Chapter Thirteen
Maxton was in no mood for a nervous servant.
He’d met the woman rushing out of the chamber where he’d left Andressa, nearly running into her because she was moving so fast. When she saw him, she gasped, and Maxton received the distinct impression that she wasn’t happy to see him. She looked frightened. His brow furrowed as he peered at her.
“What is wrong?” he demanded. “Is Lady Andressa still in that room?”
He was pointing to the closed door and the old woman nodded vigorously. “Aye, m’lord,” she said. “You asked for clean clothing and a bath and food for her, and she has just finished her bath. But… but the clothing I brought for her will not fit her.”
“Why not?”
The old woman seemed to pale. “Because…” she started, swallowed, and tried again. “M’lord, is the lass a nun? She wears the clothing of someone meant for the cloister.”
Maxton nodded. “She is a pledge,” he said. “What about her clothing? What is this about?”
The old woman struggled past her nervousness; she had to.
She didn’t know of the knight’s relationship to the young woman, so she wasn’t sure how to answer him.
She didn’t even really know the knight, only that he was one of William Marshal’s men.
But he was looking at her, expecting an answer, so she proceeded as discreetly as she could.
“I brought her a dress belonging to one of the lord’s daughters,” she said quietly. “It will not fit her because of her belly, m’lord. I must find her a bigger garment.”
“What do you mean ‘because of her belly’?”
“She is with child, m’lord.”
Maxton stared at her for a moment. He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. He simply stared at her as her words flitted about in his muddled mind, trying to find some sense in them.
“She’s what?” he finally said. “That is impossible. You are mistaken.”
The old woman could see a flash of something in his eyes, of untold madness that could rip her limb from limb should he be displeased enough. But she knew what she saw.
“M’lord,” she said quietly, firmly. “I have had seven children myself. I know what a woman looks like who is with child, and the lass in that room you had me bring clothing and a bath for is clearly with child. I would not have known it, either, for the shapeless clothing she wears, but believe me when I tell you – she is with child.”
Maxton couldn’t help his jaw from hanging open. He wasn’t sure what he felt at the moment, but astonishment was certainly among the possibilities. Shock, dismay, even sadness… was she really carrying a child?
What horrible secret had she been hiding from him?
Stunned, he struggled to think clearly.
“Then find her something suitable to wear,” he said. “Is she still in the room where I left her?”
“Aye, m’lord.”
Sending the woman on her way, Maxton headed straight for the chamber. The door was closed and, in hindsight, he should have knocked, but he was so determined to get to the truth of the situation that he barged in without thinking.
The chamber was lit by firelight and a few fat tapers, and almost cloyingly warm from the steam of the bath.
He heard a gasp and caught sight of Andressa sitting next to the fire on a small stool, a comb in her hand and an expression of surprise upon her face.
She had a drying towel wrapped around her, a big one, so he couldn’t see anything other than her bare feet and hands, and her head.
“My lord?” Andressa said, fear in her voice. “What is it? Has something happened?”
He looked at her. Has something happened? Clearly, something had, but not to him. Looking at the woman, all of the shock and dismay he’d felt had turned into something else, and now all he could manage to feel was sorrow. Pure, black sorrow, as black as a moonless night.
Hurt…
Bleeding Christ, why was he feeling hurt?
Because he was feeling something for her.
The thought struck him like a hammer to an anvil.
He hadn’t been sure what he was feeling for her until this moment but, now, he knew.
He’d known the woman all of one day and somehow, someway, they had connected on a level he’d never known before.
Perhaps it was her dire circumstances, or perhaps it was simply the way she looked at him – with utter, complete trust. She knew of his background, but she didn’t care.
He’d said it best when he told her that he wanted her to think he was, indeed, noble and generous. He wanted her to think well of him.
But why did he feel hurt? Because as much as she assured him that she trusted him, she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him of her condition.
Perhaps there wasn’t complete trust, after all.
“Are you with child?” he asked bluntly.
He was a man with no tact, and that was evident when Andressa’s eyes widened at his question. Even in the dim light, he could see the color drain from her face.
“My lord,” she breathed. “Why would you ask such a…?”
He cut her off. “Answer me,” he said. “Do you carry a child?”
Her breathing grew quicker. He could see her nostrils flaring as she looked at him with such horror that it was spilling out all over the place. The comb fell from her hand and she suddenly stood up, clutching the drying cloth tightly around her.
“I do not have to answer you,” she whispered tightly, verging on tears. “Tell the woman to bring my clothing.”
“You are not going anywhere until you answer me.”
“Let me out of here or I shall scream!”
She was quickly growing panicked. But Maxton backed up, standing by the door as if to block it. He wasn’t going to let her leave.
He wanted the truth.
“Nay,” he said, his head wagging back and forth slowly. “You are not leaving. You are going to tell me the truth, Andressa. You said you trusted me. You came here because you trusted me. Did you lie to me?”
“Nay.” She shook her head quickly, unable to look at him. “I did not lie.”
“Then if you trust me, tell me the truth.”
The tears were right on the surface, but she fought them. In fact, she looked a little lost, seemingly pondering his question, perhaps even the situation in general. All intentions of leave the chamber seem to fade and, slowly, she lowered herself back to the stool, slumping over.
Defeated.
It was several long, painful moments before she dared speak.
“Why do you ask such a thing?” she murmured.
“I can easily discover the answer to my question myself, so I am asking you to tell me the truth.”
“And how would you discover it?”
“Do you truly think you can hide your condition beneath a thin drying towel and a shift?”
That brought her pause. Every emotion, every horror and every fragment of despair rippled across her face as she tried to form the words that would give him a suitable answer.
She was trapped and she knew it.
“It is not as it sounds,” she finally said.
“What is not as it sounds?”
She looked away from him completely, so he could not see her face, but he could see her shoulders heaving as she silently wept. There was a long pause before she replied.
“He… he told me he loved me,” she whispered. “I believed him. He said he would return for me, but he did not.”
It was confirmation as far as Maxton was concerned and he felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. He felt sick. Moving in her direction, he spoke softly.
“Tell me all of it,” he said softly. “Please.”
She was looking at the wall. “I cannot speak of it,” she whispered. “To speak of it makes it real, and I do not want this to be real.”
Maxton sighed faintly, lowering himself to the nearest chair. He was so despondent he found it difficult to stand. It was as if all of the energy had drained right out of him.
“It is real whether or not you speak of it,” he said. “Please tell me what happened.”
She sat there and struggled. Maxton could see that she was wiping her face. When she finally began to speak, he could hardly hear her.
“He said he loved me,” she repeated. “We knew each other at Okehampton. I thought we would marry someday, or at least I thought so before I was sent to St. Blitha. Last summer, he finally found me at St. Blitha and he told me he loved me. He said he would return for me, but he never did.”
Maxton could see how ashamed she was. “And he left you with child?”
She wiped at her face, struggling for the last vestiges of her dignity. “I did not want to admit it,” she said. “I have pretended nothing is wrong.”
“Did he force himself upon you? Did he rape you?”
She shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “But he seduced me and I did not resist as much as I should have. He told me he loved me and he wanted to demonstrate that love. I was so happy to see him that I believed him.”
“And he lied to you.”
Sobs caught in her throat as she nodded. “I will end up in The Chaos for this,” she said, finally turning to look at him. “I shall end up in The Chaos and so will the child. It will be dead before it ever has a chance to live. I will have killed it!”
Her voice was lifting in panic. Sighing heavily, Maxton stood up from the chair and made his way over to her.
“You will not end up in The Chaos,” he murmured. “Stand up.”
Andressa looked up at him, terror in her eyes. But as she gazed at him, the trust they’d established took hold. She had no one else in the world to turn to, but she had Maxton. He’d proven that.
Slowly, she obeyed him, clutching the damp drying towel around her body. The moment she rose to her feet, Maxton pushed the towel out of the way so that he could get a look at her torso. When the damp shift concealed too much, he put his hands onto her swollen belly to feel it for himself.
It was a bold move, and an intimate one.
He heard her gasp, but she didn’t pull away.
The moment his hands collided with her rounded belly, Andressa burst into quiet tears, turning her head away as he ran his fingers over the perfectly rounded bump.
If there had been any question about the trust between the two of them before, his intimate action sealed their complete trust.
Now, it was set in stone.