Rexanne Becnel (42 page)

Lilliane screamed in terror as Corbett tumbled back under the onslaught. Like a man berserk William followed him down, and the two men lurched to the side as each one struggled to gain the advantage.

Hughe did not delay in joining the battle. With a razor-sharp dagger he struck out at Corbett. Lilliane nearly swooned at the blood-curdling cry of pain. But it was not Corbett whose blood gushed forth upon the moss-covered stone. In the last moment before Hughe’s deathblow had come, Corbett had twisted away. The blade had buried itself in William’s side, leaving the two brothers alone in the fight.

At once Hughe lifted his sword, but Corbett was too swift. In one lithe movement he was on his feet, his own wicked blade at the ready.

“You devil!” Hughe screamed. “The heathens should have finished you off long ago!”

“Why do you want me dead? It’s more than just Edward. It’s me. But why? Why!”

“Because you were Father’s favorite. I knew it, you knew it. Everyone knew he would have left you Colchester if he could have!”

It was clearly the last thing Corbett had expected, and at his stunned expression Hughe began to laugh.

“Ah, yes. You thought I didn’t know. Well, neither did he. But in the end he admitted it.”

Lilliane was huddled in the crevice, confused by Hughe’s rantings. He is mad, she thought. But that only made him more dangerous than ever.

“What do you mean, ‘he admitted it’? Our father never played favorites. He expected the same from us both. But then, you’ve never been one to be content with merely equal treatment.”

Hughe’s face became smug. “You see. Even your words mimic his. But you’re both wrong. I showed him who had the strength and cunning to lead Colchester. Now I shall show you who will lead all of northern England.”

At that he feinted to the left and reached deep with his sword. But Corbett was ready and deftly parried the stroke.

“How did you show him?” Corbett asked in a grim, even tone. “How did you show him your strength and your cunning?”

Hughe smiled evilly. “He fell when we were hunting. You remember the day. He fell and called for help. It was almost too easy. With a single stone I crushed the life from him.”

His smile faded uneasily as he recalled the crime. “He said you’d learn of it. But you never did. You believed my accusation of Lord Barton just like everyone else did. But it was me. Me!”

For a moment Corbett let down his guard. His brother’s confession far exceeded his expectations of Hughe’s depravity. His voice was raw with emotion as he faced Hughe. “It was yours anyway. Colchester was yours. Why did you do it?”

“To show him that I had the stomach to do whatever was needed. I showed him. Now I’ll show you.”

With a cry that sounded more like a beast’s than a man’s, he lunged forward. Metal crashed against metal. Muscle strained against muscle. Then one of them slipped on a loose stone and they both fell in a twisting tangle of limbs and swords.

Lilliane heard Corbett’s grunt of pain. She saw the sudden dark stain upon his thigh. Then he gave a mighty heave and sent Hughe flying over his shoulder. But when the two men scrambled to their feet, Corbett had his back to a cliff that fell sharply to the valley below.

Hughe could hardly catch his breath, yet he chuckled when he realized his advantage. “So the end has come. The end for you, that is. For me it’s the beginning.”

“What of Lilliane?” Corbett interrupted him. “And the child. Will you kill them both? How will you explain that? Then there are my men. How will you explain the attack on them?”

At Hughe’s confused expression Corbett taunted him further. “You have lost everything, Hughe. Your greed has ruined all your plans.”

Hughe looked from Corbett to Lilliane then past him to the river far below. Without warning he suddenly lunged toward Corbett, his long steel blade aimed straight at his brother’s heart.

Lilliane screamed at the move, but Corbett seemed to have expected it. With a quick twist of his body he dodged the vicious blow.

Hughe tried to swing around and finish him off, but in the dark he had misjudged. His foot pivoted but then it slipped over the edge. With a high-pitched shriek he disappeared from sight.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Lilliane was too shocked to react. She could only stare at Corbett, who was peering over the rim of the cliff. Then he sagged and went down on one knee.

In an instant she laid the baby’s basket down and was at his side, hugging him to her and trying frantically to pull him away from the dangerous edge of the stone outcropping.

“Corbett! Corbett!” she cried over and over again, holding him as close to her as was humanly possible. Tears streamed down her face as she kissed his cheeks, his eyes, his lips. He was trembling from exertion and pain as well as from the terrible trauma of the last minutes. But he quickly enveloped her in his arms and held her fast against him.

“I thought I’d lost you. I love you, Lily. My God, I love you! I couldn’t bear to lose you. I never want to be without you!”

“You never will. You never will. I’d die if I couldn’t be with you forever! I love you, I’ll always love you!”

They were the perfect words of love. Lilliane’s heart filled with the wonder of it all. How long had she waited to say them? How long had she prayed to hear him say them to her? Forever, it seemed, yet now they were said. He loved her. She could hardly believe it and yet … she knew it was true.

In the dark, in the cold, with little Elyse beginning to wail and the sound of Dunn’s bellow from the base of the Middling Stone, she managed a smile.

“I want to go home, Corbett. I want us to go home to Orrick together.”

Hand by hand we

shule us take,

And joy and blisse

shule we make …

Anonymous medieval verse

L
ILLIANE STOOD AT THE
edge of the field. The barley was beginning to ripen and in the warm summer breeze the field undulated like a gentle, golden lake. Along the narrow brook that bordered the field, Magda and Ferga had spread a blanket for the babies. Now both maids were fast asleep, as were their little charges. Even old Thomas who had accompanied them was dozing as he leaned back against a sturdy beech tree, his fishing line forgotten in his hands.

In the lulling warmth of the late August sunshine everyone was relaxed and content. Everyone except Lilliane.

She’d walked along the brook for a while, tossing leftover bits of bread to the fish and the ducks. But her restless mood would not abate, and now she had circled all the way to the road.

Lilliane held back a wind-blown tendril of hair from her cheek as she stared down the smooth worn road. Since first waking she’d been sure Corbett would return today. She had known it with a certainty that would not be shaken. Yet now, as the sun began its slow, western decline, her hopes were beginning to fade.

How she longed for him. He had been gone almost four weeks now, off to London to meet with Edward and attend his coronation. She’d not accompanied him due to the recent birth of their little boy. But each night she’d prayed for his safe return, and every morning she had knelt again in the hope that this would be the day.

With a heavy sigh she looked down at the dusty road. It was just as well he did not come today, she thought as she stared at her two bare feet. She’d long ago cast off her slippers; her feet were muddy; the hem of her apple-green linen gown was still wet; and her hair was an impossible tangle. After his weeks at court amid the grandest lords and ladies of the land, he was sure to find her pitifully rustic.

Feeling quite sorry for herself, she began to walk along the road, kicking aimlessly at an occasional stone. It was not until she felt the rumbling of the ground beneath her feet and heard the heavy thunder of hooves that she came out of gloomy thoughts and spun around.

Coming toward her at a headlong pace was a lone rider upon a huge, dark destrier. With a happy cry Lilliane brought her hands to her cheeks. She did not need to see his face to know it was Corbett.

She stood there in the middle of the road, a slender, dusty figure with her skirts lifting in the breeze and the afternoon sun glinting red and gold in her long, wild hair. As he bore down on her she felt as if every happiness in the world had somehow been bestowed upon her.

Then Corbett was there, flinging himself down from Qismah before the winded steed had even stopped and catching her in his arms in a fierce embrace.

“Oh, my love. My love! It seemed you would never return!”

His reply was lost in a long, stirring kiss that left them both breathless. When he finally pulled a little away, Lilliane ran her hand tenderly along his lean cheek then rubbed one finger along the beard stubble on his chin.

“I have missed you …” Her voice choked with emotion, and in embarrassment she bowed her head against his broad chest. The intensity of her emotions was almost frightening as she savored the wonderful feel of him and the familiar scent of him, flavored now with leather and dust and horses. She loved him so!

With a low chuckle Corbett tilted her face back up to his. “And here I feared that I might find the castle barred against me once again.”

Lilliane tried to give him a reproachful look, but it was lost in her happy tears. “You know I can deny you nothing,” she whispered.

Corbett stared deep into her eyes, his own eyes a vivid gray, as clear as crystal. “All I shall ever want is your love; just never deny me that.”

“You shall always have it.”

Their lips met again and this time she felt as if he were devouring her whole. With his lips and his tongue, with an urgency that bordered on pain, he took her and she was more than willing. If she could have she would have sunk down upon the road and showed him her welcome and her love in every way possible. But it was Corbett who, with a groan of agony, tore himself away from their passionate embrace.

“My God, how I have longed for you!” His callused hand smoothed along her russet curls. “I love you, Lily. I love you with an intensity that tortures me.” Then he took a shaky breath and smiled ruefully. “Unfortunately, my men are not too far behind me.”

Lilliane laughed in pure happiness. “Yes, we must behave more properly. After all, Dane and Elyse are both sleeping nearby.” She waved her hand toward the brook. “And of course Magda and Ferga and Thomas—”

She shrieked as he scooped her up and spun her around and around. “You may not put me off for long, wife.”

“Nor do I intend to,” she whispered as she began to nibble on his ear.

With another groan he put her down, but he kept his arm around her as they began to walk toward the brook. The barley parted peacefully as they walked, then easily filled back in after they had passed. In the distance the walls of Orrick gleamed brightly as the sun spread its golden haze over the valley.

She had been back a full year, Lilliane realized as they walked along arm in arm. It was a year since Tullia had begged her to return. A year since a huge, scarred knight had descended on Orrick, demanding his betrothal rights to her. A year of strife and sorrow and even terror. Yet rising from it had come the peace and happiness her father had always wanted for his valley.

Still, that would mean nothing without the love she’d found. With a contented sigh she leaned her head against Corbett’s strong shoulder and felt his grasp tighten warmly about her. She was home at last.

Rexanne Becnel is the author of more than twenty historical romance and contemporary mainstream novels, many of which appeared on the
USA Today
bestseller list. With the publication of her first novel,
My Gallant Enemy
, Becnel won the Waldenbooks Award for Best First-Time Romance Author and the Romantic Times Award for Best Medieval Romance by a New Author. While growing up, Becnel lived for a time in Germany and England, where she became fascinated by medieval history. After studying architecture at the University of Southwestern Louisiana, she worked as a building inspector for the Vieux Carré Commission, the agency of the City of New Orleans charged with protecting and preserving the distinct architectural and historic character of the French Quarter. Becnel lives in New Orleans with her husband and two children.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1990 by Rexanne Becnel

cover design by Julianna Lee

978-1-4804-0954-5

This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media

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New York, NY 10014

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