FLAME OF DESIRE (33 page)

“Bring her here! Men are such insensitive brutes.”

“She is a beauty.”

“Fah. She is most likely some wench with the morals of a stray cat.”

“Such lovely hair. I liked her. She must be a fine woman to stay by that poor thing’s side and nurse her so gently.”

“Oh, Matty, you would see goodness in the devil himself! Like a vulture, I imagine that one will wait as long as it takes until he is free, though only by another’s
death
will she become mistress of this home.”

Heather could not bear to hear any more. Covering her ears, she sought out the bed and her slumber. Could she blame them for their resentment? No. “Vulture.” The word sounded in her brain. “Only by another’s
death
will she become mistress of this home.”

“No,” she moaned. “I would not want her to die.” Burying her face in the pillow, she wept. How could love so perfect, so sweet, be wrong? “We must get away from here,” she resolved, fearful of what others’ chattering tongues could do to her love.

At last exhaustion overcame her and she fell into a deep sleep. Not an untroubled sleep, but a restless slumber, one disturbed by dreams. She ran alone, terrified, through a misty fog while a voice shouted to her that Richard was dead. Seton. His evil face leered at her, his hands reached for her as he threatened again to kill the man she loved. He was coming closer and closer, and she screamed, reaching out imploring hands to those who stood and watched. But they would not help her, instead called her “whore.”

“No!” She awoke with a start, trembling as if from a chill, plagued by the fear that somehow Hugh Seton’s evil hand would reach across the miles to tear their happiness asunder.

“But where can we go?” she whispered in the darkness. “We cannot go back, yet neither can we stay here. Where? Where?”

Chapter Forty-Five

It was late. The candles in Richard’s chamber were burning low as he paced the floor. “Why did she pull away from me? Why?” he asked himself. He had expected her to be loving as before, and yet she had pulled away from his touch as if it were poison. “I never meant for Edlyn to be so abused,” he swore. “I would not want my happiness to come because of her death. I was relieved when the fever broke. Relieved.” Did Heather understand all the emotions which were now tearing him apart? No. Her actions tonight showed that she did not.

He was exhausted. His bones ached after being on horseback for so many days, yet when he lay down he could not sleep. He kept remembering the way Heather had looked at him, the reproach in her eyes. Her face swam before his eyes until he could stand it no more. Rising from his bed in the early morning hours, he stormed through the house searching for her. Her place was by his side.

At last he found her, sleeping soundly in the room which had been his mother’s chamber, curled up like a kitten amid the blankets. She looked so lovely in her sleep, her breasts rising and falling with each breath she took. He remembered how silky soft they were to his touch and ached to cares them.

“Heather…” He knew that he ought to let her sleep, yet he wanted to settle quickly this sudden unease between them. “Heather.”

She opened her eyes slowly, scanning the room with wide-eyed confusion until she remembered where they were.

“My estates, my love. Remember?” Richard whispered, giving in at last to his urge to touch her. With slow exploration he slid his hands over the soft contours of her body. “I missed you last night. It is not right that we sleep apart.” He noticed that during the night she had removed her gown and had slept only in her chemise, and he smiled to think how easily that garment could be removed. He was well-practiced in undressing her from their stay in the inn. Slipping it from her shoulders, he gently cupped one breast as his lips sought hers.

Weakly Heather clung to him as he gathered her into his arms, forgetting all her resolve of the night before in his embrace. His lips trailed kisses down her throat to the throbbing hollow of her neck, sending delicious ripples of heat through her blood.

A clatter in the hallway, the chatter of voices brought her to her senses, and she fought to escape from his spell. What power he held over her. He had only to touch her for her to become lost in the wild vortex of her passion for him. One kiss and she was lost.

“No!” she tore herself away, pushing at him so hard that he nearly toppled from the bed.

“No? Heather, what in God’s name is wrong with you? First last night, and now this morning….”

“I can’t! Not here. Edlyn and…and the servants. It isn’t right.” She hoped that he would understand what was in her heart. “Richard, I want to go away from here.”

“Away? We just got here. I can’t leave so soon. I have responsibilities. Winter is coming. I’ve spent too much time away already.” He sought to take her in his arms again. “We can’t go back. Seton will be waiting for us.”

She shrugged from his embrace. “Then we will go back to the inn. Anywhere but here. I thought that being your mistress would not bother me, but I was wrong. Here in this house I..I just can’t let you touch me.”

He swallowed hard against his anger, saying only, “And so you will refuse me?”

“Yes.” She wanted to reach out to him, to tell him that she loved him, but instead she turned her back to him.

“Women!” he growled, remembering suddenly his mother’s refusal to share his father’s bed. He remembered the way his father had begged, but he would not do likewise.  Not this time. Already he had done enough groveling for her love. “So be it, then.” He walked to the door, then turned back. “Sleep alone in your bed, Heather.”

She reached out to him, knowing full well that were he to come to her again, take her in his arms once more, she would not resist him a second time. “Richard. Please. Understand how I feel. Take me away from here.”

He wanted to tell her that he would, that he had been wrong to bring her here, but stubbornness and pride made him hold his tongue. She was only giving in to foolish feminine emotions. After they and been at the manor awhile she would change her mind and let him love her again. Had he not been so confident of that, he never would have said the words “We stay.” Slamming the door behind him, he left Heather once again, alone.

As he took the steps two at a time, his emotions raged in turmoil. “What more must I do to prove to her how much I love her?” he stormed, remembering all the times he had waited outside her father’s house in London and then again outside her chamber door at court. He had even suffered Courtenay’s scorn and laughter. Yet as he walked about the main hall his anger cooled. How would she feel to be beneath this roof? Even though Edlyn was addled in her head, she still was legally his wife. “Time. It will just take time,” he murmured. Heather was the woman he loved. It was only right for her to be mistress of his house. In his heart
she
was his wife, didn’t she understand that? “She will in time,” he answered.

“Richard, who you be talking to?” It was Agnes who came up behind him, touching his arm with the familiarity that she had shown during his boyhood.

He whirled around. “Myself, I fear.” A frown marred his handsome face as he remembered the abuse Edlyn had received at this woman’s hands. Agnes had been his nurse. He had trusted her and she had betrayed that trust.

Before he could reprimand her, Agnes clucked her tongue. “I know what you must be thinking. But you are wrong, Richard. It was not my doing that caused the fever. I give you my word on that.” She sighed. “She must be watched constantly or she gets into mischief.”

“Is that why you locked her in that foul room?”

“Your
wife
has a violent temper, I fear. Like a raging child, she has fits of tantrums, swearing and throwing things. It was my way of subduing her. If I was wrong, then I beg your forgiveness.” She looked up at him and he remembered all the kindness she had given him in his youth. All the love his own mother had kept from him, Agnes had bestowed freely. “Her two boys,” she had called Roderick and him. How could he believe that she would willfully show cruelty to anyone?

“Just don’t let it
ever
happen again!”

“I promise you that it will not. I will see to that.” She grinned at him, a gap-toothed smile which he remembered well. “Now, come. I have prepared your breakfast. All your favorites. Even Yorkshire pudding.”

He couldn’t hide his smile. “Ah, Agnes, you do spoil me.”

“That I do, Richard. That I do. It’s good to have you back home again.” She took his arm to lead him to the kitchen. He belonged to her again, just as he had as a child, and neither his gibbering wife nor that whey-faced redhead would take him away from her.
She
, Agnes, was the mistress of this household and would always be. How she loved to be the queen bee, issuing her orders. No London whore would sweep into this manor and tell her what to do. She would soon have that one on her way. So thinking, she smiled again.

Chapter Forty-Six

Time did not change Heather’s mind, nor wear away Richard’s resolve. October blended into November and Heather feared that with each day they were drifting farther and farther apart. Richard was busy from dawn to dusk during the ensuing weeks, meeting with his stewards and manorial officers who totaled up their accounts, giving him his share, and Heather felt totally ignored, little realizing the agony Richard himself was going through. A thousand times he cursed himself for a fool and longed to do as Heather bid him and take her away, but just when he had decided to leave, he would find one more thing that needed to be done.

Feed was too scarce to keep most animals through winter, and so many of them were killed, their meat smoked and salted. In the North Country it was not possible to obtain foodstuffs from foreign ports easily, and so many people’s lives depended upon Richard now. Without a proper store of food his tenants and servants would die, and this he could not have on his conscience, no matter how he loved Heather Bowen. Londoners were spoiled, their comforts and hungers easily satisfied, but in the North it was a far different matter. Thus he kept himself from his heart’s desire, paying for his noble decision with the pain which stabbed through him every time he saw the sadness in Heather’s face.

Over and over again Heather wondered what would have happened if Richard had not been called back to his estates. The new surroundings had caused a conflict in her emotions. She loved Richard, that she could not deny, and yet here in Norfolk she felt estranged from him. Guilty. Unwelcome. The woman named Agnes did noting at all to make her feel at home, but instead, seemed to take every opportunity to taunt her, at least when Richard was absent.

When Richard was in the manor, the woman smiled and fawned over him, until Heather clearly understood that for some reason he was in the woman’s power. Clearly Agnes considered herself mistress of the manor and Heather the interloper. She repeated over and over again that Heather was not Richard’s wife.

Nor am I his mistress now, Heather thought sadly, closing her eyes against the ache in her heart and the longing to have Richard love her once again. This time she would not push him away. No, not this time.

But Richard did not come to her; instead she found herself clashing over and over again with Agnes over one matter or another. It became obvious to Heather that as mistress of the household Agnes had been lax in her duties. There were cobwebs on the lofty ceilings, dirt on the window sills, dust on the floors, and the buttery and pantry were ill-stocked. Rats in the cellars had eaten up the winter’s store of grain and Heather wished that Saffron were with her to chase away the bold rodents as he had at her father’s house in London. But there were no cats, for Agnes hated the animals.

When Heather approached Richard with the truth of Agnes’ slovenliness, begging him to dismiss the woman, it merely seemed to widen the differences between them.

“Agnes has been in this household since before I was born. She knows what must be done,” he snapped, tired from his long days of working out in the cold. “If there are things that have not been accomplished, then I am certain that it is because of her constant attention to Edlyn.”

“How can you be so blind1” Heather had gasped, turning her back on him in outraged anger.

“If you would take your rightful place as mistress here, perhaps all could be set to rights,” he snapped at her then, issuing her a challenge.

Before the day was out she had tackled the responsibilities with a vengeance, examining every room for any sign of disrepair. She would prove to him what could be done. In rooms, without carpets, the rushes were freshly strewn, mixed with herbs, the old rushes thrown out and burned. New sacks of grain were bought from local farmers to replace the grain the rats had eaten, and several cats were given a permanent home to guard them, despite Agnes’ protestations. A large garden for vegetables and herbs was outside the kitchen door and Heather made certain that it was kept thriving until winter snow would bring an end to anything green or fresh. She had even transplanted a few of the most necessary herbs into pots that could be kept inside.

With each day she came to feel affection for this household. Gone now was her feeling of not belonging as her efforts worked magic. She was strong and would put up a fight. Even Agnes’ hatred did not stop her.

As all Saints’ Day arrived in November, Heather found out that she had indeed made an enemy of Agnes, yet she was unprepared for the venom of her anger. The woman even blamed Heather for a raging thunderstorm, saying that she was a witch. Having at first envisioned Heather as weak, Agnes now came to realize the full depth of Heather’s strength and fought hard to force her to leave.

Her stories turned Richard’s tenants against Heather for they were susceptible to such tales. The household servants having always been ruled by Agnes, were also hostile to Heather, and more than once she thought she heard the word ‘mistress’ being bandied about, yet Heather managed to hold her head up. Somehow the word did not sound as sordid now. She at least could count two of the servants as her friends: Cook, a middle-aged woman whose cap was always askew, her hair straggling down around her ears, first in command of the kitchen, and Matty, a plump round-faced woman with kind brown eyes and turned-up nose. Right from the first Matty had been the only one to show kindness to Heather. It was Matty’s duty to keep the scullery maids in line. Heather gave her authority over the other servants as well, two house maids, two grooms, a stable hand, and the gatekeeper. All the servants had their separate rooms at the long end of the servants’ hall, except Matty, who lived with her gardener husband in a separate cottage across the courtyard. It was here that Heather often fled when the atmosphere of the manor was more than she could bear.