The Maiden Bride (24 page)

Read The Maiden Bride Online

Authors: Rexanne Becnel

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General, #Medieval

BOOK: The Maiden Bride
9.13Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
 
 
Linnea had not even the strength to pace the length of her narrow prison. It was a dark, cold place, blessed with neither a window nor even a grate. But then, the milled flour kept better in such surroundings. So she endured the endless hours of her imprisonment in the company of a week’s worth of flour. Coarse flour, dark and fragrant. Fine flour, powdery and pale. The sacks lined one long wall, and muffled even more what little castle noises drifted to her ears.
Norma came once in the evening, bearing plain fare and bedding for the night. She came again in the early morn, and while two serving men retrieved flour for the day’s baking, the old maid tried to comfort her.
“Do not despair, child. Henry is to arrive soon, mayhap e’en this day. You will be freed and returned to the bosom of your family. I am certain of it.”
Unfortunately that was not a comforting thought to Linnea. She ignored the tray of food. “What of my father? Is he well? Is he the worse treated for what I have done?”
Norma heaved a great sigh. “He is confined to the priest’s chambers as before. No better, no worse. As to his well-being …” She shook her head. “’Tis hard to tell. He eats what is set before him. He has been told of the new lord’s mistreatment of you, but … he does not respond.” Again she sighed.
“Axton does not mistreat me,” Linnea whispered, turning away from her loyal maid to stare at the dark end of her storage prison. The two serving men passed her with their second loads.
“Time to lock up,” the older one murmured, not unkindly, to Norma.
Before Norma could follow them, however, Linnea caught her by the arm. “How is he? Axton,” she clarified when Norma did not at once respond.
“Him?” The old woman frowned. “He is hale and hearty, and as full of himself as ever,” she muttered. She glanced at the men who waited outside the small storage chamber. “He is not deserving of your concern,” she said in the barest of whispers. “Already he fills his bed with other women.
Women,
” she repeated, emphasizing the plural.
In the silence that resounded after that awful revelation—after Norma shuffled out, the door thudded closed, and the key turned to lock her once again in darkness—Linnea could not move. She remained where she was, frozen in her pose with her hands laced together at her waist.
Women. He’d taken other women into the chamber they’d shared. Onto the high bed, and upon the luxurious bear pelt.
She’d tortured herself with the knowledge that when he wed Beatrix he would take her to his bed. But she had not considered, even for a moment, that he would take other women as well.
Women.
Women he did not care about and yet would share such intimacy with—
“Oh, God!” The involuntary cry was wrenched from the deepest part of her being. From her heart. From her soul. From that part of her which was her truest self—and which loved him completely, she now knew. Oh, God, could it be that one woman was no different than another to him? Had she been of as little consequence as the women he already took to his bed? And what of Beatrix? Would she be the same, just one more meal to satisfy his robust sexual appetite?
She did not want to weep, but that’s what she did. She fell to her knees upon the floury plank floor and tried to pray. But all she could do was weep. She had been nothing to him, nothing at all, while he’d become the center of her world.
But that world had cracked and was shattering all around her. Where she would end up no longer mattered, for she knew that hovel or castle, wilderness or town, emptiness would forevermore be the place in which she dwelled. Emptiness. Solitude. Darkness.
She might as well live out her days in this storage room as anywhere else.
Then she thought of her sister. She thought of Beatrix, sweet, generous Beatrix, who deserved better than to marry a man who hated her and who would make a mockery of his vows to her.
With the back of her hands she wiped the tears from her eyes, then scrubbed her face dry with her sleeve.
She would save Beatrix from him. That had been her original goal and so it must be again. But how?
That she did not know, but as she rose to her feet she felt the slide of Axton’s chain against her thigh and her desolation turned to a furious resolve. With a cry of outrage, she pulled up her skirt, grabbed the delicate jewelry and yanked. It came free with a sharp, cutting snap and she flung it as far from her as she could.
She’d been wrong to let herself love Axton and to think he could ever care for her in return. She’d been wrong to be jealous of Beatrix and Axton’s wish to wed her.
Beatrix was the only one who’d ever loved her and now she must fight harder than ever to protect her beloved sister. Eventually she must be released from this prison. Then she must be clearheaded and ready to do whatever it took. Axton must not have Beatrix, though he win Maidenstone from Eustace de Montfort and Duke Henry.
It seemed an impossible goal to achieve, and perhaps it was. But as she sank down onto the flour sacks, consumed by both misery and outrage, she found it easier to focus on that unlikely future than on the unbearable present. Worrying for her sister muted, at least a little, the pain of her uncertain future.
And the absolute devastation of losing the man she still loved.
 
O
n the third day Norma came to her, excited, agitated, hardly able to speak.
“They come. All of them. We must prepare you.”
“Who comes? Duke Henry?”
“Yes! And Beatrix and Sir Eustace. Even my Lady Harriet accompanies them. Come, milady, we needs must make haste,” she added, tugging on Linnea’s arm.
Despite her desperate need to be free of her dreary dungeon, Linnea felt an awful dread. “Haste to do what? Where do we go? What plan does Axton make to use me to hurt my family?”
Norma stared at her sorrowfully. Her round face was creased with concern. “Ah, child, ’tis not Lord Axton who does command your removal from this closet, but rather that good dame, his mother. She would not have you appear disheveled.” Her faded eyes swept over Linnea. “Nor dusted with the miller’s best efforts. Come along,” she prompted, pulling Linnea toward the door. “There’s not time to be wasting, for milord Axton is expected to return very soon. You must be within Lady Mildred’s chamber before he arrives.”
Linnea followed Norma’s lead because it would be foolish not to. The light of day hurt her eyes and her confinement seemed to have made her clumsy. But for all her relief to be rid of that storage closet, a tiny part of her wished to return back to the place. There she lived only with her
fears
for the future. Out here she must face that unknown.
All eyes followed her as she crossed the hall. The servants were out in force, preparing the castle for the imminent arrival of the visitors. But they slowed in their tasks as she threaded her way through them. They stared at the sister, Linnea, who had deceived their new lord—and themselves as well. One and all they’d thought her to be the Lady Beatrix, and now that was Linnea’s only comfort. She’d fooled them all. Willing herself to a courage she was not sure she possessed, she stiffened to a haughty posture and raised her chin to a regal angle.
Somehow she made it across the hall then up the winding stairs. At the second level she paused and though it was the last thing she wanted to see, she stared past the antechamber to the door that led into the lord’s chamber. It stood ajar and as she watched, a woman pushed through the opening, her arms filled with soiled bed linens.
Linnea must have gasped or made some other horrified sound, for the maid looked up and abruptly halted. Norma looked back, then made her way back down the stairs.
“Not her!” the old woman hissed, understanding Linnea’s thoughts. “’Twas not
her.”
The young woman’s face went scarlet at Norma’s words, while Linnea’s went pale. Though her relief was huge to know this maid was not one of the women Axton had taken to his bed, there was still the fact that the maid obviously knew what Norma meant. She knew what Axton had done. Everyone must know.
Norma grabbed her hand and together they made their way to the third level. Lady Mildred’s chamber was warm and well lit, with two wall sconces and a brace of candles beside a tub. The tub was filled with fragrant, steaming water and sat before the small wall hearth. A delicate gown of salmon-dyed linen and other necessary women’s garments were laid out on the bed.
The lady herself sat on an upholstered bench before the window.
She dismissed Norma with one raised eyebrow and the faintest gesture of her hand. “Do you need assistance with your bath?” she asked Linnea once they were alone.
“No.”
Baring herself before this woman was not something Linnea desired to do. But the chance to thoroughly cleanse herself was something she could not forgo. She approached the tub while watching Lady Mildred warily.
“Why have you summoned me here? Does your son know?”
“I have my reasons,” the woman replied. “And no, he is not aware that you are with me now.”
“You know my family returns with Henry of Anjou.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, but she did not respond directly to Linnea’s comment. “Go on. Bathe while you may. Once Axton returns to the castle, he may seek you out. When you are not there he will rage the length and breadth of Maidenstone to find you. Unless you wish him to find you at your bath—and mayhap you do—I suggest you get on with it.”
Linnea’s jaw tensed. “I assure you, that is the last thing I desire!” She began to unlace her gown.
Her words drew an amused chuckle from the older woman. “I wonder if you will tell me the true extent of your feelings for my son.”
Linnea sent her a sidelong glance but did not pause at her task of removing shoes and stockings, and gown and kirtle. “I like Peter very well,” she sarcastically replied.
Lady Mildred smiled. “And he likes you. What of Axton?”
Linnea sternly ignored the sudden lurch of her heart. “Axton does
not
like me. In fact, he despises the sight of me, the sound of me, and the very thought of me.”
This time the woman shook her head and smiled. “Judging from your evasive answers one would think you are avoiding my question.” The smile faded. “What are your feelings for my son Axton?”
Linnea did not at once respond. She did not want to respond. To purchase more time, she clutched a length of towel to her and stepped into the hot water, then let the towel fall to the floor as she sank into the soothing broth.
“Ahh.” The exclamation escaped her lips unexpectedly. She released her hair from its fitful chignon, shook it loose, then sank completely under the water before rising to face the question that yet lingered between her and this woman. Indeed, what were her feelings for Axton?
“We have been as man and wife,” she began in a tone far less forceful than she might have wished.
“You deceived him apurpose.”
“To save my sister from a man … from a man we feared would treat her cruelly.”
“But you would willingly suffer that cruelty for her.”
Linnea had been staring blankly at the uneven wooden edge of the foot end of the tub. But now she glanced sharply at Axton’s mother. The woman knew more than she ought. She had been talking to Norma!
“I love my sister. I would do anything for her,” she said curtly.
“You are the second twin.” When Linnea did not bother to respond to that obvious fact, the woman continued. “’Tis an old and foolish belief, that the second babe is accursed. I comprehend now that you have done all this to prove yourself worthwhile to your family. And I suppose in that you have succeeded. But you do not appear much gladdened for your success.”
She pushed up from the bench and approached the tub. She offered Linnea a bowl of shaved soap. “You have achieved all you hoped for. You lulled us into complacency while your family did mount a challenge to our position at Maidenstone. And you have made a fool of my son—a man who came, against the opposition of his family and all logic, to have a deep and abiding care for you—”
“He did not care for me! He could not—not when he brings other women so swiftly to his bed!”
“Men are not known for their fidelity. It does not mean they do not care—”
“My father loved my mother. Once my mother was gone he did not—”
“And my husband loved me!” She broke in, leaning down until their faces were very near. “My husband loved me and I loved him and I have been faithful to his memory. But we speak of you and your husband, and he is his father’s son—”
She broke off and drew back. But Linnea had heard what the woman started to say, and though she did not believe it, oh, she wanted to.
“What … what is that supposed to mean?”
Lady Mildred’s lips pursed thoughtfully. “Your husband—though I suppose he is not truly your husband, since you married him under a false name. Axton is not a man of inconstant affection. His loyalties run deep. Likewise, betrayal strikes him to the heart. Such a betrayal as you have dealt him will be a hard thing for him to forgive.”
Linnea stared at her in amazement. “Forgive? Surely you do not think—No. He will never forgive me. He cannot, not and have Maidenstone too.”
At that, Lady Mildred frowned. “That is the only thing.”
Linnea sank down to her chin in the water. “Yes, for him this place has always been the
only
thing.”
Lady Mildred moved restlessly around the room, silent for a while, and Linnea took that opportunity to scrub herself. Arms, legs, face, hair. When she finally rinsed the lavender-scented suds from her heavy hair, the Lady Mildred once again was studying her.
“Tell me of your sister.”
Linnea eyed her warily. “She is sweet and guileless and easily intimidated. She does not deserve your enmity—nor his. This deception was of my own making, not hers. I would beg you to intercede for her, should Axton be inclined to treat her cruelly.”
“Does she look like you?” the woman asked, ignoring Linnea’s plea.
Linnea pondered her reply only a moment. Then she sighed. “We are identical in every way. Save one.” She raised her leg. “This birthmark is the only thing that distinguishes us from one another.”
Lady Mildred stared at the mark, then back at Linnea’s face. Then she turned away and went to the window. In the silence that fell, Linnea felt a shiver run through her. The water was growing chill. She should finish her bath and prepare herself for the coming unpleasantness. As she dried herself and dressed, the Lady Mildred remained quiet. Only when Linnea sat before the fire and began to comb and dry her hair did the woman rouse from her deep thoughts.
“So, Axton shall be as pleased with the real Beatrix as he was with the false one.”
The color drained out of Linnea’s face. It was no more than she could have expected from the woman. After all, Lady Mildred’s one goal was to gain what was best for her son. Still, she’d seemed to imply that Axton might somehow forgive Linnea—or else Linnea had misread her intentions. Now, though, it seemed she was content to see Axton wed again—only this time to the true Beatrix.
“Does that thought displease you?” the woman continued, eyeing Linnea shrewdly. “Would you rather remain wed to him?”
Linnea pulled the bone comb through her hair, unmindful of the painful tug as the carved teeth found a knot, then broke through it. “To remain wed to him would be … it would be impossible. He despises me.”
“But
you
do not despise
him.”
That said, the woman pushed to her feet. “I must go. There are tasks I must supervise. You, however, should stay here. Dry your hair and dress it. Nap, if you will. I will have a tray sent to you if you would eat. But I caution you to remain in this chamber until I send for you. Or Axton does.”
Then she left and Linnea was alone to ponder her fate. There was no understanding this strange interview—most especially the emotion that drove Lady Mildred so unexpectedly. One thing Linnea knew, however: Axton would not send for her. She doubted he ever wanted to lay eyes on her again.
 
“Where is she!”
Peter trailed after Axton as he stormed across the crowded bailey. The people fell away—guards and servants, peasants and children—as the lord strode angrily past them. His brother struggled to keep up. “She cannot have escaped. It is impossible!”
“Then where in God’s name is she!” Axton roared, slamming into the great hall.
All activity ceased. Every eye turned askance to him. Lady Mildred paused in conversation with one of the castle women, but she did not flinch. She caught her son’s gaze. “She is in my chamber.”
Anything she might have added was lost when he let out an exceedingly foul oath, then strode purposefully for the stairs.
Linnea heard him coming. A deaf woman would have heard him. In the short minute it took for him to reach the third floor, she positioned herself near the window—as far from the door as she could get, if the truth be told. Her hair was neat, her dress impeccable. But she trembled like a sapling willow before a spring storm and her palms were damp with perspiration.
The door flew open, crashing against the wall. Then he was there, in the room with her, and she forgot to be afraid. He was there, tall and formidable, weary and streaked with the sweat of his day’s work, yet powerful as only a man can be powerful. He glared at her, and she knew he hated her. But she could not hate him in return. She had betrayed him; she understood that he had every right to hate her. But she was so glad to see him, so deprived of any sight of him, that all she could feel was an absurd sort of joy, an insane surge in the vicinity of her chest, as if her life force had abruptly been renewed and her heart and lungs and everything else worked better and faster than they had before.
He stared a long angry minute at her. Emotion seethed in the silent chamber, burning the very air with its blistering intensity. But like all fire did, it burned hot and then sputtered low, until they were standing facing one another without the buffer of anger between them.
Axton stepped back, as if he suddenly would flee her presence. But Linnea raised a hand to him, palm up and pleading.

Other books

The Ruby Kiss by Helen Scott Taylor
Rickey and Robinson by Harvey Frommer
Being Their Baby by Korey Mae Johnson
Such Is Life by Tom Collins
e.Vampire.com by Scarlet Black
Waterdance by Logston, Anne
The Girl Who Came Back by Susan Lewis
The Burn by Annie Oldham