Joining (28 page)

To which Reina threw up her hands and huffed, “I am finding my bed posthaste,” and she marched out of the room without another word.

“I will just make sure she finds it without any more detours,” Ranulf said, then, “Do not be long, Roland. We all need at least a little sleep this night.” And he, too, left the chamber.

Oddly, Roland and Milisant found they were both blushing after his parents’ departure, perhaps because they had been left alone in a bedchamber, but more like because they both knew what had been discussed there. He was the first to make an effort to put them at ease, coming forward to sit on the side of the bed where his mother had sat.

“I am sorry,” he told her, taking her hand in his. “I only wanted my mother to help if you were distraught. She is very good at that. I did not think she would keep you up half the night to do it, though.”

“No need to apologize, Roland. I was not sleeping, or she would not have come in.”

“Ah, so you
were
still distraught?”

Milisant rolled her eyes and pointedly changed the subject. “Does no one sleep around here at night?”

He chuckled. “I know not about everyone else, but my mother and I oft meet up in the kitchens in the wee hours, usually when some calamity keeps her from finishing supper. We have had many a pleasant talk there—at least until my father wakes to find her missing, and comes down to search her out, as he likely did tonight.”

“And what is your excuse for not sleeping?”

“’Tis not that I cannot sleep, but that I am
always
hungry, and cannot sleep when I am.”

He said it with such chagrin that she had to laugh. “Aye, that is a big body you have there to keep fed.”

Her amusement was broken abruptly by a noise at the door, which had been left open. They both looked to see what had caused it, for it had sounded very much like a sword being drawn from its sheath. It was indeed that.

Wulfric stood there filling the opening, his sword in hand, his eyes pinned not on Milisant, but on Roland. “’Tis a shame that I am going to have to kill you.”

Thirty-eight

Milisant blanched. Not
because Wulfric was there when he shouldn’t be. Not even because he had just calmly threatened to kill her friend. She paled because it occurred to her that the only way he could have known to find her at Clydon was through Jhone.

So the first thing she said to him was the accusation, “What did you do to my sister, to get her to tell you where I went? She would never have volunteered the information to you willingly.”

That drew those sapphire eyes to her. The expression in them was chilling.

“Nor did she. She in fact collapsed in a faint at my feet when I merely did ask her.”

“Merely?” she said suspiciously. “How angry were you when you asked her?”

“Very.”

She sighed in relief. He hadn’t tortured Jhone. He had simply frightened her to death. But then…

“How did you know to look for me here, if she did not tell you?”

“She inadvertently told my brother many days ago when she mentioned the endearment you had given your love. When you could not be found, I finally realized who your
gentle giant
must be, and that you would go to him.”

His eyes had moved back to Roland as he said it. Hers did now, too, to find the “gentle giant” was grinning. Milisant decided Roland had to be daft to find aught amusing about this situation. Or did he think Wulfric had been jesting about killing him? Or that there was naught to fear because they were discussing this in reasonable tones, despite how furious Wulfric looked?

She wondered about that. There was no doubt that he was furious, yet it was a contained fury. The question was, what was he furious about? Her escape? Or where he’d found her—and with whom?

“You don’t have to kill him,” she said. “I discovered the feelings I have for Roland are only sisterly. Besides, he refuses to marry me, for the same reason. He’s like a brother to me.”

“You take me for a fool?” Wulfric replied. “The evidence is before my eyes.”

With her relief had come the courage Milisant needed to argue with him, despite his rage. “What evidence?” she snorted. “If you mean because you found Roland in here with me, you should ask why ere you make conclusions. If you had appeared a few minutes sooner, you would have found both of his parents here as well. He came here to chase out his mother, who he suspected was keeping me awake. She was not, but she
was
here. I trust you will have the
sense to verify that, Wulfric, ere you raise your sword.”

“Mili, why do you deliberately provoke him?” Roland was finally heard from.

“I
do no such thing,” she denied.

“You do exactly that,” he said, then to Wulfric, “my lord, what she says is true. Even were she not betrothed to you as she is, I could not marry her. ’Twould be like wedding my own sister, which, you must agree, would not be a desirable thing to do.”

Roland was trying to ease the tension. It did not work with Wulfric, whose expression did not change. If anything, those dark blue eyes were smoldering a bit more as they turned back to her again.

“Do you say now that you lied to me when you said you loved him?”

Milisant could have wished he hadn’t brought that up, but since he did, she was forced to admit, “I was not
in
love with him when I said it, nay, though at the time I did think it was possible. I always thought I
could
love him. I just never gave it enough thought to realize that I already did, but in a way that would not be compatible with marriage. We neither of us feel the least bit of desire for the other. How much more clearly must it be said?”

“You do it again, Mili,” Roland complained, almost glowering at her.

“What?!” she snapped in exasperation.

“Provoke him. The explanation would have sufficed. You do not need to rub it in.”

“Go to bed, Roland. You are not helping.”

“I cannot.” Roland sighed, as if he would like to do nothing better.

She realized then that he was afraid to leave her alone with Wulfric, but wise enough not to say so. She would prefer not to be left alone with him either, but she was more afraid for Roland at the moment than she was for herself, since Wulfric had yet to put away his sword.

Wulfric must have realized the same thing, or thought that Roland was too wary to try and pass by him when he was himself without weapon, because he did put his sword away now, before he said, “I am glad, for your father’s sake, that I do not have to kill you after all. Do as she says.” When Roland still hesitated to move, he added, “She has been mine since the day she was betrothed to me. Do not even think to interfere with what is mine.”

They stared at each other for a long, tense moment. Roland finally nodded and left.

Milisant knew her friend wouldn’t have budged from the room if he thought she was in any danger from Wulfric. She wished she could conclude, as he just had, that she wasn’t. But she was not at all sure. In fact, she had an overwhelming urge to call him back, she was suddenly so nervous. That nervousness increased tenfold when Wulfric closed the door behind Roland—and dropped the bar across it to lock them inside the room together.

“What are you doing?” she asked him huskily, what little color she had gained back in her cheeks draining away again.

He didn’t answer. He walked toward her until he stood next to the bed, looking down at her.

“We can discuss this in the morn—” she tried to suggest, but he cut her off most curtly.

“There is naught to discuss,” he said, and when she started to leave the bed, “stay there!”

Which was when she began to really panic. His expression hadn’t changed. He still looked so utterly furious. And whatever he was going to do, she knew she was going to hate it—if she survived it. She wasn’t sure if she would. She wasn’t sure, either, what he was going to do—yet. And then she was sure when he began to slowly remove his cloak, his eyes not once leaving her.

“Do not do this, Wulfric.”

He didn’t reply to that, he asked instead, “Did you really think you could marry Roland Fitz Hugh and that he would live to enjoy it?”

“If my father had agreed to it, you would have had naught to say about it.”

He shook his head at her. “Think you that would have stopped me from killing him?”

She was beginning to realize what he meant. No matter what she did, he already considered her his. Even though he didn’t really want her, she was
his,
and thus she could never marry anyone else, because he would see it as an adultery. Totally illogical. Utterly possessive. She didn’t know whether to cry over that or laugh hysterically. She couldn’t win. She had never had a chance to escape.

But she was forgetting about her unpleasant encounter with John Lackland. A king could make even the most powerful of men bend to his will. And Wulfric didn’t know yet that John was opposed to their joining. Verily, he should
be delighted when she told him. It would give him the excuse he had hoped to find, to not marry her. If
he
ended the betrothal, then he would no longer consider her his. She just didn’t have the same option, apparently.

“You do not yet know what caused me to leave. It changed everything, Wulfric.” His sheath and belt dropped to the floor atop his cloak. “Listen to me!”

“Has the betrothal been set aside?”

“Nay, but—”

“Then naught has changed.”

“It has, I tell you! The king has involved himself. He is against our joining. This is the excuse you yourself needed to end the betrothal. We need only tell our parents.”

“Even did I believe you, wench, which I do not, it would make no difference, since John has said naught about this to anyone—except you—has instead offered his approval quite publicly.”

“I
am
telling you the truth!”

“Then let me be more clear why it does not matter. What John wants cannot be used unless he admits it, but he has not done that, nor is he like to. So we will make sure, here, now, that you know
who
you belong to, and do not attempt to deny it again. We are already joined by contract. We will put the final seal on it tonight.” So saying, he pushed her back on the bed and made to join her on it.

She could not believe he had not jumped on the excuse she had just given him to get out of marrying her. But then she realized he was too angry right now to care.

It was that anger that made her desperate
enough to wail, “Nay! Do not do this, Wulfric. I will not try to escape again. I will marry you, I swear! Just do not take me like this—in anger.”

There were tears in her eyes. She was so panicked, she didn’t even know she had begun to cry. It was the only thing that stopped him, as angry as he was. He kissed her, hard, but then, with a foul oath, he left the bed, and immediately thereafter, the room.

Milisant collapsed back on the bed in trembling relief. Her own anger over the quivering mass he had reduced her to didn’t come until much later—but it did come.

Thirty-nine

It only took
moments after she awoke for Milisant to realize that she had slept half the day away. She was not surprised by that, though, not when the anger that had come upon her after Wulfric left her had kept her awake until nigh dawn. She was surprised only that no one had tried to wake her, Wulfric in particular. Or mayhap he did not intend to return to Shefford today as she had thought.

Then, too, he might still be abed himself, after riding half the night to reach Clydon, which would explain it. But whichever was the case, she had much to say to him, now she was no longer frightened out of her wits.

She still could not believe he had done that to her. Not only that, before she had fallen asleep, she had begun to suspect that he had not really meant to bed her, that his intent had only been to frighten her into giving her oath to him—which she had done right quickly.

Not that it mattered anymore, after what he had admitted to last night. Verily, did she marry
someone else, ’twould be like signing his death warrant, as far as Wulfric was concerned, and she could not take the chance of that. So she
was
stuck with him as long as he continued to see her as “his,” and she had run out of all options to alter that thinking when even the king’s wishes had not swayed him.