Love at First Sight (26 page)

“I find I have little desire for food,” Golde said.

He allowed his gaze to travel to her face. “What must I do for you to accept my apology? Prostrate myself and kiss you toes? I did not mean to be abrupt yesterday, and I will admit that my excuse sounds full of bull’s wind. Truth tell, I was overtired after the hard ride from the king’s reception.”

“Then why did you not wait until this morn to return, as you’d planned?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. “Important matters to attend,” she whined.

“Aye,” he growled. “And I would not have to ride around in the dead of night were it not for the precautions I must take to ensure against another attack.”

If she had been angry before, she fair seethed now. “You are a fool to take such risks. Think you any matters are more important than your life?”

“What would you suggest?” he returned hotly.

“Should I clothe myself in full armor day and night? Lock myself in my chambers? Mayhap I should surround myself at all times with a contingent of liegemen.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “’Twould be dimwitted, I suppose, to attempt to determine who is conspiring against me, that I might rid the earth of their wretched hides.”

Abruptly her features crumpled and she turned away.

Christ’s bones! She made him feel lower than a worm’s belly. And he had done naught.

He took a deep breath, prepared to command her to wipe the broken look from her face, then clamped his teeth together. Witless get of an idiot. He was supposed to be blind. But God’s blood, her actions were becoming more annoying by the moment.

Careful to speak evenly, he inquired, “What is this sudden concern for my welfare?”

She glanced around, and he froze at the naked despair mirrored in her eyes. He ordered his features to remain blank, to show no hint of shock, while his thoughts scrambled to make sense of her misery. She could not possibly summon such a bleak look on command. ’Twas as if death had claimed her closest kin.

Ignoring his question about her feelings for his welfare, she asked, “Did you not wish to speak with me?”

It sounded as if she were about to cry, so low and husky was her voice.

“’Tis not so important it cannot wait,” he mumbled, unable to ask any questions that might further disturb her.

“Then, by your leave.” She rose and headed for the door.

“A moment,” he called, anxious for her to stay a little longer. “Are you not interested in the events at Atherbrook?”

She did not break stride. “Perhaps some other time.”

“You do not wish to hear how John, the Mad Breton, entertained us?”

She paused at the door and he hurried on, unaccountably desperate to cheer her. “It seems his wife had flown into a rage when he’d danced with a serving wench the night before. She’d thrown his clothing out the window of the second-floor hall and refused to fetch them for him the next day. You can imagine her embarrassment when he took his seat for dinner, wearing not a stitch, remarking on how drafty he found the king’s castle.”

She glanced over her shoulder and gave a smile, but ’twas so brittle he feared her lips might crack.

“Mistress, if you please,” he persisted when she opened the door. “I can see—tell you are distraught by your tone. What is amiss?”

Though her back was to him, he saw her raise a hand and swipe at her face.

“Nothing.” ’Twas almost a gasp.

“There is one matter of pressing importance.”

Several moments passed before she slowly turned around and he saw resignation writ in her red-rimmed eyes. “Yes?” She made no move to come away from the door.

“I intended to ask ere now, but what with your injuries and all, it did not seem the best time.”

Her eyes grew lifeless, as did her tone. “If ’tis pressing, then I am at your service.”

Dread billowed in his gut and he took a deep breath. The time had come.

“Kindly recount for me, if you would, what my children told you concerning . . . their mother.”

She blinked, then surprise flashed across her face. Apprehension followed in its wake. “You would not hurt them for telling tales out of turn?”

For a moment he stared at her. She must think him a monster to ask such. He fought the inexplicable pain her words wrought. Why should it matter what she thought? “I ask, that I may remedy the damage they have suffered.”

G
OLDE SWALLOWED HARD
. She’d expected Gavarnie to hurl accusations at her, not ask after his children. She quickly relayed all she knew, anxious to be gone.

“As near as I can tell,” she concluded, “Alory fears de Warrenne will spirit you away, and he will never see you again.”

’Twas a dread of loss to which she could relate. Sperville would soon be seeing her to Atherbrook, and she would never see Gavarnie again.

“I have no doubt of your children’s love for you,” she couldn’t help but add. “’Twill work in your favor when you speak with them.”

There. She’d finished. She locked her trembling knees lest she collapse in a weeping heap. Though all she need do was turn and cross the threshold, she could not bring herself to leave. Gavarnie sat in brooding silence, still holding the piece of bread he’d torn from the loaf. Not once had he interrupted her with questions.

Why did he not defend himself? Tell her he’d not killed his wife? ’Twas what she longed to hear. Indeed, she prayed he would tell her it was all a mistake. A vast, ugly lie.

A muscle twitched in his jaw, an indication of his anger. Doubtless, he was busy casting aspersions against himself with no consideration for the many hours he’d spent caring for his children. ’Twas far more than most lords of the realm. Still, he said naught, just sat there, his face growing more swarthy with each passing moment.

“Mi’lord?” she queried softly.

At last he balled the bread in his fist and flung it against the wall. He rose to stride toward her, black death in his eyes.

“I can scarce credit that my children would say all this to you, when they have said nothing to me, or anyone else.”

Golde backed toward the corridor, feeling behind her for the door frame. Plague take her stupidity. She’d grown so accustomed to the charming Gavarnie, she’d forgotten his savage temper.

She spun and ran, scarce clearing three steps before he was upon her. Dragging her back inside the room, he pinned her against the wall beside one of the strange tapestries.

“’Twas you, and none other, who filled my children’s heads with such vicious tales.”

She started to struggle, to kick at his shins, then halted. ’Twas useless to pit her strength against his. ’Twould only fuel his fury.

She stared into his face. Darkened with heated blood, his jet eyes glowed like jewels in the midst of a fiery forge. Eyes that could see, but were blind to reason. Doubtless, he’d killed his wife while in just such a rage.

Drawing rein on the panic that threatened to overwhelm her, she forced an even tone. “Why would I tell your children such vicious tales?”

“Ha! You seek to poison my entire world with your scheming, deceitful tongue.”

She already knew exactly what he thought of her. Had heard it from his own lips yesterday. His words should not have the same cruel power as they had then, but she felt anew as if her soul were being ripped from her chest.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she could not conceal the ragged disillusionment in her voice. “How think you I would gain such information?”

“You are most adept at gaining all you desire,” he spat.

Her temper flared. ’Od rot the mean-hearted mucker. For once in her life, she’d placed another’s needs before her own. And this was her payment? He spoke of her as if she were some baseborn slut.

Her hand shot up to grip his grizzled chin. “Unholy bastard. You rant and rave like a demented demon, then wonder why your children say nothing to you? You brag before an entire village how you murdered their mother, but the deed has filled you to bursting with poison. Every time you open your mouth, it spews forth. Why do you think you lost your sight?”

The enraged look on his face appeared to collapse in upon itself.

She dug her fingers in his hard jaw to be certain she held his attention. “You have had a fortnight and more to ask your children what they told me. Instead, you come to me for answers, then seek to place the blame for their worries everywhere but where it belongs. And that is with yourself.”

His gaze solidified to frozen black emptiness. Dropping his hands, he stepped back.

“You are right, of course.” His voice was flat and spent. “My thanks for bringing the truth to my attention. Now, if you will, excuse me. I shall bathe, then set matters to rights with my children.”

At his deadened response, concern absorbed her anger. Had she pushed him to the brink of madness?

“Mi’lord, I did not mean—”

“If you would locate Roland and send him to me, I would be grateful.” He turned his back on her.

She pursed her lips. He’d directed his rage inward. Should she try to ease the self-loathing he obviously felt? She studied his rigid back.

Nay, she had brought his weaknesses to his attention. She turned and slipped from the room. He’d recognized the truth of her words, and someday he would truly be grateful.

Tears blinded her as she headed for the stairs. She’d lost him, irrevocably. Despite the fact he did not trust her, indeed, was convinced she was naught but a conniving slut, there had remained in her heart the small hope that she could convince him otherwise. ’Twould do her no good now.

Aye, he would appreciate her insight. But he would never be able to forgive her for it. He was far too proud.

She descended the steps, wiping her eyes. She must locate Sperville, that they could take immediate leave. The sooner she was gone from Skyenvic, the better she would feel.

G
AVARNIE RESTED
a booted heel on the lower slat of the pig pen. “Why did you say nothing until now?” he asked the swineherd.

“The witch-woman told me if I said aught, me seed would dry up and me shaft would wither ’til I had nothin’ to piss with.”

Nigel coughed, and Gavarnie hooked his thumbs in his sword belt while studying the ground. Humorous as Golde’s threats were, he could find no pleasure in them. Not now.

Three days had passed since she’d disappeared, and never had he felt such misery. ’Twas worse than the first day of her absence, when he’d feared she’d gone to back to New Market.

He returned his attention to the swineherd. “She gave you the coin to keep, regardless of the sow’s condition?”

“Aye. But like I said, I can’t be keepin’ it. Not after what she done. Who would o’ thought?”

The swineherd’s gaze traveled to the sow where she lay on her side, suckling her litter. “A dozen and seven,” he breathed reverently. “I’ll wager there arn’t another sow in the land wot’s had so many.”

Who would have thought, indeed. Gavarnie eyed the swineherd. For a peasant to surrender coin without being asked was a miracle unto itself.

“What is it you would have me do with this?” He gestured with the two silver pieces the man had pressed on him.

“Ye must give it back to the witch-woman, lest me good fortune turns bad. Would have done it meself, but she am’t been around.”

“Why would she give it to you in the first place?” Nigel demanded impatiently.

Abruptly the swineherd’s eyes shifted. “I—I—because I wouldn’t let her in the pen to tend the pig.”

The steward raised a brow. “What is this slop you attempt to feed us? The woman just happens to find the sow with a great splinter in her hind, then pays you to allow her to tend it? Come, my grimy friend. Let us have the truth.”

Ronces’ thin voice interrupted before the swineherd could reply. “’Twas no splinter. It was an arrow, shot from my bow.”

Gavarnie spun to face his son where he stood flanked by Alory and Nicolette. The three regarded him with a mix of looks. Alory appeared fearful, though determined. Nicolette’s small, square jaw jutted defiantly. Ronces’ features displayed the resignation of a sick old man who knew he was about to die.

“You shot the pig?” Gavarnie asked.