Sybill (44 page)

Although she wanted to cry that none of them would replace the hole in her life when he left, she said nothing. she could not act childish. Trevor would not be leaving if he had the choice. “All right,” she murmured in resignation.

“The address where I'll be is on the desk. I don't think you will need it. If you do, send someone immediately. No emergency will keep me away if you need me.”

“I know.”

He kissed her quickly, then rose. As his hands slid along her, reluctant to be parted again, she stared into his eyes and fought her tears. She nodded when he told her he loved her. Her throat was too clogged to speak. Halfway across the garden, he turned to wave to her.

Listlessly, she raised her hand in a salute. With difficulty, she stood. Goldenrod glanced at her questioningly. She smiled weakly and patted his head. “I guess it is just you and me again.”

He wagged his tail halfheartedly, as if he could sense her pain. When she walked slowly to the house, she did not look toward the road. A chasm opened within her as she thought of a score of things she wanted to tell Trevor. They would be unspoken until he returned. She was grateful when Marshall offered to assist her up the stairs. “One moment,” she said as she was about to step on the first riser. “There is a paper I need on the desk in the library.”

“What is it, my lady?”

“Trevor's address in Liverpool.”

“It is safe there. You should rest, Lady Foxbridge.”

“Please. I would like to have it.” Her eyes, brightened with unshed tears, stared up at him.

His kind heart relented. Telling her not to go up without him, he ran along the corridor as he had not done since he was many years younger. Scooping up the slip, he brought it back to her. He was somewhat surprised to see she had not moved. A shiver of disquiet rippled along his spine. That Lady Foxbridge was waiting patiently showed him how sapped she was by her pregnancy. He placed his arm around her and half carried her up the stairs.

“Thank you.”

Marshall nodded and watched as she walked unevenly along the hall. When the door to her rooms closed, he gripped the newel post. He hoped the emergency in Liverpool justified Trevor leaving. Lady Foxbridge needed the man she loved. He went down the stairs, never guessing his feelings would be proven true in ways he could not imagine on a spring afternoon. Dark clouds of hatred hid on the horizon in preparation for bearing down on the house and its inhabitants to destroy them all.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sharply raised voices stormed up the stairs to intrude on Sybill's sleep. She reached out to ask Trevor to check what was wrong. As her fingers touched the empty side of the bed, she remembered he was not with her. Although he had left two days before, she could not accustom herself to his absence. She sighed sadly as she nestled into the pillows. Whatever was happening Marshall would handle. She did not feel like becoming involved in some debate in the dawn light.

When the noise from the first floor persisted, curiosity forced her to struggle out of bed. Finding her dressing gown, she placed it over her chemise. The thought of greeting surprise guests did not appeal to her. She wished Trevor could have delayed this trip, but he could not have foreseen this unnamed emergency which had called him away.

Her footsteps on the stairs were no longer a light patter. Slowly she gauged each step before she went to the next one. She saw the crowd of servants at the base of the staircase. Faces turned to look at her, including one she had not expected to see again. “Christopher!” she cried. “What are you doing here?”

He took off his hat and dipped in a bow. Off balance, he nearly fell. From the mud on his doublet and hose and the broken plume on his hat, she doubted it would be the first time he had been flat on the ground tonight. “My dear Lady Foxbridge!” His eyes raised to meet hers. The blue became the iron gray of hatred as he saw the obvious signs of her pregnancy. “Why, Mother, is that the way you welcome your wayward stepson home?”

“We have had this conversation before,” she said tersely. Only her hand clenching the thick rail of the banister showed her distress. “This time you will find it much more difficult to hurt me.” Slowly she descended the steps. The servants stepped aside as she closed the distance between her and the recalcitrant Lord Foxbridge.

Christopher said nothing. He noted that despite the roundness of her body, she moved with her innate grace. When he thought that she had, even at that time, been pregnant with this child who could not have been sired by his father, it increased his outrage.

“You have yet to answer my question,” she said quietly, as she halted with several feet of open space between them. “What are you doing here? I don't want you in my home.”

The front door crashed open. With the spurts of rain came more than a half dozen men. A maidservant's scream hung in the silence like the remembrance of a church bell on the morning air. Sybill paled as she saw the men held weapons. The way they pointed them casually at the terrified residents told her they would not be afraid to use them. At a coarse laugh, she spun to look at Christopher. He had moved toward her. When she tried to flee, he grasped her viciously.

Marshall stepped forward as he heard his lady's sharp intake of breath. As one of the men lifted his sword, Sybill cried for the butler to halt. She did not doubt that Christopher would order his friend to kill any who stood in his way. Her scowl spoke her feelings louder than her cries.

“There is your answer, my lady. I have come to take what is mine. I do not intend to hand my family's heritage over to this bastard.” Christopher's rain-cooled hand pressed against her abdomen as his other arm held her close.

Her voice sounded far calmer than she felt. “My child isn't a bastard, Lord Foxbridge. This child will bear your father's name as you do. He has been acknowledged by Owen as his.”

“Which you know was impossible.” He laughed as her furious stare did not waver. “Do you think me a fool? I was informed of my father's condition after the accident. Unless there was a miracle, your child must belong to another.”

“So you have said again and again.” She did not dare relent. The ale on his breath told her he had been drinking to gain the courage to invade the hall. In this condition, he might do anything. “Despite your contentions, my baby isn't the child of a Spanish sailor, but the one Lord Foxbridge named his.”

Seeing he was getting nowhere with her, he demanded, “Where is your new lover?” He pointed to Marshall. “Go and find Breton and bring him here.”

“My lord—”

“Go!” he shrieked. “I will hear none of your mewish excuses. Find the worm who inveigled his way into my father's favor and Lady Foxbridge's bed.”

Sybill's voice was not raised as she said, “Trevor is not here, Christopher. You miscalculated your fiendish plans and missed him by nearly a half week.”

His eyes were wild with rage. She cowered before his raised hand, and he laughed. Instead of striking her, he propelled her harshly against the newel post.

When Marshall moved to help her, he was ordered back sharply. The butler did not pause as he went to where the woman was clutching the banister, her face the color of the stone walls. “My lady?” he whispered.

“I am fine,” she lied. Straightening, she waved off his assistance. She could not let Christopher know how much he had hurt her. Marshall obeyed the man's shouted order when she seconded it quietly.

Christopher reaimed his wrath at his stepmother. “Get out of my sight, Sybill. Damn you, and damn your yeoman lover! Go upstairs. Stay there until I send for you. Put one foot out of your rooms without my permission, and I will see this estate returned to the Crown immediately.”

There was a collective gasp among the witnesses. If Lady Foxbridge did not cooperate with him, he would kill both her and her unborn child. His revenge had become worth enough to risk losing all he wished to possess.

Sybill saw the same expression of exultation on his face as she had seen on his father's the night of their wedding. Like Owen, Christopher expected all his wishes to come to fruition because of her. How, she did not know, nor did she want to guess. He would do nothing until Trevor returned, for part of his plan would include murder. Determined he would not see her beg, she said with careful enunciation, “Marshall, please see that the guest rooms are made ready for Lord Foxbridge and his companions. The ones on the south wing were aired last week.”

Christopher cursed under his breath as she walked up the stairs. Framed by the stained glass window on the landing, she paused to glance at the unmoving forms below her. At that moment, she stood between the two wolves his father had fancied as part of the family crest. His lip turned back in a feral snarl. The she-wolf had come to steal what was rightfully his. When she learned how he planned to solve this, she would not be so self-assured. She would have to admit Lord Foxbridge was the rightful owner of this estate.

In her rooms, Sybill dropped into the one chair she found comfortable. When a door opened, she saw Clara peek out sleepily. “Come out. It is safe … for now.”

Running to her distressed lady, the young woman dropped to her knees by the chair. “What is it, my lady? I heard shouting. Is someone downstairs?”

“Lord Foxbridge.” She sighed as her maid's face bleached. With her elbow on the arm of the chair, she leaned her chin on her hand. “Lord Foxbridge has come to take what his father thought to deny him.”

“He can't! Your husband made sure you would be safe.”

Her eyebrows rose in disagreement. “I thought that was so, but it seems Christopher has found a way to make the Cloister his. How, I do not know yet, but I must before Trevor comes back from Liverpool.”

“Let me send Mac for him!”

“No!” she cried. Her composure shattered. “Christopher wants Trevor to return.”

Clara gasped. She did not need to be told what the lord had threatened. “Then, my lady, that is all the more reason you should send Mac for Trevor. You can't let him ride unaware into the trap Lord Foxbridge will prepare.”

Closing her eyes, Sybill felt a sharp pain cut through her. Her hand went involuntarily to the mound in her belly, but it was not the baby. The ache was from her heart, caught in the terror of knowing that whatever she did, the result would inevitably be the same. Trevor would come to the Cloister to face the lord's rage. “Christopher has imprisoned me here, but he won't notice if you talk to your sister-in-law when she delivers eggs. Tell Nancy to have Mac ride at top speed for Liverpool.”

From the bodice of her gown, she pulled the paper she had kept close. Although she had done it only to feel Trevor near her, she was happy the paper was not inaccessible in the library. She held it out to her maid, who took it silently. “This is where Trevor will be. He must be told that Christopher is back and has some plan to regain possession of the Cloister.”

“I understand,” Clara replied. “Nancy will be here within the hour.” She rose to her feet. “Now you must go to bed, Lady Foxbridge. You have strained yourself this morning. To do more could risk bringing on the pains again.”

Sybill smiled softly. “I will do nothing to harm this one. Just let me sit and think of what we must do. We will need our wits about us over the next few days. It will take several days for Trevor to arrive here, even if the trip is made at top speed. We must humor our new master until we can think of a way to defeat him.”

“My lady, I must insist you retire.”

Her maid was seldom this persistent, but, unlike her predecessor, Clara had only her lady's interests at heart. With a sigh, Sybill heaved herself to her feet. The additional weight was a burden she could not become accustomed to, even after all this time. Lying in her bed with Trevor's pillow clutched in her arms, she gave into the tears she would never shed before Christopher. She wondered if Owen was watching and chortling merrily over her fear.

It was nearly midday before the imperious summons came from the unwelcome Lord Foxbridge. Sybill spent a leisurely morning planning what she would say. It did not surprise her that it was so late before he sent for her. After seeing his drunken condition, she had thought it might be well into the afternoon before he recovered enough to taunt her again.

She kept his messenger waiting as she donned her finest robes. Dressed in the gold and rose brocade, she brushed her curls stylishly. With her pearl earbobs and the gold-decorated necklace which matched them, she showed she was not ready to abdicate as first lady of the estate.

If only she was not so round. She smiled as she put her hand over where the baby was resting quietly. A silent apology was sent to the one unaware of the trials in the Cloister. She needed to be on her toes. As she had not seen them for weeks, she would have to depend on her wits to be more agile than her feet.

Clara asked to accompany her, but she refused. She did not want her maid being seen too often. The message had been passed successfully, although they did not know if Nancy was allowed out the gate. If Christopher learned of her attempt, all would suffer. She did not want him to have any chance to hurt those she cared about most.

When the messenger gestured for her to precede him, she did not speak. At the top of the staircase, he graciously offered her his arm. Although she longed for a strong arm to balance her unwieldy form as she descended the stairs, she refused to accept any kindnesses from Christopher's allies. She managed the stairs and followed him to the solarium. It seemed to be Christopher's favorite room for confronting her. He chose it each time he wanted to make trouble for her.

“Come in, my lady,” urged the overly obsequious voice. “You look lovely this morning.”

“Thank you,” she answered, ignoring his sarcasm. “May I sit?”

Christopher stepped from the glare of the sunlight streaming through the windows. The ever-present glass of wine was in his left hand. Taking her arm in his other, he said, “Allow me to help you, Sybill.”