What was wrong with her? Would she now stoop to any level to gain his attention?
She swallowed her hurt and embarrassment, desperate to act as casually as he. This man had caused her enough pain already. She moved to the chest to pull out a clean kirtle. “Gerard? Nay. What made you think that?”
He gestured vaguely. “You seem...displeased with things. I thought perhaps the blame lay with your cousin.”
She pursed her lips, uncertain if she dare speak her mind. She felt as though she teetered on a fence, one wrong move and she’d fall. She didn’t dare lose her balance.
Before she could decide, he spoke again, “Was Gerard injured recently?”
Elizabeth frowned as she pulled out a clean kirtle, confused by his question. “Why do you ask?”
With a small shrug, Nicholas suddenly seemed very interested in a small metal object he held. “Just something he said.”
If she didn’t know better, she’d think Nicholas was hiding something. She thought back over her conversation with Gerard, but couldn’t recall mention of an ailment of any kind. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“It would’ve been before we met, mayhap a fortnight prior to that.” He shot her an intense look that belied his casual stance.
Odd behavior, indeed.
She’d been so busy with her father during that time, she couldn’t remember being told any such thing. “Not that I’m aware of. Gerard came to Amberley for a time before he and father left to see the tournament where Gregory was killed.” Her heart squeezed at the words. Somehow saying them made his death all too real. She cleared her throat. “He seemed fine then. He didn’t accompany Father when he returned home. Why?”
Nicholas shook his head but said nothing. Silence filled the chamber as he seemed to think over her response, still spinning the small metal piece in his long fingers.
Wishing he’d either say something or leave, anything to break the tension, she asked the only safe question she could think of. “What is that?”
His fingers paused their mesmerizing rhythm. He frowned as he looked down at the silver object as though he’d forgotten he held it. “’Tis something for Thomas.”
Using her kirtle as a shield, Elizabeth stepped closer, curious as to what he’d be giving the boy and why.
Nicholas handed her the piece of metal, looking rather uncomfortable. “Just a small token to reward him.”
As she took it, she realized it was a pewter fleur-de-lis, a small badge of sorts that many people wore for good luck. Any young boy would be thrilled to be presented with such a treasure by his lord.
“He was very worried about you yesterday,” Nicolas continued. “I believe he would’ve ridden after you himself if given the chance.”
His quiet words brought back the events of the previous day at the cottage with aching clarity. Longing, sharp and deep speared through her. He stood so near, yet so far out of her reach. Here she was, wearing next to nothing, yet he didn’t reach for her. He hardly even looked at her. She drew a deep breath to steady herself so she could respond in the same casual tone he used.
“Thomas is a sweet boy. That is very kind of you.” She looked up at him at last, certain she now had her emotions under control.
That is, until she found his heated blue gaze locked on her. That gaze dropped, lowering to her breasts, then lower still before returning at last to meet her look. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who wished things had turned out differently yesterday. “At the cottage,” she began, “what occ – ”
“If you think of something about Gerard, let me know,” he interrupted as he took the pin from her hand. He cast her a warning look, those blue eyes once again cool.
All her anger fled, leaving her empty.
He put his hand on the door to leave but turned back to look over his shoulder at her. “’Tis nearly time for supper. You’re coming down to the hall?”
“Aye,” she said, wondering if he could read her mind. She’d been tempted to stay in their chamber where she could hide from those looks of his, ones she no longer knew how to interpret, instead of sitting beside him in awkward silence.
With a nod, he left, taking all the air in the room with him.
She struggled to draw a deep breath. She and Nicholas had to resolve their differences. Obviously, it was up to her to take the first step. Perhaps if they cleared away their initial misunderstanding, they could move forward. She would speak to him this very night to explain in detail why her father had captured William and why she’d left him at the gate. He had to understand though he wouldn’t want to listen.
Should she take the soft approach and explain the facts in a calm and rational manner? Or should she confront him and demand he listen?
The thought of either made her tired.
If only William would recover, Nicholas would be more likely to listen to what she had to say. Perhaps William knew something that could confirm her explanation.
She felt William’s lack of recovery fell on her shoulders. Why did she fail each and every time she tried to take care of someone? Images of those she’d let down in the past flowed through her mind.
First her mother, followed by her brother, and finally her father. A heavy ache filled her, bringing tears to her eyes.
She’d never forget the day her father had left for a long trip when she was but a young girl. Gregory had already been away from home, training as a squire with another lord. Her father had picked her up and spun her around until she’d giggled breathlessly.
“I’m counting on you, Izzie, to take good care of your mother,” he’d told her, then kissed her goodbye.
Granted, no one would blame that young girl for her mother’s illness and death, but Elizabeth couldn’t shake the guilt from her heart, not after she’d given her father that promise. The devastation on her father’s face when he’d returned from his journey only to be told his wife had died was burned on her soul.
She’d hidden away, certain her father would want nothing to do with her since she’d let him down so badly. He’d eventually found her tucked away in a dark corner of the keep and done his best to convince her that her mother’s death hadn’t been her fault.
Even with his love and support, she’d struggled with the dark despair that threatened her. Gregory had come home briefly, but had left again to fulfill his duties as squire. Her Aunt Margaret had come to live with them soon afterward.
Perhaps she’d have been able to push aside her feelings of guilt if her father had remained in better health and her brother had lived. But she’d made that same promise to each of them only to break her word again.
Was she cursed somehow? Should she stay completely away from William and see if that aided him more than her attentions had?
The longer she thought on the matter, the more uncertain she became. As she paced the chamber, Father Michael came to mind. Perhaps he could bless her to lift any curse that might be upon her. Though she’d never admit it to him, the young priest seemed no closer to God than she was. She knew that sometimes men chose a life with the church because no other option was open to them. His actions with William made it difficult for her to trust him. Whoever heard of giving someone last rites three times?
Still, no harm could come of her discussing this with him.
As she turned to pace back toward the window, her gaze caught on a small bench sitting just under the opening. That hadn’t been there earlier in the day. The cushion on top of it showed wear, but the blue fabric was soft. Unable to resist, she sat down on the bench and leaned back against the wall. From there, the narrow window afforded a glorious view, one she’d already enjoyed. The blue of the sky met the green wooded hills on the distant horizon, not so very different from the view at Amberley.
What a pleasant surprise. Who did she have to thank for this boon? She narrowed her eyes as she thought over the choices. Surely it hadn’t been her husband, though he might’ve noticed that she often stood at the window, looking out over the bailey.
Choosing to leave that mystery for another time, she decided to pay a visit to Father Michael.
*
“Should I give orders to keep extra men on watch at the gate?” Stephen asked.
Nicholas walked with the man-at-arms back toward the keep for supper. He’d just returned from the stables where he’d left a proud Thomas with his pewter pin.
How unfortunate other problems in his life were not so easily resolved.
“We’ve seen no sign of trouble since Lord Perry and his man left yesterday?”
“Nay, my lord.” Stephen paused, then looked at Nicholas warily. “Unless you’ve seen...”
“Nay, nothing like that. I want to be certain Perry doesn’t return uninvited.”
“Aye,” Stephen agreed. “I had the same thought and told the men to watch for him and his companion.”
Nicholas’s sense of urgency for Elizabeth being in danger had lessened, but what he’d seen in his visions left him uneasy. The most recent one had failed to come to fruition, but was that because he’d kept a close eye on Elizabeth or was the danger yet to come?
Nay, he could not doubt himself. Somehow all of his recent visions had to be intertwined. He needed to keep his mind clear and open with the hope that he could gather more information to resolve the questions the visions had raised.
That path held danger, for if he had another vision in front of Elizabeth, he doubted he’d be able to conceal it. The headache and nausea were more than he could hide. And when she found out the truth, she’d think him some sort of beast and insist on returning to Amberley. He couldn’t let that happen.
Though the marriage they had was awkward at best, he knew he couldn’t return to the existence he’d had before, for that was all it had been.
Existing, not living.
Yesterday at the cottage, he’d caught a glimpse of what he could have with Elizabeth. She brought with her such happiness, such pleasure, that to deny her was to deny himself.
Yet he had to keep her at arm’s length. Allowing her closer would only end in disaster. She’d discover his terrible secret, and he’d lose her. Even if she could somehow accept his second sight, he couldn’t give her what she wanted: a family. Never would he subject an innocent child to the possibility of inheriting his curse.
But if he could get the mystery solved of why he’d had a vision of Elizabeth’s cousin, and who might want to harm her, then perhaps his visions would end, at least for a time. And that time could be spent with Elizabeth. If William would recover and tell them what had happened, that might lessen his visions as well.
He snorted at his thoughts. If, if, if. He couldn’t plan based on what might be. All he knew was that he had to protect her. He couldn’t allow their attraction for each other to grow more than it already had.
“Stephen, keep the extra men at the gate. I want all suspicious activity reported. And one more thing. Be certain Lady Elizabeth doesn’t leave without proper escort.”
Stephen nodded. “Of course, my lord.”
For now, that was all he could do to protect her. Watch and wait and stay away from her.
*
The small chapel was the highest room in the castle, placing it the closest to God. A vaulted ceiling made of stone arches spanned the room. Sunlight reflected off of the lime-washed walls. Elizabeth caught sight of the priest near the front of the chapel.
“Father Michael? May I speak with you?” Her voice echoed in the cavernous chamber.
The priest turned from his desk where a large piece of parchment was anchored. “Lady de Bremont!” His voice quivered, whether from nervousness or excitement, she wasn’t certain. “How delightful!”
“I’m sorry to interrupt your work.” She noted the ink stains on his fingers as she neared, but couldn’t make out the words penned on the parchment. “Shall I return another time?”
He shot up, bobbling the pots of ink on the table. “Nay, my lady. My work is of little importance next to you.” He came over to where she stood. “What brings you to the chapel this time of day? Is there something I can do for you?”
She hesitated, wondering if she should raise the question she’d come to discuss.
“It’s not Sir William, is it? Has there been a change in his condition?” he asked, his forehead wrinkled in concern.
“Nay, nothing like that. Although that is related to the reason I’m here.” How did she bring up the subject of curses without sounding like a fool?
Father Michael looked at her curiously. He smiled, his round face was open and held an expression of childlike eagerness. How could he possibly help her?
She sighed, certain she’d lived lifetimes longer than he had. Yet she had nothing to lose by voicing her question.
“I wondered if you thought...that is...if you’d ever experienced, or rather met anyone who thought themselves cursed?” How could he understand what she’d meant when she’d asked her question in such a bumbling manner?
He rubbed his chin. “My, that is a grave matter indeed. Is it someone you know?” His voice had gentled, his blue eyes kind and sympathetic.
His compassion intensified her loneliness. Strong and sharp, it brought tears to her eyes. She missed her father, Gregory, Margaret, Robert, her home, all with an ache that made it difficult to catch her breath. How strange to walk through the keep and know so few people. To have no one to speak with, to discuss matters with, to have no one on her side. She missed that deeply.
She shook her head. She’d been wrong to speak with Father Michael. He was a stranger. A priest perhaps, but still a stranger. She took a step back, then panicked when he took her hand.
He released it but held her in place with the intensity of his gaze. “I have found in my limited experience that the person who thinks they’ve encountered a curse is often not truly cursed at all.”
The confident tone of his voice caught her attention.
“We humans are strange creatures.” He smiled. “Always ready to believe that the events unfolding, or as the case may be, not unfolding, are our doing. We are not the center of the universe. God is. Events are rarely caused by something we did, whether it’s not praying hard enough, or not being deserving enough.”
Elizabeth stood there, absorbing the priest’s words. They held a ring of truth.
“We are not in control, and it is not our place to question God’s purpose.”
She looked up at the vaulted ceiling and took a deep breath, the knot in her stomach loosening. Had the events in her life truly not been her fault? Could she accept that in her heart? She certainly had much to think about.
“All we can do is try our best and do what’s right,” he continued. “That has to be enough.” He clasped his hands before him, his demeanor calm. “You are a good person, my lady. Of that, I have no doubt.”
“Thank you. That is helpful. I will ponder what you have said.”
“And share them with the person you thought might be cursed?” He gave her a knowing smile.
“Of course.” She smiled in return. “Will you be dining with us this evening?”
“Indeed, my lady. I look forward to seeing you in the hall.”
Elizabeth thought over what Father Michael had said as she descended the stairs and entered the great hall. A weight had lifted from her shoulders at the idea of releasing her guilt. On a rational level, she knew she held no blame in the death of her mother or her brother, let alone her father’s fragile grasp on sanity. Yet on an emotional level, she’d always felt the burden of failure was hers. Changing that feeling after all these years would take time and effort.
As would changing her husband’s mind about the events surrounding William’s situation.
But, she had to undertake that task as well.
And she would do so this very night.
Chapter Nineteen
The great hall already bustled with people in anticipation of the evening meal. Elizabeth crossed to the high table on the dais where Nicholas sat, well aware of
his gaze on her.
He frowned as she approached. “Kind of you to join us, my lady. I’d thought you’d left us again.”
His veiled sarcasm at her tardiness grated on her nerves. How she missed the pleasant supper companion she’d sat beside at Amberley. The one who’d flirted with her and been attentive and kind.
Feeling bold, she took her place beside him and for once, said what was on her mind. “I must say, I rather miss Lord Trisbane.”
He stared at her, his expression perplexed. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged, deciding it best for him to determine her meaning on his own. A nod to Walter had him signaling the servants to bring out the platters of food. The aromatic scent of pumpes filled the air, making her stomach grumble. The pork meatballs mixed with cloves, mace, and raisins in a sauce were one of her favorite dishes. Spit-roasted chicken seasoned with thyme came next along with smoked fish and a broth made with bacon. Trenchers neatly lined the head table, the spoons facing downward to prevent evil spirits from lingering there.
As she selected food from the assortment before her to serve both Nicholas and herself, she decided to continue with her bold attitude. “I would speak with you after our meal.”
His hand paused above his cup of ale. “Why?” he asked, his voice wary.
She speared a pumpe with her knife and popped the savory concoction into her mouth, chewing as she tried to determine the best approach to raise the subject. “I have several things I’d like to discuss.”
“Such as?”
“Do I need approval on each topic before approaching you? Should I submit a list?” Exasperated at his obvious reluctance to talk to her, she let her sarcastic tone match his.
He took a long draught of ale.
“Now you require the aid of a stout drink to speak with me?”
He set down his cup with care, and then refilled it from the flagon with the same deliberate movements. At last he turned toward her, his blue eyes narrowed. “If this has to do with William and you abandoning him at the gate – ”
Vengeance 02 - Trust In Me Page 18
