The YIELDING (20 page)

She caught her breath. “I…did not think you would.”

Hating that she had come to know him so well, grateful Canute knew her better, Michael said, “Do not think to know me, Lady Beatrix, for you never shall.”

Though her eyes remained bright, anger stirred there. “Why would I wish to know a blackguard like you, Michael D’Arci? As you say that I am the same as this…Edithe, so you are the same as your brother.”

He knew there was no reason to be offended, but her words raked him. Setting his staff to the landing, he stepped without.

All of her aching, from her eyes, to her wracked heart, to the soles of her feet, Beatrix stared at the door as it closed. In anticipation of what always followed, she lowered her lids.

Scrape. Click.

She told herself she was not hurt by Michael’s revelation, but it was no use. Following their arrival at Castle Soaring, when she had begun to believe she need not fear him and worried she might not convince him to reveal her capture that she could go to trial, he had sent word. And now, this day, he had finally kissed her as if—

A sob escaped her, and she was thankful he was too far descended to hear. For nothing would she have him know the fullness of the pain he had inflicted. She lowered to her knees alongside the bed. Though she knew she was where she ought to be, she could summon no words to pour out her grief to the Lord. She was simply too angry.

Sitting back on her heels, she stared at her white knuckles and silently vowed she would allow no man so near her again.

“Nor shall I weep.” Especially for Michael D’Arci who was unworthy of a single tear. Michael D’Arci who had sent word.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“My lord!”

Michael looked up as the man-at-arms negotiated the tables that were settled by those who partook of the nooning meal. “What tidings?” he asked.

The soldier halted before the dais. As those at the lower tables quieted to witness the news, he said, “Your lady mother is come, my lord.”

Maude. Not his mother, though Simon’s mother was as near a mother as Michael had. Now, without warning, she came to Soaring. He was not surprised. Despite her uncertain health and any other obstacle in her path, she always came and went at will. Nevertheless, Michael was piqued that she had ignored his urging to stay away from the trial. Though the date was not yet determined, a missive had been delivered to Soaring yesterday advising that the sheriff would come for Beatrix six days hence. It would pain Maude much to hear the lies Beatrix intended to speak of her beloved son.

Michael inclined his head. “Very good.”

“She comes unto the donjon now, my lord.”

Of course she would not wait so that he might properly greet her. Indeed, it was her voice that ascended the steps outside the great doors. If he did not lengthen his stride, she would be across the hall before he.

Michael gripped the staff and pushed upright. “Return to your meals,” he ordered those who had paused over their trenchers.

He was halfway across the great room when Maude appeared. Her small stature making her seem almost a child, she paused inside the doorway and squinted at the occupants. Eyes slow to adjust to the relative dim, she called, “Michael!”

He received her into his arms. She had regained some of the weight lost to her recent illness, he noted as he returned her hug, and her arms about him were not those of one frail and infirm. Too, when she drew back and lifted her face, a sparkle was returned to eyes previously bereft of light. The news of Beatrix’s capture had to have heartened her.

She frowned over him. “Pity you are not as pleased to see me as I am to see you.”

Why deny it when she would know it for a lie? “Circumstances only, dear Maude.” He shifted his weight to the staff. “I had hoped you would allow me to see to this matter for you.”

Some of the light faded from her eyes, aging her more than the silver that claimed much of her blond hair. “You knew I would not.”

As he released her, the elegant Lady Laura paused inside the great doors. Clothed in green that sparkled with the gold thread woven through it, sleeves lined with ermine, she looked as untouchable ever, even with the dark-haired little girl of three winters perched on her hip.

Unfortunate, Michael mused as he stared at the child whose smile always tugged at his heart. Though her mother had been destined to wed a baron, Lady Laura would likely pass the remainder of her days as a lady’s companion. A tryst, while fostered with Maude, had produced the child and caused a scandal that saw the young woman disavowed by her family. Fortunately, Maude’s kind heart and sense of responsibility prevailed. Not only had she given Lady Laura a permanent and esteemed place in her household, but she had made room for little Clarice. Lady Laura could not hope for better.

She started across the hall, and behind her came Sir Canute. Michael tensed, as he did each time he looked on the one who had betrayed him. Despite his belated gratitude for what his old friend had done, they rarely spoke.

He released Maude. “Join me at table.”

A frown rumpled her brow again, and he followed her gaze to his splinted leg. “What is this?”

He had guessed that in her haste to greet him she had overlooked it. “A break. It heals well.”

“It looks serious. Pray, when did it happen?”

Had she been delayed but a few days, she need never have known. Of course, the staff that he would require for a time beyond the splints would have revealed him. “Four weeks past.”

Her lids narrowed, and he knew where her thoughts had landed. “Your missive told naught of it.”

“Naught needed to be told.” He turned. “Come, the viands grow cold.”

Her hand fell to his arm. “What befell you?”

“It was only a fall, and one from which I shall fully recover.”

“’Twas that woman?” Her gaze slid to his scarred brow that evidenced his first encounter with Beatrix. “The same who—”

“This is not the place to discuss it.” Though he knew his words were sharp, all that had to do with Beatrix effected such a response.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

“Later,” Michael said, aware that though the castle folk pretended otherwise, they strained to piece together the conversation.

“Very well, but I shall know all.” She started to precede him but halted and looked around. “Sir Piers! Come, come!”

Michael considered the knight who entered the great hall. Though he was of average stature, he exuded confidence punctuated by long, unbroken strides that Michael begrudged him.

“A knight errant,” Maude murmured. “My carriage was lamed along the road this morn when he came upon us and gave aid.”

Michael’s mind worked the possibilities. Now that there was to be a trial, and the sheriff was set to collect Beatrix, her family would soon enough learn she lived—had they not already. Thus, was it only coincidence that this knight had happened upon Maude?

“He proved most useful in returning us to the road. For it, I extended your hospitality. I did not think you would mind.”

He did mind, but the man would be watched.

Michael glanced to Canute and received a nod that assured him all would be provided for.

The knight errant presented a moment later. “My lord.” His gaze momentarily swept Michael’s staff. “I am Sir Piers Farrimond. Your mother has told that I might beg a night’s lodging from you.”

Michael knew to heed the unsettling at his center. Harmless though the knight might appear, and harmless though he might prove, only a fool would give him his back. “If that is what she has told, I shall allow it.”

Without flicker or falter, the man said, “I thank you, my lord.”

Shortly, all gained their seats, including Sir Canute who ever endeavored to secure a place beside Maude. And dear Maude, who pretended to not feel what Canute himself affected to not feel, sparkled again.

On the opposite side of Canute sat Lady Laura. Eyes downcast as she poked about her trencher, she did not see Clarice slip from her bench.

Momentarily forgetting Beatrix above, the suspect Sir Piers below, Michael nearly smiled at the crunch of rushes as the little girl traveled beneath the table. However, when she brushed against his uninjured leg and poked her head out from beneath the tablecloth, he gave in to the smile. “Mayhap you think my trencher holds better morsels than your mother’s?”

“Clarice!” Lady Laura gasped.

Michael shook his head to assure her he did not mind her daughter’s attentions. As always, the lady offered no further protest, though with less hesitation than usual. Relief lowering her shoulders, she returned to that place within that others could only ponder. What had happened to turn her yet more despondent?

As he had known a similar pain himself, he felt for one whose life was lost for a single indiscretion, but surely she ought to be fairly recovered after the passing of four years?

As you are from Edithe? Eight years, is it? Nine?

He beckoned to Clarice. “Come, little one.”

A moment later, she was on his lap. As Michael stared at her dark head where she leaned forward to search out his trencher, he felt an unspeakable urge to father such a child. But his little girl’s hair would not be so dark. Indeed, he imagined it spun of palest gold—

Nay, black like mine
, he corrected himself.
Darker even.
Nevertheless, the first image persisted.

“I would see her,” Maude repeated.

Michael rose over her seated figure. “Again, I say ‘tis unwise. Leave it be and all shall come ‘round.”

She pushed out of her chair and strained her neck to peer up at him. “What is it you fear? For my health? That whatever she tells shall do me mortal harm?”

He slammed the staff’s tip to the floor and turned in the chamber he’d had prepared for her. Fortunately, it was of fair size, its length allowing him to gain control of his impatience before he came back around.

Though less and less he depended on the staff, he gave it his weight and met Maude’s determined gaze. He should have known she would not be content with his brief telling of what had happened between him and Beatrix at the abbey.

“I would not have you suffer the lady’s lies,” he said. “They will only pain you.”

“There is not much that pains me any longer, Michael. And even should there be, I am not so frail I shall collapse upon hearing what the lady tells.”

“I would spare you.”

She crossed to him. “And I say I would not be spared. Deliver her to me.”

“Very well, but you should be prepared.”

“Prepare me, then.”

There was no painless way to tell it. “At her trial, Lady Beatrix intends to defend her murder of Simon by charging him with ravishment.”

Maude’s gaze stuttered away. And when she swallowed, the sound was not without effort. “Ravishment.” She reached out as if expecting a chair to come to hand.

Michael gripped her elbow and helped her into the chair in which she had sat throughout the telling of his capture of Beatrix.

“For this I would have spared you,” Michael said.

“I had hoped ‘twould be other than ravishment. For your sake, of course.”

Maude was one of the few in whom he had confided about Edithe. She knew his pain and had shared it as a devoted mother would do.

“Of course, there can be no truth to it, can there?”

It baffled him that she should ask. “None.”

“You are certain?”

There again, that unsettling sensation. Awkward though it was with his splinted leg, he lowered to his uninjured knee. “Why do you ask such of one you knew better than any other?”

She pulled a hand down her face. “He was long gone from me.”

To her, a lifetime, though it was nothing compared to the loss felt by most noblewomen who relinquished their sons to fostering at the age of seven. Simon had been nearly sixteen. “What has that to do with this?”

“Much can change a man.”

Disbelief rushed Michael’s gut. “Of what do you speak, Maude?”

She shook her head. “Mayhap he—”

“Lady Beatrix speaks lies!” Were it not so absurd, Michael would think her capable of bewitching from afar—that she had cast a spell over poor Maude.

His stepmother shifted in her chair. “’Twould seem so.”

And yet still she sounded uncertain. “Though she cries ravishment, Maude, the woman is untouched.”

She blinked. “How do you know that?”

Michael nearly cursed himself.

“I see,” his stepmother murmured. “And therein lies your own dilemma.”

Michael stood. “No dilemma. Lady Beatrix murdered Simon and, for it, shall be punished. Now do you still wish to see her?”

“Aye. You will be present?”

And risk further bewitching? “I think not, but I shall send Sir Canute to stand at your side.”

“Canute,” she murmured, and he knew she worried over what the knight might think of the lies Beatrix would level at her son. “Nay, Lady Laura shall suffice.”

“I insist, Maude. Beatrix Wulfrith is not to be underestimated.”