by Gail Link
"Aye, my lord. It could prove fatal to the Lady Sybelle."
"Do you think that he would . . . ?"
"No, my Lord Derran. Put that thought from your mind," Sir John admonished. It was time to tell his lord that from his man's reports, she was being given special treatment by the Irish lord. Just how very special would destroy any hopes that nothing had happened between them. "Robin told me that the Wolf is quite . . . " Words failed him then.
"What?" Hugh questioned.
"That Killroone is behaving towards your daughter as if she were his leman.
"Hugh thundered, "His whore?"
"So it appeared to the lad. There was a familiarity between the two, a closeness. Robin said Killroone favored her with his attentions."
Lines of strain were carved deeply into Hugh's features. He was a man tortured by what he had heard, and he could do nothing about it. Now Sir John knew that he had to deliver another piece of news that would darken Derran's face even further. "There are two other matters, my lord."
"Aye?"
"Twould appear your daughter's movements were betrayed by the man I suspected." Hugh's eyes were flinty chips of blue fire. "Was he dispatched?"
"Aye." Sir John described what happened at Castle Derran. He spoke of every detail, giving Hugh a chance to see in his mind's eye what fate was doled out to a traitor.
"He suffered?"
"Indeed, much, my lord."
Hugh's smile was cold. "What was the second concern?"
"When Robin was in the keep of Killroone, he chanced to see another messenger arrive."
"Who?"
"'Twas the lady-in-waiting whom I escorted back to the O'Neill estateYseult."
"She was come to Killroone's keep?"
"Aye. Robin was certain that she was there to deliver a message, but he couldn't really be sure as they spoke in the Irish tongue whilst he was standing there."
Hugh mulled over that notion in his mind. If Yseult was in Ireland, at Killroone's castle, then she was there for Duvessa. There could be no other reasonable conclusion. She had gone against his express wishes and communicated with her cousin.
"You will excuse me, Sir John, but I must confer with my countess." Hugh stood up. "Pray finish your meal. I will be back ere long." He snatched the note from Killroone and left the room, heading for the stairs that lead to the upper floor of the manor. Turning towards the room that he and Duvessa shared, he entered quietly. He saw her, curled up in the bed, her hair fanning out against the fur pelt that covered her. Her face looked innocent and trusting. It was hard to believe that she was a woman who had known a man's embrace and was now carrying his child. Had this been another time, he would have cast off his rumpled garments and joined her in the comfort of the wide bed, kissing her awake, feeling her flesh come alive in his hands, listening to the excited sounds of her heartbeat as he kissed the pulse in her throat. He would have seen those wide green-gold eyes come alive with the delight of love.
He sat down on the bed, whispering her name softly. "Duvessa."
She heard her name being called through the traces of her dream. She could feel the warmth of his hand caressing her face.
She opened her eyes and saw her husband sitting next to her in their bed. "Hugh." His name was love from her lips.
Duvessa sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, unaware how sweet a gesture her husband found that. She could see the tiredness in his face, and longed to soothe away all the hurt and the pain. She reached up her hand without thinking, to caress his face. "What's wrong?"
Hugh savored the forbidden moments of her touch, her soft hand unafraid as she boldly followed her heart. He could stand no more and he grabbed her arm, pulling away her hand.
"You sent word to Killroone." He stated it as a fact, waiting for her response.
She would not lie to him. "I thought mayhap I could influence him."
Hugh admired her courage. She faced him squarely, neither looking away nor denying nor begging forgiveness. He approved.
Duvessa's gaze slid to the parchment Hugh held in his hand. "You've word from him?"
He curled his lean fingers around the seal and ripped it apart. He unfolded the note and scanned the contents. It was short. Hugh lifted his gaze from the and read the message aloud:
"To the most excellent Earl of Derran:
I bid you give me a month's grace from replying to your request. I must think on the terms that you sent, as you must think on mine. The Lady Sybelle is well and in good health, though she expresses a constant desire to rejoin her family.
I would add greetings to my cousin, the Lady Duvessa. When you have decided to return her to Ireland I think we shall have something upon which to base an exchange.
Killroone"
Hugh looked at Duvessa.
"It must have been written prior to my dispatch. Yseult carried a letter from me to him explaining that you are now my lawfully wedded husband, and that the Lady Sybelle is now my daughter."
"Do you think this information will have any effect on him?"
"I can but hope, Hugh."
"Meantime my Sybelle is used as a whore by that cur."
She lowered her head, saying the words, though each was a deep blade to her heart. "You could send me back to Ireland, my lord, should all else fail."
"I keep what is mine, Duvessa. Never forget that." He rose and left the room.
Hope flared within her heart at his words, though it resided there only briefly. She knew her husband, knew that he could not allow his daughter to remain there much longer. Something had to change. She prayed that her letter had found a receptive reading by Rolf, that even now he was planning on returning the Lady Sybelle to her rightful place. Could her expectations be resolved happily? Or was the hold she continued to maintain on her dreams finally to be smashedand their lives shattered irrevocably?
Chapter 27
Sybelle could see the huge chalk cliffs in the distance. She was coming home. Strange, that she still thought of this place as home; she hadn't really resided there in years. Perhaps her Saxon heritage was stronger than she'd suspected.
She breathed deeply of the fresh sea air, having overcome her recent bout with mal de mer. She knew that saying she was seasick was a way of not letting Bran know that she was with child. Sybelle had a suspicion that, had he known what was really making her feel so queasy, he would have demanded that the captain turn around and sail back to Ireland.
Not that the sea had been calm. A summer squall had arisen, and sent them through a patch of rough weather. Normally, Sybelle was a fine sailor, never succumbing to the mild upsets of travel. All that was behind her now as they sailed the channel. She could see the rugged cliffs ahead and recalled when last she was there, almost four years ago. This would be her haven; here she could recover from her recent emotional turmoil, make decisions as to what she would do in the future. Here she would once again embrace her family.
And she must face her father, telling him about her condition. That would be the hardest thing that she had to do. Sybelle knew that he loved her. Nonetheless, he was a man who held a high place in Edward's society. Would he banish her to one of the other keeps? Would he forbid her contact with the twins?
She gripped the rail of the ship tightly. Why did she insist on torturing herself with these questions, these unknown suppostions? She must accept that all would be well, that Derran would not dismiss her in shame.
Shame. Her perception of that word had changed in recent months. When first Rolf took her she feared the outcome if she should conceive a babe. When nothing resulted, she thought that she had been spared. The only thing she had to reckon with was the stigma of having no maidenhead to present to a prospective mate.
She smiled. Mayhap Etain's words were becoming more ingrained in her mind. There could be no shame in an act that brought mutual pleasure. And the act that resulted in the creation of the child she carried had been one of incredible pleasure, sweet exquisite sensations of the finest, keenest p
leasure that she had ever experienced.
In truth, she could feel only a sense of joy. Or dare she admit it even to herself a pride in knowing that she wasn't barren. Should she feel shame in acknowledging that she felt no shame?
At that incredulous thought, her laughter rang out.
Bran, coming up the stairs from below ship, saw her standing at the railing, enjoying the sea air, her head thrown back. He knew that he had done the right thing in bringing her home. But the right thing still wasn't a consolation for his unhappy thoughts of his brother and his home. When he arrived in Wales, he would send a messenger to Roll with his reasons for acting as he had. Rolf could do with his greetings as he would, but Bran prayed his brother wouldn't ignore him. Some time would have passed by then, and he hoped Rolf would have attained a mellower humor, one more forgiving and understanding. And, he added to those prayers of reconciliation, that somehow, someway, Sybelle would feel the same for Rolf. He was convinced that the English woman cared deeply for his brother. Or if not that, that she no longer hated him for what he did. He counted on the capacity he believed was in Sybelle for forgiveness and love.
She turned as she heard him approach. Her smile was heartfelt and genuine. For Bran she felt an affection, a kinship. And she had much to thank him for. She recalled the stern look on the captain's face when Bran announced quite casually and without warning that there would be a change in plans. The captain's face screwed up in concern, as he calmly asked where he was supposed to be going now. When Bran informed him that England was now his destination, the man swallowed whatever comment he was about to make.
''So this is your England?"
A light of pride glowed in her eyes. "Aye, once called the ancient land of Wessex, the home of King Alfred."
He looked at the land coming closer as the ship made for the beach. "It reminds me of home."
Sybelle nodded. "In a way, perhaps. 'Tis a land of contrasts and beauty. Inland, where our manor house called Graywood is located, there are rolling hills and woodlands." She raised her brows and tilted her head. "At Cerne Abbas there is a giant figure of a man cut into the hillside. 'Tis said that he is, or was, some part of a fertility rite from people of long ago."
"Truly a giant man?"
"Indeed. He holds in his hand a club."
"How very odd," he mused. "I think that I should like to see that someday."
"I would be pleased to show it to you."
Bran's smile was ironic. "Do you truly believe that will be possible?"
Sybelle understood what he was referring to. "Bran," she said, placing her hand on his, so that her bracelet gleamed in the summer sun, "I repeat, you do not need to see me secure to my father. I will be quite safe here. I can hire a horse or coach to take me home."
"Sybelle, we have discussed this before," he patiently explained. "I said that I would see you safe home and I shall. There will be no more argument on that head."
In that tone of voice, Sybelle could hear Roll. She hadn't expected that such a comparison would hurt; it did.
"What will you do about the ship?"
"I have been thinking on that. Should I send him on to Wales with my trunks, or should I see them unloaded and left in safe-keeping in the town and go overland to Wales?"
"I too have given it thought," she said, facing him. "I think it best that you keep your things on the ship and send it on ahead. An escort will be provided for you for the rest of your journey to Wales."
"Are you sure that that can be arranged?"
With an imperious tilt of her head, she assured him, "I told you ere this, my father will honor my word." She added, "If I have to hire an escort myself, I will."
"Then I shall direct the captain to make for Wales when he's put us ashore. And I will trust your word."
Sybelle looked again towards the shore. "Lyme Regis is ahead. We can hire horses there for our journey. It will not take us long, riding hard, to make Graywood."
At that moment that captain joined them. "Beggin' yer pardon, but we be puttin' inta port now."
"I shall be leaving with the lady, Captain. I want you to see that my things are delivered to Wales as instructed."
"I was supposed to be deliverin' ye to Wales also," he said.
"I shall be there."
"What am I to say to your brother should anything happen to you? Changing direction wasn't part of the trip intended."
"I will absolve you of any responsibility," Bran said.
"Aye, but will your brother the earl?" he prodded.
Bran's gold eyes clouded over with sadness. "I think that you will be most safe, trust me. When you return with the news to my brother, do not worry. You were merely obeying orders."
The captain shrugged his shoulders and went along with the proposal, still not liking it. When the Wolf heard about his brother's departure in England, he would be most heartily displeased, and the Wolf displeased was not a sight a man should see, or endure. "As you will, my lord," he muttered, and left them alone while he scratched his head in bewilderment. Women were always an encumbrance on a ship, always bringing trouble in their wake. This one was no exception.
"I shall need to be borrowing some of your things, my lord," Sybelle said.
"What?"
"Do you think I can ride in these clothes?" She indicated the outfit she had left Ireland in. "They've seen a bit of wear, and could use a strong bath." Sybelle thought that she also could use a complete bath. Sponging off with a coarse cloth and a little sea water had not been a pleasant experience, and she longed for the comfort of a tub and clean clothes. "Please, find me something, I beg of you."
"Hawking was one thing, Sybelle, but actually riding amongst strangers dressed in the clothes of a man? Think you not that this will draw undue attention to you?"
She spoke quickly. "No. Do as I ask, please. I shall feel much more comfortable than in these garments. And I shall be able to ride better."
She was rewarded with a soft smile. "It shall be as you ask. Come, let us fetch you something from my wardrobe that will be circumspect enough whilst not attracting any more comments than necessary on the pretty boy I shall ride with."
«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»
Her rump felt a trifle sore for all the hard riding she and Bran had been doing since they left the ship. Still, it was a tiny price to pay for freedom. And free she was. Sybelle took in the beauty of this land, from the village of Lyme Regis to the contrast of the chalk cliffs and gently rolling countryside. She saw a shepherd herding his flock towards the village, no doubt eager to sell. Lugh, running ahead, got into a barking match with the shepherd's dog until Sybelle's command to return to her forced him to obey.
They passed a grove of apple trees. She could almost taste a mug of spiced cider, cold and tart.
Evening came, yet there was still light enough to travel by. She didn't want to stop for anything, as her growling stomach reminded her. Bran had asked earlier if she wanted to stop for food at one of the taverns they'd spotted along the way. Sybelle declined because of her haste to return home.
When they passed by the estate of a neighbor, Sir Rosewell Charles, she was delightedthey were almost there! She pulled on the reins and stopped her horse, a serviceable white mare, on the hillside.
Bran did likewise, savoring the feel of the ride, dreading the eventual outcome. He'd kept his suspicions to himself regarding how her father would treat him. Duvessa, too, would be an ally, yet would it stand him in any stead with Derran? And if Derran chose to take revenge on him, who could really stop him? Fitzgerald wielded much power and influence, while he, being a stranger, and Irish, had none.
"Is this your father's land?"
"No. 'Tis the property of our nearest neighbor, a self-serving, hypocritical bore." Sybelle fairly hissed the words at him.
Bran laughed. "I take it you do not like the man?"
Sybelle pretended astonishment. "How could you tell?" She patted the mare's neck as she spoke. "He is a man who
will use anyone and anything for personal gain. He's had three wives, each richer than the one before. The last he bargained to the king for several favors. Why, just last year he tried to get my father to sanction a match between one of his younger sons and my sister Clare," she confided. "Father told me and asked my thoughts on the matter." Her facial muscles tightened. "I said I'd sooner see my sister wed to an infidel as one of his get. Derran laughed and told me they were his sentiments also.''
"How did he get out of the predicament?" Bran tried to hide his curious twist of pain as he thought of Clare wed to another.
"He simply told Sir Rosewell no."
"Without explanations?"
"None," she said. Then, that was her father, blunt and perfunctory when he had to be.
"Let us away, for we still have several miles to go before we reach my lands, and the less time spent here . . . " she allowed the sentence to trail off as she put her small booted feet into the sides of the mare, letting the rested animal have its head.
«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»
Noise was heard in the direction of the stables. Hugh was in his library, poring over reports and maps, still trying to come up with a way to free his daughter. He made notes as to how much currency he could lay his hands on, should the need arise. He even toyed with the idea of hiring foreign mercenaries to free SybelleAnything so that he wasn't linked to the plan, lest Edward find out and take revenge on his family. Nestled amongst the papers was a document from Edward sent just the other day, asking Derran if he should like to accompany his king on a hunting trip to one of his private lodges. 'Twould be a "simple party." Hugh sighed. He knew Ned's simple parties and what would be included: a bevy of Woodville inlaws and any number of women who would be thrilled to share the favors of the king and any of his entourage. It was an open invitation to fornicate in private for a week. As if he hadn't recently married, or was not worried about the loss of his child. Not a word was mentioned about that in the invitation. 'Twas as if Sybelle had ceased to exist for all save him.