by Anne O'Brien
‘No, my lord, it is not.’
‘Can I believe you?’ He looked from one to the other of the two women. ‘Can I believe either of you?’
‘These are harmful images, imposing the will of another. Jane would not hurt me,’ Elizabeth answered for her.
‘But she might hurt me! Who knows what the pair of you are plotting?’
‘No, my lord,’ Jane replied simply. ‘I would not harm you. Only those who would bring harm or pain to my mistress. Lady Elizabeth cares for you more than you know. More than she knows. Why should I harm you?’
‘I suppose I should be grateful!’ Shaken to the core at what was going on in his home, Richard found himself unable to think of a further response. ‘Get rid of these. I presume you know how.’ Pushing them into Jane’s hands, he stalked out, any thought of the gloves quite vanished.
‘Whose are these? Who put them here?’ Now Elizabeth allowed herself to express the fear that Richard’s accusations had kept in check.
‘I don’t know. Nor how they got here.’ Elizabeth could feel Jane’s tension, a palpable thing in the room, which did nothing to ease her own. ‘Someone far too interested in you and your lord’s marriage.’ Jane managed a bleak smile. ‘Don’t worry, my lady. I’ll destroy this abomination, with no lasting effects. I’ll not allow any one to harm you.’ At the door Jane turned to look back. ‘You should have let me tell him the truth, lady.’
‘Should I? Well, he certainly won’t trust me now, will he?’
The sheer width and depth of the abyss between the Lord and Lady of Ledenshall was painted in the gloomiest of colours when two days later Richard walked into the small parlour where Elizabeth broke her fast. Acting on impulse and her careful training as chatelaine, and perhaps with an intent to mend the breach, Elizabeth rose to her feet, poured and carried a cup of ale to her husband when he came to the table.
His expression was glacial as he looked at the cup, at his wife.
‘Thank you. But, no.’ He deliberately walked around her to pour his own ale, leaving her standing with the cup in her hands. Her cheeks were suddenly white as the ash in the fireplace, her eyes dark with distress.
‘Richard.’ Elizabeth’s voice was clear, commanding. She might have been standing on the battlements to face a besieging army as she demanded Richard’s attention. Tall and straight, the elegant stemmed cup held in both hands.
Richard turned his head, brows raised in polite and freezing enquiry.
Quite deliberately Elizabeth lifted the goblet to her lips. Drank one mouthful, and then another, never once taking her eyes from his face. Then once more.
‘That should be sufficient to bring me a painful death, I think.’ She placed the cup care fully on the table at her side. ‘If I am still alive and well, I shall be present at the mid-day meal as usual. You will have to decide, Richard, if you are willing to sup with me.’ She swept past him, head high, all arrogant pride. ‘As you see, as yet I have no ill effects from the ale.’
‘Elizabeth…’ Richard stretched out a hand.
Elizabeth ignored it. She closed the door behind her with the quietest click.
Hell and the devil! What had possessed him to that piece of provocation, other than sheer bad temper after another restless night? He knew he had been wrong to reject Elizabeth’s olive branch. Knew immediately he had acted that it was graceless and un war ranted, cruel, even, but he had been driven by a band of hurt around his heart that he could not dislodge. Herbs and dried flowers between the sheets were one thing—old wives’ stuff, harmless enough. But scrying, wax figures—it made his blood run cold. Did she really hold such a low opinion of his sexual powers? She had shivered beneath him willingly enough. Pure masculine anger bubbled to turn his blood from ice to raging fire. She had made no complaint in his bed, none at all. As he recalled, she had responded with astonishing readiness, had warmed and arched under his hands. What had prompted her to resort to so blatant a piece of witch craft to lure him into her bed? His potency had never been in question.
As for the black arts, how could he pretend either ignorance or acceptance of such diabolical practices in the hands of his wife and her woman? Turning a blind eye was not a possibility. Yet now he had hurt her—again! Guilt and contempt for his lack of control whipped his unsettled emotions into turmoil, overlaid by a slick of ad mi ration for his wife. As a challenge, her draining the cup of ale had been a powerful blow with a heavy gauntlet and Richard knew it.
What was it that her serving woman had said, surprising enough to grasp his attention, the words even now lingering in his mind?
Lady Elizabeth cares for you more than you know. More than she knows.
What should he do now?
Elizabeth wept helplessly as she had not wept since the death of her mother and she a small child. How could he be so cruel? How could he believe so ill of her? The damage was beyond repair, as evidenced by her empty bed at night—and every night since Richard had returned. Her heart was as empty and desolate as her bed.
Jane Bringsty folded her in her generous arms, murmuring words of comfort until Elizabeth could cry no more.
‘Hush. He matters so much to you, sweet heart,’ Jane crooned, unusually soft.
‘Yes.’ A bald admission.
‘He could be the dark man of the scrying,’ Jane warned, her cheek against Elizabeth’s hair. ‘He could be your enemy.’
‘No. He is not, unless by my own making. It seems that I have made him so. How could I have acted as I did, Jane?’
‘He hurt you, dear one. And you struck back.’
‘I did not think. He hates me now.’
‘Never.’
Misery returned. ‘Am I so unappealing, Jane, that I need you to deploy the black arts to claim his regard, as he accused? Am I so lacking in glamour that I must use poison to remove a rival? I know I cannot hold a candle to the at tractions of Anne Malinder.’ Un wittingly revealing the cause of her sadness.
‘I’m sorry I have brought you pain, lady.’
Elizabeth pushed herself upright, wiping away the tears. ‘I know you did it for me. But the divide between myself and Richard is, I think, impossible to bridge.’
‘Was there ever any chance before?’ Jane asked caustically. ‘He was quick to judge, quick to condemn. Where was the respect in that?’
And that was the crux of the matter, weighing on Elizabeth’s heart, her soul.
Richard forced himself to do a lot of hard thinking, with unpalatable results. When the flames of his righteous anger had died to a mere flicker, common sense began to hold sway. It was not in Elizabeth’s nature to use poison. The sharp blade of a knife, perhaps, but not poison. So where did the guilt lie? Was it not obvious? A short stout figure holding a pair of wax figures, and having the knowledge to take care of them, to dispose of them…
Mistress Jane Bringsty.
She had the skills, of that he was certain. What her motive might be—how could he be expected to know what motivated such a woman? The key question now was, did Elizabeth know what her serving woman was about, had she given her per mission? But did Mistress Bringsty need her mistress’s per mission to apply her black arts? Richard’s new sense of moderation wavered at the thought that they might be in collusion, and then settled under another brisk dose of common sense. Even after a short acquaintance, he knew beyond doubt that Mistress Bringsty was perfectly capable of acting on her own initiative, and to the devil with the consequences. Elizabeth, he supposed, finally, had acted from some sort of misplaced honour to protect her servant. Whereas he had been intolerant and judgmental. He had been neither kind nor understanding…
So much for their original pact to deal openly with each other, to deny the opportunity for outside pressures to divide them. How rapidly they had fallen into a morass of distrust and wounding accusations. And since the first harsh words had been his own, the burden was on his shoulders to make his peace with her. A vague unease churned in his gut. It was worse than going on campaign against
a chancy enemy.
God protect him against difficult and opinionated women.
Richard found Elizabeth in her chamber. He knocked, allowed her the time to bid him enter, or go away, closed the door quietly at his back. It was a time for careful strategy if this contest of wills was to be laid to rest and peace restored.
She was sitting in the window seat, half-curled on to the wide cushioned ledge with an open book on her lap, the cat curled and asleep at her feet. He could see from the doorway that it was a little Book of Hours, gilded and painted in bright jewel tones, its binding tooled in rich leather. He got the distinct impression that her attention was not on the devotional pages. She raised her head as he came in, but did not speak, did not move. The light was behind her, touching the edges of her veil with soft shadows. He could not see her face, her reaction to him, so fell back, as he must, on instinct and an innate integrity to deal with her as she deserved. Perhaps it would also ease the knot of guilt in his own gut. He walked slowly forwards to stand before her, but halted before she could think that he would intimidate, deliberately keeping his voice even, unthreatening.
‘The book. It is very fine.’
‘Yes. It was a gift to me from the Prioress at Llanwardine when I left.’ Elizabeth smoothed her fingers over the black script, taken aback since she had expected more bitter recriminations. ‘She said that I had no calling to the life of a religious, but perhaps the words, the beauty of it, would bring me solace.’
‘And do they? Bring you solace?’
‘No.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper. ‘They bring me no ease.’
He took a step nearer. ‘We promised to talk to each other, Elizabeth. To be honest as far as it was possible.’
‘Yes. How impossibly long ago that seems.’
‘Why did you not tell me the truth? Why did you not tell me it was your woman’s doing?’
Sharp surprise jabbed at her. She closed the book, put it aside and stood so that their eyes were more nearly on a level. ‘How did you know?’
‘When I finished being furious with you, I knew you could not have done it. So there was only one other possible, obvious source. Why did you not tell me?’
And Elizabeth answered with devastating candour, ‘Because Jane is mine, which makes me responsible. And because you believed me guilty before you even knew there had been a crime. You can’t deny it.’
No, he could not. So he made the apology. ‘I was at fault. I misread the signs between you. I was entirely wrong. I have no excuse.’
Silence stretched between them. Elizabeth stood with her hands at her sides, at a loss. Now what do I say? What does he want of me? Until Richard inclined his head with solemn formality. ‘My judgement was amiss. Will you forgive me, my wife?’
‘Yes.’ Her heart shivered uncomfortably at his words, but still she could not admit to the flicker of relief. ‘But Jane still did it. And your cousin suffered.’
He drew in a deep breath. ‘But why? What could possibly have been her motive?’ When Elizabeth would have looked away from the embarrassment of it, he placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to face him. ‘You must tell me.’
Elizabeth sighed. ‘It is just that—’ Well, she would tell him, whatever the outcome between them. ‘Anne sets herself in your way to catch your attention, to my detriment—which I admit is not difficult. Jane is jealous for me, and sought to teach her a lesson.’
Richard was surprised into a bark of laughter, amazement evident. ‘But she is my cousin. A mere child, even if she is a nuisance with her airs and consequence. She enjoys fine clothes and the attention of those around her. As the only girl in her family, she was always indulged and petted. I have known her for ever. A child, surely.’
‘Then you have not looked recently, Richard,’ Elizabeth responded with a decided edge, yet she was conscious of the warmth of reassurance from this blind admission, the casual rejection of Anne’s charms. ‘She is a child no longer, as she frequently informs us!’
His brows arched. ‘I thought your complaint was that perhaps I had looked too closely!’
‘I would not so accuse you.’ For in truth she had never seen him encourage the girl. ‘That does not mean that Anne does not have an eye for you. She flirts—you cannot be unaware.’
‘No. I see it. But it’s a silly girl’s foolishness.’
‘I could not be half as skilled.’ Elizabeth looked down at her fingers, twined them together to still them. ‘I understand she is very like Gwladys in colouring. She is very beautiful.’
‘Yes, she is,’ Richard admitted, accepting the consequence of his own thoughtless acceptance of a girl he had known from childhood. ‘And, yes, Anne has the look of Gwladys, more so as she has grown. They were related, of course. Did you suspect me of trifling with her, within weeks of our marriage?’ He was unsure whether to be flattered that Elizabeth cared enough, or annoyed that she would misjudge him. Until the deep sapphire eyes that took and held his left him in no doubt of the depths of pain caused by Anne’s sly behaviour and his own carelessness. He should have known. He should have seen what was happening. He smiled at Elizabeth, a little sadly at the hurt he had caused, then lifted a hand to draw his fingers down her cheek. A most tender gesture that, if he had known it, melted the final ice crystals of Elizabeth’s resistance. ‘I am innocent of all charges, Elizabeth, except for an appalling naïvety in allowing the situation to go un checked. Anne is no danger to you. Will you believe me?’
She tilted her head to watch him, then nodded. ‘Yes. I am sorry for the things I said.’
‘And I. I did not murder your brother.’
‘No. You made an oath that you did not.’
‘But it still hovers there between us, a dark entity of mistrust, doesn’t it?’ he acknowledged. ‘Elizabeth?’
It struck her that he was frowning at her, even a little unsure, as if searching for the right word. ‘What is it?’
‘Was it Anne who told you I had a mistress in Hereford?’
‘Yes. Joanna.’
‘I did once. I have had no dealings with Joanna since long before you came to me. I ended the under standing between us.’ Faint colour slashed his cheek bones. ‘You are my wife. I would not hurt you or humiliate you by keeping a mistress. I promised to honour you. My vows, despite your accusation, are intact.’
‘Oh. I thought that…’
‘Well, now you do not need to think. I have told you the truth.’
‘Yes.’ Words were difficult for her, but a strange, sweet relief pulsed through her. ‘I hated it,’ she admitted despite her usual reticence. ‘I could under stand your need…but, I hated it.’
‘I regret our estrangement,’ he said, his smile a little sad. ‘When I came home I found myself looking forwards to seeing you. And then found myself dragged into an un expected drama. It’s not what I would have wanted.’ He lifted her hands to enclose them warmly, palm to palm, within the shelter of his, a reverse of his gesture on their first night together. Infinitely reassuring. Then stiffened a little as her sleeves fell back from her wrists. He saw the fading bruises.
‘I did that.’ His eyes widened, bleak with regret.
‘Yes.’ But there was no condemnation in her reply. Instead she turned her hands so that her fingers might inter lock with his. ‘You were so angry.’
‘Forgive me,’ he murmured, horrified that he should have marked her without thought, and vowed silently that he would never do so again. ‘I would never deliberately hurt you. Even though it seems I have done so.’ He sighed, bent his head to press his mouth against the tell-tale shadows.
‘I do not fear you.’
‘There are no excuses.’
‘No. Not for either of us.’
Richard searched her face as once more he lifted a hand to draw his knuckles down her cheek. ‘Perhaps I can make amends.’
‘Perhaps you can,’ Elizabeth found herself replying in like vein, the flutters that had set up in her belly increasing with anticipa
tion. Perhaps it was possible for the hurts to be mended between them after all.
‘The cat is asleep, I see.’ Smiling, he glanced down to their feet, a warm glint in his eye.
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’ll risk it.’ He pressed his mouth against the tip of each finger in turn before splaying her hands against his chest. ‘If you are a clever woman, you will notice that my heart beats hard. I have a need of you, lady, if it’s safe for me to come to your bed.’
‘I’ll welcome you there.’
In spite of her words, Elizabeth did not find it easy. Too much lay between them, too many angry words on both sides for her to open her arms and her mind to him in seamless intimacy. She shivered a little, muscles tense, aware all over again of her inadequacies in her relationship with this man. But Richard unlaced her gown with deft competence, velvet rubbing and catching against velvet, allowing it to fall when she might have clutched it to her, made love to her slowly, tenderly, inexorably when he felt her resistance. Used limitless patience to conquer her wariness, to over whelm the hurt he knew she must have felt. To heal her anxieties over the bitter seeds of in fidelity sown by Anne Malinder.
Until the residue of the clash of wills between them gradually softened, dissipated, dissolved under his slow caresses with hands and mouth. Soft touches, gentle pressures. A healing of the wounds they had both inflicted so that Elizabeth found she could sigh against him, melt into him. And confidence returned to her as the strains vanished under the heated glow of her skin.
‘I am so sorry,’ Richard murmured, his words muffled against her breast. ‘Sorry at my lack of trust. Sorry at my hard words.’
‘And I regret my temper,’ Elizabeth’s breath hitched as his tongue aroused a nipple. ‘My lack of faith in your integrity.’
There were no more words. Elizabeth’s mouth traced a path along Richard’s shoulder to where she could feel the heavy beat of his blood in the little hollow at the base of his throat. There she paused to savour the life-force that drove him as she allowed her hands to drift and mould the muscles of his back and hip.
