by Robyn Carr
He quietly quit the room with great dignity. She stood numb and afraid, unable to move for quite some time. She had so many thoughts that no single issue surfaced long enough for her concentration. The only notion that did arise was that she was spared in order to raise his daughter. She had no idea what great performance of strength and mother love she had given to convince Brennan that she, she alone, was the proper parent for Deirdre. Another man in such a position would have carried away his adulterous wife, murdered her, and returned to the greatly prized child with the news that she was orphaned. Why did Brennan forgive her? Would he change his mind and clear her presence away in one impetuous, angry motion? She could hardly blame him if he did.
Nausea choked her. Brennan had said that now, reconsidering the events surrounding Sloan’s conception, he marveled at her strength. Odd, how that thought came to mind as she leaned over the basin at her bedside and vomited up the bad wine, her insides racked with pain. Her head began to pound and she became cold and dizzy. Perhaps it would be unnecessary to go away and birth Dylan’s child in seclusion. Could she carry the babe through this crisis and give it life? Her whole body shook with fear, despair, chilling pain. She held on to the furniture and the wall as she moved toward the anteroom to rouse Jane. She walked on trembling legs into the large room that separated her chamber from her husband’s.
Jane was sitting up on her pallet, her face white and her eyes red-rimmed. Anne approached her loyal servant, one hand pressed to her mouth, one hand clutching her stomach. Jane knew. Jane had heard all. It was etched on the woman’s frightened, tortured face.
The sound of crashing glass came from Brennan’s chamber and both women’s eyes flashed toward the sound. Following was a loud moan of grief and pain. And then, a man’s sobs echoed through the room. Anne had stood through, war, execution, and a multitude of events in her life that required courage and a show of strength, but never before had a sound ripped her heart from her as did this sound--the painful tears of a good man who had been greatly wronged.
Suddenly, she knew the truth, Brennan had not been sure before today, before her lack of denial. If he had indeed accepted Anne’s adultery, there would not be sobs of anguish coming from his bedchamber now.
With Brainard’s slander, however, given to him by her mother, fact by fact, Brennan had been able to see the years in a day. As she had waited bravely in her chamber, Brennan had probably recounted in his mind each time Dylan and Anne had been in the same city. He had not sent her lover to her as a reward. He had just discovered that he had been betrayed by his wife and a young man whom he had trusted and admired.
Brennan was not the cool, calculating man he wished her to think him – he was only proud. And she was not the perfect mother he had declared her to be. Yet she was spared. Because he was unselfish and good – because he loved her. Still.
“Help me to bed,” she said weakly.
***
The call to arms came by royal messenger in the early morning. Perhaps Brennan Forbes welcomed it. There did seem to be a faint look of relief in his tired, bereaved eyes. He instructed Anne, very quietly, to prepare for travel while he was away. He would ride to Edward’s cause and, upon his return, they would journey to the continent.
Margaret of Anjou had landed with troops brought from France, and still more were being collected in the name of King Henry. Another forceful opposition was pressing into England. Edward had finished Warwick, and the senile king was again a prisoner in the tower, but the crown was not yet secure. Margaret and her son, the last representatives of an old Lancastrian reign, must be finally killed. And then, Brennan said, we will clean up our messes and get on with our lives.
He rode away with two thousand soldiers. One week later, on a warm May afternoon, two hundred men wearing the bloody Ayliffe tabard over dented armor returned. Anne stood in the courtyard, pale, drawn, and weak, to hear them. At Tewkesbury, in a victorious battle for Edward’s crown that left the meadow red with blood, Lord Forbes had fallen. He was dead. Anne, Countess of Ayliffe, swooned. The world went black. She vaguely felt her head strike the ground, heard the strange, muffled voices and felt the vibration of the dirt beneath her as running feet struck the ground, but she did not try to rise.
“Take me,” she muttered as she was lifted into strong, capable arms, but she was not instructing a servant. She was talking to God. And she wished to be taken. From life.
Chapter Sixteen
Sir Clifton Warner had no illusions about himself. He knew his station, his skills, his gifts, and his limitations. He had come from decent country gentry and he was not nobly bred. He had applied all his energy to become a strong knight – there were none stronger nor more astute in battle plans or in the defense of a stronghold such as Ayliffe. He did not wish for more. He was not a scholar, he spoke only one language, and he would never inherit great power or wealth. He did not even want it – high-flown titles were for others to bear. As to money, he had the respect of a legion of trained soldiers, which he preferred. The devil take the crown or the House of Lords, Ayliffe was a good, solid home filled with strong fighting men, many of whom had been groomed and trained by Sir Clifton. It was a place of plenty. All he wanted was the woman.
He had pieced together Lady Anne’s story without being told directly. He had carried her to her bed and between her babbling, weeping, and Jane’s additions to the cryptic tale, he surmised that Anne, long without physical love, had succumbed to the amorous attentions of the confident noble swain, Lord Dylan deFrayne. Although Clifton was very surprised, he decided he should not have been. He wished he had known much sooner that the countess had longed for a man’s touch. And why would she not? The old man had not slept with her in years, and Anne was a beautiful, sensual young woman. But the fool, deFrayne, had left her with child. Had the truth killed Lord Forbes? Or was it the bloody meadow?
Sir Cliff was cautious with his proposal. He did not wish to tarnish his own image with the truth that he was filled with desire for her. He had been in love with her from afar for a long, long time. He would kill Brainard to keep her safe. He would raise her bastard as his own. Had he not taken the earl’s son, Sloan, under his wing with a father’s pride, a teacher’s zeal? True, he had done it to be near the countess, but it was not unpleasant duty. Clifton needed very little. He wanted to command his troop, practice arms, enjoy the plentiful bounty of Ayliffe. And ... he wanted the woman for himself.
“I do not see that you have any choice, my lady. You have to marry immediately, and you should wed someone you can trust.”
“There is so much you do not understand,” she sighed. Since the word of Brennan’s death was delivered four days before, she had not been able to rise from her bed. But the tears had stopped. And the sickness had ceased. Instinctively, she tried to clear her head. Survival had become second nature to Anne by now.
“Then tell me what you think I should know,” Sir Cliff entreated.
“I have already been told that you and Jane, no others, tended me through delirium. I suspect you know more than I would have told you freely. My husband, whom I loved deeply, learned of my adultery just before he died. I carry another man’s child. These are not small burdens. And they are not your burdens, Clifton.”
“You cannot hide the fact that you have been unfaithful. Think, my lady. Is it not better the world assume your tampering was with the commander of your troops than with deFrayne? His lordship of Ayliffe was a long time away. We did not know for months if he was alive or dead. You committed only the sin of the woman’s heart--you desired a man to ease your loneliness.” He paused and took her hand in his. To touch her in such a fashion of courtship took great courage. “I would claim the child.”
“Clifton, do you believe that would be accepted?” She laughed sadly. “Brainard traveled here to accuse me of adultery with Lord deFrayne. My own mother planted the seed in the young heir’s ear, for Brainard has been hoping for a way to secure Ayliffe without sharing the estate. He hoped to d
iscredit me enough so that his inheritance would be uncut by my children.”
Clifton shook his head in irritation. “Lord deFrayne should have let me send the bastard away. He would have had nothing to say if he had not known deFrayne was here. You would have had to admit nothing if deFrayne had not given you the babe.”
He does not know, she thought. He knows Dylan well, he has been Sloan’s friend and teacher, and yet he does not know. It was surprising, yet she recalled what Brennan had told her about the incidental blabbering of bastardy. A Parliament could call a king who strongly resembled his own father a bastard, then recall the statement. Then, at will, they would do it all again. It had long been the way of the English government. Brennan was correct – the gossip would start and stop. Parentage was a fact that could never be proven. Marriage and birth, however, were recorded events.
“Think, my lady. Think of Jacquetta of Bedford.”
The story was well known. The Duchess of Bedford was early with child when the Duke of Bedford, who had been a long time away from his wife, was killed. Bedford was a rich seat, and the widow’s marriage fell under the dominion of the king. Heavy with child and with guilt, she threw herself on King Henry’s mercy and begged to be allowed to marry a common soldier of her husband’s house, the man she loved and the father of her unborn child, one Richard Woodville. Henry, gentle and compassionate, and not yet insane, fined her for her disobedience and allowed the marriage. Rumor was that the wedding preceded the labor pains by mere hours. The babe arrived--Elizabeth Woodville, now the Queen of England.
They snickered and called the queen baseborn, for the Woodville family could trace their ancestry only to country folk. But Elizabeth held her head high, as did Jacquetta, and their brood grew strong and proud. It had happened so. She felt her shoulders shake with silent laughter in recounting the story, for it strongly resembled her own. But it did not spell out a solution to her. Dylan deFrayne and Anne of Ayliffe were the noble parents in this case, and Dylan was already married She had not tampered with her soldier. She had never desired him.
“Think, my lady Anne. Who, of your own household, would not accept that it was me?”
“Let me think,” she whispered. “Give me some time.”
Taking a grave chance, Clifton leaned forward and gently let his lips touch her brow. “I am sworn to serve you. My word is my life. DeFrayne had his moment, but he cannot relieve you. Let me save you.”
“At your own expense?” she asked with a cynical lift of her brow.
“To be at your side is an honor. To stand beside you in wedlock would not shame me, but fill me with gladness.”
“How can you be sure?” she asked quietly.
Clifton gave his head a sharp nod of determination. “A good man, deFrayne. I honor myself to call him a friend. But, had I only known how lonely you were, how sad, I would have helped you. ‘Twas wrong of him to be the one – he being unable to help you now, in this time of trouble. And, I have wanted to touch your hand, kiss your lips, for many years.”
“Oh, Clifton, you should not--”
“Admit my lust? Better it is out. If you do not let me save you from the mire of this circumstance, I shall leave your estate. I am your loyal servant, my lady, but I stand hard on honor. I would never touch you against your will. Nor, after this, can I command your men if you choose to share your pallet with another, because I have wanted you for myself.”
“And what of love, Sir Cliff?” she softly asked.
“The man you have claimed to love is dead,” he shrugged, his eyes focused on hers. “I want you, and you have depended on me, respected me. That is enough to make a better marriage than most.”
“But ... will that always be enough?”
He gave his head a sharp nod. “I have Ayliffe and my men, a plentiful table, a solid bed, and my work. If I also have you, in wedlock, I have everything I want. Think about it, my lady Anne. You will agree.”
He went away from her then and did not press her. She half expected him to visit her often, to pursue her with his outrageous proposition, but instead he stayed clear of her chamber.
Anne’s remorse was complete. She had tempted fate and the gods and if she did not, henceforth, take complete control of her life, she, Dylan, and her children would suffer greatly. She would bear the pain of destroying Brennan for the rest of her life. No amount of guilt or confession would restore him. She hoped that from his place in eternity he could see into her heart and know how deeply she loved him, how desperately she had always wanted to please him. And, most, how sorry she was. Her feelings for Dylan had long been beyond her control, but that she had acted on those volatile feelings was now only a dull ache in her breast.
For all the years she had kept alive the flame of love for Dylan, she knew now she had to douse the notion with the cold reality of her position. Until such a day as they were both free, she could have no part of him. Not even the smallest part. As Brennan had said, not a glance, not a look of longing. She owed them both this much, that the children should have good lives and good fortunes. The truth would gain them nothing. Dylan could not help her. He already had a wife.
The idea of going into hiding to bear her child crossed her mind, but she knew it impossible. Ayliffe was second only to Warwick’s possessions in importance and wealth. And what had been Warwick’s, the king would quickly divide to his advantage. Anne would not be left in widowhood long, not with her fancy title, her wealth, and her stronghold of many soldiers. A good monarch would marry her off to one of his friends or vassals. She remembered with great personal concern the time when the newly married king had brought the Woodvilles to court to find places for them. Marriage was the best route, always. One of the arranged marriages was notoriously diabolical. John Woodville, one of the queen’s brothers, aged twenty, was married to Katharine Neville, Duchess of Norfolk, aged eighty. It was more than reasonable to assume King Edward capable of another such political performance. She knew many of the unmarried noblemen at court. There were few she thought she could abide.
“There’s no more time, my lady,” Jane said. “You’ll have to do it; Sir Clifton is the only way.”
“No one will believe I have dallied with him,” Anne replied. “All of England will laugh. And I fear to give Clifton such power over me. He does not seem capable of the weight.”
“Did he not tell you that he’s been smitten for years, mum? Lord above, look at the man--he’s not touched you once, yet he’s been a-wantin’. I take it as a sign.”
“A sign of what?”
“He stands by you, he’s clean, he does not disgrace himself ... I know he’s not half the man Lord Forbes was. Mary Jesu, where will we find such a man in quick fit. Mum, if you don’t get a husband fast, we’ll be in bad trouble. He’s not smart as you, but he’ll stand firm for Ayliffe.”
“I should take the children and run away,” she said.
“And give young Sloan what inheritance? Run, and Ayliffe will be gone from your children this fast.” Jane snapped her fingers. “Marry, mum, and hold the castle against Brainard. For yourself and your young.”
“You approve of him, then?”
“I know of no other.”
It had not been her intention to test Sir Clifton, but she did weigh his response to her request heavily as a means of knowing his true colors.
“I have considered your offer of marriage, Sir Clifton, but I have a very unusual request. I can promise you all my wifely loyalty in return for a favor. I can be faithful, I assure you, for no one has learned the tortures of adultery better than I. But I should like to tell Lord deFrayne the truth. I would tell him that the child I am carrying is his, and that the child will be raised as yours.”
Clifton’s eyes registered the shock. “To what purpose?”
“Jesu, the baron can surely count,” she said impatiently. She quieted her emotions. She had been a countess for too long. She must not treat this man, likely to be her husband, with a ruling hand. She sighed and looked a
t him closely. “His wife cannot bear him children. Privately, he lamented that he can never have a child and told me, in confidence, that only to know a part of himself lived on would fill him with gratitude. He is an honest and discreet man, Clifton. He has labored hard for the king’s cause, at great danger. Let me give him this single gift. Let me tell him the truth.”
“If he would know by counting on his fingers,” Clifton said with a shrug, “what purpose in a conference, in a confession?”
Anne wondered if there was some mistake close at hand as she recognized in the strong and determined knight a childlike confusion of the facts. In commanding armies he was gifted with almost instinctive prowess. But in life? He lived by a short set of codes, a minor list of behavior rules. He was not, she realized, terribly intelligent. But she shrugged off the feeling of impending danger in this fact. She had ruled a mighty castle boasting fifteen thousand residents, sometimes beside her mighty husband, sometimes alone. Some of her most faithful, hardworking people were also the simplest. Sir Clifton was not a man of deep vision. He was a soldier. Simple, rugged, and, so far, honorable.
She touched his hand. “I could not have taken Lord deFrayne to my bed on a whim and a craving, Sir Cliff,” she patiently explained. “I was lonely, true. And saddened, true. But I am not a wanton, a slattern begging for fleshly pleasures. I have known Dylan deFrayne for many years. He worked closely with my husband. I respect and admire him, and I assure you, he is a good and honorable man. He longs to know that a child of his lives – he confided it is his single hope. Sir Cliff, allow me to give him an explanation. He will understand.”
“Very well,” Clifton said instantly. “If that is your desire, I can afford you that much. But if I am to be your husband, my lady, you must grant me this. First, let us not seek the baron. When he is in our midst, whether in a fortnight or a decade, will do well enough. To go to great pains to find him and confer with him will cause people to wonder. I will not be slighted by such an action, by the wagging tongues.