And that made her hesitate.
She had seen the man and how he was with his men; they respected him. He was in full command of the army, a man who was admired by all in the short time he’d been at Shrewsbury. This woman he’d married, this naïve little waif, had only been out of the convent for three days, but the truth was that she had been in Wales for many years. Perhaps, there was more to her than a simple heiress who had become a duchess.
Perhaps, there was more to her than met the eye.
Euphemia was the suspicious sort. She’d survived all of these years being savvy and guarded. For her, it was all about money and self-protection. Coming to Shrewsbury to help the new duchess had been for the money; she knew she would receive the benefits of the position. But now, she was being asked to do something she hadn’t expected and didn’t like.
That was her suspicious side talking.
If she was caught with the missive, the lord would become angry at her for being in collusion with his wife. What if the woman was sending secrets to St. Idloes, secrets meant for the enemy? Euphemia couldn’t be certain that wasn’t the case. But looking at the lady’s anxious face, she knew she had no choice, and she was frightened. Perhaps, her only choice was to flee back where she came from because, truly, she had no loyalty to the duchess. None at all. Her loyalty was to herself.
She didn’t want to get caught up in any subversion against the duke.
“As ye wish,” she finally said, eyeing Grier. “When do ye want me to go?”
Having no idea of the betrayal in Euphemia’s mind, Grier was greatly relieved. “Today,” she said. “This must go today. You must ride quickly, Euphemia. This just goes to Eolande at St. Idloes.”
Euphemia nodded, averting her gaze, fearful that the lady would see what she was planning.
“I… I must gather my things, my lady,” she said. “It will take me a moment to collect my cloak.”
Grier nodded. “Get what you need,” she said, handing Euphemia the folded letter. “Hurry, now; come back to me to tell me that you have delivered it and I shall pay you well.”
That brought Euphemia around, just a little. “How well?”
Grier wasn’t sure. She wasn’t very good with monetary denominations, considering she’d never had to use them or calculate money of any kind.
“I am not sure,” she said truthfully. “A few coins, at least. When you return, I will have it for you.”
Euphemia simply nodded, eager to leave the solar, eager to leave Shrewsbury. The lure of “a few coins” wasn’t enough to cause her to change her mind.
“Aye, m’lady,” she mumbled, slipping out the door.
But Grier grasped her arm before she could get away completely. “Thank you, Euphemia,” she said sincerely. “You will help me save my husband’s life and I am very grateful.”
Euphemia couldn’t even respond. She simply wanted leave before the young duchess figured out that she wasn’t going to deliver that letter, at least not to St. Idloes. But Euphemia did know who she was going to give it to.
A certain duke would be grateful for her loyalty in the end.
Rushing from the solar, Euphemia hurried to the top of the keep where the servants slept. Her meager possessions were there, and she grabbed them, all of them wrapped up in a shawl she’d brought along with her. Donning her heavy woolen cloak, the one with the big tear on the hem, she hurried from Shrewsbury’s keep, praying that the duchess didn’t try to stop her.
She had to get out of there.
The outer bailey of Shrewsbury was busy as it always was, and the great gatehouse was partially open as they admitted tradesmen and even farmers, bringing their wares around to the kitchens.
Euphemia had been aware of the raid the day before and she was surprised to see the gatehouse even partially open, but she was relieved. It meant that she could pass from the castle with those going in and out. No one would notice her.
But first, she had to find one of the duke’s men.
The only knight she spotted with the duke’s brother, a big man with a head of thick, dark hair. He was standing near the gatehouse, speaking to a soldier, and she approached him timidly.
“M’lord?” she said quietly. When he didn’t respond because he didn’t hear her, she raised her voice. “M’lord?”
Boden didn’t realize an old woman was speaking to him until she called him a third time. Speaking to one of the senior sergeants, they were discussing putting more men on the gatehouse and he was annoyed that the conversation was interrupted. He frowned at the old servant.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Euphemia’s gaze was dark beneath the cloak she wore over her head, concealing part of her face. “I am the duchess’ servant, m’lord,” she said. “Do you recognize me?”
Boden took a second look at the woman. “Aye,” he said after a moment. “You came with us from Welshpool. Well? What is it?”
From the folds of her dirty cloak, Euphemia pulled out the carefully folded letter. “This is written by the duchess,” she said. “You had better give it to the duke immediately.”
Boden reached out and took the letter, eyeing it curiously. “What is it?”
Euphemia simply shook her head. “Give it to him,” she said. “And be quick about it.”
With that, she scooted away, losing herself in the light traffic that was passing through the gatehouse and leaving Boden standing there with a perplexed look on his face. The old woman disappeared and he looked to the letter in his hand, wondering where the old woman was going and why she’d given him this note.
Be quick about it, she’d said.
Somehow, Boden didn’t like the sound of that.
His brother had been in the hall the last time he’d seen him, speaking to Dastan and William about Syler’s death and the arrangements for him to be sent back to Wales. But that had been a while ago. Glancing at the keep as if to wonder what the duchess could have possibly written in a letter to her husband, Boden decided to take the old woman’s advice and quickly go in search of his brother. Something told him that it was important. Finding Dane in the hall where he’d left him, he handed the man the letter and told him what the old servant had said about it.
Boden would never forget the expression on Dane’s face when he read it.
As if the man had just seen the face of the devil.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Grier had found what she believed to be an old sewing box that used to belong to her mother.
On the many shelves of the ladies’ solar, she came across the small box at the bottom of a shelf, buried behind small trinkets that were small carvings of animals. Little dogs and little ducks lined the shelves, blocking out the small box, and she sat on the floor in her newly-hemmed emerald gown, going through the sewing box with great reverence. Every pin, and even the faded spools of thread, had some kind of memory attached, memories that Grier had long pushed aside.
Looking at the things, she realized that she had, indeed, blocked out many of her memories about her mother. Perhaps, it had been out of self-protection, considering how she was beaten at St. Idloes when she had wept for her mother. Perhaps pushing those memories away had helped her survive the beatings. No crying meant no whipping. She began to think how truly sad it was for her to have been forced to forget her own mother, and her anger towards her father threatened to surge.
In truth, she wondered if she’d ever be able to forgive the man for what he’d done to her. In speaking with Dane the previous night, when he’d tried to explain away her father’s behavior, she was coming to think that, perhaps, she should consider what her husband had said, that her father hadn’t tried to be deliberately wicked to her more than he simply couldn’t deal with the fact that she looked just like her mother.
Perhaps in time, she would come to believe that.
But more than thoughts of her father, thoughts of Dane filled her head. He had been so kind and gentle with her when he’d discovered the scars on her ba
ck. He hadn’t shown any disgust, only concern. In fact, it seemed to strengthen his protectiveness over her, and the spools of thread ended up back in the box as Grier thought about the sweet words Dane had said to her the night before –
You belong to me now, Grier. I intend to keep you.
God, how those words made her heart swell. It was all she could do to keep her feet on the ground, knowing how Dane felt about her, and that made her want to protect him from Davies’ madness all the more. She knew sending that missive to St. Idloes had been the right thing to do, for she was determined to convince Davies that any attacks against Dane would be met with her undying hatred.
In truth, she wondered if that would force him to cease. It was a foolish hope, but she had no greater leverage. If the man loved her as he said he did, then the thought of her hatred might cause him to re-think his efforts.
As she sat on the ground with the sewing box on her lap, she began to hear voices in the area outside of the solar. She could hear doors opening and closing, and one of them even slammed. She thought she heard Dane’s voice, but she could not be sure. Just as she set the box aside and prepared to stand up, the solar door opened and Dane stood in the doorway, larger than life.
Grier’s face lit up with a smile.
“Greetings, Husband,” she said pleasantly. “See what I have found? This used to belong to my mother. It was right on this shelf and…”
The door to the solar suddenly slammed, violently, cutting her off. Startled, Grier looked into Dane’s face and realized he wasn’t smiling at her. There was no warmth in his pale eyes, nor was there any sign of kindness on his face. Concern filled her.
“What is the matter?” she asked. “Has something happened?”
Dane’s face was pale and his jaw was ticking furiously. Suddenly, he was holding something up between them and it took Grier a moment to realize it was the letter she’d given to Euphemia.
“What is this?” Dane demanded through gritted teeth.
Grier’s jaw dropped, shocked at what she was seeing. “Where did you get that?”
Dane exploded. “Answer me!”
He was bellowing, loud enough to rupture her eardrums. Fear swamped Grier, so much so that she felt faint with it. It was an effort to keep her wits about her. Carefully, she set the sewing box aside and rose to her feet, her attention never leaving Dane’s enraged face.
“It is a letter to Eolande,” she said, her voice trembling. “I am sorry you are angry. I did not wish to tell you because I knew you would not let me…”
He cut her off, harshly. “Because you wanted to send it in secret so I would not know.” He pulled the parchment open, tearing it in his anger. “You want Eolande to summon Davies, the very man who attacked Shrewsbury. The very man I told you wants to kill me. Why do you want to see him, Grier? To feed him information about Shrewsbury? To tell him of my movements so the next time he tries to kill me, he will not fail?”
Grier was shocked at his badly misguided summation. “Of course not!” she cried. “I would never do such a thing!”
Dane’s entire body was twitching with rage. “My God,” he seethed, thinking that he clearly knew the truth. “And I believed everything you told me yesterday. I believed you when you told me there was nothing between the two of you. I’ll give you a great compliment, woman – you are an accomplished liar because I believed everything you said.”
Grier heart was in her throat, seeing the pain and anguish on his face. “But it was true, all of it! I would not lie to you!”
Dane tossed the parchment aside. In the same movement, he rushed to Grier and grabbed her by the arms, so forcefully that she yelped in pain. His big fingers dug into her tender arms, and his angry face, an inch in front of hers, was terrifying.
“But you did,” he hissed. “I am wise to your ways now. Lie to me again and suffer the consequences. That raid yesterday was planned by you and ap Madoc.”
“It wasn’t!”
“Admit it!”
“Nay!” she screamed. He squeezed her arms tighter and she began to weep. “Dane, you are hurting me. Let me go!”
He didn’t release her. He was so angry that it took all of his strength not to take it out on her, but he honestly couldn’t lift a hand to her in violence. Not to her, not to any woman. He’d seen his father do it when he was a young lad and even then, he swore that he would never do the same thing.
Even if he was angry enough to kill.
“I will not let you go,” he growled. “In fact, you are not going anywhere, ever again. I will not take the chance that you will connect with ap Madoc and finally finish me off. What is in it for you, Grier? The wealth of Shrewsbury? Or is it that you will finally have your lover at your side?”
Grier began to fight him, trying to pull away from him. She was terrified and furious at the accusations.
“He is not my lover,” she said, twisting in his grip. “I told you the truth last night. I care nothing for him and I never have!”
Dane shook her so hard that her head snapped, causing her to look at him with wide, shocked eyes. “Then why are you asking his sister to arrange a meeting?” he demanded. “Why would you do this right after a raid you deny knowing anything about? To tell him that he was unsuccessful in killing me, mayhap?”
Grier couldn’t take his anger or his roughness. In a panic, she lashed out both feet, kicking at him, catching him in the knee enough to cause him to loosen his grip. When he faltered, she shoved him back by the chest and ended up breaking his grip completely. Stumbling over to the far side of the solar near the hearth, she grabbed the first thing she could, which happened to be the ash shovel. She held it up between them, wielding it in a threatening manner.
“I asked her to arrange a meeting to save your life,” she cried. “I have told you the truth, my lord. Never have I lied to you. I swear to you upon my dear mother’s grave that I have not lied to you. I wanted Eolande to arrange a meeting so I could tell Davies to leave you alone!”
“Syler is dead because of you.”
“I did not do anything, I swear it!”
She was screaming at him by that point. Dane could have easily overpowered her and the ash shovel, but he didn’t. He simply stood there, staring at his hysterical wife, so cut up inside that he could hardly breathe.
So shattered he could hardly think.
The letter, written by his wife, had asked Eolande to arrange a meeting between Grier and her brother, which Dane knew to be ap Madoc. In truth, there wasn’t anything more in it than that – no real words of subversion, but the very fact that she’d tried to send the missive told him that she’d been lying to him about her relationship with ap Madoc.
Lying…
He felt as if he’d been blindsided, caught unaware, when he considered himself an astute man. He could hardly come to grips with that letter but, now, the raid yesterday made a good deal of sense. The Welshman who had offered for her hand had tried to kill him. Then Grier sent a missive asking the man’s sister to arrange a meeting with her. How could he not believe the worst?
How could he not feel completely gutted?
But the truth was that he was angry at himself more than he was angry at Grier. He’d trusted a woman he hardly knew. God, they had such a lovely warmth between them, and his attraction to her was stronger than any attraction he’d ever known. She was sweet and kind and humorous… God, he loved her humor. He loved that silly little laugh she had, a laugh that had embedded itself deep into his heart.
Aye, his heart.
He loved her.
Perhaps, that was the bitterest thing of all. He couldn’t remember when he hadn’t loved her, and now this. Sending secret missives to a man who had once offered for her hand, but a man that Garreth had denied. Perhaps Garreth knew something Dane didn’t when it came to his daughter and her relationship with the Welshman, enough to ensure ap Madoc didn’t get his hands on the Shrewsbury wealth. And then he pledged Dane to his daughter, perhaps hoping Dane wo
uld protect Shrewsbury against the schemes of his daughter and her Welsh lover.
It all made so much sense now.
God’s Bones, he’d been a fool.
“You will forgive me if I do not believe you,” he said, suddenly quite calm where only moments before, he had been enraged. The light had gone out of his eyes when he looked at her. “Drop the shovel. I will not tell you again.”
Hearing his cold words only made Grier weep harder. He could not, would not, believe her. At that moment, she didn’t care what he did to her, so she tossed the shovel aside and collapsed on the floor, weeping into her hands.
“I wanted to tell Davies to stop his harassment,” she sobbed. “I could not stand it if anything happened to you, my lord. It would destroy me in more ways than you could imagine, and I felt that if I could prevent it, I had to try. I was only trying to help. That was my sole motivation, I swear to God.”
Her tears were creating cracks in Dane’s hard façade, but he fought it. He couldn’t let his guard down with her, not again. He’d already done that and it had left him open for betrayal and heartache.
Perhaps, that was what this was really about.
Heartache.
She’d hurt him.
Reaching down, he pulled her to her feet. Weakly, she tried to pull away, but he held her firm. With his weeping, shattered wife in his grip, he took her up to their chamber and put her in, locking the door from the outside and keeping the key.
The entire time, he didn’t say a word to her. He didn’t trust himself to, and Grier didn’t try to speak with him, either. The last he saw of her, she was falling to the floor of their chamber, sobbing hysterically. It moved him; God only knew, it moved him. But he stayed strong. He wasn’t going to fall for her softness and tears, not again. He’d already done that and she’d thanked him by betraying him.
Leaving Grier locked in their chamber, he went straight to the duke’s solar and drank himself into a stupor.
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