When Love Awaits (20 page)

R
OLFE leaned back in his chair and fixed Thorpe with a steady gaze. It was always good to consult his old friend. The talk with Bertrand of Marhill and his son Reginald had gone well. They had begged off staying any longer once the meeting was over, because they had left guests of their own in order to meet with Rolfe. Rolfe was well pleased. It was as Henry had said. Bertrand had several sons that Rolfe could make use of, and that was just what he needed. Rolfe’s own men were loath to take the responsibility of governing his remaining keeps. They preferred soldiering.

“What do you think of Sir Reginald? Will he make a good castellan of Warling?”

“He seems eager enough, overeager in fact,” Thorpe replied thoughtfully. “Until now he had only the prospect of Marhill, and that only after Bertrand dies. I think he will serve you well, if only to prove he is worthy of Marhill when the time comes.”

“I agree. Now we have only to win Warling.”

“Another week or two, and the walls will give,” Thorpe predicted confidently. “The tunnel at Blythe is in the works as well. Kempston should be well secured before the first snows. And what will we do then? We will have peace across your lands, and nothing left to do.”

Rolfe grinned. “Let me enjoy peace for a while, before I go looking for another war.”

“You may come to like being a landed lord too well to go hieing off to war.”

Rolfe said nothing. He was considering the truth of that statement, and Thorpe knew it.

Thorpe grunted. “At any rate, I see your point. It was wise to sound out Sir Bertrand and his son before you actually need them. To tell the truth, I thought you were only using this meeting as an excuse to see your wife.”

Rolfe grinned, and Thorpe guffawed. “Damn me! I was right!”

“Whatever brings me back here is welcome.” Rolfe shrugged.

“And what did she think of your enlisting two of Bertrand’s sons for your own keeps? He did say he had another son who would do well for Blythe Keep?”

“Yes, but I have not told Leonie yet.”

Thorpe rolled his eyes heavenward. “What can you be thinking of, my friend? Sir Bertrand is
her
man.”

“I know.”

“You should have consulted her before you made him the offer.”

“I meant to, but last night…was not the time. And this morning”—he smiled fondly—“she was sleeping so peacefully, I couldn’t waken her. But what can she object to? I have simply bound the family more firmly to us. The father will work for her, the sons for me.”

“A woman can be more jealous of what is hers than a man would ever be.”

Rolfe frowned. “How is it that you know so much about women all of a sudden?”

“I know a good deal more than you do, apparently.”

Rolfe grunted, stretching his arm to reach the cold
meat on a platter which the young serving maid was just bringing to the table. Rolfe noted her smile and his eyes followed her as she walked away.

“If you know so much about women,” he demanded of Thorpe, “tell me what the devil has plagued the women around me. I do not mean my wife.”

Thorpe choked on a bit of bread. “What women?” he managed without grinning.

“All of them! The servants, the wives of my men. For weeks every one of them behaved as if I were diseased. Now suddenly I get smiles all the time. Lady Bertha even rode over to Warling to bring me a fruit pie, and Warren’s wife sent flowers—flowers!”

Thorpe could not hide his amusement any longer and laughed with delight. “They are doubtless trying to make amends for thinking it was you who beat your wife on your wedding night. Lady Leonie was the one who corrected the mistake. I hear she was quite angry when she learned you were being blamed for what her father did.”

“She was beaten. Who says so?”

Thorpe’s humor fled. Rolfe had paled, and his body was still as death. “Damn me, Rolfe, do you mean you didn’t know? But you spent the night with her. How could you not know?”

“Who?” Rolfe repeated. His voice was a whisper.

“Lady Roese caught a glimpse of her face the next morning when the ladies came for your sheets,” Thorpe said uneasily.

“How badly was she beaten?”

Thorpe realized he had to tell all he knew. “Apparently it was a harsh beating. I heard it said Lady Leonie’s face was swollen grotesquely and blackened with bruises. That is what shocked Lady Roese so
badly. Thinking you were responsible, she did not keep quiet about the beating.”

“You knew all this, and you never spoke to me about it?”

“I thought surely you
knew
. I would not have mentioned any of this now except for the gossip and…”

Thorpe watched as Rolfe leaped from his chair and bounded out of the hall in six strides. A few moments later, he jumped as a door slammed shut upstairs.

L
EONIE looked up in dismay as her husband towered over her, in a rage about something, glowering in a terrifying manner.

“Why did you never tell me what was done to you?”

“Done?” Was he drunk again? “You will have to be more specific if—”

“You were beaten severely! Was everyone to know of it except me?”

Leonie stiffened, her eyes turning a stormy silver gray. This was not a subject dear to her, but then he already knew that.

“I have told you before that I will not speak of what happened,” she said frostily.

“Damn me, you will! You will tell me what you gained by hiding your beating from me!”

“Hiding it!” she came back furiously. “There was nothing to hide, except from Sir Guibert, and that was to prevent murder being done.
You
knew! Judith admitted to me that she told you. Why else do you think I stabbed you that night? I awoke in pain, caused by your touch on my bruised face. It was a thoughtless, normal reaction. You must have understood that, since you never mentioned the stabbing to me.”

Rolfe’s anger was tempered somewhat by hers, but only somewhat. “I never mentioned that little prick you made with your knife, Leonie, because that is all
it was. And your stepmother did warn me you had to be forced to marry me, but she didn’t tell me how you were forced. I thought you were denied a few meals, the standard practice for reluctant brides.”

“There was no time for that, my lord,” she said bitterly. “My father did not tell me I was to marry until the day before the wedding. As usual, his drunkenness made him thoughtless.”

“Does drunkenness excuse him?”

“
I
do not excuse him!”

“For your beating, or because you are now married to me?” he asked harshly.

Leonie turned her back, but Rolfe whirled her around, his fingers biting into her arms, his eyes black with rage.

“Why, Leonie? Why was I so abhorrent to you? Why did you have to be beaten before you would consent to marry me?”

He was shouting at her, stirring her already churning emotions. Never mind that she was beaten. Never mind that she had suffered. His vanity was wounded, and that was all that concerned him!

“I was afraid of you, my lord. I had been told you were a monster, and that was all I knew of you. I thought you wanted me only for revenge, because of the trouble you felt I had caused you. A beating was easier than what I believed you would do to me.” Reflectively, she added, “I thought I could withstand a beating, but I was wrong. The cur would have killed me had I not sworn on my mother’s grave that I would wed you.”

This was uttered with all the hatred she felt for Richer Calveley. Rolfe thought it reflected her anger at being forced to marry him.

“So you thought me a monster?”

“I did.”

“And still do?”

“I did not say so, my lord.”

“No, of course not, but I must assume it is so. Why else do you still scorn me? Why else do you refuse to be my wife in truth?”

Something in his tone made her wary. What kind of confession was he looking for? And then it struck her. He wanted to hear her rail at him again about his mistress. How appeased his vanity would be to have her act the jealous wife. She would not give him that satisfaction.

She dropped her eyes. “I do not scorn you, my lord. Whyever would you think so?”

“Do you not?” he said harshly. “You are just cold by nature then?”

“Perhaps,” she agreed glibly.

He turned away from her. “Or perhaps you love another!”

“Another?” she replied incredulously, her temper flaring despite her resolve. “Look who talks of another! I take marriage seriously, my lord, even if
you
do not!”

“Be damned if you do, or you would have renounced your first love and accepted me. Well I would hear the truth now, madame, and have done with it. No longer will I let these suspicions gnaw at my insides.”

Leonie found it hard to believe what he was saying. How dare he accuse her of infidelity when he…

She drew herself up sharply, eyes a wintry gray. “If you are searching for an excuse to send me away, my lord, you need not go to so much trouble. I will be more than happy to leave.”

His eyes flared before his lips tightened into an ominous line. “No doubt you would like that, wife.”

“Indeed,” she retorted, her anger flaring. He was
going to sever their relationship. How easy everything was for men!

He took a step toward her, and she thought for certain he was going to strike her, so black was his expression. He towered over her, body rigid, fists clenched, eyes like hot coals.

“If it has been your hope that you can still have him, you hope in vain,” he rasped furiously. “I may indeed grow tired of your icy demeanor one day and have done with you, but you will never have him. I will kill him first!”

“Who?” she shouted.

“Montigny!”

Leonie was so surprised she might have laughed. It was unfortunate she did not, for Rolfe saw only her surprise and it inflamed him.

“You thought I did not know it was that young ne’er-do-well? I knew it before I wed you!”

Leonie tried to comprehend but couldn’t. She said simply, “You are wrong, my lord.”

“You have always loved him, madame. It is why you set your people against me. It is why you refused to marry me. It is why you hate me still, because I have you, while you yearn for him!”

Leonie did laugh this time, and it was Rolfe’s turn to be bewildered. She couldn’t help herself. He was jealous of poor Alain. How absurd.

She smiled at her husband. “I do not mean to take this matter lightly, for no doubt you have harbored these suspicions for some time. But you see, Alain is only a friend. I did once fancy he might do as a husband, but that was long ago when he was the
only
young man I knew and I despaired of ever having a husband, confined as I was to Pershwick. But it was only a fancy, and quickly forgotten. Alain grew to be
a man sadly lacking in character, and I no longer yearned for a husband by then anyway. Yet I could not forsake him simply because he had a few weak traits, so we remained friends.”

Rolfe was still scowling. “You expect me to believe you would set your people against me for the sake of—of friendship?”

“Would you not go to war for a friend?”

“You are a woman.”

Leonie kept a rein on her temper. “I will not argue that point with you, my lord. The fact is I did not set my people against you. The day Alain told me what had befallen him, and that you were coming here to take his lands from him, I wished a pox on you. There, I have finally confessed what I did,” she said, relieved. “I thought the worst of you, and my people took this to heart.”

Rolfe did not know what to think. He wanted to believe her, but if she did not love Alain, then why would she not love him?

“If all you have said is true, Leonie, then there is no reason for you to still hate me.”

“But I do not hate you, my lord.”

“But you will not accept me, either.”

Leonie lowered her eyes and said softly, “I could accept you, my lord, if it were
only
you. But you ask more of me than that I accept only you.”

“Is that supposed to make sense to me, woman?” His voice rose in frustration.

Leonie did not look up. Rolfe stared hard at her for several moments more, then turned and stalked out of the room. Seeing Thorpe waiting for him downstairs reminded him of what had set him off, and his frus
tration over his wife’s cryptic remark turned once again to burning anger. He had to put an end to these secrets and confusions and upsets, and he believed he could end the turmoil by going back to its beginning.

J
UDITH rolled her head back, giggling as Richer’s thick beard began to tickle her breasts. He had come upon her in the storeroom and proceeded to play his little games with her, refusing to take no for an answer. Backing her into the meal sacks, he thrust his body against her, stilling with his lips her protests over the hour and place.

How forceful he was, this cruel man. And he was cruel. She could see in his eyes, when he touched her with a gentle hand, that he desired to hurt her instead, as he did his other women. But he did not dare use rough ways with her. They both knew he did not dare, but knowing what he was capable of made him all the more exciting to her.

When he began to lift her skirts, Judith gave another token protest. It was what he liked, her resistance. It always fired his blood. When they met at agreed-upon places, she was usually too ready for him, too eager. He liked to catch her unaware, to take her in unlikely places where he knew she would fear discovery and try to put him off.

“Can you not wait until this evening, Richer, and come to my room as we planned?”

He grunted. “I do not like taking you with your husband snoring drunkenly beside us.”

“But that is what is so exciting, love,” Judith purred. “If he wakes, he thinks he is having another delusion.”

He glowered at her, but she knew it rather suited Richer’s dark sense of humor to cuckold his lord right in front of him. It suited her, as well, for she hated William more every day. It was thrilling to have another man mount her while her besotted husband slept beside them.

“I will have you now, and then again later.” Richer grinned darkly, pressing the lower half of his body firmly into hers.

His flames of desire were well met by hers, as he knew they would be. Her thighs parted to accommodate him, even as she sighed and said dramatically, “You will do as you will, Richer. You always do.”

He laughed, but his laughter was cut short by a whining servant’s voice outside the door. “My lady?”

“What?” Judith shrieked.

“My lady,” quavered the voice. “Your son-in-law is here. Rolfe d’Ambert awaits your pleasure.”

To Richer she said curtly, “Let me up, love. You must wait for this evening after all. Faugh! What the devil does he want?”

Judith made haste to straighten her bodice and her hair. She shouted to the servant that she would greet their guest momentarily.

“I will make myself scarce,” Richer said, “in case he has brought his lady with him.”

Judith glanced over at him, startled. She had never heard uneasiness in Richer’s voice before.

She frowned, a touch nervous herself. “Yes, that would be best. If the lord of Kempston has gained any fondness at all for my stepdaughter, it would not do to remind her of you. She might talk to her husband
about you, and there is no telling what would come of that.”

In the great hall of Montwyn, Rolfe d’Ambert stood waiting with two of his knights. This was not a simple courtesy visit, and Judith became frightened immediately upon seeing Rolfe’s menacing countenance. There was not a cordial line in his face, not even a feigned smile of greeting as she approached. At least Leonie was not with Rolfe, she noted, hoping her absence would make him a bit less confident than he seemed.

Judith graciously nodded to him. “Lord Rolfe—”

“Your husband, madame. How long will he keep me waiting here?”

“Waiting? William is indisposed, Sir Rolfe. The servants know they must not disturb him.”

“Then I suggest you disturb him, madame.”

She gave him her most beguiling smile. “Surely you would not mind spending time with me instead? I will tell William later that you were here.”

“I think not,” Rolfe said. “It is your husband I wish to have words with, not you. Will you rouse him, my lady, or shall I?”

“But he truly
is
indisposed,” Judith insisted worriedly. “I—I doubt he would even know you, my lord.”

“He is already drunk at this early hour?” Rolfe growled in disgust.

Judith shrugged. It was just as well he knew, for then he would not bother her again. “It is an unfortunate truth, my lord, that William is very seldom sober.”

“I see.”

Rolfe turned to his men and said, “We will stay here and see the man wrung out to dry. Send word to Sir Thorpe that we will not return today. He might as well
go back to Warling—Damn me!” he said explosively. “There is no telling
how
long this will take!”

Judith was finding it difficult to hide her increasing fear. “What is it you want with my husband, my lord?”

Rolfe’s black eyes fixed on her. “That is not your concern, madame.”

“But—but you cannot simply—”

“No?” he interrupted, his voice low. “Perhaps you like having a sot for a husband?”

“Of course not.” She managed to appear most affronted. “I have tried to stop his drinking, but he cannot function without it. I have been unable to help him.”

“Then you will thank me for taking a hand. I will soon see him functioning well and understanding me perfectly. Now please lead the way. I would begin this distasteful duty immediately.”

Panic mounted in Judith and grew steadily worse as days passed and Rolfe d’Ambert stayed doggedly at the task he had set for himself. She even considered killing the arrogant lord, or killing William, but the former was impossible and the latter, well, if William died, Leonie would inherit everything. Judith would be cast out, penniless. Leonie would do her no good, that was certain.

If only she knew what it was that had brought the lord of Kempston there, but he continued to ignore her pleas to explain. Richer insisted she worried for nothing, but why was Rolfe d’Ambert so angry, and why did he have a ruthless determination to see William coherent and sensible?

The lord of Montwyn was bathed and sheared and bathed again countless times despite his curses and attempts to ward off his persecutors. He was stuffed with food, only to retch it up. He was denied all but milk or water to drink. He was ignored when he
screamed for something more potent, ignored when his body shook uncontrollably. And all the while d’Ambert’s anger was a palpable thing, held in check only by heaven knew what.

Judith could only stand by helplessly and watch all that she had accomplished over the years being undone. Her only hope was that William was too far gone to remember any of the recent past, and that once d’Ambert left them alone, William would run back to his drink.