He stopped dead in a hallway, still reeling with disbelief. Lady Fay had given Drayton express permission to speak to her father? How? And why? They’d—they’d spent the night together and she’d told him to wait, but Lord Drayton got to ask at once?
He found himself sinking into a rage he might never get out of. What had Lady Fay and Lord Drayton done—no, he couldn’t think it. His mind went blank at the very consideration that Drayton had touched—kissed—he reached out and slammed his fist into the nearest wall, drawing blood on every knuckle. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t care. It was only because he did care that he felt a pain in his chest greater than any wound he’d ever received in battle. He felt the outline of the bracelet burning a hole through the package he’d tucked into his doublet. He’d hoped to surprise her, but he was the one getting the surprise.
“Damn it all, Sir Tristan, I’ve been hunting high and low for you.” Brom startled him, seeming to appear out of nowhere.
“I was right here,” he said numbly. He had to get himself together or appear weak in front of his men, something he couldn’t have. He shook himself and noticed Brom’s drawn face. “What is it?”
He pointed toward the front, where outside the open courtyard doors, Tristan could see several riders who’d just dismounted, speaking animatedly with some of Sir Walter’s squires. “Those men were on their way through to Bellingham, when a great hoard of soldiers tore past.”
“Soldiers? Whose men? They couldn’t have been heading here or they would have arrived already.”
“Yes, soldiers, heavily armed, at least thirty, according to that lot. They didn’t recognize the arms. And no, they must have gone right past Grancourt Castle. Which means …”
Tristan nodded, wanting to punch the wall again, but he supposed being called away to battle might distract him from the pain in his chest. “Have you called for the horses to be readied?” he asked, barely pausing for Brom’s nod. “We must be off at once to make sure the keep wasn’t their final destination.”
He spared a glance toward the stairway leading to Lady Fay’s chamber. Would she worry for him, the way he’d worried for her? Probably not. Another good reason to be called away at a time like this. It would spare his pride when that peacock Drayton eventually announced his good fortune. Still, he would have liked to hear from Fay the reason why she’d chosen Drayton over him. His fingers twitched, warring over their desire to either caress or strangle her. He had never felt such a betrayal, so thoroughly fooled. He reached for the bracelet, meaning to smash it under his heel, but couldn’t. His tattered heart begged his pride to wait to hear the answer.
“What is it?” Brom asked.
Tristan realized he continued to stand in the hallway, halfway between leaving and staying. He straightened his back and looked down at his bloody knuckles. “Nothing. Let’s be off at once. Leave behind Alistair to collect our things and follow us. We won’t be returning.”
Chapter 19
Fay stretched and rolled over, momentarily alarmed that she’d actually fallen asleep. The light at the window still showed pale and dim but, after a second of blinking, she realized it was the wrong kind of dim. It wasn’t morning at all anymore, or even afternoon. She bolted out of bed, stumbling from a dead foot. Hopping and swearing and trying to rub life back into her tingling toes, she made it to the wardrobe. As much as she didn’t want to waste a moment more in explaining to Tristan why she’d missed their morning assignation, she thought she’d have a better chance at forgiveness if she looked nice.
She’d flown to Catherine’s side in her nightgown, quickly tossing an overdress on top of it, which was now smeared in rusty bloodstains. She smiled, for once the sight of blood not making her shudder. She was still high from witnessing, even assisting, the miracle of birth. Now that she was fully rested, she felt a bit silly for being so proud of herself the night before. Really, the only thing she’d done was not run, not throw up, and not drop a baby. She couldn’t wait to see those adorable little mites again, but first she had to make it up to Tristan.
Batty wasn’t in her room, nor in Anne’s. Anne took an interminable amount of her time asking questions about the babies. How big they were, did they have hair, what color were their eyes, which was cuter? Fay answered as quickly as she could without seeming impatient. She already wanted to explode for having slept all day, but she’d never told Batty to wake her, nor would she have had a reason for it without having to spill the beans. It was all on her for lying down in the first place.
“I told you it would be twins,” Anne said smugly, her wan cheeks gaining a hint of color from her pride. “I do wish I wasn’t under the weather again. I would so love to see them.”
“Has Great-uncle Edgar seen you for that cough yet?” Fay accused, remembering Batty telling her Fay had been hiding it.
“He’s been and gone,” Marjorie answered, trying to push her out the door. “That’s how we knew about the babies in the first place. Now, let your sister rest.”
Fay hurried away down the stairs, first checking the great hall, then the bailey, then the training field. All were surprisingly empty, at least of Sir Tristan’s men. Plenty of Lord Drayton’s milled about. She was about to return to the training field and ask one of the few pages who were still training when she ran into Batty.
“About time,” she snapped, instantly contrite. “I mean, I’ve been looking for Sir Tristan, and wondered if you knew where he was?”
Instead of giving her an inquiring eye for asking his whereabouts so bluntly, Batty slumped dejectedly. “They’ve run off again to defend the keep. It might not be in any danger, but you know how careful Sir Tristan is.”
Batty made it sound like a flaw and Fay flew to his defense. “Well, it is his home and it’s not like it wasn’t just attacked. When was that?” She meant it sincerely. The passage of time flew by here, and she was always surprised to find how long it had been since she was taken from her old life and plunked into this one.
Batty gave her the dropped-on-her-head-at-birth look and didn’t answer. “I didn’t get to say anything to Brom since I slept in after the babies.” She perked up a bit. “I haven’t checked his room, though. Sir Tristan’s page Alistair packed up for them, but the boys haven’t been in to clean yet. Perhaps … Do you want to come with me and see?”
Fay didn’t have to be asked twice and practically shoved Batty toward their chamber. This visit, instead of Brom bunking in the great hall with the other men, he’d been given the tiny closet-like servant’s room that attached to Tristan’s guest chamber. It didn’t take Batty any time at all to come up with another smooth river rock, this one with a sparkle of pyrite.
“It’s so pretty,” she gasped, clutching it to her chest.
“Very,” Fay agreed. “Now, let’s search Tristan’s, I mean Sir Tristan’s room.”
Batty snorted with glee at the slip. “I did think he was going to speak to Sir Walter,” she said. “Damnable raiders, trying to ruin a lady’s love life. He probably didn’t have time is all.”
Or rather, I told him not to, Fay thought with regret.
She felt a slug of actual pain in her chest. Who knew when she’d see him again? She missed him already and it might be weeks or months before he could come back. She poked around her feelings, wondering if this pang of longing meant she loved him. Loved him enough to roll the dice on the curse? It did rather feel like it at the moment. But had she ruined everything by making him wait?
They began their search of his chamber much the same as they’d done the first time. Batty searched the table and chairs, the chest, and the garderobe, while Fay tore the bed apart. She smoothed her hands over the sheets, making sure she was turned away so Batty wouldn’t see her blush. The memory of being tangled in those sheets with him stabbed away at her already tender heart. As discreetly as possible, she inhaled the pillow, hoping to catch his manly scent.
“Nothing over here,” Batty said.
“Me neither.” Fay felt one
last time under the pillows and shook out the bedclothes. Batty, bless her, dropped to the ground to look under the bed. Had he really left her nothing?
“Marjorie told me they did leave in an awful hurry,” Batty said, as forlornly as if she hadn’t found a trinket of her own from Brom. “Perhaps he instructed Alistair to leave something, but the boy made a mistake.”
“Or we’re being silly geese,” Fay said, finding it hard to get the words out past the lump in her throat. “Let’s stop this nonsense and visit the babies, shall we?”
“Yes, of course,” Batty agreed, too quickly.
On their way to Catherine’s room, Sir Walter waylaid her. “Fay, my dear, I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Batty waited patiently a few steps away, but Fay motioned for her to go on. “I’m sorry, Father. Mrs. Merrick had her babies last night and—”
“Yes, I heard all about it. My brave child, you are as caring and kind as your mother was, helping out as you did.”
“She’s my friend,” Fay said.
He beamed at her. “Well, good deeds are always rewarded. Will you come with me so I can have a word with you about something of great import?”
Her stomach plummeted. “Of course.”
He moved on at a brisk pace and she followed him to an office-like chamber dominated by what Fay could only describe to herself as a throne. It was a tall, ornately carved, straight-back chair with a plush red cushion on it. All along one wall were more normal chairs. He pulled one close to the throne, motioning for her to sit in it, then settled into the throne.
“Ah,” he sighed. “I was both sad and glad today, my dear.”
“I’m happy you’re glad, but why sad, Father?” she asked, more nervous than ever and wracking her brain for what she could have done wrong. So far, Sir Walter had been nothing but doting and lovely to her, but she’d never once been called into this intimidating room. Something serious was about to happen.
“You’ve always been a great comfort to me,” he said. “I’m not surprised at all that you’d make yourself such a fine match. I’m only sad because it means I’m to lose you at last.”
Her stomach now did a flip and her heart stopped aching and started thudding. Had Tristan gone against her wishes and asked to marry her anyway? She couldn’t be mad at him. In fact, it seemed downright romantic at the moment. He knew he had to race back to protect his land and, not knowing when he might be able to return, he’d thrown caution to the wind and spoken to Sir Walter. This had to be love, to be so happy as she was right then.
“How would you lose me?” she asked, voice shaking with poorly concealed excitement.
Sir Walter grinned. “My dear Fay, how do you feel about becoming Lady Drayton?”
Her hands shot out to grip the sides of the chair to keep from falling out of it. “I’m sorry, Father?” She hadn’t heard right. It couldn’t be.
He chuckled. “I must admit I’d thought it would be Sir Tristan, might have even hoped it. But it was Lord Drayton who asked for your hand this morning.”
She turned the words over in her mind, desperately trying to make them mean something different. She opened her mouth to ask him to repeat himself once more, but the pain in her heart was back with a force and she burst into tears.
*
She walked from Sir Walter’s throne room like a zombie. He’d assured her she didn’t have to say yes, only asked her to think about it. She couldn’t get over the fact that he’d outright said he’d thought it would be Tristan who would ask, he’d even hoped it would be him. But beggars couldn’t be choosers when they had two daughters to marry off, she supposed.
Her father wanted Sir Tristan to marry her. Sir Tristan himself wanted to marry her. Hell, she was almost positive that was what she wanted as well. And what had she done when he told her he was going to ask? She’d practically choked him to keep him from doing it. No wonder he hadn’t left any kind of keepsake behind for her. She almost doubled over in pain, leaning against the stone hallway as she added not showing up for their date. Had he been angry? Disappointed? Or did he think he’d dodged a bullet, not having to be chained to the flighty, irresponsible Lady Fay.
She found she’d wandered the opposite way from her chamber and kept going to visit Catherine. Mr. Merrick greeting her and left as soon as she congratulated him.
“He’s got to make sure the new foal is all right,” Catherine said without a hint of rancor. “But look at my fierce little babes. They just finished eating and I have to say, they fairly tore me to shreds.” She rubbed at her chest and laughed.
“You look so pretty, Catherine,” Fay said. Her friend looked tired, but her cheeks glowed and her eyes were bright with happiness and contentment. She leaned over the basket both babies were nestled together in, and she could see why. “And these babies. I want to eat them up.”
“Wait a bit. The way they guzzle down their milk, they’ll only get fatter.”
Fay wanted to pick one up and snuggle its downy hair against her cheek. Just looking at them soothed her aching heart. A bit, anyway. She flapped her hands apologetically.
“Look at me coming without a gift. I’ll make it up tomorrow, I promise.” She meant to put some effort into her needlework now that she had those two cuties to sew for.
“Don’t be daft,” Catherine said, closing her eyes for a second. “It was a great comfort to have you here last night.” She closed her eyes again and Fay took another long look at the infants before quietly slipping out of the room to let Catherine sleep.
She trudged listlessly back to her room, not caring about missing supper, or worried about regaining the weight she’d lost while ill. If missing one meal killed her after everything else, then so be it. She thought seeing the babies would lift her spirits, and it had while she was near them. But now, all she could think about was that was a life she might have thrown away. She couldn’t picture what it might be like at Dernier Keep, so she let herself indulge in self-pity for a moment by imagining Tristan bouncing their little son on his knee in the great hall of Castle Grancourt, their daughter running up and down the length of the high table.
Enough of that, she told herself when she reached her chamber.
Batty was waiting for Fay, chattering away as usual as she began combing out her lady’s hair. Marjorie poked her head in to see if Anne’s favorite shawl was in Fay’s room, with Anne crowding in behind her.
“I knew it, you thief,” Anne said, finding the shawl crammed into Fay’s wardrobe.
She smiled as she wrapped it around her thin shoulders. Fay was grateful to see she looked better. More than grateful. Suddenly her self-pity sickened her. The misunderstanding with Tristan, or whatever it was, was a setback, nothing more. If true love couldn’t survive a setback, then it wasn’t true love and she would have failed anyway.
“Anne, I want you to show me that pretty ruching stitch you do, so I can make a cap for baby Mary. She’s already got so much hair, she’ll need one.”
“Maybe tomorrow, right Lady Anne?” Marjorie said. “You need your rest. You were going to go to bed as soon as we found the shawl.”
Marjorie’s concern made Fay feel bad for suggesting it, but Anne insisted she wasn’t tired. “All I do is sleep, it seems. And if no one’s noticed, I haven’t coughed in ages.”
“It was when I brought supper up,” Marjorie said. “The last time you coughed.”
Anne reached into her hair and pulled out a pin, throwing it at Marjorie. She didn’t bother to duck, it plunked to the ground only a foot away from Anne after the weak throw. “Prison warden,” she complained. “Fay, help me escape her clutches, please.”
Fay looked apologetically at Marjorie, who only shrugged. “I’ll get your sewing basket,” she said.
Anne followed Marjorie to get the basket and Fay heard her say in a low voice, “I won’t stay up for long. But Fay looks so sad, I want to cheer her up if I can.”
Fay’s eyes filled with tears. This time, it was with a stran
ge happiness. She’d never had a sibling and she’d come to think of Anne as a real sister. It was one of the only perks of the damn curse. To hear that Anne felt the same way about her made her heart swell, almost eradicating the pain of Tristan’s loss.
Chapter 20
Bad weather finally came to the castle. It wasn’t cold, just buckets and buckets of rain. Fay could barely see the boys sloshing around in the mud through Anne’s window, but she appreciated that Sir Knobby kept them busy, therefore giving her something to watch on those long, dreary days.
“Is it forty days of rain, yet?” Anne asked, squinting to see through the droplet-spattered windows.
Marjorie snickered from her corner and Batty let out a gusty sigh. Anne furrowed her brow. “I daresay I can’t recall the last time we’ve had a day without a drop of rain,” she said. “I know Father’s worried about the crops getting flooded.”
Fay had wondered why Sir Walter had been acting so distracted. He’d actually been a bit short with her at supper a few nights before, but Fay assumed it was because she was dragging her feet on giving him a definitive answer about whether she would be Lady Drayton or not. Spring had come and gone, and he’d visited one more time, being both charming and annoying. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him. If she didn’t have a curse to worry about appeasing, he might have been a good option as long as she was stuck in the fourteenth century.
She’d read a bit about arranged marriages back in her own time and some of them seemed to work out fine. The couple grew to respect each other and, eventually, many of them found love. Lord Drayton wouldn’t beat her, he respected her opinions, at least as far as she’d voiced any, and he was handsome and kind. Every time she made up her mind to give it a try, her heart would sink instead of flutter and her stomach would twist up with anxiety rather than flip with anticipation. She did have a curse to appease. And she had a feeling it would see right through her ruse.
Endearing (Knight Everlasting Book 1) Page 18
