Authors: Rexanne Becnel
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General, #Medieval
The Maiden Bride (23 page)
Axton folded the parchment along its existing creases and laid it down on the table. Then he stepped down from the dais. In the intervening moments he had mastered his rage, it seemed. But the cold stone mask he had made of his face chilled Linnea even more so than did his temper.
With slow, measured tread he approached her, then just as slowly circled her, as if he did examine her from every angle, or else did wish to view each aspect of her reaction to his words. “There is more to Henry’s correspondence,” he said in her left ear. When she turned to face him, however, he had already circled behind her, a dangerous, taunting beast of prey, playing with her before he pounced.
Linnea resolved not to play the role of hapless victim. Since he was behind her, she stared instead at the de la Manse banner. “He has told you news of my family,” she said.
With the lightest of touches he stroked the length of her unbound hair. “Your family,” he murmured. “Yes, your family, which I thought I already knew more than enough about. Your family, which I thought would grieve me no more. Your accursed family which I have shown considerably more mercy to than ever they have shown to me and mine!” he finished in a voice that again shook with rage.
With a rough movement he jerked her around, then held her within the crushing grip of his powerful hands. “Tell me of your
family,”
he demanded, stretching out the word so that it sounded like the vilest entity, a cancer upon the earth. “Tell me about your
sister!”
family,”
he demanded, stretching out the word so that it sounded like the vilest entity, a cancer upon the earth. “Tell me about your
sister!”
Her sister. She’d known already that he had found out the truth. All of it. But still, the actuality of it hit her with renewed force.
“My sister,” she whispered, echoing his words while her jumbled brain struggled for some direction to go, some words to explain, some way to negate the awful betrayal that consumed every portion of his being.
“Yes. Your sister, Beatrix. The elder of twins. The one who has petitioned to wed Sir Eustace de Montfort, one of Duke Henry’s men who does now make claim to Maidenstone by virtue of his impending marriage to Edgar de Valcourt’s eldest daughter and heir!”
Axton’s eyes were as dark as storm-lashed granite, only infinitely harder. If there was a pain in them, it was buried too deep for her to see, somewhere lost within the catacombs of his heart.
But the pain in Linnea’s eyes was not so buried. It was there, raw and bleeding, in plain view. Only he did not care about her pain. He cared about his home, his mother, his family, and his heritage. He cared that he had been duped by a woman he had come briefly to care for.
How could she ever hope to undo the damage she had wrought?
“Perhaps … perhaps Duke Henry will still honor your claim—”
“He is not a man given to fairness. He will enjoy the sport that pits me against Eustace.” He drew her inexorably closer, devouring her with his hard hunter’s gaze. “What is your name?”
Linnea’s heart hammered in wild panic. “I am … I am Linnea—”
“Twin to the real Beatrix. Younger of the two.”
She nodded.
“What a bond must be between you, that you would sacrifice yourself to your enemy for her—”
“’Twas no sacrifice!” Linnea exclaimed. She gripped the front of his tunic, holding onto the pewter-colored wool with all the strength she possessed. “I have not been disappointed with my choice—”
“You have whored for her!” He thrust her away, as if he tainted himself by the very touch of her. “You have whored for her and for everyone in your accursed family!” His handsome face was twisted with rage, and his words thundered through the empty hall. “That they could ask it of you sickens me. That you would agree—” He broke off, shaking with the power of his violent emotion. His nostrils flared as he drew a deep breath. His body quivered; his hands clenched.
Then he stepped back again, as if he must distance himself from her or lose control entirely.
“You wed yourself to me in the guise of another, in the hopes of denying me my birthright. Admit the truth to me.
Linnea.
”
Linnea.
”
Linnea. Finally he had said her true name. But it was not as she had dreamed of. Indeed, it was the complete antithesis of her dream. It was the worst nightmare she could imagine. But it was far worse even than a nightmare, for she could not awaken from this horror and have it end. The sneer in his voice as he mouthed her true name was real. The contempt in his eyes would not fade away in the light of dawn. She was awake and all of this was horribly, horribly real.
“I …” She swallowed hard, fighting down a sudden wave of nausea that left her light-headed. “I feared for my sister. For Beatrix,” she added in a whisper. “I love her and would do anything to save her—”
“Even whore for her,” he broke in. When she shook her head against so ugly an accusation he let out a hollow laugh. “Such a display of loyalty even I would not demand of my sister, had I one.”
“I love her!” Linnea repeated, for she could think of no other explanation which he might understand.
Once again he laughed, but it was an awful sound in the deserted hall. “Your love has earned you naught but the contempt and disdain of everyone. You have failed in your mission, Linnea. For our bonds are severed by the existence of your lie. We are not wed, not in the eyes of the Church. But your sister—”
He broke off, but she knew at once what he meant to say. Somehow she knew. She flinched away when he continued, however, for she could not bear to hear the words out loud.
“Your grandmother is shrewd enough not to fight Henry. To choose de Montfort, who has Henry’s ear, was canny indeed. But Henry had not yet granted them permission to wed. They come here, all of them, to hear my argument.”
He stalked her as she fell back, step by awful step. “I will challenge de Montfort for her hand. I have been wed to a false Beatrix, but I will make that aright. I will have the real Beatrix, though I must fight Henry’s entire retinue to have her. I know Henry, and I know that is his plan. His sport. And he, likewise, knows me well enough to be certain I will cooperate.
“I have had you as whore for your sister. Now I will have her. You have failed,
Linnea.
You have failed!”
Linnea.
You have failed!”
She came up hard against a wall. He loomed over her, before her, around her, while his terrible words stabbed her through the heart. This was not the man she had loved last night. It could not be!
But that denial gained her nothing, for she could not escape the truth any longer. Having seen the best of him, to see now the worst was very nearly a killing blow. But she deserved it. She deserved it. Every word he spoke was true. She could not lie either to him or herself any longer. She had goaded him to this and left him no other way to turn but against her.
Yet as he pulled himself away from her, leaving her a boneless heap supported only by the cold, unyielding wall, she felt not hatred for him, nor sorrow for herself. What she felt was a monstrous envy of her sister. Her beloved sister, Beatrix, would have this man for her husband—for Linnea had no doubt that Axton’s rage would win him a victory over any man, be he a giant or a wizard, or possessed of unearthly powers. Axton would defeat this Sir Eustace de Montfort and he would wed Beatrix. Once his rage was exhausted, he and Beatrix would make a family together, while she …
Slowly she slid down the wall until she was no more than a puddle, a morass of misery at its base.
They would make a family together while she would be outcast from the only two people she had ever loved. Beatrix and Axton.
The loss of her dear sister, she believed she could survive.
But to lose Axton … to lose Axton was to lose the heart right out of her chest. And everyone knew a person could not live without a heart.
“I crowned her with blisse, and she me with thorne … I did her reverence, and she me vilanye.”
—unknown
I
t rained. Starting just before the midday meal, continuing through the afternoon and on into the early dusk and dreary night, the sky seemed to weep for Maidenstone Castle, for its betrayed lord and its uneasy people. But it did not weep for the woman he had cast out of the keep. It could not, Axton told himself, for she deserved no pity, not from him nor the forces of nature. Nor even from God.
t rained. Starting just before the midday meal, continuing through the afternoon and on into the early dusk and dreary night, the sky seemed to weep for Maidenstone Castle, for its betrayed lord and its uneasy people. But it did not weep for the woman he had cast out of the keep. It could not, Axton told himself, for she deserved no pity, not from him nor the forces of nature. Nor even from God.
He stood at an open window in the third story chamber opposite his mother’s. The rain misted in, cold against his skin, but it could not cool his raging mood. Beyond him stretched a portion of the yard, then the kitchens, the herb garden, the stable and outer walls, and then the black countryside beyond. He could make out little, only the struggling glow from the wet torches at the gate, and an occasional window or door outlined by lamplight. But in his mind’s eye he saw it. It was the home of his childhood—the home where he meant to raise his own children.
At the moment, though, it was an ugly place, a hard and unaccepting place that harbored betrayal at every turn. He leaned into the window alcove until the rain fell upon his face. Why had no one revealed to him that there were two daughters? Why had the younger been so willing to whore for the elder? Damnation! What sick and perverted sort of family had held Maidenstone all these years?
And now, what new and twisted entanglement did he pursue so recklessly? He’d had the one daughter, false-hearted jezebel that she was. Did he truly wish to have children of the other faithless bitch?
A streak of light split the sky, illuminating for just one unearthly moment the view beyond the wet window frame. All was a cold white, a harsh world of unyielding stone and unrelenting storm.
Why had he thought he could again find a home here?
He snatched an ewer that sat on a three-legged table, but it was empty. With a cry of frustration, he flung the innocent vessel across the room.
Damn the bitch! Damn the lying little bitch! And damn her all the more for having made him think that peace and happiness were finally within his grasp!
He braced himself against the window frame, his arms stiff, his head sagged forward, while his breath came hard and irregular. Damn the bitch, he cursed her once more. But the heat he would have mustered, petered out in his dark and solitary vigil.
She had sucked him in and he had flung himself headlong into her arms. He had not meant ever to trust any offspring of de Valcourt. But he’d let down his guard and now he did pay the price.
But never again, he vowed. Never again would he let a woman deceive him. This Beatrix—the real Beatrix—would warm his bed when he desired her. And no doubt if she were twin to the other, he would desire her. But aside from that necessary intimacy, there would be no warmer sentiment between them. He would fight for her, win her, and wed her. And he would keep her thick with child until she had populated the nursery to his satisfaction and was no longer of any use to him.
But what was he to do with her sister?
A tentative knock at the door saved him the misery of contemplating that question. “Who is it?” he barked.
“Your brother.” The door swung open with a reluctant squeal of its wrought-iron hinges.
The last thing Axton wanted was to discuss this newest of disasters, yet he did not want to send Peter away either. Peter, at least, he could trust. Peter and their mother were the only people who suffered as much loss as he from Beatrix’s —no, she was Linnea. From Linnea’s betrayal.
He slanted a look at his brother. “You warned me ere I wed her that she was not to be trusted. It seems the younger son is wiser than the elder.”
Peter did not smile at Axton’s dark jest. “I had rather I had been mistaken,” he replied. “In truth, I had come to like her. And trust her,” he added more quietly.
“Then we have the both of us been duped.” Axton turned back to the bleak view beyond the narrow stone window.
Peter picked up the battered ewer and placed it on a slab of stone that protruded from the wall, creating a narrow shelf. “What do you plan?”
What indeed? “To challenge de Montfort. To defeat him.”
“What of Beatrix?”
“Which one?”
“Well, both of them.”
Axton felt a surge of anger so intense he could not at first answer. “I would like to strangle them both.” He drew a long breath. “But I won’t. One I will wed. The other …”
The other would torment him all the days of his life, he feared. “The other I will send to a convent. She will never wed, for she is ruined and no decent man would have her.”
An image of her flashed into his mind, of her last night, welcoming him so gladly to their bed. He spun away from the dreary view without and the dangerous one in his head. “Mayhap I should send her to a stewholder. Or better yet, sell her to him. She would fetch a goodly price. But no,” he continued sarcastically. “That would be no punishment at all for her. She would enjoy it far too well.”
At Peter’s look of consternation Axton let out an ugly laugh. “Do not worry yourself for that one—that Linnea. She does not warrant any of your concern.”
“I worry more for you, brother. I would help you did I but know a way.”
Axton tensed. He did not want Peter’s help. Most especially he did not want his pity. But then, everyone would pity him now. Pity him or mock him. He stiffened in resolve. He would not be pitied. Anything but!
Axton faced his brother with a determination forged of both pain and rage. “If you would help me, then go and find me a woman. Two women,” he amended. “Then arrange a practice tomorrow, to begin at dawn’s light. I would wrestle Odo, face Reynold with the long sword, and meet Roger with the short. Have the stable master prepare the two best horses, for I would meet Hugh with the lance.”
“All of that? In one day?” Peter exclaimed. His eyes were round and his expression doubtful.
“I will not lose to de Montfort,” Axton stated in a deadly tone.
Peter stepped back, but he nodded his understanding. “If I may suggest—” He raised his hands when Axton frowned. “Only that you forgo the women if you do intend so intense a practice on the morrow.”
“Send me two women,” Axton reiterated in a tone that brooked no further interference. “And pray that they do their jobs well and take the edge off my mood, else on the morrow I will leave a trail of broken heads and bleeding bodies.”
Peter left without further comment, and Axton was relieved. His brother was not the source of his rage, but he had come perilously near to becoming the focus of it. Better to exhaust himself upon two nameless women, and then his well-armored men, than to lash out at a lad who did but wish him the best.
Of course, the one who most deserved his wrath was the best protected from it.
He glanced at the door and for a moment contemplated seeking her out. He’d had her locked within a storeroom behind the kitchen. But the door and lock which did confine her, instead protected her, he realized. He’d meant for it to be a punishment, but in truth it saved her from the fury of his temper.
He started quickly for the door, intent on confronting her once more. But the unexpected appearance of a shadowed figure in the antechamber took him aback.
“Linnea?” He stopped short, unaware he’d even spoken. How was she here? Had Peter released her?
Then the woman came into the meager light of a guttering candle and he recognized his mother. The quick disappointment he felt, however, only roused his anger to new heights. How could one woman be so devious as to draw this perverse response from him? Had the witch entranced him? Placed a spell upon him? If she had, by damn, then he would break it!
“What do you here, Mother?”
“I have just spoken to Peter.” She moved farther into the room and her eyes seemed to miss nothing. Not the dented ewer, the open window with rain now pouring in, or his own disheveled appearance. She looked small and old in the flickering light, but she did not look frail. Even in his distracted mood he could appreciate that.
“You will not bring any women into this keep,” she said, staring sternly at him.
That was the last thing Axton had expected to hear, and his jaw sagged open in disbelief.
“If you would fornicate with loose women, then do so elsewhere, not under the same roof with your mother. But I caution you,” she added in a gentler tone. “What you think will bring you relief will not do so. You must settle this matter with Linnea, my son, not with some other poor substitutes.”
“There is nothing to settle. Nothing that
can
be settled.”
can
be settled.”
“I know she has hurt you with this betrayal—”
“I am not hurt,” he countered. “Only enraged that once again a de Valcourt has tried to weaken our claim to Maidenstone. But she will not succeed—neither she nor her sister.”
“You will fight Sir Eustace.” She said it with a quiet resignation that he knew hid the ever constant fear she felt for her sons. But her fear was not reason enough to stop him, and they both knew it.
“Seek your rest, Mother. Tomorrow I train for de Montfort. He will not steal our home from us, though the de Valcourts and even Duke Henry do lend him their support. By damn, but I should have let that whelp drown in the Risle when I had the chance!”
She nodded but she did not leave, and when she spoke, it was not of the young Henry. “I expected to hate her, but I can not. And now … now though I hate what she has done, I think I can understand why she did it.”
“You can understand?” he exploded.
“And I believe could she undo this tangle, she would willingly do so.”
Axton snorted his disgust. “’Tis a foolish point to speculate upon, since she cannot undo it. Go, Mother,” he said, “go and say your prayers that I best de Montfort.”
She gave him a steady look. “I will pray for you, my son. I will pray that you best Eustace de Montfort and pray that you find your peace. But I will also pray that you do not seek to bury your pain in the wicked embrace of some loose woman—or two.”
Axton could hardly believe his gentle mother was discussing such a matter with him. He bristled. “You do not understand a man’s needs.”
“And you do not understand a woman’s heart,” she replied.
Whether she referred to her own heart or obliquely to Linnea’s, Axton did not know. Nor, when she turned and glided silently back to her own chamber, did he call out to ask her. Linnea’s heart mattered nothing to him. How could it when his mattered nothing to her?
Peter sent the women to his brother’s chamber together. One was a saucy thing, young and sweet and amazingly adept, as he had already learned. For a bit of shiny coin she would do the most astounding things to a man. The other was an older woman, possessed of the largest and most impressive bosom he’d ever seen. Gossip held that Reynold had nearly smothered between that pair of quivering white mounds.
But even as Peter sent the women up the stairs, he was consumed with guilt. He knew little enough of the doings between a man and his wife, but somehow he knew what Axton did was wrong. Though Linnea—how hard it was to think of her by that name—though Linnea had duped Axton and deserved not even a shred of his loyalty, there yet lurked in Peter’s mind a sense that this was wrong.
But his own anger at her betrayal yet seethed, and it was a strong enough emotion to drown out any guilt he felt. Did
she
feel any guilt as she lay in her comfortable prison? Did she give a second thought to the man she had wed and seduced—for there was no doubt she’d seduced Axton, body and soul. Otherwise he would not be so heartsore. Ah, but she was a cunning little bitch.
she
feel any guilt as she lay in her comfortable prison? Did she give a second thought to the man she had wed and seduced—for there was no doubt she’d seduced Axton, body and soul. Otherwise he would not be so heartsore. Ah, but she was a cunning little bitch.
So he sent the two women up to his brother. But his lingering unease kept him awake in the hall, wrapped in a rug, leaning against a wall near the base of the stairs.
They were not above stairs very long. They came down together, clearly disheveled, both grinning and whispering. They flashed him the gold coins they’d earned, then disappeared into the night.
Peter could not help but be awed by his brother’s swift performance. Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps now Axton would feel some relief for his anguish.
Shedding his rug, he made his way up the stairs once more. He found Axton on the second floor, in the lord’s chamber. He lay facedown on the huge bearskin, sprawled across the bed still fully clothed.
For an instant Peter stood there just staring. Once he’d seen Linnea in just such a pose—though she’d been Beatrix then. She’d lain naked and waiting, filled with fear and anguish upon that same black fur. Now Axton lay there, and though he was fully dressed, his emotions were every bit as naked and raw as hers had been.
He grieved for her. For the loss of her. He had not used those women—Peter was certain of it. He might have tried, but he’d not succeeded. He’d not had the stomach for it.
God in heaven, did he feel so deeply for the deceitful wench? Did he love her?
Other books
Don't Call Me Mother by Linda Joy Myers
Happy Mother's Day! by Sharon Kendrick
Frozen Solid: A Novel by James Tabor
The Macbeth Prophecy by Anthea Fraser
Keeper of the Golden Dragon's Heart (The Cedar River Series) by Murray, Gemma K.
The Buried by Brett Battles
Lead Me Home by Stacy Hawkins Adams
Girl in the Red Hood by Brittany Fichter
The Rivals by Daisy Whitney
Trust Me by Jayne Ann Krentz