HealingPassion (13 page)

Her head felt so heavy she could barely hold it up. Her
whole body sagged with weariness, grief, sadness, and a looming sense of
defeat. What would he do now? He stayed so quiet. She dared a quick look up at
him.

He wore no expression she could read. His eyebrows drew
together into the start of a frown, but otherwise he looked more sad than
angry. He shook his head, from confusion rather than negation, she thought.

“Your actions did cost a man his life,” Sir Thomas finally
said. “Yet it appears that was more accident than intent. I cannot believe you
meant him any harm. You sought only to keep yourself from injury. I could not
condemn you for that, yet I cannot say with any certainty how the king might
view it.”

He sighed heavily. “In truth, it concerns me more that you
mounted such a deception to hide the truth. It seems to magnify your guilt, and
pile definite wrong on possible wrong. I understand ‘twas not your doing at
first, yet later when you came to reason again, you did not stop it when you
might have. It has dragged everyone here into the deception with you, and
almost cost Ralf his life.”

The words were quiet, almost devoid of expression, but she
felt each one as a dagger to the heart. She couldn’t deny the truth of his
indictment, so she accepted, embracing the pain as part of her penance, knowing
she deserved it.

“You know how I feel about lies and deception,” he
continued. “Lies tore apart my life once and nearly destroyed it. It seems I’m
destined to be once more devastated by a woman’s deception.”

Her heart broke. She’d heard that term before, but had never
guessed one could feel such a real, clenching pain in the chest. The desolation
and regret were almost past bearing, but even so they were overshadowed by the
knowledge of the pain she caused him. “Sir Thomas,” she ventured in a wobbly
voice. “I’m more sorry than I can ever tell you. I know ‘tis easy to say, and
you have no reason to believe I’m being truthful now, but it is the truth. I
regret my actions more than you can imagine. If I had the opportunity to now to
go back and change them, I assure you I’d do differently.” She sighed,
heartsick with despair. “You will not believe it, but I have been wracked with
guilt, and would have confessed the truth to you shortly, had you not learned
of it on your own. In fact, I was about to tell you all when the message came
about my mother’s collapse.”

One sob she couldn’t quite suppress leaked out. He looked so
shocked, so stricken, so stunned. Despite her fear for herself and the pain she
anticipated, she couldn’t help but curse herself for causing him such anguish.
There was nothing more she could say in her defense, so she waited quietly for
him to pronounce her doom.

Instead, for a long time, he said nothing. He paced the
room, occasionally turning to look at her, but he remained quiet, thoughtful
and frowning.

Finally she could stand it no longer. “What will you do?”
she asked.

He halted his step, though he continued to look at the far
wall of the room rather than at her. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think more on
it.”

Chapter Twelve

Thomas felt as though he’d been punched in the gut and then
beaten over the head with a club. Why had he not guessed this? Now that he
knew, it stared him in the face, how obvious it had been. Who else would own so
much loyalty from the people that they would lie continually and without fail
to protect her? He’d been so close to the truth. He’d guessed Groswick was dead
and the people of the keep concealed the truth. Why had he not made that final
leap and realized how few reasons there were for such a far-reaching deception?

Yet there was no point now in berating himself for the
failure, which might, in truth, have much to do with his feelings for the lady.
The only pertinent question that remained concerned what he should do about it.
For that he had no answer.

If he took her now to the king, how would His Majesty view
her actions? Did he dare expose her to the possible harshness of the king’s
condemnation? Yet, if he pleaded privately on her behalf, he thought it likely
he could gain some mercy. Surely he could make the king understand she’d truly
intended no harm, and just tried to protect herself.

Did he want to plead with the king for her? He looked over
at her, sitting on the bed, looking so fragile and defeated. Aye, he wanted her
still, despite the lies she’d told and their nearly fatal consequence. Whether
he should have her was a separate issue entirely. How could he contemplate a
future with a lady who had lied so? Could he ever feel secure with her or find
the trust in her a man should have in his wife? Did he dare believe her words
of repentance and regret?

He didn’t want to take her to the king. Yet if he didn’t,
what did that say about his own sense of honor and the vows of fealty he’d
given? How could he live with himself if he did not tell the king the truth?
Yet he’d given a vow to Lady Ardsley as well, to protect and care for Juliana.
How could he honor both vows?

The dinner bell interrupted his painful musings. He had no
answer, for himself or for her.

“We should go down to dinner,” he told her. “I have not yet
decided what to do, and may, perhaps, take some time before I can see my course
clearly.”

Juliana nodded and stood. “I don’t believe I can face dinner
this evening. Perhaps I’ll just retire to my quarters.”

He stared at her. “You’re no coward, my lady. This night, I
think your people need to see you. They know you grieve, and they know you’re
in a difficult situation. Will it not encourage them to see you eat and drink
with them? Would you have them think I’ve harmed you or so demoralized you that
you can no longer function?”

She considered his words and finally nodded. “You are right.
They need to see me.” She straightened herself and, with a visible effort,
composed her expression into something calmer if not exactly serene.

Duty, he realized. Juliana understood duty, especially to
the people who depended on her. Perhaps part of the reason for her deception
was from duty to them. She’d said they’d created the deception without her
knowledge or will. If that were so, she had likely faced a conflict of
competing demands similar to what tore him apart now. Could he believe someone
who’d lied to him, though?

She stopped at the door, squaring her shoulders before she
turned back to him. “Sir Thomas, before we go down, I must say this. This
morning I unburdened my soul to Father Samuel and received God’s absolution,
but that does not relieve me of facing the results of my wickedness. I know
that I did wrong and I’ll answer for the consequences. I’ll go with you to the
king for his judgment on the death of Lord Groswick, though I beg you for a few
days to see my mother laid to rest and arrangements made for my absence.”

She sighed heavily. “I also owe
you
my repentance for
the lies I told and the pain it caused you and your squire. For that I’ll also
accept whatever punishment you feel it right to impose. In truth, I believe
what I did to you the greater evil. Groswick died, but I never intended it
should happen and would not have ever considered doing anything deliberate to
bring it about. But I did deliberately lie to you about what had happened,
knowing it was wrong. Worse, I let you…nay, I
led
you into wanting me
too much. I regret it all, save that…” She drew several heavy breaths before
she regained control. “What we did together was as sweet as anything I’ve known
in my life. But I had no right to it. And I had no right to tempt you to want
it, too. I am an evil and wicked creature, but I know my wrong and I hope in
time to right it, if…if circumstances allow. Please, Sir Thomas, I hope someday
to have your forgiveness. To gain that, I’ll do whatever penance you ask of me,
accept whatever punishment you deem fit.”

He couldn’t sort out all the emotions and thoughts roiling
through his head right then. He still wanted her with desperate intensity. He
wanted to believe her, wanted to believe she meant her protestations of
repentance, but she had lied in other things, just as Margaret had lied. In
fact, lying had been a way of life for Margaret. How could he know that it
wasn’t so for Juliana as well? Yet, Margaret had never once acknowledged any
fault in herself nor accepted any correction for her sins. He couldn’t imagine
her ever making the speech Juliana just had. Perhaps there might be a way for
him to learn the truth of this lady.

“I’ll consider what you say,” he answered. “For now, though,
I am too confused and still too shocked to answer properly. However, there will
be time to lay your mother to her rest and to arrange affairs here. For the
moment, that’s all the promise I can give you.”

She nodded, accepting it. Her eyes were huge and still a bit
red from tears, while her lips were ripe and swollen. The delicate, floral
scent of her soap teased his nose. He wanted to kiss her so desperately it was
an ache in his groin and his heart. He wanted her in his arms, her breasts
pressed against him, her quim throbbing at his touch.

Before he could act on the impulse, however, she nodded,
said, “Of course,” and turned to leave the room. She carried herself with her
normal regal dignity. Only her somewhat slower step and more solemn expression
betrayed her pain.

Dinner was a somber affair, devoid of the normal jesting and
laughter he’d become accustomed to. Instead people spoke in low, hushed voices.
Many of them made a point to stop in front of Lady Juliana’s place to offer
regrets and condolences on her mother’s passing. Juliana picked at her food but
did manage to swallow some. Thomas himself ate, but only because he’d had
little other food that day and his body simply required it. He found little
pleasure in it, even in the savory roast duckling and honey-laced bread
pudding.

When the meal concluded and they rose to go, he headed back
toward his quarters, where he could sleep on the cot Ralf had used before his
injury. Juliana hesitated for a moment in the corridor, as though undecided
whether to come after him or proceed to her own quarters. When she chose,
wisely, not to follow him, he didn’t call her back.

The next morning dawned cold and gray. By the time they’d
gathered in the chapel for Lady Ardsley’s funeral mass, a damp snow had begun
to fall. The solemn service moved him almost to tears. Sobs and sniffles
sounded from every corner of the chapel, especially during the priest’s brief
words on the joys awaiting them all in heaven, the joys to which Lady Ardsley
was surely now party. As they marched out for the graveside prayers, the snow
increased. Larger flakes fell faster and harder, gathering in the freshly dug
hole and on hats and cloaks. The wind blew his clothes around and pushed
strands of hair into his eyes. Many of the people crowding around still sobbed
aloud, though Juliana had remained mostly calm throughout.

Thomas felt frozen almost completely through by the time
they retreated back into the great hall where food and blessedly warmed ale and
mulled cider awaited them. As some folks sat to eat, while others rushed back
and forth bringing food and wine, the scene reminded him of the day he’d
arrived and the bold way Lady Ardsley had questioned him. He understood now
that simple curiosity alone hadn’t motivated that catechism. Still, something
about her sharp good humor and zest for life, even as her body failed, had
touched him. Apparently others felt the same. Many stories of Lady Ardsley were
recounted as they ate and drank.

Though she had come to Groswick fairly late in life, the
lady had made a home for herself and been well-liked by the people. Thomas
gained insight into why, when a couple of the stories recounted ways the lady
had tried to intervene with Groswick and even maneuver him into doing things he
didn’t want to do. At one time, she’d gone toe to toe with the lord on a
question of meat distribution and somehow won a bigger allotment for the
workers on the estate. The lady had mediated a dispute between Groswick and the
local miller that threatened the flour supply of both keep and crofters.

She’d also held strong opinions on a number of subjects and
had no hesitation in voicing them whether asked or not.

Thomas couldn’t help but watch Juliana as she listened. She
smiled at some of the funnier stories and cringed once or twice in
embarrassment, but for the most part she seemed composed but solemn. She
accepted the condolences and pats on the shoulder from those around her with
dignified, but warm gratitude.

Some of the stories about her mother amused him, until he
remembered the vow he had made to her on her deathbed. The lady had found a way
to manipulate him even from the grave, though his own feelings about Juliana
would have dictated little difference in his actions. He still hadn’t quite
decided what those would be.

Eventually, the gathering broke up, and people departed to
use what remained of the day for work. Outside, the yells of children playing
in the first snowfall of the season occasionally leaked into the building. A
quick glance convinced him he’d have to wait at least a few days before he
could leave to go to the king. The blanket of snow was already several inches
deep, with flakes falling harder than ever.

Thomas sighed as he watched the white fluff dance on the
wind. The odd, floaty motion of the flakes drew his eyes to follow them. Peace
rode on their lacy shoulders as they fluttered and drifted downward. If only he
could find some of the same peace. Perhaps if he were wiser and could judge the
situation more accurately, he might find it. He shrugged and went to see how
Ralf fared.

He found the squire sitting up in bed, complaining about the
thin beef soup a servant spooned into his mouth. Seeing that, Thomas felt
confident, for the first time since his injury, of Ralf’s full recovery.

“You need the strength that soup will bring you,” he told
the irritated young man.

Ralf shook his head. “There’s nothing here to give me any
strength. ‘Tis naught but flavored water. Can I not at least have a bit of
bread to sop it up with?”

“You’ve been ill for some time. Your system needs time to
adjust to taking nourishment again.”

“My stomach insists it’s more than ready.”

Thomas had to grin. He looked at the servant. “I don’t see
that a bit of bread could hurt. Perhaps if he eats most of the soup, it would
be possible?”

The servant shrugged. “At your command, my lord.”

“Eat,” he told Ralf.

The young man did, and when the bowl was near empty, Thomas
asked the servant to fetch some bread for him. While they waited, Ralf
questioned him about what had happened during his illness. The servant returned
with the bread just as Thomas finished relating Juliana’s confession, with some
of the more personal parts edited out. Ralf had no trouble filling in the gaps,
of course, but he waited until the servant had left the bread before he asked,
“Will you take her to the king?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas admitted. “I don’t know how the king
might react, and I’d hate to see her treated harshly for what was, in truth, an
accident.”

“You could tell the king Groswick had an accident.”

“Aye, I could. I could even reconcile it with my conscience.
But I’m not sure it’s truly the right thing to do.”

Ralf nodded. “Do you still want to marry the lady?”

He started. “Scoundrel! What makes you think I would want to
wed her?”

The squire just grinned. “I’ve seen the way you look at her.
The only other lady I’ve seen you look at that way was Lady Mary. And I
remember you told someone she’s the only lady you’d then met you would consider
marrying, save that she was already wed to Sir Philip. But the way you look at
Lady Juliana is even more…even stronger than the way you looked at Lady Mary.”

Thomas conceded the point. He couldn’t hide much from Ralf’s
sharp eyes and even sharper intelligence. “Aye, I love the lady. And I would
still marry her, save that I’m not sure that’s the right thing to do either.”

“Because she lied to you?”

“Aye.”

“But she did it to protect others as well as herself. ‘Tis
very understandable she should do so, and I’m certain that until we arrived she
had no idea there was any risk of harm to others.”

“True,” Thomas admitted.

“The real question, then, is do you think she’d lie again,
should similar circumstances arise?”

Ralf did have a way of cutting through the emotional clutter
to reach the heart of an issue. Thomas sighed as he considered. “I don’t know,
but I think not. I think she has learned something of the dangers of lying.”

“But you still doubt you can trust her sense of honor.”

“I suppose I do,” he admitted. “But perhaps…” For the first
time, he saw a possible solution to their dilemma. It wasn’t without risk, but
he thought the king would listen to any plea he made for mercy for her.

“You see a way out? I hope so, in truth. I like the lady,
and I think she would bring you happiness. I hope…”