"Aye," agreed Merek. "They are the light of my life." His eyes swiveled to his wife. "Although, we do not all feel the same."
Mirabelle gasped. "Husband, thou knowest I adore our children."
"Aye, when thee deigns to see them. I note they spend more time with Greta than they do with thee!"
"They do not!" she argued and then turned to Arabella. "Do not heed him, Arabella. Greta is their nursemaid, and she is a God send. Aye they do spend time with her, but she sees to their every need, which gives me much needed time to myself."
Her husband harrumphed and raised an eyebrow. Arabella looked from one to the other and wondered at their relationship. It was far from happy. Before things escalated, Esme arrived with a tray of refreshments for them, breaking the tense atmosphere.
Suddenly, there was a commotion at the other end of the hall. The big castle wolfhounds bounded toward them, followed by John, Fendrel and several other knights. They were laughing uproariously and looked totally disheveled. Certainly not how Arabella would have chosen to present her husband.
She glanced down at his mud caked boots and immediately rushed towards him. "Milord, we hath guests!"
He looked over her shoulder and immediately stiffened. She watched his eyes closely for any sign of longing or love, when he spied it was Mirabelle, but there was nothing. Instead, he spoke low to her. "Make my excuses. I will bathe and change my attire before greeting them." He turned back around, and the hunting party left the hall.
Mirabelle's eyes lit up when Arabella rejoined them. "Was that thy husband?"
"Aye. He offers his apologies and will join us anon."
"He looks verily tall, Arabella yet thou art so small. One would wonder at thy choice."
She rolled her eyes. "Mirabelle, didst thee not listen to me earlier. I didst not hath a choice. John of Terryn was chosen for me. The first time I ever did see him was on my wedding day!"
"Truly, on the actual day of thy wedding? I never thought my Uncle to be so cruel."
"Cruel is a strong word," Merek interjected. "I wouldst know that both my daughters be married to men of standing. Lord Dufour didst not choose him on a whim, I am certain."
Arabella nodded, staring pensively at the empty doorway where John had stood. "Aye. He thought him most suitable."
Mirabelle's eyes narrowed. "But thee do not?"
"Of course I do!" Arabella argued, her head snapping back around. "Although, I confess I found married life a little hard at first."
"As does everyone," agreed Mirabelle. Merek stared at his wife impassively.
Esme chose that moment to re-enter the hall, to tell her mistress that the guest chambers were ready. Arabella led them upstairs, where she found Clarice and Leona sitting on the bed, playing with a corn doll that Esme had given them each. The servants had placed their luggage in the room already.
Arabella smiled politely. "I shall leave thee to settle in and join thee in the great hall at eventide."
She left them to their own devices and went in search of her husband. The question foremost on her mind was...did he still have feelings for Mirabelle?
Chapter Eight
John laid his head back in the tin bath in his chamber and closed his eyes. Mirabelle. The girl he had lost his heart to all those years ago. He had oft wondered how he would feel when he saw her again and now he knew. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was as though it had never been. His heart belonged to the blue eyed vixen that shared his bed every night.
He had thought to exact his revenge on Arabella, for the hurt he had endured all those years ago, but instead she had captured his heart. Aye, she could be feisty, but she was also sweet and fun-loving. A perfect play mate for his brooding nature. Nay, there was no room in his life for anyone else except his sweet Arabella. She had given him a son. No man could ask for more.
Mirabelle had not changed one bit. She was still as pretty, but Arabella had far surpassed her in looks. Her beauty came from within, as much as it did from her pleasing heart shaped face down to her dainty toes.
The only question he had in mind was would Mirabelle recognize him as Ulric? Had Arabella or Lord Dufour told of his deception? He could only wonder. He slid beneath the water to wash his hair and when he surfaced, he found a pair of sparkling blue eyes staring at him. Arabella.
She knelt down beside the tub and reached into the water for a cloth. "Shall I wash thy back, milord?"
He leaned forward to give her ease of access. "Aye, it would be most welcome." It was unusual for her to offer willingly to cleanse him. Something was afoot.
She began to soap the cloth before applying it to his back, rubbing in circular motions to clean him. "Art thou pleased that Mirabelle hath deemed to pay us a visit?" she asked.
He frowned. There was a note of irritation in her voice. "I gather thou art not?"
"Mirabelle can be very demanding. I am not certain I want her here for a whole fortnight."
"She is staying that long? Wherefore?"
"She wants to spend time to get to know thee and little Robert."
"Dost she know I was once Ulric?"
"It seems not. Either my father has not seen her to inform her, or he has chosen to keep that knowledge to himself. Will thee tell her?" He noted a pause in her ministrations.
He shook his head. "Nay. I am no longer Ulric. I am John of Terryn and will remain so for the rest of my life. If she dost not know, there is no reason to reveal it."
"Dost thou still find her attractive?"
He turned his body so he could see her face. Her eyes were fiery. Anyone would think she was jealous! "Wherefore dost thou ask?"
She lowered her eyes and pushed him around, so she could finish off his back. "I am just interested, 'tis all."
"Interested or jealous?" he found himself asking. If she was the latter, that would mean she had feelings for him.
"I am certainly not jealous! Mirabelle has no interest in thee and is happily married with two children, wherefore should I be jealous?"
"Mayhap, thee dost think I still harbour feelings for her?"
"Dost thou?" She finished soaping his back and sluiced water over his skin to clear the suds. Finished, she stood up and walked around to stand in front of him, her hands on her hips. "Well, dost thou?"
He smiled, and for the first time saw something in her eyes that gave him hope for the future. The green eyed monster was making an appearance. He reached out and took her hand. She made a small moue with her lips and he smiled. "Would it make a difference to thee if I did herald feelings for her?"
She snatched her hand back. "It is no concern of mine. I care not either way!" She raised her chin and walked over to the bed. She was pretending indifference, but he could tell she was clearly agitated. He smiled to himself. Standing up, he reached for his towel hanging on a nearby chair and began to dry himself off, all the while whistling merrily.
With a muttered oath, Arabella left the chamber. The door slammed shut behind her.
Aye, she was jealous!
* * *
Arabella was fuming. Wherefore did he still love Mirabelle? After all these years, he could still not accept the fact that she had led him on. Fie on him and his stubborn nature! She stomped down the stone staircase, her face set.
Suddenly a thought occurred to her. If Mirabelle didn't recognize John as Ulric, mayhap she could get her to reveal her true feelings for Ulric during her stay. If she could explain that she had merely used Ulric all those years ago, because she was flattered at the attention and never truly loved him, then John would come to his senses. This foolhardy mission of his to get revenge on her could be done with once and for all.
Her eyes lighting up, she made her way down to the kitchens to see about organizing dinner.
Later that evening, Arabella sat down at the dais next to John and poured herself a goblet of mead. She sipped it slowly, whilst she pondered over how to broach the subject of Ulric without being too obvious or getting Mirabelle in trouble with her husban
d.
"Thou art deep in thought, milady," John observed, sitting next to her.
She glanced at him. "Aye, I was wondering which fabric to choose for my new dress." The lie slipped easily from her tongue.
"Truly? For thy look spoke of something more devious."
"Devious? Nay, milord. Simple fabrics were all that crossed my mind." He shot her a look of disbelief before reaching for some chicken. It irked her. "There is no need to look at me like that. I do not always plan mischief!"
"Aye, thou dost."
"If thou hast such a low opinion of me, mayhap I should leave the table."
His looks darkened. "Leave when thee hast guests to entertain, milady? I think not! Thee will stay as befits the lady of this castle."
Her temper began to rise. He always thought the worst of her. Aye, on this occasion his thoughts were warranted–not that he knew that! "As lady of the castle, I choose to go to my chamber. As thou doth prefer Mirabelle to me, thee can entertain her!"
Her jealousy was making her act irrationally, but at that moment in time she didn't care. She rose up from her seat and made to leave. John's voice was low and menacing. "One more move and I will take thee into the back room and spank thy backside with thy slipper!"
For a moment her stomach dropped, but her anger overrode reason. With a firm set to her jaw she barged past him and headed for the exit. If she could get to her chamber before him, she could lock the door. Part of her reasoned that he could just as easily knock it down, but she chose to ignore it.
Before she was anywhere near the exit, John had her by the arm. She struggled to break free, but it was futile. He manoeuvred her over to the small room that led off the great hall, and opening the door, he thrust her inside. He slammed it shut behind him so hard that small pieces of thin plaster fell off the wall.
"Let me go, John!"
He shook his head. "Nay. Thou are disobedient and wilful. Thou took the risk, and now thee will pay."
"Nay! Just let me go to my chamber."
"Desist!"
With a strong tug he had her down over his lap. She felt his hand on her slipper and sought to stop his actions by kicking her legs. He smacked her hard on the bottom. "Be still, Arabella! Thou knowest what is coming. Take thy punishment or I will double it!"
She immediately stopped, and he pulled the slipper off her right foot. She groaned and closed her eyes. She should have known better than to argue with him. It never got her anywhere.
He threw her skirts over her back, exposing her bare bottom. The cold air, combined with a foreboding of what was to come, made her skin break out in goose bumps.
"Prithee, I will promise to sit and behave, milord!"
"Tis too late for that, Arabella. This bottom is going to be a nice glowing red by the time I hath finished with thee. It will teach thee to heed my word."
"But what if anyone hears? Especially Mirabelle and Merek! They should wonder what is going on!"
"I do not care. If thou art so concerned, then I suggest thee stifle thy cries, milady."
"But I do not want…aow!" She clapped her hand over her mouth to hush her shriek when he brought the slipper crashing down on her unprotected backside. Lord, that had hurt! Her slipper might only be small, but the leather sole hurt like the very devil!
Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!
With hardly a break in-between strikes, John spanked her bottom with the slipper relentlessly for a good five minutes. Tears of pain filled her eyes. She did her best to suppress her cries by biting the back of her sleeve, even so, the noise of the slipper hitting her flesh would surely be heard beyond the door. She was mortified.
Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!
Her backside was on fire! How she was going to sit through a meal, she had no idea. John finally threw her slipper on the floor and pulled her up. "Another lesson for thee, my wayward wife. Thee will do as thee are told, dost thou understand?"
She nodded sullenly.
"Now put thy slipper back on, and we shall go back to the dais. Any more nonsense and we will come straight back here. Am I clear?"
She bit her bottom lip and nodded. He picked up her slipper and handed it to her, waiting for her to put it back on. When she was ready, he opened the door and she walked with as much dignity as she could muster, back into the great hall. One of the Irish wolfhounds was sitting outside with his head cocked. Arabella felt her cheeks flush. Lord, she hoped it was only the dog that had heard. She glanced about the hall whilst wending her way towards the dais. Most of the diners hardly glanced at them. Fendrel's expression was impassive.
John held out her chair at the high table, and Arabella cautiously took her seat, but not before he had taken her cushion. She pursed her lips and went to complain, but decided against it when she saw his expression. Her bottom was sore enough already without antagonizing John any further.
The wooden seat felt most uncomfortable. She reached for her goblet and took a mouthful of mead. Perhaps the alcohol would numb her bottom. She could only hope so.
She drank the first cup in minutes and was on her second goblet when Mirabelle and Merek made their appearance.
"Good evening, milord John," said Merek, stepping up to the dais.
"Milord Merek, milady Mirabelle, I am honored to make thy acquaintance. Prithee come and join us. There is plenty to eat and drink. Prithee take a trencher, and help thyself to whatever thee prefers."
Arabella watched Mirabelle whilst she greeted John, searching her face for any sign of recognition, but thus far there was none. She seated herself beside Arabella and looked around the hall. "'Tis a wondrous home thou hast, milord."
"I am glad thou finds it so. Arabella hath given it a much needed womanly touch."
"As I hath done to our home. 'Tis a wife's role to ensure her husband is made comfortable and the furnishings play an important part." She smiled smugly, but her expression soon changed when Merek interjected.
"Aye, she did it all…with the help of a brilliant seamstress and several maids!"
Mirabelle pursed her lips. "He dost exaggerate. I had but a little help, from our seamstress, 'twas all."
Arabella quickly filled Mirabelle's goblet up with mead. "A little help is nothing to be ashamed of, Mirabelle. My sewing is dreadful, so I too employed the use of our seamstress. I am certain Merek meant nothing by his remark."
"Hmm!" she replied sceptically, but refrained from adding anything further.
Arabella chatted idly with Mirabelle over supper, but she couldn't help shifting, every now and then, to get a more comfortable position.
"Why dost thou fidget so, Arabella?" Mirabelle asked quietly, leaning near.
She thought about lying but then decided against it. Wherefore should she refrain from telling Mirabelle what a tyrant her husband was? "I earned my husband's wrath earlier and am now paying the consequences!"
Mirabelle's jaw dropped. "What didst he do?"
"Spanked me."
"That is barbaric, Arabella," she hissed quietly. She was clearly shocked. "But what didst thee do to warrant such maltreatment?"
"It was just a disagreement betwixt us. I willst not go into details, but suffice to say I should hath known better."
"I know of several women that are disciplined by their husbands. I did not know thee were amongst them. I am truly sorry for thee, Arabella."
"Oh, I am used to it, Mirabelle. If I question his authority or do something I should not, I get spanked."
Mirabelle glanced at her husband and then back at Arabella. "If Merek should lay a hand upon me I wouldst be most shocked! He wouldst never do such a thing!"
Secretly, Arabella thought that was just what Mirabelle needed, but she refrained from saying so. Instead, she smoothly changed the subject to Mirabelle's home life and how she had fared over the last four years.
Whilst Mirabelle spoke, Arabella's mind drifted to how she could broach the subject of Ulric, but the occasion just hadn't arisen.
It wasn't until much later, when they wer
e seated in front of the hearth, that the opportunity arose.
Merek was speaking animatedly about sword fighting and using different strokes, when Arabella made her move. She waited for a break in the conversation and said loudly, "Ulric used to be a keen swordsman, did he not, Mirabelle?"
"Ulric?" Mirabelle snapped her head around, her expression guarded.
"Aye. Thou dost remember Ulric?"
Mirabelle frowned. "Of course. Wherefore dost thou speak of him?"
"He just came to mind. I was just thinking how thee used to pretend thee didst love him, yet, all along thee intended marrying Merek." There she had said it!
Mirabelle gasped dramatically and held a hand to her cheek. "Oh, Arabella. Thou dost make me sound like a harlot!" She laid a hand upon her husband's sleeve. "I know not of what she speaks, milord!"
"Mirabelle, of course thee dost remember," Arabella snapped. "How can thee not?"
Mirabelle's eyes flashed angrily, and her lips thinned. "I remember my uncle taking in a boy called Ulric, and, aye, he was good at sword play, but that is all, Arabella. I certainly never loved him. I was promised to Merek and had eyes for no other!"
Arabella darted a glance at her husband, only to find him staring at her broodingly. She swallowed hard and tried to pursue the truth. "But…"
"Arabella! Enough!" John's sharp warning made her stomach sink. This wasn't going as planned. Now she had made John angry, and Mirabelle was refusing to speak the truth. She slumped back in her chair and folded her arms.
John stood up abruptly and asked Merek if he would like to see the armoury. He readily agreed, seeming only too pleased to leave the rather tense atmosphere, and they left the two women alone. Mirabelle moved closer to Arabella but just as she was about to confront her, the maid arrived with her two children.
Leona climbed straight up onto Arabella's lap and began chattering about the piglets she had seen earlier; whilst Clarice showed her mother her new corn doll. Conversation regarding Ulric was conveniently forgotten.
* * *
Later that evening…
John made his way up to the bedchamber, leaving Merek quaffing wine with Fendrel and a few other knights in the great hall. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. From what he had witnessed so far, his marriage to Mirabelle looked less than happy. John was beginning to realize that he may have had a lucky escape. Marriage to Mirabelle did not seem particularly pleasant. She was far too outspoken for his liking and also a little spoilt.
Lost Love Page 10
