The Wishing Well (Legends of Love Book 1)

by Avril Borthiry

  Again, a twitch of the man’s lips hinted at amusement. “No, my lady. Today he is in excellent spirits and looking forward to seeing you again.”

  Lora gave a bitter laugh and shook her head. “Forgive me, sir, but I find that difficult to believe. He must know I’m here, yet he has shown no eagerness to speak with me. I’m still waiting to find out exactly why I’ve been brought back to Rothwyn.”

  “Don’t you know? Ah, my dear child. I thought you might have realized by now.” The man’s gaze drifted to the well again. “Love is what brought you back here, Lora. Of all the forces under Heaven, love is the most powerful. It changes everything. Never forget that.”

  “My lady! There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Another voice, also a man, but familiar this time. “The earl is asking for you.”

  Lora, stunned into silence by Iorwerth’s words, turned wide eyes to the speaker who strode toward her through the gloom. Her bewildered brain took a moment to remember his name.

  “Ah. Sir Renald. I was just…” She looked back to the spot where Iorwerth had been standing, a space now as empty as all the space around it. From somewhere off in the shadows, though, and over the heady rush of blood in her ears, she thought she heard a whisper.

  “Remember what I told you. Choose your words, Lora.”

  Renald said something, but Lora paid him little mind. She continued to stare, befuddled, at the empty spot where, not moments before, a stranger had stood and conversed with her.

  “Iorwerth.” She muttered his name as if to give him substance. At the same time, an instinct surfaced, telling her the man was more than he seemed. Perhaps an ally of sorts? No, he said he was a mentor to my father, and could not have meant William, since William is far away. So, how could he possibly know… “My father is in excellent spirits and looking forward to seeing me again?”

  “Er, not excellent, my lady, but better today than most days, I think. And he’s certainly ready to see you.”

  Lora frowned up at Renald, momentarily puzzled by his words until she realized she had spoken out loud. He extended an elbow and returned her frown.

  “Are you ailing?” he asked, as she placed a hand in the crook of his arm. “You seem a little distracted. Perhaps it is best you avoid future visits to this part of Rothwyn, given what took place here. What’s done is done. You’ve paid for your transgressions. I see no merit, then, in dwelling on the past.”

  Transgressions? Lora stifled a gasp. Her attention shifted from wondering about Iorwerth to the implications of Renald’s unenlightened comments. Irritation flared, sparking a heated desire to defend herself. She tugged her hand free from his arm and scowled up at him.

  “You know nothing of it, sir! A great price was exacted, aye, but not from me, unless one includes the breaking of my young heart. Suffice to say ’tis not the loss of Edward Grant’s troth I have mourned these past years.”

  Renald’s concerned expression had changed to one of dismay. He shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. “Je m’excuse infiniment, my lady. It would seem I have overstepped my bounds. I meant only to comfort, not offend.”

  Lora gave a thin smile. “Oh, you’re not the sole offender, I assure you. Your perception of my transgressions is obviously shared by most others here. They know nothing of it, either. Believe what you will, Sir Renald, but I cannot feel shame where it does not exist.”

  He cleared his throat again, took her hand, and settled it back in the crook of his arm patting it as if to keep it in place.

  “The night is upon us,” he said, guiding her toward Rothwyn’s keep. “I would not have you stumbling as we walk.”

  After that, Renald remained silent, yet Lora could all but hear his mind chewing on her outburst. A whisper of guilt stirred her conscience. After all, the knight had proven himself a man of good heart. She knew he’d meant no offense with his remarks, but her threadbare emotions had little left in the way of fortitude or empathy.

  Upon arrival at the earl’s chamber, Renald raised Lora’s hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “I have long held great admiration for your father,” he said, his tone somber, “and must confess to developing similar feelings for his daughter. I pray, then, this reunion will be beneficial to you both.” With a parting nod, he turned on his heel and strode away.

  “Oh, dear,” Lora murmured, watching him leave. “Poor Renald. You truly know nothing of it.”

  She smoothed her skirts, faced the earl’s door, and took a slow, deliberate breath. She searched for her fear, surprised at its absence as she raised a hand and knocked.

  A muffled response came from within. Lora lifted the latch, pushed the door open, and entered the chamber.

  Candlelight from a dozen burning tapers cast a golden glow across the walls and ceiling. Disturbed by Lora’s entrance, some of the little flames stirred and shadows fidgeted in the corners. The earl’s bed, draped in burgundy velvet, stood in neat seclusion against the far wall. On the eastern wall, in a wide stone hearth, a fire crackled and spat, its warm fingers pulling the chill from the cool night air. A sweet scent of pine mingled with stronger aromas of wood smoke and food. Vegetable broth, perhaps. Lora’s stomach, which had been largely ignored that day, recoiled in protest.

  “Close the door, girl. There’s a draught.”

  The abrupt command came from the occupant of a hefty carved chair beside the fireplace. Lora pushed the door closed and approached, standing to one side as she at last looked upon the man erroneously designated as her father. Motionless, the earl sat with his feet propped on a footstool, chin resting on his chest, a blanket over his legs, and hands folded on his abdomen.

  Time, or perhaps his recent malaise, had done him few favors. He appeared thinner, with fine lines etching the flesh around his eyes and mouth. His hair had grayed and hung in lank strands to his shoulders. As she studied him, it occurred to Lora that Earl Godfrey FitzGilbert looked more burdened than ill, as if cloaked in melancholy. A twinge of traitorous emotion caught her unawares and tears pricked at her eyes. The earl’s gaze, meanwhile, remained fixed on the flames.

  “If you’ve finished gawking, you may sit,” he said, and gestured to a small stool by the fireplace. “There, where I can see you.”

  Lora obeyed in silence, fearful of speaking lest a tremble in her voice might betray her crumbling composure. She settled herself, spread her skirts around her feet, and looked up at the earl, heart and mind racing.

  Had she ever loved this man? Did she still? She felt something, certainly, but couldn’t quite define it. Sympathy? Regret? Anger? Perhaps a little of everything, tangled into one impossible knot.

  “Have you lost your tongue?” he asked, startling her.

  “Um, no, my lord.” Why does he not look at me? “I am merely unsure of what you want from me. I hear you have been…unwell. I trust you are feeling better?”

  “Your concern, while somewhat dubious, is appreciated.” With one brow lifted, he regarded her at last, but showed no outward reaction. “They treated you well at Whitestone?”

  She frowned at the obvious affectation in his voice. “Would you have brought me back to Rothwyn had they not?”

  He grunted and turned his eyes back to the flames. “Nay.”

  “Then your question has no merit, my lord.”

  Again, he grunted. “I did what had to be done and would do it again.”

  “So why am I here now? Why have you brought me back?”

  “Why indeed.” He shifted his weight. “For her, partly. Your mother. She has missed you.”

  Lora fiddled with her skirts. “I have missed her, too.”

  The earl made a sound that might have been a laugh, followed by a moment of silence in which he appeared to ponder.

  “You hurt her,” he said at last, as if the realization had taken him by surprise.

  Lora flinched inwardly. “I…I never meant—”

  “Spare me your hollow remorse.” The earl straightened his spine and pi
nned her with bloodshot eyes that reflected the flames. “I want you to tell me why. Why you gave yourself to a man such as he. God’s blood, Lora, you had the world at your feet. A noble upbringing, the promise of a wealthy husband. Yet you chose to tumble a Welsh tradesman in a filthy, cobwebbed loft. I’ll never forget that night. The embarrassment, the shame of seeing you sprawled out naked, like a common—”

  “Enough!” Anguish pulled Lora to her feet. Through a blur of angry tears, she glared down at the earl and hurled her response at him. “The shame is entirely yours, not mine. Why him, you ask? I’ll tell you why. Because I loved him, that’s why. I still do, even after all these years and with all of my heart. And despite what you saw that night, and what all at Rothwyn believe, I am yet innocent. Gareth never touched me in…in that way. Oh, I offered myself to him, and willingly. God knows, I wanted him as much as he wanted me. But he refused, because he knew what would happen when my future husband found out I was no longer a virgin. Now, if we’re done with our reunion, my lord, I shall take my leave of you. I see no benefit in continuing this unpleasant discussion.”

  “Sit down, Lora.” The earl nodded toward the stool and settled back into his chair. “We are not done.”

  She scoffed. “Aye, we are. This is pointless. I won’t—”

  “You asked why I brought you back to Rothwyn.” He gave a grim smile. “I have not fully answered that question. There are things yet to be said, things you should know. Sit, please.”

  Something in the earl’s tone slowed her anger. A tingle of curiosity stalled her compulsion to leave.

  “Very well.” She settled back on the stool. “What things?”

  He looked away for a moment as if considering his response.

  “I suspect you’re already familiar with some of what I’m about to share,” he said at last. “Nonetheless, you’ll speak to no one about any part of this discussion. No one. Is that clear?”

  Apprehension prickled across her scalp. “As you wish.”

  “Your word, girl.”

  “You have it, my lord.”

  “So, back to where all this began, which was nigh on twenty-eight summers ago.” His expression sobered. “I’d been hunting with some of my retainers in the forests west of here. We’d had a successful day, with several kills. We were returning to Rothwyn, when my horse, Helios, I believe it was, a fine black gelding, stumbled on a tree root and threw me. I remember nothing until I next opened my eyes and saw your mother’s face. At first I thought I was dreaming, or in Heaven. An angelic countenance, quite beautiful to look upon. She said something to me, but I don’t remember what, only that her voice sounded like music.” He sighed.

  “I soon learned I’d banged my head when I fell, lost consciousness, and had been taken to a nearby village for help, your mother’s house to be exact. I had a headache and a few sore muscles, but apart from that, my injuries were slight. I was fortunate. In truth, I likely could have rested a while and continued on to Rothwyn later that day, or certainly the next. But I feigned injury, pretended to be in more pain than I actually felt, because I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay with your mother. Have her tend me, speak to me in that sweet voice of hers. I was utterly besotted.” He shrugged. “I wanted her, so I took her.”

  A log snapped, throwing out a shower of sparks. Lora started and moved her gaze to the flames, grateful for the diversion. She already knew the story, of course. The earl’s account of it, though, was bound to be incomplete. The man had, after all, been deceived for years, a fact that hadn’t troubled Lora until that moment. Now, for some reason, it settled like a dark cloud on her conscience.

  “Look at me, girl.” The chair creaked as the earl shifted his weight. “I wish to see your face as I speak.”

  An unsettling request. Lora decided to float with the current rather than swim against it, so she met his gaze and offered up a smile. “You were correct, my lord. I’m already familiar with how you met. Mama told me about it.”

  “Ah, but my little tale goes beyond our first meeting. Besides, I warrant she didn’t tell you everything.” He sniffed. “So, I wed this daughter of a merchant with nary a drop of noble blood in her veins and took her to my bed, eager to make her mine. A few weeks later, she told me she was with child.”

  “Me,” Lora said, more to herself than the earl.

  “Aye, you.” He rubbed his forehead as if trying to erase the frown that had settled there. “Before I continue, I have to say that the Welshman was mindful in leaving you untouched. Edward Grant would have beaten you had he discovered he wasn’t the first to plant seed in your womb. Then he’d have likely cast you aside and annulled the marriage. Most would consider such action justified. A man, particular one high-born, must ensure his lineage remains true. To be deceived into raising another man’s by-blow as his own is the ultimate indignity, do you not agree?”

  Lora’s heart skipped a beat. The question was pointed. Deliberate. Accusatory.

  “I…I suppose it must be,” she said, unable to manage anything more.

  The earl nodded. “’Tis as well, then, I was not deceived in such a manner.”

  Assuaged, Lora released a breath. “Fortunate indeed.”

  He studied her for a moment and then gave a scornful laugh.

  “Christ, girl, I could scrape the relief off your face and plaster the wall with it. You misunderstand my meaning. I said I was not deceived. I knew, when I first lay with my bride, that she was no maiden, even though she feigned innocence. She then gave birth to you not seven months after we wed. I prayed you’d enter the world as a delicate little thing, one who had obviously slid from the womb weeks before its time. I told myself that even if you died, I’d at least know you were mine. Imagine my disappointment, then, when you arrived hearty and fully formed. A bright child with dark eyes and even darker hair. Much like that of Rothwyn’s steward.”

  The air froze in Lora’s lungs. She gaped at him, aware of the triumphant smirk on his lips. “I…I don’t know what—”

  “Spare me your denial, Lora. I know you know the truth. Any remaining doubt of that vanished when you entered this chamber and addressed me as ‘my lord’. No acknowledgment of me as your father.”

  Throat dry, she swallowed. “How long have you known?”

  “I’ve always known I wasn’t your sire, but I didn’t know who was until you went to Whitestone. The Abbess told me of William’s regular visits in one of her letters. At first, I thought it odd that he’d followed you, but then I recalled how he’d always seemed to give you special attention, and how he’d known about your meetings with the stonemason, yet said nothing to me. Then it hit me, rather like an arrow through the gut. I thought about your dark appearance, not unlike his, and about his timely arrival at Rothwyn shortly after my marriage. And everything fell into place. It almost destroyed me, realizing he’d been here the entire time. Talking to her. Touching her. Knowing her. And all the while mocking me, no doubt. If he follows you back here, by Christ, I swear I’ll kill him.”

  Her thoughts reeling, Lora uttered a soft curse. She wanted to defend William, but at the same time, she felt an inexplicable desire to placate the earl. The stark bitterness in his voice did not belie the wealth of sadness in his eyes.

  “William will not follow me here, that I know for certain,” she said. “And he has never mocked you, my lord. It’s not his way. And I also happen to know he never touched Mama after she came to Rothwyn, as much as he might have wanted to. He just needed to be near her. Near me. They were supposed to marry. Did you know that?”

  The earl snorted. “No one ever mentioned anything about a previous betrothal.”

  “Of course not. Her father, my grandfather, didn’t want to jeopardize your agreement, so he conveniently ignored the previous one and told Mama not to mention it. Had you known about it, would it have made a difference?”

  The answer came without hesitation. “Nay, but it might have explained a thing or two.”

  Still settling her
mind around what she’d been told, Lora studied the earl. She didn’t know him at all, she realized. She never had.

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Which part?” A measure of impatience sharpened his tone.

  Lora laced her fingers together, prayer like, in her lap. “Well, as you said, Edward Grant would have beaten me, maybe even killed me, had I done what my mother did. Yet you did nothing. How could you remain silent, and for so long?”

  He muttered something intelligible under his breath. “The nobility make political choices, Lora. Marriages based on financial benefits and useful alliances. Such was the agreement with Grant. Neither of those things was a factor when I chose your mother.”

  “You loved her.”

  “Love her.” His expression softened. “So I gave and forgave.”

  “But…you cannot have been happy. Not entirely. Not knowing what you know.”

  He shrugged. “Every morning when I open my eyes, I’m free to make a choice. I can keep silent about what I know and spend another day with my wife. Or I can speak out, accuse her, and cast her aside. So far, I have not once considered doing the latter. And, despite knowing you were not mine, I confess to developing some fondness for you, though I lamented your rebellious nature.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “I thought marriage to Grant might cure you of that. Settle you down.”

  Lora’s composure stumbled over his admission of affection. The mention of Edward Grant’s name, however, stiffened her spine.

  “Did it ever occur to you that you were deceiving him? Passing off another man’s um, what was that charming expression you used, by-blow?”

  “Merely a perfunctory remark.” He smirked. “And, of course it occurred to me. It amused me. He was such an arrogant bastard.”

  “Yet, you chose him to be my husband.” Lora suppressed a shiver. “Edward Grant was a brute and a murderer.”

  The earl’s smirk vanished. “You made us both look like fools, damn you. To think I actually defended you, assured him his misgivings were baseless. How wrong I was! Given what Grant saw that night, his reaction was to be expected. Had I not been there, you’d have likely shared the same fate as the Welshman.”