His reasoning, then, could not be argued unselfishly. Yet, if he but said the word, she’d surrender her innocence to him without hesitation. She bit her lip, not daring to speak lest her words released fresh tears.
An image of the swallow came to Lora’s mind, its blue and orange plumage flashing in the sunlight as it explored the freedom of its world.
“It’s not fair,” she mumbled at last, “to be so bound by convention. Why can we not be free to love whomever we choose?”
“We’re all free to love as we choose, Lora. ’Tis the expression of love that is often fettered by circumstance or bound by convention.” His fingers played with the medallion resting against his chest. “Let God decide for us. Or fate. Or some ancient pagan spirit. What is meant to be, will be.”
All at once, the light dimmed, no doubt an errant cloud drifting across the moon’s bright face. Lora frowned as a strange sensation arose from deep inside. Gareth’s words sounded strangely familiar. Had she heard them before? And why, all at once, did she feel as though something was wrong?
Gareth’s voice pulled her out of her bizarre reverie. “You should go before you’re missed.” He cast a discerning glance over her. “Heaven forbid anyone sees you like that.”
Lora looked down at the dried mud caking her skirts and shuddered afresh. “If you hadn’t been there—”
“But I was, thank God, and you’re safe. Just heed my words and stay away from the well until the wall is completed. Swear it.”
She nodded. “I swear. But I’ll see you tomorrow, Stonemason, even if from a distance. I shall hear your hammer upon the chisel and be drawn to you. I cannot help myself.”
He gave a soft chuckle and kissed her forehead. “’Tis a stubborn little moth you are. Sleep well, cariad.”
*
Clouds continued to drift across the moon, providing welcome shadows for Lora as she crossed the bailey. She had no wish to be seen by the watchmen or anyone else, for that matter. Rothwyn’s mighty door swung open with ease, but Lora grimaced, hoping no one had heard the squeal of its iron hinges. She clutched her muddied skirts and hastened up the gloomy staircase, her way lit by a solitary candle flickering in a wall sconce.
She paused at the top, breath locked in her chest, listening for sounds from within the great hall. Other than the soft snores of those sleeping upon their rough straw pallets, nothing stirred. A tingle of foreboding ran down her spine as she turned toward the second staircase, leading up to her parent’s private apartments and her own chamber. Heart racing, she gazed up into the darkness.
Once she reached the top, she paused again, overcome by an unsettling sensation of being watched from the shadows. She glanced around, peering into the dark corners, but seeing no one. Fatigue was at play, she reasoned, since her head felt light and her limbs heavy. She blew out a lungful of air, wondering at the hour, guessing the night had already reached its nethermost point.
Eager to sleep in the imaginary arms of a Welsh stonemason, Lora reached for her door handle. It happened quickly. A large dark shape emerged from the shadows, and a hand covered her mouth, stifling a scream that grated at the back of her throat.
“Hush,” a gruff voice breathed in her ear. “Awaken them at your peril, my lady.”
It took two beats of her startled heart for her mind to register who spoke, and several more to gather her terrified wits. Lora pulled William’s rough hand from her mouth and spun round, a flood of fury washing her body free of fear.
“What in the Devil’s name are you about?” she hissed through gritted teeth. “How dare you! You scared me half to death. I shall tell…” Her voice trailed off as she realized the futility of her threat.
“Who? The earl?” William’s sharp whisper cut across her face. “By all means, summon him. Or better yet, allow me to summon him for you. I’m sure he’ll be interested to hear why your bed has still to be slept in or why you’re sneaking about Rothwyn in the middle of the night with your clothing…disturbed.” His eyes narrowed and raked over her in obvious disgust. “God have mercy, ’tis a sight you are. Have you no shame, lifting your skirts for such as he? Did he tumble you in the orchard? Or was it the herb garden? Or both, perhaps?”
Stunned and frightened by William’s rage, Lora struggled to deny his misguided accusations. Her mind fumbled with a response as she cast a fearful glance toward the metal-studded door to her father’s chambers.
“Nay,” she whispered. “Don’t wake my father. I didn’t…I mean, we haven’t… Please, Master William, you don’t understand.”
Growling a curse, he pushed her chamber door open, grabbed her injured elbow, and pulled her inside. Pain, sickening in its intensity, sliced up her arm. Lora choked on a cry and blinked against a sudden rush of tears.
“Let me go! You’re hurting me.”
“Hurting you? I think not, though ’tis a beating you surely deserve.” William released her and turned to close the door while Lora, her arm throbbing, crumpled to the floor. “As for the Welshman, I swear I’ll…and what’s this now? Nay, Lora. Your childish theatrics won’t work with me. Stand up.”
He reached for her again, but recoiled when Lora yelped. “Don’t touch me.” She shielded her elbow with her free hand. “I’m not feigning. I am truly injured.”
From above her, she heard a deep intake of breath and saw William’s fists clench at his side. “He…hurt you?” The ice-cold fury in his voice made her shiver. She lifted her head and cast a desperate look at his shadowed face.
“Of course he didn’t hurt me! Gareth would never hurt me, nor has he dishonored me. In truth, if not for him, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now listening to your vile assumptions.” She choked back a sob. “Gareth saved my life tonight, Master William. He saved my life.”
There came a few moments of stark silence followed by an intelligible mumble and the sound of movement in the dark. Flint struck steel, tinder flared, and William lit a candle at Lora’s bedside.
Still sobbing, she watched the flame flicker and dance.
’Tis a stubborn little moth you are.
William stood over her again and held out his hand. This time when he spoke, his voice was calm. “Stop crying and get up off the floor, little ’un.”
The familiar term of endearment gave Lora a measure of relief. She took his proffered hand and stood on wobbly legs.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He nodded and gestured to the bed. “Sit there and roll back your sleeve. I would see this injury of yours.”
“’Tis only bruised, I think. Not broken.”
“I want to see it.”
Grimacing, Lora tried to pull back the sleeve, shaking her head at the effort. “It’s too tight.”
“Your arm is likely swollen. Keep still.” William pulled a small dagger from his belt, slid the blade under the fabric, and started to slit the seam.
Lora flinched. “What…what on earth are you doing?”
An eyebrow raised, he looked at her. “Why? Did you intend to keep this fine robe and explain to Fritha how it got to be in such a state? Nay, I think not. The wretched thing is beyond hope. Now keep still, or we’ll be adding bloodstains to the growing list of things wrong with your dress.”
Despite her pain, fatigue and overall misery, something in William’s statement struck Lora as funny. She giggled, which earned her a stern glance.
“You find this amusing, my lady?”
Strained beyond measure, her battered emotional scale tipped at the renewed sharpness of his voice. Her laughter faded. “Nay,” she whispered. “It’s not amusing at all, Master William.”
With gentle fingers, he lifted her arm to peer at her elbow, frowning as he touched it. Lora grimaced.
“Aye, it’s bruised, and badly,” he murmured. “But not broken. Now, tell me what happened tonight.”
“Are you going to tell my father?”
“I refuse to negotiate any terms with you. Just tell me what happened.”
Lora fr
owned. “But are you going to tell my father?”
“Give me strength, child.” He folded his arms. “Are you going to tell me the truth?”
“Yes.” Well, perhaps not all of it.
“Good. Then for now, at least, I shall mention nothing of tonight beyond these walls. Do we understand each other?”
A troubling thought surfaced in her mind. “Yes, but first I have another question.”
He gave a wry smile. “Of course you do. Go on, then.”
“How did you know I wasn’t in my bed tonight? Have you been spying on me, Master William?”
William cleared his throat. “That’s two questions, little ’un.”
“Well, have you?” Lora fiddled with the coverlet, dreading to hear such an admission from a man she’d known all her life, a man she trusted. “It occurs to me that this is the second night in a row I find myself at the brunt of your questioning.”
A fleeting shadow of sadness passed across William’s face, softening the lines. It was, Lora decided, a brief lapse on his part, a momentary glimpse into the intimate workings of his mind, and she wondered what memory had prompted it. Then he cleared his throat again, firmed his jaw, and fixed her with his usual unwavering gaze.
“Spying is a pastime reserved for military men, political rivals, and folks with suspicious hearts and minds. I’m none of those. I am, however, the steward of Rothwyn. It’s my job and duty to know who’s coming and going around here and report back to my liege lord if appropriate. When it comes to you, though, I’m at something of a loss. I saw you sneaking out again tonight, but hesitated to confront you.” He shook his head. “You would, no doubt, have stuck your stubborn heels in the ground and weaved a fine tale about your lack of freedom. Besides, since we’re not currently in a state of war, and Rothwyn is secure, I’ve little cause to forbid you from wandering the bailey at night. But I waited for your return because I value your safety, my lady, more than you know. You were gone a long time and I was worried, because I thought…”
William cursed under his breath and wandered over to the open window, where he rested his hand against the whitewashed wall and appeared to look out across the moonlit landscape. His pose spoke of suppressed emotion and Lora fidgeted, unnerved by his continuing silence.
“You know fine well what I thought,” he said at last. “I knew the stonemason had gone to the village today. I also knew he’d returned just before you disappeared into the night. I’m quite aware of your…attraction to him, Lora.” His shoulders straightened and he spun round. “’Tis a temptation you must resist, for both your sakes. Think on it. Your Welshman would not be quite as pretty, methinks, dangling at the end of a rope. Now, no more questions. Tell me what happened tonight. Everything.”
William never said a word as Lora explained what had happened, yet his body appeared to stiffen as she relayed her tale.
“So, you see, Gareth saved…he…saved…” Concerned by the unusual pallor of William’s skin, Lora hesitated. The man now looked quite ill. “Master William, are you—?”
“Where’s the medallion?” His sharp interruption made her jump. “Do you have it?”
“Um, no,” she replied frowning. “I…I gave it to Gareth.”
William gave a slow nod. “Well,” he said, more to himself, it seemed, than Lora, “that explains it.”
Puzzled by his pensive expression, she peered at him. “Explains what?”
He cleared his throat, shook his head, and strode toward the door. “I thank God the stonemason was there. Get some rest, my lady. It’s very late.”
Chapter 5
“Your father wishes to see you as soon as you’re dressed,” Fritha told her, setting a breakfast tray at her bedside.
“Did he say why?” Lora asked, the maid’s announcement wrenching her from the remnants of a deep sleep.
Fritha looked puzzled. “He did not, my lady.”
Lora realized the stupidity of her question. The earl didn’t have to explain the reason for his summons to anyone, least of all a mere maid.
She shooed Fritha away, ignoring the maid’s protests, insisting she would dress herself that morning. After poking at the food, she took her time dressing, reluctant– fearful even–to learn the reason for her father’s request. Despite his promise made the night before, maybe Master William had changed his mind and betrayed her after all.
After some consideration, Lora discounted that notion. Duplicity was not Master William’s style. Besides, she reasoned, if the earl had been made aware of her nighttime exploits, it was doubtful he’d be sending a simple request to see her via a serving maid.
He’d be bellowing Lora’s name through Rothwyn’s hallways.
Her fingers caressed the bruise on her elbow, trying to calm the still present throb of pain. Indeed, her entire body ached, and her limbs felt sluggish and sore. The incriminating dress had been rolled up and buried under a pile of clothes in the cedar chest. She’d dispose of it later. With a sigh, Lora smoothed her skirts, patted her braided hair, and stepped into the hallway.
It was time to find out what the earl wanted.
Earl Godfrey FitzGilbert of Rothwyn sat at his polished oak bureau, bent over a parchment, a white feather quill twirling between his fingers. His hair, the fading color of ripe wheat, fell haphazardly around his face. Even so, Lora, peering in through the partially open door of his office, could still make out the frown on his brow and the serious set of his mouth.
Lora’s mother, Lady Elizabeth, occupied the window seat, her motionless yet graceful profile suggesting preoccupation.
Preoccupation with what? Lora wondered, chewing on a fingernail, her nerves firing with apprehension.
“Well? Are you going to stand there gawking all morning?” Lord FitzGilbert spoke without raising his head. Both Lora and Lady Elizabeth started at the sound of his voice, and her mother turned puffy, red-rimmed eyes to the doorway.
Lora swallowed over a sudden lump of anxiety at the sight of her mother’s obvious distress. Why had she been crying?
The earl set the quill aside and looked up, his expression impassive. “Are your feet nailed to the floor, Lora? Come in and close the door. Your lady mother and I have things to discuss with you.”
His tone, while abrupt, held no hint of anger. A flutter of relief stirred in Lora’s chest as she stepped over the threshold. Still, the misery on her mother’s face worried her.
“Is something wrong, Papa?”
“Not at all.” He followed Lora’s gaze to glance at his wife, who had risen to her feet. “Your mother is simply a little emotional right now.”
Lora frowned. “Why, Mama?”
But it was the earl who answered. “Because I have recently agreed to an offer, young lady, for your hand in marriage.”
Time paused, as did Lora’s heart. Her response, moments later, stumbled from a mind rendered numb with shock and disbelief.
“You’ve…? Marriage? A husband? No. Oh no, Papa. I cannot. I don’t want…” Her fingers flew to her mouth, telling her voice to be silent, for she had seen a shadowed expression darkening her father’s face.
“Aye, it will serve you better to be amenable to the news.” The earl’s stern lines softened and something resembling a smile settled on his lips. “You should be happy, Lora. ’Tis a fine offer. He’s a wealthy lord, with large holdings in Essex and Kent. He’s arriving at Rothwyn next week and will remain here until the ceremony. That way you can get to know him a little better. The banns will be posted today and the wedding will be in four weeks’ time.”
Lora tried to grasp his words but they washed over her like an icy wave. Panic pressed on her chest and her gaze swept around the room. She felt certain the walls were closing in. Her questions tripped over themselves in a desperate hurry to escape.
“He’s arriving next…I’ll be…in four weeks?” She snatched at a lungful of air. “How…I mean, where will I live? But who…who is he? Have I met him before?”
“His name is Edward
,” her mother said. She stepped to Lora’s side and took hold of her hand. “Lord Edward Grant, and no, you’ve never met him. You’ll no doubt live, for the most part, on his Essex estate, since I believe that is his principal residence. He’s a fine match for you, Lora.” She glanced at her husband. “A husband befitting the daughter of an earl. Is that not so, my lord?”
Lord FitzGilbert met his wife’s gaze and gave a slow nod. Lora blinked and studied her mother’s tear-stained face.
“Then, why have you been crying, Mama?”
Lady Elizabeth tilted her head, smiled, and tucked a strand of hair behind Lora’s ear. “’Tis a mother’s folly. It seems only yesterday that I held my baby girl in my arms. Now she’s about to become a wife. The years have flown by as if they possessed wings.”
If you had a pair of wings, would you not use them every day?
“I wished for them,” Lora whispered, her eyes moving to the window. She clenched her hands against a fresh stab of pain, this one to her spirit. Freedom, that glorious and most tantalizing of creatures, lowered its bright head and turned away. In her mind, she saw it, and it rendered her heartsick.
Oh, Gareth.
“Wished for what, dearest?” her mother asked.
Lora sighed, surrendering to her curiosity. “How old is he?”
Lady Elizabeth fidgeted and bit into her bottom lip, a habit familiar to Lora. Unfortunately, her mother usually did it whenever something troubled her. She looked to her father, a fresh tingle of dread snaking down her spine. “Papa?”
“Lord Grant is mature.” The earl cleared his throat. “He is, I believe, in his thirty-fifth summer.”
*
Furious, Lora sought William out later that morning. She found him sitting in his office, frowning over Rothwyn’s thick ledgers.
“You knew, didn’t you?” she said, fighting tears of rage and self-pity. “You knew about the marriage.”
William didn’t even look up. “It’s customary to knock when—”
“I don’t care,” she cried. “Just tell me. Did you know?”
The Wishing Well (Legends of Love Book 1) Page 5