Chelynne (40 page)

He left the house and went to the home of a good friend, a surgeon.

When the sun was low in the sky and the mist had settled into the shallow valley braced by rolling hills in the English countryside, John Bollering listened to the swish of his sword as he was set in mock battle. He practiced before his opponent arrived.

Six men stood about in wait for the earl of Bryant. The surgeon, to examine and hopefully mend the loser, or, if the battle was bloodier, mend two men or pronounce one dead.

Colonel Debonet, officiating the match, wiped the sweat from his brow for the tenth time. Lord Mayer, witness, chatted with Sir Thomas Michaels, Chad’s second. Bestel was ready with the swords to be used in the duel, his face red and troubled. He couldn’t even bring himself to look in John’s direction.

John smiled at the manservant’s dread, for if in truth they were to duel, even John wouldn’t dare to bet on the outcome of this meeting. He and Chad were equally expert with the swords, both more than a little practiced. He was grateful for the dullness of light and evidence of fog.

Pounding hooves alerted them that the challenger had arrived. Chad jumped from his horse impatiently, seemingly eager to have the contest over. He accepted a small draught from Bestel to calm his nerves and warm his blood. John declined the offered drink since the cup had been used by Chad. Bestel bristled uncertainly at the insult,

The colonel quickly positioned the men and at the drop of a silk kerchief they met. Swords clashed and locked, clashed and locked. Chad’s guard was down more than once and he seemed not to be serious about the fight. John had to lunge aside and purposely miss more than once.

Chad came upon him hard, his sword flashing past John with a whir between his arm and waist. A slow smile spread across John’s face as he assumed Chad was ready, but again at his advantage, Chad was dangerously in the way of John’s sword. They met and locked and John’s face was close to Chad’s. “Watch yourself, you fool,” he bit out through clenched teeth.

Chad laughed low and menacingly. John lunged again, and again the miss was too close for comfort. They met and locked. “Damn you,” John muttered. “Have done with this play!”

With an artful sway Chad’s sword found it’s way around John’s and with a noble bit of footwork he took off a button from his breeches. A scowl broke over John’s face. This game could best be preserved for the days they were sorely bored with their toils and had little to do but jest. With like finesse, John returned the favor. He sliced Chad’s linen shirt free of his chest without so much as a scratch applied to his flesh. This time when they locked swords, it was Chad who whispered: “One mark, for my lady.”

Both men were now in a sweat, each battling to keep up the play without damaging the very important oil-skin bag that was tied under John’s armpit. Should the bag break without the sword seeming to go straight through him, chicken’s blood would explode all over John. The match would have to be called a hoax.

Impatient to have the thing done, John made a quick stab and managed to take Chad in the upper left arm. Chad’s sword went down and John hesitated. The crimson flood that was running down Chad’s arm onto his hand showed that the injury was worse than either expected. They met again, and putting on a frown that bespoke fury, Chad ground out, “A mark, I said!”

John’s vicious laughter rang out in the dreary field. It looked to all as though Chadwick would lose the contest. With a quick and merciless sweep, Chad’s sword hit the bag and dug through. Sensing the culmination, John went stiff, his weapon falling from his hand, and Chad slowly drew out his blade. Bright red evidence spurted out over John’s shirt and he fell to the ground, face down and limp.

The surgeon rushed to the side of the motionless man and rolled him over. He looked to the witnesses and shook his head. Chad dropped his sword near the body of his friend and walked away from the scene, a look of utter contempt on his face.

The earl shook a few hands and accepted congratulations with his right arm while Bestel worked with urgency on his left. The manservant mumbled as he worked, horrified with the scene, and stammering about His Lordship’s injury, which was a damn sight more painful than Chad had intended it to be. When John’s body was taken away, hidden under a sheet on a cart, Bestel and Chad were left alone in the wake of the duel.

“Tether yer horse, milord, and ride with me. You’ve lost a bit o’ blood and I wouldn’t think ridin’ a healin’ potion.”

“I’m fine,” Chad muttered, watching the cart disappear down the road.

“A fine thing me old eyes are seein’. I would’ve put me trust in the little mum ye took fer yer own, and now it’s come to this, it ‘as. Aye, I never thought I’d see the dame what could set ye again’ yer own good friend.”

Chad looked around suspiciously. “Bestel,” he said softly. “Do you think I’d kill John?”

“ ‘Opin’ I were blind I seen ye do the thing. Milord, is the mum worth it?”

“Indeed,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “She’s worth a life or two, and don’t you be forgetting that, you hear, you old mule?”

“Aye, I ‘ear ye and I’ll tend ye till I die, but I’ll not believe there’s a sweet dame alive worth Master John.”

“There is, Bestel. But John did not pay. Not this time.”

“What’re ye sayin’, lad? The boy’s cold as fish.”

“No. He’s fine. It was a play...for Shayburn.”

“Saints be praised,” Bestel breathed; he understood at once. “Milord, ye ‘ad me in a fit.”

“I should have given him a reminder that I’m not so doltish with my talent. He took a healthy piece of my arm.”

“That ‘e did,” Bestel laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners from happiness once again. It was a long day on that tired heart, seeing these two go after each other so fiercely. “Aye, that ‘e did.”

Chad arrived home well ahead of Bestel. The wound was tightly bound and no sign of the injury showed through his coat, but the loss of blood along with the tensions of the day had left him weak and tired. He bumped the sore arm on the doorframe as he entered the house and a muffled oath left him. “Curse that bloody pirate!”

The stairs to the second floor were longer than they ever had been and he took them slowly and wearily. From his room he could hear a great deal of commotion in his wife’s bedchamber and surmised with a bitter feeling that Her Ladyship was making ready for bed. He obtained for himself a badly needed drink and had just tossed it off when there came a light tapping at his door.

“Come in.”

The door opened and Chelynne stood there for a moment without speaking, a stern and serious expression on her little face. “I’m glad you’re safe,” she said quietly.

He disregarded her and went for another drink, the arm paining him worse with every passing second, and his nerves totally unraveled. He downed it quickly and waited with teeth clenched and eyes closed for some anesthetic effect.

“Please,” she beckoned softly. “Tell me.”

Chad looked at her with the cold hard eyes of the victor.

“No,” she whispered.

“Yes. I killed him.”

“Oh, why,” she sighed pleadingly.

“Because he would not yield the fight until one of us was dead!” he shouted. “I’m sorry for you that it couldn’t have been me!”

“Chad, I didn’t want that.”

“No? You’ve a mighty poor way of showing it!”

“My concern was for John because he told me himself that you were the most talented with a sword he knew. Knowing you had the advantage, it was like murder to—”

“Madam! What he told you was a modest lie! I’ve fought beside the man on several occasions. There could not have been a more equal match! He could well have been the victor, but he was not! It is done!”

She was silent for a moment, eyes cast downward. When she looked up he was draining his glass of another hefty portion of liquor. “I’m leaving, Chad. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Leaving,” he repeated, her image starting to blur.

“Leaving. I cannot stay here another day. It’s more than I can accustom myself to. Everywhere I look there is corruption, even in my own home. Duels for no just cause, attackers whenever I step out onto the street without protection. I’m not strong enough for this.”

“And where do you think you’re bound?”

She stared at him for a moment, knowing there was no way to reason with him in his angry state. She turned and walked out of the room.

Chad poured another drink and followed her, wavering slightly. Within her room there was a mad scurrying. Many trunks sat open while Tanya and Stella carefully folded things away. Valises stood packed and her dressing table was naked of adornments. He leaned against the doorframe, fighting the dizziness that was fast overtaking him. Sick and tired, he cleared his throat and all eyes turned to him. “You will leave me alone with my wife,” he commanded.

Chelynne stared at him coldly while her women left her. At this moment she felt outrage and hatred for the man.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To Hawthorne House.”

“The answer is no. You’ll stay here.”

“No, my lord. I shall go.”

“Chelynne, you may not go and the reason is this: Shayburn’s lands have been overrun by bandits. He is being burned out and the country is in a turmoil. Your coach would be halted and even if you did manage to arrive safely, you could be rousted from your own bed. You will have to stay here.”

“I would be safe once there. There are servants and—”

“There are not! The house has been closed up and most of my men sent to Bratonshire to provide protection for the baron.”

Her eyes widened considerably. “You’ve sent men to protect that heathen?”

“Madam! It is not the baron I am concerned with. He can go straight to hell for all I care! The people of that shire have suffered enough and it is the people I would see protected. How many times must you be warned not to make hasty judgments on matters you know nothing about?”

She swallowed hard. It was twice now that she had totally misjudged him and consequently hurt him. Twice in the same day she had lashed out at him cruelly, as if he were a fool, and both times he had been acting either in his own defense or in the defense of innocents.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, knowing it was inadequate. She turned back to the gowns that were spread across the bed. “Then I shall go to Welby Manor.”

Chad stared at her back for a moment and then asked softly, “You are so anxious to leave?”

She turned to face him. “Yes, I am,” she said slowly.

“Well, I forbid it. You will stay here.”

“I beseech your kindness, Chadwick,” she said with quavering voice. “Let me go home.” She fought the urge to cry. Her head held high, she was determined never to shed another tear over this man. She hated him more fiercely than she had ever hated in her life. “I’ve had the limit I can endure of this, Chadwick. Let me go to the country...please...”

“I cannot. It is for your own good.”

“Bah! If you knew the number of times that has been dealt me!” she spat, losing control at last. “What is supposed to be my own good as far as others are concerned brings me naught but misery. I’ve watched the husband I love take up with any trollop of the eve, holding myself with the hope that one day he would heed his vows and turn to me, take me in truth as his wife! This life is a sham! Had I the option I would travel in a wagon and reap my rewards in dry bread for the love of one simple man slumbering at my side!”

“One simple man?” he sneered. “In the form of John Bollering, perhaps?”

“I have been true, though that would not win me much admiration from your stately friends! Indeed, they think me quite the noble dame now that they believe we have an open marriage.” She strode closer to him and placed one hand on her hip and smiled devilishly. “I have not been unfaithful and you could determine the truth for yourself. Are you even curious?”

“It doesn’t matter to me who you’ve had,” he snorted, turning away from her and walking back to his bedroom. She followed him and stood in his open doorway, watching as he tossed off another drink.

“Decide with me,” she said evenly.

“Decide? What is to decide? We have been thrust together and have dealt with it admirably, I would say.”

“Perhaps you have. I have not. I am sinking, and this play we engage in every time we meet is destroying me. If you care for me and the vows we said, then take me to wife and play the lover. If you cannot, then tell me your intention and be rid of me. Put me out of my misery as you would a wounded mare and at least let my soul seek peace. If you have no respect for my life, I do!”

Chad’s head pounded and his vision blurred. He heard her words but they did not register very plainly on his brain. “Put it from your mind.”

“I demand you deal with me now!”

“Chelynne,” he groaned. “Have done with this outburst. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

She strode into the room until she stood directly before him. The vision of her swam before his eyes. He needed to be rid of her so he could fall into bed. Had he not been holding onto the table he might have crumpled to the floor.

“This is not a fit of temper, Chadwick. You are not such a great prize to forfeit.”

Her bosom heaved with anger and her brown eyes flashed a warning. This was no show for his benefit, no tantrum. She meant every word. Her cheeks were flushed with color and she stood her ground impatiently awaiting some response from him.