"Never fear me," he said, searching her eyes. "That’s not what I want from you."
* * * *
Not what I want from you. Ally glowered at Roland’s back. Usually the feel of a horse beneath her was enough to elevate any mood, but Roland was a new equation. First he drove her near to tears, and then deliberately provoked her. Granted, it was better to snap at him than to cry, but she didn’t like his methods.
Heat crept up her collar as she remembered the look in his eye. For pity’s sake, she’d been bared to the world, trapped on his lap like some … some … .words failed her. Men did not do that to Allyson of Riverdell. When he acted like that, she thought she knew what he wanted from her. Then he had to go and kiss her like a tender lover. Never fear me. That’s not what I want from you.
Feeling the coward for riding behind him like some ninny, disgusted with the world, she nudged her horse into a faster walk.
"Through sulking?" There was a wicked slant of amusement in Roland’s gaze.
"I do not sulk. Occasionally I plot murder." A sunbeam broke through the clouds and gilded the dew-soaked fields, making it difficult to frown. A velvet fuzz of new growth coated the fields in soft green, and the recent rain had coaxed an earthy scent from the rich brown soil. Spring had blushed the orchards with shades of pink and white, scenting the air with the treacherous perfume of Venus. There were private places in the orchards, places where lovers could lose themselves to passion amid the jewels of spring.
Ally looked on it all and frowned. Even nature was wooing her today.
"Hm. Well, do refrain from killing me just yet. I have something important to tell you."
"You’re leaving tomorrow?" Just the thought made her perk up.
"Sorry. But you’ll find this interesting just the same." He winked at her and spurred his horse into a lope.
She followed, quickly leaving their escort in the distance, yet still in sight. To her surprise, Roland quickly slowed by a stand of evergreen. Curious, she joined him.
He’s a handsome one. The thought surprised her, but it was true. His dark hair fell free to his shoulders, gleaming with blue lights. That strong jaw of his begged for a woman’s hand to soften the hard line.
But not mine, she thought sternly. Even as she thought it, her heart softened.
"I did not receive the money you sent," he said.
That was not what she’d expected to hear. Thrown completely off track, she scrambled to catch up. "What do you mean?"
"I never received any of the money you sent. Nor did I ever write to ask for it." He looked at her, serious, solemn.
She gaped at him in outraged astonishment. "The devil you say! Every quarter like a cursed money collector, your letters arrived with your demands. Coin, wine, war and riding horses. Even a request for a ‘fine saddle horse, suitable for a lady.’" Her eyes narrowed at that remembered insult. "As if that weren’t enough, your hired man was the most disrespectful scum I’d the displeasure to ever meet. Though I noticed the next was more polite--apparently he was afraid I’d have him whipped and run out of town naked, too." Rarely did she order such a thing done, but no lady could countenance the innuendoes and outright insults that man had offered her.
Darkness gathered in his eyes, like the clouds heralding a storm. "No man of mine would dare be disrespectful to my wife. Nor was I in a position to know what went on. At the time I was still a slave in Syria."
A peculiar feeling washed over her--the feel of her world turning on end. Her words came out colorless. "What do you mean?"
"Don’t faint!" he grabbed her wrist, forcing their horses together.
"What do you mean? You can’t have been a slave!" He’d been at war. Everyone had said so.
"I was waylaid on the way to war and sold to slavers. The man who bought me turned me into a gladiator. I lost my eye in the arena. Three years passed before I managed to escape." He unlaced his shirt and shoved it off his left arm. Charred into his arm was the brand of a slave.
His gaze burned her. "You were duped."
Duped. The brand swam before her eyes, the image of a tiger fighting a man. Nausea pooled in her throat. I didn’t know! She couldn’t even say the words.
"Someone else got the money, Ally. I came back to find out who."
Not for her. He’d not returned for her. Had he thought she was at fault? Of course he did. Emotion made her babble. "How was I to know? They all said you were in battle, or the bed of a whore. Everyone said you laughed--"
"Who said, Ally?"
"Everyone! Everyone who came to visit. Over the years there were dozens. They’d seen you, spoken to you. Said you laughed at your pathetic wife at home. ‘Not woman enough’, they quoted you. ‘At least she sends the money.’ I was determined to make so much money I’d drown you in it! I had Sadis and Ferris and everyone around me to contend with. The best I could hope was to tithe so much the queen would let me buy my way out. I was so sick of--" The world spun.
He caught her, dragged her onto his horse.
No! She didn’t faint. And not in front of him. It was his neglect and scorn that had taught her to be strong. But … he hadn’t neglected her at all. He’d been a slave. Oh, God. Tell me you didn’t let it happen.
She heard hoof beats.
"My lord! What’s the matter?"
"Lady Allyson is sick. Take her horse. I’ll take her back to the castle."
She was more than sick. She wanted to cry, to scream--anything to vent the wild emotion racing inside. Someone had played her for a fool, and Roland had paid the price.
Chapter 12
"Didn’t you think it was strange that your guests would speak so freely to you?"
Roland had difficulty picturing the Ally he knew now putting up with such abuse in her own home. Though come to think of it, Harris had greeted him presumptuously on first meeting. Perhaps her way of dealing with unwanted gossip was to ignore it.
It was late, and Ally was tired, but she refused to go to sleep. As he’d predicted, once the shock had worn off, she’d burned with the need for vengeance. While he was concerned, Roland knew it was better that she talk it out now and exhaust the emotion. And it was gratifying to see how her attitude had changed toward him. If nothing else, he exulted in that. He should have told her sooner.
Slouched in a chair in the great hall, Ally gave him a bitter smile. "Why should I have? They all spoke the same. Even my own father...." She stared at the dying flames, but her attention was turned inward.
"Yes, well, your father has always been a fool." He gave up his position at the mantle and sat on the stool beside her. "Think, Ally. We need those names. I’m positive a good number of them were sent by our enemy."
She waved her hand. "I’ll make a list. I suppose you have one of your own? I’m sure you’ve angered your share of people in your time."
That earned her a rueful smile. "I have my suspicions, but so far, no proof. But one thing puzzles me. How is it that my father and Dante didn’t learn of this sooner? Did you never inquire about me?"
With a deep sigh, she settled back in her chair. "I was ashamed of it. I felt you deserved your share of the income, but...." She grimaced. "I was an unwanted bride supporting my husband and his lovers. Why would I bring such a thing up?"
He winced. She had a point.
When she started massaging the groove between her brows, he moved behind her and kneaded her shoulders. Her moan of contentment was satisfying on so many levels. Just yesterday she wouldn’t have let him near. "You see? I’m no Gorgon. My touch won’t turn you to stone." Though he couldn’t say the same about hers. Obtaining it was becoming his obsession.
Too late, he realized he shouldn’t have said that.
The muscles under his hands went rigid, as if she’d just realized how much she’d let down her guard. Old habits died hard with her. This one was going to put up a battle before it was defeated.
"Don’t suffer false hope. My plans have not changed. There’s still an island out there wi
th my name on it."
Ouch. Involuntarily, his hands stilled. Such a short time he’d really known her, yet already she knew how to wring every last drop of blood from his heart. He forced his fingers to resume their business. "You’re a difficult woman, sweetheart."
"I’m not sweet, and I’m nobody’s heart. Don’t pretend this will hurt you, Roland." She stood up. Every drop of emotion had been washed from her face. "You don’t need me, though I believe I hold some odd fascination for you. Certainly you’ve been persistent for a man who’s been handed the chance for freedom. I don’t understand why you don’t just take your land and let me go. Or rather, I do understand how you think reclaiming your place and finding revenge involves me. But it shouldn’t matter. Whoever betrayed you would have no interest in me now that I’m not sending them gold. Let me go and get on with your hunt. It’s folly for me to stay here."
He didn’t believe she was truly so unaffected. Somehow she’d found another wall to hide behind, but this one would prove as flimsy as the others. She might think she feared intimacy with him, but he would prove to her that it was the only thing she lacked to be whole.
* * * *
Ally shoved her pillow over her head and groaned. Yesterday had been an exercise in stupidity. Even when she’d decided to give Roland a chance, old habits had crept in to foil her. Whenever he looked at her--or worse, touched her--possessively, her defenses jumped to throw a distraction in his face. Sure, she’d decided not to let him bed her for safety’s sake, but how was she to have a normal existence with another man if she couldn’t even handle his touch?
Both of them knew there was nothing innocent in his ultimate intentions, even if they did have the blessing of the crown.
It was essential not to let him bed her. Yes, she’d give him the benefit of the doubt--allow him to show his paces. It was even possible she’d grow to trust him over time. Maybe, if a great many miracles happened, she might even want to try a relationship with him. Those were a great many ifs and maybes, however. If she let him have his way she’d find herself bound to him for life in the time it took him to find a bed.
No! This would happen--if it happened--on her terms.
But she hadn’t had to make such a mess of it, she grouched to herself as she flung the covers off. A glance at Roland’s mussed bed said he’d long since risen. A pity. She did like the look of his tousled hair and sleepy gaze in the morning.
With only a grimace for what would have once been a thought worthy of some serious mental flogging, she selected fresh clothes from her trunk. She might as well enjoy his looks--after all, his body was part of the deal he was offering. Had he been a horse she was considering buying, looks would certainly be something she’d consider.
A smile tugged at her mouth. Roland’s body was a prime attraction.
No, there would be no more games between them. Nor would she try to convince herself that she felt nothing for him. She was more honest with herself than that.
With that in mind, she went to seek him out.
She found him in her study, with the last book on earth she’d rather he look at.
Instinct demanded she run forward and snatch it from his hands. Maturity, plus the knowledge that he’d already reached the last pages, stopped her.
Several silent ages went by. Without looking up, he said, "You’re quite an artist."
Ally winced. "I stopped drawing a long time ago. The maudlin pastimes of youth no longer appeal to me." She eased forward and gently took the book from him, laid it aside.
There was a new look in his eyes, something warm, even tender.
It made her want to run.
"I apologize. I came looking for your estate records and found these. I was so absorbed I didn’t think of it as an invasion of privacy until now."
Nor was he going to embarrass her further by discussing the contents of her private sketchbook. Nothing had surprised him more when he’d opened a leather bound journal, and instead of dry notes and columns of numbers, he’d found an image of himself.
It was odd, seeing the younger Roland. There was no patch, less of a hard glint in his eye. Most of the sketches were of him--one showed him on his warhorse, Goth. Another was of him and Marissa, holding hands in the garden below Ally’s window. There was a shadowy figure at the curtain. Only half the face could be seen watching the couple. The rest was hidden behind the cloth it held so close. One page had been torn out. Another had been colored black. Several months went by before a single journal entry.
"No more pictures," she’d written. "They are foolish dreams, and I am no longer a child."
He ached for her. How might things have been different if … no, that was useless to wonder.
He remembered her as the shy girl she’d been. No one had ever come to visit her. There had been no laughter and rarely had a smile touched her lips. He’d noticed. But caught as he’d been between two women, there’d been little he could do. Any affection he’d shown her would have incited Marissa. Too well he remembered that one’s jealous fits.
She’d made his life a misery at the end. And the polite poison she’d directed at Ally in private … at times Roland had almost feared the girl was plotting Ally’s murder. But nothing had come of it. And then he’d discovered Marissa’s betrayal and run off like the silly boy he’d been.
Sometimes he wondered if "the lady" who’d betrayed him might have been her. A pity he’d never been able to track her down.
Right then he didn’t care what had become of his old mistress. Ally would not meet his eyes as she retrieved the proper books from her shelves. Overwhelmed with the need to comfort her, to retrieve something of the past, he slipped the books from her hands and laid them aside. Then he filled his arms with Ally.
Their kiss was aching, bittersweet. Tension stiffened her body, but she went willingly where he led. Knowing now was not the time for more, he broke the kiss and pulled her to him, resting his head on her hair. Wordlessly, she allowed him to hold her … but only for a time.
"We should look at the records." She was hoarse, but she pushed away as if it didn’t matter. No moisture tracked her cheeks, but something bright sparkled in her eyes. She cracked the journal and pointed to a page. "This is where you want to start."
A single drop of water smeared the ink.
This was ridiculous. He wrapped his arms around her and sat down in her chair. "I am not going to ignore your tears, sweetheart. Not this time."
A sniffle. As he slowly stroked her back, her heart cracked. A stream of tears wet his neck as she hid her face in its curve.
"Hush, kitten. I know. I know," he whispered, encouraging even as he soothed her spine with the slow stroke of his hand. "I was a fool."
"You’re right. You were," she sniffed.
The grumpy admission made him grin. He stroked her hair from her face. "No, don’t try to blame yourself. We’ll fight about it later," he said, unable to resist teasing her. Had she always been this spirited, or had those ten years forged her into the woman she was?
Taking a deep breath, Ally straightened. She reached for a journal. "You need to find Marissa."
Startled, he spoke without thinking. "No." He grimaced, because of course he needed to find her. What he hadn’t liked was the way Ally had said it.
She glanced at him. "You’ve waited a long time to finish this business. Now is not the time to balk at unpleasantness."
"I’m aware of that. We’ll send out feelers for her, but thanks to my brother, I’ve a better place to start. The name of the man who collected the yearly tithes on my behalf lives near Barough. He’s called Thorone, as you know. That’s where we need to start." He didn’t add that he was familiar with the man himself, or that he’d already sent men after Barough, fearing the man would run when he found out that Roland had returned to Riverdell. Now was not the time, for they had other things to discuss.
Unaware of his train of thought, Allyson nodded thoughtfully and slid off his lap. She’d already been there far
longer than he would have expected. "Sound thinking. It’s a two day ride from Riverdell, near de Sadis land. Surely we’re due some good weather for the trip." Already she was gathering herself, becoming the self-contained woman he was coming to know, though with a little more color in her cheeks than was usual.
Unwilling to let the moment go, he said quietly, "Ally, has all this changed things between us? Now that you know the truth, is the past still going to shape your choices?"
She took a deep breath and stood straighter. "The past has made this future, but … what you’ve told me has changed things. I’m … willing to let you prove yourself."
"Prove myself?" What had he been doing for the last few months--picking pumpkins? He couldn’t help his incredulous laugh, but was careful not to push her air of defiant pride too far. However foolish he felt, it wouldn’t be wise to push their tentative peace. After all, she was giving him--them--a chance. "All right. Thank you." I think.
She sent him a wary glance, and then opened an account book. Clearly his status was probational.
* * * *
Allyson woke the next morning and found a new book at her place at the table. She picked it up slowly, flipped it open, and discovered that it was a blank journal. Unsure what to think, she glanced at Roland.
"For the new chapter of your life. You’re a talented artist. I’d hate to see you give it up."
Unsure what to say, she gently laid the book aside. He didn’t expect to see the contents of this one, did he? "The fan was from you, wasn’t it?"
"Guilty. Though I hope to tailor my gifts more carefully." He ended with an air of expectancy.
"Hm. Well, thank you."
He took a sip of his spiced goat’s milk. "You’re welcome. I enjoy giving gifts, and you’re overdue for your share. Speaking of which, I’ve rescinded my orders not to allow you access to your horses at will, though I request to be informed of your riding habits. Since I enjoy it also, it makes sense to ride together." It was not a request.
The Other Woman Page 10