Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
The air grew colder the further we travelled.
On some mornings when Sawford shook me awake, the leaves on the ground were dusted with frost; tiny icy fingers spreading into the veins until the leaf crumbled and rotted.
The frost penetrated the blankets at night, and we huddled together, sharing the warmth of our bodies.
In the dark of the night I set aside my conscience and forgot what Sawford had done to Percy, succumbing to my body’s craving for him, relishing the tender touches on my skin as his expert hands carried me to another world.
Each time he took me, my body’s reaction intensified, my need overpowering any desire for freedom.
But in the frigid, gray light of the dawn, the lover turned, once more, into the tormentor; the man who owned me.
One evening, the rough path began to look more like a road and Sawford told me we were nearing our destination—Balsdean.
A small town came into view, buildings straddling a well-trodden road, beyond which a river ran.
Though the sun was setting, the town was alive with activity—merchants shouting their wares, a farmer walking his cattle along the road.
Gaudily dressed women propositioned men near a tavern from where raucous laughter could be heard through the open door above which a sign swung in the breeze.
Some of the townsfolk stared at us. We must have looked an odd sight—a shabbily dressed man and woman astride a large black horse.
Sawford steered the animal along the main thoroughfare, past a smithy from which I heard sounds of activity until we reached a two-story house outside which a pile of barrels was neatly stacked.
Sawford dismounted and helped me down. I bent over, rubbing my aching legs, too glad that our journey was over to be concerned about our destination. He thrust the reins into my hand.
“Wait here.”
I nodded, leaning against the horse for support. Sawford knocked on the door, and a voice called out from within before the door creaked open.
“What are you wanting at this hour?” a male voice rasped.
“’Tis me.”
A pause was followed by an exclamation.
“Devil’s holy cock! We thought you were dead.”
“Forgive me, Jack,” Sawford said. “’Tis been a long time…”
“Three years, brother. Three cursed years and hardly a word!”
The man was furious.
“’Twas necessary.” Sawford’s voice was quiet. “Are you well, Jack? And Lily?”
“Aye, we are well,” the man replied. “My God! Lily! Lily!” he roared before speaking to Sawford again.
“Are you staying? You are most welcome.”
“If you have room.”
“Aye we do. There’s just the two of us. We have not been blessed with children.”
“I am sorry. I know how much you and Lily wanted—”
“No matter,” the man interrupted. “You have returned to us. You are much loved here; I trust you know that.”
He gave a hearty laugh. “In fact, you’re so loved I’ll wager the bed of every whore in town will be warmer and their smiles broader within a sennight.”
“Brother.” Sawford’s voice was a low growl before he called to me.
“Come here, Lisetta.”
I opened my eyes and moved to stand beside my husband. The man in the doorway was shorter and stockier than Sawford, and I saw little resemblance at first glance. He glanced at me then shook his head.
“Brought your own whore, have you?” he said. “Forgive us, but Lily won’t have her in the house, much as she loves you.”
“This woman is my wife, Jack.”
Jack’s eyes widened. Despite my shabby appearance, I tried to summon a little dignity and I held out my hand.
“I assure you, Monsieur Sawford, I am no whore.”
He took my hand and kissed it before Vane pulled me back.
“My brother’s name is not Sawford. It’s Cooper. Jack Cooper.”
Light footsteps approached and a woman joined the man in the doorway. She gave a shriek of surprise.
“Valentine!”
She began to cry and Sawford embraced her, muffling her sobs, speaking soft, soothing words.
A hot flame of anger choked in my throat.
Sawford had only ever shown me coldness and contempt, yet he had a genuine affection for this woman.
She was taller than I with a soft, round body and the kind of warm, earthy beauty that only peasants possess—beauty which could bring a man to his knees.
“Lily, you are as comely as ever. The years have only enhanced your beauty.”
She held him at arm’s length before kissing him affectionately. Only then did she notice me, her gaze lingering on my swollen belly.
“Who is that?” Her voice was hard.
I tipped my chin and spoke, my voice equally hard.
“I am his wife, Lady Lisetta of Shoreton.”
Ignoring me she turned to Sawford.
“Your wife? B-but I thought, after William, you vowed never…”
“Who is William?” I demanded.
“No concern of yours,” Sawford snapped. “Lily, I thank you for taking us in. See to it that she makes herself useful.”
Lily raised her eyebrows, looking at me as if she could not believe I would have any use. Sawford took my elbow and propelled me forward.
“You are not the pampered lady now,” he whispered, harshly. “You’re the same as the rest of us and will work for your living rather than expect others to serve you.”
I bit my lip, hanging my head in shame.
A light hand touched my shoulder, and I looked up to see Jack’s face, kindness in his expression. His eyes were as blue as his brother’s but their gaze was warm and curious rather than dispassionate and searching.
“Lily, my love,” Jack said. “Show Valentine’s wife where she can rest. She must be tired after her journey.”
I smiled, grateful for his kindness, even though it was the cause of the tears pooling in my eyes.
“Such beautiful eyes, my lady, should not be marred by tears.”
“S-sister,” I said.
“Lady?”
“Call me sister; ’tis what I am. My husband is right. I am not a lady, but the same as you.”
“Then you are welcome to our family.”
He drew me in and embraced me swiftly before handing me to his wife who led me inside.
When I woke, it was morning and a small ray of sunlight stretched across the blanket covering my body.
The previous night Lily had taken me to a bedchamber where I’d collapsed on the bed and fallen asleep. I had awoken some time later, Sawford’s warm body against mine, before sleep claimed me once more. Now, however, I was alone.
A murmur of voices came from somewhere, and I slipped out of the chamber to investigate.
The daylight revealed the true size of the house.
It was larger than most, clean and tidy.
The upper floor had three rooms. A narrow wooden staircase descended to the ground floor, which consisted of one large room and another room behind a door.
Reaching for the door handle, I heard voices from the other side and froze.
“I tell you Jack, she must be his whore.”
“Hush, Lily. My brother may have bedded every whore in the country but he would not disgrace us by bringing one into our home. He says she was Lady Mortlock so we must believe him. You can tell from her voice that she’s no peasant.”
“But married, Jack? To a noblewoman, the widow of a traitor barely cold in his grave! He must have abandoned reason if he expects us to conceal her while he’s off with de Beauvane.”
“He left her in our care, Lily, and we must trust him.”
The voices were silent for a minute until Lily spoke again.
“She is with child.”
A chair scraped on the floor, and I heard a low cry.
“I’m sorry, Lily,” Jack said, his voice low and soothing.
“Why, Jack? Why am I not given a child when women like her—undeserving whores—are more fortunate?”
“Shhh my love; come here.”
Her cries were muffled, and I imagined Jack taking her into his arms. But I couldn’t hate her, even though her anger was directed at me.
The harsh top notes of bitter hatred in her voice were tempered by a deeper tone of sadness born out of longing for a child.
She had a husband to love and cherish her, but no child of her own.
I had been blessed with a child, but my husband did not love me.
In my mind’s eye, I pictured them together at the hearth; Jack holding his wife, stroking her head—a man and a woman living together, loving each other openly and honestly, as equals.
I closed my eyes and imagined a different husband and wife—Vane, smiling down at me as I placed his child in his arms. Would he love me, when I gave him a child?
Unwilling to intrude on their pain I waited until Lily’s cries subsided. Eventually she sniffed and spoke again.
“Who do you suppose sired the child? Valentine said ’tis not Mortlock.”
“Valentine himself, I would assume.”
“No, Jack.” Lily’s voice was firm. “That woman was widowed barely a month ago, and she’s nearing her confinement. He would not be so disrespectful as to flaunt the fruits of an adulterous relationship in my home. He’s a good man.”
“Then why would he marry her?”
“I know not. ’Tis plain he loves her not. That whore Elizabeth was his undoing, and he will never love another as he loved her. After what happened, do you think he would cuckold another man under his very nose; a man he served, even if he was playing the spy for de Beauvane?”
“You don’t know my brother as well as I.”
“I do, Jack!” Lily’s voice rose in anger.
“Oh, I know about his whoring, and he’ll very likely continue that here.
I know all he did to erase the memory of that bitch.
But I also saw how it changed him. His fate was worse than William’s.
William is at peace, but Valentine lives his torment day after day.
I see it in his eyes. The kind, loving man who was your brother was all but destroyed. ”
“Lily, please…”
“No, Jack! I’ll defend him if you won’t. You think that heartless mare upstairs cares for him? She saw him as a means to secure her future to avoid condemnation as the wife of a traitor. Another person who uses him for their own ends. Just like Elizabeth. Just like de Beauvane.”
“De Beauvane is an honorable man.”