Daughters Of The Storm (51 page)

Ivy nodded.

‘And they are coming back?' Vain hope.

Ivy shook her head. ‘Wengest is back. Rowan is ... not coming back to Folcenham.'

A hollow emptiness opened up in her stomach, sucking the breath out of her. ‘Then I shall go to Wengest and demand he takes me to her.' She hurried to the door on tingling feet.

‘Wait! Rose!' Ivy caught her sleeve.

Rose considered her sister's face in the soft afternoon light. She looked like a child, afraid of someone. Then Rose realised: Ivy was afraid of her. ‘What is it?' she asked, suspicion foiling her attempts to sound gentle.

Ivy licked her lips. ‘Wengest knows.'

‘Knows what?'

‘About ...' She averted her eyes. ‘That you have a lover.'

Rose's stomach turned inside out. She grasped Ivy's hands to stop herself from falling. ‘How could he ... how did he ...?'

‘He doesn't know it's Heath. He only knows you have a lover.
Had
a lover.'

‘But how could he know? How could he ...?'

‘I saw you with Heath. In the woods.'

Rose brought her attention back to Ivy's face, dropping her hands. ‘Ivy. No.'

‘I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'

Rose's body was falling apart. The worst had happened. The very worst. ‘No, no! Do you not know I'm a peace offering between Wengest's kingdom and Father's? You have put everything at risk.'

Ivy stood back, her face growing impassive. ‘No, Rose. You took a lover.
You
have put everything at risk.'

Fury coiled in Rose's guts. She drew back and slapped Ivy hard across the mouth. Ivy staggered back, her hand over her face, blood trickling between her fingers.

‘You bitch,' Ivy spat.

‘I don't have time for you now. I have to go find Wengest. I'll let Bluebell deal with you.'

Ivy's pupils shrank to pinpoints. Rose slammed the door of the bower behind her, took a moment to catch her breath, to slow her thundering heart. Her fingers tingled hotly from slapping Ivy.

She looked up towards the hall. Wengest. How dark would he be? How long did he intend to keep Rowan apart from her? She screwed her eyes tight, and took four panting breaths. Then headed up the hill. She was not so afraid of Wengest that she wouldn't fight him to get her daughter back.

Rain spattered over her as she walked the last few feet to the hall. She pushed open the tall, carved doors, letting in the late afternoon light. A spitted deer was roasting over the fire, and the hall was filled with smoke and the smell of cooking. Two servants were setting up the tables for the evening meal and Wengest stood
in a dark corner talking quietly to a man she recognised as his cousin, Guthmer. Her heart hammered on her ribs.

‘Wengest?' she said, much more slowly than she had intended.

His head snapped up. At the sight of her, his mouth set itself in a small, hard line. He said something quietly to Guthmer, who nodded and moved away, walking past Rose with a smug expression on his lips.

‘Out, all of you out!' Wengest called to the servants, who heard the threat in his voice and dropped the table they were moving into place. They scurried from the hall.

Then the door swung shut and it was just Wengest, Rose, and the roasting deer. The black fury on Wengest's brow had her wishing to swap places with the deer.

He strode towards her, dressed beautifully in blue and gold, with silver pins across his chest. In the firelight, he was handsome and stern and noble. Her husband. This man she barely knew. Never had she seen him look more like a king, with the power to bend anyone to his will. His dark glamour unhinged her knees.

‘Where is Rowan?' she asked, breathless.

‘I have taken Rowan and her nurse away from Folcenham, and I will not be telling you where they are yet. I love the child dearly and will see no harm come to her, but —'

‘She'll be missing me.'

‘I expect she'll be used to being away from you.'

‘No, she's used to being
with
me.'

‘It seems to me you are often keen to be rid of her.'

‘That's untrue.' Was it untrue? She thought about the unrelenting nature of motherhood, how she had longed to be alone with Heath, how she had travelled north from Stonemantel without Rowan as Bluebell had asked, with little protest.

Wengest held up his hands. ‘I won't bicker.'

Rose swallowed hard. ‘So when are you going to tell me where she is?'

He smiled bitterly. ‘When you tell me who your lover is.'

‘I have no lover.'

‘Ivy thinks otherwise.'

‘Ivy is a little fool.'

‘She said she saw you with another man. Fucking.'

Rose had never heard him speak so directly of sex. For some reason it frightened her; a sign that reason had no more use to him, that passionate rage had replaced it.

Wengest paced a few moments, then planted himself firmly in front of her, his voice returning to a normal pitch. ‘This is very simple. I am enraged that there walks a man in this land who has known my wife so intimately. I can't live with it. It fills me with a wrath so dark I cannot see its centre. If you name this man, you can have Rowan back.'

Rose scrambled for answers. ‘I have no lover,' she said, but it sounded hollow even to her ears.

‘Do you understand, Rose?' Wengest said, enunciating each word clearly. ‘You must choose. Your child, or your lover.'

‘It was nobody. Somebody. I don't even remember his name. It was just the one occasion.' Her words stumbled over each other.

He shook his head slowly. ‘I am no fool, Rosie,' he said. ‘You are not the kind of woman to take a random stable hand to bed. Who is it?'

A voice in her head was shouting at her,
Tell him! Just tell him! Get your baby back!
But fear held her tongue. Her throat was so dry she could barely ask her next question. ‘What are you going to do to him if I tell you?'

‘I'll kill him, of course,' he said.

His words, delivered so casually, turned her blood to ice.

‘So name him. And I will give you back your child.'

She opened her mouth, but no words would come out.

‘Name him.'

Wengest would never hurt Rowan. And as long as she still breathed, Rose could find a way to see her again.

‘Choose, Rose,' Wengest said, doubt creeping into his voice. ‘Your lover or your child.'

But he would hurt Heath. He would kill Heath. No matter that Heath was his nephew — his favourite nephew — hatred would bend his heart. He may not do it with his own hand, but it was certain Heath would not survive.

‘Choose!' he shouted.

‘I won't tell you his name,' she said, her ribs bursting, her throat stopped up with sobs. ‘I won't let you kill him.'

His face twisted. He was a monster now, with fiery cheeks and heavy black eyebrows and a raging mouth. She had made him angry; angrier than he was before. Before, his wife had simply been with another man. Now, she had revealed she
loved
the other man.

‘You are not a fit mother,' he said, spittle flying from his lips and landing hot on her cheek. ‘And while I live, I shall make sure you never see my daughter again.' He slammed out of the hall and left Rose in the darkened room, falling on her knees, sobbing into her hands.

Ivy knew she couldn't be here when Rose returned. Her sister's rage and pain were too raw for Ivy's liking. So she threw her things into her pack and buckled it, closed the bower door behind her and went the long way around the hall and into the village. She had a few coins left to pay for a room at the big lime-washed alehouse on the main street, and then she would persuade a trader to give her passage back to Fengyrd. She hated her sisters; all of them. She would be glad to go home and pretend none of this
had ever happened. How dare Rose hit her? If keeping Rowan was that important to her, Rose should have kept her legs crossed. It was bound to come out sooner or later that she was having Heath on the side. Rose should be thanking Ivy that she didn't name Heath, nor allow the seed of doubt to grow about Rowan's paternity.

The alehouse wife eyed her lip warily. ‘What happened to you?'

Ivy touched her mouth. The ring on Rose's hand had cut across her bottom lip and it had been almost impossible to stop it bleeding. ‘Never mind,' she snapped. ‘Hand me my keys.'

She went up the wooden stairs and let herself into a tiny room with white walls and fresh rushes. She propped open the shutter to let the last of the afternoon light in, then curled up on the bed to cry. She cried like she hadn't cried since she was a child, miserable and self-pitying, nursing a stinging lip and an equally stinging shame that would not go away.

She lay there for maybe an hour or so, as the rain intensified and the room grew dark and her stomach started to rumble. She thought she'd best clean herself up and go downstairs for food. She lit the lamp and rummaged in her pack for her little bronze mirror. What a mess! She wiped the tears and snot off her face, touched her wounded lip gingerly with her tongue and cursed that she didn't look as pretty as usual: she needed to find somebody to take her home and how could she do that with a mouth puffed-up and bloody? She ran a comb through her hair hard, pulling out knots. Then there was a knock at the door.

Curious, she cracked it open. Wengest stood on the other side. In the light of the hallway, he looked tired and damp-eyed. Had he been crying? Did men cry? Kings? She squirmed with embarrassment for him.

‘I need to speak to you,' he said, clearly making an effort to control himself.

Ivy opened the door wide and stepped aside. He came in, back erect, dark hair loose and flowing over his shoulders.

He glanced around the room. ‘Why are you here?' he asked.

‘I couldn't be with Rose. I want to go home. I'll find a passage tomorrow and —'

‘You're not going home.'

She drew her brows down. ‘I'm not staying here.'

‘That's right. You're not staying in Folcenham. But you are staying in Netelchester.'

Heat crept up her chest. ‘What? Why?'

‘Two years ago Bluebell offered you in marriage to Guthmer —'

‘Guthmer! He's a hundred years old!'

He continued as though he hadn't heard. ‘— and I have been delaying on making a decision because you are young and I didn't want to foist a silly wife upon my cousin. But under the circumstances, a peace deal between Ælmesse and Netelchester should be sealed as soon as possible. Guthmer likes what he sees and so he has agreed.'

‘What circumstances? Are you putting Rose aside? Bluebell will kill you.'

Wengest leaned forwards, drilling an index finger into her shoulder. ‘Don't threaten me with your sister. Bluebell is wiser than to punish me for Rose's mistakes. It is the will of your family, and it is my will, and that is that.'

Ivy's mouth opened and closed, but words wouldn't come.
Couldn't
come. She had always known this would happen to her one day. In fact, she had relished the idea from time to time: a wealthy husband, the keys to her own household, nobody telling her not to boss the servants so much. But this revelation was so unexpected. Why hadn't Bluebell mentioned it to her? She had hoped she might be married to a good-looking man. Certainly a
much younger one. ‘I want to go back to Blicstowe first,' she said, scrambling for time. ‘And talk to Bluebell about it.'

‘Bluebell had best do as I say if she wants peace to hold,' he said darkly. ‘She has no love for you. You know she won't break the agreement for you.'

Ivy's bottom lip trembled. He was right. Damn him. ‘I'll tell Guthmer what we did!' she shouted. ‘You are not so noble and strong! You have a prick like a twig!' It was a silly insult. He had a prick like a branch and he knew it.

His cheeks flared warm in the dim light. ‘Guthmer has seen your preening ways and wouldn't care how many others you had turned your hot eyes on. So long as you bear him five fat sons before you are twenty summers old. His first wife gave him none, so he will be keen.'

Ivy gasped, thinking about her tidy figure, stretched forever out of shape.

‘I have a guard downstairs. Don't try to run away.' He rubbed his hand over his bushy black beard, his voice softening. ‘You are a princess and you must do as your family dictates, as my Rowan will one day. I wish you no ill, only that you would accept your fate with hope in your heart. Guthmer has ridden home to the shorefort at Sæcaster to prepare your lodgings. My retainers will come for you in the morning.'

Tears flowed again, pouring down her cheeks. She imagined he might take her in his arms and comfort her. But he did not touch her. With an awkward nod, he turned and left.