She had not planned on it being so soon. Well, she would cope somehow. There was no choice. She tried to ignore the small pricks of anger and pride that jabbed at her. They refused to be ignored so she closed her eyes to will them away.
When she believed she had them silenced, she opened her eyes and looked into the mirror. What she saw staring back at her was startling.
The sun darkened, scarred side of her face was in vast contradiction to the ladylike appearance of the other side. With the makeup splitting up the sides of her face she clearly saw the two warriors that were battling for her life and for her sanity. Slowly she turned her head.
One way, then the other.
Who was she supposed to be?
One way, then the other.
She could see plainly who she was, who she had always been.
One way, then the other.
Did it matter what had made her what she was?
Was there no middle ground?
Looking straight in the mirror, she could see the truth of herself. Truth she had tried to hide as of late.
She could not stand to be the meek little wife. It made her stomach curdle to do so. She could not stand the primping and pampering it would take to be a proper wife, and more, she would never accept a mistress. Never!
The needling anger began to dig at her again, this time she let it.
She could not find sadness or depression. All that had escaped with the release of the tears last night. She had cried for everything—for the loss of her men, for the loss of her mother, and for the loss of herself.
As anger turned to rage, she decided she had not lost herself. She was who she was, who she always had been and always would be.
Aye, there was a middle ground, she told herself and slammed her fist against the dressing table. She might no longer be the Dark Knight and she would never be the lady, but somewhere in the middle was...
The Dark Lady began to roughly scrub the makeup from her face with the hem of her dress.
Finished, except for a thin line of powder down the center of her nose, she rose. Her fists clenched around one of the powder tubs. She picked it up and smelled the light floral fragrance.
The muscles in her arms jumped and she allowed the fury to flow through her. She relished the feeling. She had been numb for too long and her body flourished under the passions of emotion that caressed her.
With sudden fervor, she flung the tubs of powder against the far door. She felt free, free for the first time since that dreadful message. No, free for the first time in her life, she corrected.
No matter what happened from here on out, she promised herself, she would just be who she truly was.
She knew she was not wanted here. Her men had felt betrayed and she didn’t blame them. They had turned their backs on her and Peter...well, Peter had made his choice obvious last night in the library.
She would disappear. She raced into the hall and ignored the pounding that was coming from the middle door.
Peter hammered his fists into it. He had heard the horrendous crashes coming from his wife’s chamber and was in a panic. The sounds had awoken him, stiff and uncomfortable from sleeping the entire night propped up against her door.
“My lady, are you all right?” He heard Grant’s voice, slightly panicked, coming from the hall.
Tearing open his door, he almost collided with his trusted friend. He could hear her footsteps disappearing down the stairs. The urgency to go after her was curtailed by the curiosity of the crashes and the dust that hung around her door.
He took a deep breath and tried to still his rapidly beating heart and harsh breathing. Pushing her door open all the way he looked at the thick powder that smothered the air, drifting down covering everything.
He nudged the broken chunks of pottery, heavy with the face powder. It was obvious what had happened, but why?
Peter looked up at Grant. “Is this a good sign or bad?”
“That all depends,” Grant said, a smile crossing his face.
“On?” He cocked a questioning brow, his lips tightened with worry.
Grant gave a soft laugh. “On whether, you want to be married to a gentle lady or a mischievous knight, my lord.”
What did he want? Peter wasn’t even sure he knew. “I guess it will not matter if she gets that horse saddled before I get there.” With that he set off at a run, dread pushing his feet to move faster.
He stopped only long enough to ask the groom if she was there. When he nodded, Peter told him they were not to be disturbed and then he entered the dark enclosure.
In the stable, past lines of already saddled steeds, he found her about to mount Damien, his saddle already in place. Obviously, Peter thought with a smile, she saddled them almost as fast as she could unsaddle them.
She let out a scream as he pulled her from the stirrup, throwing her to the ground. He fell atop her and pinned her to the hay. He was so relieved she had not escaped him that he began to kiss her. Hot, possessive and desperate kisses.
Soon she stopped struggling and his heart twirled ecstatically when she returned his kisses.
Finally, he reluctantly broke the kiss and looked down at her. Her eyes showed the strain that she was under. They were swollen and red, with dark circles beneath.
He could feel her hot skin beneath his hands, but the taste of brandy on her tongue made him think the warm flushed skin was from drink.
“You missed some.” He ignored her confused look and lifted his hand, wiping off the streak of powder that lined her nose.
“Could you get off of me, my lord?” She shoved at him and he willingly rolled off.
Her eyes flashed with anger and he knew he could not force her to stay. She had to stay because she wanted to, because she loved him.
She got to her feet and wavered. He reached for her, but she pushed his hands away when they tried to assist her.
“Please, talk to me.” His voice was low and pleading as she reached again for the bridle. Her hands stilled.
“I need to go.”
She didn’t look back, but she didn’t mount up either. He felt hope begin to blossom.
“Where?” No answer. “Will you come back?” That was what he really wanted to know.
Turning back to him, she smiled. It was that grin he had come to hate and look forward to at the same time. That arrogant smile he had missed. “I do not know.”
That pained him to hear, but he understood.
“Will you talk to me first?” He wasn’t sure what he was going to say or how was he going to convince her that last night had not been as it appeared?
When she didn’t answer, he stepped toward her. “Please.”
Her dark eyes were full of suspicion as she looked at him. “What?” Van said wearily, her voice strained and low.
That was enough for him, even though she didn’t let the reins loose. It was enough to know she would stay to listen. Now all he had to do was figure out what to say.
“I would like some answers.” The answers he got might tell him what he could do to help her, to make her want to stay with him, to get her to forgive him. He sighed deeply.
“Fine. Ask away, my lord.” Her voice was cold, all the earlier passion gone.
“Why did you lie to me? To all of us?” He could not hide the pain from his voice as he looked at her accusing eyes. He knew she was seeing the night before with his arms around a naked Rebeka in the library.
He would tell her how sorry he was and give her the explanation that she deserved, but first he wanted to help her. And for that he needed to know what had brought her here, to this life.
“How many enemies do you have, my lord?” she asked simply.
He shook his head. “Many, I suppose, at least at one time. Now, I do not know. Why?”
“The Dark Knight has many as well. Some in particular would do anything to see him in the ground...to see me in the ground.” She smiled and patted Damien. He snorted lightly. “Now if you were a woman, woul
d your enemies fear you? If they knew you had lied and you were weak, would they still tremble before you?” She sat on a large bale of sweet smelling hay and allowed the reins to slide through her fingers.
He noticed her hands were trembling. He wanted to take her in his arms, but he held off knowing she was not ready.
“If they discovered I was a woman, they would still fear the warrior that I was.” He puffed his chest out in pride, but he understood what she meant.
She shook her head. “Did you fear me, as you would have the Dark Knight? If he had shown up at your door, would you not have treated him with more respect?”
He did not respond. He was not able to bring himself to tell her yes.
She smiled and nodded as if he had agreed. “If you found one of your enemies to have a weak spot, would you take advantage of that?”
He watched her lay her hands across her lap and pick straw off her dress.
“I did not fear you, but I did not fear that arrogant knight, either.”
She looked up at his words and held his gaze. The horses around them pawed restlessly at the ground. Damien nickered, some responded in kind.
Peter walked to her side and looked down into her eyes. “And there are many who still fear you.” He sat beside her, not touching for now. “But I know what you are saying, and aye, I would take any advantage I could, and being a woman is a disadvantage. No offense.”
“I do not take offense to the truth, for you are right, my lord.” She twisted her neck first one way then the other. It emanated a loud pop. “I could not tell anyone. Not and put someone in danger. I could not tell my men—” She took a deep breath and looked at him apologetically. “—your men that I was a woman.”
He slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him. She resisted at first and then relaxed against him. He could feel the heat of her through her dress and the first wisps of doubt began to cloud his mind. He looked at her closely and wondered if it were more than the drink.
“I did not tell them, because I feared what it would do, and I was right. They see it as a betrayal and they will no longer even look at me.” Her voice broke and she cleared her throat. “If I had spoken the truth in the beginning, I would never have gotten to where I am, to who I am.”
“Why did you not tell me? You should have trusted me.” He jumped at the strangled laugh that erupted from her.
“Tell me when it is that you earned my trust, my lord? Then tell me what you did on the two occasions I approached you to give it to you anyway?” She dropped her eyes to her bare feet. “Once with Telpher and then in the library last night.”
He followed her gaze and groaned. She had not even bothered to put on her slippers. He pushed the irritation away. “How did you get to be...” He didn’t know how to finish, but there was no need for she answered anyway.
“To be what? The Dark Knight? Through a lie, my lord.” She stiffened against his arm and when she shuddered, he tightened his grip on her being careful to avoid the thick bandage he could feel beneath her dress.
“From what I have figured out my mother was trapped in a marriage she did not want and sought to punish the man who forced her there.”
He watched her face cloud over, her eyes drawing tight with pain. He wanted to heal her, to make her whole, to keep her safe.
“When my father found us, she sent me here to enter page training. I always thought it was to protect me.” She shook her head. “But it seems I was not in need of protection.”
Peter looked at her in confusion. He was sure he had not understood her correctly. “To protect you, she sent her little girl to be a knight? That is far from safe.” He was enraged that a mother could treat her child in such a manner.
He started at her chuckle.
“You do not understand, my lord,” she said with a growing smile.
He was going to scream if she called him my lord one more time. He was sure she was doing it just to anger him.
“I have never been a little girl. I have always been a boy. From the moment I could understand, I was told to say I was Dr. Burgess’s son.” She fiddled with the reins in her hand and shrugged. “I took to it like a fish to water, a bird to the sky, or so the sayings go. I was the best at everything in Junket and I was the one picked to come train, my lord.”
Peter still did not agree, but he thought he understood. “Once you were here, you were no longer the best?”
“Nay, I was not.” Her nose wrinkled in apparent disgust. “They would taunt me. It did not matter that I was younger by far than the majority of the boys. If I did something wrong, I would hear from them.”
“I remember and I should have done something to stop it.” Guilt pushed at him and rebuked him for his lack of actions.
She looked up at him with questioning eyes. “Why, my lord? You would not have for any other boy.”
He had no answer and could only shake his head. “You were...a girl.”
“What I was, was the best in Junket, and I was soon the best here as well. That is what I was and all I was.” She spoke with a quiet dignity and pride that shook Peter to the core.
He thought about it and she was right. He had been beating himself over and over for not protecting the little girl she should have been, but he was forgetting the strong page that she actually was. It mattered not if she was boy or girl. She was strong and had been well able to take care of herself without Peter’s intrusions, as she had proven many times.
“So they tormented you. That is why you hate the name?” It fell into place now and he could remember, on at least one occasion, hearing them taunting her with the name Vanessa.
She nodded her head and looked back at her hands. “I was never to be considered for knighthood since I was not a nobleman’s son. I would forever be a squire and they were always there to remind me.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper of breath, the words tight with pain. “The others would chant at me, aye. ‘Vanessa, Vanessa.’” Her voice took on the taunting sing-song tone of little children who are mean and spiteful “You ride like a girl, Vanessa. Van-es-sa, you throw like a girl.’“
He could not help but tighten his grip on her when she looked into his eyes. Hers were dark and haunted.
“I grew to hate that name and every weak thing it stood for. As I made myself known among the others, and they realized that I was indeed the best, they held respect for me.” She smiled sadly. “You see, Vanessa represented everything I was not.”
“Everything that you are still not?” He was sure he understood now. She hated being Vanessa because she was not the weak woman, not the meek little wife. He had been scared of her independence and her pride, afraid she would leave him. She would not. She was proud and strong, but she was loyal.
She nodded. “I was the best here, and I got that way fast. I earned the right to be a squire and you know the rest.” She leaned her head back against his arm and closed her eyes.
Peter could see the pain and weariness in her face and wanted to take her back to her bed. Before he could do that there were a couple of things he wanted to know and he thought it best to get the answers while she was in the mood to talk. He did not know how long it would last before she shut herself back up and he did not want to miss the opportunity.
He took a deep breath. “I want to know of the woman you killed and I want to know why Richard took orders from you like you were the one in charge on the night you saved my life.” It was an odd sensation to owe his life to his wife. He was the one who supposed to be keeping her protected...the one to save her, if need be. Not the other way around.
She tensed against him.
“I also want to know about your mistresses.” He wanted to know more than those things, but he did not want to tire her too much. When he had the answers to those, he could tell her the things he needed to say. Things that started with I love you and I am sorry.
“Aye.” She kept her eyes closed and leaned her head against his arm. She shuddered. “The woman I killed an
d the fact that Richard took orders from me are one and the same.” Without ever opening her eyes, she quickly told of the woman and the reasons she had beaten her. Peter’s heart went out to the scared young girl she had been and understood. He could not say he would not have done the same.
Her voice quivered as she continued. “I was not proud of it—am not proud of it and it haunts me to this day. I have questioned my honor, and you were right last night. I did not do it out of honor, but I would do it again.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him, moving out of the circle of his arm. He tried to hold her, but she pushed his arm away.
“As to my mistresses—” She looked angry and her face was flushed. “Do I ask you about yours?”
His heart ached. He would make it up to her, for all his mistakes since she had arrived. “If you will tell me of them, I will answer anything you want to know.” He would be honest with her. She was right, he had done nothing to earn her trust and it was about time that he did.
She looked at him for a moment, either measuring his honestly or debating on if it was worth it to trust him again. Either way, she must have decided in his favor because she relaxed and continued.
“They are women that have been abused, raped, or deserted. I take them in. I help them, give them money, and the protection of my name. In all ways they are my girls.” She glared at him. “I just do not have sex with them in the library of my home.”
Peter cringed at the snide comment and decided that it was his turn to talk, to tell her what needed to be told, for both her sake and his. He could not risk losing her, not now that he had comes to terms with who she was. He wanted to get to know the real her, not the knight, nor the fake lady. She needed to discover who she was as well, and he looked forward to the journey together.
He opened his mouth, but the long awaited explanation was cut short by shouts outside. Van pulled herself to her feet as Richard’s deep voice boomed through the stable. “I do not give a damn what he said. I will see the Dark Knight, and I will see her now. Over you, around you, or through you, it makes no difference to me.”
The Dark Lady Page 44