The Everlasting Covenant (37 page)

Brennan looked long and hard at his son. He removed his eyes to address his plate, completing his meal in silence, and, once it was done, he called for his daughter.

Anne was uncomfortable with the way Brennan seemed to substitute his baby daughter
’
s presence for the comfort he had once gotten from his wife. Anne finally struggled to get the child away from Brennan, arguing that it was time for Deirdre to be put to bed for the night. She leaned close to her husband and whispered in his ear. She carried the child to her nurse, went to her chamber to dress for bed, and waited.

Brennan came late in the evening when the sounds from the hall had diminished. He looked tired, his age was beginning to show. She faced him with her chin raised.
“
Brennan, please stay in my bed tonight. Or let me come to yours. Please,
”
she added quietly. It was the first time in nine years of marriage that she had made such a request.

“
It
’
s a little late for all that, isn
’
t it, Anne?
”

She shook her head.
“
I will not bother you with any fleshly demands, Brennan. I need you. Please.
”

He approached her and pulled her into a fatherly embrace.
“
What is it, little love?
”

“
Something is wrong,
”
she shuddered.
“
I don
’
t know what it is. I feel afraid, alone.
”

“
All of our children are home,
”
he comforted.

“
They are a worrisome group. Please stay with me.
”

“
You are not alone, my love. I am with you always.
”

“
Will you stay? Will you hold me against the night? Just once?
”

“
What is it you fear most?
”
he asked, pulling her with him toward the large draped bed. He let her kneel and take his boots from his feet, and pulled off his vest and short gown.
“
Is it Brainard? Sloan? Me?
”

“
I
’
m not sure what I fear, Brennan. How different we
’
ve all become,
”
she sighed, settling into the bed, into the crook of his arm. There was familiar comfort there.
“
Without you, I am nothing,
”
she murmured.

He sighed deeply, pulling her closer.
“
That has never been the case, not even when first we met. You were very special then, and you become more special every year. You, Anne of Ayliffe, are remarkable and strong. I have grown to admire you.
”

Anne of Ayliffe. She marveled at the sound. Is that how Brennan thought of her now? Her life had changed so dramatically that she barely remembered who she was. The young girl who sub
mitted bravely to the older, wiser, stronger earl was gone forever and in her stead was a woman, shaking inside from the fearful demands of her station, composed on the outside for fear that someone would guess how vulnerable she really was and, there
fore, refuse to follow her commands.

No one knows me,
she thought suddenly.
No one at all.
Her mother was jealous of her and thought her cunning. Brennan considered her independent and strong, not needy and weak, as she thought of herself. Dylan might know her better than any man, yet was near her so seldom. Sometimes, she felt she did not even know herself and that there was no one to help her discover who she was.

“
Brennan, you molded me into the countess you wished to have serve Ayliffe.
”

“
I did. And I will expect nothing less from you until the day you die. But remember you this, I chose the perfect person to be the Countess of Ayliffe. I will take only the credit
I
deserve. And that praise, for helping you use your womanhood to good purpose,
I
will take proudly.
”

“
Anne of Ayliffe,
”
she repeated doubtfully.

“
Swear me nothing else, but that you will never abandon Ayliffe.
”

“
Never. I love Ayliffe.
”

“
‘
Tis well. I could forgive anything but that. My wives before you loved Ayliffe, and they loved me, but differently than you do. They admired its wealth, its promine
nce. They were both good women –
they tried hard to do well. Neither one was born with a gift to serve this place, to preserve its exquisiteness. You are different. You seem to know what it really is.
”

“Y
our other wives, Brennan,
”
she began uncertainly.
“
Did they love you ..
. very much?
”
Did they love you better than me?
she wanted to ask.
Did you love them better? Did I ever make you as happy as you hoped I would?
She longed to tell him how hard she had tried, how much she had desired to make him proud, to please him well.

He was silent for a long while. When he answered, his voice was soft.
“
We all love in very different ways, dear Anne. This I have learned, finally.
”

Brennan had somehow resigned himself to the relationship molded originally by Anne. He was a strong arm to lean on, a friend to talk to, a courteous and generous lord. He no longer lamented nor complained that she did not meet him in passion. He was comforted mostly by Deirdre, who thrived on her fath
er
’
s attention.

“
Do you still love me, Brennan?
”
she asked him.

“
I do, Anne. In you, I see hope for Ayliffe.
”

“
Do you love me for myself? At all?
”

“
Oh, my dear, I love and respect you for all that you are. All.
”
And he dropped a paternal kiss on her brow and slept at her side. Anne felt a ripple of disappointment. The man who had desired her body, the man who had nearly lost control of his passions as she passed him in the gallery, was now calling her his
“
dear
”
and his
“
little love
.”
She felt she had failed him. Her mind traced the years in a flash of brightly colored pictures. A great noble knelt at her feet and begged her good favors, wished to tumble with her in a frenzy on the grass, and she had blandly told him how fond she was of him. She had never been
able to return his passion. The circle of their love had never closed; she had kept a gap open for Dylan. Her passion had always been for another.

For that one night, as she lay in her husband
’
s arms, she believed she had done wrong
.
She felt, for the first time, deep regret. It was not her adultery that shamed her, for she could not deny the love she had for Dylan, but her failure to give Brennan what he most desired, what he willingly gave her. And now it was forever too late.

***

In the high heat of summer, when the crops were growing tall, the stock fat, and a good harvest was in sight, Anne heard the door of her husband
’
s bedchamber slam. She looked up toward the stairs from the hall and saw Brainard descending, red-faced and furious. He looked at her as if he could kill her with his eyes. She shuddered involuntarily at his expression of loathing.

“
A clever trick, my lady vixen,
”
he accused in a harsh whis
per.

“
I do not know what you mean, Brainard.
”

“
So the wealth of Ayliffe is to be divided? Among
three ..
. nay, four! I am no longer the sole heir here, unless I choose to accept some promise of title when I am an old, old man. We shall see, madam slut! We shall see!
”
He looked over the length of her as if she were a wench whose services could be purchased. He smiled wickedly.
“
Do you think I can
’
t make my own way? One day, when you are still quite alive enough to see it, I will take Ayliffe!
”

Sloan was just coming into the hall and Brainard rudely pushed him out of his way to take his leave. Anne followed his departure with worried eyes.

“
Madam? Mother?
”

She let her gaze drop to Sloan
’
s face. She suddenly realized that Brennan
’
s support was not enough. Her husband was aging before her very eyes, becoming melancholy, sentimental, wor
ried. She had to keep herself and her children safe.

“
Sloan, fetch me Sir Clifton. Right away, lad.
”

She knew of no one else to seek for aid. She needed strength
and loyalty close to her hand. She thought it was essential to draw Sir Clifton closer to her needs, her troubles. She did not think it was a hasty decision.

***

Dylan housed one thousand soldiers and men-at-arms. Half that number equaled his farmers, smiths, servants, wheelwrights, artisans, craftsmen, weavers, bakers, and others. One thousand five hundred pledged. To whom? Only his right arm, Sir Mark, knew that their allegiance to the Duke of Clarence and the Earl of Warwick was only a fleeting, fancy trick.

He had watched his villeins bring in a good harvest, doubling his wealth. He had journeyed to the Scottish border with men and arms and drove back blood-minded Scots in an uprising, proving his value as a leader of armed warriors. The winter came down hard and fast after the celebrations for harvest and victory in battle. The ground was hard to break. He buried a baby son, born dead. And before 1469 was very old, he was informed of his brother
’
s death.

Cameron was only five and thirty when a winter illness con
sumed him. Dylan could not believe it had happened to a man so vital, so strong. As Dylan
’
s wealth and importance multiplied, so did his losses. He rode toward Cameron
’
s demesne with a heavy, aching heart. They had been close in Calais. He grieved that Cameron had not been restored to his rightful position. He grieved for lost friendship, a lost son, a lost love
.

Lady Raynia had not risen from her bed since the early de
livery of her dead child at Christmastide
.
It was not the loss of the babe that caused her suffering
.
She had not wanted a child. Raynia would never recover from her marriage. She hated Eng
land, hated Dylan. She cried for the rich, sunny skies of Calais, her mother, her freedom from intimacy and childbearing. Dylan did not begin to understand how these strange things had hap
pened to Raynia, nor why, but he knew his wife was sadly demented and tormented. She was only nineteen years old and had twice miscarried and once delivered her child too soon to save him. She had not wished to leave Calais, in any case, but
her father had insisted upon the marriage, which looked to be the best prospect for his plain, poor-tempered young daughter. Raynia had hated her father as she hated all men. Then the old man died and Raynia was sent to Dylan, and to a cold, gray England.

Jeannette was Raynia
’
s only solace, and their carefully tended secret was no longer safe from Dylan. He had found them together in bed, naked.
“
Is this what you prefer?
”
he had asked her, amazed.

Raynia had unshielded her heart, her tongue. Dylan, she accused, only forced agony on her with painful, disgusting acts, followed by the gruesome tortures of pregnancy. Jeannette was gentle, kind, soft, and loyal. Raynia begged piteously to be sent back to Calais. She hated everything in her life.

“
I will send you back,
”
he had said, gently. He did not love Raynia enough to be jealous or even outraged.
“
But I cannot soon. I need a wife. You must play the part. Keep your shame locked tight in your bedchamber
.
If the servants learn of your perversion, I will be forced into harsh punishments, and there will be no Calais.
I
don
’
t care that you defy me, but you defy the church, and I cannot help you with that. When I can, I will send you away.
”