Pendragon (26 page)

When finally she was calm again, when she hadn't moaned his name again for at least five minutes, Thomas eased away from his wife, and rolled off the side of the bed. He came up to stand over her. He couldn't see her well because of the storm, the blanket of rain that obscured any outside light, the blackness of the room. But yet again he heard her moan his name; it wouldn't leave his brain. Over and over he heard her say that bastard's name: Jeremy. He wished he had the sod right here, right now. He wanted to choke the life out of him. He knew he wouldn't hesitate a minute to kill him.

And she'd said his name, damn her. Said it again and yet again. Just as she'd spoken of Jeremy to her father, and she'd been married to him not more than two hours.

It was as he'd told his mother—Meggie would never betray him. He knew it all the way to his gut. No, Meggie would never make an assignation with another man and break her marriage vows.

But the fact was he also knew that she already had—in her mind, in her heart, and he believed to his soul that betrayal in the heart was the worse. She'd married him under false pretenses. He'd forgiven her, knowing she liked him, perhaps admired him, knowing he could make her love him, want him as he'd wanted her since the first time he ever saw her. She certainly liked bedding him. He'd let himself grow complacent, secure in her. He'd let it all fade from his mind. Until now. She'd dreamed about the bloody sod. He didn't think he could bear it.

He didn't leave her, although he wanted to. He
couldn't. There was a madman out there who wanted her dead. He couldn't leave her alone.

But he wanted to. He wanted to hoard his misery, wallow in his misery by himself. He didn't want to hear her breathing beside him, feel her body pressed against him and know that he would be hard in an instant, and know too that she could be dreaming of that bastard.

Then something happened, something hard and vicious and he recognized it. It was rage and it was what he'd felt on his wedding night.

He wouldn't let his rage overwhelm him, he was a man who could control himself. He wouldn't ravage her again like he had on their wedding night. But he itched to punish her, to hurt her the way she'd hurt him.

He took one of the blankets, carried a chair to the windows and watched the dawn break through the gray rain.

28

Pendragon

Two weeks later

W
ILLIAM WAS ON
his knees, trying to pet Miss Crittenden's head. She snarled and tried to bite him. “There now, nice kitty,” he said, and stuck out his hand again. Meggie gave him a disgusted look.

“She is a racer, not some lazy creature to sit on your lap and take treats from you, William. Take care or she'll nip off the end of your finger. What are you doing here? I'm busy.”

He rose and dusted off his hands on his tan riding pants. “You don't like me, Meggie.”

“No,” she said, not looking up from the brushing she was giving Miss Crittenden, a reward for her excellent leaping, this time a running start that kept her in the air for a good two seconds and an amazing distance of over four feet.

“Why? Whatever did I do to you?”

Meggie said, “Why haven't you left to go back to Oxford, William? Perhaps a serious bit of study would improve you.”

“Well, I can't go back. You see, I didn't tell Thomas the precise truth. I was sent down, but just for this term. I will go back again, it's just a matter of time.”

“Why were you sent down?”

He flushed, turned, and tried to pet Oscar DeGrasse, one of Lord Kipper's mousers, long, lean, short-haired, black as a moonless night, with a chewed-up left ear. Oscar arched his back and purred.

Meggie didn't have much hope for Oscar. True racing cats were born with a goodly amount of arrogance, a cold and snarling sense of self, and woe be to any other cat who challenged him. They were disdainful, they were tough. They would burst their hearts to win. Oscar was asking to be petted. It wasn't a good sign. She'd asked Lord Kipper why the name DeGrasse, and he'd said, quite in a straightforward way, that it was the last name of one of his long-ago mistresses who'd been an excellent mouser in her own right, very dedicated to catching her prey and consuming it. When Meggie had asked him what that meant, he'd just laughed, and lightly touched his fingertip to her mouth. “A roundabout allusion to something you should know about by now.”

She'd jerked away. He was a dangerous man; it was stupid ever to be alone with him. Unfortunately he was undoubtedly one of the guards who, when he visited, stuck close to her. Too close for Meggie's comfort. There were always two guards, not just one. Meggie sighed. She wished William would go away. She wanted Thomas. She wanted him to smile at her, kiss her, tell her what had happened to make him go away from her.

She wondered where he was right now. During the day she was never alone, thus here was William. And, of course, Thomas slept with her every night. She would lie there on her side of the bed listening to his deep smooth breathing.

He hadn't touched her in two weeks. She'd tried only once to initiate lovemaking with him, and he'd pulled away, saying only, “I'm tired, Meggie. I'm also not interested. Go to sleep.”

It was worse than a slap in the face. She wanted to scream, perhaps even yell right in his face, but in the end,
she whispered, “What's wrong, Thomas? I don't understand.”

And he'd said his favorite litany, “I don't wish to speak of it. Go to sleep.”

She hadn't touched him since. He had fast become a stranger who stayed close to her at night, to protect her. At least he didn't want her dead. He just didn't want her for a wife either.

And now here was William hanging about her, and she knew that Thomas had set him to be another guard.

“Why were you sent down, William?” she asked again even as she thought of Ezra, big, fast, and gray with a white face, from Horton Manor. The squire's wife claimed he could fly faster and straighter than an arrow on the wing. What she'd seen of Ezra's talents the day Thomas took her to visit was him rolling across the floor with one of the squire's children. She decided that she would simply have to set up a competition of sorts to see how many country folk hereabouts were interested.

William was still stroking Oscar, now on his back, all four paws sticking into the air. “That's disgraceful,” Meggie said, frowning at the cat. “That cat has no sense of self-worth. Why were you sent down?”

William cleared his throat when he saw her eyebrow arched at him.

“I, er, got a local girl pregnant, maybe, one really never knows, and her father wanted to kill me.”

“Not an uncommon reaction, I should say. Was she prettier than Melissa Winters?”

William's jaw dropped. He tried to say something, then shut his mouth fast as a clam trap.

“You are a miserable human being, William,” Meggie said, so furious with her half brother-in-law that if she wouldn't hang for it, she would have cheerfully stomped him into the ground. “You probably should have been strangled at birth. Saved everyone a lot of difficulties, particularly the female of the species.”

“But it wasn't my fault,” William said, and Meggie
knew a whine when she heard it, having four brothers and so many dratted boy cousins about. She was so furious with him that she jumped to her feet, her fists at the ready. She wanted to fight him, to sock him in the jaw.

“The girls just hold you down, William, and rip off your clothes?”

He looked shocked that she, a vicar's daughter, would speak so bluntly. She just stared him down until he said, shrugging, “Well, no, but they're the kind of girls who are with ever so many men, and I'm just the one who always gets caught. It wasn't my fault. But you didn't like me before you saw me, Meggie. Why?”

“Melissa Winters, you dolt. I know all about how you blamed Thomas for that. You're a dishonorable cretin, William.”

“But it was Thomas who got her with child,” William said. “At the time I was in Glasgow with Aunt Augusta.”

Meggie couldn't help herself. She slammed her fist into his jaw, a really solid hit that sent him reeling backward, his flailing arms nearly hitting Oscar DeGrasse. Oscar screeched and leaped straight up and backward, an amazing feat that Meggie couldn't help but admire. William couldn't catch himself and went crashing down on his back. He didn't move, just stared up at her, trying to catch his breath.

“Thomas is honorable,” she said between fiercely gritted teeth. “You ever say something like that again, and I will kick you in the ribs after I've knocked you down.”

William whimpered and didn't move.

“Thank you.”

Meggie whirled about to see her husband standing in the doorway to this big sparsely furnished room, his arms crossed over his chest, one of his favorite poses. The irony of that thank-you had hit her square in the nose. She raised her chin. “You are many things, Thomas, but dishonorable isn't one of them.”

“No,” he said. “I'm not.” He walked over to William and held out his hand. William looked at that hand, and Meggie thought for a moment that William would
whimper. She said, “Oh, for goodness' sake, William, be a man and take your brother's hand. He won't kill you. He is more civilized about things like that than I.”

“But
you
still might.”

“That is true. Go away. I'm trying to train these cats.”

William dusted himself off, gave his brother a very uncertain look, and was out of the room very quickly.

Thomas said slowly, “You defended me.”

“What would you expect me to do? Tell your dim-witted half brother that you ignore your new wife, that you treat her like she bores you silly, and thus he can say anything at all he likes about you?”

“No. You're not like that.”

“Is it possible that another man did impregnate Melissa Winters?”

“No.”

“William said he was in Glasgow with Aunt Augusta.”

“He was. I sent him there after I beat him to within an inch of his life.”

“Well, good.” Meggie wiped her hands on her skirt, looked over at Oscar, who was now curled into a tight ball, sleeping in a corner. “He doesn't look like much of a winner, does he?”

“Niles says he's fast.”

“Did you see him execute that backward leap?”

“I wasn't looking at him at the time.”

“What's wrong, Thomas?”

“I came to get you for tea, Meggie. My mother, Libby, and Lord Kipper are in the drawing room. Cook has already brought the tea and cakes. You're the only one missing.”

“And William.”

“Undoubtedly Barnacle will nab him.”

“I see. All right,” Meggie said, then looked over to see Barnacle grimacing toward them, his face contorted in awful agony.

She just looked at him, an eyebrow arched. “You're supposed to nab William.”

“I'll nab him all right, but this is more important. It's vital to set things in their proper order and his lordship—our lordship, that is, my lady—is the most important thing hereabouts in any order. He has told me to tell you that he wishes to see you at your convenience in the estate room. And here he is telling you all by himself—and here I am doing the telling as well, but no matter. Two times is better than a chance on none doing the telling.”

“I am very afraid, Barnacle,” Thomas said, “that I understood you.”

Barnacle beamed at him before he remembered, and reset his face into a fearful grimace.

Meggie gave the old man a smile and a very light pat on the back. “Yes, he has told me himself, Barnacle, and now so have you. I surely haven't a chance of forgetting now. Thank you.” When he hobbled out, moaning with each stiff step, Meggie turned again to her husband. “You said tea. Barnacle said you wanted to see me in the estate room. What's going on, Thomas?”

“I just wanted to tell you that there is another package from your family.” He paused a moment, examined his fingernails, and said easily, “Perhaps it's another gift from your almost cousin.”

“Jeremy? Another gift? Probably not.”

Then Meggie paused. There'd been something different in his voice when he'd said that, something just out of her reach.

“Tea or the package first, my lord?”

“That would depend on how excited you are about receiving another present from your almost cousin.”

This time it smacked her in the nose. Jeremy, he was jealous of Jeremy. Had he heard something? No, surely neither her father nor Mary Rose would have said anything. Goodness, Mary Rose didn't even know. She was shaking her head even as she knew that he couldn't know, just couldn't. Then what was going on?

“His name is Jeremy Stanton-Greville,” she said. “You met him at our wedding. He is five years older than you. He is married, his wife expecting a child. It is no more
likely to be a present from him than from any other cousin or uncle or aunt or brother.”

“I see,” he said, and she wanted to hit him for that snide tone.

“I must go now and straighten myself before presenting myself in the drawing room with your blessed mother. I will look at my package later.”

“Take care, Meggie. Five minutes, no more. Otherwise I will send someone for you.”

“I doubt someone will try to bash me on the head on my way to my bedchamber.”

“Five minutes.”

She merely nodded and stalked out of the room. How could he possibly be jealous of Jeremy? It made no sense at all. But his voice had been different. She sighed. She just didn't know, had no idea, and she'd thought and thought about what she could have done to alienate him so very much. All she could figure out was that her husband had gotten himself in a snit because Jeremy sent her a carving of Mr. Cork. It was ridiculous.

She nearly knocked over her mother-in-law she was so deeply immersed in her own thoughts.

“Watch your direction, Missy!”

“What? Oh, ma'am, sorry I nearly plowed you down. It would surely be different if I'd meant to, but I didn't.”

“You are entirely too smart for your own good. Just look at that dreadful chandelier overhead with all that raw-looking rope holding it up. My ancestors are thumping in their graves.”

“You don't have any ancestors to thump here, ma'am. It's the Kavanaughs, don't you remember?”

“A low lot, the Kavanaughs,” Madeleine said, staring at that rope, “so low they don't deserve to have ancestors here. No matter. Now, as for you, Missy—”

“It's my lady.”

“Bah. I can tell that my dearest son is already tired of you. He keeps his distance from you, just plain avoids you, everyone has noticed it. Didn't take him long, did it? You are boring, obviously, you no longer amuse him,
and he bitterly regrets marrying you. At least he got a lovely big dowry out of it. Well, are you pregnant yet?”

“Ask your son, ma'am,” Meggie said, and nearly knocked her mother-in-law down on purpose this time. She managed to hold her temper, and forced herself to breathe in the wonderful fresh lemon wax that had shined up every bit of furniture and armor in the castle. There wasn't a single cobweb in any corner. Everything shone. Even though Mrs. Black couldn't see into any corners, she claimed she could always hear spiders weaving their webs and she didn't hear a single thing now.