Knight of Her Heart (Conquering the Heart) (13 page)

Stormbringer snorted and pawed the ground, eager to be on his way. Rowan gave a slight slap of the reins on the destrier’s neck and applied a small degree of heel pressure to the horse’s flanks. ’Twas the signal the beast pined for. Within seconds they galloped down the hill and across the plain toward the castle.

When they reached Romsey village, Rowan reined his mount in to a walk and hailed the people in the street. All was well there. The people welcomed him as their new lord and he’d taken a couple of days to visit each dwelling with his bailiff. ’Twas important to him to try to commit each name and family circumstance to memory for he took his responsibilities to his people seriously.

’Twas almost time to celebrate Michaelmas, and he’d made arrangements with the bailiff to set in place celebrations the like the villagers had never seen before. He intended to ensure his village folk were well-satisfied with their lives.

A slender figure in a bright-blue gown, with hair fairer than any of God’s angels, caught his attention. He pulled Stormbringer up short as he saw Lisette laugh with some village women. A baby was cradled in her arms.

Bile churned in his stomach as he was reminded again of her betrayal. If she was with child, he would not be able to bear to watch her swell with her lover’s babe. Better that he was far away from her. Sir Bradford and Sir Dwaine were two of his trusted knights. They could remain behind at Romsey while he put as much distance as possible between himself and his wife and travelled to Henry’s court.

The smile on Lisette’s face froze then melted away faster than morning mist when she looked up and saw him.

He urged Stormbringer to walk forward as Lisette hastened to hand the infant back to its mother.

“My lady,” he greeted with stiff formality.

“My lord.” Her tone was equally as formal, yet a blush stained her cheeks.

He swung down from the saddle and stood before her as the village women greeted him quickly and departed to go about their business.

“’Tis your first trip to the village?” he questioned.

“Aye,” she nodded, avoiding his gaze and raising a hand to stroke Stormbringer’s
neck.

Surprisingly, although his ears went back sharply, the highly-strung war horse tolerated her touch.

“The people think well of you already, my lord. They appreciate that you have taken the time to meet them all and are excited about the feast you are arranging for Michaelmas.”

“The surrounding woods are well-stocked with game and I shall organise hunting parties closer to the time. The feast should be a celebration.”

An uncomfortable silence made the air hang heavy between them.

“You find the castle well stocked, my lady?”

“Aye. We will, however, require more linen. I expect that if King Henry spends much time at home in England, he and his court shall visit Romsey. It would do well to be prepared.”

“You are an efficient chatelaine, Lady Lisette. Tell the bailiff what you require and it shall be ordered.”

She bowed her head slightly.

Stormbringer took a step forward, nickered softly and nuzzled Lisette. The gesture stunned Rowan. Stormbringer was a war horse. The only affection he’d ever shown was for his master. What was this bewitching spell his wife cast that had his stallion acting in such a friendly and familiar manner?

Hell’s teeth! His horse was exactly where Rowan wanted to be, making close physical contact with this blonde beauty.

Lisette laughed and moved to embrace Stormbringer around his neck.

“He is a war horse, my lady. Too much affection shall make him useless in battle.”

Lisette pulled away from his horse but continued to stroke from Stormbringer’s head to his wither. “Even the most seasoned of campaigners requires affection and it is good that he can trust.”

“Trust could get him killed. ’Tis better he is disciplined and tuned to my commands.”

Although he expected her to contradict him, she merely asked, “Shall we walk together to the castle, my lord?”

They walked in silence until they were right at the edge of the village. Rowan mulled over her words. If his wife thought she could gain his trust, she was mistaken.

Without warning, Lisette turned and reached for Rowan’s arm, stopping him on the track. “My lady?”

Her touch sent darts of awareness through him.

Although she dropped her hand and straightened her back proudly, her expression was troubled. Seconds ticked by before she found her voice.

“My breasts grow heavy, my lord. Before we left for Romsey Castle, Ysabel warned me about what I might expect if...” She lowered her head for a moment. “The absence of my courses and heaviness of my breasts is a sign that I am most likely with child.”

In the stagnant pause that followed Rowan clenched his fingers tight around his mount’s reins. The straps of leather were all he had to hold onto when her words robbed him of his speech. The news of her pregnancy knocked him as violently as if he had been struck by a lance in a jousting match. Even having known ’twas a possibility, the news winded him.

Time ticked past slowly. His lady raised her head anxiously. Blue eyes searched his face frantically, doubtless seeking to judge his reaction.

Rowan schooled his features to reveal nothing of his inner turmoil. To allow her to see his disappointment would not help things between them. Besides, for his own well-being he needed to be—or at least to let her believe he was—cold and impervious. Emotions must be controlled. To feel was only to open oneself up to heartache and disillusionment.

A nod of his head was his only outward acknowledgement of her announcement. “I had word before we reached Romsey that the king is back in England to rest his forces. He is intent on returning to Normandy next summer. The French are paralysed by disputes between the Burgundians and the Armagnacs. He wishes to make the most of their disputes and capture lower Normandy. I will be at his side with my knights.”

He would have walked on but her hand shot up again, gripping his forearm firmly and arresting his movement.

“My lord, you speak to me of forthcoming battle but ignore the grave news I bear.” Distress laced each word. “Say you nothing of my state?”

Heaven help him! She wanted to know how he felt now ’twas certain he’d been cuckolded?

“What would you have me say, my lady?” he growled. “I am hardly overcome with joy that my bride carries another man’s child. Nor am I such an unfeeling bastard that I wish the babe ill.”

She gasped and he felt her disapproval when he uttered the word
bastard
.

He dropped Stormbringer’s reins and took a step closer to her. Tension pulled hard at the muscles of his shoulders and neck. “You like not the term bastard, Lisette,” he grated, “yet you should know me for who I am, for I am a bastard.”

“Nay, my lord,” she shook her head in vigorous denial, her expression troubled. “You are noble by birth. You are the son of the Baron of Baddesley, nephew to Duke Devereux.”

“I am the bastard son of the Duke of Winchester. My mother, the Baroness of Baddesley, sister to Duke Devereux, conceived me before she married the baron. My true father was betrothed to another and has never claimed me as his own son.”

He ignored her shocked sound of protest.

“So, you see my fair bride, my own mother deceived the baron on their wedding night just as you sought to deceive me. He, however, was too inexperienced and overcome by love and lust to discover her trick.” Reaction to the news she’d just delivered about her pregnancy made his words tumble out. “When I was twelve she was very ill. Presuming herself on her deathbed she confessed to her affair and my true parentage was revealed. She begged her husband for his forgiveness. Unfortunately for her she did not die—at least not until she had recovered from the ague that caused her to confess.”

Lisette’s head tilted to the side and she frowned as she appeared to try to make sense of his words. “What did Baron Baddesley do?”

Something that only a truly noble man could do.

Something that only a man in love could do.

“He forgave her for the wrong she had committed in her youth.” Rowan’s heart twisted with grief. “There was true love between the baron and my mother and he was a truly noble man.” More noble than Rowan could ever hope to be.

“But you said ’twas unfortunate she did not die,” Lisette’s voice emerged as a mere whisper. “Why do you say that?”

Rowan wished he’d never begun the tale which caused him so much anguish, yet now he had started he found he could not stop.

“The baron loved his bride just as he loved me—the boy he’d believed to be his own son. He was prepared to forgive his wife, and to continue to call me his son and heir.” Rowan’s mouth tightened, his mind sharp in its recall of the horrible events that followed. “Their true son, my half-brother, Malin, was not so forgiving—especially as he resented me. He overheard our mother’s confession and was furious that his father was prepared to allow another’s bastard son to inherit the keep and title when, in truth, both belonged to him. When my mother recovered and my father and I were on a hunting trip, Malin denounced our mother to a visiting priest.” His gut coiled with rage when he thought of the priest. “My mother was unable to deny the charge of having lain with a man who was not her husband. The zealot shaved her head, paraded her through the streets of village Baddesley and ordered her drowned.”

“Rowan!” Her horror was evident in the way she said his name. She touched his arm gently, compassionately, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Rowan swallowed hard to ease the grief and bitterness that tightened his throat and made speech impossible for several seconds. After what seemed like an eternity he continued, “We were not in time to...save her.”

There was real pain in her cry as her fingers gripped his arm. After a few seconds she asked, “And Malin?”

“I drew a sword against my half-brother when we discovered his treachery. My step-father intervened, standing between us. Malin didn’t hesitate. He cut his own father down.” The image of the baron’s body slumping forward was still like a fresh wound—its bleeding had never been cauterised. “My step-father fell forward into my arms. Malin would have sliced me in two as I caught his father had the captain of the knights not ordered his men to intervene and stop the bloodshed.”

Lisette crossed herself. “Rowan, I know not what to say. Your brother was...wicked to do what he did to his own parents—and for such a reason.”

“My half-brother is still a sick, evil soul consumed with hatred and greed.”

“But why didn’t he hang for his crime? He murdered his own father!”

Thinking of Malin made the bile rise in his stomach and burn his throat. The bitter taste of his brother’s betrayal still scored deep. “Nay. He did not hang, but one day he’ll wish he had for I have sworn to bring him to justice.”

“But—”

“The only witnesses were the captain of his knights, two other knights and the priest. When I brought charges against him, Malin claimed our father had died from a hunting accident. Malin had spread that announcement throughout the village. Worse, he claimed that I was disgraced and indirectly to blame because I had not returned home for help immediately. He told everyone that the baron had bled out from wounds that could have been stitched up and healed had I brought him home in time.”

“But the knights, the priest...they knew the truth. Did they not honour their vows to truth and speak up?”

His jaw gritted so tight with acrimony, pain began to throb in his temples. “Conveniently, the knights left Malin’s service and could not be located. To this day, I know not whether they truly left or whether they were murdered by Malin. The priest...” Rowan’s stomach knotted and he felt physically ill.

“The priest?”

“The man wasn’t worthy of the title,’ he bit out in disgust. “He backed up Malin’s testimony. The charges I brought could not be substantiated.” Rowan had seen to it that the priest had paid for his lies. Very soon ’twould be Malin’s turn.

Lisette raised both hands to her cheeks. “I have never heard of anything so wicked.”

Rowan walked the short distance to where Stormbringer was grazing. Gathering his horse’s reins he was set to continue to Romsey Castle, but Lisette’s next question stopped him in his tracks.

“What did you do, Rowan? Did you stay at Baddesley? ”

The truth still corroded him like acid. Did he want her to know the events he had recounted to so few others? He wasn’t even sure what had made him speak so freely to her of the atrocious events which had unfolded at Baddesley that day. He had spoken to very few of what had happened.

Lisette was a good listener just as her father had been.

One hand physically tightened on the reins of his horse while his brain willed himself to hold himself in check and reveal nothing of his private pain. For an unknown reason part of him was compelled to tell her at least part of the story that still humiliated him to this day. This woman was his wife and they were bound together until they parted in death.

“My brother assembled all in the village as well as some of the neighbouring nobility. I was denounced as a bastard child and the baron’s death was placed squarely on my shoulders.” He still wasn’t sure why Malin hadn’t gone further with his lie and blamed him for fighting with and killing his father in cold blood. “With the full support of the priest, Malin ordered two soldiers, who were new to my father’s forces, to disarm me and strip me naked.” Each word was uttered with anger and resentment. “They used a lash to whip me out of the keep. In front of a crowd of spectators I was sent running naked through the forest like an animal. Malin warned me he would give me but an hour’s start before he set out with a pack of hounds to hunt me down for his afternoon’s sport.”

Lisette paled and stepped toward him. Her fingers went back to his arm. “How did you escape?”

“A villein, loyal to my father, came to my aid immediately. He knew my character and Malin’s and did not believe Malin’s story. ’Twas his help that saved me. He gave me the clothes from his back and the horse my father had presented him when his wife, a herbalist, had prepared a tisane that helped break my mother’s ague. The horse was naught more than a nag, useful to plough the fields, but that nag lifted me up off the ground so the hounds lost my scent. It carried me for three days to the safety of my uncle’s castle. ’Twas my uncle, Duke Devereux, who gave me his protection and saw to it that I completed my training and became a knight.”