by Gail Link
"Have you seen the Lady Sybelle?"
"Nay." He wiped the sweat from his brow. "'Tis been a quiet day here. Only your brother and Etain have I seen this morn."
"Etain?"
"Aye. She rode out with your brother. She promised to return to see my wife, yet she hasn't returned to the castle.''
"Nonsense," Rolf said, "She is with Siobhan. I saw her enter her mother's room after gathering some plants from the herb garden."
Auliffe dismissed the lad he was training. "That cannot be, my lord. She rode out with Lord Branduff early this morn and no one has entered the gates, or left, since."
A quick torch of fear lighted in Rolf's stomach. No. She couldn't have fled with his brother. Never. Not now.
No!
Rolf hurried into the keep, pushing aside several servants, who backed against the wall, afraid of the look in his eyes, the cold set of the fierce warrior on his face.
He burst into Siobhan's room, sending the heavy oaken door crashing against its hinges.
"Where is she?" he demanded.
Etain stilled her mother's speech as Siobhan made to answer the question. His hair and clothes were rumpled, his appearance haggard. The green eyes narrowed with a look of such bleakness that Etain blanched. She felt the chill penetrate her very bones.
"She is gone, my lord Rolf."
His mouth was a grimace of pain as he took her words like a physical blow. His lips twisted to form a bitter line in his handsome face.
"You aided her?" he asked, walking to where she sat with her mother, sorting herbs.
She lowered her eyes from the pain evident in his. Sweet Jesu, she thought quickly. He will never forget this insult. She raised her head and stood up. "Aye," was spoken softly.
Rolf felt his hand curling into a fist. He was within his rights to punish her for betraying him. None would gainsay it. His arm lifted, his hand stretched out as if he would strike her.
Etain waited for the blow that never came.
Instead, Rolf turned his back on her, pausing at the door. He didn't bother to face her as he spoke; his words were uttered in a voice raw with emotion. "Be gone. Leave here this day. Never do I desire to see your face again."
"My lord," Siobhan pleaded, afraid of losing her child.
"Seek no compassion from me." His speech was curt and raw.
"'Tis as I expected, Mother." Etain's tears fell freely. "I did what I believed to be right, my lord."
"You betrayed me." He paused. "Me, who was ever your friend, your lord." Rolf pronounced the last word with emphasis. Clearly he felt that if she didn't believe she had a duty to him as her friend, as her former lover, then he expected, demanded, it as her lord.
In a tone filled with sadness he asked, "Was Branduff aware of your actions?"
"My lord" Etain began, her composure slipping.
"Yea or nay?" he demanded, still refusing to look upon her.
"Your brother is an honorable man who did what he felt he had to do. He loves you, my lord, as do we all."
"Then I am to be considered a fortunate man, am I not?" he asked. "I could only wish my enemies such extreme good fortune."
"She has left you a note," Etain said, barely above a whisper.
"Where?" It cost him a fraction of pride to say that word.
"I placed it in your bedchamber."
Etain wanted desperately to reach out and throw her arms around his waist, rest her head upon that broad back, stroke away his hurt and pain, give him ease in whatever way that she could. It was too late for that, too late for regrets as she watched his tall form vanish from the room.
Siobhan took her daughter's hand, squeezing it, saying, "He will relent. "Tis just that he is hurt."
Etain's pale blue eyes sparkled with her tears. "Oh my mother, he is Killroone, and Bran and I have wounded more than his pride. Do you not see that he hates now? And with good reason."
Siobhan knew her daughter spoke the truth; she also knew in her heart that Rolf loved his brother and cared for her daughter. Now he was blinded by pain, but later he would see clearly. No one had ever thwarted him. Such a man as Rolf O'Dalaigh would eventually see the reason of their actions, why her daughter and the lord Bran had given the Lady Sybelle their protection in this endeavor.
Rolf took the stairs two at a time, hurrying to his chambers. Anxious to see the note the Lady Sybelle left, he threw open the door and beheld a folded piece of parchment on the wide bed.
He opened the paper carefully. The message written inside was simple, without any hint of bitterness or despair. Only one word, written in Sybelle's hand, in Gaelic.
He crushed the note in his large palm, tossing it to the stone floor in anger, in frustration.
"Sybelle." It was said softly, in a whisper, delivered with pain. Again, "Sybelle." This time slightly louder. He felt the sharp sense of betrayal, the invasion of loss. The love he had been eager, willing to bestow, was now thrown back in his face. He was denied the chance to tell her, denied the love that had been his. Was his. Gone were his hopes for an afternoon's tryst, for a lifetime of sharing. Shredded were the happy expectations he'd held.
Bran.
Traitor. To his name, his rank, his heritage, his blood. The pain he felt intensified. Damn him.
Rolf bent and retrieved the paper from the floor. He seated himself and smoothed out the crumpled edges. His eyes again read the single word written there:
Mбthair.
I forgive.
Rolf threw back his head and cried in agony, the force of his voice echoing around the walls of his chamber, reverberating through the very keep itself, with his pain. "Sybelle!" It was the sound of a soul in torment, the keening wail of an animal for its lost mate.
PART 2
A PROMISE RENEWED
Chapter 25
Duvessa hugged herself and smiled. There was no doubt in her mind that she was with child. Hugh would be a father once more.
She wondered if this babe would bring her and Hugh closer together. The past weeks had only widened the gap between them. They played the part of loving husband and wife to those around them, yet they did not communicate in the same way they had previously. Too many shadows floated between them. She sorely missed that communion: missed the warm feel of Hugh's arms around her in her sleep; missed the way he would talk about his dreams. Most of all she missed his laughter, his wit, the wry comments that came to his lips. Her slender arm strayed towards his side of the bed. Still they slept in the same room, in the same wide bed, yet they touched not. She slid to where his body had left an imprint and fitted her body into that space, as if by doing so she could absorb some of the essence of Hugh that she yearned for.
Duvessa buried her face in the linen that covered the large pillow where Hugh's head had lain. She smelled him, and that made her loneliness all the more acute. Oh, Hugh, my love, I cannot bear this distance! It tears me apart to see you withdrawn and remote from me, she thought, her mood pierced by melancholy.
She sat up, pulling the pillow atop her knees. Hugh was not the only person who withdrew from her in this household. Clare was still wary of her, unsure of what to expect. Audrey had no such reservations; she had welcomed Duvessa and the two had become close almost at once. Duvessa wanted that with Clare, not just for Hugh's sake but for her own and the sake of the child she carried, which would share blood with the twins. But how could she reach the girl? What could she say to make Clare understand just how much she loved Hugh? Enough to risk all that she held dear. Could she make Clare see that she wanted to be her friend, and not just for Hugh's sake?
She heard voices outside the mullioned window left open to let in the soft breeze. Duvessa hurried from the bed and peeked out. She saw her husband and her step-daughter returning from what appeared to be a small hunt. She watched as Hugh gave over his hawk to a handler, bade his child farewell, and prepared to ride out again.
He looked up at that moment and saw his wife's face in the window. Her hair was long and loose,
waving around her slim shoulders like a blanket of black silk. He nodded his head in a curt greeting before pulling hard on the reins and turning his horse away.
Duvessa brushed aside the tear that fell. She saw the curious look that Clare threw upwards in her direction, and decided that today she must face Clare's hostilities. She could bear no more.
Dressing quickly, she waited for Clare in the room the twins shared. She assumed that Clare would want to change from the clothes she had worn to hunt in. She knew that Audrey was busy with her devotions and would be at the small family chapel at the back of the manor house. And obviously her husband had other matters to attend to, as he had ridden out once again. This was her chance.
Clare pulled off the gloves that shielded her hands from the claws of her bird. She stepped into her room and saw her step-mother sitting there, hands clasped together, waiting for her. She inhaled deeply, wondering what the Irish woman wanted. Dropping her gloves to the bed, she poured some water to refresh herself, and helped herself to an apple. That was something she'd noticed since she'd arrived. There were always jugs of cold water in their rooms; fresh fruit, nuts, oatcakes from the realm of the Scots were left on silver trenchers in case they wished to nibble on something while they read, sewed, or rested. More varied items were fetched back from the village market for their larder.
She bit into the apple flesh with a snap, her dark eyes trained on Duvessa.
Each could feel the hostility that vibrated in the room, and each wanted to dispel it. Clare knew that for her father to have taken Duvessa to wife, he had to have loved her greatly, for to him there was no real profit in such an alliance. He could have had wealthier heiresses in his own country; he could have chosen a woman of higher birth and more influence, even a bride from France or another land. He was a man not usually given to whims. His position in society dictated a great responsibility. Yet for this woman, he had sacrificed what Clare would once have thought impossible. It was the loss of her sister in another's plan for revenge that haunted her, made her less receptive to her father's wife. Audrey had no hesitation in accepting the woman; Clare wished that she didn't feel this shade of resentmerit. Even on the ride she had shared with her father this day, she could feel the uneasy tension between them. They did not discuss either his marriage or her elder sister. There was a distance between them that hadn't existed heretofore. And it was because of her reaction to Duvessa. But how to break down the walls she had erected without sacrificing her own feelings?
Duvessa shared Clare's apprehension, without knowing that both were experiencing it. "I must have a few words with you, Clare, if you do not mind," she said, her voice soft and lilting.
"As you wish," Clare answered, joining Duvessa on the long wooden bench in front of the empty grate. There was no need for a fire at this time of day, as the weather was quite lovely, warm and bright.
"Clare, I am to have a child," Duvessa stated baldly, feeling that perhaps the mention of the babe might help to change Clare's attitude.
Clare's first excited thought.
How pleased must be her father was. A new life for the Fitzgeralds. She said a silent prayer that it was a son, for Derran's sake. A tentative smile crossed her wide mouth. "When is the babe due?"
Duvessa smiled in response, pride evident. "In the early months of the next year."
"Derran must be well contented."
"I have not yet told your father."
Clare's blonde eyebrows raised. "Why then have you told me?"
"I want us to be close, to be a part of a family," Duvessa said with total honesty. She stood up. "These past years, I have had only the sons of my mother's brother for family. The visits we shared were always over too soon. Rolf became earl at an early age, a boy forced to grow up quickly. He has much concern with his lands and his father's business.
"I was not blessed with either a sister or a brother of my own." She stopped her narrative for a moment, hoping that what she would impart would make Clare realize how lucky she had been to have known the love of at least one parent and sisters. "The wedding of my parents was arranged, a blending of families and interests. No love was shared by them. My father was already enamored of another woman, the wife of one of his vassals. My mother knew and accepted that." Duvessa remembered her mother's sad, beautiful face, knowing that all she possessed of her husband was his protection and his name, not his love. "My father was killed in a riding accident, and my mother succumbed to a fever the following year."
Clare experienced sympathy for the girl Duvessa had been. Stripped by fate of both mother and father, and no relatives close by. Her own mother's loss had been cushioned by the protective love of her older sister and Derran. ''Could you not have lived with your cousin Killroone?"
"I suppose that I could have chosen to, as Killroone is head of our clan, yet I felt for myself that I should remain in my own home." She paused and thought about how she wanted to word her next sentence. She could remember clearly the first time she beheld the man who was now her husband. Shy and reserved, Duvessa had hesitated about the invitation that requested her presence at a function to honor the appointment of a new Royal Sheriff. Deciding that it was her duty to attend, she sent word that she would. "I was fifteen when I met your father, Clare. He was a man much feared and respected."
"Aye, he was ever that," Clare said, responding to the emotional content of Duvessa's speech.
Duvessa didn't bother to say that the stories she head about the fierce and warlike Earl of Derran had made her think him a man without pity, a man who would be ugly with power, harsh-featured in his own importance. "Think you that I fell in love with him because he was rich? Because of his prowess as a soldier?" Duvessa's wide hazel eyes were alight with remembrance. "'Twas his smile," she said simply.
Clare blinked. "His smile?" she asked.
"Aye. A simple thing, perhaps, but the truth." She had been seated next to him that night so long ago, surprised that he wasn't the man she'd imagined. When introductions were made, Duvessa gradually relaxed, and as the meal progressed she found herself listening to what he had to say. She watched his face, found herself intrigued by his comments on people and events. There was a serious side to the man, yet she was also witness to the humor that transformed him from a symbol to a man. A stern visage was permutated; she saw instead the handsome, boyish features that laughter allowed few to glimpse.
"Hugh is very complex, a man of great passions, who is able to focus his energies totally on what he has to do. He is a man of honor and courage. Yet I would say that few have been permitted to see the man as he really is. He exposed something of himself to me that night, and in his smile I found a wealth beyond riches, for unlike other men, Hugh smiles also with his eyes."
Duvessa's face was aglow with her love. Even Clare could recognize that. "From that night he was ever in my thoughts. Each time I saw him again it only made me want him more. He shared that laughter with me, gave a part of himself that he hesitated to share with others. And I think that I have been good for him also. He needs no pretenses with me. And in him I saw the true strength that he possesses, that of a man who is not afraid to be gentle."
Clare listened, enraptured by the picture of her father that Duvessa was revealing. "Did you tell him of how you felt?"
Duvessa sighed. "Not at first. There was too much against our friendship; however, I could not resist what he offered, nor I think, could he resist what I had to offer him. I told myself, at the beginning, that I was in need of a man to take my father's place in my life. 'Twas a lie that I used for fear that Hugh would see just how much he meant to me."
"Did you wish him to be your father?"
Duvessa sighed. "Never. 'Twas the same that first night as now, I wanted Hugh as a woman loves a man. Others saw Hugh as only the earl, the soldier, the warrior. They did not know that he has as much charm as your English king." Duvessa acknowledged the vulnerability that she saw in Hugh, that none but she was privy to. It was exposed when he began to tal
k to her of his children, of his love and pride in them. This touched Duvessa's heart, making her love him even more.
"When did you accept this love?" Clare asked.
"The first night that I beheld him, though I did not admit it to Hugh until last year, when I ached to be with him, when my love grew even stronger. Our moments together were no longer enough for me." She did not speak of the moment when Hugh first kissed her. That was so precious that she could not share that with anyone, even his daughter. He had smiled then, just before he placed his mouth to hers and withdrew her soul to his keeping. When he asked in that husky voice for her mouth, she had given him much more, for he possessed her life and her love for as long as she was alive. He retreated when she would have surrendered. She grasped then the lesson that she had once read in Latin from the Book of Ruth when she was a child: "Whither thou goest, I will go. . . . "
"Can you understand just what Hugh means to me?" Duvessa reached out her hand as if to touch Clare, then pulled it back to her side. "He spoke often of his children, his love for them. When I was a guest at Castle Derran, I could see that love was reciprocated. I wanted to be a part of that closeness, that sense of kinship.
"Will you not relent towards me for your father's sake, especially now, Clare?" This time Duvessa again held out her hand in friendship and kept it out.
Clare saw the feelings that Duvessa did not hide, and she realized that Duvessa was as much caught in this game as were they all. The clear hazel eyes spoke of love for her father, and Clare knew that she could not deny what she knew to be true, that this woman and her lord father were wed, and that now there was to be an addition to their family. Even though she was aware that Hugh Fitzgerald and his wife were having differences, who couldn't fail to observe that her father seemed to eat the Irish woman alive with his eyes, even when he did not so much as touch her. This was indeed a strain on all, and her twin had wisely recognized that in Duvessa was a woman for their father. And, Clare thought, could she blame her father and this woman for taking happiness? Love in marriage was not the normal mode. Hadn't she been aware that she would be given to a man who more than likely would be a stranger to her? She should be grateful that her beloved father found in Duvessa a woman so desiring of his happiness, who cherished him. And she realized that she herself had a wealth of happiness to draw on, that Duvessa hadn't had the same security that she had, hadn't been surrounded by the love of sisters and father. Duvessa's eyes were wide and guileless; Clare decided to trust them.