Forbidden Lord (9 page)

Sir John closed his eyes to absorb the pain. When he opened them again, they settled on William. Surprise registered and then he beckoned him closer. ‘I haven't much time, William, I cannot talk much so I will not ask what you are doing here—although I suspect it has something to do with Staxton Hall being restored to you.'

‘It has everything to do with that. I came to thank you, John, for all you did on my behalf—and my family.'

‘Your father was a good friend of mine. I was happy to do what I could. How—is it that Eleanor is with you?'

‘I have escorted her from London.'

‘Thank you, but her coming here has presented a dilemma. There is now no one to care of her. Will you undertake to look after her—for me? After what Frederick has done, I fear she is in great danger.' He closed his eyes and his features began to take on a sinister rigidity. His lips moved, but the sound that came out of them was so faint that William and Eleanor had to lean closer to hear what he was saying. ‘Promise me.' Sir
John was a shrewd judge of character and he knew that Eleanor would be safe with William.

The knowledge that Sir John had requested such a thing made William feel anxious. He did not want to be anyone's guardian, and he certainly didn't want to keep watch over Eleanor, to have control over her—he knew just how strongly she would resent that. He was badly suited to such a position and he did not want the responsibility. And yet, did he not owe this man a great deal? Having taken it upon himself to petition the Queen on William's behalf to have Staxton Hall restored to him, William had much to be grateful for, to thank him for. The very least he could do was to agree to this one last thing that was important to the dying man, so he could die knowing Eleanor would be taken care of.

‘I will do as you ask.'

Sir John nodded weakly and then, his hopeless and exhausting duel with death nearly over, he gave a last convulsive movement, and a noise that sounded like a death rattle, and then his body was still. Now that the laboured breathing had ceased, the silence that fell in the small room was terrible.

Eleanor knew it was all over for her uncle. Stifling a sob, she placed two fingers gently on his lids and closed his eyes for all eternity. As she gazed at the ravaged face, her throat ached with pain and grief. Bending forward, and with infinite tenderness, she pressed her lips to his dry cheek.

The look on her face and the silent tears falling slowly from her eyes were the most dreadful things William had ever seen. Eleanor had already suffered so much. He could not bring himself to contemplate the immensity of pain that this new tragedy would inflict on her. One thing he had to do was to get her out of the infirmary before her will and her strength deserted her altogether.

‘Weep as long as you want, Eleanor. You cannot mourn too long for a man like that—but you are tired and hurting and there's nothing more to be done here.'

Eleanor whitened and swayed. William reached out an arm to support her. Never had his nearness been so welcome, the sound of his voice so comforting. His arm about her waist felt heavy and warm, giving her sympathy, assuring her without words of protection. In a daze she allowed him to lead her outside to where Godfrey and a sorrowful Thomas waited with the horses.

Giving William a wild stare, she saw compassion in the depths of his eyes. Confusion and grief and pain overwhelmed her. She felt lost, as if all feeling had frozen inside her. Never had she felt so alone, and she did not like it. Now she had nothing but memories to sustain her. She wiped her eyes. Tears would not avail her, as she knew now, beyond the mercy of a doubt, for this one terrible hurt there was no cure at all.

‘This is my worst nightmare come true,' she whispered, feeling that the excruciating day's events seemed to have eaten into the deepest crannies of her mind. ‘This is all my fault. It's because of me that my uncle is dead. But how could I have known when I left Fryston Hall that it would mean disaster for my uncle? My stepfather has done this to punish me.'

Looking down at her, William saw her lovely eyes were filled with pain and guilt. Eleanor truly did blame herself for this. ‘You could not possibly have foreseen any of this, but this kind of malevolence from Atwood does not surprise me.' He turned towards his horse. ‘Come, we must be on our way. We still have a long ride ahead of us. You will be safe at Staxton Hall, Eleanor.'

He spoke with a confidence he did not truly feel, for he feared greatly for his family and prayed Atwood's men had not wreaked the same devastation at Staxton Hall as they had at Hollymead.

When his words penetrated Eleanor's mind, she stared at him perplexedly. ‘Staxton Hall? But—why should I go to Staxton Hall? There is nothing for me there.'

‘And there is no longer anything for you here,' William
countered. ‘Your uncle has placed you in my care and I intend to honour his wish.'

‘No, William,' she protested in anguish, shaking her head as she edged away from him. ‘No, no, no! How can you ask that of me? I—I won't go. I don't want to; besides, I have no stomach to ride further—and neither has Tilda. She is quite worn out.'

A grim smile cast a disagreeable light over William's face. ‘Whether you want to go or not is beside the point. This is not the moment to play at preferences. I have told you that you are going to Staxton Hall and such is my impatience to be on my way I am in no mood to argue the matter.'

Suspecting she was about to have a fight on her hands, Eleanor tried to steady the thunderous beating of her heart. Lifting her eyes, she saw there was a new tension in his body, a new tightness about his jaw. There was also a challenging glint in his eyes, but this was one aspect of their arrangement she would not give in on. She felt the dull ache in her chest grow as she contemplated the severe, determined expression on his face, and with trepidation slicing through her she felt her skin prickle.

‘I shall go back to Hollymead,' she persisted determinedly, struggling to keep her voice steady. ‘I know Walter will come to live there, but it's my home and I will not go anywhere else.'

‘Give it up, Eleanor. You cannot go back to Hollymead. Surely you can see that.' There was cool reason in William's voice, despite his impatience to be away.

She shot him a dark look, annoyed by his high-handedness. ‘I shall do just as I like. You knew we would separate when we reached York, and as far as I am concerned nothing has changed.'

‘You're wrong. Everything is changed. There is nothing to go back to. There is nothing left.'

Eleanor could feel her own anger boiling up inside her. How dare he feel he had the right to tell her what to do, as if he had a perfect right to do so? How dare he shout at her, order her about as though she were his to direct? She did her best
to hold in her resentment, but it was hard and her expression was icy. Up until now he had been considerate, in fact what she would have done without his help she couldn't imagine, but that did not mean he could suddenly become responsible for her as he seemed to be doing.

‘Do not start laying down the law and telling me what I should and should not do, William. I am quite capable of running my own life. Hollymead isn't burned down entirely. From what I saw, some of it is still habitable. In time it will be rebuilt, but in the meantime there is work to be done, land to be worked.'

William stared at her. So great was his astonishment and anger at her refusal to comply he could scarcely speak. ‘By others, not by you. What are you going to do? Learn to wield a plough?'

Eleanor drew herself up haughtily and what might have been a snarl curled her top lip. She turned from William and stamped her foot, and even her hair seemed to swirl in defiance. ‘If I have to. I will do anything I have to. I will go back to Hollymead,' she told him flatly. ‘Please let that be the end of the matter.'

William grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, his voice like an angry whiplash. ‘It is far from it,' he ground out. His face paled, the rush of furious blood beneath his skin ebbing away at the implication of her statement, her insufferable stubbornness. With clenched jaw and his fists balled at his sides, he towered over her, hating having to press her at a time like this—in fact, his heart went out to her—but he must be firm if they were to reach Staxton Hall before dark. He could not allow her to fall to pieces.

‘William!' she flared wildly, her anxieties written in deep lines on her face. ‘I have to stay here. This is my home. You don't understand,' she cried. ‘How can you? You—who have a loving family waiting for you at Staxton Hall. I have no one. No one. I must reconcile myself to a life of desolation and learn to fend for myself.'

‘With your family gone, then all the more reason for you to come with me. Do not pity yourself, Eleanor. You are above that. You cannot stay here. You cannot go back. So you must go forward. With me.'

‘And if I've no desire to go to your home?' Her tone issued a definite, defiant challenge.

‘If you want to remain safe, then I can see no alternative.'

‘You can go to the devil, William Marston, and take your offer of a home with you.'

Reaching out and gripping her upper arms, he shook her hard. ‘Will you stop it, Eleanor. Stop it at once.' His face was as maddened as hers. ‘Prepare to leave or I will lift you on to that damn beast myself.'

‘You would not dare.'

‘Try me,' he stated icily, ‘and you will see how much I would dare.'

She looked at him uncomprehendingly. His strong, handsome face had become stern and uncompromising. She was beginning to know that look. Its power was not to be underestimated. He was angry with her, and his words brought a pain to her heart that was sharper than a blade. But she kept it at bay—there would be time to feel later. Her flaring anger quelled under the silver stare and, lowering her eyes, she continued on a calmer note.

‘But why must I go there? Why can I not go back to Hollymead? There are people there who were dependent on my uncle for their livelihood. What is to become of them?'

‘Might I make a suggestion,' Thomas interrupted, stepping forward. ‘You are right, Mistress Collingwood, there are dependents who will need taking care of. I could take care of things—as I have been doing for the past twenty years—until Sir John's son arrives. I can help find situations for those who need them—and see your uncle laid to rest. The ceremony will be in accordance with the instructions he passed on to me when I brought him here. I would be more than happy to
remove the worry of such a matter from your mind. I will look after Hollymead.'

Having already made up his mind that Thomas was a man to be trusted, someone to be relied on, William gripped the older man's shoulder gratefully.

‘Thank you, Thomas, that would be helpful. I'm sure Mistress Collingwood would appreciate that. You know where she will be if you need to contact her. When we reach Staxton Hall, I will send someone to assist with the formalities. I will write and notify Sir John's son about his father's death. But we have to leave now. I suspect the men Atwood sent to do this dastardly deed may have gone there. My mother and sisters are without male protection and may be in mortal danger.'

Eleanor's eyes flew to his. ‘Danger? I don't understand.'

William's lips curled with irony. ‘For an intelligent young woman, Eleanor, you are behaving irresponsibly, which outweighs all common sense. Where do you think those men have gone? Back to London?' He shook his head. ‘I don't think so. If you will not think of yourself, then consider what this delay could mean for my family. Your dithering is putting them in danger.'

‘But why? It's me my stepfather wants to avenge.'

‘And me.'

‘You? But why?'

‘Because I took you away. Because I know too much about him—and because he has an old score to settle. Now get on your horse and we'll get on our way. Sir John is dead and my family is alive and in danger. Good God, Eleanor, you know what Atwood is capable of. He will stop at nothing to achieve his ends. We must go to Staxton Hall. Time is pressing.'

Eleanor fingered the red bead in the pocket of her doublet as she faced him, and she could not restrain the tears that came into her eyes.

‘Eleanor.' William's wrath ebbed as he confronted that misty gaze. He laid a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to
console her. ‘I can only imagine what you are going through, and please, God, I don't want to experience the same when I get to Staxton Hall.'

Suddenly ashamed, within his eyes Eleanor noticed something now she hadn't before—a profound fear. There was also an extreme anxiety, and a hint of something she had not seen before. Some terrible pain had him in its grip, and suddenly she realised his desperation to get to home and why. Of course he was anxious about his family, and she was beginning to realise he had reason. Bowing her head, she felt her shoulders slump in capitulation.

‘Yes—yes, of course. You are right. It is selfish of me to think of myself when your entire family is in danger, but listen to me, William,' she said, raising her eyes to his, thinking that he looked older, the lines on his face seeming to have deepened. ‘You may force me to go with you, if that is your desire, but you will not assume authority over me. Why you had to agree to such a ridiculous request is quite beyond me.'

Leaning forward until his face was only inches from her own, William looked directly into her eyes. ‘Two reasons. One, because your uncle was dying and I wanted him to die with an easy mind, and, two, because I felt obligated.'

‘You needn't,' she said coolly. ‘You owe me nothing.'

‘Not to you. Your uncle.'

‘Of course. I'm sorry,' she whispered weakly, contrite. ‘William, I don't mean to be difficult about this.'

‘I know that. I do understand why you want to stay, believe me, but you must understand why I have to go to Staxton Hall and why I cannot leave you here alone. I am seriously concerned for your safety. Atwood wants you, Eleanor. Do you think he will give up?