Misbegotten

by Tamara Leigh

  Gambling. The very thing that had caused Joslyn to wed Maynard. "And what of Sir Liam, Your Majesty?" she asked.

  "Knowing of my great displeasure, your husband convinced his brother to return to Ashlingford and manage the estates for him."

  So Liam Fawke had not forced his brother to turn management of the estates over to him as Father Ivo and Maynard had led her to believe. It had been given to him willingly. All that Joslyn had believed about her husband and his relationship with his illegitimate brother was beginning to crumble. "And he claims that in exchange for this, Maynard promised him the barony?" she asked. Would her husband have agreed to such terms? It hardly seemed possible.

  "'Tis what the Ashlingford knights attest to, though not until two days past had I heard tell of it myself."

  What to believe? Joslyn wondered. That Liam Fawke had gathered false witnesses to him to gain Ashlingford? Or that her husband had made a promise he'd had no intention of keeping?

  "Even were this true, which 'tis not, Your Majesty"—Ivo returned to the conversation— "William is still illegitimate. He can have no legal claim upon Ashlingford, especially when there is Oliver."

  Edward shifted his gaze to the priest. "Perhaps," he murmured.

  "But surely you are not seriously considering awarding the barony to William," Ivo said.

  "I am."

  Though the priest must have wanted badly to send up a cry of even greater protest, he compressed his lips, closed his hand over the dangling crucifix, and averted his gaze.

  How Joslyn would have liked to walk away from this, to surrender all to Liam Fawke and return with Oliver to the security and comfort of Rosemoor! But Father Ivo's words came back to her: It was not her decision to make. "And what of my son, Your Majesty?" she asked. "He is the legitimate issue of Baron Maynard Fawke."

  "You were married by special license, were you not?"

  She nodded.

  "Have you never questioned the reason, lady, that your husband did not wish it to be publicly known he had wed you?"

  "I had no reason to question it, for he told me he feared for the life of any heir that might be born of our union. He said his brother might seek the child's death to gain the barony for himself."

  Edward frowned. "Though I cannot say I know Sir Liam well, I find that difficult to believe of him."

  Ought she to tell him how Liam Fawke had ridden on Rosemoor? Joslyn wondered. How he had threatened to steal Oliver away from her? Nay, for though Liam Fawke had frightened her, that was all he had done.

  "Convince me that I should confer the barony upon your child, Lady Joslyn," King Edward said, "and I will."

  Joslyn blinked with surprise. How was she to do that? "I know not what else to say that has not already been said, Your Majesty, except that on his deathbed, my husband named Oliver his heir and Father Ivo bore witness to it."

  "I did," the priest concurred.

  "The child is but two years old," Edward reminded them.

  "Three come summer," Ivo said.

  "Two, three," the king muttered, "he is still a child. Incapable of running a barony as vast and vital as Ashlingford." He looked upon Joslyn again. "Surely you do not propose to oversee Ashlingford yourself, Lady Joslyn?"

  She? Lord, the thought had never even occurred to her. It was true she could read, write, and compute numbers and for years had kept her father's books for him, but Rosemoor was tiny compared to Ashlingford. Still, perhaps—

  "Until Oliver comes of age and responsibility," Father Ivo said, stepping forward, "I have offered to manage the estates for him, Your Majesty."

  "You?" King Edward exclaimed. "A man of God?"

  "A man of God, but also of Ashlingford. Lest you forget, Your Majesty, I am also a Fawke. Though much of my life has been spent doing the work of the Lord, I know the barony better than any."

  "And you think yourself capable of managing it?"

  "I do."

  "Better than Sir Liam?"

  Ivo's answer came after a slight hesitation. "Aye."

  The king looked anything but convinced. "Did you not assist Maynard in managing the demesne ere Sir Liam was returned to it?" he asked.

  Ivo's skin crept with color. "Only in keeping the books, Your Majesty. My nephew did not consult me on any matters of great importance. He was stubborn that way."

  "Yet he later allowed Sir Liam to make those same decisions for him," the king reflected aloud. "The half brother for whom he had no liking."

  "I—" Ivo began.

  King Edward held up a silencing hand. "I have made my decision."

  Joslyn was jolted by his abruptness. Considering his exchange with Father Ivo, it could only mean he had determined that Liam Fawke was more suited to the barony of Ashlingford than a child figurehead and a priest. Thus all had been for naught; Oliver's birthright would be taken from him. However, she felt little regret over the king's decision, for it was he, and not she, who would deny her son the estates. Now she and Oliver could return to Rosemoor and a life that placed neither of them in danger.

  The king turned to the man who had earlier brought Joslyn and Ivo into the great hall. "Summon Sir Liam."

  Joslyn gasped. Though she had known Liam was in the city, she had not thought she would have to face him here, and certainly not before the king. To be exposed again to his mockery as he was given the title of baron would not be pleasant. She watched the king's man cross the hall to a door opposite the one she and Ivo had entered through.

  King Edward beckoned her to the dais. "Come, Lady Joslyn, stand by my side."

  For what reason? she wondered. That she might more fully face Liam's arrogance? "But I—"

  "Come," he ordered, brooking no argument.

  Lifting her skirts, Joslyn stepped up to the platform and tightly clasped her hands before her. She would show Liam Fawke no fear, she vowed. Neither would she show defeat. Let him gloat over his victory, deserved or not, for she would give him no further satisfaction.

  "You have judged me wrong," King Edward murmured.

  "Your Majesty?"

  "Patience," he said, and looked at the man emerging from the side room. Liam Fawke.

  6

  He was in trouble. Liam knew it the moment he laid eyes on the woman who stood to the right of the king. Though surely only God could have arranged this, it was none other than Joslyn Fawke who stared across at him. With her chin lifted proudly and her hands clasped before her, she looked every bit the noblewoman she had not seemed at Rosemoor. By divine intervention she had been transformed from plain, dirty, and ill-mannered to lovely and genteel. And though the spirited woman of three days past might still be in her eyes, Liam was certain of one thing: No contentious words or baiting would pass those lips. Not in the presence of the king.

  Lord, but he was in trouble!

  As he traversed the hall, Sir John following, he continued to hold Joslyn's stare. She seemed so confident, so assured that the wiles she had worked on the king would see her son named Ashlingford's heir.

  Would King Edward steal Liam's right to the barony a second time? Would he risk the revenues of Ashlingford again, this time knowingly?

  Positioning himself to the right of Ivo, Liam moved through the formalities of introduction and veneration as if outside himself, his gaze returning time and again to Joslyn. But it was more than her transformation that drew his attention. It was a searching for something just out of reach—a feeling in the oldest part of him that she held the answer to some unanswered question.

  "Are you with us, Sir Liam?"

  He shifted his gaze to the king. "I am, Your Majesty."

  "There is something you find particularly interesting about Lady Joslyn?" Edward asked.

  It was not idle talk Liam was here for, but he knew he must indulge the king—and himself—a bit. "Interesting?" he repeated. "Nay, only surprising."

  "And how is that?"

  "'Tis just that her appearance is wholly different from what I previously saw of her." In the next
instant, he felt her gaze stab him.

  The king leaned forward. "Tell," he prompted, his eyes shining with keen interest.

  Joslyn had spun Edward well around her little finger, Liam concluded, with no small amount of contempt. Obviously, the king's concern for her went well beyond the duties of his office. Would she lie with him this eve if he awarded Ashlingford to Oliver?

  Looking again at Joslyn, Liam found himself liking the way her eyes stood, large with outrage. Aye, 'twas far better than the self-possession she had exuded only minutes earlier. Returning his attention to Edward, he said, "It would not be gentlemanly of me to carry tales, my king. Suffice it to say that this lady is much improved over the one I met at Rosemoor."

  Edward frowned a moment, then smiled. "So she is at her best for me, hmm?"

  In Joslyn's eyes Liam saw all the things she would have liked to say to him but could not. He slid his gaze over her flushed countenance, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her hips embraced by a jeweled belt, her slippers peeking from beneath her skirts. "Aye, her best," he agreed.

  With a satisfied chuckle, the king reclined upon his throne. "Then to business," he announced.

  Knowing this day would decide the rest of his life for him, Liam reminded himself of the control he must keep regardless of what was said.

  "Sir Liam, I have considered your petition for hereditary right over Ashlingford," Edward said, "and admit that yours is a defensible claim. There is much to consider with a barony the size of Ashlingford. Mine is not a decision easily arrived at."

  Then the decision was made, meaning Edward would listen to no further argument on the subject.

  "As you have ever been a loyal vassal," the king continued, "willful at times, but otherwise obedient, and are known to be honorable and just, I am inclined to believe the men who have corroborated the vow made to you by your brother. However, there is more to consider than a promise made by a desperate man."

  Ivo stood straighter, Joslyn jerked with surprise, and Sir John muttered beneath his breath, "Good God!"

  Liam held the king's gaze. The question of who would succeed Maynard was no more. In his foolishness, Edward had decided to award the barony to a child incapable of wiping his own nose, a child born of Maynard's deception, sustained and strengthened by the treacherous Ivo and the illusive Joslyn. Damn them both! Damn them to perdition!

  So strong were the feelings coursing through Liam that he nearly missed the king's nod to the senior guard—no doubt signaling the man to prepare himself and his men for Liam's reaction. Obviously, Edward had not forgotten what Liam was capable of.

  "Nobility descends from nobility, Sir Liam," King Fdward said, "and though one half of you is of your lather, the other ..." He hesitated, almost apologetically. "The other is of the common."

  What he did not say, but surely considered, was that it was not just any "common" blood in Liam, it was that of the Irish.

  Fury causing his heart to pound hot blood through every vein, Liam forced himself to wait on the king when what he wanted was to rage over this mark that was ever upon his brow. But by all that was holy, he would not be ashamed of the circumstances of his birth!

  "Thus, though the child of Maynard Fawke is yet too young to take up the barony, I have decided that 'tis to him Ashlingford should pass." Edward settled his forearms to the arms of his throne and waited for Liam's response.

  Though Liam continued to stare at the king, he sensed the triumph shining out of the eyes his uncle turned on him.

  How was he to respond to the king's pronouncement? Liam wondered. Should he rage as he had seven years past when the king had first taken his birthright from him? Turn on Ivo as he'd done that day?

  He clenched his fists. Then it had taken four guards and their weapons to bring him down and drag him from the hall. How many would it take this day, should he unleash his ripening rage? And why not? He had nothing left to lose.

  As much as Liam needed to release the fury of these wasted years, he held it in with the hard-won reminder that he was no longer the rash twenty-two-year-old he'd been then. True, he would leave London as landless as he'd left it seven years before, but this time with dignity. This time not as the volatile Irish bastard he'd been called, but as the dispassionate Englishman.

  "I am pleased to see you have gained control of your emotions, Sir Liam," King Edward commented.

  Liam dipped his head. "And now I would ask your leave, Your Majesty."

  "In due course. There are yet matters to be resolved."

  Liam cursed silently. Damnation, but he wanted to be away from here! To put the breadth of England between himself and all those present—most especially the woman who had given Maynard the means to triumph over him this day. He stared hard at Joslyn. Although her face reflected wide-eyed uncertainty, Liam knew she must be alive with the victory she had gained over him. God, but she was truly worthy of Maynard.

  "Do not think I am unaware of your value, Sir Liam," Edward said, "for most certainly I am. Thus, I have a proposal for you."

  "A proposal, sire?" Liam repeated, surprising himself that he could speak past the constriction in his throat.

  "Aye. As I am loath to jeopardize the revenues of (he barony, I would naturally like to see you continue in the same capacity as you served your brother."

  Joslyn could hardly breathe, her throat nearly closing as the king's words dug themselves deeper into her consciousness. Lord, let him not mean it. Let this be but a cruel game. Looking across at Liam, she glimpsed his own surprise before he hid it behind a hard jaw and eyes like flint.

  Finally, Ivo recovered from his shock. "B—but Your Majesty," he sputtered. "I am willing to manage the estates for the child until he comes of age."

  "Tis Sir Liam I want," Edward said.

  Liam had never seen his uncle look more flustered. Ah, the poor man's plans gone awry. And what of Joslyn Fawke? Steering his gaze to her, he saw the fear upon her face. Almost amusing. Though he had no intention of accepting the king's proposal—providing it was that and not an order—he found himself asking, "And in return how am I to be compensated, Your Majesty?"

  Looking as if he enjoyed these three whose destinies were his to control, the king smiled. "This eve there will come into my hall many who vie for the barony of Thornemede. You know it, do you not, Sir Liam?"

  Of course he knew it, though it was hardly a barony any longer. Half a day's ride from Ashlingford, Thornemede had fallen into disuse. Its aged baron, who had outlived both his sons, was now dead as well. Was this, then, what the king offered, a squandered barony for a thriving one twice its size? "I know Thornemede," Liam said.

  "Though the men who wish it for themselves will eat my meat, swill my wine, and flatter me in all manner of ways," Edward said, "'tis you I will give it to, do you agree to manage Ashlingford for your brother's son until he is of age."

  A barony. But not the one that was his. Not the one his father intended for him, the one Liam had broke sweat upon and bettered ten times over for the day he would be named its lord.

  "Thornemede is not so great as Ashlingford," King Edward added, "but it is respectable and will support the many generations that spring from your loins, Sir Liam. A baron you will finally be, and your son and his son thereafter."

  Nay, Liam decided, let the king live with his decision and all its consequences. He wanted naught more to do with Ashlingford. Instead he would return to the tournaments, where he had gone following Edward's decree seven years earlier. Having spent a year besting other knights and filling his chests with winnings with which he'd intended to purchase his own estates, he had later poured the monies into Ashlingford to set aright Maynard's misuse of its revenues. This time would be different.

  "With your permission, Your Majesty," Liam said, "I beg to decline your most generous offer."

  "And if I make it an order?"

  "I would ask that you do not."

  The king considered him a long moment before nodding. "I will allow you that." />
  Ivo's sigh was heard by all.

  "But tell me," Edward continued. "What would change your mind?"

  It was on Liam's tongue to tell him that naught would change his mind when a voice crept in. Here was his chance for revenge. Lord, how sweet and tempting. How perfect the opportunity to put Ivo in his place. And as for Joslyn . . . ?

  Pride be damned, revenge be had; he would accept the king and, in doing so, rob his uncle of the power he so lusted after and Joslyn his convenient absence. Food for a vengeful soul hungering to be fed.

  "Concessions?" the king asked.

  The negotiation could not have progressed better had Liam declined Edward in order to gain such. "Though it has the name," he said, "Thornemede is hardly a barony, Your Majesty."

  "Its castle is of stone and sturdy; it can be rebuilt," Edward said, though he certainly knew that was not what Liam referred to.

  "And the monies to do so? 'Tis my understanding that Thornemede's coffers are weighted only by dust."

  Edward scratched his temple. "The lands are rich. They will produce again. And, of course, there is the wool."

  Providing the sheep had not all been slaughtered to feed mouths left hungry by poor crops, Liam added silently. "And until then?" he asked.

  Clearing his throat, Ivo shifted foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable with Liam's questions.

  "I see," Edward said. "All right, if you accept my proposal, I will give you three years to turn Thornemede profitable again and, till then, issue a writ exempting you from taxes."

  Good, but not enough. Knowing he would prick the king's ire, Liam pressed on. "Surely Your Majesty knows it will take more than that to restore Thornemede."

  Edward's nostrils flared. "What are you asking, Sir Liam? That I finance the barony for you when there are others who would pay me for the privilege of gaining it for themselves?"

  "Not you, Your Majesty, but Ashlingford. One tenth of its receipts for my service to that barony should suffice."

  "One tenth!" Ivo exclaimed. Crimson flooding his face, he hurried to the dais. "Tis robbery, Your Majesty!"