by Tamara Leigh
Tending to those in the other sick houses, Ahmad came and went, sometimes frowning, sometimes shaking his head, but more often without expression. He forced drink on an incoherent Oliver, laid his cheek to the little boy's to assess the strength of his fever, applied salve to the cauterized boils, and mumbled words of his own language over him which Joslyn came to recognize as prayers. And then the fever broke.
Falling back on his heels, Ahmad lowered his head. "Allah Akbar." He spoke the words with a voice louder and stronger than Joslyn had heard from him before. Then he lifted his face and fastened his penetrating gaze upon her. "God is great," he said. "Your son will live."
Disbelieving, Joslyn stared at him a long moment, and then she looked behind to where Liam stood over her shoulder.
A smile coming out upon his drawn face, he nodded.
"Tis true?" she breathed. She reached with trembling fingers and laid them on Oliver's forehead. Not yet cool, but the fire that had raged through him had abated considerably. He would live. Words of thanks upon her lips for Ahmad, she shifted her teary gaze to where he knelt opposite her, but found that he had gone.
Emotion nearly bursting from her, Joslyn lowered her face into her hands and cried aloud the tears of joy that minutes earlier had been tears of sorrow. As they poured from her, she silently thanked God, Whom she had spent these past hours accusing of having deserted Oliver. Through this man whose God was different from hers—though perhaps not—He had spared her son.
Joslyn's praise was interrupted by Emma's voice.
"Nay," she wailed. "Not my boy."
Looking up, Joslyn saw the old woman lift a feeble arm and shake her fist at the heavens. "Curse you!" she cried.
Realizing that Emma must think she wept over the death of Oliver, and not the life, Joslyn rose to go tell her different. However, Liam pressed her back down.
"I will tell her," he said.
Joslyn grasped Oliver's hand and reveled in the life which flowed through him.
Liam bent down beside Emma's pallet. "Emma," he said, "Oliver is well."
She tossed her head side to side, mumbled something, and moaned. "Do not lie to me. He is dead. I know it. My boy is dead."
"Nay, he is not. The fever has broken, Emma. Oliver will live."
She whimpered. "You think to spare me, dear Liam? Nay, I know the truth. I know the truth."
Was she in a state of delirium? Joslyn wondered.
Liam took hold of her shoulders. "Emma, listen to me," he said.
"You should know the truth now," she continued. "There's no one to protect any longer. No one. Ah, my poor Oliver. Ashlingford is yours, Liam. It has always been yours."
Or should have been, Joslyn thought. However, Emma's next words went far deeper than whether it was Liam or Maynard who'd had more right to the barony.
"As Maynard was not the true heir of Ashlingford," she said, "neither is his son."
A long, tense silence followed, and then Liam drew back from her. "What are you talking about?" he asked.
"I am so sorry, Liam. I did not wish to be a part of it. Never did I want it." "A part of what?"
"The deception. The lies. Ivo and Anya."
Joslyn saw Liam's hands knot at his sides. "Tell me," he demanded.
"Ah, Liam, do you not see?" Emma cried. "I did not love Maynard only for the years he spent at my breast. I loved him as if he were my own son because he was my son. Mine and Ivo's. Born without vows."
The old woman's confession shook Joslyn like a high wind through a tree. If it were true, Liam and Maynard had been . . . cousins? Aye, cousins, meaning Maynard never had a true claim on Ashlingford. Thus, Oliver had no claim either. Dear God, the irony of it!
"You make no sense, old woman," Liam said sharply.
"Nay, I suppose not," she replied, her voice growing stronger and clearer with each word she spoke, as if the unburdening of her soul strengthened her. "Just as it makes no sense that I could ever have loved Ivo enough to allow him to get a child on me. But I did. Wrongly."
"Tell me the rest. All of it."
Joslyn could only imagine what Liam must be feeling to learn after all these years that, legitimate or not, he was the only one to have a true claim on Ashlingford. It had all been a lie: the lives of Emma, Iivo, Anya, and Maynard, and now, too, Oliver.
"I thought Ivo loved me," Emma said, as if unaware of the emotions seething through Liam. "He told me he did, and then—" A spasm of coughing came upon her. When next she talked, her voice was a shadow, so soft Joslyn had to strain to hear her. "He got me with child," she whispered.
"That child was Maynard."
She nodded. "I was so fearful. So ashamed. But Ivo told me all would be provided for. He knew of a noblewoman unable to conceive on her own who would take my babe when it was born and raise it up as hers if it was born a boy."
"Anya," Liam supplied.
Clearing her throat, Emma spoke more loudly. "He said her husband was angered because she had not yet conceived by him and had threatened that if she did not soon, he would rid himself of her."
A lie, Liam knew. Never would Montgomery Fawke have threatened such. It would have suited him well had he known Anya was barren, for he already had his heir in Liam.
"So I would not know disgrace in my village, Ivo sent me to work in the manor house of one of his acquaintances," Emma said, her voice graveled by lack of moisture. "Though I do not know what excuse Anya gave your father for birthing their child elsewhere, I learned that she left Ashlingford and went into confinement sometime during my fifth month of pregnancy."
Liam ground his jaws together. Though neither did he know what excuse Anya had made to his father, he clearly remembered the woman's absence several months before Maynard's birth. During that blessed time he had not had her to torment and chastise him.
"Though I knew I should not, I came to love the babe growing inside me," Emma continued, "but still I knew it would be better for my child to grow up a noble rather than a bastard. Thus, I prayed it would be born a boy and not a girl."
A bastard. With each element of Emma's story unfolding, Liam was more and more torn with anger.
As if the effort of telling her tale was growing too much for her, Emma breathed a ragged sigh. "I am so dry," she said. "Wet my lips, won't you, Liam?"
Though Liam knew he was watched, when he rose from beside Emma he did not look at Joslyn lest she read in his eyes the emotions swelling through him. They would frighten her. Pouring some wine, he returned to the old woman and held the cup to her dry, cracked lips.
Soon she continued her tale. "And then my babe was born: a boy. Anya and Ivo were waiting, but though they tried to take him from me, I could not let him go once I had held him."
"So you came to Ashlingford as his wet nurse."
Emma inclined her head. "Aye, they did not want me to, but I gave them no choice. I said I would tell of their lie if they tried to separate me from my child. Thus they brought me with them, and once at Ashlingford I began to see the reason for Maynard's being. It was no accident that Ivo impregnated me, Liam. It was part of a plan he and Anya had devised."
Liam did not need to be told what that plan was.
Lifting her head from the pillow, Emma clutched a handful of his tunic. "All either of them ever wanted Maynard for was to take the barony from you. Ivo because he could not have it for himself and Anya because even if she could have borne your father a child he would still have loved you better." With a weary groan, she let go of him and dropped her head back to the pillow. "Let me . . . let me rest a moment," she whispered, and closed her eyes.
Liam could not imagine how he had been so blind. I low had his father not seen it? Ivo had always been too interested in Maynard, and Anya hardly at all. And then there was Emma, who had loved him like the son he truly was.
"Liam," Joslyn said softly. Having come around
Oliver's pallet, she laid a hand to his shoulder and lowered herself to her knees beside him. "I am so sorry. If I had k
nown—"
"What?" he asked, the word sharp to his own ears.
She drew a deep breath. "I would not have made a choice for Oliver that was neither his nor mine to make. I would not have gone with Ivo to London."
Though Liam wanted to lash out at someone or something, he fought the anger threatening to consume him and grasped at the love he felt for Joslyn. "I know," he said.
She searched his face a long moment, and then an uncertain smile came to her lips. "'Tis yours, Liam," she said. "I will go before the king myself and bear witness to what Emma has said. Surely he cannot deny you now."
Nay, Liam did not believe Edward would refuse him Ashlingford a third time if he was told the truth.
"I must tell you the rest of it," Emma muttered.
Looking back at her, Liam saw that her eyes remained closed. Obviously, it required too much effort to open them.
"You knew what Ivo and Anya intended," he said, "and yet you went along with it. Why?"
"I loved my son, Liam. I wanted him to live the life of a noble, not a bastard. 'Twas for him I did it." She drew a breath that wheezed noisily down her throat. "When I learned that your father had no intention of naming Maynard his heir, but rather you, my conscience was greatly eased. I thought my son could still have the good of life and yet . . . and yet you would not be cheated out of what was truly yours."
"But when my father died, Ivo and Anya petitioned the king to name Maynard as heir," Liam said. "Still you said naught."
Emma's face momentarily contorted as if with pain, but then eased again. "Never did I believe the barony would be awarded to Maynard," she said. "'Twas clear that your father wanted it for you and thought you the better choice—and you were. You may not believe me, Liam, but when Anya and Ivo returned from London with the king's decree, I threatened that if they did not recant Maynard's claim upon the barony I would tell both you and Maynard the truth of his birth. That I would stand witness for you."
"Then Maynard did not know he had been born of you and Ivo," Liam said.
Emma shook her head. "There were times I wanted to tell him—when he began to turn from me to Ivo, and then to Anya—but I feared that to do so might be the ruin of him, especially once he had grown to hate you so. To learn he was no more legitimate than you?" She sighed. "I could not."
Would things have gone any differently had Maynard known? Liam wondered. Would he have stepped down from the title that had not belonged to him? "How did Ivo and Anya respond to your threat?" he asked.
"They tried to kill me."
Beside him, Liam felt Joslyn stiffen. "Kill you?" he asked.
"Aye, they . . . poisoned my drink. But they did not know I saw them do it."
Now Liam understood Anya's sudden death, which had so closely followed his father's. "You switched your drink with Anya's, didn't you?" he asked.
"God will judge me for it, but 'tis true. When she was not looking, I poured mine into hers." "And Ivo knew." "He guessed afterward."
"Why did you not come to me and tell me of the deception?" Liam asked.
"How could I? Ivo would have retaliated by telling what I had done in escaping the death he and Anya planned for me. My sentence would have been death. And Maynard ... he mourned Anya so terribly I could not hurt him further."
"And when he died?"
"Then there was Oliver." Her voice caught with a sob. "I loved him ere I even laid eyes upon him."
Thus, by her silence, she had once again denied Liam the barony. "What of the writings?" he asked. "What had they to do with this?"
"The poisoning of my drink was not the first plan Anya and Ivo devised to rid themselves of me. Almost from the moment I arrived at Ashlingford there were . . . incidents . . . that might have been the death of me had I not put an end to them."
"With the writings."
"Aye, I had a friar write the truth down for me when he came through on his way to London. I told him it was a confession I intended to present to your father." She cleared her throat with a cough. "He believed he was doing good, never knowing I intended to use it against Ivo and Anya to preserve my life."
Liam nearly asked why, then, Anya and Ivo would attempt to poison her knowing that the truth might come out, but he answered it himself. They'd had naught to lose, really. At least with Emma dead, there had been a chance of holding on to Ashlingford through Maynard, for the writings might not have fallen where they would do harm. With her alive, their secret was certain to have been told.
"When the writings were finished, I showed a page to Ivo and told him that upon my death the person who held them had instructions to deliver them to you."
"But you had them all along."
"There was no one I could trust."
Knowing it was all told, that Emma might find peace in having unburdened herself, Liam said, "Sleep now."
She turned her head toward him, but still her lids were too heavy to lift. "You . . . you forgive me, Liam, don't you? Never did I wish for you to be hurt as you have been. I swear it."
The Liam of old would have been furious with her—so much that it was not likely he would have been able to lie in telling her she was forgiven. But Joslyn at his side had tamed him. He leaned forward and squeezed Emma's hand. "All is forgiven," he said truthfully. "Now rest."
Her lined face relaxed. "You were always my boy, too," she murmured, and let go of consciousness.
Liam remained unmoving for some minutes before turning to Joslyn.
"She is going to die, isn't she?" she asked.
He nodded. "Ahmad says by morning." Standing, he reached down and helped her to her feet. "I must leave you now," he said.
Immediately, she was distressed. "You are returning to Thornemede?"
"Nay, I just need to leave this place for a while." To think, to work over the unexpected revelations of this night, and to vent whatever was left of his anger. "I will return in a few hours." Joslyn looked uncertain.
"My vow to you," he said, then strode from the house into a darkness that would be touched by light within the hour.
Though Ahmad left Ashlingford three days later, Liam remained a sennight before announcing that he must also return to Thornemede. As Oliver was recovered enough to be brought back to the castle, and showed signs that he would soon be running about the donjon again, it was time.
Still warmed by the love she and Liam had shared on the night past, Joslyn walked beside him to where his men had already mounted. "When will you go to court?" she asked.
His gaze unmoving on his men, he said, "Never again if I can avoid it."
"I do not understand. Surely the king will wish to meet with you to—"
Abruptly, Liam halted his stride. Then he pulled her in front of him and tilted her face up. "I have no business with Edward," he said.
"No business?" She was confused. "But what of Ashlingford?"
"Ashlingford is Oliver's."
"Of course it is not!" Joslyn exclaimed. "Tis yours, Liam."
With his thumb he smoothed the curve of her jaw. "I have Thornemede," he said. "I do not also need Ashlingford."
He was giving up Ashlingford to hold only Thornemede? It made no sense—especially as Thornemede was only a shadow of this, his birthright, not to mention that Ashlingford would still require his direction. "But Thornemede is hardly—"
"It will be," he interrupted. "In time, it will rise alongside Ashlingford."
What he spoke was true, Joslyn knew, for Liam was determined to make it happen, but that he would give up what was his? "Tis not right, Liam," she persisted. "Ashlingford belongs to you."
The shadows cleared from his face as the rising sun flushed the sky with its glow. And in his eyes Joslyn saw the love.
"I love you, Joslyn," he said, "and Oliver. The truth is best buried with Emma, and that is where it shall remain."
He was protecting them, she realized. His love was that great. "You cannot," she said, his image blurring as her eyes washed with tears.
Uncaring who m
ight see what he did, Liam lowered his head and kissed her gently. "But I have." He spoke against her lips. "Oliver will be lord of Ashlingford."
Her throat was bottled so tight with emotion, Joslyn could only stare at him.
"I will be back, Joslyn," he said. "I swear it. And when I come, it will be for you and Oliver." Then, kissing her one last time, he stepped past her and strode to his destrier.
Joslyn stared after him. What he intended, she did not know, but he would do as he said. He would find some way for them to be together.
29
The days passed, and when finally the plague had taken its last victim and people began to rise from beneath the mantle of fear that had hovered over them for three months, summer was nearly arrived. Though it was estimated that Ashlingford had lost a quarter of its population, and Thornemede somewhat less, they had won. Unlike other places across England, life was quick to resume its wonderfully normal pace. The lands were producing, the cattle tended, and there was plenty of food to be had for all.
Liam had done what he had sought to do. He had saved both baronies from ruin.
Lifting her chin from her knees, Joslyn turned her head toward the excited voice that called to her. Oliver.
His legs pumped vigorously as he climbed the knoll she had sat upon this past hour, watching the workers in the fields.
When he neared, Joslyn looked over his flushed face. It was scarred from the boils Ahmad had opened, but they had healed well, and with time they were likely to fade almost completely.
He halted before her and rested his hands on his knees. "Mama, Uncle Liam is here!"
Joslyn had only a moment to sigh over the loss of the sweet "Unca" he had outgrown before the rest of what he said struck her. Liam had returned!
Had he come for her and Oliver as he'd said he would? Was it possible?
"And A-papa too," Oliver added.
Joslyn blinked. Her father was here? Baffled, she stood. "Where are they?"
"There," Oliver said, squinting as he pointed into the sun.
Joslyn shaded her eyes and saw three horsemen riding toward them. Three? "Is your Uncle Richard also with them?" she asked.
