Cortez’s smile faded as he watched Diamantha’s lowered head. He was trying very hard not to feel discouraged but her lack of response to him, any response at all, had him fighting off depression. Aye, he had used the girl to get to the mother and he didn’t regret it. He had to get to her somehow. He was fairly certain that Lady Diamantha thought of him as a cad, a scoundrel, but he supposed that in a small way he was. She hadn’t wanted him since the beginning of their renewed association and he knew it. She had been very clear with her wants, just as he had been. But in this case, his wants would win out over hers. He would make sure of it.
As he sat next to Sophie and pondered his next move, George entered the hall. He didn’t seem surprised to see Cortez seated at the table but his gaze appeared to be mostly on Diamantha. When Sophie saw her grandfather, she crowed.
“Grandpere!” she cried. “I have porridge!”
It all came out as a mumbled bit of fluff because her mouth was full. No one had any idea what she had said. George, however, smiled sweetly as he sat down across the table from her. Sophie swallowed the big bite in her mouth as her mother wiped the mess on her lips away with a linen napkin.
“Grandpere, I am going on an ad-ad-adventure!” she stumbled over the word. She pointed her messy spoon at Cortez, flicking porridge onto his leather breeches. “He has a castle with ponies and dogs. I want to go there.”
George’s smile turned into a grimace. “Is that so?” he said, trying to be pleasant as he thought of losing his only grandchild and his last link to his beloved son. “It would be nice to visit, would it not?”
Cortez’s dark eyes fixed on George as he wiped the spilled porridge off his breeches. “It would be lovely to live there,” he said plainly, daring Edlington’s father to debate it. “I told her that my castle is sad because there is no princess. She has graciously agreed to become my princess.”
George’s smile vanished completely. “I see,” he muttered, looking at Diamantha. “When is this happy event to take place?”
Diamantha was clearly as unhappy as her father-in-law. “That has not yet been discussed,” she said. “I believe that….”
Cortez cut her off. “Then let us discuss it now,” he said. It was another ploy at manipulation, knowing that neither Diamantha nor George would become too angry with Sophie in their midst, and he was wise enough to take advantage of the situation. He was, if nothing else, cunning. “The ride to Sherborne is a half day at the very most. Therefore, I will give you the day to pack your belongings, and those of Lady Sophie, and we will leave first thing on the morrow. We will be married at Sherborne Abbey once we arrive. I have already made the necessary arrangements.”
Diamantha looked at him in shock. “A day?” she repeated, aghast. “You are asking me to pack my entire life away in one day? It cannot be done. I need more time.”
Cortez had to take the upper hand; he had no choice. He was afraid if he gave in to her requests, or rather her demands, that he would lose control of the situation. He had no desire to lose his grip on that which he so badly wanted. He needed it. God help him, he needed Diamantha and her sweet daughter. He had been so lonely for three years. He didn’t want to be lonely anymore.
“Pack what you can,” he said steadily. “We will take it with us and you may leave behind servants to pack and then send along the rest.”
It was not a request. Diamantha and George both saw that. De Bretagne was very good at giving commands that were not intended to be refuted. Furious, Diamantha lowered her gaze and stared at the table as Sophie continued to sit between her and Cortez and happily eat. To the child, all was joyful in her world with a new friend and her mother seated beside her. But to the adults, the hall was filled with brittle discord, fragile enough to shatter at any moment. It was a horrible, tense ambiance.
But Cortez ignored it. He wanted his own desires fulfilled above all else and to the devil with George and Diamantha’s resistance. They had already put up too much of a fight and he was at the end of his patience. He wasn’t in the mood for any further games. He could feel his irritation rising and since he had little control over his anger at times, he made the decision to leave before he said something he would regret later. Abruptly, he stood.
“I will be in the lower ward preparing my men to depart on the morrow,” he said evenly. “Have your men bring your trunks down so that we may pack them onto the provisions wagons. You will also give me an accounting of the servants you intend to bring with you. Is this clear, madam?”
Diamantha was near tears. She was incredibly frustrated, feeling as if she were being yanked from her home by a man with no heart or soul. The shock from the marriage proposal was wearing off, leaving in its place a sense of desolation and sorrow. Her inclination not to hate the man was weakening. She was starting to hate him a great deal.
“Madam?” he said again, more firmly. “I require an answer.”
Diamantha was still staring at the table. She wouldn’t give him the courtesy of looking at him. “I understand,” she said.
Cortez didn’t say another word, even when Sophie turned to him and begged him to stay. He smiled at the child and patted her fat little hand before quitting the hall, leaving behind him one oblivious little girl and a whole host of distressed adults. But he didn’t care. He would have his way in all things.
Damn Lady Edlington for resisting him in the first place. She was instigating a battle she had no chance of winning. But he suspected he could butt heads with her all night and she would never retreat. She was prideful and she was stubborn, two qualities he happened to share with her. He understood them. Therefore, he knew he would have to win her over another way.
He thought perhaps that honey would attract her better than vinegar would. He intended to give it a try.
CHAPTER THREE
Diamantha could hear Sophie in the next room, playing with her poppet. She had a toy cradle that Robert had made for her and she liked to put her doll to bed repeatedly. Sometimes the poppet was naughty and needed to be spanked, like now. Diamantha couldn’t help the grin as she listened to her daughter scold the doll because it didn’t want to go to sleep. The joy of the simple pleasure helped lighten her heavy and sorrowful heart.
It was late, well after the evening meal that saw Cortez demand that she be ready to depart for Sherborne on the morrow. She’d had her trunks brought around and gave the servants basic instructions, but beyond that, she was incapable of doing much more. Her fury, her outrage, at de Bretagne’s order had died down, leaving grief in its wake. He was removing her from the chamber she had shared with Robert and from everything that was important to her. She felt as if she were living her husband’s death a second time as de Bretagne tried to bully him from her memory.
George had tried to come and see her, twice, but she would not see him. Every time she looked at him she could see Robert’s face and it was tearing her apart, great claws of sorrow ripping at her heart. Now, everything was changing and she was loath to accept it. She didn’t think her heart could be any heavier as she thought of her tall, handsome husband with the dark blond hair, of his ready smile and that roaring laughter he had. She could still hear it echoing in her memory.
She could still see him as he bid her a farewell before leaving for the north, his gentle smile as she had gazed at him with tears in her eyes. He had promised to return but he had not kept that promise. It wasn’t a surprise to realize that not only did she hate de Bretagne for his role in all of this, but she was angry with Robert as well. She was angry with him for putting duty over his family, for leaving her to raise their child alone. Damn the man; she should have never let him go.
Breaking from her morose train of thought, she went into Sophie’s chamber and put the little girl, and her naughty poppet, to bed. Neither wanted to go to sleep, however, so Diamantha spent a few minutes with her child, telling her a made-up story of a rabbit and a fox that were friends, and giving her at least two drinks of water because Sophie swore she was ver
y thirsty. Sophie went down to sleep resisting all the way but finally, she drifted off and Diamantha snuffed the taper by the bed and quietly crept from the room.
Back in her own adjoining chamber, she was in the midst of servants packing her things. Trunks full of clothing, accessories, plate, valuables… everything that reminded her of her life with Robert was being neatly stored away in cold and unfeeling trunks. Struggling against the horrible sorrow of her life reduced to trunks and cases, she sat on her bed and collected a piece of embroidery she had been working on. She needed something to distract her and to pass the time and, hopefully, she would eventually be tired enough to sleep. Right now, she didn’t want to waste any time on it because these were to be her last hours within Corfe’s walls, walls that breathed and spoke of her husband. She could hear the reflections softly, like the gentle patter of rain in her heart and mind. She wanted to live these last few moments and speak to Robert, if only in prayer.
A knock on the chamber door distracted her and she set the embroidery aside to open the panel. A male servant was standing there, an old man who usually tended the lower floors of the keep, and he was holding a small painted box in his hands. When Diamantha looked at him curiously, he thrust the box at her.
“One of de Bretagne’s men brought this, my lady,” he said. “He told me to tell you that de Bretagne has sent this to you as a gift. It used to belong to his wife.”
Diamantha stared at the old man a moment, her brow furrowed in both curiosity and displeasure, but because her dear friend Helene had been mentioned, she reluctantly took the box.
“Is that all he said?” she asked, eyeing the pretty box colored in shades of pink.
The old servant nodded. “Aye, my lady.”
With that, Diamantha dismissed the man and softly shut the door. Her serving women had paused in their packing to watch the exchange, curious about the gift, but when their lady turned around and glanced at the gaggle, they quickly went back to work and pretended they weren’t the least bit interested. Diamantha had known the women a very long time, including Sophie’s nurse Annie, so she smirked at their seeming disinterest. They were all liars, the lot of them.
“Very well, you nosy hens,” she said, pretending to scold them. “You may come and see what the man has sent me.”
The women, all five of them, immediately dropped what they were doing and rushed over to the great bed. Diamantha sat on the edge of the feather and straw mattress and carefully opened the lid on the box.
The serving women strained to see the treasure inside, gasping with awe when Diamantha lifted the jewelry out. It was a spectacular necklace comprised of a great silver collar, intricately woven, with a massive silver cross hanging from it. As she inspected it, she noticed that the shape of a heart was interwoven into the fine silver chains at the head of the collar and the cross hung just below the heart. It was an absolute masterpiece of craftsmanship. Diamantha was impressed with it as she gazed at the truly spectacular piece.
As she continued inspecting it, she seemed to recall seeing Helene wear the piece at one time. Helene was a little woman and something this big and fabulous clearly overwhelmed her small frame, so it was indeed memorable. She also recalled that Helene told her that her husband had given it to her for their wedding. Now, he was giving it again to seal another marriage.
Something in that knowledge irritated her. Irritation turned to anger, and anger to outrage. So he was purchasing another wife, was he? Did he actually think to buy her with pretty gifts? She could think of no other reason for the offering. She certainly hadn’t done anything to earn it. The man was trying to barter for her! Putting the jewelry back in the box, she slapped the lid closed and charged from the chamber.
The serving women watched her go with some dismay. Lord only knew what their mistress was going to do. Anger like that usually came to no good end in their world.
Clad in only a dark gray linen surcoat with a soft wool sheathe underneath, Diamantha ignored the cold of the keep as she took the narrow spiral stairs down to the entry level. Throwing open the heavy entry door, she gathered her skirts and marched out into the damp night. Fog had rolled in from the sea and the kiss of moisture was on everything. Visibility was greatly reduced, leaving everything cloaked and eerie. As she walked, she realized that she only had soft doeskin slippers on and they were already soaked and slick. She ended up sliding in the wet earth as she made her way towards the lower bailey. As she approached the upper gatehouse that separated the upper from the lower ward, she was met by two of her husband’s sentries.
“Lady Edlington,” one soldier said as he rushed to her side and grasped her arm to keep her from slipping further on the wet incline. “How may we be of service?”
Diamantha pointed to the enormous gates, lit by torches that struggled against the mist. “Open the gates, please.”
The sentries looked rather surprised by the request but dutifully yelled to the men inside the gatehouse. Lady Edlington’s orders were not meant to be questioned or disobeyed. Men appeared and threw the big iron bolt that secured the panels. Diamantha moved towards the gates as the men lugged them open, slipping through the gap when it was big enough for her to pass through. As she charged towards de Bretagne’s encampment, shoved down into the far south section of Corfe’s massive bailey, the pair of sentries that had greeted her filtered out after her. They weren’t entirely sure about Lady Edlington being alone in a camp full of strangers, so their sergeant sent them after her.
It was a fast walk, however, for Lady Edlington was evidently very determined. Her skirts were hiked up almost to her knees, keeping the linen free of the wet earth as she moved, but her shoes were soaked through and starting to come apart. She ignored the shoes that were only meant for delicate travel, however. She was clearly on a mission. On and on down the wet, misty bailey they went until she barked at the first of de Bretagne’s men that she came across.
“Where is your liege?” she demanded.
The men were slow to move, looking rather puzzled that a beautiful woman had emerged from the darkness and was now demanding audience with de Bretagne. While one man openly leered over her, another went for his superior officer, who immediately recognized Lady Edlington. Peter Merlin happened to be the superior officer and, jolted by the surprise appearance, he made haste to her side.
“My lady,” he greeted pleasantly though it was with a hint of concern. “How may I be of service to you?”
Diamantha was in no mood to be kind or sociable. “Where is de Bretagne?”
Peter could hear the edge in her tone. “In his quarters, I would assume,” he said, increasingly concerned by her manner. “May I escort you?”
Diamantha merely nodded and followed the red-haired soldier deep into the cluster of tents, men, and animals. It smelled heavily of smoke and urine, the smell of a camp that was now saturating the ground of the lower ward. She hated it. In fact, she hated everything about de Bretagne and his men. She had been building a righteous fury all the way from the keep and by the time Merlin announced her to de Bretagne, she was fairly steaming with it. The rather smug look on de Bretagne’s face when he realized she had come to visit him only threw more fuel on the fire.
“Dismiss your man,” she told him.
Cortez’s smile faded somewhat as he caught the growl in her tone. Quietly, he dismissed Peter and the man quit the tent, closing the flap behind him. Alone with Diamantha in his dimly lit shelter, Cortez set aside the dagger he had been sharpening. Something in the expression of her face told him this was not a social call.
“How may I be of service, Lady Edlington?” he asked politely.
Diamantha was literally quivering with rage. She thrust the painted box containing the jewelry in his direction.
“You can take this back,” she said, her voice tight with fury. “I do not want it.”
Cortez’s smile vanished completely. “My lady, I assure you that it is a gift,” he said. “It used to belong to my wife but I am s
ure she would not mind if you have it.”
Diamantha tossed it onto the pallet nearby because he would not take it and it landed harmlessly. Both hands free, she faced Cortez with all of the ire and emotion she had been feeling since the moment he had entered George’s solar with news of their betrothal. The events of the day had only stoked the blaze of indignation and rebellion. She had reached her limit and everything was about to come bursting out.
“Nay, I am sure Helene would not mind, for she was a sweet and gentle creature, and I miss her very much,” Diamantha said. “But I do not want it. In fact, I do not want you, either. You burst into my home, tell me I am to marry you, present gifts with which to purchase my compliance, and show kindness to my daughter so that I may soften towards you. Well, I will not soften. I do not wish to marry you. I wish to remain here with my daughter and I wish to live out my life in the same room that my husband and I shared, sleeping on a bed that still smells of him, and dreaming of the hopes and wishes we shared together. You are not a part of that life. I want you to return to Sherborne and leave me alone.”
Cortez kept his cool in the face of her angry words. He wasn’t surprised by them but he was very disappointed. In hindsight, he supposed he had been expecting this reaction all along no matter how hard he had tried to diffuse it. With a sigh, he reached over and picked up the painted box, turning it over his hands as he inspected it. His manner was pensive, his mood somber.
“I cannot say I blame you for what you feel,” he said quietly. “I have been widowed for three years and you have been widowed for a mere three months. I understand how you feel.”
Diamantha had expected him to fly at her. She had been geared for a battle. Instead, his quiet response had her off balance because she wasn’t sure how to counter it. Was he trying to manipulate her again?
“Then why do you push?” she insisted. “If you understand my feelings, why in God’s name do you push?”
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