Susan Spencer Paul (6 page)

Edyth had thrived on convent life, but Lillis was ready for something altogether different. She wanted to live and be free to do as she pleased, to marry and have children of her own, to be in love with a man and to be loved in turn. These were the dreams that had sustained her through ten long years.

She had never met her betrothed, Jason de Burgh, or if she had she’d forgotten him. Her father had arranged the marriage and assured her that de Burgh would make a fine husband and a good father, regardless that he was nearly as poor as her father. Perhaps when they were wed, she could help him to make the most of the estates he had, and perhaps she might even come to love him one day. She did hope so. Yes, she hoped so very much. To love the man she married would be the most wonderful thing in the world.

She’d not believed Alexander of Gyer when he said that her father was simply trying to achieve an alliance with de Burgh through her marriage to him. Oh, she could believe that her father would be happy for the circumstance of an alliance with Dunsted, but he wouldn’t have considered de Burgh for her if that man hadn’t met his rigid requirements. Lillis smiled. Alexander of Gyer was, indeed, foolish if he thought her father would marry her away like so much cattle. But perhaps he wouldn’t understand that. He had only ever seen the side of her father that Lillis, herself, tried to ignore. The harsh side, the angry side.

Her father had been that way since her mother had died, when Lillis was four years old. Her memories of her mother were vague at best, but she remembered how passionately her father had loved her. After her death, though, he’d become a miserable, hateful man. The only love he spared was for Lillis. For everyone else he had only impatience and irritation. His servants, vassals and villagers all lived in dread of Jaward of Wellewyn. Lillis had long since determined that she must do what she could to soften him. Once she was married to Jason de Burgh, and living so much closer to Wellewyn, she would devote herself to finding the key to her father’s misery, to solving the reasons for his cruelty.

If she ever got out of Gyer, that was. If Alexander of Gyer ever decided what he was going to do with her.

“H
as Alexander of Gyer come to a decision yet?” Lillis asked as she followed Aunt Leta, making a conscious effort to stay behind her this time rather than in front.

Aunt Leta snorted disdainfully. “You’ve no manners whatsoever to ask such a thing,” she stated. “The training you received at that convent certainly wasn’t as it should have been.”

“I do plead your forgiveness, my lady,” Lillis replied in the wilting tone of repentance she’d been taught at Tynedale, but Aunt Leta only made another sound of disgust.

She waited demurely while Aunt Leta knocked on the door of the same chamber she’d been directed to that morn. Alexander of Gyer called for them to enter and the older woman escorted Lillis in, then left, surprisingly, without being asked to.

He was standing by one of the many long windows in the room, looking out at the setting sun, his hands clasped behind his back. The light, soft and yellow at this time of day, highlighted the multitude of red-gold strands in his dark hair and showed fully the strong features of his handsome face. He did not turn to greet her, and Lillis stayed where she was, waiting.

He was silent a while, then said quietly, “I seem to be forever apologizing to you, my lady. I would ask your forgiveness for my behavior of this afternoon. My words to you were rude and uncalled-for, more so because they were made in the presence of others.” His gaze fell to the floor. “I am sincerely, deeply ashamed, and I can only hope that you will be kind enough to forgive me. You had every right to speak as you did about my lack of chivalry.”

He completed this speech and looked out the window again. The muscles of his face were taut and his hands were clasped so firmly that the knuckles turned white. Lillis cleared her throat and held her own hands together in front of herself.

“I believe, my lord, that I am the one who should apologize. I should not have made the accusations about your honor that I did, and I am fully ashamed of myself. I fear I am possessed of a terrible temper. The nuns at Tynedale used to be hard put to know what to do with me, sometimes.” She offered him a smile but saw that his frowning gaze remained out the window. “But that is no excuse,” she continued, chagrined. “There is never any excuse for a lady to behave so badly. Please forgive me.”

His hands unclasped, and the one side of his face that she could see displayed relief. He ran one hand through his hair, released a full breath, then finally turned to look at her. “It seems we have a truce, then, Lillis of Wellewyn,” he said, smiling with a charming uncertainty that made her knees feel weak. “Perhaps, considering our situation, we are allowed some few shortcomings. You had good cause to vent your anger on me, my lady, while I’d none to countenance my behavior. But I am grateful to you for being so kind as to try to take some of my blame. Come. Let us accept each other’s apology and be done with it.” He walked toward her with one arm outstretched. Lillis put her hand out, not thinking of what she did.

His grasp was warm and strong, and he gently squeezed her hand and arm and smiled into her eyes. Lillis smiled at him, too, yet had no conscious thought of doing so. She was only aware of the strange sensation of being so close to a man, of holding his arm, of being alone in a room with him. Except for that morning, she had never before been alone with any man other than her father. The very thought made her heart beat faster.

She did not know how long they stood thus, clasping arms and staring into each other’s eyes, but it seemed a long time. Slowly Alexander of Gyer slid his hand to hers, taking hold of it and turning it. His eyes moved to gaze at her palm, then, very purposefully, he drew her upturned fingers to his lips and gently kissed them. He looked back into her eyes as his lips pressed against her skin, and Lillis felt herself trembling. He must have realized it, for he immediately lowered her hand and released it.

“Come and share a cup of wine with me, Lillis of Wellewyn,” he invited, turning from her.

Lillis stood where she was and tried to keep her body from shaking. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before and she didn’t like it. The way his mouth had felt on her—no, she didn’t like it at all.

“Thank you,” she replied out of habit, her trembling voice causing her to wince self-consciously.

“Come and sit, will you?” he said, pouring the wine and setting a goblet for her on his desk, in front of the chair she’d sat in that morn. Lillis sank into the chair gratefully, wondering how much longer she would have been able to stand with her knees shaking so badly.

“Have—have you come to a decision yet?”

Alexander of Gyer didn’t sit across the table from her as he had that morning; instead, he pulled another chair close to hers and settled into it.

“Not yet,” he answered. “I thought perhaps we might discuss the matter further.” He cast her a teasing grin. “If we can keep from fighting each other, that is.”

Unable to help herself, Lillis smiled in turn and wondered, as she did, whether a man more handsome than this existed on God’s earth. He had the greenest eyes she’d ever seen.

“I know it is strange,” he continued, “to want to speak with you about such matters. You’ll be thinking me crazed, I suppose. The truth, my lady, is that you’re a most sensible captive.”

“Oh?” Lillis lifted her eyebrows in mock amazement. “There are others to compare me with, then? You make a habit of holding people in your home against their will?”

He laughed aloud. “No, no,” he assured her. “You and your companions are the only ones. I should have said, I think, that you are the most sensible woman I have ever known, instead.”

Lillis forced a smile even though she again felt that twinge of jealous pain. She was a sensible female, never an attractive one.

“Thank you,” she murmured, and with a steadier hand lifted the goblet and took a sip of the somewhat bitter red wine.

He studied her curiously. “Do you know, I find it impossible that Jaward of Wellewyn is your father. There is naught of him in you whatsoever.”

“I take after my mother,” she said. “Did you ever meet her? I’m sure I never met either of your parents, or any of your family, when I was a child.”

He shook his head. “I cannot remember ever meeting your mother, and I didn’t even know you existed until yesterday, when your father informed me of your impending marriage to Jason de Burgh.”

“It is rather strange, is it not,” she said thoughtfully, “for neighboring families to not know one another? Even in Tynedale we knew most of the people for miles around. I wonder how it is that we lived so close to each other and yet never met.”

“I don’t know, though I agree it is unusual. But your father has ever been something of a recluse, and my father and he hated each other, so they had no reason to go visiting.”

“Did they?” Lillis asked with real surprise. “I didn’t know that. Why did they hate each other?”

Alexander of Gyer gave a weary sigh. “I don’t know. I was hoping you might be able to tell me, but it sounds as though you know less about it than I. I’m convinced that whatever was between Jaward and my father is the reason for Jaward’s building the dam. He’s set on revenge, and I don’t even know why. I’ve asked him but he refuses to tell me.”

Lillis frowned into her goblet, watching the red liquid wave back and forth in the cup. She wondered if what Alexander of Gyer said was true. Her father never discussed such matters with her, just as he never told her about the dam or about the tense circumstances with Gyer. It occurred to her that perhaps she didn’t realize the full extent of her father’s vengeful nature.

“I could find out, if you would let me,” she offered.

“No.” The word was final.

“Well—” she smiled at him briefly before returning her gaze to her cup “—it was worth a try.”

They were quiet, then. Lillis could feel Alexander of Gyer’s gaze upon her and somehow could not bring her own to meet it.

“I wish there was something I could do to help,” she finally said. Anything to break the uncomfortable silence, though she sincerely meant the words.

“I know you do,” he murmured, “and I appreciate it more than I can say. You and I share the matter of this problem so closely. Our fathers created this situation, and we are the ones who must set it to rights.”

“This is true, Alexander of Gyer,” Lillis agreed, standing and putting the goblet on the table. She walked to the window where Alexander had stood earlier and gazed out at the growing twilight. “But I have already told you my solution for the matter and you have decided against it. What more can I do? Other than be a complacent prisoner?”

He rose and joined her beside the window, looking at her intently. “Believe me, my lady, it is not you I distrust. It is your father. I have already told you why I dare not take the chance of letting you go to him in the hopes of turning him. He will quickly refuse to do anything that you ask, and I’ll have lost the only power I have over him. It’s too much of a risk.”

“Then let me write to him!” she pleaded, holding out an entreating hand.

He shook his head. “He’ll go to the king the moment he knows you’re here. Impossible.”

With a sound of exasperation, she turned her head to look out the window again. “We are still at odds, then.”

“What about de Burgh?” Alexander of Gyer asked. “What do you know of him?”

“Little, my lord,” she said with a slight shrug. “I’ve not even met him, I don’t think, unless it was as a child. I don’t remember him, if I did. But I thought you had already decided he is plotting with my father. Do you think he might somehow be useful?”

“I don’t know,” he answered thoughtfully. “We’ve never gotten along, as I told you, but even so, I’ve never thought that de Burgh wished to actually war with Gyer. He
is
an unreasonable, stubborn-headed dog, true enough, but is that reason to make him send his people to their certain demise?”

Lillis ignored this insulting slight to her betrothed and instead offered up a new idea. “I know! I shall make having the dam torn down a contingency of my marriage. If my father wishes me to wed de Burgh he’ll have to tear the dam down first. What could be simpler? I don’t know why we didn’t think of it earlier.” Her voice was filled with excitement.

He thought this over briefly, then frowned. “I cannot think your father will tear the dam down for such a reason. He’ll probably threaten to keep you a maiden at Wellewyn your whole life long rather than lose his power over Gyer. You’d have done better to stay at the convent and take up the veil.”

Lillis was undaunted. “Perhaps I could make certain that the marriage contract is written so that I will keep control and ownership of the land after my marriage. I’ll demand that it be made a part of my dower. Would that not settle matters?”

“I should like to see you do it!” he replied with a bitter laugh. “Do you truly think either your betrothed or your father would agree to such a demand after all their careful planning? I doubt it very much.”

“Oh!” Lillis snapped. “I give way! Nothing is acceptable to you. I’ll grow old in this place while you try to make a decision.”

Alexander gazed at her sympathetically. “I’m sorry. I know this is as unpleasant for you as it is for me. More so, as I have my freedom.” He sighed and raised one arm to lean against the side of the window opening. “What a troublesome knot we must untie!”

Lillis was about to agree when the door to the room flew open. They both turned to find Willem standing there, breathless and tense.

“Alex! There’s a fire in one of the tenants’ villages.”

“Damn!” Alexander pushed from the window, his face pale. “Where?”

“The northern fields.” Willem’s expression was grim. “It’s bad, Alex.”

The Lord of Gyer was already on his way to the door. “Take Lady Lillis back to her room,” he barked, “and meet me at the stables. I’ll gather the men.”

Lillis didn’t need to be told. She obediently went with Willem.

“No one will be harmed, do you think?” she asked anxiously as they made their way up the stairs.

“I hope not,” he replied. “We can only pray that the rains of yesterday will slow the fire and keep it from spreading.”

“Does anyone know how it was started?”

“No,” he said, then added tersely, “Dunsted probably.” She could hear the anger in his voice, and cringed.

Surely Jason de Burgh would never countenance his people doing such a horrible thing! No, the fire must have been started by accident, from a fallen candle or a smoking fire pit. These things often happened; it would make more sense than suspecting someone of deliberately setting it. Lillis hoped this was so. She knew only too well who would be blamed if Dunsted was responsible for the fire.

They reached the chamber door and Willem fumbled with the keys.

“I’m sorry to be so unmannerly, my lady, but you must understand.” He opened the door and fairly shoved her in.

“Of course, of course,” she reassured him. “Please be careful, Sir Willem. I hope you get there in time.”

He nodded his gratitude, then closed and locked the door, leaving her staring at it.

“What is it, dear?” Edyth said, and came up behind her. “What’s happened? How did your meeting with the Lord of Gyer fare?”

“Edyth,” Lillis said, taking her companion’s hand and squeezing it, “I have a dreadful anticipation that we are about to be in more trouble than we presently are. I do believe it might be well if we spent much of this night on our knees.”