Sunder (30 page)

The tension in the priest’s voice was oddly reassuring. So he could feel jealousy too.
Jealousy of me.
Perhaps he was not as sure of his victory as Thorstein had imagined.

Deorca settled herself into the chair, giving another tight smile to Thorstein even as she grimaced in pain.

“You’re recovering well?” he asked kindly.

“Well enough,” she nodded as Sigbert moved to stand behind her, placing a protective hand on her shoulder.

“Thorstein came by this morning to see me and I was very happy to have him.” Though Sigbert’s words were directed at Deorca, he continued to look at Thorstein.

“For confession?” she asked. “I can come back—”

“No need,” Thorstein said as he swung the door shut. “I came by to ask about you. But with you being here, it seems I can inquire directly.”

Of course Thorstein had not come there to ask about Deorca; he had come to ask for advice. Why was that always his first inclination? He was now a free man, just like Sigbert. Why had it been his first thought to go running to Father when he saw something strange? Now he felt as though he should keep the information to himself, or perhaps tell Deorca what he had seen in private.

“I’m doing well. Saoirse is taking good care of me.” Deorca was nervous, much more so than he had ever seen her. Casting her eyes downward, she clasped her hands in her lap, then released them. She picked at her dress, then clenched and unclenched her fists. Was it the weight of Sigbert’s hand on her shoulder that made her fidget so? Did she even want him, or did she just feel he was her best chance for Lord Cædda to free her?

Still seemingly uneasy, Deorca looked around the room; she folded her hands, unfolded, folded them again. “Tomorrow I think I’ll rise with the other women to see you all off on the wolf hunt,” she said suddenly.

Damnation!
Thorstein had forgotten about the wolf hunt. He had so many horses to tack up and prepare, so many duties in the morning and then he would be gone all day—he and all the other men. There would be no time to catch Deorca alone for a talk, no time to keep watch over Lady Annis to see if she went back to the jail.

“That would be wonderful, Deorca. The townspeople will be heartened to see you there, as will Lord Cædda.” Sigbert cast his eyes on Thorstein as he inched closer to Deorca, his hand moving perceptibly on her shoulder. “Lady Annis’ refusal to see off the hunting party has put him into quite an ill humor.”

At the mention of their lady, a shining flash of terror lit Deorca’s eyes. Thorstein frowned, recalling her haughty arrogance when it came to Lady Annis. Why now, when Deorca’s status in the town had risen above that of her mistress, did she suddenly seem so fearful of her?

“Surely our lady is too ill to stand out in the cold?” she said stiffly.

Sigbert just let out a hoarse chuckle, unaware of Deorca’s change in demeanor. “She can move about quite well now. The lady is simply having a conniption over not getting her way about your flogging and is having her revenge in whatever childish way she can.”

Revenge...

Thorstein scrutinized Deorca, seeing how she leaned into Sigbert’s hand as it continued to rest on her shoulder.

“Are all the men going on the hunt tomorrow?” Deorca bleated out.

“Almost all of them. The old men are exempt, of course,” Sigbert scowled in contemplation, “and Bertolf as well. He’ll be staying behind. He seemed rather angry about it too.”

“Who’s Bertolf?” Something resembling hope entered her voice.

“The jailer,” they both answered in unison. Sigbert smiled a bit as he answered, no doubt reflecting that prior to being appointed to the jail, Bertolf had been something of the town drunkard and had actually been shackled himself a multitude of times. Thorstein, on the other hand, frowned.

He remembered now there were two sets of jailer’s keys: one for Bertolf and another set in the Great Hall. The second set had been forged entirely due to Lord Cædda’s expectation that Bertolf would one day lose his own set.

Two sets of keys, and now Thorstein was in possession of one of them. If Lady Annis meant to get back into the cell, she would need to come see Thorstein to retrieve the set she had given him, or she would need Bertolf to open it for her.

“I will also be staying behind,” said Thorstein, more loudly than he had intended.

The probing look returned to Deorca’s eyes. “Why is that?”

“I was under the impression you were coming with the rest of the men.” Sigbert gave him a disapproving glare.

“I’ll send one of the slaves along to ensure the horses are tended to during the hunt,” Thorstein said with a smile. “I have business to attend here.”

“What business is that?” Sigbert pressed.

“Mine.” Thorstein said it firmly as he met the priest’s eyes, but still he smiled. Why should he not smile? Deorca had been led astray into thinking Sigbert was the better man, the one who could protect her. Thorstein himself had almost blundered his way into proving her right. But now as he watched Sigbert ignore what was directly in front of him, he knew this was his chance to show Deorca that it was he, not Sigbert, who was destined to be her husband. God had sent Thorstein to the stockade to witness Annis’ machinations, just as He had sent Thorstein here today to understand what he must do to show Deorca the man he was.

Annis was going to use Einar to attempt harm on Deorca, and Deorca, somehow, knew it.

Sigbert knew none of these things. He did not register the fear and anxiety in the woman he claimed to love, the woman he presumed to own. But Thorstein did. He saw it all and he knew exactly what to do about it.
Yes, Sigbert. Go on your little hunt. When you come back, I will have brought a halt to Annis’ plans and Deorca will feel safe because of me. Perhaps then you will understand why I stand here smiling at you
.

Deorca, seeming to sense the tension between the men, bolted out of her chair, sending Sigbert’s hand flying off her shoulder. “I’m going to go to the kitche…see about getting some bread,” she mumbled out.

“I have some here.” Sigbert called at her retreating form. It was astonishing how fast she could move given her injuries.

“No, thank you; I need to see Saoirse. I’ll see you both tomorrow after you return from the hunt. Please be safe while you ride.” She furtively flicked her eyes to each of them as she wished for their safety before darting out the door, not bothering to close it behind her.

The freezing wind howled through the rectory, shoving at the fire until it almost blew out completely. After only a second of silence, Thorstein stepped over to the door, stopping its frantic swaying with his hand.

“Good day, Father. I’ll see you when you return.” He gave Sigbert his brightest smile without really looking at him. Without waiting for a reply (if one was even offered), Thorstein left the rectory and slammed the door behind him, happy for the first time since Deorca had fled the city with the pretender. Tomorrow would be his day. He would show everyone that he was a man of substance, of bravery, and in a few months’ time, he intended to have Sigbert officiate his wedding to Deorca.

***

Even as her back screamed at her in pain, Isabella marched up the hill as fast as she could without breaking into a run. It was true—all of it. She would never have believed it if she had not seen it with her own eyes. Thorstein’s face…that sick, self-satisfied sneer he gave her as he crudely complimented her hair.
I think in years to come I will always remember you just like this.

Gasping with the effort of walking up the hill, Isabella fought back sobs in her throat. Her heart had been so light as she had reached to knock on the rectory door, knowing Sigbert was on the other side. He would know exactly what to do and she would be safe. But Sigbert had not opened the door—it had been Thorstein, wearing that petulant wounded look on his face, the one that made him look like Etienne.

He was just like Etienne.
She stopped to catch her breath by the armory, leaning heavily against the wall and trying futilely to stop her tears. Even Sigbert knew something was wrong. She shuddered against the memory of how he had moved to be near her, protectively placing is hand on her shoulder, even though it was improper. What did he know that he wasn’t saying?
Why is this happening to me? Again.

Hadn’t she done everything right since she came back? Hadn’t she been kind, even in the face of that horrible woman who wanted her dead? Had not every single nasty thought that came into her head been carefully shuttered away? She had submitted—to everyone and everything—and it made no difference. Being selfish and cruel in her old life had earned her the murderous hate of her own husband.

And yet,
she let out a bitter, hysterical laugh,
being nice has earned me two different people who want me dead.
And why? Because of jealousy, on both accounts.

The Rage, her old friend and lifelong companion, roared to life inside her, propelling her off the wall of the armory. She strode around the corner to the front door, the pain in her ankle and back gone for the moment.

“You want me dead?” She seethed through gritted teeth as she threw her shoulder into the armory door, surprised when it easily gave way. “Then you’re going to have to earn it.”

“Earn what?” The voice jolted her momentarily from her fog of anger. Selwyn sat straight-backed on a stool in the center of the room, reading by candlelight, his sword propped against the table next to him.

Panting from exertion and the distant shadow of pain that remained through her furious adrenaline rush, she spat out at him, “Give me a bow and a full quiver of arrows.”

He raised an eyebrow, seeming not all concerned with her demeanor. “Going on the hunt with us tomorrow? Or perhaps you’re planning another escape attempt?”

“What do you care?” she screamed at him, an angry tear spilling down her face. “None of you care about me so stop worrying about what I’m doing. Just give me the fucking bow or I’ll come back and get it later.”

“The armory is locked when there’s no guard,” he closed the heavy book in his lap. “Take a breath, Love, and for God’s sake close the door before someone hears you rattling off in English.”

Her hands shaking violently, Isabella slammed the door, darkening the room further. The lone candle cast ghoulish shadows on the walls and it appeared as if the weapons hanging all around her were dancing, beckoning her to take them.

“Isabella,” Selwyn sighed with exasperation. “If you get caught with a weapon, the consequences will be severe. You’re a slave—one who recently escaped, mind you—and there is no justifiable reason for you to carry anything more deadly than a sewing needle. So whatever happened this morning to drive you off the deep end, I am sure—”

“Annis is going to have me killed tomorrow, and Thorstein is helping her,” she shouted, infuriated by his patronizing calm. “You’ll all be conveniently gone and Garrick has already explained how
imprudent
it would be to tell Cædda what his bat-shit crazy wife is up to.”

Selwyn only seemed to hear half of Isabella’s sentence, and he cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. “Thorstein? That seems unlikely. Are you sure?”

“Yes, unfortunately I am sure,” she said, her voice shaking with the effort to maintain a rational volume. “I didn’t believe it either, but I saw Thorstein at the church this morning and I’m sure now. He knows I’m going to be dead soon and he’s glad.”

Selwyn looked at her hard for a moment, examining her face unblinkingly.

What the hell is he looking for?

“I don’t think you’re right,” he finally said. “Thorstein loves you, and if Annis really is trying to kill you, Thorstein would be the first in line to protect you. He wouldn’t—”

“Well, I’ve seen how quickly love can turn into hate.” She cut him off, slicing her hand through the air. “You’re all the same. Every time a woman doesn’t do what you want, doesn’t give you what you think you’re
owed
, you all feel perfectly justified in just killing her!”

A flash of insult crossed Selwyn’s face before morphing into disgust. “You ridiculous little twat. Is that the basis of your decision-making process—knee-jerk hysterical generalizations? You really think Thorstein has murder in his heart because you politely and kindly mentioned you weren’t a good match? That’s who you think he is? If he’s plotting anything, it’s ways to impress you so you’ll reconsider.”

“Garrick said he had jailer’s keys…”

“Garrick? You’re basing this certainty on Garrick?” Selwyn shot to his feet, waving his arms in front of him in disbelief. “He expects the worst of everyone. He got sick from eating rancid meat once and I had to stop him from beating his eldest daughter to death because she was the one who had served it to him! He was entirely certain she had poisoned him. That’s who you believe?”

There was a beat of silence as she envisioned the hellish scene Selwyn had just described.

“But…things Thorstein said…”

Exasperated, Selwyn growled out a sigh. “What do you know for sure? Tell me everything you know for
certain
.”

Outrage at his cross-examination clamped her jaw shut.
People are trying to kill me and that makes
me
the bad person?