Vengeance 02 - Trust In Me

by Lana Williams

  As he’d expected, she moved directly toward the loaves of bread covered by a cloth on the work table near the center of the room. Thanks to her, gone was the coarse dark bread and in its place was a lighter, much tastier kind. All of their meals had greatly improved. That fact alone made him grateful for her presence.

  Yet how could he enjoy a fine meal when she had his stomach turned in endless knots? Such turmoil she caused him!

  Those deft fingers tore off a chunk of the bread. The firelight revealed her profile, framed on one side by a long, loose braid spun into gold by the fire’s glow. Much to his dismay – nay, his pleasure – she stayed where she was and leaned back against the table to nibble on the bread.

  He held still, hardly breathing. If she were to spot him now, what possible excuse could he have for sitting here watching her?

  Had she noticed the bench in her chamber he’d purchased from a peddler? Did she suspect he’d had it put there? A twisted part of him hoped she had, along with the spring peas at supper and the extra bread now baked each day.

  With a sigh, she picked small bits from the part she held and ate with little enthusiasm. The memory of her doing a similar thing in the kitchen at Amberley nearly made him smile. Though darkness hid her feet, he’d bet they were bare. She yawned and, with manners that seemed an innate part of her, covered her mouth.

  She turned toward the fire, revealing more of her face to his view. Her head tilted to the side. Sadness etched her features, the corner of her mouth turned down.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, realizing full well he’d done that to her. His rejection of her had stolen her hopes, dashed her dreams.

  Shoulders drooping, Elizabeth folded her arms across her stomach and turned away. She left the kitchen, her pace slow, her piece of bread forgotten on the table.

  His chest ached as he watched her shadow turn the corner and disappear from sight.

  What was he to do with her?

  *

  Elizabeth woke early as usual. How nice it would be to sleep soundly and wake refreshed and filled with a pleasurable anticipation for the day ahead. Would she ever feel that way again?

  She glanced at the other side of the bed. Obviously, it hadn’t been slept in. Once again, she wondered where Nicholas had spent the night.

  She rose, donned a gown, and tried to dredge up the energy to wear her polite, courteous mask. Hurt and despair lay hidden just beneath the surface. She had no intention of revealing her pain to anyone. She’d shed all the tears she was going to over Nicholas. The thought was enough to stiffen her backbone and give her the resolve she needed to leave their chamber without so much as a backward glance at the bench by the window.

  As best she could, she kept her mind focused on the tasks she needed to complete this day.

  First, as always, was William.

  She drew a deep breath and peeked into his chamber. Relief filled her at the sight of Mary standing beside the bed, rather than Nicholas. The maidservant was spinning thread, chattering to William about something Edith had done. The basket Elizabeth had requested be left in the chamber sat at her feet filled with a variety of threads, yarn, and spindles along with other needlework.

  “Good day, my lady,” Mary greeted her with her customary curtsy and beaming smile.

  “How is he this morn?” Elizabeth asked, as she stepped closer to the bed.

  Mary’s smile faltered. “The same, as far as I can tell. Even my constant talking doesn’t rouse him a bit.”

  Though she’d expected nothing different, an additional layer of sadness settled over her. She studied William’s pale, thin face, searching for movement. Anything would do – the blink of an eye, a wrinkle of his brow.

  Nothing.

  Anger shot through her. With less than gentle hands, she jostled his leg back and forth. “William,” she said, her tone loud and firm.

  Nothing.

  She grasped his hand, lifting it high and giving it a little shake. “William.”

  Still nothing. Her anger left as quickly as it had come and she laid down his hand. Heaving a sigh, she touched his forehead, smoothing his hair, then his cheek. She wasn’t sure how much more of this limbo either she, Nicholas, or William could take.

  *

  The long endless day had finally fallen into night. Nicholas paused outside their chamber, listening for any sound that indicated if Elizabeth was still awake. He’d intended to spend another night in the chair at William’s bedside, but instead, found himself drawn to his wife despite his better judgment. He shook his head at his lack of will.

  Silence emanated from the chamber.

  He opened the door and closed it behind him, leaning back against it as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. The fire had burned low, so with careful movements, he put more wood on it to brighten the room. He’d ordered the fire to be lit each night well before Elizabeth sought her bed so the chamber would be warm upon her arrival.

  Elizabeth’s curves were visible under the covers. He moved closer, trying to see if she slept. With a sigh, she turned from her side onto her back, and his breath held in his throat. He didn’t want to be caught ogling his wife in the middle of the night. Much to his relief, her eyes remained closed, and he could look as much as he liked. As much as he could withstand anyway.

  The flickering shadows danced across her ivory skin, highlighting the arch of her brow, the hollow of her cheek, the curve of her jaw.

  Unable to resist, he reached out, his hand halting in mid-air.

  How he wished things could be different.

  That he was a normal man.

  That they could have a normal marriage.

  His second sight felt like an awkward, extra appendage that hampered everything he did, that stood between him and everything he wanted.

  A beautiful woman slept in his bed, and rather than holding her in his arms, he stood here staring at her, longing for something that could never be.

  He had no idea how to end this torment, for that was certainly what having Elizabeth as his wife had become. Pure torment.

  With a sigh, he withdrew his hand and moved to his side of the bed and lay down on top of the covers. His will wasn’t strong enough to risk touching her.

  Sleep would surely help to ease the never ending ache that plagued him.

  *

  The next morning after looking in on William, Elizabeth went to the kitchen to check with the cook about the meals for the remainder of the week.

  Peter’s voice rose as he reprimanded one of his helpers. “Stir that pot, boy, or the bottom will be burnin’.”

  The boy scrambled to do his bidding, anxious to avoid the long-handled wooden spoon Peter always seemed to be holding.

  “Good day to you, my lady.”

  “How are you faring, Peter?” Elizabeth asked, amused as she cast a glance at the boy who now stirred frantically.

  “I have to keep my eye on those scullions every moment, I tell ya.” He shook his head, but smiled all the same. “Might I mention what I was thinking of for meals for the next few days?”

  Elizabeth made a few adjustments to the menu, then added, “I wanted to let you know that I’m the one who helped myself to the bread last night. I didn’t want one of the servants to be blamed for taking food.”

  “’Tis no problem, my lady. Lord de Bremont suggested I make an extra loaf or two for you.”

  “He did?” Elizabeth stared at the man, unable to comprehend what he’d said even as her stomach fluttered. Surely Peter couldn’t be speaking of Nicholas. The same man who’d accused her of attempting to seduce him to save her father.

  “He mentioned that you don’t always eat enough at meals. We can always use the bread elsewhere if you don’t eat it, my lady. Don’t think we’re wastin’ it.”

  Elizabeth was surprised Nicholas had noticed her eating habits, let alone had more bread baked for her. His conflicting behavior puzzled her.

  After the conversation with the cook, she went to the weaving room t
o begin work on a design for a new tapestry.

  Shock rooted her to the entrance of the solar. The once stark chamber had been transformed. A desk stood near the window with parchment stacked neatly to one side and ink bottles in the front. Baskets of threads sat on the floor, the rainbow of colors drawing a gasp from Elizabeth. A bench with an embroidered cushion sat before the loom.

  Why? That was all she wanted to know. If he truly believed all the things he’d said to her yesterday, then why did he bother with these acts of kindness? How was she to guard her heart from him when he made such thoughtful gestures?

  She sank onto the bench and drew her fingers along the loom. She couldn’t and therein laid the problem.

  *

  “How long do ya intend to stay out here?” Walter asked as he stood beside Nicholas in the bailey as another night fell.

  Nicholas sighed. The old servant had quickly caught on that all was not well between the lord and lady of Staverton. Nicholas feared the other servants would soon reason it out as well.

  The half moon hung low on the horizon, lighting the bailey along with Walter’s expression of disapproval.

  “’Twas a busy day. You’d best seek your bed.”

  “I’ll wait for ya if ’tis all right, my lord.” Walter shifted from foot to foot, a sure indication that his old bones hurt. “Didn’t Lady de Bremont already retire for the night?”

  “I believe she did,” Nicholas answered casually. As though he didn’t know her whereabouts every moment of the day.

  “For a man newly married, ya don’t spend much time with yer bride.”

  Nicholas made no comment. What could he say? Elizabeth had avoided him as though he were a rabid dog since their argument two days past. He sat beside her at meals, but the chasm between them felt as wide and deep as the curtain wall. Gone was her warm smile. In its place was the polite reserve she’d had when he first met her, but now she wore it like chain mail. Cold, impenetrable, and strong. He could hardly complain when he had what he’d wanted all along.

  While the idea of seeking his bed held some attraction, the thought of seeing more of Elizabeth’s back did not. He ran his hand over his face, wishing he could lose himself in sleep, but he no longer slept for long. The slightest sound awakened him, a change in her breathing, the rustle of the mattress.

  Elizabeth’s face appeared before him whether his eyes were open or not. Blast the woman. He’d tried to determine what it was about her that captured him, and had come to only one conclusion. It was all of her. The delicate elegance of her face. The slender competent grace of her hands. Her intelligence edged with dry wit. And aye, her long-limbed, slender curves.

  Yet he knew he could get no closer to her. He must keep his second sight hidden, for to live with her fear or pity the rest of his life would be impossible, unbearable.

  How many times must he question the reason he’d accepted her offer of marriage? Rather than punish her, he seemed to be the one suffering.

  “Let us retire,” he said to Walter.

  Walter wasted no time starting up the steps. At the door, he turned to Nicholas. “Sleep well, my lord.”

  “And you, Walter.”

  “Better than you, I’d guess,” Walter said with a snort. His cackling laughter chased Nicholas up the stairs.

  Nicholas entered their bedchamber, the low flames of the fire casting a warm light through the room.

  Elizabeth turned and looked at him as he closed the door behind him. The cold emptiness of her once warm, brown eyes chilled him to the bone.

  Perhaps the sight of her back wasn’t so bad after all.

  He nodded.

  She raised a brow.

  He did his best to ignore the tension in the chamber as he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. He swore he could feel her eyes boring into his back. By the time he’d removed his tunic, she’d turned away again, much to his relief.

  After a long moment of hesitation, he removed his chausses and got under the covers. The heat of her body had warmed the bed linens, and that in turn heated him in unwelcome places.

  He laid back, arms crossed behind his head and stared at the canopy above him determined to think of something else. Hadn’t he lain in this very spot not long ago, thinking how quickly things could change? After the events of the past fortnight, he couldn’t hazard a guess at what the next one might bring.

  *

  The dream was vivid, filled with sensations so real that Elizabeth sighed with pleasure. Heat encompassed her, creating a haven beneath the covers from which she had no desire to emerge.

  A feeling of well-being flooded her as she stretched within the strong arms that held her. Hard thighs molded her own. A heavy arm pulled her more tightly against the firm heat of his body. Desire speared through her as she wiggled her bottom to rest more comfortably against him.

  Surely, she was dreaming.

  Lips nuzzled the back of her neck, and Nicholas groaned softly. Shivers rippled down her spine at the sound and pleasure followed. She shifted again to enjoy the texture of his muscled body against her own. Strong hands encased her hips to draw her back against his groin.

  She prayed she was dreaming.

  Pleasure coursed through her, and she moaned with enjoyment. His fingers trailed along the sensitive skin of her waist up to her breast, kneading the softness there. She turned in the circle of his arms to allow him better access. Her head came to rest in the curve of his shoulder, her legs intertwined with his.

  Desire swept through her in a wave, cutting through her languor. Awareness seeped in even as he pulled her closer.

  This was no dream!

  Shock filled her as she realized the truth. She was wide awake, enfolded by her husband’s strong arms, cradled by the length of his hard body. But this could not happen. Any moment now, he’d pull away. She couldn’t risk that, couldn’t bear his rejection again.

  She opened her eyes and rose up on her elbow, prepared to berate Nicholas for his outrageous behavior, for taking advantage of her sleepy state.

  He lay on his side, eyes closed, expression relaxed, his chest rising and falling in sleep.

  Somehow, the fact that he wasn’t even awake made her angrier.

  “You, sirrah, are a beast!” Before she could think twice on the matter, she lifted her pillow and struck him with it.

  He jolted awake, his surprised expression giving her a brief moment of satisfaction. He looked at her incredulously. “What?”

  “I am not some simple wench that you can use when you feel the need.” She scrambled off the bed, dismayed to realize her chemise was rucked up about her waist. Her face heated as she glanced back and saw Nicholas was getting an eye-full of her near-naked form. That made her even angrier. How dare he look at her when he’d made it clear he didn’t want her!

  “A knave of the worst sort!” she proclaimed as she threw another pillow at him, then did her best to pull her gown down. The darn thing stuck, and it took her several long moments to untwist it from her waist.

  With a wary expression, he lowered the pillow to peek over the top at her. “Are you decent?”

  “Of course, I’m decent. You’re the one who isn’t! Need I remind you of the terms of our agreement that you take every opportunity to wave in my face?”

  “Do you always awaken so angry?”

  With a growl, she looked around for something else to throw at him.

  “All right, all right. No need to hit me with anything more.” He sat up in the bed with the pillow held tightly over his lap. His expression appeared rather sheepish. “I apologize, Elizabeth.”

  With arms folded across her stomach, she eyed him cautiously. Perhaps he spoke with sincerity. “Thank you.”

  “Now, if you’ll turn your back,” he said as he waved toward the window, “I’ll get dressed and leave you in peace.”

  She moved away to stand at the window, barely taking note of the beauty of the morning. In no time at all, she heard the door latch. She spun to se
e it shut behind Nicholas, disappointed that he hadn’t bid her goodbye.

  With a sigh, she collapsed on the bench, her anger gone, and closed her eyes. The situation was hopeless. Tears threatened despite her earlier promise to herself to cry no more. Why had she ever suggested that she and Nicholas marry? It had been a huge mistake and would last her entire life.

  A picture of her father formed in her mind. The tightness in her throat eased, the tears abated. He was the reason she was here. Her spine straightened. He still needed her to succeed in the task she’d set. She wouldn’t fail him, not like she’d failed in her attempt to protect the others she’d cared for.

  She would make the best out of this situation. She’d given her word. Her problems would be dealt with one at a time, and the first task was healing William.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nicholas held still in the chair in William’s chamber, resisting the urge to fidget like a young boy. As best he could, he focused his attention on William rather than on his wife who sat spinning thread, just visible out of the corner of his eye.

  He cursed his luck to be trapped there with her. The sweet fragrance lingering outside the door should’ve warned him of her presence. Once he’d entered and found her already with William, he couldn’t very well turn around and leave without looking like an ass. Since she’d already declared him one, he didn’t want to confirm it for her. Again.

  She’d given him a reserved nod as he took a seat, her mask of cool politeness in place. They’d lived – nay, existed – in this awkward limbo for three days now, but it felt like an eternity.

  Nights were the most painful. Unable to trust himself to keep his distance while he slept, he’d placed a rolled up fur between them, which had successfully kept him on his side of the bed for the past two nights. If he were smarter, he’d find another place to sleep, but he simply couldn’t resist spending the quiet of the night with her.

  He actually slept when he lay beside her, the deep, dreamless sleep he’d missed of late. An odd sort of peace came over him once he heard her slow, even breaths and he could push aside his desire for her.