Stuart, Elizabeth (36 page)

"Ah,
a woman who wastes no time reaching a point." De Veasy took her arm,
leading her down the corridor. "I'm finding we have much in common, Lady
Elen. You intrigue me no end."

She
longed to jerk her arm away, but decided to humor the man instead. "Word
has it the Baron of Ravensgate is a man who follows his purpose to completion.
I ask again... what has that to do with me?"

De
Veasy's dark eyebrows rose consideringly. "Very well. I'll be honest with
you in hopes we'll deal better together. It didn't escape my notice you bear
little love for Richard Basset. And I've already learned he keeps you here
against your will. Perhaps something could be arranged to help you go where you
would."

Elen's
heart began an unsteady beating. She must move carefully, very carefully.
"Oh? And what must I do for this 'arrangement,' as you call it, to take
place?"

"I'm
not certain of that as yet, but one never knows what opportunities may
arise." De Veasy smiled darkly, drawing her to a halt in the shelter of an
empty doorway. "I'd have you know I can be generous to those who aid
me."

Elen
veiled her contempt with a downward sweep of heavy leashes. The man thought her
a fool and she would not disabuse him. "I can't imagine you should need
help from anyone, sir."

He
chuckled. "You play the game well, sweet. I can see why Basset won't let
you go." He leaned his shoulder against the door, effectively blocking her
way. One finger touched her cheek, then trailed slowly down her throat and
across her breast. "Think on my words, Elen. Sir Richard may not always be
master here. As I said, I could be generous... very generous to a woman like
you."

***

In
the hall below, Richard drew his eyes reluctantly from the doorway where Elen
had just disappeared.

"I
know you're wondering why we've come, Richard."

He
forced himself to attend to his father.

"The
truth is, I've been ill. So ill the leech doubted my recovery."

Richard
leaned forward with a frown. "How is it I wasn't told?"

"You've
more important problems than the health of an old man. And I'd not blame you if
you'd little concern at that," Sir John admitted with a wry smile.

Richard
started to protest, but his father shook his head. "Hear me, Richard. I've
much on my mind and have traveled far to speak some part at least. I've long
wished to see you but you've avoided Waybridge." He glanced up. "Not
that I blame you. But since my fever, I've feared my days might be short. This
blessed hope of your marriage and de Veasy's offer to escort us here seemed an
answer to my prayer."

Ignoring
the comment on his marriage, Richard raised his eyebrows sardonically.
"Yes, I wonder at de Veasy's sudden interest in my family." He rose
and paced the floor. "He can have Philip with my good will, but he'll have
no say in any suitor put forward for Isabel. Sweet Jesus, he'd find the worst
brute in England just to spite me!"

"Sit
down, Richard," Sir John said dryly. "I'm aware there's no love lost
between you two. You've contributed at least half of Isabel's dower settlement
over the years. You'll have your say in choice of her husband."

Richard
hesitated, staring suspiciously at his father. "You swear it? Even if
Jeanne urges differently."

Sir
John sighed. "Yes, Richard. I swear it."

The
older man waited as Richard returned to his seat. "Like you, I've no
liking for the baron's influence on Philip. It was good at first. The boy came
out from behind his mother's skirts, acted the man at last. But now..."
Sir John's green eyes narrowed. "Now, what I see I don't like. And when I
try to talk to him, Philip puffs up like an angry goose."

Richard
shrugged. "Philip will become a man in his own way. I doubt there's aught
you can say now to change his course."

"True.
But perhaps you could, Richard. Despite the trouble between you, Philip has
long looked up to you."

Richard
gave a bitter laugh. "You know little of your own sons, Father."

Sir
John shook his head. "When Philip was small, he idolized you, but you'd
have naught to do with him then. It was his mother's jealousy that filled his
mind with foolishness." He broke off with a frown. "Well, that's done
now and no use thinking what might have been different. But I ask you to take
an interest in him, Richard. I'd like to think things might be different
between you someday."

"I've
nothing against Philip," Richard said slowly, surprised to find the words
actually true. "I'm glad to see him accomplish something. He won his spurs
at Walmsley and acquitted himself well at a skirmish or two in the south, so
I'm told."

"Then
tell him that. He'd never admit it, but praise from you means a lot to the
boy."

Richard
shrugged. "I make no promises, but I'll do what I can."

"Good."
Sir John clasped his large, square hands on the table, sending his son a
sidelong glance. "There's another matter I would speak of for I've a need
to set things right in my family."

He
hesitated. "I know I've not been the best of fathers, Richard. In some
ways I've been a rare fool. When you were young, I spent the years fighting for
Henry. I thought there'd be time to know my son later. But when your mother
died, I realized I'd lost something—something I longed to recapture." He
took a deep breath, as if gathering strength. "I loved her, Richard, I
loved her with all my heart though you may not believe that."

"So
much so you sought sweet solace before the year was out," Richard remarked
cynically.

Sir
John's eyes rose to the unforgiving gaze of his son. "I don't expect you
to understand, Richard. I don't even ask it. You've not yet learned what it is
to love and lose what you hold most dear. The world was a bitter place for me
then. I was fighting for honor when it was denied those of our blood. I was
fighting to hold my land and keep bread in my family's mouth. And suddenly, I'd
lost all that made the fight worthwhile."

Richard
held his breath, suppressing the painful ache that cut through him even now.
"But you had a son."

"Yes,
I had a son. A son I loved dearly, though I thought it foolish to tell him so.
I'm a soldier, an unlettered man. I'm no good with words—was even worse
then." Sir John paused, but Richard didn't speak.

"Then
Jeanne came along and gave me another reason for living. She saw to my needs,
saw to my household." He sent Richard a keen glance. "You see only
the bad in her, Richard, but there's much good there too. She's been a fine
wife to me and, if not always wise, a loving mother to her own children at
least. She gave me peace and comfort."

He
glanced away sheepishly. "And yes, a pleasure I never thought to know
again. I was away much of the time and I suppose I closed my eyes to your
unhappiness, your need. I told myself you'd be better off in de Erley's
household, that it was a heaven-sent chance such as I could never
provide." He leaned forward. "Tell me I wasn't wrong."

Richard
glanced away. "You weren't wrong. Gifford made a man of me."

"No.
The man was in you, my son. Gifford just gave you a chance to show it."
Sir John's voice dropped. "And I'm proud of you, Richard. I'll say this
now—now that it's probably too late. You've ever been first in my heart. It's
why I've been easy on Philip, could deny him and his mother little they
asked."

He
sighed heavily, suddenly looking very old and tired. "I fear I've wronged
him more deeply even than you. Can you—" He stared at his hands. "No,
I'll not even ask."

A
long silence stretched between them. Richard thought of the days he had lived
in dread of the tall, stern man he had scarcely known as his father. But why
punish them both for a past long since done. Perhaps it had all worked out for
the best. "A child sees only his own needs, feels only his own pain,"
he said slowly. Reaching out, he touched his father's arm. "But men may
understand each other."

Sir
John caught his son's hand and Richard covered the gnarled fingers with his
own.

"Richard!
Richard, come quick!"

Richard
glanced up with a start. Simon was bounding across the floor toward him. Releasing
his father's hand, Richard jerked to his feet. "What, lad?"

"De
Veasy!" Simon got out breathlessly. "He caught us in the hallway
before the stair to the eastern gatehouse. He sent me away... insisted on
seeing Elen alone."

Richard
was already moving toward the stairs.

"I
thought it best to fetch you," Simon panted beside him.

"You
were right. Stay here."

Richard
swung up the stairs two at a time, cursing as he went. Hugh de Veasy considered
any woman fair game, but he'd cut the bastard's throat if he touched Elen!

He
raced along the maze of corridors, finally reaching the hallway Simon had
mentioned. As he hurried along, two shadows disengaged and stepped from a
doorway into the light. He halted, every instinct roused for battle.

"Ah,
and here's the master of Gwenlyn now. We were just speaking of you,
Richard," de Veasy remarked smoothly.

Richard's
eyes flew from Elen's flushed, indignant face to the blandly smiling one of the
baron. "My squire follows my orders. And when I give an order, it's
carried out or I know the reason why." He took a step forward, itching to
draw steel on the man, reminding himself Edward would have his head if he did.

Hugh
de Veasy grinned. "Such bother over my wish to walk a lady to her
door!" He shook his head. "A man isn't even allowed to be a gentleman
these days—but then I'd not expect you to understand that, Basset."

"I
understand you perfectly. Far better than you'd like." Richard glanced at
Elen. If she said one word, made one accusation, he'd have it out with the man
here and now.

Elen
held her breath as the men faced each other. A moment ago, she had longed for a
knife to put between de Veasy's ribs, but she didn't want Richard fighting the
man. The Baron of Ravensgate was near as renowned in battle as Richard himself.
Besides, Sir Hugh might help her escape, though she would have to tread
carefully. She wouldn't trust Hugh de Veasy if the Holy Virgin herself stood
surety.

De
Veasy was bowing gallantly over her hand. "Lady Elen, I relinquish you to
my host, though grudgingly." With a nod to Richard, he strode away.

Elen
studied Richard in silence. These men were enemies, deadly enemies.
"Richard," she whispered impetuously, "have a care. He means you
no good."

"Did
he touch you?"

She
thought of de Veasy's hand trailing over her, of Richard's cold fury now.
"No."

Richard
moved to stand beside her. "With de Veasy and his men here, it's not safe
for you to be about alone, Elen. I know I'd dispensed with your guard"—he
hesitated, gazing at her keenly—"until these last few days, that is. But
I'll order one now for your safety. Do you understand?"

His
words were a reminder of all that lay between them. Richard might want her for
a quick tumble in some grassy meadow, but it was a wealthy Englishwoman he
would wed. Turning away, she strode determinedly down the corridor, the angry
hurt throbbing with each step. "Certainly I understand," she said,
throwing his words back at him. "I understand far better than you'd
like!"

Richard
caught up to her as she reached her doorway. Seizing one arm, he turned her
about. "We must talk. You know that as well as I. We can't continue like
this."

"I've
nothing to say to you," she returned.

"Tomorrow,"
Richard continued, ignoring her words. "We'll discuss this tomorrow."

***

Elen
stared at the chessboard with pretended interest, striving to make sense of the
complicated strategy Giles was executing. She shifted her piece of carved onyx
forward. His move, then her move, then his move again. Something like her life
played out on a small scale. Only she had no more moves to make. She was backed
to the edge of the board, and Richard had all the options.

She
stared broodingly at the carved stone pieces as Giles studied the board.
Richard certainly had a host of options. She wondered now if he had planned to
bring his bride here all along. Probably not. Highborn English ladies didn't
thrive among the savages of Wales. No, he wouldn't bring his pale, long-nosed
lady here. And that was the reason he needed a mistress.

She
frowned. Was that what Richard planned to discuss with her today? Little wonder
he thought it a possibility after her unpardonable behavior at that cursed
pool. Well, he could think again. And if a chance came to leave Gwenlyn, she
would take it—oath or not!

But
it would be easier to escape if Richard were away. "I suppose Richard will
be leaving soon to see to his bride," she remarked in what she hoped was a
conversational tone. "Is she truly so wealthy as Sir Hugh hinted?"

Giles
glanced at her shrewdly, then turned his attention to the board. "Alicia
de Borgh is heiress to a large estate and lovely into the bargain. All
Richard's friends would be pleased to see the match come about."