The YIELDING (12 page)

She did not know, for she had no experience with men. Before Sir Simon had forced his unwanted attentions on her, the closest she had drawn near a man was as her father’s daughter and brothers’ sister. And she must not forget Sir Durand who had looked at her as if she was not promised to the Church.

Had her next thought not been so bitter, Beatrix might have laughed. Even if she escaped D’Arci’s justice, the Church would not likely want her now, and neither would any man. Thus, she was adrift, or had been before falling fool to Michael D’Arci. Soon she would be aloft. Unless her family—

She caught her breath. Now that she was had, would D’Arci speak the truth? “My family. Why have they not come? And do not tell me it is…shame that keeps them away. Never will I b-believe it.”

He was silent so long, she thought he did not intend to answer, but then he said, “You are dead to them, Lady Beatrix.”

“They believe I died?”

“From the fall. Your sister and her escort told that they saw you and my brother in the ravine. Certes, they believed Simon’s blood was yours.”

She was relieved but also pained by the terrible hurt her supposed death had caused her family. “And Baron Lavonne chose not to correct them,” she said.

“As the king’s men concluded the absence of your body was the result of scavenging animals, the baron determined to use it to his advantage lest the Wulfriths descended and tried to deny my brother justice.”

“But when I am brought to trial—”

“Then they will know—when it is too late for them to steal you away.”

Which she did not want, Beatrix realized. Her family would surely find some way to hide her given the opportunity. However, not only would they suffer for their defiance of the law, but for the remainder of her days she would be confined and named a murderer. She could not live like that. She would rather die.

Lifting her hands to her neck, she felt her breath quiver through her throat.

“You are afraid?”

He wished her to be, didn’t he? Wished her to tremble that her tongue might be further bound. She drew a sharp breath. “Am I as afraid of death as you are of not walking again as a man? Aye, but it shall pass, whether by noose or absolution.”

Were his anger capable of taking form, its blow would have left her bloodied. “Absolution?”

She had not considered it before, but even if absolution could save her life, she would never admit to having killed Sir Simon and claiming she had done it as the result of a bent mind. But what harm to allow D’Arci to believe it?

After a single rehearsal of the words, she said, “If I plead madness, ‘tis possible I shall be a-absolved of your brother’s death.”

He came across the dark so suddenly his warm breath swept the hair off her brow. “’Twill not save you!”

It took all of her will not to scramble backward. Fortunately, as she was as dark to D’Arci as he was to her, he could not see her fear. “The law makes…” What? If only he were not so near.

“What?” he snarled.

She slid her tongue over her dry lips. “It makes exceptions for those who are…ill of mind. They cannot be held responsible for their…”

“Sins?”

The heat of his anger met the flush of her embarrassment. “If that is what you would name it.”

His hand fell to her forearm. “You murdered, and for that you will not be absolved. I will not allow it.”

She jerked at her arm, but he held tight. Emotion soaring past her disjointed tongue, she said, “Until you are more than a vassal to Christian Lavonne, it matters not what you would or would not allow.”

“Does it not? I could kill you this moment, the same as you did my brother.”

“I did not kill him!”

“’Twas
your
dagger stuck in his breast, his blood on
your
breast.”

She remembered—her gown rushed with red, blood on the Wulfrith dagger. Some of the anger ran out of her. “’Tis so, but his death was not…murder.”

D’Arci’s hand convulsed on her arm. “What was it?”

She startled. Was he willing to hear the truth—at least, what truth she knew of what had happened? There were so many gaps. So many wide, open spaces at which she could only guess.

“I wait, Lady Beatrix, but not much longer.”

“His death was…unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate!”

“Unintentional,” she hastened.

“
Your
dagger.
His
blood. What is unintentional about that?”

“You were not there!”

“Then put me there.”

She lowered her gaze to the darkness between them. “Why?”

Aye, why? Michael dropped his hand from her. He required no explanation of what had happened between her and Simon, and yet he wanted to hear what she had to tell. He needed to hear it, though only that he might know what her plea would be when she stood before the sheriff seeking absolution. But that was not entirely true.
Curse all!

He looked to her pale hair that was all that was visible of her. “’Tis said you were found over my brother holding the dagger that killed him, and Baron Lavonne told that when you awakened, you offered no defense for Simon’s death.”

“Of course I did not.”

“Why?”

“Because I could not. My tongue would not…uncurl. My lips would not…tell how your brother tried to rav—”

“Enough!” After Edithe, it had taken years to ease the belief that all women lied, but it came hard again with this woman’s talk of ravishment. “I did not ask for lies.”

Michael could not be certain, but he thought a sob escaped her. It pulled at him as women’s tears were wont to do, and he hated himself for the weakness sown of his fondness for those born of Eve. Despite all, including Edithe, he liked women.

“They are not lies,” Beatrix Wulfrith said and, with a slackening of rope, reached forward and touched his forearm. “I speak true. You did not know your…brother as you believe. Whoever dwells in your memory is not the same as the one who—”

He thrust her hands off him, disgusted that he should feel for her when her tears were deserved and as false as Edithe’s had been. “We are done speaking, Lady Beatrix.”

“You asked that I tell—”

“I asked for the truth!”

“I see. Your truth, not mine. And certainly not your brother’s.”

Her resignation pricked and, for a moment, made him wish to hear her tale. But she lied. Remembering their earlier conversation, he smiled grimly. “Did you not tell that all lie with good reason? Life or death—good reason, would you not say?”

“What I would tell is no lie.”

Michael growled. “Let pass another word from your lying lips and I will gag you.”

“I tell you—”

“Do not test me!”
Holy rood!
Another word he had said and then allowed her three. But if she spoke again… “Lie back, Lady Beatrix.”

Her shallow breath weighted the air, though not as heavily as her unspoken words. As he opened his mouth to issue the order again, she complied.

Michael stared at the pale light of her hair and realized she had turned her back to him. It was well she had. Gritting his teeth against the jar of his leg, he settled on the pallet and twisted the end rope around his fist. If she moved, he would know.

He looked to the breach and wished the sky were above him that he could number the hours before dawn. But, eventually, morning would come and see them from here. Regardless of what Beatrix Wulfrith believed, he had only to call to bring his destrier from the wood.

“Your brother must have changed greatly,” she murmured, once more defying him.

And once more, he let it pass without making good his threat. Though he had not known his half-brother frontwards and backwards, having been too often apart from him, the young man had shown no bent toward the ill of which she accused him. Impetuous, aye, but there was no crime in that. The only crime was that which could be put upon his murderer. And he should not doubt that person was Beatrix Wulfrith. However, there was doubt—slight, but present like the first weed lifting its ugly head above a garden’s bounty. If he did not pull out every last root, it would strangle all that was good. That he could not allow. No absolution.

Unless Christian Lavonne deigns otherwise.

The thought slipped in, prodded forth by Beatrix’s assertion that, as a mere vassal, Michael had no control over her fate. But even if Christian wavered, still there was his revenge-driven father, Aldous, who could be counted on to stand fast.

Though with each passing day Christian grew stronger in his role as baron, he continued to allow his father far more say over the barony than he should. Thus, whether with Christian’s knowledge or guile, Aldous could still effect change. But for how much longer? The matter of Beatrix Wulfrith carried far more weight than a petty raid. Indeed, if Christian
did
wed her sister, Beatrix’s fate would likely affect the remainder of the baron’s life. It was not to be taken lightly.

CHAPTER NINE

The memory hovered in the distance, and from out of his troubled dream he reached to it.

“’Tis said you ravished a lady.”

Simon’s words pierced the crisp morning air and nearly broke Michael’s stride. Affecting indifference though every muscle tensed, he said, “Is it?”

The boy who struggled toward manhood shrugged and shifted his bow. “Aye, though Mother says ‘tis untrue, as does Father.” He peered sidelong at his brother. “Is it?”

The brilliant autumn leaves beneath Michael’s feet turning suddenly drab, their crackle reduced to a rustle, he said, “What do you think?”

Another shrug. “You take what you want.”

Anger, of a shade nearly as dark as the day Edithe had worked her ruin on him, shot through Michael. But he contained it with the reminder that Simon could not know what ground he tread. “I take what I want, but only if it is due me.”

Simon quickened his step as Michael’s longer stride once more drew space between them. “Then you say you did not lie with her?”

Merciful Lord!
Were it any other he would put a sharp end to this discussion. “I did not say that.”

Simon halted and, when Michael did not, ran forward and turned into his brother’s path. “Then?”

Aye, any other, Michael begrudged, but not this tousle-headed youth with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He stopped short, catching back turbulent emotions that might turn the glint in Simon’s eyes to tears. “I took what she long offered. That is all.”

Though there was no deer in sight, he reached behind, pulled an arrow from his quiver, and fit it to the string. “We are to deliver venison for the evening meal.” He stepped past Simon but came back around. “Beware of women, Brother, lest one be your downfall.”

Simon smiled a crooked smile. “I shall, Michael. No woman will ever do to me what she did to you.”

“I pray not.”

Beatrix thought it was a dream turned bad, but the light beyond her lids and the calloused palm clapped over her mouth told otherwise. Dragging air through her nose, she opened her eyes on dread morning. And Michael D’Arci whose fierce countenance was before her and whose chest once more pinned her.

Heart taking up the pound of a smithy to forge fear from the blood rushing through her veins, she wondered what she had done. Muttered in her sleep?

“Speak not a word,” he rasped.

She tried to shake her head, but he increased the pressure on her mouth.

“Naught here!” a graveled voice sounded overhead.

Was it a passing traveler? Baron Lavonne’s men? And why did D’Arci insist on silence when he ought to raise the hue? Did he fear brigands who would sooner slit his throat than offer aid?

She stared into his whiskered face that, in the light of first morn, appeared more bearded with the passing of another night. Strangely, he did not as closely resemble Sir Simon as she had first believed. Because of the whiskers?

She met his gaze. Despite the urgency there, he looked as if he had slept little.

“The baron will not be pleased,” another voice sounded.

Not brigands, then. Now D’Arci would call out. However, his lips stayed firm as he returned her gaze. Why? One shout and he could be away from here and shortly abed with his injury well-tended.

The jangle of reins met the clop of hooves over the stone walkway, followed by muffled thunder that told the men rode into the wood.

D’Arci removed his hand. “Absolution,” he muttered, then rolled off her.

“I do not understand.”

“Aye, you do.” Turning his attention to the splints, he tightened the bindings.

“They came for you, yet you did not call out. Why?”

He reached for his packs. “As I said—absolution.”

A door opened in her sleep-muddled mind. As she had forewarned, he feared she would seek and be granted absolution. And regardless what risk it posed to him, he would not be denied revenge.

She started to lift a hand to her throat again but stopped. As the fearful gesture would not be lost on him, she turned onto her side, sat up, and pulled the mantle around her to ward off the morning chill.