Misbegotten

by Tamara Leigh

  "He must like you," Emma said, "though he would not tell you that, of course."

  A liking, aye, but of the flesh, not the heart, Joslyn thought. Still, it did not explain why Liam had exposed himself to her. ...

  "For certain, he has taken a liking to the little one here," Emma said, looking upon Oliver.

  Joslyn nodded. "It sometimes makes me pause to remember my fear of Liam. I thought he intended to murder Oliver and myself to gain Ashlingford."

  "Tis what Maynard warned you of, is it not?" Emma asked.

  "Aye," Joslyn said, then shook her head. "And I believed him."

  It was Emma's turn to offer comfort. Squeezing a hand over Joslyn's, she said, "What is important is that you now know different. There is naught for you to fear at Ashlingford."

  Joslyn started to agree, but then remembered the one person who had replaced Liam in her fears. "Naught but Father Ivo," she said.

  Emma sat straighter. "Has he done something?" "He has accused me of lying with Liam." "And how did you reply?"

  Joslyn was almost ashamed to admit it. "With a threat of my own, but I do not know if it will deter him, for I have no proof."

  "As he has no proof of what he accuses you of, is i hat not right, Lady Joslyn?"

  "You are asking if I have lain with Liam," Joslyn said. "I have not."

  Emma stood. "I will speak with Father Ivo," she said. "Worry no more on it, lady."

  Joslyn looked up at her. "But what can you do?"

  Smoothing her skirts, Emma said, "I have known Ivo since he was a young man foundering with his faith. We understand each other very well."

  Puzzled, but knowing it was all the explanation she would get, Joslyn did not press as she would have liked to. "Thank you, Emma," she said.

  With a nod, the old woman slowly bent and pecked a kiss upon Oliver's brow. "This child will make everything right," she said as she drew back. "You will see."

  Did she mean Oliver's little-boy charm would bring the castle folk around? Joslyn wondered as she watched Emma walk to the stairs. Or was it that he had touched some part of Liam thought to be untouchable?

  She sighed. Whatever it was, she prayed Emma was right.

  "I could kill you," Ivo said, as he mercilessly gripped her fleshy upper arm.

  Emma did not even flinch. "You have tried before." Her voice was infuriatingly level. "But 'twas not me who died, was it?"

  Wishing to be rid of her forever, Ivo squeezed her arm as if it were her neck beneath his fingers. "Bitch!"

  Emma arched an eyebrow. "Hardly the priest today, are you, dear Ivo? What would the good bishop think if he came upon you now?"

  Ivo thought of his dagger where it hung from the silken girdle of his vestments. Ere the old hag could let out a single sound of protest, it could be planted in her breast. And that would be the end of her. Of course, it would not be the end of the writings he had numerous times searched for and never found. Even worse, he might never see the money due him. Christ's blood! Would it never end? "Where is the coin?" he demanded.

  She cocked her head innocently. "Ah, that."

  "That!" Ivo shouted. "Where is it?"

  Though he still held her, Emma took a step back from him and reached inside the full bodice of her gown. She pulled out a small pouch and tossed it to the floor.

  "That is not all of it," he said.

  She smiled. "Of course not. I may be lowborn, but I have learned the price of my own existence. You will have it all—bit by bit—but not before I have lived out the rest of my life."

  With a curse that, had God been listening, would have brought the walls down around them, Ivo thrust her away from him. "You've served your usefulness, old woman," he said. "What more have you left to live for? Just die!"

  "Die?" she scoffed. "When there's Oliver? Nay, Ivo, I will go when I am ready, and not a moment before."

  His head reeling with every blasphemous word and curse he had ever had inside him, Ivo swung away. "Leave me," he said.

  "You will leave Joslyn be," she reminded him, "and Liam?"

  "What choice have I?"

  "That is true," she said, "but still I would have your word."

  His word. As if there were any truth behind it, Ivo thought. So easy to give and even easier to take back. I le faced her again. "You have it," he said, then backhanded the air. "Now leave me, hag!"

  Emma bowed her head. "As always, I am most grateful, Father," she said, her mockery nearly causing Ivo to lose the last thread of his control. She passed down the aisle between the two rows of benches and a moment later pulled the chapel door closed behind her.

  How Ivo fought the urge! He even clasped his hands before his face as if in prayer. But when he knew Emma was gone far enough from the chapel not to hear it, he yielded. Tearing the cloth from the altar, he gloried in the crash of the chalice thrown against the far wall and the lesser clamor of the half-dozen relics that followed it. But that was not enough. Never was it enough. However, rather than destroy the chapel as was his greatest desire at the moment, he swung back to the bare altar, lifted his lists high, and prostrated himself upon the floor.

  "Lord, Lord!" he cried. "Smite my enemies. Free me of every last one of them. Give me what is mine!"

  His only answer was a surge of light in the chapel, as if a wind had blown through it and breathed on the candles.

  Lifting his head, he glanced right and left, but did not see God as he was so sure he would one day see Him. "Patience," he muttered to himself. Soon enough the way would be pointed out to him, and then never again would he be forced to yield to Emma's demands—nor to the bastard and his whore.

  Beginning to smile, Ivo rolled onto his back, extended his arms to either side of him as if he were laid upon the cross, and stared at the beams overhead. Really, Emma had gained little in threatening to expose him, he consoled himself. Since Joslyn's threat to carry her tale to the bishop was quite possibly real, he'd already decided against going to the holy man to seek her punishment and Liam's—at least until he had firm evidence. God, but it was maddening that Joslyn had enlisted the old woman's help. Absolutely maddening. Lord, to be rid of Emma!

  Groping for the chain of his crucifix, Ivo closed his eyes on the knowledge that when the time was right—and it would come right eventually—he would have his justice. Then he slept.

  The embers were hungry, shooting flames up from their dying depths to lap at the ivory parchment. Aroused, the fire crawled around the edges of the document, then jumped and flickered across the writing.

  As Liam watched, he thought again of the contents of the missive. It had come this noon from Sir Hugh,

  Ashlingford's steward, a trusted man who kept Liam informed of all the goings-on at the barony during his absence.

  The news sent this day did not really surprise Liam, considering Ivo had weeks ago forced Father Warren out of his position as castle priest, but it angered him. The mere thought of Ivo taking the lord's solar for himself was near enough to send Liam calling for his destrier. But he would not, for did he leave Thornemede now, no worse mistake could he make. Aye, he would return to Ashlingford, but not before his position here was more secure.

  The flame having expended itself on the document, it fell back to the embers, danced a moment on the surface, and withdrew beneath the red glow. Liam stared at the fragile, blackened sheet it left behind.

  Gone was all evidence of his correspondence with the steward. Although they communicated regularly regarding the state of Ashlingford, it would not do for others to know that Ivo was more a matter of discussion than the state of the demesne. And not just that he had taken the lord's chamber.

  As Maynard would have been certain to tell Ivo where he'd secreted the coins he stole the night he had ridden drunk into the ravine, Liam knew his uncle would eventually seek to retrieve them. Thus, per Liam's instructions, each time Ivo left the castle he was followed. Unfortunately, according to Sir Hugh's report, naught had come of those few times Ivo had ridden out. But he coul
d not resist much longer, Liam knew—unless, of course, he had somehow managed to lay hands on the money without anyone's knowledge. For this reason, Liam had ordered a search of Ivo's belongings, which was the last item the steward addressed in his report. No coins had been found.

  With a sigh, Liam turned from the hearth, walked back to the table, and lowered himself into the lord's high seat.

  17

  Sensing that she was no longer alone, Joslyn looked up from the dirt she spread with her bare hands to the man who stood in the doorway.

  Liam stared back at her with a gaze so intense it momentarily stopped her breath. He was remembering, she knew, just as she did herself.

  She sank back onto her heels. It was four weeks to i he day since he had departed the barony, though it seemed far longer than that. Indeed, in thinking on his absence just this morn, she had wondered if he intended to manage Ashlingford from a distance indefinitely. But he had returned, and with him he'd brought the feelings that neither one of them dared fuel.

  Lifting his gaze from Joslyn, Liam straightened, but rather than step into the garden as she expected him to, he turned and walked back into the donjon.

  For a long moment, Joslyn stared at the space he had filled, now utterly empty. Why had he come to the garden if not to speak with her? she wondered. And why had he left without so much as a word? Confused, she rose from among the thorn of flowering rosebushes and made her way down the stone-laid path that bent its way through the garden.

  So intent was Joslyn on Liam that she nearly collided with the cook, who had come out of the kitchens. "I am sorry” she said, stepping out of the man's way.

  A fortnight past, this same man would simply have glowered at her and continued on, but things were beginning to change for the better. "And what is on yer mind this fine day, my lady?" he asked, a glimmer of a smile in his eyes.

  Ever since Joslyn had begun overseeing meals as the lady of Ashlingford, that glimmer had grown brighter. Soon, it would reach the man's lips, she was certain, for it had no other place to go. "Lord Fawke has returned," she said. "As he is likely to have brought several men with him, you will need to add to the nooning meal. Mayhap some salted fish, onion tarts, and . . . spiced pears?"

  "We haven't any pears till the morrow, my lady."

  "Apples, then?"

  "Aye, we've those."

  "Good," Joslyn said. "Tis in your hands." The man inclined his head and continued on his way.

  Joslyn found Liam in the great hall. With his back to her, he reached for the leather-bound ledger that sat open before the steward, pulled it across the table, and bent his head to the figures there.

  "Tis all there, my lord," the steward said. "As the far column reflects, I have deducted from the total receipts the tenth that is to be paid to you per the king's decree—after his taxes have first been satisfied, of course."

  "Tis a goodly sum," Liam said.

  Though Joslyn knew she ought to continue up the stairs and make herself more presentable, she ignored propriety. After all, it was not as if Liam had not already seen her in her gardening attire. "So, you are returned to us, Lord Fawke," she said, as she advanced on him.

  He stilled, then looked over his shoulder at her. "You thought I would not?"

  "I was beginning to wonder."

  He regarded her a moment before returning his attention to the steward. "I would like to compare last year's receipts to this year's, Sir Hugh," he said, "and the year before."

  "Now, my lord?"

  "Now."

  Frowning, the man nodded and stood. "I will collect the ledgers for you." Then he departed.

  When the last of the steward's footfalls resounded around the hall, Liam turned to Joslyn and leaned back against the edge of the table. He crossed his arms over his chest and met her gaze.

  Only then did she see the fatigue etched around his eyes. From a distance she had not noticed, but it was there—and in the grooves alongside his mouth. Was this a result of the weight of Thornemede upon him? she wondered.

  "Tis good to know my absence was noticed," Liam said.

  Knowing he implied that she had missed him, she clasped her hands at her waist and said, "Oliver speaks often of you. It seems he has taken quite a liking to his uncle."

  The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. "And you have not?"

  She groped for a reply. "You are always welcome at Ashlingford, Lord Fawke," she said, trying to maintain a composure that threatened to slip. "Surely you know that."

  Whether or not he did, he did not say. Instead, he eyed her soiled garments. "We have been here before, have we not, Lady Joslyn?" he mused.

  She had known he would not forget that first encounter in the gardens of Rosemoor.

  "Yet this time you've no rake to fend me off." The light of humor entered Liam's eyes.

  How strange and rare, that humor, Joslyn reflected, warming to it even though it was at her expense. "And why would I need to fend you off?" she asked.

  He looked around the hall. "We are alone, are we not?"

  A dangerous thing considering what had gone between them those other times they'd been alone. Though she knew her attempt to turn the conversation would be obvious, Joslyn said, "Your jaw has not mended well." The many scars crossing it were not as smooth as one would expect from the fine needle that had stitched the gashes closed.

  Thoughtfully, Liam stroked his fingers across his jaw. "Nay, it has not," he said, and abruptly dropped his arm back to his side. Capturing Joslyn's gaze, he stared at her a long moment. "You torment me," he said finally. "But you know that, don't you, Joslyn?"

  She blinked. "I do not understand."

  "Aye, you do. 'Tis the same for you—even if you will not admit it."

  She held his stare as long as she could and then looked away. "It is wrong," she said. "Wrong for us even to speak of it."

  Stepping forward, Liam lifted her chin. "I thought in staying away it would end," he said, "but still I cannot lie down at night without want of you."

  "And you think once with me will end it?" she asked, though it pained her to repeat what he had said to her in the wood.

  He surprised her by shaking his head. "'Tis what I want, but I do not believe it."

  Hope flickered through Joslyn. Mayhap Liam loved her as she—

  It was the closest she had come to admitting it to herself, she realized. And a foolish thing it was to do. "Your uncle believes we have already lain together," she said. "He has threatened to go to the bishop and tell him of it, do we not cease. He will seek our punishment, Liam."

  A different kind of light leapt into his eyes. "And what did you say to him?"

  "I denied it, of course. Then I ... it was not Christian of me, but I told him that if he went to the bishop, so would 1.1 said I would tell of the raid upon our party."

  "That it was Ivo who was responsible."

  Joslyn shook her head. "I did not say it, but methinks he understood my meaning."

  Liam was silent a long moment. "That will only stop him for so long," he said. He dropped his hand from her and turned away. "The old devil. From the day of my birth he has stood between me and what is mine."

  What was his? Joslyn could not believe she had heard right. Surely he did not include her in those things that belonged to him. Nay, certainly not.

  The truth was, somewhere along the way Liam had come to think of her as his. Realizing it only after it was too late to catch back the damning words, he looked around at Joslyn and saw from her expression that what he said had not escaped her.

  "I want you, Joslyn," he said. Aye, that was it, he assured himself. It was only desire for her that made him speak so foolishly. "But I will not risk the wrath of the church upon either of us to have you. All Ivo needs is proof. Then, regardless of your threat, he will go to the bishop. My uncle will rest only when he is dead—or when he has finally rid himself of me and, in doing so, gained control of Ashlingford. Tis only a matter of which will happen first."

 
As he watched, a questioning look grew on Joslyn's face. "Though I have learned much these past weeks," she said, "I do not understand why he hates you so. Tis not as if you took the barony from him."

  "But I did."

  "You did? But even had your father denied you, there would still have been Maynard to succeed him."

  The memories of the past burdening him, Liam lowered himself to the bench. "It needs explaining," he said.

  "It does," Joslyn agreed.

  "Although my father loved my mother, he knew he could not wed her if he was to remain the heir of Ashlingford; grandfather would not have allowed it.

  Thus, he determined to keep her as his leman after he had fulfilled his obligation of wedding Anya, to whom he was betrothed. However, my mother loved him too much to share him with another. She was entering her ninth month of pregnancy when she fled the barony. Though my father tried to deny his feelings for her, in the end he decided to relinquish his claim upon Ashlingford and go in search of her so they might wed."

  "Which meant Ivo would become baron when 1 heir father died."

  "Aye, and for a fortnight he put aside his priest's vestments to hold dearly to the only thing he had ever wanted in life."

  Joslyn seated herself on the bench beside Liam. 'Your father returned, though."

  Her nearness tempting him to reach out to her, I jam curled his fingers into his palms. "He found my mother the day before she gave birth to me, but I came loo soon for him to wed her that I might be born legitimate. She died hours later in his arms." Although Liam had not known his mother, he always felt a certain sadness when he thought of her death—most likely a result of his father's sorrow. "If not for me, my lather would not have returned to Ashlingford, but in me he saw a chance to right the wrongs done my mother. Determined that I would one day succeed him, he brought me with him to the barony."

  "His father took him back as heir?" Joslyn asked.

  "Aye, knowing that Ivo was not fit to hold the title, he set aside the second son and welcomed back the first."

  "But the old baron could not have been pleased to learn that your father intended for you to succeed