Joining (35 page)

Milisant watched Wulfric
closely that night at the evening meal, and afterward as well. He was still insulted, though it wasn’t all that discernible to the average observer, since he made the effort to appear otherwise.

Yet Milisant knew, sensed it easily. He was still stewing. She, likewise, was still somewhat bemused, or at least she had been unable to stop thinking all day about what had been revealed by him, and the new possibilities that were now open to her.

She had spent much of the afternoon visiting with Roland and reminiscing about their fostering days at Fulbray. He and his parents would be leaving on the morrow, so she didn’t have much time left to spend with her old friend and took advantage while she could.

She didn’t discuss with him, of course, what was most on her mind right now, but she did manage to find Jhone alone for a few minutes that afternoon. And with her sister, she could talk of anything.

There was no reason to discuss what Jhone was most concerned about, though. One of those constant blushes that Milisant had been experiencing today, when Jhone had asked, “Well, did you like it?” was enough to satisfy and delight Jhone without explicit detail.

But her sister had other concerns as well and also wanted to know, “Think you that you can live here now without constant despair?”

“I think it will depend upon what room I am in,” Milisant replied with a chuckle.

“Why would that…?”

“Never mind, I was only jesting, since ‘constant despair’ sounded so—constant. Actually, I have learned a thing that
may
make it better here.”

“What?”

“He does not love anyone else.”

“But that is wonderful news!” Jhone exclaimed with delight. “Verily, it means Wulfric will soon love you—if he does not already.”

“Already?” Milisant snorted over that farfetched possibility. “There is something else he does not like about me, or do you forget how many years it took him to fetch me? And he arrived at Dunburh most aggrieved to be there, even admitting that he had also tried to have the betrothal broken. If ‘twas not because he loved someone else, then why was he furious at the idea of marrying me?”

“That was before and so should not matter. Now is much different, Mili, since he has come to know you. I watched him yesterday. He seemed a most happy groom.”

“He is good at giving false impressions that have naught to do with his true feelings.”

“You know him to be unhappy still?”

Milisant fidgeted somewhat. “Nay, not exactly, though he is presently wroth with me.”

Jhone rolled her eyes. “What did you do now?”

Milisant rolled her eyes right back. “Asked him a simple question about his true love. He growled at me that he never had one, and that I
should
have realized that for myself, based on his behavior, as if I could guess that he only said it because I had said it.”

“Did I not tell you nigh the same thing, that ‘twas possible he had lied, just as you did? I
knew
he did not seem like a man pining for another.”

Milisant winced at that choice of words, so similar to his, but pointed out,
“Seem
does not suffice where he is concerned, when he deliberately conceals. You have not been present for our many heated arguments. I have had
no
evidence that what he claimed was in fact a lie, other than he likes kissing me. Our constant fights supported his lie.”

But Jhone was becoming as stubborn as Milisant was, and offered yet another contrary view. “Or they supported, as you say, whatever it is that he objects to about you. Have you asked him what that is?”

“Nay.”

“You should. It might be naught of import, might be a misconception, might be easily set aside. And then what will you have left to object to yourself?”

“You know the answer to that,” Milisant grumbled. “He still means to control my every action.”

“Of course he does,” Jhone agreed. “He is your husband now, after all. But
you
have the choice of accepting that or tempering it with love. As I pointed out before, which do you think would gain you more freedoms?”

They were interrupted after that and did not get a chance to talk privately again. But it had given Milisant more to think about. And imagining Wulfric in love with her was not an—unpleasant thought. But… there was still his original fury that he must marry her.

She still didn’t know what had caused that, yet was now curious enough about it to broach the subject that night in their bedchamber. Theirs…

Aye, all of her belongings, without warning, had been moved that day into Wulfric’s chamber—except for her pets. The animals had been left behind with Jhone—by Wulfric’s order? Or had his servants merely been too hesitant to try to move her pets themselves? Rhiska could be intimidating, after all, especially to a servant not used to handling falcons, and Growls could make anyone leery if he started growling.

Wulfric wasn’t there yet when she went up to retire that night. She
was
keeping his latest order in mind, though it was unnecessary. She was not the one who was presently angry, he was. And he still was. That was obvious when he walked in stiffly, frowning, and said no word to her as he started to disrobe.

She gave a mental snort. He thought to ignore
her? To take his own anger to bed with him? Well then, she might as well get her last question out of the way now, in case it annoyed him as much as the last one had.

She walked up behind him, tapped him on the shoulder, waited for him to turn around. He did so with raised brow. She got the distinct feeling then that he was expecting an apology. For making him admit that he had lied to her? She kept her second snort to herself as well.

“I wouldst finish our discussion begun earlier,” she told him.

“It was finished.”

“For you, mayhap, but I still have a question that needs answering. If there was no other woman—nay, do not interrupt me, hear me out,” she said when he started to cut in. “If there was no other, then why did you come to Dunburh in such fury? And do not try to deny it. You
would
have preferred to marry another.”

“Mayhap because the only memory I had of you, wench, was that you were a veritable termagant, and what man wants naught but temper tantrums from a wife? I may even have had another in mind. But I was not in love with her.”

She should have been satisfied with that answer. It was not even high in the way of import, as far as she was concerned. But his description of her was unsettling and sparked her own temper. However, she still had not forgotten what she had agreed to last night.

So she did what anyone so constrained in a certain room would do. She took his hand and tried to drag him out of the bedchamber.

He wasn’t cooperating, however, so she didn’t get very far, only a few steps, actually, before he asked, “What do you think you are doing?”

“Taking us out of
here,
to finish this—discussion,” she retorted.

After realizing what she meant, he chuckled and pulled her to him. “Nay, I think not.”

She pushed against his chest, though not with much effort. She didn’t really want to break the contact, flush as it was, and reminiscent of last night.

“‘Tis to be one-sided then, this setting aside of anger?” she asked.

He smiled wryly. “Nay, and thank you for pointing that out. ‘Twas a silly annoyance anyway, not even worth saving for another day.” His hands cupped her cheeks, his lips hovering just above hers. “I hope you feel the same.”

“About what?” she asked breathlessly.

“If you do not know—far be it from me to be so misguided as to remind you.”

Forty-nine

Two days after
the wedding, all of the guests had departed, except for one earl who had made mention that he would be staying for at least another sennight. That would not have concerned Milisant in the least were it not that her restrictions had yet to be lifted, even though she was now married, even though she and Wulfric, at least, had determined that the threat against her had been “called off” by John himself.

Or so she had thought, that they had both determined that. She found out differently, however, when she brought the subject up to Wulfric that day. He had been discussing how much he had liked the window embrasures in Clydon’s Great Hall, and added that he meant to put the suggestion to his father that they build the same here.

She was barely listening to him, afraid she already knew the answer to what she meant to ask. She had found out that morning that if Anne or Wulfric was not available, she was
still
to be locked in the solar. Worse, she had found
it out when she’d arrived late to the hall to say good-bye to Roland and had tried to leave the keep to catch him in the bailey.

Wulfric was already out in the bailey, and possibly Anne was as well, since she was nowhere to be found either. But Milisant had
not
been allowed out herself, had in fact been escorted straightaway to the solar when she’d been discovered alone in the hall, and locked away just as she had been before the wedding.

‘Twas midafternoon now. They both stood next to the Great Hearth, far enough away from Anne and her ladies to speak in private if they spoke at a normal level.

Milisant waited until Wulfric seemed done with his subject. She had restrained her anger well. She was trying, after all, to keep the peace between them, since she had actually been enjoying that peace. But her present grievance was too great to not mention it, which she finally did.

“You did not think I would want to bid Roland good-bye this morn?”

He raised a brow at her. “After you spent so much time with him yesterday?”

There was the tiniest bit of resentment in that question, which she chose to ignore for the moment. “What has that to do with common courtesy?”

“You had ample time to bid him farewell ere the Fitz Hughs left the hall,” he pointed out.

She gritted her teeth, since he was obviously ignoring the meat of her complaint. “Even if that were so, which it was not, since I arrived too late for that, I still would have liked to be
present when they rode out. Yet did I find that was impossible. I found instead that I am still to be locked in that blasted solar if neither you or your mother is around. Why did those guards throw me—”

“Throw you?”
he interrupted in a near choking tone, his expression just as incredulous.

“Shove me inside,” she corrected.

“Shove
you? They laid hands on you?”

She was snarling by now. “Nay, I am making a point here, Wulfric. Stop jumping on each little word. They insisted! There, does that sound better to you? Which is beside the point. Why am I still to be locked up? We are wed now. The threat is gone.”

“The threat is not gone until I am assured ‘tis gone,” he said in stiff response to her angry tone. “And as long as we still have guests here who come with a full entourage of their own servants, as many do, there will be folk here not easily identified.”

“And what happens when a new guest arrives, or have you bothered to think that far ahead? Am I forever, then, to be shut away like an errant child?”

“Why do you persist in viewing it that way? ‘Tis for your own protection.”

“Mayhap because I do not need protection any longer! Mayhap because at least I am smart enough to realize that the threat is over.”

That last was a direct insult, deliberate as well, she was suddenly so angry. And it struck true. His blue eyes became more intense. A muscle ticked in his cheek. And his tone, well, that turned downright menacing.

“I sometimes think you provoke me in hopes that I will beat you, just so you can then hate me more. Methinks ‘tis time you got what you deserve.”

So saying, he took her hand, dragged her out of the hall, up the stairs, straight into their bedchamber, where he then slammed shut the door. She had not once tried to stop him, too shocked that this was to be the result of a few harsh words between them. But then she had known it would come to this eventually, and that she would despise him for it. She had expected no less from a brute such as he, had
known
to expect it, which was why she hadn’t wanted to marry him.
But so soon after the wedding?!

When she felt no blows yet, she forced herself to look at him. They were standing in the center of the room. He still held her hand. He was staring at her, but his expression was now inscrutable. She was herself so tense now, she could have shattered in a strong breeze.

“What are you waiting for?” she demanded, but got no answer. “Will you beat me or not?”

Wulfric still didn’t answer for a moment, but then he sighed. “‘Tis not a matter of ‘will,’ but of ‘can,’ and I cannot.”

“Why?”

“I would rather cut off my own hand than cause you the least little harm, Milisant.”

She stared at him wide-eyed, and then she started to cry, those words having gone deep to wrench at her heart. She had never heard anything so—so nonbrutish in her life. And coming from him?

“Would that you could have felt that way
when you were younger,” she whispered in a small, quavering voice.