William set Lora back from him and pulled her hands from her face. “Trust with what?” His voice hardened. “What’s happened?”
Lora sniffed, wiped her nose on her sleeve, and rubbed a veil of tears from her eyes. “I need you to speak to Gareth for me. Please say you will.”
William grunted and pulled a crumpled kerchief from his pocket. “Here, use this, not your sleeve. Speak to your Welshman for you? Are you mad? You cannot ask me to be part of your deceit.”
“But you already are, Master William. Did you not send Gareth to the chapel last night? He said you did.”
“Last night? I think not. Why, I would never…” William looked away, frowning. “May Christ forgive my weakness. What other indiscretions has my mind chosen to hide from me?”
“Please say you’ll help me.” Lora’s voice wavered, echoing her desperation. “’Tis a matter of life and death.”
His gaze snapped back to hers. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you must warn him never to look my way whenever Edward is near. He has noticed how Gareth watches me. Better yet, tell him to stay away from Edward completely. Please, I beg of you. I dare not seek him out myself for fear Edward might see us together. He is so…possessive.” Lora shivered. “Will you? Will you tell him?”
William’s eyes narrowed as he touched his thumb to Lora’s bruised lip. Even though his touch was gentle, she could not help but flinch.
“What is this?” he asked.
“An…an accident.”
“Is that so?” William took her hand and placed it palm down in his own. “And what of these bruises? Were they an accident also?”
Lora hesitated. She should have known that William, like Edward, missed nothing.
“Nay, not exactly, but ’tis not what you think.”
“Aye? What do I think, then? Tell me.”
“You think Edward did it.”
His jaw tightened. “Did he?”
“Nay. I mean, aye, but ’twas not intentional.”
“Christ. I knew the earl should have sent a chaperone. Edward assured him he’d not touch you. Tell me he didn’t, or by God, I’ll have something to say about it, betrothed or not.”
“Nay!” Lora’s heart leapt into a gallop. “He…he didn’t… I mean, I am not dishonored. Please, Master William, say naught about it. Just warn Gareth to be careful. I know I ask much, but I truly have no one else to turn to. Will you help me?”
A softness came to his eyes and his hand closed around hers.
“If I agree, there must be no more deceit,” he said. “I know you are drawn to this Welshman, that he has managed to turn your head with his fanciful tales. But you must understand, especially now, that your attraction to him is sadly misplaced. Dangerous, even. I should never have encouraged him last night. The Devil be damned, I don’t know what possessed me to do so. ’Twas a drunken man’s folly. You can never hope to—”
“I love him.” Lora hiccupped on a sob. “I know I must marry Edward, but that doesn’t change what I feel so keenly in my heart. You know what it is to love someone you cannot have, do you not? You and I share that pain, at least.”
She would not have thought it possible for William to be more pale. Yet, even as she spoke, his face had whitened further, while his chest rose and fell like that of a man fighting for air. He groaned, let go of her hand, and grasped the back of his chair, his knuckles turning as white as his face.
“What exactly did I say to you last night?” he asked in a harsh whisper. “Tell me.”
Naked fear shone from his eyes, and the air grew heavy with tension. What secret, Lora wondered, weighed so heavily upon this man?
“About your lady? Just that you loved her, that you’d always loved her, and that she still lived. I had no idea you had suffered so. Who is she, Master William? Where is she?”
His shoulders dropped and he loosened his grip on the chair.
“Then I did not speak her name. God be praised.” It was not a question. Indeed, it seemed to Lora that William had uttered the words to himself. She answered him anyway.
“Nay, you didn’t mention any name. May I not know it, then?”
He shook his head. “Nay, little ’un, you may not, and please do not ask again. As you place your trust in me, I must now also place my trust in you. You will say naught of my drunken ramblings to anyone. I will have your word on it, before God.”
“You have it, before God,” she replied, finding a strange comfort in vowing to keep William’s confidence. A bond had always existed between them. Now it felt stronger, forged anew with shared secrets and vows of silence.
“I’ll speak to Gareth before the meal this evening.” William straightened his spine and tugged down on his tunic. “He must continue, however, to make himself visible around Rothwyn. A sudden absence may arouse Edward’s suspicions further.”
Some of the tension loosened beneath Lora’s ribs and she released a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“Ah, Lora. I’m afraid your love for this stonemason will prove to be a burden upon your soul. Reality is not always a pleasant place to be, and dreams offer us but a temporary refuge from it. You know, don’t you, that the stonemason’s work is almost finished? He will likely be gone by the next new moon.”
Aye, she knew it well enough and nodded a sad response. Give it more time, the voice had said, but little time remained. How could she give what she did not possess? Should she mention the strange voice to William, she wondered? Perhaps not. She had surely taxed him enough that day.
“Where is your betrothed right now?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.
Lora shuddered inwardly. “He’s in the tilt yard with my father, flexing his muscles. In truth, I was relieved to be rid of him. He spent most of the afternoon telling me what he expects of a wife.” She caught the questioning look on William’s face and blushed. “I mean with regards to my duties at his castle in Essex, of course.”
William grunted. “Did he mention the hunting trip?”
Lora frowned and shook her head. “What hunting trip?”
“To the earl’s lodge. They leave the day after tomorrow.” He gestured toward his desk. “I was working on the list of supplies when you interrupted me.”
Lora’s eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat. “How long will they be gone?”
“Two days.”
“Two days? Edward and my father?”
“And a dozen or so retainers, aye.” He cupped her chin and studied her face. “Christ save us, look at the light already dancing in your eyes. Remember our agreement, little ’un. No more deceit. You’ll do nothing untoward. Do you hear me?”
Chapter 9
The candle flame danced at the touch of Lora’s breath and shadows shimmered across her chamber walls. Outside, a steady hiss of rainfall swept across the shutters as it had for most of the night. It was a cursed and unwelcome sound. If the rain continued, the hunting trip would likely be postponed or even canceled, and her small doorway of hope would close.
Doorway of hope? Lora, sitting cross-legged on the edge of her bed, sighed and pushed her fingers into her temples. Hope to do what? To speak to Gareth again in some damp, cobwebbed loft? To say what? Farewell? I shall never forget you? I shall love you always?
She brushed a tear from her cheek. In truth, she would give anything to feel Gareth’s arms around her once more, to hear his gentle voice whispering her name. Yet, she feared the final meeting of their two hearts, which were destined, it seemed, to be forever apart. Such a torturous quandary, she thought, to both want and dread something in equal measure.
Obviously, William had passed on the warnings about Edward’s suspicions. For the last two nights in the hall, Gareth had sat with his back to the head table. Lora, in turn, had maintained a dispassionate countenance, focusing only on those who spoke to her.
Edward, she had to admit, had treated her with nothing but kindness since their squabble. Indeed, she dared to imagine she sensed some remorse
in the depths of his attentions, although he never verbalized it. He had not once tried to kiss her sore mouth, but had lifted her bruised wrist to his lips on several occasions.
It made no difference, though. Lora knew of the darkness in Edward’s heart, and her heart could never belong to him.
She lay back on her pillows and stared up at the silk canopy above her bed, seeking some semblance of peace in her mind.
“Please,” she whispered, lifting a cool hand to her forehead. “Help me.”
No sooner had she spoken than a shadow darkened her vision as if something or someone had passed in front of the candle flame. Startled, Lora turned to look, but the flame, no longer disturbed by Lora’s breath, burned steadily. Am I seeing things? Or is fatigue playing tricks? She was indeed weary. Sleep that night had been fragmented, broken by troubled dreams, none of which she could remember.
She sat up again, squinting into the dark corners of her chamber and pulled in a sharp breath as a faint odor wrapped itself around her. Dank and stale, it stirred a memory in her mind, one she couldn’t quite grasp.
“Is someone there?”
She crossed herself and listened, holding her breath. The hair on the back of her neck lifted and a chill snaked down her spine. For a few moments, she heard only the ceaseless patter of raindrops on the shutters. Then, just as her lungs begged for air, a familiar voice spoke.
“Believe.”
Lora felt an icy breath against her ear and let out a small cry. The candle flame flickered and the shadows around her moved.
“Who are you?” she whispered, struggling to breathe against a surge of panic. “Why do you visit me?”
Laughter, faint as a whisper, drifted out of the shadows as the candle flame died.
“Sweet Mother of God,” Lora whimpered. “Help me.” Perhaps it was a dream. She pinched her arm, praying her eyes would open from a troubled sleep, but nay. Her eyes were already open, blinking into the darkness. As her sight adjusted, shapes emerged, but all of them familiar, her desk and chair, her clothing chest, nothing unusual or frightening.
Yet, she knew something unseen stood beside her. She felt a presence, and knew, somehow, it came from an ancient place unknown to man. She pulled the coverlet up to her chin, trying to stop the chatter of her teeth. “W-what do you want?” she asked.
The pungent odor grew stronger, tugging at her memory, and all at once Lora recognized it. The same odor had clung to her the night she’d reached into the well and pulled out the gold medallion.
She crossed herself a second time. “Are you a ghost? Do you mean me harm?”
Another icy breath brushed across her ear. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Fear began to crumble beneath the weight of Lora’s frustration. “Why? Why should I not be here? I don’t understand.”
“Choose your words.”
“What words? Please, I don’t understand. Tell me what you mean.”
A tinkle of laughter faded away, the patter of rain on the shutters stopped, and the candle flared to life. Only Lora’s frantic heartbeat disturbed the silence. The spirit, the ghost, the presence, whatever it was, had gone.
*
As the sun rose behind a thin veil of clouds, Rothwyn’s bailey echoed with the sounds of preparations for the hunting trip. Horses, dogs, and men all mingled in a colorful and noisy melee. Lora stood at Edward’s side, listening as her husband-to-be snapped orders at groomsmen and dog handlers. Her father’s voice echoed similar demands from somewhere in the crowd. Soon, a semblance of order emerged from the chaos.
Lora’s placid smile belied the tumult of emotion that seethed within her. She feigned interest in the proceedings, hiding her growing impatience to see Edward and her father pass through Rothwyn’s gates. At last, a squire approached, leading Edward’s horse.
Edward took Lora’s hand, placed a kiss on the palm, and closed her fingers around it.
“I shall return in two days. Will you wish me a successful hunt, my lady?”
“Of course.” She widened her smile, resisting the desire to pull her hand free from his. At that moment, the steady ring of a hammer on metal rose up and settled among Rothwyn’s other background noises. Lora’s heart leapt at the sound as she lifted Edward’s hand, still closed around hers, to her lips. “May God keep you safe, Edward.”
And may God forgive my falsehood.
Edward’s eyes narrowed a little as they studied her and he bent his lips to her ear.
“May God keep you safe also, my lady. I would not want a bride of mine to be… harmed. In any way.”
Lora drew back and looked at him, determined not to show that she understood the true meaning behind his words.
“You needn’t worry, my lord, I shall be quite safe,” she said, putting on what she hoped was her most innocent expression. “I intend to catch up on my sewing.”
*
No sooner did the hunting party leave than Lora hurried to the well, eager to see Gareth. The wall around the well was almost finished. They had little time left.
He paused in his work and studied her with impassioned eyes. He was shirtless, only the medallion decorated the bare expanse of his chest. The shadow of a beard darkened his features and his hair tumbled in an unruly mass to his shoulders. A coating of fine white powder covered his hands, kicked up by the endless strike of chisel against rock. His raw presence sent a prickle down Lora’s spine and warmth pooled deep down in her belly.
“You should not be here,” he murmured, looking past her across the bailey. Lora flinched, recognizing the same ghostly words that had been whispered to her in the chapel.
She glanced at the well, willing her thoughts into the mysterious depths. What did you mean? Give it time, you said. We have two days. Shall I wish for more? Can I wish for more?
“I had to see you, Gareth.”
He shook his head. “’Tis folly, lass. Master William told me of Edward’s suspicions.”
“They’ve gone,” she said, touching her fingers to her wounded lip. “Edward’s gone. For two whole days.”
“Did he do that?” Gareth’s hardening gaze flicked from Lora’s lips to her eyes and back again. A muscle clenched along the curve of his jaw, and the hammer, resting in his right hand, twitched. He stepped closer, his expression dark.
“Christ.” Gareth’s eyes narrowed as he reached for her. “Did he do this, too?” He traced a fingertip over the ring of bruises around her wrist.
She shrugged. “I provoked him. The bruises don’t hurt. Two days, Gareth. Please say you’ll see me tonight.”
Gareth muttered something in Welsh and looked at the ground.
Lora cocked her head and peered up at him. “Does that mean you will, Stonemason?”
“It’s not funny, Lora.” He kicked at a loose pebble. “I hope the bastard falls off his horse and breaks his damn neck.”
Because I can do nothing to protect you from him.
Lora heard Gareth’s unspoken words, a silent declaration of his misplaced sense of failure. She ached to touch him, soothe him, and tell him what he truly meant to her. And she would later, given the chance.
“My father should have insisted on a chaperone.” She sighed. “Please tell me you’ll be here tonight.”
He frowned and touched her bruised lip. “By all that’s holy, cariad, I’ll not put you in any more danger.”
Lora let out a groan of impatience. “But Edward isn’t here, and I’ll be very careful. No one will know. Have faith, you said. Besides, I have things to tell you. The voice has spoken to me again.”
Gareth’s frown vanished. “It has?”
Lora chuckled. “If I admitted such a thing to anyone else they’d declare me a heretic or mad. But not you.”
His face lit up with a smile, and Lora’s heart pounded out an extra beat.
“You’re wrong there, Lora FitzGilbert. I think you’re as mad as a barrel full of frogs. What did the voice say?”
“A barrel full of frogs?” Lora l
aughed, spun on her heel, and tossed her response over her shoulder. “I’ll tell you tonight, Gareth.”
*
Beyond the candlelit confines of Rothwyn’s keep, the bailey embraced the shadows of night beneath a moonless sky. Only the battlements showed any signs of life, but the guards had their gazes trained across the outer wall.
Lora stood alone by the well, listening to the faraway rush of water beneath the earth. The wall, Gareth’s wall, now stood between her and the terrifying drop to that mysterious underground river. She peered over and stared into the thick blackness.
“Spirit, will you not speak to me?” she whispered into the hollow. “I have questions.”
She tilted her head, straining to hear a response. Was that faint laughter she heard from below? Or her imagination, suggesting such a sound?
“How do I choose my words? Please tell me.”
A nearby footfall startled her and she whirled around as a large figure stepped out of the shadows. Gareth?
“Did it answer you?”
“Oh, Master William, it’s you.” Lora clutched at her chest as if to stop her stampeding heart from escaping. “What are you doing here?”
He cocked a brow. “Keeping an eye on you, little ’un, so I might ask you the same thing, although I believe I already know the answer.”
Lora glanced across the unlit bailey. “I just…wanted some fresh air.”
“Fresh air? Then forgive me, my lady, for my suspicions were wrong. Shall we go?”
Perplexed, Lora shook her head. “Go? Go where?”
“Back indoors. ’Tis very late.” William gestured to the keep. “Everyone is long abed, which is where you should be. You can’t stay out here all alone.”
“But I’m in no danger.” Nerves strained, she clenched her fists and drew herself upright. “In truth, you have no authority over me. I don’t want to go in yet.”
There was a moment of silence in which Lora felt a sharp thrust of regret at her words. After all, she owed much to this man, her respect most of all. Contrite, she reached out a hand.
“Master William, I didn’t mean—”
The Wishing Well (Legends of Love Book 1) Page 9