Then without allowing him the chance to answer, she fled.
Chapter 24
She did not warm Henry’s bed. That much Axton knew, for when he would have stormed half-garbed into Henry’s chamber, Reynold had barred the way. “She is not there,” he’d said, and gestured toward the stair with his head.
Where she’d gone—where else she might have hidden herself for the night—he did not know. Nor did he care, he told himself. He would not share her with any man, most of all Henry. Beyond that, however, he did not care what she did with herself.
He repeated that to himself in myriad versions through the endless hours of the night. He did not care if she wept. He did not care if she was sorry for deceiving him. He did not care if she slept huddled in some cold corner or within her sister’s cowardly embrace. He only cared that she be available to him whenever he desired her.
Only that would not be as easy as it had been when he’d thought her his wife.
Christ, but he wished he could kill this insane desire he had for her!
But it was more than desire, and he knew it. Were it only desire, another woman would suffice. But he had no taste for other women, not her sister nor the wenches Peter had sent to him. He wanted only Linnea, the woman who was the source of all his pain and yet, was the only one he would turn to for comfort.
God save him from such perversity!
But even God could not help him in this, and as the night progressed and he fell at last into a fitful slumber, it was to dream of battle and slaughter, and the enticing smile of Linnea waiting for him. It was not Beatrix. He could see well enough the difference twixt the two. No, it was Linnea who waited for him.
And Linnea who always disappeared before he could reach her.
He awoke in a foul mood. Fitting for battle, he acknowledged as he made his brief ablutions. Peter appeared to help him dress, then together they proceeded to the chapel to pray. By then the entire castle was roused and in motion, and everywhere he went, everyone’s eyes followed.
They knew what this day held, though they could not predict the outcome. From lowliest kitchen drudge to knights from three different entourages, they all anticipated the coming confrontation with morbid fascination. More lives than his own hung in the balance, but Axton knew better than to dwell on that. His focus must be on Eustace de Montfort, on the man’s strengths, but most especially, his weaknesses. And the foremost of his weaknesses was his arrogance.
Axton had seen Eustace fight, both on the battlefield and in tournament play. He had a strong arm and considerable endurance. But once shaken, he quickly unraveled. Unnerve the man, and he would swiftly flounder.
It was Axton’s intent to goad him, taunt him, and then make swift work of him. But that simple plan was sorely tested over the next several hours.
Henry arose late. He bathed leisurely. By the time he came downstairs to break his fast, the kitchen did already prepare the midday repast.
“He does but prolong the sport,” Peter groused when Henry settled in the lord’s chair. “His sport.”
But Axton only shrugged. Henry was not his enemy this day, no matter what torment he presented. No, it was Eustace whom Axton awaited. He could put up with Henry so long as he ultimately confronted Eustace.
When Henry caught his eye, Axton made his way directly to him. “Perhaps it is only that you are newly settled here,” the young duke began. “But you have much to learn of hosting a monarch. My bed was cold.” He smiled, showing his even teeth. “And lonely.”
Although Axton heard the chastisement in Henry’s tone and knew the man did yet lust over Linnea, he refused to be baited. “Perhaps you should send for Eleanor. No doubt she pines for your presence as you do for hers.”
Henry’s grin only broadened. “To pine for one woman when so many others are available—” He shrugged, then he looked around. “But where are the other participants in today’s little drama? Never tell me that Eustace has absconded in the night.”
Axton shifted and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I would not allow him to escape me so easily.”
Henry’s eyes glinted in anticipation. “Good. That is good. I trust today’s confrontation will be entertaining—and that no one will die,” he added.
This time Axton could not restrain his feelings. “You cannot set us like dogs upon one another and not expect to see blood flow!”
“Oh, but I can.” Then his easy smile faded and he leaned forward. “No one will die. I need all my nobles. Your reward should be adequate—the beauteous Beatrix de Valcourt and all this,” he added with a sweep of his hand to indicate the castle and demesne beyond. “By the by, where is she—and her equally beauteous sister?”
Linnea dressed with haste and not an iota of care for how she looked. Beatrix delayed, finding every excuse to reject this gown or that one. She wanted different slippers, a new veil, and her other kirtle. Even the Lady Harriet, who’d been unusually patient, could take no more.
“Be done with it!” the old woman ordered, stamping her stick upon the floor. “To delay changes nothing. Even your sister realizes that.”
Indeed, Linnea did. Nothing any of them did would delay or change anything of what this day might hold. Beatrix would be the reward to one of the men who did vie for her. As for the other man, the one who lost—
She turned to her grandmother. “Do they fight to the death?”
“Of course,” she snapped. “Blood must be drawn and quarter asked.”
“But if one of them begs quarter, then why …” But Linnea knew the answer before her grandmother gave it.
“Neither of them will ask quarter,” Lady Harriet said. “They are men of war, come fresh from battle these recent months. To think they will stop short of a killing blow …” She trailed off when Linnea paled. “Do you yet fear for his safety? Ah, but I forget. Even last night you did whore for him—”
Linnea cut off the vicious old woman with a stinging slap. She had not planned it; she only reacted to her grandmother’s cruel words. But as her grandmother staggered back and caught herself on the window ledge, Linnea felt not a moment of regret. She advanced on her grandmother, consumed by a cold rage.
“Every day of my life have you belittled me. And every day have I struggled to earn some crumb of your approval. But not anymore. Not anymore! What I have done has been for my sister, no one else. Most certainly not for you! I am no whore and you will not call me such ever again!”
Linnea glared down at her grandmother, daring her to oppose her. How she expected the bitter old woman to react, she did not know. To her utter surprise, however, Lady Harriet’s eyes flickered with fear. She rubbed her cheek then slowly drew herself up.
“You have performed your role … well,” she finally conceded. “I will not hold it against you,” she added more grudgingly.
Linnea stared at her grandmother, and suddenly she could not understand why she’d feared her so long. What, truly, was there to fear? That quickly she felt her anger fade, like a pennant capsizing when the wind ceases. But there was neither joy nor triumph to fill the empty space it left. To have intimidated her formidable grandmother should have been immensely satisfying. To at last have gained her approval should have brought her some level of contentment. She’d struggled for it so long. But it meant nothing to her now. It gained her naught, she finally saw.
She turned away from the wizened old crone and faced her terrified sister instead. “Come, Beatrix. You must be brave and face whatever this day holds.”
“I don’t want to marry him. He will kill me,” she whispered tearfully. “He will.”
Linnea took her sister by both arms and stared intently into her eyes. “He will not. He is angry now—but at me, not you. He is a fair man. Given time, you will discover that.”
But her words clearly carried no weight with Beatrix. “Perhaps with you he is so. But with me—” She shuddered and broke off, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “How I pray that Eustace defeats hi
m!”
Linnea drew back shaking her head. “No, Axton should be lord here. His family has lived here longer than ours and—”
“Then you marry him!” Beatrix shouted. “You marry him. ’Tis plain enough you crave his touch!”
I would marry him, would he have me. But he does not want me, at least not for his wife. “He … he wants you.” Linnea barely choked out the words. Then she gathered all her resources. “If Axton de la Manse defeats Eustace de Montfort, you will marry him and be a good wife to him.” She glared at Beatrix, at the sister she loved but who had never learned to face adversity. “You are a de Valcourt. Never forget it. You will meet your obligations with dignity. And you will make your husband proud to have you as his wife!”
Beatrix shrank back at Linnea’s strident words. When Linnea finished, Beatrix stared sullenly at her. “I still hope he loses,” she muttered.
“But he won’t,” Linnea vowed. Then she turned and strode from the solar.
On the other side of the door, however, her certainty faltered and her shoulders slumped. She hoped Axton won. She prayed he did. Her family had already taken enough from him. Despite the untenable situation between them, she could not hate him. Indeed, she could not stop loving him.
But what if Eustace won? What if he wounded Axton? Or killed him? Though the idea was inconceivable, still …
She would stay long enough to be sure he was not harmed. If he was wounded, she would stay to nurse him. Beyond that, however, she could not linger at Maidenstone. She could not bear to see him wed to Beatrix. She could not stay a minute in this place while he took her sister to his marriage bed. Once she was certain he was all right, she would leave.
She thrust her hand into her cloth pocket and felt for the tiny ruby. She would take it as her one memento of Axton.
Then her hand moved of its own will to her stomach. Was it the only memento she had? She could not be certain, but she prayed it was not.
The bailey was crammed to overflowing. Axton walked into the yard and swiftly scanned the crowd. Castle folk, villagers, his men and Eustace’s spread among the crowd. And everywhere that the soldiers of de la Manse and de Montfort appeared, so also were Henry’s men dispersed. At least the violence between him and Eustace would not ignite the entire castle to warfare. Henry was being very wise on that point.
“There will be but three passes. If no one is unhorsed, then the competition will be moved to hand-to-hand combat,” Peter said, hurrying along at Axton’s side. It was not information Axton hadn’t already heard, but his brother was nervous. He’d talked incessantly while assisting Axton with his armor, and he’d been muttering all the way out to the yard. Axton paused now and stayed his brother with one hand. He waved Reynold and Maurice on.
“I do not intend to lose, however … however in the event I do, you must not react foolishly.”
“You will not lose. Why—”
“Hear me out, Peter!” He fixed his brother with a firm look. The boy was tall, nearly a man, he realized. It would be natural for Peter to seek revenge for a fallen brother. Hadn’t he wanted revenge when his father and brothers had fallen in battle? But there were other considerations.
“There will be no quarter given this day, at least not for me, for there will be no quarter asked. I fight to win. But should I lose, then you become patriarch of our family. Take our mother back to Castell de la Manse. It will be yours anyway, and methinks she prefers it there.” He stared at the boy until Peter reluctantly nodded. Then he went on, but more lowly.
“I would make one other request of you.” He stopped and looked away, toward the pavillion that had been erected for Henry and the other important guests: his mother, the de Valcourt family.
Linnea.
He turned back to his brother. “Do not let Linnea fall into Henry’s clutches.”
“What?” Peter’s face creased in a scowl. “She is hardly your concern.”
“Do as I say, brother. Protect her as you would our mother. It is my last request of you.”
He watched as Peter’s face changed from anger to bewilderment, and then to a dawning comprehension. “You do love her—”
But Axton cut him off. “What she has done has been for her family, and I cannot fault her loyalty. ’Tis a rare thing …” He trailed off and looked again toward the pavillion, searching for the slender figure with the brilliantly golden hair that was Linnea, not the pallid copy that was her sister.
“To receive that sort of loyalty from anyone—brother, comrade, wife—is a rare thing indeed.”
He turned away from Peter then. “Time for it to begin. Time for it finally to end.”
Linnea spied Axton as soon as he entered the bailey. Had her eyes been blinded, she still would have known he was there. She could feel his very presence.
At his entrance a small cheer went up—his men and some of Maidenstone’s people. That did not surprise Linnea, for he’d been fair and even-handed with his people—something Maynard would never have been.
A hard lump formed in her throat. Please don’t let him die, she prayed. Dear Lord, blessed Mother, St. Jude, please keep him safe!
Sir Eustace appeared and another ripple of support sounded, though not as strong. Beside her Beatrix clapped her hands.
“There he is. Just look at him. He will defeat this de la Manse. Just see if he doesn’t.”
Linnea swung around to face her twin. “You go on and on about defeating Axton, but have you thought at all on what will happen if de Montfort wins? Are you so eager to wed with him, or do you simply fear to wed Axton?”
Beatrix started to reply, then abruptly turned away. But Linnea saw her chin tremble. For once, however, Beatrix’s tender feelings did not deter her. She pressed on without mercy. “Shall Eustace’s kiss be any gentler? Shall his demands of you be any less coarse? He looks as wont to kill you with his husbandly demands as Axton.”
Without warning, Beatrix burst into tears. Even that, however, could not soften Linnea’s feelings. Beatrix wanted Axton to die! “Axton is a lusty man,” she continued, so consumed with jealousy for Beatrix’s fate that she could not stop. “He will demand much of you, much of your body for his pleasure. But he will give it back tenfold. A hundredfold! He will—”
“Enough!” Lady Harriet interrupted, pinching Linnea hard on the arm. “Enough of this! Henry comes,” she hissed.
Somehow Linnea swallowed all the invective that burned for release. Somehow Beatrix managed to stifle her sobs and surreptitiously dry her tears. By the time the young Henry stepped up onto the raised dais and approached them, the three de Valcourt women were outwardly composed.
But Linnea seethed still with anger. How long had all her resentments been buried beneath a patient and compliant facade? All her life, she realized. But over the past two weeks the layers of that facade had slowly been peeled back until now the burning center of her feelings felt exposed for anyone’s casual perusal. How dare they think her feelings less important than their own. Her father. Her grandmother. Even Beatrix, it seemed.
And Axton was not exempt either. If anything, he was the most guilty, for he’d made her love him, then thrown her love away. The fact that he was justified in his suspicions about her did not matter at that moment. He should have recognized the depths of her love for him!
But Axton was not there with her, and so, as Henry turned to greet them, it was he who became the focus of all Linnea’s ire. For he was the least involved of all the participants in this dreadful drama. The least affected. Yet it was he who wielded all the power.
His sharp blue gaze flitted between her and Beatrix. When he spied her belligerent expression, however, it settled upon her. “Lady Linnea?”
She curtsied as required, but there was no other sign of greeting. That only made him smile, however. He studied her with undisguised interest, letting his gaze rake her body with a thoroughness meant to flatter, or else fluster her. It only made her more furious.
“Have you thought on your fut
ure beyond this day’s doings?” he asked. “I am certain my esteemed wife would be pleased to have so lovely an addition to her personal retinue.”
At that moment a commotion drew his attention, and before Linnea could respond to him, the white, fluttering canvas parted, and Lady Mildred entered the open tent.
Axton’s mother was robed in a fine gown of wine-colored silk. Her hair was dressed and covered with a sheer veil shot through with gold that shimmered and caught the light. Her carriage would have befitted the queen Henry spoke so blithely of as she acknowledged Linnea with a nod. She gave Beatrix a curious look, but the Lady Harriet she ignored entirely. Then she turned to Henry, and it was clear that while everyone else deferred to the young man who soon would be king, Lady Mildred was of a different mettle.
“Good morning, my lord. Have you come to see Axton fell yet another of your hapless men?”
Henry straightened up in his tall chair. It occurred to Linnea that the Lady Mildred had probably known him all his life. She had very likely dandled him on her knee when he was a babe. No doubt she commanded the same sort of respect from him as did his own mother.
“’Tis but men’s sport,” Henry replied, rising to seat the older woman himself.
“Yes. Sport,” she repeated. Then she turned to look at Linnea, a stare so serious it seemed almost to demand a reply from Linnea. “I could not help but overhear your question to the Lady Linnea,” Lady Mildred continued. “I believe, however, that she will stay with me as my companion.”
Linnea’s heart lurched. Stay with Lady Mildred? Though she was drawn to the woman and knew the offer of such a position was a godsend to one in her precarious situation, she could never accept. Never. For she could not bear to be so near to Axton and yet not be his wife. She started to shake her head, but an intent look from Lady Mildred gave her pause.
The Maiden Bride Page 31
