Autumn's Flame

by Denise Domning

  Cecilia clutched herself tightly and blinked as tears leapt to her eyes. "Maman shouldn't have done that." Her words were a bare whisper. Then, the child's eyes flew wide in horror. She tore free from Elyssa's hold and raced for the grassy corner where she'd dropped her wooden companion. Snatching the doll into her arms, Cecilia looked frantically around the enclosure as if she feared being chased all the while backing deeper into the corner and hunching against the wall.

  Elyssa drew a shaken breath. Cecilia's reaction brought the words of Maud's letter ringing out of her memory. This time, the madness in them shone clear. Geoffrey's wife had believed the devil's mark lay on the child she'd borne.

  A new and frightening thought came to mind. Was it possible Maud had done murder while her daughter looked on? The very concept made Elyssa's stomach turn, but the idea fit too well with Cecilia's reaction to be discarded. Her heart sank against it. Folding her hands, she looked heavenward, seeking the help she would need to heal this child.

  "Mother of God, you must aid me now. This burden is too great for one so small as Cecilia to bear. Tell me what to say," she prayed.

  Once she’d sent her plea winging upward, she crossed the yard slowly, her pace intended to soothe Cecilia more than to accommodate herself. As she passed by Clare, she caught up her stool, carrying it with her. In the garden’s corner, she set her seat beside Cecilia and lowered herself onto it. Cecilia stared blankly ahead of her. Her tiny hands were white as they clutched her plaything.

  Elyssa drew a slow breath. "Poppet, did you love your maman?"

  "I love my maman," Cecilia repeated, her voice only a whisper. Her face was ashen and without expression.

  Fear woke in Elyssa. Oh Lord, what if Clare was right and she shouldn’t have meddled? What if her poppet once again disappeared into silence because of what she’d just done? It was too late for regrets now. All that was left was to trust that the Celestial aid she’d asked for would appear.

  "She shouldn't have done that," Cecilia whispered to herself. "Maman was bad. She shouldn't have done that." The last words disappeared into a squeaky breath as Cecilia looked down at the doll in her hands.

  Just as Elyssa had done before Cecilia found her voice, she read the story in the child’s gesture. "She hurt your brother." She kept her voice flat and relaxed.

  Still staring at her toy, Cecilia nodded. She drew a ragged breath and looked up, sparkling bits of moisture clinging to her dark lashes. Horror and hurt tangled in her expression. "She shouldn't have done that,” she told Elyssa.

  Pain wafted from the child, strong enough to set tears to burning in Elyssa's eyes. What was there to say to that, save, "You’re right, my heart. Your maman shouldn't have hurt your brother."

  Cecilia continued to stare, her eyes wide and expression blank. Elyssa waited until the silence lasted far longer than was comfortable. Concern worked into worry, leaving nothing for Elyssa to do but soothe as best she could.

  "Mamans are supposed to love their poppets the way I love you. She shouldn't have frightened you or hurt you."

  There was a subtle release of tension in the child's shoulders then Cecilia drew a shattered breath. "Maman is gone now?"

  "Aye, my heart," Elyssa confirmed quietly, “she is gone. She can hurt you no more and she will never come back again."

  "She is dead? Like my brother?" There was just a trace of normal curiosity in her voice.

  "Aye," Elyssa told her.

  Cecilia’s lower lip quivered. Some of the moisture caught in her eyes overflowed to trickle down her cheeks. "I want my maman to come back."

  "I know," Elyssa sighed, feeling the ground steady again beneath her feet, "but she cannot although I know she wishes that she could. Come, my little love. Come to Lyssa. I will hold you close and keep you safe from what hurts you."

  Cecilia came to lean against Elyssa's side, burying herself as best she could into her temporary mother's embrace. As Elyssa rocked gently, easing the child's horror and pain, her own grew.

  Just what did Geoffrey FitzHenry think he was doing, leaving his child alone with such a burden on her heart? Forbid her to pry, would he? It was well and truly time that he confronted the consequences of his actions.

  Seated in his workroom, Geoffrey stared at the parchment in his hand while Martin read over his shoulder. The other pages lay strewn across his lap. Unbelievable! The only thing Crosswell's miners hadn’t requested in their latest contract was God's throne. A soldier came to stand before him. Geoff finished reading a line before he looked up at the man.

  "What is it?" he asked, a little sharply at this interruption.

  The man extended a fold of parchment toward him. "My lord, Lady Freyne asked me to bring you this. She requests you meet her in the garden."

  Geoffrey took the skin and flipped it open. Elyssa's hand was even and strong, flowing with well-formed characters across the bit of skin.

  Lord Coudray, we must speak about Cecilia. Do not ignore me. Please recall that within weeks you will sit at my side, trapped with me while I give birth. It would be better for you if you heard me out in private else I'll be forced to spill what needs saying before the midwife and my cousin.

  Horror and desperation tore through him. As he knew she would, Cecilia had finally spoken to Elyssa about Maud's death. The need to save his daughter grew until he was drowning in it. Trapped in helplessness, he read the note again, only to have helplessness give way to rage. That manipulative bitch! Who did she think she was threatening him with exposure!

  He jerked to his feet, parchments sliding to the floor, contracts and negotiations forgotten, and was through the doorway before Martin lifted his gaze from the page he was reading.

  “My lord?” his undersheriff called after him.

  Geoff paid him no heed only stormed down the stairs and through the inner courtyard until he stopped in the open garden gate. Wearing that golden gown of hers and a sleeveless white overgown atop it, Lady Elyssa sat upon a stool near the hedge. Her arms were crossed tightly over the bulge of her belly.

  She was angry at him? He stepped inside the garden, shutting the gate behind him, then stalked to stand before her. "Who do you think you are, threatening me?” he snarled at her, his words honed to a vicious edge.

  "Threaten?" she retorted boldly. "I made no threats, only promises. How do you dare face me with anger when you abandoned your daughter to carry what she did all by herself?"

  Geoffrey felt his skin heat at her words so deep was the rage within him. "I did no such thing. Had Cecilia given me half a chance, I'd have let her spill what she held onto me. Instead, she chose you, damned harridan that you are.” He leaned toward her, his finger pointed. "Best you mark your own words, madam. My daughter, not yours."

  She slapped his hand away. "Not mine by birth, mayhap, but surely mine by rebirth."

  "No longer," Geoffrey snapped back. "Cecilia needs you no more. I so command. You will relinquish her to me now."

  "You command?!" Her cheeks burned bright red. She struggled to her feet, then dared to grab the front of his tunic, hauling her bulky body closer to him. He clamped his hands over hers, the pressure of his grip meant to force her to release him.

  "You have no right to command anything in that sweet child’s regard. You left her alone with her mother. She watched her brother die at Maud’s hands." What started as a raging shout descended into a hoarse and quiet cry. Elyssa stared up at him. It wasn’t hate or disgust or judgment he saw in her expression. She wanted an explanation, one that would not only make her understand what had happened but free her to do for him what he could not: forgive him.

  Her need tore through all the barriers Geoffrey had raised against that awful day. Against all sense and caution, against his own inner determination not to speak the words, the rest of the tale exploded from him on a fiery breath. "She saw more than that. She watched her mother set these on me"— he raised his free hand to indicate his face—"after I wrenched Cecilia from Maud's hands to keep her from killin
g my daughter as well as my son. Then, Cecilia watched her mother die as I threw her from me to end her attack."

  His words echoed around him, battering at him until they faded into the backdrop of Crosswell’s constant noise, leaving nothing but the hollow emptiness of defeat within him. The words were spoken, the truth acknowledged: Cecilia was the get of a woman mad enough to try and kill both her children. No man would want to wed his son to her, fearing that the madness would follow Maud’s line.

  The color drained from Elyssa’s face. "Mother of God," she whispered. Then, with her hands yet bunched in his tunic, she laid her head against his shoulder. "Oh, Geoffrey, I am so sorry," she wept softly into the fabric of his sleeve.

  After a moment and, mostly because he couldn't think of anything else to do, he embraced her. "Elyssa, cry no more," he commanded.

  "I cannot help it,” she said, her words muffled and soggy. “It’s a terrible thing that happened to you and Cecilia. If I, who did not witness the day cannot bear it, how do you?"

  Wonder rose in him. She cried for him, once again trying to share what was his hurt. His hurt, his to bear. Except now Elyssa had made it hers as well. He leaned his head against hers. "Sometimes, I cannot."

  He held her until the pain in his chest eased some, then stepped back, his hands coming to rest on her upper arms. "You are right, we must speak over this issue. What Cecilia and I have told you can go no farther. To reveal the truth of that day is to condemn Cecilia to a life of unhappiness."

  Elyssa wiped away her tears and drew a shaking breath. "How so?"

  "It’s a strange world we live in, Elyssa," Geoffrey said softly. "While my supposed cruel and evil nature will stop no man from offering his son to wed my daughter, her mother's madness dooms Cecilia to the life I see your cousin living."

  Her forehead creased as she contemplated what he said. A single tear yet clung to the soft curve of her cheek. She released the front of his tunic, smoothing the fabric over the slope of his chest.

  Astonishment lingered. She cried for him. Once again, her caring reached into him, seductive and taunting. And unbelievably precious. He found himself wishing she'd given way to him Christmas night. If she’d forced their marriage, there'd be no need to face her departure.

  Geoffrey caught his breath against this thought. Dear God in heaven, but he'd allowed Elyssa of Freyne to push her way into his life until his need for her made it impossible to let her go.

  "Ah, so this is why you let Sibyl's story of your evil nature stand unchallenged." She nodded to herself in understanding.

  "Aye, far better that she has the Devil for a father than a madwoman for a mother,” he told her. “Now you see why Cecilia cannot speak of what she knows. It must remain concealed. If she speaks of it again, you must encourage her to silence.” How it gouged him to speak those words. The last thing he wanted was his daughter trapped in quiet once again.

  "Geoffrey, she cannot keep it in her," Elyssa replied, both determination and pleading in her voice. "Until the whole of this memory's poison drains from her, she cannot be the daughter you remember. To drain it she must speak of until it no longer weighs on her heart. Force her to keep it within her and it will eat her alive.”

  Her words killed all the softness he'd been feeling toward her. Geoffrey let his hands fall from her arms and took a step back from her. “Were you not listening? If she speaks, others will hear. Before long, the tale will be from one end of the shire to the other. She cannot speak of it.”

  Elyssa frowned at him. “What makes you think that this tale hasn’t already spread? Or that those who don’t know all the truth spice the tale with their own fancy and send it on its way?”

  Geoffrey tensed. For Cecilia’s sake she had to be wrong. "There’s no tale to spread. Few outside of Coudray know what occurred and those who do are oath-bound not to speak of it."

  "Geoffrey, Sibyl showed me a missive she received from Maud," Elyssa said to him, her tone that of impatient tutor to dull student. “Maud’s madness shines in every line of that letter.”

  He hadn’t seen the letter but the William of Hereford had. "Nay, according to the Bishop of Hereford all it does is accuse me of being the Devil's spawn.”

  She cocked her head and sent him a narrow-eyed look that named him fool. "If I, who am but a woman, saw what hid behind Maud's words, so have all the others to whom Sibyl has shown that letter. Churchmen are terrible gossips."

  “Nay, the bishop would never reveal— “Geoffrey started, but she spoke over him.

  "He might not, but what of his clerks?” she demanded. “Geoffrey, think. How many men handled that missive before it reached their lord's office? How many more will see it before Sibyl ceases in her pursuit of vengeance? Yet, while they all know and spread their own versions of the truth, you demand silence from Cecilia.”

  "You’re wrong,” Geoff insisted, shaking his head like a punch-drunk man. He’d worked so hard to protect Cecilia, giving up home and hearth, friends and happiness. He could not let it all be for naught when Baldwin had remained quiet too long. He could feel it. Baldwin would soon be driven to act. If the future demanded Geoff give his life to protect his daughter, he had to know his going would guarantee his sweet lass a future worth holding.

  Elyssa stepped closer and laid her hand against his scarred cheek as if to soothe what ached in him. "I’m not,” she said softly, her fingers gentle against his skin. “Do not make my mistake, Geoffrey of Coudray. I thought to save Jocelyn by shielding him from the hurt life could do him. Instead, I doomed him to a joyless existence. This will be Cecilia's fate if you persist in this.”

  Geoff jerked his head to the side to free him from her touch. A part of him, a very selfish part, wanted the world to know what Gradinton had done when he’d saddled him with Maud. He wanted to scream against the terrible things Maud had done until he could scream no more, knowing that peace would follow in rage's wake. All this he could not do, not if he was to protect Cecilia.

  "It’s not at all the same," he protested harshly, taking yet another step back from her. "Your son's weaknesses belonged only to him. All he needed to do was prove to he was capable then he could be judged on his own merit. How is Cecilia supposed to prove herself against what her mother was? Jesu, but she's been wild and silent for a year. Imagine if both tales spread. Her every mood will be watched. A single misstep and everyone will whisper behind their hands: There goes Mad Maud's daughter."

  Elyssa showed no sign his onslaught affected her. “That will only be true if she behaves like a madwoman and Cecilia does not. Free her. Let her live without Maud."

  Geoffrey's eyes narrowed. She was going to refuse him, damn her. "I say the risk is too great. You will speak no more of this to me or my daughter.”

  Elyssa set her fists on her hips. "Oh, I see it clearly now. What's good for the goose is not so good for the gander, eh? You chide me for seeking to protect my son because what I did to him caused harm, yet refuse to listen when I turn your own lesson back on you?"

  Geoff’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. This time she would not ignore his right to command her. "I have commanded you. You will do as I say.”

  She loosed a scornful snort. "I will do what is right. If you want me to do as you say, then tell me to do what is right, what you know very well is right.”

  "Bend or bear the consequences, damn you!" he roared, lifting his hand in threat.

  Rather than tremble, Elyssa laughed. "Do you think you can frighten me now, after all that has passed between us? I know this sort of violence all too well, and you are not the kind of man who can do it. Try then. Try and force me to my knees, but be you warned. When you fail you'll have no choice left but to listen to me. I am right in this, and you know it."

  "Damn you!" This time his shout was a bellow of pain because she was right and he did know it. He grabbed up her stool and sent it flying toward the wall. It exploded into splinters. Elyssa didn't even flinch.

  The garden gate flew open. Geoffrey w
hirled, ready to fry the intruder with all the anger he couldn't spend on the one who deserved it. Martin strode briskly into the enclosure. The young knight looked neither right nor left, but kept his focus on his master.

  "Pardon my intrusion," he said without the slightest bit of regret over intruding in his voice. "This has just come from Ashby, the messenger saying it demands your immediate attention." Only after he’d handed the sealed parchment to his employer did he look at Elyssa.

  "You are well, Lady Freyne?" he asked as if he didn’t see the stubborn bitch every day at the meal.

  "Martin," Geoffrey snapped, disliking the inference in the question, which, of course, was why Elyssa had no fear of him. He tore the strings off the piece, his hands yet shaking with the force of his emotion. The words jumbled in senseless confusion as he stared at them, too hot to find the pattern in the letters.

  "I am well enough, thank you for inquiring," Elyssa said calmly, "save for the deafening my pigheaded fool of a warden is bent on giving me."

  Martin had the gall to laugh.

  Geoffrey drew a deep breath, closed his eye and waited a moment. When he opened his eye and tried again to read what his brother had commanded a clerk to scribe. It took yet a third try before he accomplished his goal but as the meaning behind the words came clear, all anger died.

  "My God,” he breathed and read again.

  "What is it?" Elyssa asked, coming to his side and trying read over his arm.

  He folded the missive, concealing the message, and looked at his undersheriff. "Martin, leave us."

  Martin nodded and retreated, leaving the gate open behind him, which is how it should have been from the first. If he had left it open, Elyssa wouldn’t have touched him, he wouldn’t have embraced her and she would never have cried for him, her head upon his shoulder.

  Elyssa reached out for the parchment. “Open it,” she cried. “You’re frightening me. Has something happened to my son?"