The Devil Claims a Wife (18 page)

Jane looked from Richard’s accusing face to Guy’s granite one. Thinking to put an end to this unpleasant encounter by riding on, she urged her horse sideways to pass Richard’s, turning her head away as she did so. She was two lengths of a horse away when a shout from Richard’s companions made her blood freeze.

‘You bastard! You’ve killed him!’

The sound of Jane’s thundering heart drowned everything out as she turned back and stared. Richard was slumped in the saddle, blood seeping through the fabric of his jerkin. A scream rose up in her throat and she pressed her knuckles against her mouth, trying to stop it. Even then she felt as if she was going to vomit. Richard’s companions quickly closed ranks to aid him. With a cry she moaned his name brokenly, looking desperately at her husband.

Her eyes became riveted on the bloody dagger in his hand, a gleaming blade with a handle carved in the shape of a ram’s head.

‘Jane …’ His voice sounded strange, as if it came from a long way off.

She froze, before turning her attention to the injured man. Before she could get to him one of his friends shoved her away, his eyes blazing with fury.

‘Leave him—
my lady
,’ he hissed, his address intentionally insulting. ‘We’ll take care of him. Have you and your murdering husband not done enough harm to him already?’

‘You saw my husband do this?’ she asked in small voice.

‘Aye—drew his dagger, he did, on a defenceless man. He didn’t stand a chance.’

One of the men lunged at Guy, but Cedric managed to restrain him.

Jane held back and watched as the men rode away, supporting Richard in the saddle, who looked as if he wouldn’t make it to his home.

Guy nudged his horse close to hers. ‘Jane …’

Her eyes were drawn again to the blade that he still held before lifting to his face. Forcing herself to take long, steadying breaths, she finally brought herself under control. All the doubts, the warnings, the hints, crystallised in her mind, focusing on the proof of the dagger he held, and an icy cold stole through her, numbing her to everything, even the pain. Guy had been her lover—she had lain in the arms of the man who could do this.

She glared at him, her eyes alive with pain blazing out of a face that was white with rage. ‘
You
did that!’ she hissed. ‘
You
! By God, Guy, for what reason? If Richard dies from your
hand, you will have
murdered
him. I’ll
never
forgive you.
Ever
!’

With his eyes riveted on hers, he calmly wiped the dagger on his breeches and slipped it into the top of his leather boot. ‘Listen to me, Jane—’

‘Listen to you?’ she flared, wild with grief and pain. ‘I shall never listen to you again! You promised me you would not harm him and like a fool I believed you. You
are
a devil—an animal. Everything they say about you is true! You are a—a barbarian.’

Guy’s rapier gaze stabbed into Jane’s furious wide eyes, imprisoning them. ‘Be quiet and listen to me,’ he ordered harshly, grabbing her wrist as she was about to ride on. The eyes she turned on him were sparkling with hatred and glazed with tears she refused to shed.

‘Listen to you! I’ll never listen to you again,’ she cried, her chest heaving.

She glowered at him stonily and her readiness to judge him guilty without giving him a chance to defend himself enraged Guy yet more.

‘Don’t tell me you didn’t do it because I’ll call you a liar. Fortunately for civilisation, I do not share your pleasure for butchery,’ she flared furiously, then gasped in alarmed surprise as
his arm coiled around her like a striking snake, squeezing the breath from her as he hauled her awkwardly against his chest.

‘Don’t
ever
,’ he said, enunciating in an awful voice, ‘use that tone or those words to me again!’

‘Why?’ she cried, struggling to free herself from his grip before her horse threw her. ‘Do you challenge the accuracy of my words?’

‘I challenge,’ Guy improvised coldly, his mouth close to her ear, ‘your accusation of butchery.’

‘I’d no idea you were so sensitive on the subject,’ she mocked. ‘I was under the impression you enjoyed shedding the blood of your enemies—as you did my brother’s. I was beginning to think you could not have perpetrated such an ignoble deed, but now I have seen at first-hand what you are capable of I am not so sure. I shall never believe anything you say again.’

‘
That
is your prerogative,’ Guy bit out, releasing her wrist and shoving her from him.

‘And I mean it,’ she hissed contemptuously, thrusting her face close to his. ‘You gave me your word that you would not harm him. He was going away and you had to—to—do that.
Have you not thought of the distress his parents will feel?’

‘No,’ he bit out from between his teeth. ‘I can’t say that I have.’

‘That does not surprise me,’ she snapped, her eyes shooting sparks of ire. Digging her heels into her horse’s flanks, like a dervish she whirled her horse and galloped off.

Guy let her go and, when she was no longer in sight, he turned to Cedric. ‘You saw what happened?’

Cedric nodded. ‘It happened quickly, but he drew his dagger.’

‘Aye.’ He sighed. ‘But how to convince my wife?’

‘I’ll speak to her, tell her what I saw.’

‘No,’ Guy said quickly. Cedric saw his shoulders stiffen and he could almost feel the effort he was exerting to keep his rage under control. ‘Don’t do that. She called me a butcher and a liar. Truth and honour are an important part of the way I live my life. Jane has to learn to trust me. I must restrain my temper in order to prove myself innocent of the crimes she’s set against me. Go after Aniston, Cedric, and bring me news.’

Exhausted and trembling so violently she could hardly stand, Jane managed to make it
back to the castle and to her quarters and close the door. All manner of doubts and fears crept in. Much as she shrank from the idea of her gallant, handsome husband killing any man—especially her beloved brother—in cold blood, she could not dismiss what she had seen with her own eyes. He had been holding the bloody knife and had in all probability killed Richard. How could she thrust those facts from her mind? Dark, impenetrable gloom settled in with a vengeance.

Her face contorted with wrenching emotions as cascading tears flowed unheeded. Guy was her husband. He had transported her into a world of luxury and had taught her the joy of marital bliss and fulfilment as a woman. Yet, at the moment, she felt as if she really didn’t know him at all.

‘Please go away, Guy,’ she choked, dragging herself out of the chair when he came to her room and opened the door.

His brows snapped together in an ominous frown. ‘Jane?’ he asked, reaching for her.

‘Don’t touch me,’ she cried.

Her maid’s voice came from the doorway. ‘Is aught amiss, my lady?’ she asked, glaring bravely at Guy.

‘Get out of here and close that damned door behind you,’ Guy snapped furiously.

‘Leave it open,’ Jane said nervously and the brave girl did exactly as she bade.

In four long strides Guy was at the door, slamming it closed with a force that sent it crashing into its frame, and Jane began to vibrate with terror. When he turned around and started towards her Jane tried to back away, but she tripped on a rug and had to remain where she was.

Guy saw the fear in her eyes and stopped short only a foot away from her. His hand lifted and she winced. Meeting her gaze through the wealth of tears brimming in her eyes, he made every attempt to speak calmly. ‘Jane, I realise you’ve had a terrible shock, but there’s no reason for you to be afraid of me.’

It was his voice that made her want to weep at his feet, that beautiful baritone voice—and his face—that face she adored. His face looked strained, his mouth drawn in a grim line, his eyes strangely shadowed by an emotion she had never seen in them before. She stared at him as if he were a stranger, and only a short while ago … She looked away, afraid now to meet those beautiful blue eyes silently pleading for
her to listen and to believe in him, for they had the strength to rend her very soul.

‘Would you please get out of here? I need time to sort this matter out in my mind and for the shock to ease. Perhaps I can think more clearly after I’m allowed some time to myself.’

Guy raised his hand to make another appeal, but when her eyes became riveted on the extremity, he glance at it and realised his fingers were covered with sticky gore. Slowly he lowered his arm and heaved a despondent sigh. Talking to his wife at this point seemed futile. Turning on his heel, he walked away, retreating to the hall and leaving her to consider his innocence or guilt.

Guy had apologised, but Jane could tell that he wasn’t sorry. Although on the face of things she appeared to accept his apology, her trust in him had been shaken and her demeanour towards him had cooled. The hurt could not instantly be forgotten. She felt like a fool for having given so much of herself, holding nothing back—she had thought he had been doing the same, but to her shock, it had turned out that he had not.

He did not see her as an equal the way she had believed he did, but more like a possession,
a receptacle to bear his children and nothing more. Even though she had known this before she married him, it made her sick to realise this was the extent of her role in his life.

Brooding on it and stewing in the hurt left her bruised inside. But truly, he had never offered her a logical explanation of
why
he hated Richard so much or fully explained the manner of her brother’s death at Towton.

After two weeks, Guy thought lovemaking could help heal the breach, that passion might thaw her, but when he went to her, she wouldn’t let him touch her. She didn’t fight him or accuse him, she merely turned her face away and told him to leave her alone. He could tell she wasn’t just denying him to punish him—this was no game. It seemed the bruise he had dealt to her trust had inhibited her ability to respond to him.

They ate their meals together and conversed with the calm politeness of strangers, but she kept herself from him. Everyone in the castle was conscious of the rift between them and tried to cover it with forced joviality. Guy became angry with her, confronting her with the matter, accusing her of coldness, thinking that the heat of anger might succeed where bedding
her had failed. But feeling low and depressed and past quarrelling, she turned from him.

In frustration Guy wondered what the hell he was supposed to do. Damn it, Aniston had recovered from his wound weeks ago and ridden north to fulfil his ambition. His wife’s displeasure with him preoccupied his thoughts when he most needed to focus. He wanted Jane back, his happy and loving, smiling companion, and to recapture the magic they had tasted together on their wedding night. The memory of that blissful time darkened his mood progressively, for it brought to mind the difference a moment’s passing could make in a man’s life.

He knew he had to extend every privilege a man could bestow upon his wife during this time of uncertainty. It would be madness for him to try to force her into some kind of acceptance of what he had done by bringing her to heel with husbandly dominance. Coercion of that nature definitely ran contrary to his principles. Yet, in giving her time to reaffirm her trust in him, he could foresee himself having to endure a lengthy abstinence.

Finally, when their polite co-existence became too much for him, and in sore need of something that would take his mind off the cold, dark emptiness that had settled into his
vitals, he ordered the horses and litters to be made ready. They were leaving to visit his mother. Perhaps some time spent away from Cherriot Vale would help them resolve their differences.

Rosemead was as beautiful as its name. Down river from London, it was a large stone-built manor house, beside the shimmering waters of the Thames teeming with river traffic of wherries, beautifully painted private barges and wine-laden galleys from France. The sparkle of the evening sunshine gleaming on the smooth surface of the river dazzled Jane.

With apprehension she entered the house, awed by its splendour. With a line of servants following in their wake, Guy escorted her down a corridor lined with beautiful hangings and lit by silver torches, then stepped into the expanse of the great hall. They went behind a screen into a light and airy solar chamber. The thick walls were whitewashed and decorated with painted flowers and hung with rich wool tapestries.

Guy’s mother, the Dowager Lady Cecilia Courcy, was sitting in a large upholstered chair swathed in impressive folds of pale-blue silk encrusted with jewels. A sapphire necklace
adorned her throat and she wore a horned headdress on her head, her hair captured in a thick net on each side of her face. She looked very grand, like a queen. Her face was smooth and pink and smiling, her eyes as sharp as a hawk’s. They were also blue, very blue and penetrating—just like her son’s.

‘Ah, here you are at last,’ Lady Cecilia said, reaching out her hand, heavy with large-stoned rings. Her voice was low-pitched and strong. ‘Guy, how lovely to see you.’ Her face shone with adoration as she looked up at her handsome son. Bending his tall frame, he lightly kissed her proffered cheek ‘What kept you?’

‘My wedding—which would have been all the better had you been there.’

‘It was my dearest wish, but you understand why I was absent. Yet you are here now. It’s so good of you to come so soon after your marriage. I was hoping I would be able to meet your young bride.’ Her eyes went past him to the young woman standing a few steps behind him, a look of apprehension on her young face. ‘And you must be Jane. Welcome to Rosemead,’ she said with a gracious smile.

Jane dipped a curtsy. ‘I am happy to meet you at last, Lady Cecilia.’

‘Come here, my dear, and let me look at you.
I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you. You are very lovely,’ she observed, studying the creamy visage. ‘I can understand what has driven Guy in such a fever to wed you. I am delighted to have you in the family and hope we shall be the best of friends. I suppose Guy has been completely neglectful of telling you anything about me.’