The Silent Love (27 page)

"And what of Carlton? Does he then sleep on the floor?"

"No, he sleeps where grandfather is, most of the time." David's eyes twinkled as he told her, "It will give them something to argue about, for I feel a fast friendship gathering between them."

"We'll make Carlton a pallet then by the fire, and let the old man sleep where he is. He will be stiff and sore tomorrow, as it is. Putting him on the floor might just kill him," Mary said decisively.

"He is a good man, my grandfather," David said with a fond smile for the slumbering elder. "I am fortunate to have had even a small portion of his influence, else I wouldn't have known the difference between my life as it was and as it should have been."

"You have his blood in your veins," Mary replied softly. "'Tis what gave you the strength to withstand your father's evil machinations."

"I would not call them evil," David protested, feeling a bit put out with his mother's continued condemnation of his other parent. "He did not grow up with the love and joy you shared with me. Having no mother or father to guide him must have been... difficult to say the least."

"How then would you know this?" Mary's fine eyebrows were raised in wonder.

"I have surmised it based on the facts," David said, totally unaware of Mary's flabbergasted state. "His parents—my grandparents—died when he was a babe, so it stands to reason he was raised by servants and guardians. Surely that does not take the place of loving parents."

"You defend him, David." Mary's tone was not of censure but of awe. "I never thought to see you do that. When you came to visit all those years of your youth, you seemed to hate him so."

"I have changed, Mother." David smiled. "And so has he."

Chapter Seventeen

~~

"Momma, can you keep a secret with me?" Clay, bursting to tell someone about the man in the woods, could only think of his mother, who never would tell a secret. But he had given his word to tell no one, so the boy was uncertain, then decided that it would be alright to tell his mother, for he trusted her with all his secrets.

"I have always kept your secrets, Clay. What secret do you have now?" She played his game, for they had often shared silly secrets of no import to any but themselves and it was a sharing that she cherished, for it gave special meaning to their relationship.

"Tell me quick, for you must sleep. The sandman is coming along... " she placed her hand to her ear and continued, "... Ah, here he is, coming up the drive."

"Momma, nanny says the sandman is not real... that he is like my dreams." Clay looked importantly at his mother, as though he thought her silly for believing such things. "And Papa says she is for once very right, though he still thinks her brain addled and her mouth like a magpie... "

"Hush, Clay. You must not repeat everything you hear, and the Marquis is not always as kind as he should be. I don't want you to be that way. Elspeth is a nice woman and fairly wears herself out on your behalf. Never call her a magpie."

"But she is only a servant, and Papa says the servants are mine to command... like an army, only better 'cause there is no fighting and I am the only general."

He looked in exasperation at his mother, whose lips were drawn in a disapproving line. "Don't you see? She is
supposed
to wear out for me."

Sighing in weariness, for she had oft been down this road with the boy and was not proof against the Marquis when it came to planting seeds of behavior in the boy's mind.

The old man was a master of deceit, as she had learned to her great regret, and she changed the subject quickly, lest she
scold
her son before he slept, something she would never like to do.

"Well then, tell me your secret my son. For though you do not believe it, I hear the sandman coming."

"I saw a man in the woods today. He lives in the cottage just beyond the pond."

"What man? And how come you to go so far into the woods? There is an old cottage in a small clearing, but it has long ago fallen into disrepair, for no one lives there."

A tingling of dread skittered along Hannah's spine.

"But a man
does
live there. I talked to him. He's very nice, and he asked me to keep his secret." The boy sidestepped giving an explanation of his wanderings, and finished quickly. "You won't tell, will you Momma? I gave him my word, and Papa says a man is only as good as his word."

"Well, for once, I can agree with your Papa, but you must not go into the woods again." Leaning down to kiss him goodnight, she brushed back his black curls, whispering, "I shall keep your secret Clay, never fear."

As she reached the door he sat up and called her back. "Momma, he forgot to tell me his name, but he is not a cousin, for he said so, though he looks like... hmmm... he looks like Grandpa Strongbow."

Hannah's knees went weak, and she returned to sit on the bed as the boy continued. "He 's a gentleman, for he dresses like Papa, but he is very thin... and he has a servant. He said he had been ill. Can we bring him some of Aunt Mary's broth? For it cures just everything... "

"Go to sleep now Clay, and we shall see tomorrow what can be done to aid our new... neighbor." Gently pushing the boy back upon his pillows, she spoke in carefully casual tones, and her face betrayed none of her roiling emotions. She knew she would break her promise about the secret. She had no choice. None at all.

Hannah fled the room, her heart quaking in her breast and went to the Marquis in his study. He was reading a note, held in his shaky hand, and looked up at her entry with some surprise.

"How come you are up so late, m'dear? Thought you had retired." He laid the note back on the desk and folded his hands over it, as though to shield it from her view.

"Milord... Clay has given me a very odd story, and I would that you have it checked out in the morning. It seems there is someone living in a cottage in the woods... someone who looks like Gillian Strongbow. He said... a tall thin man, who was not a cousin and had a servant with him."

Hannah, in her agitation, stood just inside the door, her hands worrying one another, though she was not aware even of that. Her eyes beseeched her husband to reassure her, but his words failed in that regard, instead, giving her a start that sent her flying to the nearest chair as her suspicions were confirmed.

"I've had a message from Mary Strongbow." The Marquis indicated the paper beneath his hand. "She has... news that may shock you, for it has certainly done so to me... "

"What news, then, Milord. Don't dither." Hannah, in her agitation, forgot to show the proper respect for her husband and was too overset to even notice that she had chided him in such a fashion.

He ignored her outburst and instead, indicated the brandy bottle, saying, "You'd best fetch us a drink, Hannah. David lives."

"He... what? David? Your son David?" She did not move from the chair and could only look at the old man before her, her face reflecting so many changes of emotion that he could not decide which was the most prominent of her feelings. Love, hope, fear, dread and joy warred for dominance in her eyes.

"Yes... he is at the cottage."

Bowing her head, she reflected on his words, then looked up, her amber gaze steady on him. "I had thought it might be... when Clay spoke of him. What then, shall I do?"

"Why, welcome him home, lass. What else is there to do?"

"He will want to live here, I suppose."

Her question held a note of anticipation that was not lost on the Marquis, but he was not angered by it. He sat back, deciding in a flash that this was the time to tell her what he should have done long ago. "Fetch me the brandy... bring the bottle and two glasses, for I vow you will want a drink when I have done telling you what I must."

He watched as she did his bidding, silent and graceful and frightened by his words. Once she had given him his libation and settled into the conch-backed chair that was her favorite, she smiled, then frowned, then sipped. Her nervousness was obvious.

He began with a question. "Do you remember the day we wed? How you botched the contract and a new one had to be drawn?"

She nodded, sipping at the brandy with a shaking hand. "Well then, Milord?" she queried when he did not complete his thought immediately, for she was impatient and somehow anxious to hear what he must say.

"There were two contracts, actually. One—the one you spilt the ink upon—was a guarantee that you would agree to wed my son. This, of course, upon my death—on pain of losing your child."

She sat bolt upright and stared at him with wide eyes, her face coming all over with fresh pain. "You have lied to me more than I had thought, haven't you?"

"Yes... but hear me out, for you will not be so angry once you know."

"That remains to be seen, husband." Her voice was edged with steel.

The contract had a clause that you obviously did not read... "

"I read none of it... I was too compliant, and very young. I trusted you." She looked at him once more and reproach filled her eyes. He fought the urge to flinch—and motioned for her to refill his glass.

"The contract, as I said, had a clause. It stated, in effect, that you would marry my son David after I died and keep the young Marquis safe here at the manor until he was of an age to be presented in society. The reason for your marriage to David was to ease my conscience, for it would lift some of the child's bastardization from my—"

"—Your conscience." Interrupting in a voice was wooden with disbelief, she stopped herself from screeching at him, waiting for him to return to his confession with a look of scorn upon her face.

"And the second document, when drawn up, was of a different ilk altogether, for in that moment when the ink spilt, I realized that I could not go through with this... charade. I spoke with Maguire and had him make some changes to the second document... and so the marriage lines did not have my name upon them at all, but David's... and yours, of course."

"You lie! Why would you wed me to him when it would spoil your plans?"

"I can assure you Madam Strongbow, that I do not lie. The papers are here in my desk. Would you like to see them?" He reached to open a small cubbyhole in the side of the desk and she watched with wary eyes as he produced the contract.

A weight lifted from his shoulders as the Marquis handed it to her and sank back in his chair with a heaving sigh. "Read them... and trust that I tell you the truth."

Hannah opened the bulging packet and spread the documents before her on the desk, her eyes darting to the place where she had signed, and her heart nearly stopped as she read the other name...
his
name, her voice carrying into the silence of the room.

"
And I, Alistair Maguire, do witness this day that I have the legal right, under the King's law, to wed by proxy, this man, David Strongbow and this woman, Hannah De Lacey, with right to affix his name in his absence and forthwith...
"

Her voice trailed away and she nearly fainted. "Oh God, what have you done, you vicious, scheming old devil?"

She came round the desk and thrust her face into his, her eyes blazing in anger. "All these years you allowed me to think that... that I had sinned, that my babe was not truly legitimate?"

She bared her teeth at him and snarled, her nostrils flaring with hate, "You are a despicable, horrid man and may God have mercy on you, for I will not! I shall take my son and leave here this night and you will never see us again!"

"Hannah! Wait! Think upon your son... what this could do to him." The Marquis arose from his chair then fell back, clutching his chest. "Oh Lord, girl... fetch Dobson, quickly."

The pain radiated from his arm into his chest cavity and along the side of his neck, horrible pain, squeezing his heart so that he could not breathe. "Please child... hurry... " He flung out a hand in supplication... his eyes dazed and unseeing.