“Lucien,” Agravar began.
“I will not speak of it,” Lucien interrupted curtly, not looking at his friend.
The Norseman watched him tend the great destrier. He did not press. Nodding, he stepped away. “The justiciar has arrived.”
Lucien’s head snapped around, his eyes wide with surprise. “So. We should greet him.”
“You misunderstand. He has not just arrived. This is their third day.”
Taking a moment to digest this news, Lucien said carefully, “And the Lady Veronica?”
“She is with Alayna.” He paused, then added, “Veronica is very unhappy.”
Lucien’s jaw set, his temple flexing as he ground his teeth together. “No use in delaying the inevitable. Where are they?”
“The man is in the hall, and the women, as well.”
As they walked together, Lucien prodded Agravar for information. “What manner of man is this justiciar?”
“He seems fair enough. He has been visibly impressed with the good and glowing reports of you that he has heard.”
“Oh, really? And who is it who is glowing so much about me?”
“Your wife, for one. She has taken the lead with Wyndham, showing him all of the improvements your barony has gained for the shire and tempting him with the promise of prosperity Gastonbury can offer for our king.” They paused outside the great doors of the hall. “Your old demons are on you, I can see. Shake it off, Lucien. Remember what is at stake.”
Lucien nodded grudgingly and swept into the large room.
The justiciar was not there after all, but Lucien spotted Alayna where she sat with her ladies. Her back was to him, but he knew immediately it was her—that particular shade of chestnut hair, the erect posture, the graceful curve of her shoulders. His eyes slid to the woman next to her and he noticed the resemblance.
Petite, slim and comely of face, Veronica bore her years well, possessing a bearing that was almost regal. Alayna had most definitely inherited her grace and poise, though surpassed her mother in height, as well as beauty. All of this he noticed in one glance as he walked toward the group.
The chatter of the ladies fell to silence as he drew close. Veronica was the first to notice him, stopping in midsentence to stare. Alayna, Lucien saw, was smiling slightly at something her mother was saying, her full, lush mouth curved in precisely the way that set his heart thumping. She looked up at the interruption, and her eyes fell upon him. Her sewing dropped from her lap when she stood suddenly, and for one terrible moment he thought she was going to run to him. Inside him, his aching warred with the thrill of seeing her again.
Her face was alight with joy, but he felt no response within him. The rawness from his encounter with Isobol still throbbed painfully.
“Good day, wife,” he said without warmth. He held himself stiffly, forcing himself to remote observance of the disappointment in her face. He could not move to touch her, as he had so easily done just days before.
“My lord,” she breathed, instinctively treading carefully. Shooting an anxious glance at Veronica, she said, “May I present my mother, Lady Veronica of Avenford.”
“My lord, ’tis a pleasure to meet you,” Veronica said as she dropped into a curtsy, “but I must admit, there is much in the matter of the treatment of my daughter I wish to discuss with you.”
He barely spared the woman a glance. He was watching Alayna, his mind racing.
He was thinking of his own mother.
And he was thinking that perhaps he had been as much a fool for his wife as his father had been for Isobol. Had he not always sworn to never let a woman touch his heart?
Watching his wife now, flushed and tense as she waited for him to respond, he felt something within him well up, something old and familiar and cold. Could any woman truly be trusted, or were they, as he had so long believed, all the same—treacherous, deceitful liars?
He sneered at himself and crushed the flitting surge of his heart.
Alayna’s brow drew down in concern. “My lord, are you well?”
Everyone was looking at him oddly. He did not move, and she came toward him, resting a reassuring hand on his arm. “My lord?” she repeated.
He snatched himself away from her as if scalded. “Where is Henry’s man?” he said unexpectedly. It was all he could think of to say.
“He has gone to the village to see to matters there. Will was summoned from Thalsbury, and he and Pelly escorted Sir Wyndham on the journey. He will return to sup with us, he has said.”
Alayna watched the dark expression, knowing something was terribly wrong. She had seen it the moment she had greeted him. But with her mother watching, she tried to ignore it, for Veronica was not at all pleased with her new son-in-law, no matter how much Alayna pleaded her present contentment.
“Perhaps you are tired, husband. Come to our chamber and let me order you a bath. There you can rest and be refreshed to meet your guest when he returns from the village.”
She had no idea why he seemed so angry with her. Something was terribly wrong. Her solicitousness seemed to annoy him. “Do not coddle me,” he snapped, and without another word, stalked off toward their chamber.
Turning around to the women, Alayna was embarrassed by the awkward looks she received. Lady Mellyssand came to put her arm around her lady.
“Do not fret over his temper,” Mellyssand said smoothly. “No doubt he is tired and irritated from his trip. Alayna, why do you not seek your chamber and try to soothe his mood? It would do him no good to make a poor impression on Wyndham when he arrives this evening.”
Alayna cast a glance at her mother, seeing Veronica’s eyes were shadowed with doubt. Since her arrival, she had been adamant that Alayna return to London with her, where they would deal with the formalities of her daughter’s unfortunate marriage from their seat of power at court.
“Nay,” Alayna said quickly. She offered a tremulous smile and an unconvincing shrug. “He needs only some peace and rest. He will be restored by this eve.”
Lucien’s mood did not improve that evening, nor the next, nor for many nights after. Kept busy with the king’s officials, he rarely was available.
Alayna was near mad with worry and fear. So far, she had given him a wide berth, hoping that time would restore him. But with each day’s passage, his disposition grew worse, and with it deepened her despair.
Her mother’s scrutiny was a constant concern as that one’s sharp eyes caught every last detail of Lucien’s out-rageous behavior. Even with the glowing praises and sympathetic excuses from Mellyssand and Eurice, Veronica was growing more and more determined to take her daughter away. How ironic, Alayna thought, that the very deliverance for which she had so often prayed was now the thing she dreaded most.
It was late when he came to their chamber one night, in another sour mood. Swallowing hard at the look of him, scornful and brooding, she forced herself to sound pleasant. “How goes it with Wyndham?”
He cast her a baleful eye, grunting, “Wyndham will recommend in my favor to Henry.”
“Excellent, husband!” she exclaimed, genuinely happy at the news.
“Aye, that should please you. Now you are officially the Lady of Gastonbury. ‘Twas what you wanted from the start.”
Her face fell, her body slumping in defeat. His eyes flickered for a moment as if he felt a twinge of regret.
“I am happy for you,” she stated soberly.
“How touching.”
It was their sparring of old, nothing new. Nothing had changed. Yet it was so much more difficult to take after the intimacy they had shared.
Deflated, she watched him undress, feeling the familiar effect that simply viewing that hard, muscular form had on her. His warrior’s body was washed in golden firelight, and the spark of desire leaped to life within her belly, spreading quickly throughout her body.
His scowl caught her, but she did not look away. She couldn’t know how she appeared at that moment, kneeling on the bed, watching him with
her chestnut hair loose and falling around her like a curtain. But something in his eyes emboldened her. Rising from the bed, she came to stand before him, meeting his eyes boldly.
“I have missed you,” she said. His eyes clouded immediately in response. He paused for a heartbeat as if struggling with something within him, then suddenly grabbed her shoulders and pulled her hard up against him.
“No need to lie. I will willingly see to your needs,” he said cruelly, bringing his mouth down on hers in a savage kiss. Stung by the heartlessness of his words, she tried to pull away.
“What game are you playing, Alayna?” he growled at her ear. “First you make me think you want me, then you fight. Is this all part of some plan you and your mother have concocted?”
“You are a fool!” she raged, struggling against him, but he held her fast.
He chuckled. “You have come up with better names than that in your time. As for being a fool, I would be inclined to agree. It is exactly what I have been thinking. I have been quite the fool for you, have I not?”
His words cut, but the nearness of him, the feel of him pressed against her, and his soft, masculine smell was like a drug. She no longer fought him, welcoming even this angry embrace like one parched and thirsting would strain for a drop of water.
His mouth slashed down over hers, twisting and opening until she could barely catch her breath. She hated herself for her easy surrender. Unable to turn away from his loving, she let herself be swept away, and in those moments of tender giving, she could believe that they were as they had been, that nothing had changed and that the Lady Isobol had never risen up out of the past to strangle the fledgling love they had shared, like a weed choking a tender shoot. He was loving her again, inside of her now and they were moving as one, as if they truly were united once again without aged demons to torment them.
He held her tightly for a few quick moments after they calmed before rolling away and pretending to sleep.
Silently, in the dark, Alayna wept, surprised that she had any more tears to shed.
Alayna was fast running out of hope. Her mother observed with tight-lipped disapproval the worsening status of their relationship and Alayna had more and more difficulty finding convincing arguments why she should not leave him as Veronica so frequently, and persuasively, urged.
He came to her sometimes at night. In silence, he would hold her, their familiar bond sparking to life at his merest touch. Always, she would respond with genuine desire, melding with him for this short time. But these interludes did nothing to ease their rift. He would only turn away as soon as his passion was spent, leaving Alayna to stare at the ceiling long into the night, wondering which was the truth—his heartless dismissals or his wondrous, gentle loving of her body?
After some time, she grew despondent. She wished she could get angry, rail against him and prod him into at least a battle of wits, but somehow her strength would not come. She began to think of her mother’s wishes with a new resignation. Perhaps it would be best to admit defeat and let her mother take her home to London.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It happened at one evening meal, when Lucien was feeling particularly cross, that Alayna found her anger again.
They were seated on the dais, lined along the head table in grim attendance to their dour lord, when Alayna made the unwitting mistake of speaking to Will.
She simply asked on the progress at Thalsbury. Instead of Will’s reply, a low growl was heard from the direction of the master’s chair. “Perhaps you would like to reside at that place with our good knight,” Lucien spat. “There you could assure yourself of its condition, and Will’s, at all times.”
Will flushed, speechless at the viciously intoned barb.
Alayna whipped her head around and stared at him for a long moment, all too aware of the faces of those whom she loved and who loved her—her mother, Mellyssand, Hubert, and Eurice—staring aghast at the exchange.
As the harsh words died into silence, she was suddenly and completely overcome with feeling. Tingling spikes of rage began to dart through her body and her vision narrowed, tunneling onto that dark, damnably handsome face, and suddenly she felt shockingly, wonderfully alive after the long weeks of dead numbness. She stood slowly, unsteadily, on legs atremble with emotion.
Enough. She had finally had enough.
She had had enough of his insulting behavior. Enough, as well, of his colossal pouts. It had broken her heart to see him so haunted, so brought down by the pain of the past. But no more. She had finally had enough!
She tilted her chin, bestowing her most arrogant and shriveling look upon him. “You, my mean-spirited, vile-tempered, boorish-mannered husband can promptly go to hell!”
Agravar caught the choked laugh in his throat before it escaped. When Lucien’s livid gaze snapped up to glare at him, he coughed profusely, covering his mouth but not able to hide the telltale crinkles in the corners of his eyes.
Leveling a glower at his wife, Lucien rose slowly, towering over her. His bulk was daunting, but Alayna remained unfazed. Black eyes clashed with brilliant green.
“Take care, my wife,” he warned. “I do not favor public displays of those things best kept private. But if you push me, I will not stay my wrath for those who would see your humiliation.”
“Will you beat me then, Lucien?” she asked casually.
“I would not shirk the task should you prompt me.”
She didn’t believe him. Moreover, even if his threat was good, she found amazingly that she did not care. It would be a relief, actually, if he would do the one thing that would decide their fate for good.
Notching her chin up further, she shrugged. “There is nothing a buffoon such as yourself could do to embarrass me.”
She had gone too far, she knew it. She saw the look on his face, and she thought, this is it. He is going to strike me—he will dare it. Finally he will take the last step to completely degrade me, here in front of everyone, and then he will lose me forever.
He did not raise his hand to her, however. Agravar, who was watching carefully, silently came to his feet. He stood close to Lucien’s elbow, and for the first time Alayna saw the threatening look of the Viking’s anger. For a moment, she thought it was directed at her. But she saw his glare leveled at Lucien. The large, calloused hands curled reflexively, as if impatient to strike a blow.
“I am waiting, husband,” she whispered. He did not move.
All of a sudden, he whirled and stalked out of the hall without another word.
Alayna stepped as if to follow.
“Alayna Eustacia.” Lady Veronica sprang to her feet and grabbed Alayna’s arms, whirling her daughter around.
Alayna yanked herself away. “Mother, please, not now!” Leaving the table, she ran after her husband. She was angry and she was afraid, and so utterly desperate. She needed to finish this, once and for all. This horrid limbo of lost hope and disappointment had gone on long enough. Before she reached the doors, her mother pulled at her again.
“Do not dare chase him like some simpering chit without any dignity!”
“Mother, stay out of this, I have got to settle this, one way or another. Please, move aside else I will lose sight of him.”
“Let him go. He is a miscreant and a savage. Come home with me right now, we will see to this matter from London.”
“Please listen to me. Even when we did not get on well—at first when we quarreled and sparred at every turn—even then he never behaved this badly. I know that there is a something terrible inside of him that eats into his soul. He will not let me help him, but Mother—what we had was glorious! It was not something I will ever find again. I am going to fight for it, even if I have to battle you, him, and Henry’s whole army.”
“Why do you persist in this infatuation with the man? He is a barbarian! It has been weeks since he returned, and I have been patient for your sake. I know you believe that you love him. But, sweet daughter, he does not merit the care you give him. He
is not going to change, if he indeed ever did.”
“I will hear no more against him!” Alayna cried, exasperated and angry. She was weary from fighting at every front all the time. Right now, her mind was on Lucien. “I know very well what you must be thinking. But I do not have time to soothe you just now. I must see Lucien.”
She left her mother, hating to part on such terms, and raced in the direction where she had last seen her husband. Catching a glimpse of him disappearing up the curve of the tower stairs, she took the risers two at a time.
She found him up on the ramparts, standing braced against the battlements and staring out over the land stretched below him.
“That was a fine job, husband,” she commented saucily. “How brilliant of you to so completely and utterly make a fool of yourself in front of everyone. Not to mention humiliating me in the bargain, but that is nothing new. You excel at that. Thank goodness my father does not live, else he surely would have drawn his sword and slain you on the spot for your insult to me.”
He snorted. Clearly he did not believe that anyone could best him.
“I have spent near a fortnight trying to convince my mother not to have this marriage declared null by the church. She can do it easily, though—”
“Is that what you want?” he bellowed.
“Is it what you want, Lucien?” she countered. “Why do you punish me? Why do you not let me help you and together we—”
“Why do you persist in plaguing me with this idiotic prattle when I have made it quite clear I wish you to leave me alone?” He shouted these last three words, but Alayna remained steadfast.
“Leave you alone to what? Your misery? Aye, I would like to, for you try me sorely, and at times I would see you punished for the unparalleled stupidity you have shown of late. But, of course, nothing can do justice to your witlessness, for you are so impervious to all but your own private hell. Oh, my fine lord of vengeance, you shall always remain so untouchable to the perils of mere mortals. Therefore, it is fitting that your misery is of your own design, for only you—so singularly cruel—could conceive of an apt punishment for yourself.”
The Maiden and the Warrior Page 22
