Susan Spencer Paul (5 page)

But this only enraged him more, and the expression that contorted his handsome features made Lillis’s hands clench in quick fear.

“Have no fear, my lady,” he assured her, “you shall never be subject to such an incident. But even if there were any danger of that event taking place, I would not move you to another chamber. I feel much safer at night knowing that you are so close by. I am a light sleeper, you see, and would know of it instantly were you to attempt an escape. You’d not get past the hallway before I caught you again.”

Lillis laughed at him contemptuously. “Of course you would. The guards outside our door would alert you. Do you think us complete idiots, my lord?”

How long this exchange might have continued, no one would ever know. Willem had been standing by, horrified, watching his brother speak to a lady in a manner he’d never before heard him speak to anyone.

“Alex,” he said, stepping between his brother and Lillis of Wellewyn, “I should be most pleased to offer my chamber to these ladies, if they are unhappy with Mother’s chamber.”

Alexander frowned at him. “I have said they will stay where they are. There is no need to make such an offer.”

“This is so,” Willem agreed diplomatically, “but perhaps it would be best to consider the idea. Lady Lillis and her companion are already being kept at Gyer under unhappy circumstances. It seems a small thing to make them as comfortable as possible.”

Driven by a demon that she, herself, didn’t approve of, Lillis said oversweetly, “Thank you kindly, Sir Willem. You are truly a noble and chivalrous man. It is certain that you’ve taken your vows to God quite seriously.”

Alexander of Gyer’s eyes narrowed. “And I have not? That is what you mean. I have done all that I can to make your confinement at Gyer pleasant, yet you would make me a villain who has no right to call himself knight. I was fool enough to think this morn that perhaps you sympathized with the difficulty of my situation, but I now see that you are as stubborn and thickheaded as your father. I never should have supposed otherwise, Lillis of Wellewyn.”

“Alex!” Willem gripped his brother’s tensed arm. “You know not what you say! Please forgive him, my lady.”

Willem’s words fell on deaf ears, though his standing between Lillis and the Lord of Gyer was the only thing preventing her from slapping Alexander.

“How
dare
you expect sympathy from those whom you hold against their will!” she cried furiously. “There is naught you could do to make our captivity pleasant, save to let us go free, and well you know it! As to your knighthood,
Sir
Alexander, you may examine for yourself how well you have kept your vows.
I
will not be made to feel guilty for
your
failings.”

He stared at her for a silent moment, then shook off Willem’s hand. “Take them to their chamber. Mother’s chamber. That is where they will continue to stay, and I’ll not argue the matter further.” He gave Lillis an especially aggravated look. “Make certain to lock them up well. It is clear—quite clear—that one cannot trust a daughter of Wellewyn.”

“Oh!” Lillis shouted after him as he strode toward the stairs. “I would rather be the devil’s daughter than have anything to do with Gyer!”

But he neither stopped nor made any reply. In a moment he had made his way out of their view.

“D
amn!”

Alexander slammed his way into his private chamber.

What in God’s holy name had just happened? He could barely remember, though he’d walked away from Lillis of Wellewyn only moments before. He didn’t even know what he’d said to her, exactly. All he knew for certain was that he’d been unforgivably rude, that he’d behaved like a common, ill-mannered lout. What was he about to be speaking to anyone in such a way, let alone to a lady? Especially to Lillis of Wellewyn. Was he not already using her badly enough without hurling insults of the worst kind at her, as well?

“Oh, God!” he beseeched the ceiling and the Being Above. “Tell me I didn’t say the things I think I did. Make it all a terrible mistake of my memory.”

Why had he done it? He paced the room angrily. The very room where that morning they had talked so reasonably with each other. Where he had felt so much admiration for her. And attraction. And desire. God’s mercy! What was happening to him? He was a betrothed man. He had no right feeling such things for anyone but Barbara, no matter how fair Lillis of Wellewyn might be. She was nothing more than his prisoner, and nothing less than his enemy’s daughter. These facts he must not lose sight of. Ever.

Turning sharply, his eyes sought the banner of Gyer, which hung above the mantel. There—the red and the white. The red and the white. Looking at it, Alexander could almost feel his father’s hand closing about the neck of his tunic and dragging him up from the muddy practice field; he could see again the rage on his father’s face, and hear the words, as he’d heard them over and over in his dreams and nightmares.

“Weakling! Stupid,
foolish
weakling!”

The faces of his father’s men, noble, fighting men whom Alexander revered, were there in his memory, too, some grinning in amusement, some watching in silent sympathy. It had been humiliating, being felled so quickly on his first day of battle training; more humiliating when the tiny blow he’d received had drawn blood; utterly humiliating when the sight of the blood had made him physically ill, right there in front of them all. In front of his father.

Alexander could still see the silk banner his father had snatched from his steed, could remember just how the colors had looked, thrust before his face, mangled in his father’s fist.

“The red is for courage, Alexander!” his father had shouted at him. “The white is for honor!
Red
for
courage! White
for
honor!
”

The colors had blended before his eyes, the silk had felt cold when his father roughly scrubbed Alexander’s face with it.

“Red
for
courage! White
for
honor!”

His father had tossed him down, then, and he remembered the damp chill of the earth, and lying there as the men moved away. His father had been the last to go.

“God, but you sicken me,” his father had said. “I’m ashamed to have such a weakling for a son. What honor will you ever bring Gyer?”

Running one hand through his hair, Alexander let out a long, taut breath. It was good to remember that day. Always good. When he thought of that day, he remembered anew the vow he’d made himself, and remembered, as well, that he’d kept that vow. Gyer was his now.
His.
It was wealthy and strong and secure, as it had never been under his father’s hand, and Alexander himself was one of the most powerful men in England. Nothing was going to threaten that—not memories of his father, not Jaward of Wellewyn, not Lillis of Wellewyn.

Lillis of Wellewyn.

He would apologize to her. God knew he’d done it plenty of times already since he’d met her, once more would make little difference. She would understand. He would explain that he was under a great deal of stress and worry. She would accept his apology. Really, aside from her beauty, she was a most intelligent woman. And quite a worthy adversary. Barbara would have cried and whimpered if he’d spoken to her the way he had to Lillis of Wellewyn this day.

He strolled to one of the several windows in the room and looked at the garden in the bailey below. It was almost time for the midday meal. He wondered if Lillis of Wellewyn and her maid had eaten yet, and he hoped, if they had, that the food had met with their approval.

His prisoners.

What was he going to do with them? He’d been avoiding the question most of the day since his interview with Lillis of Wellewyn had ended.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and a castle page entered bearing a tankard.

“There is new ale just opened, my lord. Lady Baldwin bade me bring you some.”

Alexander gave the boy a curt nod. “Put it on the table, then.”

“Yes, my Lord Gyer.”

“Thank you, Cedric. I’ll be out for the meal in a few minutes. Tell the others to begin. Sir Willem may give the blessing if he is there, and Sir Alan if he is not.”

When Cedric had gone, Alexander returned his gaze to the garden below, considering the choices from among which he must soon choose.

“Alex!”

He smiled before turning to look at Barbara, who stood against his chamber door. How she had gotten in so quietly and why she had closed the door didn’t matter. He was glad to see her there. She would keep his mind from his troubles. Momentarily, at least.

“Hello, sweet,” he greeted softly, and held out a hand to her. She was across the room and throwing herself into his arms in only moments.

“You’re not angry with me, Alex?” she asked shyly, burrowing her head against his shoulder.

She felt good to hold. Comforting. “Why should I be, sweeting?”

“Because of that woman from Wellewyn,” she replied petulantly. “I thought you were angry with me because of her. You spoke so sharply to me.”

He laughed at her innocence. She sounded like a little girl who needed a parent’s reassurance. “Of course I’m not angry with you, dearest.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “It must be very hard to have a stranger in the household and staying in the chamber that will one day be yours. I’m sorry to put you through so much.”

He felt her smile against his shoulder. “Oh, Alex! You are always so kind!” She lifted her pretty little face and gazed at him adoringly with her green eyes. “Kiss me before Aunt Leta comes to find us. I’ve missed you so much all day!”

Alexander could not resist the rosebud lips she offered him, puckered together to receive his kiss. He lowered his head and felt her soft arms sliding around his neck to hug him closer. He let himself draw comfort from her mouth, which opened under his and allowed his tongue to explore. He let himself forget his worries and lose himself in her tenderness. When she pressed her slender body against him provocatively, what little control he had slipped away. One hand tightened around her waist while the other began to roam. Just as he was ready to give way to passion, he felt himself being pushed away.

“Oh Alex,” she said with a sigh. “When will we be married?”

He groaned and tried to capture her elusive lips again.

“When, Alex?” she persisted, her delicate hands pushing at his shoulders.

Alexander drew in a steadying breath and straightened up and away from her.

“I don’t know,” he said, wondering why this subject seemed to come up every time he kissed her. “You know I can make no promises.”

She stiffened beneath his hands. Her eyes were sharp and clear; there was nothing in her to evidence the passion that he was feeling.

“I don’t know why you make us wait!” she declared, pushing at him in earnest until he let her go. “It’s the fault of that woman from Wellewyn! If it weren’t for her wretched father we should have already been married!”

“Barbara,” Alexander said shortly, “we have discussed many times the reasons as to why we are not yet wed.” He went to where Cedric had left the ale, and picked up the tankard. “I’m in no mood to discuss them again. You shall have to be patient.” He took a long drink.

He heard her sharp intake of breath, and could almost envision the expression on her face.

“You want her!” Barbara accused, her voice full of hurt. “You find her beautiful!”

“Her?” Alexander repeated with bewilderment. “Who is it you speak of?”

“Lillis of Wellewyn! You won’t marry me because of her!”

“That,” Alexander said, setting the tankard down and moving to pull her into his arms, “is the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard, and you well know it. It is you I want, and none other.” He hugged her more tightly. “You have been dear to me since I can remember. Since I was a boy and even before. Say anything you want to me, but tease me not about about such feelings.”

“Alex.” She sounded as though she might cry. Her arms were clasped firmly around his neck, squeezing him very hard. “I don’t mean to be so childish, my lord, but I cannot help myself. Lillis of Wellewyn is very beautiful, and I hate you having anything to do with her. But I know you’d not be unfaithful to me, for you have ever been kind and honest in your dealings with John and me. It was foolish of me to accuse you of such a thing.”

“It’s all right,” he said with some relief. “We’re both under a great deal of tension, of late. We’ll be married soon, dearest.” He smiled at her, and kissed her quickly. “As soon as possible, I promise. Can you be patient a little longer?”

She returned the smile brilliantly. “Forever, if I must, Alex,” she promised. “Let us speak of it no more. Come and eat, before Aunt Leta starts pounding on the door. You must be starved by now.”

Willingly Alexander gave her his hand, and let her lead him out the door.

* * *

From one of the windows in her chamber, Lillis could see more clearly the garden she had wanted to explore earlier that afternoon. She sat on the wide ledge of the window’s arch and surveyed the inner bailey of the castle, its gardens, the village beyond, and the open land after that as far as she could. It was such a beautiful land, so well kept and settled, so very different from Wellewyn. The sun was beginning to go down, though the rays that fell upon her were still warm and bright. What a different day from the one before with all its rain and misery.

A brief glance toward the bed showed that Edyth was still soundly napping. They had eaten and enjoyed the sumptuous meal that had been brought to their chamber earlier, and had even drunk the wine that had been brought with it. They had not been used to drinking much wine at the convent, except for communion and on the Sabbath and holidays. Not that drinking wine was considered a sin; on the contrary, the sisters at Tynedale fermented and bottled quite a bit of wine each year for their own use. It was, however, less costly to drink well water or goats’ milk with the daily meals, and the wine was used sparingly. In truth, neither Edyth nor she had ever before consumed so much wine as they had that afternoon, and it made both of them feel tired and pleasant.

As soon as they had finished eating, Edyth had stretched and yawned and announced that she would like to nap. With very little encouragement she lay down on the bed and was soon soundly asleep. Lillis smiled with affection at her companion; Edyth always slept the sleep of the innocent. There was never the tossing and turning that Lillis suffered, or the slumberless hours of staring into nothing while trying to blank her mind and go to sleep. Edyth’s was a pure soul and a pure mind. She was content to live a simple and unassuming life. Even her ability to sleep reflected it. Lillis sighed and looked back out the window. If only she were more like Edyth. If only she weren’t so restless, so wanting.

It came from living so many years in the convent, she thought. It had been a quiet and spare life, one filled with daily hard work and sacrifice. During the ten years that she had lived and worked and studied at Tynedale, Lillis had come to respect and appreciate the women who had dedicated their lives to the Lord’s service, for really they had nothing for themselves save the satisfaction of doing what they felt God wanted of them. She herself could not have made a life of such sacrifice. Ten years had been quite long enough.

They had been hard years and sometimes lonely, though she was one of several girls who had lived at the convent. She had studied in the mornings and worked with the orphans or with the nuns during the afternoons. In the evenings there was cooking and cleaning to be done, and from season to season there were always the gardens and livestock to tend. All during the day, at different times, there were masses, prayers and devotions in the chapel, and all were required to attend. At other very specific times during the day, plain meals of bread and cheese, vegetables, a stew or soup, and occasionally a chicken or loin of beef were served. The entire day was spoken for by routine from the moment one rose to the moment one returned to rest, and Lillis had dreamed of and longed for the time when she would be able to spend her days as she pleased.

She’d learned many things at the convent and from the nuns. Truly, if she could go back and have the choice of either staying at home with a tutor or going to the convent, she supposed she would have chosen the latter all over again. In truth, the time she’d spent in Tynedale had been invaluable. The nuns had given her the charge of many responsibilities, including the overseeing of the schoolgirls when she was fifteen and the management of the orphanage at seventeen, and those duties had trained her to be disciplined, strong and very capable.

The thought of one day managing a large household didn’t frighten Lillis in the least—it couldn’t possibly be any worse than managing an orphanage of over one hundred children—and the idea of someday having to live on a very tight budget wasn’t at all daunting. She could cook, clean, garden, make soap and candles, dye and weave cloth, and sew quite beautifully. Indeed, her greatest pleasure at the convent had been her sewing, when she had had a spare moment or two to do it.

She’d made beautiful clothing for herself, for the future, when she would return to her life as a lady, much to the chagrin of the sisters who felt that indulging in any type of outward finery was self-serving and vain. But Lillis refused to feel guilty for trying to make herself more presentable. Goodness only knows that a woman such as she, large and mannish, needed every help she could find, and, too, she’d grown weary to tears with wearing the scratchy white undergarments and plain brown surcoat that all the girls at the convent wore, and of covering her hair with brown wool cloth every minute of the day. She had made herself a promise to keep her head uncovered for as long as she could once she left the convent. The nuns, she knew, would have been horrified.