Chapter 28 #2
“Very well,” he said. “I shall not press the matter now. But we must discuss your future soon. Marriage is the only option that will convince the king of your loyalty. He released you into my care, and as your overlord I am expected to find a suitable husband for you. My knights do as they’re bid and marry at my direction, and their wives enjoy comfort and status. ”
“I care nothing for rank or nobility.”
“Perhaps you’d be more easily persuaded if you understood it’s not just your future at stake.”
What could he mean? The ghost of a smile played on his lips, then he stood, opened the door, and called out.
“You can come in, now.”
Footsteps approached, and a young woman entered, holding a bundle wrapped in a blanket. I heard a mewling cry which tugged sharply on my instincts, calling to me on a primal level. Without thinking I rushed over to her, pulled back the blanket, and cried out as I recognized the babe in her arms.
Geoffrey.
Without a word, she passed my child to me, and I clutched him to my breast and fell to my knees. Huge sobs tore from my throat as I rocked him back and forth. “Geoffrey! Oh, my son, my beloved son…mon petit fils…I thought I’d never see you again…”
My child had grown while we had been apart.
I pressed my face against him and drank in his beautiful baby smell.
Cradling him in my arms, I ran a fingertip down his sweet face, marveling at the smooth, fair skin.
His little pink fist uncurled as I ran my finger across his palm, then curled again as he clasped my finger.
He gurgled with pleasure, his face lighting up with joy.
Through the tears I let out a laugh.
“Yes, my sweet one, Maman is here, and she will never leave you again.”
A hand touched my shoulder. De Beauvane had kneeled beside me.
“Sir Roger…” I choked, “…I-I cannot thank you enough.”
“My dear child,” he said, “nothing has given me greater pleasure. I wonder, however, at your gratitude, when you show me none for sparing your life.”
“I am grateful for that too, my lord, for in saving me you have reunited me with my son. I am in your debt. I know you don’t need my approval or permission to be my overlord, but I gladly give it.”
“Perhaps I have misjudged you,” he said, “I can now see the quality in you that he has done.”
“Who?”
“Why my knight, of course. He saw you on the battlements during the siege at Shoreton. ’Twas he who persuaded me to spare your execution.”
Mon Dieu. The man who fought, and killed, Papa, who warned me about the trebuchet’s missile—had he also petitioned de Beauvane for my release? Why would he to base such actions on a mere glance from a distance?
“Who is he?”
“He goes by the name of Tarvin de Fowensal.”
His words extinguished the small ray of hope in my heart. Tarvin, who I had thought was dead, was alive. But it was not his resurrection that I hoped and prayed for.
“I believe you knew him?” de Beauvane asked softly, “and that you loved him?”
“I had, at one point, believed that I loved him,” I said, swallowing my sorrow.
“He wrote the most beautiful letters which gave me much comfort when I was alone and friendless. He gave me hope, and made me realize that it was possible to experience love. But I grew to love another. Part of me will always care for Tarvin, but I cannot marry him. I would not make him happy. The man I love is dead.”
“And…you love that man still?” de Beauvane said.
I nodded, blinking back the tears. “I always will love him,” I said. “Tarvin deserves better than I. You said yourself that I was known to be a whore and a traitor. I am also a murderess. I-I could not let him bear the shame of it.”
“Ah, yes,” de Beauvane said. “I have spoken with Oliver. It seems as if de Tourrard took his own life, mistaken or no. All the king would have to be angry about is your denying him the pleasure of executing a traitor. Tarvin would be proud to be married to the woman who rid the world of such a man.”
I shook my head. “My lord, he does not deserve a woman who would spend the rest of her days loving a dead man.”
“In time you will come to love another,” he said. “’Tis possible to love more than once in a lifetime.”
“Perhaps, but I cannot risk the heart or happiness of a good man by marrying in haste.”
He studied me for a moment then smiled. “You are an unusual woman, Lisetta. You’re not afraid to speak your mind. Few men dare be so bold with me.”
“What would the purpose be in deception?” I said. “If you meant me harm, my boldness would not change that.”
To my surprise he laughed. “I can see the attraction. ’Tis no disrespect to my beautiful Adelia to say that I’m glad I am not twenty summers younger.
I shall not force you to marry, but there are few alternatives open to you.
You could remain here as my mistress…” he raised a hand to stop my protest “…in name only, my dear. You would be left chaste but such a position would ensure your protection.”
“Could I not be given a position as a servant?” I said. “As chatelaine, or lady in waiting to Adelia?”
“You would rather be a servant than the wife of a knight?”
“The life of a lady has brought me no joy, Sir Roger,” I said. “I had a brief moment of happiness when I lived as a peasant, when I loved—and lived—humbly but honestly.”
De Beauvane met my gaze, curiosity in his eyes, and a smile played on his lips.
“I’m afraid that the position of a servant is out of the question,” he said.
“But, we will speak no more of it today. You need to rest and I promised Adelia not to tire you out with too many questions. Let Lena take your son. She’ll take good care of him and will continue to do so as long as you require. ”
As much as I wanted to argue, I let the maidservant take Geoffrey. Sir Roger was right; I could barely keep my eyes open. So many questions swirled in my mind.
Who was Tarvin? How did he escape Mortlock alive?
How did de Beauvane find Geoffrey? What had happened to Jack and Lily?
My head ached with it all, but I clung to what was real. Geoffrey was alive, and I would never willingly be parted from my son again.
“Join us in the main hall tomorrow night,” de Beauvane said. “We shall decide your future then— whether you are to marry or become my mistress.”
He held out his hand and as I took it, he bowed and kissed my fingers.
“Until tomorrow.”
Shortly after he left, another maidservant entered the room and helped me back into the bed. Adelia visited me later and took my hand.
“You have nothing to fear, child,” she said. “My husband believes and trusts you. Both you and your son will be taken care of.”
“How did Geoffrey come to be here?” I asked. “I understand nothing of what happened, or Sir Roger’s role in it.”
“I know,” Adelia said. “My husband will grant you an audience before we dine tomorrow, and you will understand then.”
She insisted I take another sleeping draught, and I did not resist. She covered me with the bed fur and held my hand until sleep overcame me once more.
The next evening I waited in my chamber for Sir Roger’s summons. Adelia had given me one of her gowns to wear. She was taller than I, and I had lost weight in the past weeks, so the gown hung loosely on my frame.
Her maidservants treated me like a delicate piece of parchment ready to crumble to dust at the slightest touch.
They dressed me with gentle hands, taking care with my bandaged arm as they fitted the undergown and surcoat.
There was little they could do with my hair which barely touched my shoulders, but a veil disguised the short locks.
Adelia declared that despite the fading bruises on my face, I was unrecognizable from the filthy, battered creature her husband had brought into her home.
Adelia understood my distress. I had no wish to disgrace her in a position as her husband’s mistress but she reassured me that there was no shame in it.
Most noblemen had mistresses, many of whom enjoyed a position of rank almost equal to that of a wife.
De Beauvane, though faithful to Adelia, was willing to maintain a facade for my protection and to provide a future for Geoffrey.
They had one child—a son who was fostered at a young age and now served the king as a knight. But they had not been blessed with others. They had room for Geoffrey in their heart and household.
At a summons from one of Sir Roger’s men, Adelia led me to a chamber beside the main hall. The chamber was lit by a single candle on the desk at which Sir Roger sat. A small chair had been placed before the desk, and he gestured to me to sit while he dismissed his wife.
The murmur of voices could be heard from the dining hall, and I began to tremble. Tonight my fate would be decided and declared publicly before the entire household.
Sir Roger glanced over his shoulder into the darkness behind him. Then he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table, the movement bringing his face into the candlelight. A faint trace of amusement danced in his eyes.
“So, Lisetta,” he said. “What is it to be? Marriage, or mistress?”
“I am not willing to marry, my lord.”
“Tell me why.”
“I have already done so.”
“Indulge me by telling me again.”
“I have no wish to marry, because I love another.”
“Tell me about him,” he said, “the man you love.”
I shook my head. “Sir Roger, I see no benefit in doing so. He is dead and it pains me to think of it.”
“Nevertheless, I insist.”
“Very well,” I said. “The only man I have ever loved was a servant. A peasant. Bastard born.”
I had expected Sir Roger to react, but he merely smiled.
“Did he love you in return?”
“Nay, he did not,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I saw the love he had for others, yet he only ever looked at me with indifference. He left me to go whoring, thinking me a whore myself, while I gave birth to our son, and it broke my heart.”
My voice cracked. “Please, don’t make me marry again. I have no wish to experience another marriage without love or to break the heart of a good, honest man. I have known the pain of loving so deeply and not having that love returned. I will not inflict that pain on another.”
De Beauvane let out a sigh. “Tarvin would understand. He is not a man to judge. I am certain that he would be willing to risk a little heartbreak. Men are different than women, my dear. Our hearts are a little sturdier. At least let him speak with you before you make your final decision. You owe him—and me—that.”
“Very well,” I said, “but not today, I beg you. I feel nothing but shame for the words I wrote to him, knowing I cannot love him.”
Ignoring me, Sir Roger looked over his shoulder.
“I believe you have heard enough,” he said. “You can show yourself now and claim your wife.”
A shape moved in the darkness. Another man was in the chamber. Sir Roger had tricked me.
“Nay!” I cried, rising from my chair. Ignoring Sir Roger’s order to stop, I ran toward the door. I heard a crash as the desk was swept aside. Sir Roger was on me before I reached the handle, and he took hold of my arm.
“Be still, madam,” he ordered. “Remember you are under my authority.” He turned me to face the man who had been concealed in the dark.
“Step forward.”
The man approached, making no sound. He closed the distance between us until I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
He was tall, dwarfing even Sir Roger. Strength and virility radiated from his hard, muscular frame.
His brow creased into a frown and his nostrils flared.
His jaw was set hard and his mouth firm—the full lips unsmiling.
I followed the line of a scar, its redness indicating the wound was recent, which curled up the side of his face.
When I finally summoned the strength to meet his gaze, strong blue eyes, dark with anger, bore into me.
My throat constricted as I tried to breathe. My legs felt as if they had turned to liquid and Sir Roger’s arms tightened around my waist to prevent me from falling.
Then he lifted my arm and guided my hand toward the man standing in front of me until he took it. The shock of recognition tightened my skin as his flesh touched mine. My body silently called out and was rewarded with a response as long, lean fingers curled around my wrist in a possessive grip.
“Mon Dieu,” I whispered. Despite all my prayers, never did I think I would see a man return from the dead.
The living, breathing man standing before me was Vane Sawford.