Joining (19 page)

But her escape was not as quick as she would have liked. She was halfway down the stairs that led out to the bailey when her way was blocked by Wulfric’s half brother, who was coming up them. Having already been told that morning when she went to check on Stomper that she would not be leaving the keep henceforth without an escort, even to go just to the stable, she had already determined to be Jhone the next time she tried to leave the keep.

So whereas she herself would only have given Raimund a nod lacking in expression, she gave him instead a demure smile. She did, after all, have much practice in copying her sister’s ladylike mannerisms.

She had hoped, with him thinking she was Jhone, that he would not try to detain her. She had not figured ’twould be just the opposite.

“Lady Jhone, might I have a word with you? You
are
Lady Jhone, correct?”

It was on the tip of Milisant’s tongue to tell him the truth now, in hopes
that
would send him on his way. Yet his expression aroused her curiosity.

But rather than lying, she said simply, “Can I help you?” which avoided answering his question
and left him to his own conclusions. Sop for a guilty conscience, that it wasn’t entirely her fault if he drew the wrong conclusion—just mostly. And he did.

Raimund nodded. “Aye, m’lady, ’tis my hope that you can. It has come to my attention that the lady Milisant bears a certain fondness for a man other than her betrothed. Yet is my brother not one to share his possessions, even if the fondness is of a harmless nature.”

Milisant immediately recalled Wulfric’s fury at the meal they had shared, and what she had thought was the cause of it, that he didn’t like being reminded that he loved another yet was forced to marry her instead. That had been her first thought, yet she had wondered briefly, after his warning her to forget “him,” if there was not a bit of jealousy involved—though she couldn’t imagine why, when his feelings,
other
than his wanting to kiss her, quite clearly demonstrated his dislike of her.

Yet as Jhone, she wouldn’t know any of that, and so was forced to question, “What do you mean?”

“It would annoy him, did he think another man was pining for his wife.”

Or that his wife was pining for another? And what about the wife who knew that her husband would rather have married another?

She wasn’t in love with Roland. She knew she could be, given time, but at the moment he was merely a dear friend. Yet Wulfric could not say the same, did in fact admit to loving another.

She sighed inwardly, frustrated that she could not mention any of those thoughts to Raimund.

Each would lead to an argument from him in an effort to defend his brother. Yet Jhone did not argue.

So she said, “I wouldst think a man would gloat instead, for being the possessor of said wife.”

He grinned, allowing, “Some might.”

She raised a brow at him. “But not your brother? Then are you saying he has a jealous nature?”

“Nay, just that it would annoy him.”

Milisant really wanted to say, “So?” but Jhone would be much kinder in her response.

“Feelings are a strange malady that one has very little control of,” she said with a slight smile. “A man can hardly be blamed for falling in love with a woman he has no hope of winning for his own. Such things are random. Neither can a woman be blamed for the feelings of another, as long as she does not intentionally solicit those feelings.”

Her smile got brighter.
Jesu,
but that was likely exactly what Jhone would have said. It had been quite a while since she had pretended to be her sister, but she hadn’t lost the knack for it.

“Wulf is not placing blame, m’lady,” Raimund assured her. “It would have been much better if he did not know of this other man, but your sister saw fit to mention him, and her own feelings for him.”

“So that annoys him as well?”

“Nay, I doubt me that annoys him at all. He wouldst be confident that given time, his wife’s affection would be his and his alone.”

Milisant had to bite back a snort. Confident indeed, the conceited oaf. And she was fast losing patience with the pretense she was fostering. Her curiosity had been satisfied—except for one thing.

“Is there a reason for this discussion, Sir Raimund?” she asked pointedly.

She realized her mistake when she saw his blush. The question had been too direct for Jhone. Jhone strived never to cause anyone any discomfort, including embarrassment, whereas Milisant was known for her bluntness, which could, and often did, cause many red cheeks.

“I had hoped to be able to assure my brother that he has allowed himself to become annoyed over naught. Actually, I was hoping you would give me the name of this other man, so that I could speak with him and learn whether he returns Lady Milisant’s affections. It wouldst be a fine gift for my brother’s wedding, to be able to tell him that he need have no further concern in the matter.”

“It would indeed,” Milisant said tightly, “yet can I not aid in delivering this gift. You will have to speak to my sister, Sir Raimund. The name you seek has never been divulged to me.”

So much for not lying directly. But she was not about to have Roland badgered about this matter when she had yet to even let him know she wanted to marry him.

Not surprisingly, Raimund appeared doubtful. “Never? You and your sister are twins, which implies a closeness more solid than most siblings. I had not realized you refrained from sharing confidences.”

Milisant chuckled; she couldn’t help it. “Nor do we. Yet some things my sister holds too personal to discuss, even with me. I do know of her … fondness for this man, but she has never actually called him by name, or rather, by his real name. She calls him her gentle giant.”

Raimund sighed. “I will have to speak with your sister then.”

Milisant smiled. “Good luck, sirrah. If she would not mention the name to me, she is hardly like to give it to you. But by all means, do try.”

Twenty-six

Milisant didn’t go
outside after all. Because she was a twin, and because it was extremely difficult for most people to tell her and her sister apart by sight alone, the guards posted at the door had been ordered to keep both sisters inside the keep.

Blasted precautions. Wulfric thought of
everything,
much to her own frustration. And yet what was she doing here in Shefford Castle if she was still in such danger? If she had to have an armed escort wherever she went, she could have stayed home in Dunburh. His point in bringing her here was that he could trust his own people, that there wasn’t a mercenary among them.

She was so annoyed, she almost sought him out—until she recalled how they’d parted earlier, with him so angry. It would be soon enough to make her scathing remarks when she saw him for the evening meal. So she spent the rest of the afternoon taking out her frustration on the poor tapestry, plying a needle for real this time.

Fortunately for the tapestry, her sister worked right beside her and calmly undid the horridly uneven stitches without comment. Milisant barely noticed, so preoccupied was she with her aggrieved thoughts.

She
would like to know, along with everyone else, who it was who was trying to harm her. But she knew that she would never find out with the type of protection she was presently being afforded, because whoever it was wouldn’t be stupid enough to make another attempt against her when he would have so little hope of succeeding. Far better to leave her to her own devices, let the attempt be made, and let
her
thwart it.

Not that she thought she was invulnerable, or capable of dealing with every situation—just most of them. But her pets could protect her, and be much less intimidating than four burly guards, which was how many had lined up ready to follow her out of the keep.

She determined to start keeping her pets with her at all times from now on—at least Growls and Rhiska. Growls in particular seemed utterly tame at first glance, despite his being a wolf. Yet could he rip through three adults in a matter of seconds, while Rhiska could panic several more. They could easily keep her safe outside the keep, yet still within Shefford’s high walls.

However, out in the countryside, which she wasn’t familiar with here, she would agree with the need for an armed escort. She wasn’t stupid, after all. But no one was going to shoot arrows at her within the walls of Shefford, when they would have no escape. Nor would anyone be
able to get her out of Shefford with its closely guarded gates.

She was fully prepared to present this reasoning to Wulfric when he joined her for the evening meal. She had collected her pets, had Growls resting beneath the table at her feet, and Rhiska perched quietly on her shoulder. She was armed with logic. And then he didn’t show up.

The meal progressed and he still didn’t show up. The meal was nigh finished and he still didn’t show up. She wasn’t just annoyed now, she was furious.
He
was the one who had insisted they spend so much time with each other each day, yet she had seen him hardly at all that day.

It wasn’t until she was actually leaving the dais that she saw him enter the hall. He paused there at the entrance to survey the large room. His dark blue eyes passed over her, then came back. His expression, or lack of one, didn’t change, nor did he move, other than to lift the large grouse leg that he clutched in his fist to his mouth, to rip off a chunk of the fowl. There had been grouse served with the meal, along with the standard fish and deer.

So he had gone to the kitchens for sustenance, rather than sit beside her for the lavish meal? Unlike Dunburh, where the kitchens had been moved inside the lower regions of the keep many years ago, Shefford’s kitchens were out in the bailey. This kept the smoke well away from the hall, yet the food wasn’t quite as hot when it arrived at the tables, especially during the winter months.

Yet being outside, the kitchens here were easy
enough for anyone to access without making an appearance in the hall—at least they were easy enough for Wulfric to access, since he was not restricted to the keep. So if he wanted to avoid her, he need not starve to do so.

Would that she were allowed the same choice, at least of avoiding him. But had he not proved at the earlier meal that such was not to be her choice? More fuel for the fire of her anger.

She didn’t wait for him to come to her—actually, it appeared that he would not be doing so, since, after several moments of staring at each other, he was still standing where he had entered the hall, and still without expression of note. Not that she cared what mood he might be in, when her own was so foul.

She went to him. “I wouldst like a word with you—in private.”

Wulfric’s black brow shot upwards sharply, and not surprisingly. She had forgotten that he had made the same request earlier—and been denied.

Yet she guessed his thoughts, and fairly growled, “Nay, not for kissing.”

“Then best you say what you mean to say right here. Do I find myself alone with you again, wench, there
will
likely be some kissing.”

Why those words caused her cheeks to heat and her belly to flutter, she couldn’t say. They were not exactly uttered in sensual tones, far from it. The tone had been surly at best, nor was his expression neutral anymore, was quite a perfect scowl.

Oddly, ’twas not his testiness that put a dent in her own, but that strange fluttering—at least,
her own tone was not nearly so sharp as she’d intended when she replied, “I wish to discuss my imprisonment here.”

He snorted. “You are not imprisoned.”

“Yet does it seem so when I cannot even go to attend my horse without four behemoths surrounding me.”

“Behemoths?”

“The guards you ordered to follow me.”

He stared blankly for a moment, then he actually smiled at her. “Nay, not my order. I have taken precautions of my own, yet for the guards, you may thank my father. Or did you not realize you wouldst be under his protection now, as well as under mine?”

Milisant bit back a scathing retort, said merely, “This is intolerable.”

“’Tis like to get much worse ere the matter is ended,” he replied.

“I can think of naught that is worse, and not even necessary. Look at them.”

She nodded to Growls, who had followed her and sat staring at Wulfric curiously. She then took Rhiska from her shoulder with her gloved hand, and gripping the bird’s taloned feet so it would know not to leave her, she lifted her hand sharply. The bird didn’t try to fly, but it did reflexively spread its wings wide. She had to lean her head to the side to avoid the long reach of them.

“These two are all the protection I need within Shefford. Speak with your father and tell him so.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have said it in the form of an order. His brow rose again, though not as
sharply. But the tightening of his mouth was a better indication that he didn’t like her tone.

He nodded toward the Great Hearth. “There he sits. And you have a tongue that you use most—eloquently.”

He started to walk away. She quickly put a hand to his arm. “He is more like to listen to you.”