The Winter Promise (8 page)

“Shall I ride with you, my lady?” Jacob smiled up at her as she entered the stable.

She dragged her attention from the Welshman and his son and her unhappy thoughts of duty. Jacob no doubt wanted a reprieve from the most unappealing of
his
duties.

“That would be fine,” she said, and tried to match his smile.

The marshy land around Athelney was no place for a good gallop, but that was just as well because Imma’s thoughts were not concentrated on riding. Her palfrey picked its way slowly and carefully over the track, but at least Imma was out of the keep and alone with her thoughts.

The boy whistled as they rode. So, she was not exactly
alone
with her thoughts. But he did not intrude and kept his own thoughts to himself and required no conversation of her. Under the circumstances, she was content with that.

The autumn chill had turned to winter cold, she realized as they rode, turning back a little earlier than she had planned because of the bitter weather. Despite his willingness to abandon his chores on her behalf, Jacob seemed just as happy to return to the warmth of the stable, too. She dismounted and brought the palfrey into the building, leading her into her accustomed stall. She unsaddled the horse and gave the boy the tack to clean. Finally, she brushed the mare down. As a guest — and not an invited one — she did not like to take advantage of the horse-thane, and she never minded doing her own chores. Her uncle had taught her everything about horses, quite as if he had expected her to take up standard and shield and accompany him into battle. It was only when he had noticed she was a woman grown that he sent her to England to marry a cold English and fight his war that way.

The mindless occupation of caring for the horse soothed her and she felt more herself — until she put away the brush, backed out of the stall and saw with a shock that Lord Robert stood in a stall further up the aisle, examining a big black stallion that stamped its hooves restlessly.

She caught herself on the rail. She would have to pass by him on her way out of the stable. His back was to her and she only caught a glimpse of his face in profile. His jaw was set, his face its usual iron mask.

She remembered the hunt, and the glorious ride when the two of them knew exactly what they must do, and had not needed to speak of it. He had looked at her in a way that made her flush with warmth every time she thought of it.

And yet that selfsame night, his gray gaze had been as cold as ever at table —

“Nothing can be done?” he was asking the horse-thane.

The horse-thane shook his head. “I’m sorry, my lord,” he said, clapping the other man on the shoulder. He nodded at Imma and turned to attend to his duties elsewhere in the stable.

Lord Robert glanced over and saw her standing in the aisle. He nodded in acknowledgment as the horse-thane had, but his face was remote and expressionless, as if he had never looked at her with heat and admiration —

She lifted her chin. Well, that was good, that was as it should be. She was his enemy, and it would be better to remember that.

Already he had turned his attention from her. He stood staring into the stall that housed the black stallion, blocking her way down the aisle.

“My lord,” she began.
Will you let me pass?
she intended to say, but her request died on her lips when she saw the anguish on his face.

“My lord,” she said again. When he turned to her, the mask was in place.

“My lady,” he said, his voice calm and impersonal. She realized it was not coldness, nor lack of emotion that ruled him, but rather ruthless control over all of his feelings. She wondered the price he had paid for that control. She knew the price she had paid for hers. Couldn’t he see that? Couldn’t he ease his guard for one moment in her presence, and she in his? They could keep the masks for other people, but why couldn’t they be honest with each other?

They were enemies, that was why, never able to trust each other —

“My lord, is the animal injured?”

“He has come up lame,” he said, as if the matter were of little interest to him. But she knew better, now.

“He is not in pain?”

Lord Robert shrugged. “He’s old. It’s hard to say. But I don’t think he has too much pain.”

“Then why must he be destroyed?”

“I cannot keep a horse that cannot work.”

“Why not?” she persisted. “Surely to pasture him would not be overly demanding on your resources.” Many times, she had had a conversation like this with her uncle, and often she could persuade him to listen to her.

“I am a steward, lady,” Lord Robert said. “I will not indulge my sentimentality at my brother’s expense.”

She wanted to say,
Then I will pay for the animal’s keep,
but she did not. Why wouldn’t he allow himself to keep the horse? He was no ceorl lacking treasure. What difference would it make, so long as other animals didn’t starve? Lord Robert was much too able of a steward to allow that to happen.

“He has been a good horse?” she asked, remembering even as she spoke how, despite sometimes taking her advice, her uncle often berated her for her questions.
Too many questions,
he had told her from the time she was a little girl.
You ask too many questions and you must stop.
And later Lord Simon had said,
It is none of your concern. Hold your tongue.

Lord Robert turned to the stallion and stroked his nose. “I trained him to be a warhorse. Lady Elizabeth gave him to me when I became my brother’s steward. He has seen me safe home from many battles.”

“What harm could it cause to keep him a while longer?”

His jaw tightened, but he did not turn on her. When he spoke, he sounded amused — a pretense, she knew, because she heard the underlying anger in his tone.

“I did not know my lady had such an affection for horses.”

“It’s not the horse I feel affection for!” she snapped and then hissed in a breath when she realized what she had said, and that she had said it aloud. Lord Robert stared at her in blank surprise, his face even more expressionless than before, if that were possible.

“My lord,” she said miserably, dropping her eyes and staring at her boots, unwilling to look at him. No wonder her uncle chastised her for her questions. Look where they led. Yet she had already revealed herself. What harm could there be in taking a further step? She had already said too much. A little more wouldn’t matter, and it might make a difference. “If you will not do this for yourself, will you do it for me? As a boon for me?”

He was quiet for a long time before answering, until reluctantly she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.

She blushed scarlet at the look in his eyes.

“Very well,” he said. “I will grant you this boon.” He patted the stallion’s nose, then turned to her and demanded, “Will you in turn grant me one?”

The world tilted a little and she had to grip the rail to keep from stumbling. Dimly she was aware of Jacob whistling as he mucked out a stall. In Lord Robert’s gray eyes she could see he remembered every detail of every encounter they had ever had, and a shiver mixed of unease and happiness slipped through her.

“Yes,” she whispered and pushed past Lord Robert into the sunlight.

• • •

Robert swallowed spiced wine and listened to the conversations around the table. Elizabeth, seated at his hand, chewed on a piece of cheese, then sighed and said, “At least you no longer glare at her.”

“My lady?” He spared a glance for his aunt. Surely she didn’t intend to pursue that subject
again
?

“She has skipped more than one meal because of you.”

This could not be a promising conversation. Yet if he tried to end it, Elizabeth would pursue it. The trick was to satisfy her without revealing any crumb of information she might use against him, even if only for his own good. Elizabeth did very many annoying things for his own good.

“I am sorry to hear that,” he said, not trying to sound too sorry.

“What has made you stop glaring? Did you finally
talk
to the girl instead of snarling at her? Perhaps you have finally come to realize she is unlikely to murder you in your sleep?”

He tore off a bite of meat from the joint. The way she said these things.

Was there any error in admitting he had spoken to Imma? Imma was a fast friend to his aunt, however unlikely it seemed, so she might have spoken of him and he must admit to it or he would arouse Elizabeth’s suspicions, a situation not to be tolerated.

“I spoke with her,” he said grudgingly. And she had promised him a boon, and that made him feel more kindly toward her. But he had no intention of saying so to Elizabeth.

“Well,” Elizabeth said, “At least you no longer look as though you’d like to strangle her. That glare of yours — ”

“I do not glare.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and selected another piece of cheese from the tray. “Your father always said that, too. Your father glared.”

“Father was nearly blind. He was not glaring, he was trying to see.”

“Perhaps that is your problem. Have the physician examine you.”

“I have no problem.” Why did he allow his aunt to reduce him to the quarrelsome tactics of a small boy? He took a deep breath and reminded himself that while he must not allow Elizabeth to pry, he must not seem to be stopping her. If she thought he guarded a secret, she would annoy his thanes and rattle his servants until one among them revealed it. His heart seized for a moment. Had any of them guessed it? Surely not. Except —

Elizabeth had already noted that his manner toward Imma had changed. Perhaps he should go back to glaring at her so that no one would guess —

Elizabeth made an impatient sound as she peered at a bowl of roasted chestnuts, poking them with her bony forefinger. “I wish you could just see what a kind and gentle lady Imma is.”

“I assure you I bear her no ill will. In fact, I am utterly indifferent to her.” There. That sounded well. Perhaps it would be sufficient to keep Elizabeth at bay. If anything could keep Elizabeth at bay.

She sighed again and abandoned the chestnuts, taking another chunk of cheese instead. “Edward is arranging a marriage for her.”

His gut clenched. He did not wish to hear about Imma with other men or about marriage, or even anything to do with the future at all. The present was troublesome enough.

“I told you I am indifferent,” he said forcefully. “How her future is arranged matters not one whit to me.”

“I was merely going to say — ”

“Elizabeth — ”

“
She
never interrupts me,” Elizabeth said. “She listens and thanks me for my advice.”

“Yes, but does she take it?” Robert muttered, snagging a slice of cheese before Elizabeth could consume the contents of the entire tray.

“I worry about you.”

Robert sighed. Elizabeth full of care and concern for him was worse than Elizabeth at odds with him.

“You have no cause for worry, my lady.”

“Oh, Robert,” she said. “When will you care about anyone other than your dogs and your falcon?”

“My dogs and my falcon have never betrayed me,” he snapped, and that, finally, was enough to make her quiet.

The snow fell in thick sheets, blanketing the marshes, drifting in high piles in the foreyard. It fell so heavily a man could not see that which was right in front of him. The snow had not stopped in three days and the household whispered about the winter already being worse than any in memory. Unable to leave the keep, Robert felt restless and unpeaceful. It took effort for him not to be snappish with his retainers.

“You insisted on coming to Athelney,” Elizabeth reminded him at the midday meal.

“It snows in Glastonbury,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but at least it is
Glastonbury
.”

He did not respond. Elizabeth must always have the last word, so let her have it. He lifted his cup of mead and watched Imma finish her meal at her place below the central fire.

If she would talk with him, the way she had the day Jacob had given her the kitten, he was sure his restless boredom would be alleviated. But to see her there, and know she was out of reach, only made him more irritable.

He gulped his drink. He still had not decided if he’d been fortunate the day that fate had driven her to his keep.

She glanced up and caught his gaze. She held it for a moment before turning to respond to something her table companion said. Did she ever think about him? Did she indulge, as he did, in idle daydreams?

Soon the meal would end and she would disappear into Elizabeth’s room for the rest of the afternoon, and then he wouldn’t even have the pleasure of looking at her, seeing the curve of her cheek in the firelight —

Except that the snow was falling and his household was mostly unoccupied and Imma, he knew, happened to be a bard.

He began to smile. He summoned his servant Kenneth. “Fetch Lady Imma to me,” he instructed, ignoring the quizzical look Elizabeth gave him. He watched as Kenneth approached Imma at her place at the table. She gave Kenneth a startled glance when he spoke to her, then shot an unreadable look in Robert’s direction before getting to her feet and following Kenneth to the front of the room.

“Yes, my lord?” Her voice was soft and neutral, as if she barely knew him. He was conscious of the weight of Elizabeth’s attention on him.

“My lady Imma,” he said, keeping his voice was as calm and neutral as hers. No one in this hall would guess how close he was to sweeping her into his arms, no matter the consequences. “We are in need of entertainment this dreary afternoon, my lady. Would you tell us a tale?”

A dark brow lifted in surprise. “Of course, my lord,” she said. “But I only know the Welsh tales.” She said it as a question.

“I expected as much, seeing as you are Welsh, my lady.”

She nodded, her violet eyes taking in his face. She must have seen something in his eyes because she said, “Oh!” and caught her breath. Then she said in a rush, “Tell me where to sit, my lord, and as soon as the tables are cleared, I will tell you about King Pryderi, and the evil enchantment he fell under that turned the kingdom of Dyfed into an empty wasteland.”