But Peter’s doubt about the girl’s acceptance of their marriage had set him to wondering.
As the day passed, filled with the business of reacquainting himself with his home and making myriad decisions, he had little time to dwell on his wife. But like a persistent bell ringer, just waiting for a quiet moment to peal forth a memorable tune, Beatrix remained in his mind.
When he accompanied Maurice to inspect the burned storehouses and decide on the rebuilding of them, he wondered if she’d ever visited those storehouses. At the house of Wascom the Weaver, unofficial mayor of the village, they were given cheese and ale as they discussed the possibility of holding a village fair. But all the time Axton wondered whether Beatrix would like a bolt of velvet cloth from the cloth dealer who would surely attend such a fair. Something rich and green, to match the startling color of her eyes when they made love.
By the time dusk approached and he and Maurice were homeward bound, he was resolved. If she were not completely in thrall to him—as Peter seemed to imply—she soon would be. He would bind her to him, using her own fiery passions to do so.
He kicked his mount to a faster pace, anticipating the moment when he would once again have her to himself. The grandmother was gone; the father and brother soon would be. Then she would be entirely his.
Chapter 13
If Maynard dies, you are our only hope.
Throughout the day, her grandmother’s final words to her before departing for Romsey Abbey had echoed in Linnea’s head. If Maynard dies …
Linnea had gone to him directly after her grandmother had left Maidenstone. Once a day their father visited with him, but he went away each time more shrunken and lost within his own thoughts than ever. Maynard no longer had a guard set on him, only a series of servants to feed him broth and give him the medicines Linnea prepared. But now, as she sat beside him in the priest’s shadowed lodgings, Linnea feared her medicines were not enough.
Maynard lay on the priest’s bed, his skin as pale as the sun-bleached bed linens, only grayer. His breath came slowly, in shallow, irregular rattles. His face was clammy, his eyes sunken shadows, and his cheeks peppered with thin scruff. He had not spoken since the morning before.
Linnea heaved a great sigh and prayed fervently for his recovery. She did not want him to die. She did not want to be the only hope of her family.
She did not want to be Beatrix anymore.
Her face creased with the intensity of her prayers. St. Jude, I was wrong to do this. Wrong to deceive Axton.
But if she had not, the real Beatrix would have become his wife. Her sister would be the one sharing his bed, not her. In retrospect it seemed she’d not saved Beatrix from so very dreadful a fate.
A slight noise drew her attention. “What do you want?” she hissed when she spied Peter de la Manse lurking within the open doorway.
The boy stepped into the narrow room. In the scant light of the solitary candle his young face was solemn, with none of the cockiness she’d come to expect of him. At least he’d not come to gloat over her fallen brother.
“I hoped to have a word with you,” he answered. He stood on the opposite side of Maynard, studying her across the shrunken form of her brother. How fitting that seemed.
“What is it you want to know?” She was in no mood to fight with him. So long as he was civil she could behave the same.
He shifted from one foot to the other and passed the Phrygian cap he held from his left hand to his right and back again. “I, well, after last night and … and then this morning … well, ’tis not my wont to pry, but you … and Axton. Well, I wondered … that is …”
“Everything is mended between us, if that is what you ask,” Linnea responded more curtly than was strictly necessary. Heat stained her face with faint color and she was sorry she’d invited him to speak. Was her personal relationship with her husband always to attract so much attention? She was embarrassed and aggravated all at the same time.
“Well, I am glad of that,” he said. Then his expression turned him from awkward boy to knowing young man. “The furnishings cannot bear much more of such abuse.”
Linnea’s face turned scarlet. “What do you mean?” she gasped.
“The bed, of course. Axton broke it—Oh!” His brows lifted and a grin curved his mouth. For a moment he looked very like his brother—a fact that did nothing to endear him to her.
“Oh,” he continued, the grin firmly in place. “I assumed he’d broken it in a fit of rage. Mayhap it was the two of you in a fit of passion who did cause the carpenters nearly to despair of ever setting the piece to rights again.”
Linnea’s palm fairly itched to slap him. Every time he seemed close to becoming reasonably pleasant, he reverted to the crude behavior that seemed to be at the core of all young men.
“You do concern yourself overly much with your brother’s personal affairs. And mine.”
He shrugged, but his smile faded. He looked down at Maynard a long moment before returning his gaze to her. “If everything is mended between you and him, then that is good. But what if your brother dies? Will everything splinter apart once more?”
As if a cloud had passed unexpectedly over her, Linnea shivered. “I … I pray that he will recover.”
“Will he?”
Linnea bowed her head and closed her eyes. This boy was not the person she wished to confide her fears in. Yet the need to speak honestly with someone—anyone—was simply too overpowering to resist.
“I fear he is not long for this world,” she answered, all her fear trembling within her voice.
After a short silence he said, “I have lost two brothers to war. And my father as well. I am sorry for the grief you will endure.”
Linnea nodded. The lump that had risen in her throat made it impossible to speak. She’d lost far more than merely this brother who had never spared a thought for her feelings. Peter did not know that, of course, nevertheless his plain words were a comfort.
“But I must ask,” he continued. “How you will feel toward Axton when—if—your brother dies? Will everything remain mended between you, as you termed it? Or will the carpenters have to be summoned once more?”
Linnea raised a stricken face to him. His expression was serious. He wanted there to be peace at Maidenstone, she realized in that moment. He wanted her to be content in her marriage, and for the union of the de la Manse family with the de Valcourts to be successful.
How she wished it could be so!
But it could not. Not now. If only she had not interfered. If she had allowed Beatrix to marry Axton as he wished, the two families might have achieved a grudging peace. But that was impossible now. To confess her lie to Axton … She shuddered even to imagine his rage. What anger he did not take out on her he would surely transfer to poor Beatrix, were he ever given the chance. And beyond that, the perverse truth was that she could not now bear the thought of Axton sharing the same relations with Beatrix he’d shared with her. Had there ever been a woman so disloyal as she?
She compressed her lips tightly. No, there was no going back. And there could be no peace between her family and Axton’s.
“You do not answer,” Peter cut into her dismal thoughts. “Will your brother’s death destroy the fragile peace between you and Axton?”
Linnea looked at him—realty looked at him. He was not yet a man, but the day fast approached when he would be as formidable as Axton. He would be as fierce a foe also, and as loyal to his family.
She swallowed down all her regrets and forced herself to remember the role she had elected to play. “It will not be … easy to bury him, should it come to that. It will not be easy to forget who did strike the blow that felled him.” “I do not ask if you will forget, only if you will be able to put it in the past.”
“You mean forgive, don’t you? Can I forgive Axton for murdering my brother?” she said, becoming emotional despite her best effort not to be. She should not be in this terrible predicament. It was not fair.
�
��It was not murder, only the unfortunate realities of war. Can you forgive him?” he persisted, pushing her further.
Linnea turned abruptly away. To stay here with him as he explored and poked at the troubling emotions she’d rather keep hidden was to invite disaster. “I will find a way to cope. ’Tis what women have always done best, you know. Cope with the life that others choose for them.”
She paused at the opening in the heavy stone wall and looked back at Peter. He was strong and straight, and when compared to the dying Maynard, so incredibly alive. “Were it women who controlled the land, there would not be war. There would not be this eternal struggle for power and control and land and sotdiers—”
She broke off when her voice began to tremble. But before she could escape the boy’s presence, he caught her by the arm. He might be no taller than she, but his grip was strong and determined.
“I searched you out for a reason.”
“Then state it and leave me to … to mourn my brother in whatever peace I can find.”
“My mother arrives.”
Linnea went still. From struggling to control her churning emotions, she veered abruptly into a complete dearth of them.
Their mother, Axton’s and Peter’s. If she had been unsure of herself before, Linnea was tenfold more so now. Would the woman despise her on sight as her own family had despised Axton? Would she plot against her son’s wife in the same way the de Valcourt family plotted against their son-by-marriage?
“She is a good and kind woman.”
Linnea stared at Peter. “Good and kind enough to forgive the unfortunate realities of war?”
Peter frowned at her use of his own words. “This will not be an easy homecoming for her. But if you will resolve yourself to be patient and allow her time to settle her disquieting emotions …”
“Time to grieve for all that she has lost since she was last here. Is that what you mean?” Linnea shrugged off the hand he’d laid on her arm and stared blindly toward the deep window and the narrow slice of sky beyond it. The sky was gray, hiding the sun from view. It was better than if the sky were brilliant and the sun cheerful. This was not a day for cheer. No doubt she and Axton’s mother would agree on that one thing, if nothing else.
She took a steadying breath. “She is here now?”
“Her party arrives within the hour.” Then he added, “She will not treat you unkindly, Beatrix.”
As always, the use of her sister’s name jolted her into reality. She swallowed and straightened up. “I must see to her chamber and call for a tray—” She stopped and stared at him. “You don’t think Axton means also to deny her a room in the keep, do you?”
Peter grinned. “Axton may tower over her, but he knows better than to deny the Lady Mildred her due. If you like, I will relay a message to him that you do prepare your new mother-by-marriage a suitable welcome.”
Linnea nodded. She had known the woman was coming eventually. She should have been better prepared. She wasn’t though, and she doubted now whether she ever could have been adequately prepared to face her.
She owed Peter her gratitude for taking the time to forewarn her.
“Thank you,” she said to him, frowning a little, for she did not quite understand this boy. She’d hated him on sight, and he’d felt the same toward her, she was certain. But perversely enough, there were times when he seemed to be her only ally. “Thank you for giving me time to prepare myself.”
He stepped back a pace and turned so that she saw only his profile. “I did not do it for you, but for her,” he replied in a gruffer tone than before. Then he tilted his head and pinned her with a stare disturbingly similar to his brother’s. “I would not have her arrival made any harder than it necessarily will be. I would not want you to meet her as an adversary.”
We are adversaries, though. Adversaries in a battle none of you yet recognize. But Linnea could not say that. Though it roiled like a sick knot in her stomach, she forced herself to nod acquiescence. “I will try to make myself agreeable to her.”
But she feared, as she hurried away, that making herself agreeable was a worse affront than clashing with the woman outright. No matter what she did now, there was wrong in it. She’d been wrong to start this terrible plan going and she made it worse with every turn she took.
The chain slid along her thigh, but this time she felt more clearly the small thickened birthmark on her calf. The sign of her sin, her grandmother had always called it.
Today it seemed to throb and remind her of that truth. She’d begun this terrible deception. Whether she abhorred the path she’d chosen could not matter to her. She must do as she’d promised, though it made her feel far worse a sinner than she’d ever felt before.
Where was he? Linnea scanned the bailey, searching for Axton. His tall, imposing form was generally easy to spot, but not this afternoon. He must be elsewhere, perhaps in the village. That left her with the full responsibility of welcoming his mother.
A chamber was already prepared. Fresh linens, a warm fire, and a fragrant bath even now awaited Lady Mildred. Pray God that she would prefer to retire to her chambers, rather than reacquaint herself with the castle or visit with her younger son in the hall, for good manners would demand that Linnea accompany her in those activities. Though Linnea had no experience whatsoever as lady of the castle, she’d observed her grandmother and also her sister. In the lord’s absence, all responsibility for a castle fell to his wife. Even if the duty was unpleasant, Linnea must rise to it.
Her eyes swept the bailey once more. Where was Peter?
Before she could locate him, the rattle of metal-shod horse hooves sounded from the bridge, and in a moment the yard filled with over a dozen mounted men and two stout wagons. The muddy yard was churned by the weary, circling cattle. One wagon forged on, separating from the others and only halting before the steps that led up into the keep.
Linnea sucked in a bracing breath. A hand parted the stretched canvas cover on the wagon and a woman’s face peered out.
She looked sad and exhausted. That was what first registered in Linnea’s mind. She had expected the woman to arrive triumphant and condescending. To see the apprehension on her face made Linnea reconsider, and in that moment she resolved to extend every kindness she could to this woman. No matter the troubling future that loomed so threateningly, Lady Mildred was a woman who had suffered much loss in her life. That she must lay the blame for it on Linnea and her family was not of primary importance now. This homecoming must be hard for her. Painful. Linnea would try not to add any further to that pain.
She moved down the steps, forcing a pleasant expression to her face, though her knees shook beneath her skirts. The woman’s eyes caught hers, just for an instant, and Linnea recognized the depths of the woman’s traumatic feelings. Then a shout diverted both their gazes, and Peter dashed around the front of the wagon.
“Mother! Welcome! Was your journey difficult? Are you weary or hungry or in need of anything—”
His excited greeting was muffled when Lady Mildred stepped down and enveloped him in a tight embrace.
“Peter,” she whispered, barely loud enough for Linnea to hear. But that one word roused a storm of emotion in Linnea. Lady Mildred loved her sons. She’d already lost two of them. During these past months of Henry’s campaign against King Stephen, she must have been sick with worry for the remaining two.
Pray God that she herself only bore daughters, Linnea thought. No sons to send to war, only daughters whom she would see wed to men they did care deeply for.
“I am hale and hearty, Mother. Not a scratch upon me—save those Axton did inflict.” Peter wriggled out of Lady Mildred’s warm hold. But his chagrin at being treated like a child was tempered by his obvious delight in his mother’s presence.
Only when he glanced up and spied Linnea did his wide grin fade somewhat. “Mother, since Axton is not present to perform the honors, it needs must fall to me to introduce you to … to Lady Beatrix of Maidenstone.” He paused
a moment when his mother’s gaze darted from him to Linnea and back again. “She is Axton’s wife,” he finished.
When Lady Mildred’s eyes grew round and fastened once more upon Linnea, it became shockingly clear that she hadn’t known of her son’s marriage. “His wife?” she repeated, suddenly looking even more exhausted than before. “His wife? A de Valcourt?” She stared disbelievingly at Linnea.
“She is Beatrix de la Manse now. Axton is well pleased with her,” Peter added in a gentle tone. “But come, Mother. Beatrix has prepared a comfortable chamber for you.”
With a pointed look and a subtle twist of his head, Peter roused Linnea from her inertia. As he led his mother up the steps, Linnea gave her a tentative smile. “You are most welcome to Maidenstone Castte—”
“Thank you,” Lady Mildred murmured. Then she pulled her pained gaze from the unexpected sight of her son’s wife and leaned heavily on Peter’s arm. “I am tired and would lie myself down for a while.”
Linnea let them pass, then followed them up the steps, through the hall, and up two more flights toward the third floor chambers. Lady Mildred seemed to droop even more as they progressed past the second floor lord’s chamber. Linnea had decided to put her on the top floor for that very reason, to save her the pain of remembering the time when she’d shared that chamber with her husband. Now, however, she worried that the older woman had not the stamina to make so hard a climb.
They had reached the antechamber on the third floor when Axton’s call wafted up to them.
“Mother! You are arrived!”
With a clatter of heavy leather boots on the stone stairs he was quickly upon them, and once more Linnea witnessed the emotional reunion of mother and son. Axton was still dressed for riding. Mud clung to his boots and sweat to his brow. But that seemed only to make him more masculine, more vital, and more beautiful in Linnea’s eyes. His mother too seemed to drink in the sight of him and be revived by what she saw.
The Maiden Bride Page 19
