Chapter 35
Agnes
There was fire burning beneath Agnes’s skin. No matter what her family said, no matter what denials they gave her or insults they hurled against Ash, she would not stand down.
They were gathered in the great hall, looking nervous. Servants milled around, the steward standing carefully to one side. Everyone was watching.
She did not let them speak.
‘Have you decided to stay?’
He father stepped forwards. ‘Agnes, we need to talk about this—’
‘No.’ Agnes stood straighter. ‘We do not. I am going to tell you what has happened, and you may decide what you wish to do with that information. Do I make myself clear?’
Her mother joined her father, taking his hand. ‘Agnes, please. You are being unreasonable.’
‘Unreasonable?’ Agnes repeated. ‘Unreasonable?’
‘Francis only worries about you.’
‘Is that why he tried to have my husband murdered?’ Silence fell. Agnes felt the eyes of everyone in the hall upon her. She did not care. ‘Well? Do you have nothing to say?’
‘Agnes—’
‘You stupid bitch!’
Muriel. She shoved their parents aside, advancing upon Agnes. Their mother gasped. ‘Muriel!’
‘Why must you drag Mother and Father into this?’ Muriel shouted. ‘They did not need to know!’
Agnes’s tongue was thick. She could not make sense of Muriel’s words. ‘What?’
‘Francis knew you would behave like this, he knew it, and I said it would be all right, but I was wrong.’
There was a cavern in Agnes’s chest. A dozen wounds, opening and reopening.
‘You knew?’ she managed, at last. ‘You knew?’
‘Of course I knew! Francis was right: he told me you were walking into a trap, and you had your eyes wide open as you did. You had to be stopped for your own good!’
Agnes’s father placed himself between them. ‘What are you talking about? Both of you!’
Agnes swayed on the spot. Thank God, Ash spoke first.
‘Francis hired a man to have me killed,’ he said, voice remarkably calm. ‘The attack on the road was not a robbery. It was an attempt on my life. We have proof,’ he added, as Agnes’s father opened his mouth. ‘This is not mere speculation. This is fact. And it seems that Muriel was aware of it.’
Agnes’s father looked aghast. ‘It cannot be true.’
‘We can show you the evidence,’ Agnes said, finally managing to find her tongue. ‘We have the man who was hired to do it. We have the letter confirming the deal. We know how much money he offered.’
‘I cannot believe Francis would do such a thing …’ Agnes’s mother breathed, face pale. ‘After all this time …’
‘You knew of this?’ Agnes’s father turned to Muriel. ‘You knew?’
Angry tears stained Muriel’s cheeks. ‘I told Francis what was happening. He needed to know. He needed to help stop it.’
‘But why?’
‘Because Barden is wrong,’ Muriel cried. ‘He is cruel, and violent, and mad, and I saw—’
‘You did not see anything!’ Agnes shouted over her. ‘Has all of this been because of a misunderstanding? Ash and I were merely talking. I tried to explain to you and you did not listen! You never listen!’
Muriel shook her head. ‘You are blind to it,’ she said, near hysterical. ‘You cannot see. He will only hurt you. But Francis loves you, you stupid, stupid creature. He loves you and you have thrown that in his face!’
‘Francis does not know what it is to love someone,’ Agnes said. ‘I do not care what he thinks he feels for me. Ash is worth a dozen of him. A hundred. He is a good man. He loves me.’ It was not true. She said it anyway. ‘And I … I love him. And I will not have you – any of you – come between us.’
Muriel was silently crying. Agnes’s parents looked sick and ghostly.
‘I think it would be best if you went home, Muriel,’ Agnes said. ‘Find Francis, go home, and forget all of this. Do not let me see him upon these lands again, for I will take retribution upon him.’
‘Agnes—’
‘Go.’
There was a moment of hesitation. Then Muriel dashed past them, up the stairs and away. Agnes stared at her parents.
‘I apologise for … for everything,’ she said. ‘You must take her home in the morning.’
‘I cannot believe it,’ her mother said. ‘You are sure? Entirely sure?’
Agnes nodded. ‘He wanted his way, as he always has. He took the stories of Ash being poorly tempered and twisted them for his own purpose. Once the deed was done he would have insisted I marry him instead. And’ – she looked between them – ‘I suspect you would have agreed.’
Her parents’ guilty faces confirmed what she already knew.
‘As I said … I am sorry. I am sorry that it came to this.’ She did not trust herself to look them in the eye. ‘I will see you off tomorrow morning. For now … I must rest, and attempt to put this mess behind me.’
She turned on her heel. Knowing that Ash and Olly would follow, she did not turn back as she made her way out of the hall.
‘I wish we could have seen all that through after supper,’ Olly said from the chair beside the fire. ‘I am famished.’
Agnes rolled her eyes at him. They had convinced him to allow them to clean and dress his wound, but he had complained bitterly about his hunger the whole time. Ash had gone to fetch food, keen for some way to keep himself busy.
‘How can you even consider eating?’ Agnes said, fiddling with the ties of the tunic she had changed into. ‘I feel as if I will be sick every time I think about it.’
‘Then do not think about it.’
There was a thump at the door. She pulled it open, revealing Ash carrying a wide tray in both hands. It was piled high with dried meats, bread, cheese, and cakes. The sight did little to settle her stomach.
‘How was Joan?’ she asked, as he edged in.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Everyone is aware of what happened. She was sympathetic, said I could take what I needed, and that she hoped my Lady Wife was well. She even asked after you, Olly,’ Ash added, placing the tray on the table. ‘She heard you were wounded.’
Olly was too busy to answer, his mouth already stuffed with bread and cheese.
‘How do you fare?’ Ash asked Agnes, taking a bite from one of the honeyed cakes. ‘Are you all right?’
Agnes shrugged. ‘As well as I can be having just thrown my parents from my home and learned that my sister was complicit in the attempted murder of my husband.’
‘You should eat,’ he said, putting an arm around her.
Agnes leaned her head against him. ‘Must I?’ she grumbled.
He pushed the half-eaten cake into her hand. ‘You must.’
She nibbled at it. Ash was right: she did not realise how hungry she was until she began to eat. It tasted good, sweet and sticky and filling. She licked the honey from her fingers mindlessly as Ash took another for himself.
‘What you said to your family …’ he began.
The sweetness turned sour in her mouth. Of course he would want to talk about that; of course he would need to. They had lain together, and they had kissed, and they had shared a bed, but that did not mean his feelings matched her own.
‘I apologise,’ she said quickly. ‘I did not know what else to say to make them believe me. And most of it was true. You are a good man. The best man. And I …’ She could deny it no longer, not now the words were out: ‘I love you.’
Ash stared at her. ‘You do?’
‘I do,’ she said simply. ‘I have loved you for longer than I would wish to admit. But you have Olly. I did not want to ruin that.’
Now she had started, she could not stop. It was a relief to finally get the words out of her chest, even if that relief came edged in pain.
‘I didn’t want you to know,’ she said, laughing at herself. ‘I thought if you never knew, it would be better.’ Olly had risen from the chair to stand beside Ash. ‘I did not want to ruin what you have. What we had. And I dreaded hurting either of you, or getting between you in some way …’
‘You will not.’ Ash reached out, taking her hand. ‘You will not get between us, Agnes. You are …’
‘You are part of us,’ Olly said, supplying the words where Ash could not.
Ash blinked, as if Olly had espoused some revelation.
‘You are,’ Ash said. ‘And you were right. You were right to tell them I love you. I … I should have agreed with you then, but with all that was happening …’
‘You do?’
Ash held her a little tighter. ‘I think … I think I do. That is, I have only ever loved one person, and I do not know how it feels to love someone else, and I—’
‘Oh just kiss her, you useless bastard,’ Olly piped up, shoving him closer.
Agnes laughed, stifling it when she realised how distressed Ash looked. She pushed herself up onto her toes and kissed him before he could say anything else. Ash gasped, then wrapped his arms around her, kissing her back with deep, slow urgency.
When she let him go, she had forgotten how to breathe.
Ash grinned, looking dizzy himself. ‘I love you. I love both of you,’ he amended, looking towards Olly as well.
‘I did not even know if it was possible, if it was permitted, but … but I do. I am sick of running from it. I have run from myself for long enough. I cannot run from this. I want to find some way to … to be. All of us.’
He looked between them. His expression was unguarded and raw. Fear and joy mingling. Agnes wrapped her hand around his.
‘I want that too,’ she said. ‘I do, Ash. This … whatever this is … it is all of us.’
‘Olly?’ Ash reached out towards him.
His name was all Ash had needed to say aloud. The rest was a look – a simple look. A question. And now Agnes could interpret them as well as they could.
Olly stepped into Ash’s waiting arms. Ash pressed a kiss to his lips, a reassurance, a promise.
They stood, all three a tangle, their breath mingling between them, an odd crisscross of limbs. No one spoke for a long while. It was Olly who detached himself first, looking thoughtful. He stared down at Agnes and then, at last, appeared to make a decision.
‘I have a gift for you.’
That had not been what Agnes was expecting. ‘A gift?’
‘You may call it a marriage gift, if you like,’ Olly said, kneeling beside the bed. ‘Although it is far too late, and while I suppose you may both make use of it, it is more for you than Ash.’
He emerged holding a small box.