Joining (26 page)

He gathered her close again, and his tone was soothingly sympathetic as he said, “I can see it causes you pain even to speak of it, so say no more. Come, let us find a warm hearth and a cup of mead, and you can tell me why you have told no one else of John’s perfidy.”

“What makes you think I told no one else?”

“Because you are here—alone—rather than letting your father or Lord Guy deal with this.”

She blushed once again. He was too perceptive by half. And at least he had said no more about Wulfric, nor tried to excuse him by saying the doings of a child could not relate to the doings of a man. She knew better. But trying to convince anyone else of it was nigh impossible.

Thirty-five

It wasn’t going
to work, it wasn’t. If it were not so important, if Milisant’s future did not depend on it, then Jhone would likely have no problem with the pretense of taking her place. But that it was so important made her too nervous. Which was why she devised a new pretense. She herself became ill—no pretense, actually, since this whole situation was making her very ill to her stomach—and Milisant was staying with her to nurse her.

She would have pretended it in the reverse if she wasn’t worried that Wulfric would demand to see Milisant if he thought her ill. He had done that when Mili had been hurt. He might also suspect any illness by her, as a means to avoid him. But with Jhone being the one “bedridden,” there was no one who would insist upon seeing her, and as Milisant, she could turn others away at the door, without letting them into the room to see that there was no Jhone sick in the bed.

She had great hopes that this would work, and it did work for most of that first day, until
late that afternoon. Then the very one she dreaded seeing came pounding on her door. She suspected it was he even before she opened the door, simply because of the loudness of the pounding.

So she had a moment to prepare herself to deal with him as she knew Milisant would, which was to snap as soon as she opened the door, “Did no one tell you my sister is ill? That I am tending to her? She was finally resting a bit peacefully—until you just made a racket.”

“Aye, I was informed,” he snapped back, not surprising, given her reception—not unexpected either, given his pounding. “But you do not need to attend her constantly. There are others here who can do that well enough.”

“I trust no one else to see to my sister, any more than she does for me.”

To which he scowled. “What is wrong with her?”

“She has been vomiting, profusely. Can you not smell the stench?”

Since Jhone had vomited at least once that afternoon in her anxiety, she was not lying. And she was beginning to feel like it again. She felt his anger strongly, and anger like that terrified her. She was only surprised that she had not dissolved into a puddle at his first scowl. If he did not leave soon…

With the intent of seeing him gone, she demanded, “Why do you come here? Just to disturb us?”

“To tell you to make an appearance at supper this eventide. Missing one meal when the king is in attendance, he might understand, but missing two formal gatherings in a row wouldst nigh be
an insult. So whether your sister has improved or not, present yourself in the hall tonight.”

“’Tis not necessary for me to entertain the king.”

“Is it not?” he countered. “When he is here expressly for
your
wedding?”

Jhone had to mentally keep her hands apart or they would be wringing. “Then of course I will appear, to pay my respects to him. But I will
not
stay long—unless Jhone is feeling better.”

She had conceded, and most reasonably. How could he argue with that? He did.

“Methinks you are using your sister’s malady as an excuse to avoid me. For how long do you intend to hold your voice from me?”

So that was what his visit was really about? He was feeling neglected? She considered saying, “Forever,” which was likely what Milisant would have said. But that answer wouldn’t get him to leave, would more like enrage him further. Yet she didn’t want to say anything that Mili wouldn’t say either, since that might cause him to give her a closer look and discover their ruse.

So she kept her lips pursed as Milisant had warned her to, and said as calmly as her nerves would allow, “I am speaking to you now, much to my regret. This
could
have waited until Jhone is well.”

He took the hint, fortunately, yet with another scowl, ordered her on parting, “Be at supper tonight, and at both meals on the morrow as well, wench. Do
not
make me come and fetch you.”

As soon as she closed the door on him, she collapsed back against it, her heart pounding with her fear. She had done it. Fooled him completely.
But she couldn’t do it again. She just didn’t have Milisant’s courage, to stand up to that man, not when she felt his anger so strongly. Yet his order rang in her mind. If he did not see Milisant in the hall tomorrow, he
would
come drag her down there.

She had to appear in the hall at least tonight. She could see no way around that now. Tomorrow, though, the first meal wouldn’t be until midday, and that would have given Milisant the time she had asked for. Jhone could be herself again, and Milisant “missing.” It would be another day again ere Milisant was looked for outside the castle walls. Plenty enough time for her to have gotten to Clydon, and then returned home from there as she’d planned to do.

Nay, tonight’s gathering would be plenty. But to entertain the king? After what he’d done?
Jesu,
they hadn’t even thought about Milisant having to face the king again. She had left so she wouldn’t have to.

What if he was just waiting for that, to denounce her? But no, obviously he had said nothing of what had occurred between them to anyone, or Wulfric would have mentioned it. And with her absence today, he must have been thinking she was afraid to face him as well.

It might appease John if he thought she was afraid. It might appease him even more if she seemed afraid when they did meet this eventide. It would not be contrived. She was going to be terrified to get near him, after what he had tried to do to Milisant. And if he wanted to speak of it?
Jesu,
how had she let Mili talk her into this?

Thirty-six

She had delayed
too long, the telling. Milisant fretted as the hour grew late and still she had found no opportunity to present her proposal of marriage to Roland. She could
not
let this day end without getting her future settled here. Yet one thing after another had occurred since her arrival, to keep her from being alone with Roland again.

He had taken her into the keep and presented her to his mother, who had promptly taken her off to a tower chamber for a bath and refreshments. She had not seen Roland again until the evening meal.

The Lady Reina was a surprise. Milisant knew Roland’s father to be a giant just as he was, yet Lady Reina was a small, petite woman. She was not quite two score in years, her black hair as lustrous as it had been in her youth, her cerulean blue eyes just as clear and sharp. And she was outspoken, brutally frank actually.

She had felt no qualms about telling Milisant, “You stink, get in that tub,” when Milisant had protested she had no time for bathing.

But she found she liked Reina Fitz Hugh. It was rare to meet a woman as outspoken as Milisant was herself. And there was a bawdy earthiness about her that either put one at ease or caused embarrassment. Milisant felt a little of both, which was amusing, after she thought about it.

She learned much more about Roland’s family, during those hours she spent with Reina, than he had ever told her. There was an older brother, named after the Earl of Shefford, who was his godparent. There were two sisters, much younger than Roland. The youngest, Reina confessed, was the bane of her life. She could do naught with the child, who idolized her father and tried to emulate him in every way.

That had thoroughly embarrassed Milisant, when she realized that this youngest child was much like herself, wishing she had been born the opposite gender—and Reina found this to be a “bane.” It made her feel more strange than ever, made her realize, also, that her own father likely thought the same of her.

She had not known, either, that Roland’s family was related to the de Arcourts, another powerful family in the realm. Hugh de Arcourt, the head of that family, was in fact Roland’s paternal grandfather, albeit from the wrong side of the blanket—another frankness of Reina’s, to mention that as if it were naught out of the ordinary.

What she had found
most
interesting, though, was that Reina’s father had been Roger de Champeney. ’Twas a name Milisant knew well,
since Lord Roger had been with Nigel and Lord Guy when they had gone on Crusade with King Richard all those years ago. Roger had oft been mentioned by Nigel in his tales of those exciting campaigns that had occurred long before Milisant had been born.

It made her wonder if Nigel even knew that Roland was Roger’s grandson, when he had discounted him out of hand as a choice for her husband, mentioning only that Roland’s father was Guy’s vassal. Roger had been Guy’s vassal as well, yet a power to be reckoned with in his own right, Castle Clydon evidence of that, as well as the many other holdings in his possession. And Milisant was certain that her father knew nothing about Hugh de Arcourt.

Roland’s family was suddenly a much better choice for an alliance than even she had realized. With wealth and power behind him, he lacked only being the heir to an earldom, as Wulfric was.

She felt better. Her father had to like this match. Of course, she was forgetting that she had not been betrothed for an alliance, but for the sake of friendship and life-saving debts of honor. Still, it would soften the blow when Nigel learned that John was against the joining of their two families, that to stay in his good graces—or at least get back in them, in her case—she would
have
to marry elsewhere. And who better now than Roland?

But she surely could have wrung Roland’s neck by that evening when it seemed as if everyone, himself included, conspired to keep them from being alone for more than a minute. Even
sitting next to him for the meal, she could not get his attention for any whispers, at least not keep his attention for more than a moment, when his father and brother both vied for it.

Finally, when the meal was finished, she was desperate enough to take his hand and drag him over to one of the window embrasures that Clydon’s Great Hall possessed, replete with cushioned benches for comfortable seats. She was even bold enough to push him down onto the seat, which she managed only because he let her, huge giant that he was.

And she wasted no further time in amenities, saying immediately, “I have things to tell you, and ask of you, that require your full attention, which your family does not seem wont to share.”

He chuckled at her pique. “We are a close family. When better to discuss each other’s day than at supper when we are gathered?”

She couldn’t argue that, said instead, “True, but you have a guest in dire straits! I have little time here, Roland. Verily, I should leave for Dunburh on the morrow. I had great hopes—that you would go with me.”

“Certainly I will escort you there, Mili. You did not need to ask—”

She waved a dismissive hand as she took the seat across from him. “I need you to do more than that, Roland. I need you to marry me.”

There, she had said it. Not very subtly, but she didn’t have time to be subtle. She just wished that he didn’t look so incredulous. And then worse, he must have decided she was joking, since he began to laugh.

His humor grated on her frazzled nerves. “’Tis no jest, Roland.”

He smiled at her gently. “Nay, I can see you are serious. But even were you not betrothed already, I could not contemplate wedding you.”

She had hoped that the asking would have been the only hard part to get past. She had not counted on a flat refusal from him.

“Have you been promised to another?”

“Nay.”

She frowned. “Then why will you not even consider my proposal?”

Rather than answering, he said, “Look you there at my youngest sister.”