Yearning Heart (35 page)

“Yes, Sir Stephen, I'm aware.”

“Young Henry must be punished, but I cannot trust his journey with anyone other than myself.” He paced from the window to the fireplace where a log burned, sending warmth through the huge room. “There is Rebecca.” He turned once more to Malvina. “Rebecca is still hurting and tired, but the stubborn woman will not admit to pain. See that she is well taken care of, that she rests each day, and eats more than is her habit these days.”

“Yes, my lord.” Malvina smiled at the look of anguish on Stephen's face. It would behoove both her master and his wife to stop long enough to admit they loved each other, and then other problems would be simpler. As a maidservant, she could not offer such advice, but she wished it so.

“I cannot take her with me, she is not well enough.” He went back to pacing. “Watch her, Malvina. Do not let her do any work until her wounds have healed completely. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Of course, you do.” Stephen smiled and reached to touch her hand. “I trust you with my life, Malvina.”

* * * *

Rebecca refused to go to the great hall for the evening meal and remained abed most of the day. Truth was that her body ached, and she touched many places that were sore. Her scalp was tender, and merely placing the brush to her head caused her to moan with pain.

Her heart, too, seemed bruised. No matter what she did or said or asked, Stephen did not hear or see anything other than the error of her ways. His loyalties, his thoughts, his every wish, were for the royal kingdom. Truth, it was his job, and it paid for many extras, such as New Sarum, a team of strong horses for the just purchased carriage.

It did not buy love.

Restless, Rebecca pulled herself slowly from the bed, taking her time to ease the stiffness in her arms and legs. Her movement to the window was slow with short steps. Pulling the draperies aside, she blinked at the sunshine, so bright as to hurt her eyes. She hurt everywhere.

Stephen was away again. She'd heard the carriage before morning's light, orders called for various tasks to be completed ere they began the journey to London. One order, she knew, was to guard the Lady Rebecca lest she decide to leave New Sarum.

Were there the slightest chance, she would go. But with her soreness, the stiffness in her joints, she could not ride even a stolen horse, nor would she get far on foot.

She expected the knock on the door and did not turn from the window as she called, “Come.” Without looking, she knew it was Malvina. A sour taste came into her mouth. Her guard, her jailor. She resented it greatly.

“I have brought food, my lady. Sir Stephen orders thee to eat.”

“Leave it, then,” Rebecca said.

“My lady, ‘tis not good for thy body to do without food, especially since the injuries. Strength is needed.”

“Leave the tray and leave me alone, Malvina. I promise not to run away or destroy the furniture or turn the servants against Sir Stephen.”

Silence.

Rebecca kept her gaze on a distant hedge of low bushes where snow still lay in a rippled mound.

“My lady, may I speak?”

Rebecca turned.

Malvina stood straight in the center of the huge room. The deep auburn of her hair caught lights from the sun and shown like autumn leaves, deepening the green of her eyes.

Malvina is a handsome woman, Rebecca thought. ‘Tis no wonder Stephen prefers her to me, a colorless blonde-haired elf. Mayhap instead of an elf, my resemblance is now to the witch who does the wrong thing to the wrong people. But he must choose between the two of us. I will not remain in the same house, nay, not even the same country, as his lover.

“Say what you will, Malvina. It is not my place to give thee orders. Sir Stephen left orders for you to observe things I do and to report such to him. ‘Tis true?”

“Nay, my lady. ‘Tis true I am to watch over thee, but he only wishes that you gain strength to heal your wounds, and that you do not leave New Sarum.”

“Watch well, Malvina, for ‘tis only a chance that I await before leaving this place.”

She glanced around. It no longer looked cold, but she would not say this. The walls were warm with woven panels Stephen had purchased in Troyes. Matching rugs lay around her bed. The colors were shades of purple, orchid and a deep rose, blending with the bed coverlet. A cheerful fire burned in the stone fireplace at the end of the room. Comfort was not lacking here.

Even the great hall, the dining hall, the kitchen with many ovens, all seemed warm and welcoming.

It was Stephen who did not welcome her except that he must because she was his wife. She would never admit to Malvina that she had begun to feel at home in the new manor house, that she no longer believed it cold and dark, but warm and welcoming.

“Thou art wrong to leave Sir Stephen when he is away on business for his king and must be gone from home.”

“Ah, Malvina, thou art a true servant, one who defends her master in all things. Stephen is indeed lucky to have Aubin and thee and the others who work through the courtyard and beyond in the fields.”

“ ‘Tis thee he loves, my lady.”

Rebecca's heart skipped a beat then thudded beneath the silk of her gown. She wished with all her heart that what Malvina spoke was the truth.

“This has been said ere today. Why sayeth you this when Sir Stephen makes no mention of love?”

“ ‘Tis true, my lady. Sir Stephen bought thee, yea, when thou were but a child. Thou hast grown into a lovely woman, a woman Sir Stephen loves but knows not how to handle. Thou art willful and not to be trusted, he thinks. He will not give thee up, my lady.”

Her maidservant had said that Stephen loved her, but how could Malvina know this when his own wife knew it not? When Stephen never spoke words of love even as he took her body and made it his? Even as he buried himself inside her, love was never one of the words he whispered to her. Only desire, only the satisfaction from the release of his aroused body. Never had he said he loved her. Never.

“Did Sir Stephen tell you he loved me, Malvina?”

“Nay, some things do not need to be told.”

“I need to be told else my heart does not believe.”

Rebecca turned back to the window. The sun was hidden behind a cloud, casting a gloom over the room, dulling the lively colors.

“Mayhap you can explain why Stephen holds you in his arms and cries but will not hold me when the baby does not live. When he forbids me to ride Tor or to do many things I enjoy because he trusts me no longer. He does not make love to me for fear I will be with child, a child he does not desire from my body. Yea, many things need explaining, Malvina, that Stephen cares not to speak of.”

Even her body did Stephen's bidding, refusing to hold his seed after their wild mating. It was just as well. Were she to become pregnant, she could not run away as easily.

Malvina walked closer to Rebecca.

“When sayst Stephen cried in my arms? A long time hence?”

“Just after the baby came. We quarreled, and I went to his room to tell him I was sorry for my part. The room that is always locked was open, and inside, Stephen sat on the bed, his arms around you, and he cried. Never has he cried for my sorrow nor for his son. Only in your arms does he shed tears”

“He cried for thee, my lady.”

Rebecca whirled, her tear-bright eyes disbelieving, arms crossed tightly across her heaving bosom.

“Over me? He cried for me? Could he not have told me his sorrow?”

“Yea, for thee. He cried over the child and over thee because you were not to be consoled. Sir Stephen has been without woman since Mary, his wife, died, and he knows not the gentleness a woman wishes. But he is a good man, a fair man to his workers and to his servants, and he dost not beat thee.”

“Thou art right, Malvina. He still loves Mary, so sayeth the queen when I visited lo, these Christmases ago. I thought mayhap he could come to love me but ‘tis too late. He is in love with you, Malvina.”

Malvina's mouth opened, closed, and she made a sound as though strangling. Then her head went back, and she burst with laughter. She clapped her hands and bowed from the waist. When she straightened, there were tears in her eyes.

“Where doest learn of this, Lady Rebecca?” She shook her head and laughed again. “Sir Stephen is one whom I do love, but he was my sister's husband, and he dost not love me as a lover, but only as Mary's sister.”

“Thou art Mary's sister?”

“Yea, my lady.”

Rebecca's throat closed, and she choked over the sudden realization that she had been wrong about so many things. Was she also wrong about Stephen's love for Malvina?

Stephen and Malvina. He did love Malvina, but only as family.

“Why was I not told this? Why did Stephen not tell me you were his beloved's sister?”

“ ‘Tis thought he did not want thee to be reminded of Mary every day, my lady. Sir Stephen is kind and thoughtful, albeit he does not explain his actions to his own wife.”

The two women stared at each other until Malvina stepped forward and put her arms around Rebecca's stiff shoulders. She murmured soft words in Irish dialect, then pulled back to look at the stunned expression of her mistress.

“ ‘Tis all true, my lady. Sir Stephen loves thee though he does not speak the words thou wouldst hear. Mayhap he needs lessons in such.”

“I wouldst needs believe thee, Malvina, but...”

“Thou dost love Sir Stephen, true?”

Would Malvina run to Stephen and tell such if she spoke words he had not heard from her? Rebecca sighed. Just now, she cared not what gossip Malvina took to Stephen. Perchance it was time to say what was in her heart.

“Aye. ‘Tis true, Malvina.”

* * * *

Hugo recognized Sir Stephen Lambert as the man stepped across water puddles to make his way to the main tent of the minstrel group. He felt Margaret at his side and took her cold hand in his.

“Sir Stephen,” Hugo said as King Henry's nobleman paused in front of him.

Stephen stopped, and then bowed from the waist.

“I would ask after the king.”

“He is well, sire. Come this way.”

Hugo slid his arm around Margaret and stepped aside for Stephen to enter the tent.

“He is there.” Hugo pointed a big hand to a flap hanging from the center of the tent.

Stephen nodded. “I thank thee.”

He stepped to the entrance of the makeshift room.

“ ‘Tis Sir Stephen, your highness.”

“Enter.” The voice boomed from within.

Stephen pulled the flap back and entered the room as King Henry came forward, his arms out to embrace his officer.

“Ah, Stephen. ‘Tis good to see thee. Hugo and his company have treated me well, but for truth, I wish to return home.” He patted Stephen's arms.

“I am afraid I bring more sad tidings, your highness. Mayhap thou would sit down whilst I tell the story.”

Dismay showed on the king's countenance.

“More bad news? By God's eye, Stephen, canst find no good tidings to bring? Is not paying penance for the archbishop's murder enough for an old man? Must thou bring painful additions?”

“I am sorry, my king, but ‘tis necessary to tell thee ere the story gets to thine enemies. It is something that must be said, and I am sorry to be the one to bring sadness to you.”

Stephen spoke quietly and quickly, his heart heavy as the king's face mirrored concern, anger and, finally, acceptance.

“The young king is another of Sir Thomas’ failures, Stephen. He taught him well the indulgences of the flesh, methinks.”

Stephen refrained from saying that young Henry did not have much in the way of parental guidance, nothing from his parents to show how a loving family should be. He was taught by Sir Thomas when he should have been learning affection at home.

They sat in silence, the king's thoughts far away, as were Stephen's. The king thought of the Plantagenet, his responsibilities, his failures, his triumphs, his queen and their children, his consort.

Stephen thought of Rebecca. What was he to do with such a woman-child? She was a woman when he loved her, a child in looks and sometimes in ways. But when faced with certain death at the hands of highwaymen, she'd turned into a fighter and had never given up.

If she would just not give up on him.

I must show her that her life is with me. Her love is mine, and she must not run away. We will talk, and I will tell her I love her. He finally realized it was so. And he must tell Rebecca. He loved the small waif who could be a hot-blooded temptress or a snarling tiger. He must hurry to New Sarum and tell her just these things. It would be difficult to wait for that time.

* * * *

Calm settled once more over London and everyone seemed content that King Henry would be made to serve long and hard to avenge the archbishop's murder. There was no reason why the king could not live once more in his royal suite. Stephen had the king's word that he would deal with young Henry and proper treatment would be ordered.

Stephen convinced the king that Hugo and his troupe deserved a fair reward for protecting him until he could be returned to the royal palace to await his penance. The king agreed and had settled money and provisions on Hugo's minstrels, wishing them Godspeed on the way to their next performance.

Stephen left London on a raw February day, bound for New Sarum where Rebecca awaited him. She was to have been watched, not really a prisoner, but not allowed freedom outside New Sarum's courtyard. She thought New Sarum cold she had told him, but since her arrival there, Stephen thought it warm and real. Mayhap she had been right at one time. It held no warmth. True, until Rebecca's appearance. Then, everything changed.

The walls seemed lighter, candles glowed more brightly, laughter seemed to ring the halls more than before. Servants performed their tasks cheerfully. Good changes, and Stephen believed Rebecca's presence had been the cause.

If he could only make her happy.

Even though snow lay in dirty lumps along the road and the walls surrounding the house, even though activities were contained inside the big rooms and horses were not ridden except for gathering supplies, New Sarum seemed occupied by friendlier people, by servants who sang about their work and who smiled behind wimples or soft hats pulled low about the face for protection from cutting winds.