by Robyn Carr
“Second, I will gladly take you, even full with his offspring, because I want you and because you need me. But once vows are spoken, I will not share you. I am hard in this concern, my lady. You must swear.”
She smiled. He extracted her word in the same way he would pull fealty from a group of young squires. “If you are to be my husband, Clifton, you should call me Anne ... especially in our private bedchamber.” She leaned toward him with eyes half closed, an invitation to be kissed. He did so clumsily, but she was not concerned. She knew that now that she was done with Dylan for the sake of sheer survival, she would never again find passion in her life. She hoped Clifton would be a gentle spouse, and craved no greater gift than that. She was more than a little grateful she need not bear Dylan’s child in seclusion and abandon it. “I swear,” she said. “Will you go with me to Heathwick to deal with my mother? She needs to be silenced.”
Elizabeth had borne King Edward a child while the king was abroad in exile and the queen hidden in sanctuary. The child was a son--he would be Edward V. The riots and smaller battles raged on. There were revolts in Kent and Thomas Neville, called the Bastard of Fauconberg, had led a fleet of ships up the Thames into London. But a son and heir had been born. Queen Elizabeth, with a son who could be king and a husband who was a victorious ruler, was soft in her heart. And she loved Anne. She need not be reminded about her own birth and her mother’s dilemma so many years before.
There was no fine and, indeed, no censure. Elizabeth promised to speak to her royal husband, thanked Anne for coming to her first, and warned her with loving condolences that there would certainly be plentiful gossip in the court, but it would be stronger than Anne only if Anne allowed it to be. The title, fitted so perfectly on Anne of Ayliffe, bequeathed to the Earl of Ayliffe’s firstborn, could never be Clifton’s. He would remain a knight.
Dylan deFrayne was not in London, although Anne carefully inquired. She felt only a moment of unexplained panic when she spoke the vows with Sir Clifton in a simple ceremony in Westminster.
The people of England were still unsettled, some shires and towns swept away in a spirit of riot begun by the year-and-a-half long struggle for the crown. Clifton took five hundred men to protect them on their journey. He did not hurry the journey from Ayliffe to London and on to Heathwick. He was courteous and careful in his treatment of Anne, but he did quickly claim his conjugal rights. His hunger far outpaced Anne’s expectations, but Clifton did not seem to notice that Anne was not swept away with the same passion.
She suffered from his amorous appetite while they traveled and knew that her marriage to Clifton would hold this nightly ritual. She had also quickly learned that it mattered not at all to her new husband whether she liked it. He thrived. He had a possession of which he was proud. He would likely be good to his word, his rules and codes, and he would undoubtedly protect her with a vengeance. Marcella would be properly cowed. She regretted she had not dealt more harshly with her mother before.
Heathwick showed the glow of attention one hundred pounds a year had afforded, plus the good, hard work of Sir Trenton as castellan. When Anne embraced Trenton after a long separation, she felt suddenly weak and frail. The tears began to swell, for she began to wish she had not tried to be so wise. She could have abandoned Ayliffe and run to her brother for protection. All the wealth would be gone from her children, but she knew Trenton would try to keep her safe. She fought for control. She introduced her husband, to Trenton’s shock, and asked Trenton to let her deal with Marcella alone.
Anne asked a servant in the hall to announce her. Marcella awaited Anne in her chamber, not at all pleased by this surprise visit. She did not wear her colors and jewels, but black for Bart and Quentin. Still, Anne did not pity her at all.
Anne knew better than ever that a show of force was necessary now. She entered the chamber as if she owned it, which in fact she did until her daughter was suitably settled.
“You have finally done it, madam. You loosed your tongue and now all your power is gone.”
Marcella’s face went white and she half stood, returning to her seat before even completing the rise.
“You fell in with Brainard, who brought the rumor of my adultery to his father. Fortunately, Lord Forbes did not believe him. But my husband was killed at Tewkesbury – no doubt his vision was clouded by your treachery. I have already remarried.” Anne took note of her mother’s surprise. “I married the captain of my guard to keep Ayliffe safe for my children.”
Anne waited a long, silent moment to study her mother’s face. It looked much the same as on that day when they learned the Duke of York had been slain – all her aspirations were crushed.
“It is over--you could only use your secret to hurt me once. I warned you ... so many times. I told you again and again that to betray me would gain you nothing, but cost you everything. Don’t you see? I am safe and better kept than ever.” Anne clenched her eyes and swallowed the threat of tears. Life without Brennan would be difficult at best. Burying him had been a painful ordeal. But before her mother she would not show weakness. “I am the Countess of Ayliffe until my death, madam. My husband, Sir Clifton Warner, strong, loyal, and honorable, is a knight. There is no longer anyone to gainsay my authority ... not even a husband. I can have you banished, if I choose.”
Marcella stared at Anne. Her eyes began to sparkle, but Anne doubted it was shame or remorse that caused the threat of tears. Finally, Marcella showed her teeth. “So, you have mined me. I imagine you are pleased. You always were a bad child.”
“Bad?” Anne looked around the rich bower. “Did a bad child give you this? Nay, madam, you were a terrible, terrible mother, no love in your heart for your children, no loyalty, no compassion. You have only two of us left, madam, and we will not succumb to your cruelty. You should be ashamed of the useless death your meanness has caused. But I see you are not ... you still manage to blame me. Somehow, that surprises me even now.”
“So, you’ve another lackey to do your bidding, eh? You always manage somehow, don’t you?”
Anne shook her head sadly. “I have never understood why you hate me so.”
“You’re just like her, though I didn’t see that right away. But you are ... just like Daphne deFrayne. You should have been born to her.”
“It is I and Daphne deFrayne you hope to hurt. Yet ...”
“I was his breeding mare, nothing more. All those years I tried to comfort him, succor him, gain his love. He wanted her. He tried to marry her, did you know that? But her father was quicker, taking her to Lord deFrayne to make her a countess.” Marcella laughed. “Just like you, daughter – playing the simple lass, protesting that she did not want to marry a rich earl, satisfied to have both a rich husband and a handsome lost love pining for her. Just like you.”
“Father?” she asked weakly.
Marcella laughed. “You thought him so good and so noble, you thought I was a bad mother. I gave him five living children and nearly died birthing you. But did he come to my bedside and thank me for my courage? Did he ever tell me he loved me? Not once in our many years together. He cast me aside like soiled linen, but bounced you on his knee and called you pretty and sweet. I could never look at you without hating you. Until you were born, I at least had my hopes!”
Anne felt the tears come. “Madam, I ...”
“And then I saw the whole thing happen again before my very eyes. You captured yourself a rich earl on your first outing, he adored you. How did you reward that adoration? By falling in love with a deFrayne. You cuckolded old Forbes with a deFrayne, just as my husband wasted my life as he longed for her.
“And you, Anne, so high and mighty, lectured me about love, and how I might have done things differently. You, who have never been without a legion of men to love and want you. Look how fast you replaced Ayliffe with yet another loyal steed.” Marcella cackled suddenly. “So you will banish me, daughter? How will you punish me? As if my life has not been punishment enough.”
�
�All these years,” Anne said, “it has only been jealousy. Madam, you sent a good man to his death doubting me. How can I forgive you for that?”
“I do not require your forgiveness! My life has been hard! I wanted only to see my children rich ... richer than her children. And I wanted to watch her suffer ... as I suffered. You always accused me of greed. My desires were never so grand as you thought. I just wished to live long enough to see all the pretty little maids fall ... all the little demoiselles like Daphne ... and you ... who never asked for the dozens of men who begged for your favors, offered to die for your smile ...” Marcella began to cry, but they were not the tears of sadness. Rage encompassed her. “You complained so much about my interference, my poor mothering. Life was always so easy for you ... you had everything any woman could want and still you spoiled it, adultered for lust. Was no man’s love good enough? I would have given my heart’s blood for one good man’s love!”
Anne’s eyes closed and she leaned her head back. The truth of it struck her hard. She had had much, and she had somehow squandered it all for one love. Was it worth it? she asked herself over and over. She could not help but pity her mother.
“Poor Divina!” Marcella cried.
“Your tears come late,” Anne chided through tears of her own. “You wasted too many years on being jealous of pretty women who were lucky. You could have taught Divina the beauty of a good heart – you could have taught yourself. You hate anyone who seems to have an easy life, but you cannot see the truth. Madam deFrayne has suffered enormous pain, but you still think she is luckier than you. And how do you look with envy at what I have endured? Oh madam, I pity you, but not for what you have suffered. I pity you because you have never looked at another’s misfortune with any compassion at all. You could have embraced me long ago,” she said softly, “and found in me a daughter willing to do much for you. But rather, you cast me aside because I reminded you of your own unmet desires. Did it never once occur to you that you failed to win what your heart longed for only because you were so selfish?”
“Anne,” Marcella said, smiling though her eyes were red and her cheeks wet with tears. “Do you school me on love yet again? Spare me! You have had your share!”
“You will spend out your days in loneliness, for you are not welcome at court again,” Anne said, dry-eyed now. “And only the acquaintances Trenton approves will be admitted. ‘Tis sad that I cannot trust you at all and must protect my children at the cost of your imprisonment.” She turned to go, knowing that she would never meet minds with her mother, knowing she would never see Marcella alive again.
As her hand touched the bower latch she heard her mother’s voice. It was the softest her voice had ever been. “May you never know, Anne, how it feels.”
Anne resisted the temptation to look at her mother again. “I will accept that as your wish for my happiness, madam, and count it as the kindest thing you have ever said to me.”
She found Trenton and Sir Cliff in the courtyard still. “I beg your forgiveness, Trenton, but I must leave at once. I cannot stay the night here.”
“Anne, you’ve been crying ... What did she--”
“It is of no bother. Suffice it to say that my mother does not wish me well. I will write you a long letter when I am home and settled. Perhaps I can find a way to explain. Until then you must guard her carefully – do not ever admit Brainard Forbes again. Madam is likely to be spinning tales where she thinks it will do her good. For Deirdre’s sake, you must keep her for me.”
Trenton glanced at Cliff. “Anne, this marriage. So quick and--”
“Ayliffe is rich,” she said dispassionately. “Believe me, I was in danger of being thrust before the priest with one of King Edward’s lackeys the moment Lord Forbes died. And my husband ...” Her voice caught and she struggled for control. “My husband only asked one thing of me--that I keep Ayliffe safe and strong.”
Worry creased Trenton’s brow. “Are you sure, Anne? You can stay as long as you like. I would lock her in her chamber for you.”
She laughed almost happily at the sound of his loyalty. She sniffed and brushed the remaining tears from her eyes. “No, my dear, I must return to Ayliffe. But I thank you. I love you.”
Anne rode quietly away from Heathwick. There was little doubt in her mind that it was all true. She wondered if her life resembled Daphne’s. Had Ferris been plagued by his one true love? Had he crept around dark, unlit halls for a brief embrace? Had they been kept apart, or did they, too, meet secretly? For an instant she wondered if her father had sired any of Daphne’s children, a horrifying thought, but she quickly pushed the possibility away. The three deFrayne brothers resembled each other too strongly. But the fact she could not ignore was that she had not been the first to suffer this denied longing. Poor Ferris. Poor Daphne.
She tried to explain to her husband that the root of evil lay in Marcella’s unreasonable jealousy of Daphne deFrayne. “So that is how it is with her,” Clifton finally said as they rode home. “A woman’s jealousy bites harder than anything. It is a pity that Lord deFrayne happened to be the one. It lit a violent fire under the wicked old woman. She saw her chance to defame her rival.”
Anne sighed. Sir Clifton was not very smart. She was very grateful. She would try to be of good service to him. “It is over now,” she said softly.
“Nay, not yet. There is Brainard. When you are safely returned to Ayliffe, I will take an impressive troop to Ramsford.”
“My lord, you must not,” she said in a panicked breath.
“I will,” he answered firmly. “I will not be bothered with him through all the years of our life together. But do not worry, Anne. I am stronger than Brainard.”
Which of them had the most brute strength was not Anne’s worry, but what would be done to Clifton if he should kill Brainard. Anne had no idea where King Edward would stand on such an issue. But the worry was short-lived. Clifton returned to her a mere fortnight after he had departed. He had taken one thousand men and pulled cannon, battering rams, and other fancy ordnance. He had not been able to finish Brainard, but he had done enough damage to Ramsford, killed enough knights and lesser men, to put the fear of the devil into the young heir. While Anne was grieved by the loss of innocent life among the knights of both keeps, Clifton was very pleased with himself. He had sent Brainard fleeing for his life. He doubted Ayliffe would be bothered again.
Blustering winds brought in the month of November. Under these adverse conditions it was surprising to see a troop approach Ayliffe. Sir Clifton met the group at the gate. He did not dismount, but faced Dylan deFrayne while still astride. “We grant you welcome, my lord. The hall is warm.”
“My lady Anne is well?” he asked, a little hesitantly.
“My lady wife is fit – she is not up from child. A son was born four days past.”
Clifton’s eyes were focused on Dylan’s. A half-smile crossed the knight’s lips.
“She said you could cipher well, my lord, and by your eyes, you are quick. I am a man of my word, you may see her.” And then in a tone of warning: “This once only.”
Dylan nodded in resignation. He rode slowly toward the hall, Clifton close beside him. Dylan was amazed that after he was warmed by the fire and given dry clothing, he was ushered to Anne’s bedchamber and allowed to enter alone. He actually turned around and looked back at the door that had been quietly closed behind him. Realizing the brief mercy for what it was, he approached the bed.
Anne’s eyes were open and she watched him come toward her. While Dylan was being dried and fed, Clifton had told her of his visit. She did not even have to ask her husband a second time – he explained that Dylan would have a few private moments with her because he had given his word on it.
Her son lay beside her, for she had just finished nursing him. Dylan looked down at the babe’s contented slumber, then he looked into Anne’s eyes.
“My Anne, what has happened to us?” he whispered.
“Two, Dylan,” she said softly. “C
lifton does not know about Sloan, and this babe he will call his own, for all our sakes.”
Dylan sat on the edge of the bed beside her. He reached a trembling finger to touch the brow of his infant son, then took her hand. “And yet he lets me see you? Alone?”
“It was my single request, that you be given the truth. But beware, Dylan, Clifton is not the man Brennan was. He will not abide another visit from you. I belong to him now. And he guards me well.”
“I heard about Lord Forbes, long after the fact. I did not know ...”
“I had to marry. I had to pretend that my dalliance had been with my knight, my guard. Had I refused Clifton’s offer, I would have borne you an illegitimate son, and this estate, the estate of my children, would have fallen to Brainard or some henchman of the king’s. I did what I had to do.”
“I understand. The fault is mine. I did not mean to ...”
“No look of longing,” she murmured. “No stare across the room, no loving glance. Dylan, before Brennan died, he knew. My mother gave the word to Brainard, Brainard delivered it to his father, and I sat in this besieged keep growing fat with your child. I sent my husband to war with the knowledge that I had been unfaithful.” She saw Dylan’s eyes blink with anguish. “Now, I have given my word to be a faithful wife, and it is a word I shall keep. We have endured enough. We were wrong. It was not wise to have had each other, however briefly, despite our wrong marriages. It would have been easier had we played the game faithfully. There would have been young Sloan, enough for you, and all this would not have transpired. I believe that Brennan might have survived Tewkesbury but for the fact that my sins clouded his vision.”
“Nay, Anne, his death was not your doing. It was ...”
“We will never be sure, Dylan.”
He shook his head mournfully. “I had never intended to hurt you as I did, my love. I wished that what we felt would make us strong. I beg forgiveness.”