He looked into his wife’s chambers. She stood with her back to him, silent and rigid by the window. She held a brandy in her hand. He had never seen her drink.
Across the threshold were the remnants of the bedside table. Someone had obviously thrown it at the door. Anger flushed through him anew. She had thrown it at her friend who was only trying to help her.
He stepped into the room, avoiding the tray of food that lay splattered across the rushes.
That was the last straw. As his rage boiled it became easier to see her getting a beating, whether knight or lady, she needed to get one now.
“What in the hell do you think you are doing?” He had planned to talk to her calmly, to explain everyone’s position, and to get her to answer some questions. To hold her if need be, to let her cry on his shoulder as the woman she had been the last two days would do.
That had all changed when he had seen the splintered table.
Van turned toward him, her color high. Her eyes held black smudges beneath them. She had apparently not slept well in several days. He did not know how to help her and that was what scared him the most.
What was it they said, she needed to cry? How to make this woman cry? He did not think it possible.
She was a rock. The only emotion he had seen was anger, anger that was more than apparent now. It was no doubt intensified by the unaccustomed drink, but that didn’t make it any less volatile.
The image of the guards she had brutalized, the man she had beheaded, and the scraps of wood that were once a beautiful oak table, showed him he had seen nothing of her anger. She had always kept herself in check with him.
No matter how he had pushed her, her love for him had let her keep control. Was that true? Did she love him?
His heart lightened. She had told Telpher that she did.
Even if he had felt her affection for him in the ways they had made love, that wasn’t the same as him hearing the words. Even if she did really love him, would she hold control with the effects of the alcohol?
His mind raced with more questions that had no answers. He was tired and weary. He wanted his calm life back.
She stared belligerently at him and took a long drink.
“I asked you a question.” Peter kept control of his anger the best he could and thought a good start would be to get her to talk.
“Aye, I heard.” Her voice was tight, controlled, and thick with gravel.
A voice he knew well now. He could almost feel the anger that boiled beneath the surface. That grin that he had grown to love and hate at the same time was back full force. Pride and arrogance glorified.
“What do you want to know? You’ll have to be more specific.” Her words were slurred and her frame trembled as she struggled to hold her balance.
He had never met the Dark Knight. He had met the boy, girl, who would become him. But he had not had anything but rumors to go on as to the knight himself.
Now, he thought, he was meeting that knight. He had a glimpse of the conversation with her father fly through his mind. A mention of a woman beaten to death. “I want to know first about that.” He gestured to the table, to the gouge in the door.
“I needed an incentive for someone not wanting to listen.” Her voice was tight.
“And about the dress and the hair?”
For a moment she looked confused, and then she looked down. Her dress was rumpled and appeared that she had slept in it, but still looked very proper with a thick lacy chemise underneath hiding her form.
“I am trying to be the wife and woman I am supposed to be, my lord. It is what you want, is it not?” Her voice had changed to one he had never heard.
It was somewhere between the gravel and the high pitched squawk she had been using. He realized it was the first time she had used her real voice, but now it sounded sad and lost. The anger had disappeared.
He didn’t answer her question because it was what he should want. But knowing how she had been the last couple of days, he had actually missed the woman she was before. Was that even who she really was? Nay. She had held herself in check. He mused about what she was really like and knew he wanted to find out.
But first he had to help her. He needed to get back to the anger. With that at least she was allowing herself to feel something. This hiding from herself would just not do.
“Fine, you want to be my wife and the woman I want? First, you will always dress properly.”
If she actually did that, he would miss seeing her slender form draped in the soft cloth.
“Aye, my lord.” It had been a long time since she had called him that. It was an emotionless agreement.
“You will not ride. As a woman you are not an able horsemen, and as such you will not even be allowed the sidesaddle on your mare I gave you.” He saw the hint of anger in her eyes, but she quickly hid it. Hid it but not gotten rid of it completely. He could see the glint still lingering there. It was a start.
“Aye, my lord.” She nearly spat the words out at him.
“You will not be allowed any contact with the men.” That one was a mistake. It only brought a deep look of pain to her face.
He thought it was from not being able to see them until he caught a mutter under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “They will like that.” Then she added, “Aye, my lord.” The anger had been replaced with a sense of dissolution.
He was beginning to get frustrated. He hated that look of emptiness that surrounded her. He wanted back the fiery woman he had married.
Perhaps, he thought, he would have to use drastic measures. “You will allow my mistress to return and stay in the castle.”
Her body was racked with a terrible shudder. “Aye, my lord.”
He could not explain the pain and anger that ripped through him when she agreed. “How dare you say aye to that?” he screamed at her, forgetting all his well laid plans.
She didn’t answer. She grinned that deep arrogant grin and arched one black brow.
“You put that damned brow down and start talking to me. You will tell me what the hell your problem is.” Anger blurred his reasoning. “You have mistreated the only one who has stood beside you through all of this, hurting her, and assaulting her.” He gestured frantically at the pile of wood behind him.
Van’s gaze dropped to her feet and she stood motionless.
“Have you no honor? Perhaps you would like her to join the other woman you killed. Is that what you want?” Peter’s breath came in harsh gasps.
He saw anger spring forth in her eyes as he had talked and he realized that in his ranting he had accidently hit her one sore spot, one that would always work—her pride and her honor.
He should have thought of it before. He had already seen the results and Devenroe had told him of the same.
A heavy hand knocked on the door.
Peter growled. He wanted to ignore it now that she was finally beginning to respond with something besides that look of lost compliance.
He opened his mouth to tell them to go away when Grant opened the door and waved frantically for him to come.
Peter looked back at his wife, but the moment had passed. The opportunity was gone. She no longer held anger. She was once again lost as she sank to the edge of the bed.
He watched her features ripple as she disappeared into what appeared to be painful memories. He thought he knew what they were and cursed himself for bringing up the woman she had killed.
“Damn it, woman, trust me. Trust me. I can help you through this.” He didn’t know if she heard him for she gave no sign that she had.
Van had, she just didn’t know if she could put her trust in him once more. She questioned her honor for the first time in her life. She had been enraged when he had asked her of her honor, when he had questioned it as she was doing now.
She would have fought to defend herself had he not mentioned the woman she had killed. She had killed her out of necessity, but it still haunted her. It was war and everyone was defending themselves.
&nbs
p; The lady had been one of them. Van had done what she had to do to save Richard and she had done it with honor. At least she thought she had. Now as the pain swirled through her and her mind fogged, she was unsure.
It had been a year before she became a knight. The blonde woman, not much more than a child, had seduced Richard. When he was well in his cups, she had tried and almost succeeded in killing him.
Van shuddered as the memories swamped her.
Richard had called out in pain and Van rushed to his side. The woman was struggling with him. Richard had then lost consciousness and she plunged the dagger into his side. She had raised it to do it again when Van attacked her, throwing her across the room.
The woman had huddled in the corner as Van had shook Richard, pleading with him to live. That she would do anything for him to live. She had been terrified he would die and she had turned on the woman.
Van wondered at her honor now, knowing she had not had to kill her. She had done it out of anger. Out of fear that the man she looked to as a father was dead. Out of lethal revenge.
She had beaten her long past the time her breath had stopped. Richard had pulled her off the dead woman. Blood had covered her hands as she stood shaking in his arms.
Peter watched as she raised her hands, looking at them as if there was something on them. Van took a deep breath that shook her entire frame.
Peter turned to Grant, who ushered him into the hall.
“What is it?” Peter tried to hide his irritation at the man who had interrupted.
Grant shuffled his large feet. “I am sorry, my lord. I would not have bothered you, but...you have a visitor. I said I would come for you.”
“Tell them to wait.” Peter turned to go back to his wife.
“I tried but she is making a scene and I did not want Lady Vanessa to hear her, my lord.” Grant glanced toward the closed door as if making sure it was still shut and Van had not come out to listen.
“Who?” Peter was afraid he knew.
Grant’s answer was a mere whisper. “Miss Constance, my lord.”
“Bloody hell!” Peter started for the stairs. He would have to get rid of her quick, before Vanessa found her here. Not in the condition she was in. He would have a dead woman on his hands. “Where?”
“The library.”
Peter stomped unhappily down the stairs. This was just what he needed after telling Vanessa she would have to allow this very woman to live here.
He had not meant it. He didn’t want any woman but the damned one up the stairs.
CHAPTER 27
Van looked up at the sound of the door clicking shut. Her face tightened in surprise to find herself in an empty room. She had been lost in painful memories and had not even been aware Peter had left.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. What had he asked of her? For her to trust him.
She was unsure if she could put her trust in him once again. She had once and she had been rewarded with Peter sending Telpher to accost her.
Her heart pleaded with her that he had only acted out of jealousy, that he had been scared to lose her.
Her mind scoffed saying that even if that were true it did not excuse his actions.
She shuddered, tired of feeling torn in two.
Perhaps he had been jealous and he did care for her. At least some, she thought sadly. She shook her head.
She agreed with her mind—it was no excuse—but she agreed with her heart as well. It may not be reason enough to excuse his actions, but mayhap it was enough to earn her forgiveness.
She opened her eyes and peered at the door. She heard voices, but they were too low to understand. She did not know what she was supposed to do, but she knew she could not do it alone.
She nodded determinedly and decided that she would once more put her trust in Peter. She needed to trust someone and if they were going to make their marriage work it had to be him.
The voices quieted and Van tightened her shoulders. She pulled the door open to an empty hall. Her brow furrowed in irritation.
She knew he had disappeared into the library the night before so she thought that would be the most likely place to start searching. She would find him. Tell him everything and then she would throw herself at his mercy to help her get through it all. To become a wife that he deserved.
She walked carefully down the stairs and stopped at the bottom. Light spilled from around the cracked library door. There were voices behind it, but they were too low to hear. She hesitated. It would not do to start out her new life as a proper wife by bursting in on a meeting.
She stared at the door and fought the urge to peer into the crack. Concern wormed through her that it had something to do with the men. She tightened her grip on her resolve and tried to be patient.
***
Rebeka leaned against the desk in the library and looked up at what had once been her calm and dignified lord. He was now red faced with rage and looked like a madman. It excited her, though she wished he had acted thusly when she was in his life. What had that woman done to him?
“What do you want?” he asked, looking quickly at the door and then back at her.
“I just want you, my lord. I heard you were having problems with your new wife. I heard who she is and I came to help you.” With a seductive smile she allowed the silky cloak to slither slowly down her body, the coolness of the library bringing gooseflesh to her bare skin. The cloak pooled at her feet.
Peter moved to step away from her but she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her nude body up against him.
Peter growled, “Do not do this. I am not interested in anyone but my wife. I have enough going wrong right now without need of you to help it along.” He placed his hands on her waist and tried to move her off him.
Rebeka tightened her arms around his thick corded neck, feeling the pulse thundering beneath the surface.
I know what you need.” She pressed her belly into his manhood. Her pride itched in irritation when she realized the only thing she was managing to get a rise out of was his temper.
He pushed back harder on her this time and she fell onto the desk, but refused to release his neck. The oak was cold against her flesh, but she ignored it as she wrapped her pale white legs around his hips, clasping her ankles together.
Anger was beginning to boil beneath her hurt pride. How dare he turn her down, especially in favor of that behemoth?
Peter sneered at her and reached behind her grasping an ankle. She clenched her thighs tightly around him.
Rebeka’s glance shifted to the door as it swung open. There, peering in with wide, dismayed eyes, was the lady of the castle. Oh, this could not get any better, Rebeka thought joyfully.
Rebeka looked back at Peter and moaned seductively. She pressed her breasts into him and caught his lips with hers.
She knew he would break the kiss and ruin the image she was working hard to portray, so she broke it herself before he could.
Looking directly at Vanessa, she gasped in a fair imitation of surprise, “Oh my.”
Rebeka pulled quickly away from him, yet still clung to his neck. She only wanted to move far enough to make sure her audience saw her nakedness.
Peter turned to follow her gaze and his heart stilled, his hands frozen on the legs still around him. There in the door stood a shell of the woman he loved.
A single tear, one that threatened to tear out his very heart, welled up and slid silently down Van’s cheek, cutting through the paleness of the face powder. She turned and fled.
He fought to free himself from the woman who held him tightly with her arms and thighs. “Vanessa!”
“You do not want her. She cannot be what you need,” she shouted as he tore her entrapping limbs from around his trembling body. She let out a scream as he threw her to the ground.
“Get out of our home!” He raced from the room and toward the front door sure that Van would run to the stables.
His heart lurched and he slid to a stop when he he
ard the slamming of a heavy door from the direction of the sleeping chambers.
He took the stairs two at a time and almost fell several times. He fought for balance but did not slow.
What the hell was he going to do now?
As he pounded on her chamber door, he heard the inner door between the two rooms slam. “Damn!” He would make this right for her if it was the last thing he managed to do.
He would hold her and never let her go. He would tell her he didn’t care what or who she had been and that he loved her. Pain and guilt swirled through him.
He pounded twice more and then shook himself. The key, he thought as he berated himself for not thinking of it before he had hurt his fists. He just needed to get the key and then he could make everything right.
Running to his bedside table, he rummaged through the drawers. His struggled to draw breath through the tight band that cinched around him. Pain shot through his chest every time he forced air into his lungs.
He cursed loudly when he found no key. His spirit sank. She had outsmarted him. She must have gone through here while he was pounding on her door and she had taken it.
Without thought he began to pound on the center door. He screamed at her to let him in.
He did not care who heard or what they thought of it. His only thoughts were on removing that horrible look of agony he had seen on her beautiful face.
“Open this door or I will get an axe and break it down.” He was tempted and he might have if he had not thought the moment a hole was in the door she would throw that dagger through his head.
She had promised the next time it would be through his stubborn skull. He didn’t doubt it, not now.
A thick lump wedged firmly in his throat and he swallowed hard around it. His fists ached from the power he had put behind the blows, but still there was no answer.
He ignored the pain and continued to pound on the door until he realized he could hear sounds from the other side. His fists stilled as he listened.
From the other side of door, muffled as if buried in pillows he could hear her painful sobs. They were raw, ugly, terrifying sounds. He could feel her pain deep inside him. His heart ached for her. His stomach twisted as he attacked the door once more.
The Dark Lady Page 42