Chapter 17 #2
“That man took advantage of Valentine at his weakest. Your brother was condemned by his entire family. Even you, Jack! I was the only one who saw how he cried over William’s body, how his loving heart was destroyed.
The stigma of his birth has clung to him all his life.
Your father died cursing him. Valentine does not deserve that, Jack.
Under that exterior beats the heart of a good man.
I believe in him even if nobody else will. Do not doubt my faith in him.”
“You love him, Lily?”
There was a pause and I held my breath, fearing her response.
“Aye I do,” she said, at length. “As a sister loves a brother. Even though God has seen fit not to give me a child, I love him as a mother would love her son—to atone for the mother who disowned him and declared him dead to her, in an attempt to assuage her own guilt at her weakness. She was a sinful woman who blamed her child for her sins—much as that bitch upstairs will.”
I pushed the door open. The room was a kitchen with a fire burning in a hearth at the far wall. Jack sat at a large table in the center, Lily standing beside him. Jack stood and smiled at me but my eyes were on Lily whose expression showed suspicion and hostility.
“Forgive me,” I said, “I was looking for Monsieur…” I hesitated, “…my husband.”
Lily looked pointedly at Jack.
I stepped into the room. “I assure you I am his wife.”
Lily had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Forgive me for being blunt,” she said, “but you are in my home and I must ask.”
Jack placed a steadying hand on her arm but she continued.
“Who is the father of your child? Was it Lord Mortlock?”
I shook my head, placing a protective hand over my belly as if the very notion he was Mortlock’s would harm the babe.
“Is it my brother-in-law?”
Two pairs of eyes watched me. Despite their opinion of me they were good people. They both loved Sawford. I could not bring myself to tell them what he had done to me, to destroy their good opinion of him.
Life as a bastard could not have been easy and whatever tragedy had befallen his brother, he had clearly suffered from it.
My husband concealed his feelings but the scars still ran deep within, eating away at his soul. Yet I saw moments of feeling in him; in his abandonment when he cried out his passion as he took me, and in the tender, affectionate way he treated these people.
Even Sawford deserved to be loved. For some reason of his own he’d saved my life and delivered me from Mortlock. If nothing else I owed him for that.
“Nay,” I whispered, “’tis not him.” I fixed my gaze on the table in front of me, unwilling to meet their eyes for fear my expression would betray the lie.
“Do you love him? The sire?”
I opened my mouth to deny it but shut it again, unable to speak.
I nodded my head slowly, stifling a sob.
When had my physical desire for Sawford, the starving need in my body, crossed the bridge into love?
Was it possible to hate someone and love them at the same time?
Aye, it was. I hated what he did to me, hated myself for wanting him; but I could not face life without him.
“Who is the father of your child?” Lily demanded.
“Ask the lass no more,” Jack reprimanded his wife. “’Tis a matter between Valentine and her. Whether she cares for him or no, she’s part of our family now. If he wants her here, then we must make her welcome.”
Lily sighed. “Of course.” She gestured to me to sit. “Let me get you something to eat. Valentine will be gone a day or so, he said, and I am sure he would wish to find you fit and well on his return.”
Sawford returned the next day. I had spent the time helping Lily with her household chores, ashamed that although I knew how to run a household, I knew nothing of the simple tasks of day-to-day living.
She warmed to me a little but it was obvious that she neither liked nor trusted me.
Her love for Sawford secured my good opinion of her, but I kept my feelings to myself.
Though she spoke little of Sawford, I learned a great deal from what she did not say.
In Jack, I saw flashes of the man that my husband might have been had life treated him more kindly.
What had happened to the brother he’d lost?
Who was the woman he had given his heart to?
But though the questions burned in my mind, I dared not ask them.
He arrived in the evening while we ate in the kitchen.
Jack and Lily were engaging in easy conversation—a husband and wife in partnership, Jack heeding Lily’s words and smiling in thanks when she placed a bowl of stew in front of him.
The door swung open, and my own husband stood at the threshold, tall and magnificent.
The candlelight threw shadows across the strong planes of his face.
He was clean shaven, the scar on his chin visible again.
My heart leaped to see him, but his eyes were on Lily who ran to embrace him.
The loving smile he gave his sister-in-law disappeared when he finally acknowledged me.
“Wife.”
“Husband,” I replied coolly, turning away to hide the hurt in my eyes.
He sat and began speaking to his brother.
I rose to serve his supper, but he ignored me, not even glancing in my direction as I ladled stew into a bowl and pushed it toward him.
Lily ushered me out of the room ‘to enable the men to enjoy their evening’ and I turned my back on her ungraciously before retiring.
Vane entered our room some hours later, the movement waking me as he climbed into the bed.
“Husband, where have you been?”
“’Tis no business of yours” he said. “Or do you fear that I found a better bed partner with a kinder heart and warmer thighs?”
He sounded angry. When he’d arrived that evening his manner toward me had been indifferent but something had happened since then, for now he shook with rage.
“What is the matter?” I reached out to him.
He slapped my hand away.
“Go to sleep, woman, or I’ll throw you out on your feet!” he growled, “I have no desire to have a cold-hearted shrew for a wife.”
He turned his back, and I waited until his breathing steadied into the deep, slow rhythm of sleep.
Hot tears of jealousy and sorrow flowed down my cheeks—jealousy of the easy, loving relationship he had with his brother and sister, and jealousy of the other women he’d visited.
My heart ached with sorrow for the feelings I bore for him which he did not return.
My body was safer in the life of a peasant compared to the perilous life of Lady Mortlock.
But as for my heart—the key to my heart may have been unlocked by the loving words written by another, but the fragile treasure contained within belonged utterly and completely to the man lying beside me now; the man who would only spurn and reject it.
Lord save me. I loved Vane Sawford