What I think, Griffin, is that you think too much for a warrior.”
He chuckled. “You forget who sired me.”
“I do not. That is why you so surprise.”
“Then, like many, you assume the acorn grew into the same oak.”
“’Tis as I believed. Now…less and less.”
“I am glad to hear it. And yet I do possess some of Ulric’s undesirable qualities. Thus, I do think too much, but with good cause. My father does not well enough consider his words and actions, and so I learn from his mistakes that I might bequeath fewer to my son, often reminding myself to think much that I may regret little.”
“Then you thought well on advising my brother to claim consummation fulfilled the king’s decree?”
He hesitated. “Not as well as I should have. Recall what saw your blade at my throat that first day.”
His suggestion that if Godsmere was forfeited to the crown, he could seek to claim the barony through marriage to her. For the sake of the Foucault name, had he not said? He had, but by aiding Bayard he had reduced the possibility the De Arells would gain what they coveted. Why?
“Aye,” he said, and she realized he watched her closely. “If there is one thing upon which my father and I are of the same opinion, ’tis that Castle Adderstone upon the barony of Godsmere should have been our family’s as ’twas agreed.”
“Then?” she asked, though the real question was if he had aided Bayard for her.
“Thomasin,” he said. “If she must wed, I would rather it be to Baron Verdun. Thus, lest the king allowed your brother’s delay in wedding my daughter, I decided to remove all possibility of her being bound to him by seeing the Baron of Godsmere lawfully wed to Lady Elianor.”
Though tempted to temper—to declare her brother would make a worthier husband than Magnus Verdun—Quintin reminded herself he had granted Bayard’s request to add his testimony of Lady Elianor’s duplicity to Father Crispin’s, putting yet more distance between Godsmere and the De Arells. Had he done that for her?
“Too,” he continued, “though I have good cause to dislike your brother, I do not doubt he was deceived when he spoke vows to fulfill the king’s decree. And there is no honor in attacking a man from behind, even to gain a barony.”
For Thomasin, then, and honor. And though he would not say it, she had to believe that, at least in some small portion, he had done it for her. “I am grateful for the aid you gave my brother.”
“Are you?”
That smile of his! Deciding that instead of suppressing her longing to be nearer him, she would be bold as he claimed he preferred women, Quintin stepped forward. “You were right.” She laid a hand on his jaw, thrilled at the rasp of his days’ growth of beard against her palm, touched her thumb to the hitched corner of his mouth. “I have not only grown accustomed to this smile but find it holds much appeal. Indeed, I would have you press it to mine.”
“Quintin.” He closed a hand over hers. “Were I to kiss you, methinks you would be all the more angry after I tell you what your brother did not.”
She frowned. “What?”
“You assume that on the morrow you will depart Mathe. You will not.”
Were his hand not on hers, she would have dropped her arm. After the legitimization of Bayard’s marriage which, with the king’s acceptance, would see her wed to Griffin, she was to remain here? Yet more days parted from her mother? And her brother had known?
She resented that Bayard had not corrected her, but immediately forgave him. He had endured much this past sennight, and this night when he went to his wife, he would endure more. Quintin could not fault him for not giving his sister an opportunity to make what was difficult more difficult.
She pulled her hand from beneath Griffin’s. “For what do you insist on keeping me here? After all that has passed, surely ’tis no longer retribution you seek for the dagger I put to you.”
“That is a good excuse but now of little consequence.”
“Then?”
“I believe ’tis best you remain at Mathe until we have word from the king. It will allow my people to begin viewing you not as the enemy who threatened their lord’s life but as the future Lady of Blackwood.”
“Should I become their lady, there will be time aplenty for that.”
“Too,” he said as if she had not spoken, “it will allow your brother and his wife to settle into their marriage.”
Did he think she would hinder it? Had Griffin not fit for her the pieces of Lady Elianor, she supposed his concern would be founded, but surely he had seen she was receptive to the excuse he provided the lady?
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Of what benefit to you?”
When he did not immediately respond, she was certain she had asked a question deserving of an answer. “You and I have gained ground, Quintin. I would not lose it.”
She opened her mouth to warn he would lose it if he did not allow her to leave, but he said, “More, I will not chance losing you.”
Her heart stumbled, and it must have shown on her face, for he smiled—on both sides of his mouth. “The king is young, and the young can be fickle. Thus, when he accepts your brother’s marriage, we shall wed without delay.”
Aye, he had done it for her, as well as Thomasin and honor.
But what was this she felt for him? That which she had determined never to allow herself to feel? Or was it only desire? Did it matter? She was wanted by one she wanted, and that was not to have been. But would he want her when—
He has his heir, she reminded herself and winced at the realization she had done it so often it seemed almost a chant—as if its repetition would transform it into everlasting truth.
“My lady?”
As she returned Griffin to focus, he said in a voice whose rumble she felt all the way through, “I want you to want to stay.”
“Even though you give me no choice?”
“Even though.”
She looked down. “I would remain at Castle Mathe were it possible, but I have been gone too long from my mother.”
“Lady Maeve is ill?” His concern sounded genuine.
“She is not.” At least, in no way that was visible, she silently qualified.
“Then?”
“She is surely sick with worry over me.”
“Worry your brother can ease when he delivers tidings you are well.”
“Aye, but…she needs me.”
His brow furrowed. “Quintin, she is a grow
n woman and not of a great age.”
“Still, she depends on me.”
He thought on that. “She is the reason you are not yet wed, aye? For her, the king was able to make a puppet of you just as he did the rest of us.”
“Nay, it was—” She stopped herself from revealing it was his brother and Constance who must answer for her lack of a husband.
“What?”
She shook her head.
He sighed. “Quintin, as your mother left her mother to be a wife, and surely when she had fewer years than you, is it not time you did the same? Though she will miss your companionship, she has your brother and, once she accepts his wife, Lady Elianor ought to make for good company. And outside of companionship, others can do for her.”
He sounded like Bayard, who often warned that by bending her own needs and desires out of shape to fit her mother’s, she made Lady Maeve’s dependence worse. Were they right? Was she too protective, not only to her detriment, but her mother’s? Would Lady Maeve accept and recover from her daughter’s continued absence?
What if ill befalls me whilst you are away? her desperate beseeching returned to Quintin. What if I sicken and you are nowhere near to rouse me back to health?
Those words and others spoken over the years to keep the ties between mother and daughter tight had sometimes so suffocated that, even now, Quintin’s throat constricted.
She has Hulda, she reminded herself of the maid who had been with her mother since she was a girl. And without giving it more thought, she said, “I want to stay.”
He released a breath. “On the morrow, I will see you returned to Sir Mathieu’s chamber.”
Though she feared she would regret putting her wants ahead of her mother’s, she nodded.
He pushed off the wall, lowered his head, and brushed his lips across hers. “Sleep well, my lady.”
Wishing his mouth had lingered, she said, “Good eve, my lord,” and entered the tower room, closed the door, and listened for what she hoped would be the absence of sound before that of boots on the stairs.
Silence did follow, then he slid the bolt into place—doubtless, lest she only said what he wanted to hear. And she could not fault him, for her mother’s beseeching picked at her. Had Griffin provided an opportunity for her to return to Adderstone on the morrow, the temptation to grasp it might have proved too much. She was glad—selfishly so—he had not made it possible.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bayard was gone. And with him his bride and Godsmere’s men.
It had been a difficult farewell. On the night past, Griffin had not trusted her enough to leave her room unbolted, and this morn he had stayed by her side in the bailey lest she—or Bayard—determined she would, indeed, depart. Thus, few were the words spoken between brother and sister. But enough, she hoped, that Bayard was sufficiently at ease in leaving her. Not only was Sir Victor to remain, but she had revealed her acceptance of Griffin’s offer to reside within the keep. And now…
She picked her gaze over the chamber that had briefly been hers—the same in which Bayard and Lady Elianor had spent their nuptial night.
“No more casting of platters and goblets, hmm?”
She had not heard Griffin move to her side but was not offended to find him so near. And she wondered at such easy acceptance of his presence. It was as if she were long accustomed to it, and yet it was hardly a sennight since they had met—and then as enemies.
“I shall do my utmost to refrain, as I am sure you will do your utmost to give me no cause to awaken the castle in the middling of night.”
He grinned. “I shall behave. Now, is there anything you require?”
She looked around the chamber and was once more heartened to happen upon the tub that lacked only water to keep its promise of a bath long denied. Catching sight of Sir Victor where he stood in the corridor, she smiled. And felt the expression drop off her mouth when the wolfhound Griffin had earlier commanded to his side put its head around the door.
She grimaced. “Bath water would be lovely.”
“’Tis already being heated.”
“I thank you. And what of Sir Victor’s accommodations?”
“He is to have my son’s chamber.”
Then Rhys was reduced to a pallet on his sister’s or father’s floor. Because of her. Though the boy had to be displeased, Quintin was relieved her brother had not stipulated that Sir Victor sleep outside her door. She had half expected it since the alliance between Boursiers and De Arells was not yet made and she suspected Bayard was aware of the baron’s attraction to his captive. And, possibly, that it was returned.
“Arturo,” Griffin called.
The big dog did not bound inside but neither did it slink as it did when Quintin was in the hall. He came alongside his master and peered up at him with likely the same question that caused Quintin to raise her eyebrows.
Griffin touched her elbow, slid his hand down the inside of her arm, and caught up her fingers.
“Griffin?” She glanced at Sir Victor who had taken a step nearer the chamber’s threshold.
The Baron of Blackwood raised her hand to his mouth, pressed his lips to the back of it, and drew it toward Arturo.
Quintin tried to pull free, but he held firm. “He will not harm you,” he said and moved her hand to the dog’s nose.
As Arturo sniffed where his master’s mouth had been, Griffin said, “Protect, Arturo.”
The dog made a sound between a growl and a whine, then dropped to his haunches.
“Protect?” Quintin said.
“As Sir Victor keeps watch over you for your brother, Arturo keeps watch over you for me.”
She pulled free. “I am not to be allowed to move unhindered about Castle Mathe?”
“Within reason, my lady. I have business that needs tending and will not always be available to ensure your well-being.”
She narrowed her lids. “Either that is an excuse to hide how little you trust the one who may become Lady of Blackwood, else I have something or someone to fear within your walls.”
Or both, she recalled her mother’s warning that the devil walked Castle Mathe’s corridors. As Quintin had earlier concluded, it had to be the old baron she referred to. But though Griffin had revealed leprosy confined his father abovestairs, might Ulric de Arell venture out of his apartment? And if he did, would she be too much temptation for one who loathed the Boursiers?
“Father?” Now it was Rhys who put his head around the door.
“You have come to welcome Lady Quintin back amongst us?” Griffin asked, and Quintin saw his son was also a recipient of the uneven smile.
The boy dismissed her with a dart of the eyes. “I have completed my chores and would ride to the village of Lorria as you promised.”
“That we shall.” Griffin looked to Quintin. “Hence, Arturo, who does not like my father, nor his little dog.”
Then perhaps more than keeping Ulric de Arell from her, he meant to keep her from the old baron lest she sought to steal abovestairs.
She shrugged. “Clearly, I no longer have cause to gain your father’s apartment, but as you will.”
He bent near. “Curiosity often suffices in the absence of cause, but know I but spare you exposure to his diseased body—and his cruel tongue.” He drew a breath that broadened shoulders hardly in need of more width. “And so we go, Rhys.” He strode toward his son, and when Arturo exited, left the key on its hook and closed the door.
“Come, Sir Victor,” his voice carried, “your chamber has been made ready.”
Quintin stared at the door, wondering how so much could change between them, then turned her mind to the arrival of steaming water.
“A bath,” she said on a sigh and promised herself she would not move from it until it grew uncomfortably cool. She would sit and soak and pray Bayard’s marriage to Lady Elianor satisfied the king.
But would that be enough? Was there not some way to strengthen her brother’s position? To increase the chance Edward gainsa
id himself, even at the risk of appearing weak? Certes, if the second alliance could be made soon—
She bit her lip. Aye, she would sit and soak and pray, and to those things add much thought as to the preservation of Lady Maeve’s beloved home.
“Surely you can have no objections now,” Griffin said, holding Quintin’s gaze past his knife upon whose tip perched a cut of chicken. And caught a flicker of something in her gold-ringed eyes.
“As well you know, Baron, our union is not a given.”
As he had done often since she had gained her seat beside him, he wondered what petals had been strewn upon her bath water and what soap she had worked through the ash-black hair falling in soft waves about her face and skimming her shoulders. “I believe ’tis a given,” he murmured.
She moistened her lips. “You think the king holds my brother in such high regard he will alter his decree, though it may make Edward appear he only has teeth to bare, not bite?”
“Once the king learns the reason for the delay, he will have an excuse to merely bare, rather than bite. And since I added my testimony to Father Crispin’s, methinks he will rule fairly.”
She looked to the proffered chicken. “Then do I accept this intimacy, I am assured I do so from the hand of my betrothed?”
Griffin recalled the flicker in her eyes. She was clever, but not so much he did not know there was more to her words than the appropriateness of taking from the hand of a lover who did not yet have permission to approach her bed. She thought to fit a leash on him.
He lowered the knife to the platter they were to share during the nooning meal. “What are you about, Quintin?”
Another flicker in her eyes, then a glint, next a momentary lowering of lids as if accepting her leash might not have the reach required. “If you are certain I am to be your wife, I would ask that you do more than testify on my brother’s behalf. I would have you wed me. Now.”
His mind having begun to move in that direction as he pondered her words and behavior, he was not overly surprised. Neither was he overly willing. And he let it show.
She moved her gaze to the hall’s occupants. “I have given it some thought and believe there is a greater chance King Edward will accept the delay in my brother’s marriage if the second alliance—ours—quickly follows.” She turned her face back to his. “Thus, you lend more credence to Bayard’s marriage by showing you are as confident of his union with the house of Verdun as you are confident of your union with the house of Boursier.”