Stuart, Elizabeth (56 page)

She
stared at his stiff back, suddenly recalling the black, unreasoning hatred in
Dylan's glittering gaze, the ugly smile when he had mentioned the massacre at
Beaufort. Merciful God, what if Richard fell to the man? She would have helped
to cause it!

"Richard..."
She felt the threatening heat of tears, the ache in her throat that presaged a
storm of weeping. "Have a care tomorrow," she managed. "He... he
favors river crossings for ambush."

Richard's
head snapped up. "Christ, woman, make up your mind! Whose side are you
on?"

"Both...
and that is my misery!"

Richard
turned, all pretense forgotten, his bitterness a palpable thing that hung in
the air between them. "Why, Elen? Why did you do it? Why waste what we
might have had?"

"Because
lives hung in the balance."

Her
reply was honest, unrehearsed. Lives. Not life. One part of his mind registered
the word, but the rest was intent only on his own hurt. "Edward warned me
not to force you to a choice, Elen. I should have heeded him. But I was so sure
of you, so damnably sure you cared enough—"

He
broke off and turned away, reaching blindly for the door.

"But
it wasn't a choice!" Elen cried out. "I saved a man from death, a
death I can't bear to think on. I didn't choose him over you. Your life wasn't
at stake!"

Richard
glanced back. "If it came to that, to his life or mine, which would you
choose?"

"Don't
ask. It's the one thing I fear above all others."

He
stepped toward her. "I'm asking it, Elen. Which would you choose?"

"There
is no choice, Richard. I'd give my life for yours if it came to that—mine and
any other were it necessary. I spare no effort, no risk for those I love."
Elen's mouth twisted wryly. "You should know that by now."

Richard
said nothing. He was staring at her as a man betrayed too often, a man who
dares allow himself no luxury of belief.

But
he was listening, she realized. He made no move to walk away. "You knew my
loyalties when you married me, Richard. I made them no secret," she
continued. "I told you at the outset this marriage wouldn't work, begged
only to be allowed to enter the Church. But your Edward wouldn't have it."

Her
eyes were luminous, filled with unshed tears. "Well, we almost made it
work, you and I. We almost built something beautiful from the hate of two
worlds. But if you insist on blind loyalty, insist I sit idly by while friends
who've risked their lives for mine are murdered for the profane sport of a
stupid, vengeful king—"

She
broke off, taking a deep breath. "Then what we've built is a mockery and
your love not worth the having."

Richard
shifted uncomfortably. For the first time he felt unsure of his ground,
slightly shaken in his unquestioning belief that he was the one who had been
wronged. "You're my wife, Elen. My loyalties become yours, my enemies your
enemies," he said stiffly. "That is the way of things."

"Who
decided that, Richard? Who decreed it must be the woman who gives up all? Where
is it writ in holy law that the wife is the only one who must compromise?"
She stared at him bitterly. "I've lost everything to you, compromised all
for your love. And now I've forfeited that as well for saving the life of a
friend. Sweet Jesu, where is the justice in that, Richard?"

Justice.
Elen had found little justice in the past year— he couldn't argue that. She had
lost home, family, friends— even been forced into marriage with the man largely
responsible for her grief. She had warned him where her loyalties lay the night
of their wedding. Why punish her because he had failed to remember she wouldn't
act like any obedient English wife.

"Perhaps
you're right," he murmured. "You've been forced to make your share of
compromises." He stared at her narrowly, aching to touch her, aching to
take her in his arms... knowing it would solve nothing. "But how can we go
on like this? How much more can we take?"

Elen
shook her head, unable to speak around the lump in her throat.

"You're
wrong about one thing, though," he added softly. "You've not yet
forfeited my love."

Elen
caught a deep, shaky breath, struggling against the wild urge to explain about
Owain, Dylan, everything if it would only put things right between them.
"Don't, Richard... don't say that unless you mean it."

He
touched her cheek. "I love you, Elen. I love you, but I can't trust
you." His eyes searched hers. "But how long can love dwell where
trust does not? I only wish I knew."

"I...
I don't know, Richard, but I understand," she choked out. "I'll ask
nothing of you. You don't have to trust me, ever. Only have a care
tomorrow."

His
arms went around her. "Oh, Elen," he whispered, gathering her against
him. "
Oh, Elen..."

She
buried her face against his chest, clutching the material of his tunic so
tightly her fingers ached with the strain. His lips found hers, the kiss warm,
but tentative. His arms tightened around her, drawing her against his hard
length. "I want you, Elen," he said softly. "I want you now...
tonight. But I'd have you know at the outset this doesn't change the questions,
doesn't change the doubts. Tell me to go now, if you'd rather."

"I
want whatever part of you, whatever part of your life you'll let me
share," she replied. "I love you, Richard. If this is all we have,
then so be it."

Wordlessly,
he drew her toward the bed, sending her robe to the floor along with his
weapons and clothing. They made love then with a fierce urgency, a wild
desperation to blot out the pain between them, to put things right if only for
a moment in the night. And much later, after the passion was spent but the
peace of sleep hadn't come, they lay in each other's arms, neither daring to
speak of the future or question the other's thoughts.

Finally,
Richard broke the long silence. "You know, it's haunted me for
weeks," he remarked thoughtfully.

Elen
waited, but he didn't continue. "What, Richard?"

"I
thought I recognized your friend, but I've finally remembered where I saw him
before. Your Dylan is the man who held William hostage that night of our
raid." He paused, his words deceptively soft. "He's not the Welsh
Fox, is he, Elen?"

She
froze in his arms. She wasn't on guard and Richard knew it.

"Never
mind," he said gently. "I didn't really expect you to answer
that." She wanted to speak, wanted desperately to deny the words, but no
lie would benefit her now. She had given Richard the answer he sought and it
was obvious he knew it as well.

His
arms tightened about her. "Sleep," he whispered, drawing her back
against him. "It will be dawn soon enough and I must ride."

The
rattling sound of a rising wind filtered into the bedchamber, nearly covering the
stealthy tread of footsteps across the rush-strewn floor. Elen opened her eyes,
watching as Felice tiptoed across the room checking the fastenings of the heavy
window shutters. "I'm awake," Elen said softly.

The
girl turned about with a smile. "I hope I didn't wake ye," she
remarked. "Tis grown colder outside and I only sought to be sure ye stayed
snug."

Elen
smiled back. "I'm warm enough. I just hope the men were prepared...."
Her voice trailed off, her smile fading. Richard had taken his leave of her at
dawn. He had kissed her tenderly enough and told her he loved her. But neither
had dared mention the Welsh Fox or the problems confronting them.

"The
men'll be warm enough. They'd blankets aplenty," Felice remarked briskly.
She sent her mistress a sidelong glance, unable to contain her excitement any
longer. "Oh m'lady, the guards outside your door be gone! Lord Richard
sent 'em away."

Elen
sat up, amazement sweeping all else from her mind. "You're certain? No
one's there?"

"The
likes a them'd be hard to miss," Felice replied with a grin.

Elen
leaned back against her pillow. So she was no longer confined to her chamber.
She knew Richard didn't fully trust her, but at least he wouldn't keep her
confined. She breathed a sigh of relief. But what did it mean? Had he forgiven
her? Did the night between them mean more than he would admit?

"I'll
fetch ye some breakfast. Mayhap ye'll eat better this fine morn," Felice
remarked with a smile.

Elen
glanced up, her stomach twisting uneasily at the words. "I'm not really
hungry. A bite of bread will be plenty."

The
girl paused beside the bed. "Ye must eat," she said softly. "If
not fer yerself, than fer the wee one ye carry."

Elen's
eyes widened in surprise. Was it so obvious? "I... I'm not certain
yet," she faltered. "It might only be some passing illness."

Felice
gazed at her skeptically. "Yes, an illness that'll pass in some six or
seven months, I'll be bound. Does Lord Richard know?"

"No.
And I'll not have him learn of it yet," Elen replied, her voice
sharpening. She didn't want Richard keeping her with him simply because of her
pregnancy. And if there were no child, if this queasiness were due to an
illness, she'd not have him suspecting she had lied to regain favor. "I'll
not have him or anyone else know of this until I'm certain there's a babe. Do
you understand, Felice?"

The
girl nodded and Elen realized her maid probably understood all too well. But
Felice was right; she needed to eat. For nearly a month she had hoped she might
be pregnant, but this past week, she'd scarcely cared.

Now
she smiled to herself. A child... Richard's child. Her spirits began to lift.
"Bring me bread and cheese and a bit of watered wine. Oh... and a handful
of dried apples," she said softly. "I can recall my nurse, Tangwen,
telling me that sometimes helped."

While
Elen breakfasted with a heartiness she hadn't felt in days, the maid chattered
on about the happenings within Gwenlyn. Henry Bloet had been left in charge of
the castle while Giles had ridden out with Richard. And much to his dismay,
Simon had been left behind. The rub of his shield had reopened his shoulder
wound, and Richard had left him to Elen's care.

Elen
dressed and braided her hair, winding it into the tight knot she usually wore.
With nothing more to be done, she moved resolutely toward the door. She had to
go downstairs sometime. She might as well face Henry at once.

When
she reached the hall, Richard's captain stood talking with a group of soldiers.
A sudden hush swept the room. Elen's step faltered but she lifted her chin,
moving directly toward Henry. She kept her eyes on his face, not daring to
glance at the others. "I would speak with you, Henry," she said.
"Now, if you don't mind."

"Certainly,
my lady."

His
eyes were watchful, alert, his voice cool but shaded with the proper deference.
He stepped aside, pouring wine and placing it before her as she seated herself
at the table.

She
didn't really want wine, but she took a sip anyway. "It's foolish to
pretend nothing has happened, Henry. We all know that it did. I don't expect
your forgiveness or your respect, but I would have your honesty." She
glanced up. "What is my status here?"

He
met her gaze evenly. "Yer the lady of Gwenlyn and Richard left orders to
that effect. Any man or woman acts otherwise and I'm ta see to it."

Elen
took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Not only had Richard given her her
freedom, but he had restored her to full honor as mistress of Gwenlyn. For a
moment she didn't think she could bear it.

"Yer
ta have the same status as before," Henry continued, "only not to go
outside the gates... not without Simon or myself."

"I
understand." She forced a smile. "I suppose I'd best talk with the
steward, then, and check what supplies we have left. Someone should see to the
chaos Richard no doubt left."

Henry
nodded. "An I'd take it kindly if ye'd see to my arm..."—the briefest
of smiles touched his face—"and my neck."

"I'd
like to do that for you, Henry," she said softly. "I'd like that very
much."

***

The
next morning Elen awoke refreshed and hungry after the first really good sleep
she had had in over a week. Though she was obviously still in disgrace, Henry
seemed inclined to forgive her and Richard's men had treated her with respect.
Even the servants had leaped to do her slightest bidding.

She
lay snugly in the great down bed, listening to the howling autumn wind outside
and the rain that slanted against the wooden shutters in occasional tumultuous
gusts. She thought of Richard lying cold and uncomfortable in some damp tent,
of Dylan alone and on the run, not daring to remain long in any one place.

The
memory of that last conversation with Richard returned. He doubted Dylan was
the Fox, but that didn't mean he could prove Owain was. And she would take
precious care Owain gave him no further cause for suspicion. If only Dylan
remained free, if only Richard would call off this cursed hunt, she told
herself desperately. They could work through this problem. They had worked
through difficulties before... if only Richard didn't decide to send her away
on his return.