Rexanne Becnel (25 page)

She shifted and Corbett’s leg slid between hers. Much had passed between them this day, she realized. From mistrust and hate to hesitant belief, and then this unexpected, explosive passion. She yawned again as his head settled comfortably at the corner of her neck. Today had been a revelation. Tomorrow anything was possible.

But her first task would be to find her ring.

L
ADY VERONE GRASPED LILLIANE’S
hand weakly. In her pale face her eyes were huge and sunken, terrible evidence of the battle she fought. Her pains had begun in the early hours before dawn and were now coming with frightful regularity.

“Just hold on, Verone. It’s almost past. Just hold on,” Lilliane encouraged her suffering patient.

“Oh … oh …” The woman panted as the pain began finally to subside. Then she shifted her gaze to Lilliane’s stricken face. “Do not fret so, Lilliane. What God wills we must accept.”

“Don’t speak in such a manner. Your child may yet be strong and healthy.”

“Yes.” Verone closed her eyes in utter exhaustion. Her words were hardly more than a whisper. “Yes, I pray it will be so. But you must promise me …” At this she raised her eyelids once more.

“You know I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

“Then help my child,” Verone murmured. “If it’s a girl … William wants a son. He will be so displeased … Please, if it’s a girl, please take her to your heart. Raise her for me.”

Lilliane caught her breath at the finality in Verone’s words. “Why, you shall raise her yourself. Or him. William will want his child and his wife.”

Verone managed a wan smile then patted Lilliane’s hand. “He would want his son. But not a daughter. And I know I shall not be here.”

Despite her wish for it not to be so, Lilliane could not long deny the dire prophecy of Verone’s words. Neither Mother Grendella’s ministrations nor Father Denys’s prayers could alter the terrible progression of events.

By midafternoon Lilliane could no longer restrain her tears. Verone was slipping in and out of consciousness, her face a deathly white from her dreadful loss of blood. It was only when the babe’s head slipped free and then its tiny body followed that Verone managed to rouse from her delirium.

“Bring her … to me …” she murmured as Grendella hastily separated the child from the cord, then swaddled it in the waiting linen cloths. “Let me see.”

Lilliane took the wee bundle into her arms and bent close to Verone. “Look at her, Verone. You see? You have a beautiful little girl. She’s tiny but she’s perfect.”

“She breathes well?”

“Oh, yes,” Lilliane answered through the tears that choked her. “She let out a lusty cry when she made her entrance into this world. She is strong and—” Lilliane’s voice broke and she could not continue. Grendella moved quickly to her side and laid the baby in the curve of Verone’s arm. Disturbed, the tiny girl let out a small cry of protest. But she calmed almost at once.

Verone’s lips were almost blue and she trembled from a sudden chill. But she smiled at the tiny cry of her child. “Remember, Lilliane. Remember that I’ve given her to you now. Elyse is yours.”

Then, as if content at last, Verone let go of her last hold on life.

That women died often in childbirth was hardly unknown to Lilliane. Her own mother had gone in just such a fashion. Yet Lilliane had felt a bond with Verone that she was not willing to sever, and she could not accept her death.

“Grendella!” she cried in panic. “Quick! We must rouse her. If we keep her alert she can fight it and—”

“It is too late to help her in this world, Lilliane. She needs only your prayers now.” Then Grendella lifted the sleeping baby from her mother’s still embrace and placed her in Lilliane’s arms. “Take the baby from here. She needs a nursing mother to nourish her, but for now take her to your own chamber.”

Lilliane was too numb to protest. When Ferga took her arm and led her from the room, she followed along meekly. As they crossed the great hall, William approached her. He had been freed from his chamber for Lady Verone’s sake, although Lilliane knew Corbett would prefer to banish him from Orrick completely. Now William looked more annoyed than anything else.

“She bore me a daughter, then,” he remarked, sparing only a glance for the swaddled child.

“Yes,” Lilliane whispered, staring at him through tear-blurred eyes. “You have a daughter but—” She faltered, then placed one hand on William’s arm. “Verone is gone, William. I am so sorry to tell you that she died in the birthing.”

William was silent and his eyes stared unseeingly across the quiet hall. Then he focused back on Lilliane. “Did she ask you?”

“To raise the baby?” Lilliane took a shaky breath, then nodded as she stared at the tiny features of the child.

“And will you?” he prodded.

“Of course I will.” Lilliane looked up earnestly at William. “Unless you wish her raised elsewhere.”

“Oh, no. No. If that’s what Verone wanted.”

Lilliane had not expected such a rush of relief at his agreement. She hugged the child more closely to her. “I’ll raise her as my own. She’ll grow to be a fine lady. You’ll see.”

“If your husband allows it,” William cut in sarcastically.

It was just that comment that was worrying Lilliane not an hour later. She had left the child in her chamber under Ferga’s motherly eye. After giving instructions for the care of Verone’s body, she had then hurriedly washed and groomed herself. Corbett would return soon, and she knew it would not be easy to gain his approval to keep little Elyse.

Lilliane paused as she thought of the poor child. William had not asked a word after his daughter’s well-being, not even asking about her name. Lilliane twisted the trailing ends of her girdle in agitation as she pondered the matter. It was true he had just lost his wife. She’d heard that some men blamed the babe for the mother’s loss. But she could not condone such a callous attitude. As she thought of that tiny puckered face, so innocent of any blame, she could not accept William’s coldness toward his own child.

Her musings were quickly turned away from William’s lack of feelings for his new daughter, however. From her place near the hearth in the great hall she clearly heard the ringing sound of heavy hooves upon the stone paving outside. Corbett and his knights had returned. Her heart began to race as she contemplated how she might approach her husband on this delicate subject.

It didn’t make her plight easier to think of their passionate lovemaking of the night before. She’d not truly faced him since then as she’d risen early to attend Verone. Now as he strode confidently across the smooth stone floor, she felt a blush rise on her cheeks.

“Ah, just as any man could wish, I am met in the evening by my good lady wife.” Corbett grinned dryly at her, then casually lifted one of her hands to his lips. “’Tis certainly an improvement over the greetings I received yesterday.”

“My … my lord,” Lilliane began in a faltering voice.

“I have a name. Will you not use it?” His face was half serious, half mocking as he stroked her cheek with one finger. But his expression became concerned when he saw the sadness in her eyes. “What troubles you, Lily? Does your patient yet suffer?”

“My patient … Lady Verone is beyond all suffering now. It is her motherless child who …” Lilliane could not finish. She turned to hide her weeping from Corbett, but he caught her by the shoulders and pulled her against his chest. At his tender gesture the last of her composure fled. Unmindful of the servants and retainers in the hall, Lilliane buried her face in her husband’s broad chest and wept.

“Hush. Hush, love. Please don’t cry so, Lily.”

But Corbett’s compassion only seemed to increase her sorrowful outburst. Curled within his powerful arms, she clung to his wide chest. He was strong and reliable, something stable to hold on to while she was falling apart. She’d had to be strong for everyone else, but he would be strong for her.

Corbett sat her on his lap with her head against his shoulder. There was something wonderfully comforting about the way he held her, Lilliane realized as she struggled to contain her sobs. It was as if she might actually mean something to him.

Hesitantly she lifted her face from his now-damp tunic. In the hall the servants peeped curiously at their lord and lady, but she did not care. It was her husband’s concerned expression that drew her, no other’s.

“Are you calmer, then?” Corbett’s slate-gray eyes searched her face. Then he smoothed a loose strand of her thick chestnut hair away from her cheek.

Not quite trusting her voice, Lilliane nodded, then wiped at her damp eyes.

“Can you tell me now what has caused this flood of tears? I thought you hardly knew Lady Verone, save for the past weeks.”

Lilliane took a shaky breath. She was grateful for Corbett’s tender concern, but she wondered how well he would react to her request. Still, there was nothing to do but to ask.

“Lady Verone managed to bring forth her child before she—” She stopped, then continued on determinedly. “The baby is tiny but perfect. Healthier than ever we could have hoped.”

“At least William may take some comfort in that.”

Lilliane stared at Corbett, wondering how to best ask him her question. She had left his side before dawn, but he had addressed her before she’d slipped away to Verone’s chamber. His voice had been husky and warm. Clearly he’d wanted her to stay, but he’d let her go when he knew her task. It was only when she’d paused and asked him to let William attend his suffering wife that his mood had cooled. Still, he’d reluctantly done as she asked, and now she took heart at that knowledge.

“Verone asked me to raise the child.”

Beneath her hand she felt Corbett tense, but when he spoke he remained reasonable. “No doubt William will want to take his son with him when he departs.”

“’Tis a daughter he has,” Lilliane revealed. “And he has already agreed.”

Her words were followed by a terrible silence. As it lengthened she grew more and more uncomfortable.

“It is not such a great thing, nor so very rare,” she argued more determinedly. “Many children are raised in the homes of others.”

Still he did not speak.

When she could finally bear his silence no more, Lilliane moved to stand. But Corbett stayed her on his lap with one brawny arm about her waist.

He fixed her with his sharp stare. “Why would he agree?”

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered.

“Don’t you?” Corbett commented enigmatically. Without warning he placed her on her feet, then rose from the chair. “William and his child will leave as soon as it is safe for the little one to travel.”

“Oh, no!” Lilliane grabbed her husband’s arm before he could turn and leave. “There is no cause for you to be so cruel!”

“Cruel?” His scarred brow lifted sardonically. “Is it cruel to let a child live with her natural parent? William will no doubt marry again. Let his new wife raise the child.”

His eyes were hard as he dared her to respond.

But Lilliane would not waver and she met his suspicious stare with an honest reply. “It would be cruel to me.”

“Pray explain that,” he said with a growl. But he did not step away.

“I cannot precisely explain it,” Lilliane admitted. “It’s just that … when I held her …” She stared at him beseechingly.

Corbett searched her face then pulled her nearer with a hand on each of her shoulders. “You’re just tenderhearted, Lily. It is natural that you should want a child in your arms. But God willing, we shall have one of our own soon enough. Content yourself with that.”

“But she has no mother!” Lilliane cried. “I have asked you for nothing before this. Nothing.”

“That’s not true. You asked me for your freedom that night at the cottage. Or rather, you demanded it.”

Lilliane’s brow creased and she bowed her head. “Please give me this child, Corbett. I cannot explain how she has touched my heart. I fear for her. Her father does not want her, but I do. If you give me nothing else, please give me this.”

“I gave you a ring but you—”

“I have it,” she broke in, raising her hand to show him the heavy silver and meridian band. “You see?”

Corbett stared at the ring, then finally turned his somber gaze back on her. She knew her request troubled him deeply, but she sensed that he might be wavering.

“Please, Corbett,” she pleaded unashamedly. “I know I have much to atone for—”

“But will you atone for it?”

Lilliane nodded slowly. “I’ll be a good mistress to Orrick, if you let me and … and a good wife to you.”

Corbett’s lips compressed tightly and he looked away from her. His gaze swept the now-deserted hall before he looked down at Lilliane’s sincere face. “I hope you mean all you say, Lily.”

“I do,” she whispered, fearing to believe the acquiescence in his voice.

“Then keep the child.”

“Oh, Corbett!” Without pausing to think, she threw her arms around his neck and pressed a grateful kiss against his mouth. If he was startled by her reaction, however, Corbett was not tardy in enjoying her gratitude. His arms held her close against his hard body as he responded to her innocent kiss.

Lilliane was even more surprised than Corbett by her behavior. When she felt his lips move over hers she struggled to regain her composure, but by then it was too late. Corbett’s kiss was hungry as he teased her lips apart, and his hand was bold as it slipped down to cup her bottom.

“Oh, Corbett, you must stop this,” she whispered urgently, casting her eyes wildly about for witnesses to their byplay.

“Must I?” he murmured huskily in her ear. “When you throw your arms around me, when you kiss me so passionately and whisper my name so sweetly, can you truly mean for me to stop?”

Lilliane could not prevent her blush as she realized how forward she must appear. She knew well the pleasure to be had in his arms. Despite his stern appearance, he had proven on more than one occasion that he could be most tender when need be.

Nonetheless, she hardly thought it wise to hand him yet another means of control over her. She was supremely relieved when the noisy entrance of a group of knights brought them abruptly apart.