Lady Gallant (37 page)

Gardeners and servants gave way before their lord, and Lord Montfort lifted Arthur into his arms. Heedless of those around her, Nora ran ahead, snapping out orders to maidservants as she went. Frantic, she could hardly contain her impatience as her husband lowered Arthur's body to her bed. She shoved Christian aside, commanding him as she did so.

"Bring me herbs from the garden, agrimony, rosemary, verbena, and basil, but first I'll need Saint-John's-wort. Hurry."

She bathed the wound, cursing inwardly at Arthur's pallor and the bleeding. Mild head wounds could kill if not tended properly. At this thought, her hands shook and tears threatened. She bit her lip to keep calm, but an unwelcome truth assaulted her: Arthur had been injured in a fight about her. He'd been swallowed by the war between herself and Lord Montfort.

Dear God, if she had protested her husband's actions, fought him, demanded fair treatment, Arthur wouldn't have been injured. She pressed her kerchief to the boy's wound to stanch the bleeding while she castigated herself. She should have realized Arthur would defend her, and should have spoken
to
Lord Montfort. She should have sent Arthur back to the Earl. She could have done any number of things to prevent such a tragedy, but she'd been too caught up in her own misery, too busy playing the coward.

Lord Montfort arrived with leaves plucked from Saint-John's-wort. After crushing them between the table and the base of a cup, Nora applied the leaves to Arthur's wound. Anxiously she listened to the boy's breathing. It was shallow but steady.

"Will he be all right?" Lord Montfort asked.

Nora didn't take her eyes from Arthur's face. "I don't know. I think so, but I must watch over him until he wakes. Then I'll know more."

"What happened?"

Pursing her lips, she finally turned to her husband. His dark violet eyes met hers, but she could see no emotion in them.

"He fought that boy because of me. Because of me."

"I'll get rid of the lad."

"No. There is no need. And why would you, when you've taken so much trouble to see that everyone knows of your contempt for me?"

"I'll not have fighting among my servants."

Turning back to Arthur, she waved a hand. "I have no time to listen, my lord. I beg you to leave me to nurse the child."

"I'll bring the other herbs."

Taking no heed of him, Nora resumed her vigil beside Arthur. In the hour that passed before the boy roused, she remembered what it was to fear for a loved one—remembered the terror she'd felt when Bishop Bonner had threatened Lord Montfort.

She imagined Arthur waking blind or never waking at all, losing his memory as she'd heard sometimes happened, or suf-fering terrible pain. Whatever the outcome, Arthur was hurt because she'd been too much of a coward to stand up for herself.

In the end, Arthur woke in pain and suffered a day and a night. During that time Nora slept little and ran off everyone who tried to help. No one could care for Arthur as she could, and the boy grew fretful if she left his side for long. As she tended him, Nora realized how much they depended on each other, far more than either of them had realized.

As the hours passed and she held Arthur's hand while he tried not to cry, Nora lived through an agony of regret. Slowly, as the boy grew stronger, resolve sprang into being within her, and with it, determination. What she would not do for herself, she would do for Arthur. She would fight.

In a fortnight Arthur regained his health. During that time Nora saw little of her husband. He left her to the care of his longtime servants, those who belonged to Falaise and had been warned to avoid Nora upon her arrival. Mag and her bawds vanished, as did most of Lord Montfort's ruffians. In their place stepped forth honest folk who gave service with dignity and good spirit. Nora wondered at the changes in Lord Montfort's household, but wasn't curious enough to brave asking her husband about them.

As the days passed, Nora gradually recovered from the plague of the spirit that had infested her since her wedding. Now that she was calm, she perceived within herself a great dread of Lord Montfort, as well as an abiding hatred. In spite of her pleas for trust, he had used her love as an instrument of punishment. Because he had done this, she couldn't think of him without physical pain, and—during the long, sleepless hours after dark�she no longer recalled his touch without experiencing shame and terror.

While she underwent this clearheaded suffering, Arthur rose from his sickbed, and her fears for him renewed. Indomitable of will, stubborn and contentious when aroused, he was sure to get into trouble again. She was in her tower room, trying to entertain her restless page with a game of cards and worrying about this problem, when Lord Montfort entered. Forcing her hands not to shake, Nora placed her cards on a stool and rose.

Lord Montfort approached her slowly, smiling at Arthur as he did so. Nora's heart lurched, and she clamped her teeth together. Clasping her hands in front of her, she didn't bother to curtsy. He didn't deserve her respect, and she was tired of bowing her head only to have it knocked against a wall.

Lord Montfort sent Arthur to the kitchens for sweetmeats and waited for him to leave before speaking.

"Now that Arthur is well, I have arranged for you to go to Castle Montfort. You will leave in the morning, and I shall return to London to ask questions."

"Castle Montfort? But that's so far away."

"Indeed. It suits my purpose, for you'll be far from London and any mischief, and if I receive unhappy news about you, well, there is an old keep in the middle of the bailey."

She stiffened her legs to keep them from wobbling. "You will shut me up in some ancient keep? For how long?"

"I don't know. But don't look so frightened. I've not decided upon the matter yet, and it may not come to that. Unless, of course, you turn out to be the most accomplished player I've ever known. In that case, you will deserve far worse than being shut up in stone."

"But I haven't done anything."

Cocking his head to one side, Lord Montfort reached out to touch her cheek with his fingertips. Nora jerked her head away as she felt the warmth of his flesh brush her skin. His hand paused in midair, and he frowned.

"I won't hurt you," he said. "Even when I wanted to hit you, I couldn't, and now… now I would cry peace."

He put out his hand again, but she skittered to the window seat and grabbed a cushion. Clutching it to her chest, she shook her head. Her husband's frown deepened. He came toward her, and with each step Nora's heart pounded harder. All the moisture disappeared from her mouth and throat when he stopped mere inches away. The full sleeve of his doublet brushed her hand where it grasped the cushion, and she tried to back farther away. Her heels rammed into the window seat.

Thrown off balance, she teetered, and Montfort steadied her, grasping her upper arms. She hurled herself into the window seat with a cry.

"Please! Don't touch me!"

Lifting his hands, Lord Montfort held them up as if to reassure her. "I said I wouldn't hurt you."

"Don't."

"Have you another touch of melancholy? I'll fetch some wine."

She buried her chin and nose in the cushion she held like a shield and spoke into it. "No."

He put his hands on his hips and glared at her. "Explain then."

Peering at him over the cushion, Nora forced herself to speak. If she didn't he would keep at her, keep touching her until she went mad.

"It is your touch that causes pain." At his look of confusion, she gritted her teeth and continued. "When you touch me, I hurt."

"Damnation. I never raised my hand to you." He reached out again.

Cringing, Nora blurted out the truth. "I can't! When you touch me, I remember the—the night. The wedding night. The love and then the hurt. No, don't touch me, please."

"God's blood," Montfort said. He took a step back and once more held his hands out so she could see them. "Calm yourself, or you'll take a fit. Look, you. I give my promise that I won't touch you unless you allow it."

Nora had buried her face in her cushion, but as he moved away, she lifted her head to survey him with one eye. He was staring at her, brows raised in alarm. He thought she was going to collapse into a weeping fit again, she realized. She'd done with useless weeping, though. Mayhap she did tremble and cower a bit, but she could face him. Not long ago she couldn't have done so much.

Watching as he lowered his hands to his sides, she perceived a change in his mood. The alarm gradually faded, but as it did, his eyes narrowed, then closed. He hardly moved except to lower his head.

"God forgive me," he said. "I don't know what I want anymore."

To Nora his words made no sense. It was plain to her he wanted to make her more miserable than the meanest criminal in gaol.

"You want to hate me," she said. "It's what you do best, my lord. You learned young and have practiced for years." She couldn't believe she was saying such things to him. He would kill her for it.

"I…"

He turned from her and folded his arms over his chest. His face was in profile to her, and she could see the muscles of his jaw clench.

"I don't want to hate you," he said. "It seems I have no choice, and I have no choice in something else as well."

"What?"

"I've changed my mind about sending you away."

"My lord, you make no sense."

Spinning to race her, he stepped toward her, then stopped abruptly, as if he'd remembered that she couldn't abide his nearness.

"It was a mistake to bargain with my body. A habit gained in my childhood, I fear. It seems I have lied to myself, for in truth, I offered the bargain only to get back in your bed, and only in part to get a confession from you."

She lunged up and past him, thrusting the cushion at him as she fled. Lord Montfort batted the cushion aside but made no effort to chase her. She paused at the door, her hand on the latch, her body tense and ready to spring.

"Running won't do any good, sweeting," he said.

"If you touch me, I'll go mad."

"I don't think so."

He walked toward her, and she flung the door open.

"Don't run," he said. "I give you my word that I'm not going to chase you down and take you in the hall."

As her husband continued to approach, Nora matched his every step with one that took her farther away. Unfortunately, she'd moved into the chamber next to hers and had her back to the bed. Montfort halted when they stood a bare foot apart. As he looked at her, Nora caught the telltale flicker in his gaze, the slight quickening in the rhythm of his breathing. The monster wanted her.

Whisperings of sweetness, murmurings from a low voice suffused with rough desire haunted her memory, and she felt again the pinpricks of arousal. Those fine stabs woke her fears of the ugliness that followed the pleasure, and she pressed her hands to her mouth to keep from screaming.

Her fear was so great, she didn't notice Montfort's response until he'd strode back across the room to the door. Hesitating on the threshold, he stroked the polished wood of the frame with a sun-browned hand, then threw a furious glance at her over his shoulder. She realized his anger was directed at himself, and perhaps at being thwarted by her aversion.

"You have this night to accustom yourself to the idea," he said, "but remember now that I've admitted to myself my true desire, I will have it—wife."

She jumped when the door slammed shut, then stood there gawking at it.

He was going to make her do it, she was certain of it. He was going to touch her, make love to her. No, not make love. He was going to couple with her for his own pleasure. In spite of his hate, or mayhap because of it. If he tried to use her she would fight him, and lose, and go mad. Mad. Then he could shut her up in his keep forever and no one would care. Was that his plan? To drive her mad?

Hugging her stomach to stifle the frogs that leaped about inside it, Nora paced the chamber and strove for calm. He would come for her tomorrow. He wouldn't wait for sunset, either. Tomorrow she would go mad, and when she did, Arthur would be left alone and unprotected. The boy would know Montfort was responsible. Dear Lord, Arthur would attack Montfort. But she couldn't allow that to happen. She had to protect Arthur, and therefore… therefore…

She had to protect herself.