Chapter 4 #2
She didn’t believe him. She didn’t trust him.
He had something to gain from fulfilling his obligation to Edward, else he wouldn’t have agreed to send his men away.
Julian Griffin needed Sybilla’s cooperation.
Perhaps she would engage the spindly little nursemaid in some espionage of her own.
Sybilla always felt better knowing exactly what she was up against.
If your mother was who I suspect she was, then Fallstowe does not belong to you.
How much did he know, and how had he come by that knowledge? Sybilla decided she would play with Lord Griffin awhile, talk a little if he wanted to talk. Tell some truths.
Upon that thought, it was as if she could feel the weight of her mother’s body upon the mattress behind her, sense once more the crippled old woman’s bitter and frightened urgency.
“Not all the truth, Maman,” she sighed, hearing the sadness in her voice that she felt all the time but only allowed to manifest itself when she was alone. “I keep my promises.”
The tension on the mattress behind her eased, but Sybilla’s shoulders did not. She commanded herself to sleep, and eventually she did.
Sybilla was used to getting her way.
Cecily Bellecote sat straight up in bed from a sound sleep, a sob catching in her chest. In the chill air of the bedchamber, where it had been warm from lovemaking only a short time ago, she could feel the icy streaks of tears on her cheeks.
Oliver stirred on the mattress at her side. “Cecily? Are you all right? Does your arm pain you?”
Cecily tried to slow her breathing, gain control over the spasms that wanted her to wail. She covered her face and eyes with her hands, took a deep breath, and then wiped the wetness firmly away.
“No, my arm is fine. I don’t know. A nightmare, perhaps.” She glanced toward the bank of windows in their chamber and saw the sun rising.
Oliver was nestling his face back down into the pillow, his words stretched and sleepy by the yawn that seized him. “You’ve experienced quite a bit of excitement the past few days,” he ventured.
“Yes,” she agreed. “Of course you’re right.
” She felt a gentle smile come to her lips at the thought that she was being comforted by her husband in their marriage bed.
She turned her head to look down at him and something wet splashed onto the back of her hand.
Cecily frowned at the water she saw there, and then brought her hands to her face again. She pulled them away and stared.
Her eyes were still leaking.
“Oliver,” she whispered, “I think something’s wrong.”
He rose up again immediately, his eyes still full of sleep but looking at her intently. “The baby?”
“No,” she said, but still laid one hand protectively over her midsection. She glanced out the brightening window again. “I think perhaps it’s . . . it’s Sybilla.”
Oliver sat up fully in bed now. “What do you mean? That she is injured or . . . ?”
Cecily knew he didn’t wish to voice aloud anything more dire now that they both knew the king’s soldiers were en route to Fallstowe.
“I don’t know,” she said, and her words betrayed the frustration and confusion she felt.
Oliver got out of the bed and began searching for his pants. “I’ll send a messenger to the men I left behind. Perhaps they—”
His words were interrupted by a rapping on the chamber door. Cecily met her husband’s gaze for a solemn instant.
“Who calls?” Oliver commanded as he fastened his pants and strode to the door.
“Argo, my lord.” The answer was muffled through the wood.
Cecily watched as her husband opened the door a bit, and she was glad that he had not admitted Bellemont’s steward. She pulled the coverlets up to her shoulders and waited while Oliver murmured with his man.
“What?” he shouted suddenly, and then seemed to forget about decorum as he left the door swinging and marched back across the room to throw the curtains over the windows, leaving them completely open.
He braced his hands on the windowsill and hung his head for a moment. “Perfect,” he muttered. “Perfect!”
“What is it, Oliver?” Cecily asked, glancing toward the doorway and seeing only a sliver of the proper Argo’s form.
Her husband glanced at her. “One moment, love.” He strode back to the door, shared a few quiet words with Argo, and then closed the door once more. He sighed and leaned his back against the wood.
“Edward’s men gained Fallstowe last night after we left.”
Cecily brought a hand to her throat, almost afraid to ask. “Did they attack?”
“No,” Oliver said. He pushed away from the door and began searching the floor around the bed, presumably for the rest of his clothing. “No, they did not. In fact, they are no longer at Fallstowe. They’re here.”
Cecily frowned. “Here? Whatever for?”
Oliver stood upright and shook out his white shirt. “Apparently Lord Julian Griffin carries Edward’s banner, and he is currently in residence at Fallstowe with Lady Foxe,” Oliver emphasized.
“Edward’s doorman at court, you mean? With Sybilla?” This was getting stranger and stranger. “But why would the man sent to take Fallstowe from my sister send his soldiers to Bellemont?”
“Because your husband is an imbecile,” Oliver muttered.
Then a bit louder, “It seems our king is prepared to accept my gracious offer of support. I am to rally Bellemont’s soldiers and be prepared to descend upon Fallstowe at Julian Griffin’s signal.
In the meantime, we are to house three hundred of the king’s men whose siege has been postponed.
Half of the army that was at Fallstowe.”
Cecily looked out the window once more. “But he’s at Fallstowe? Alone with Sybilla?”
Oliver stilled his motions, facing her now with his boots in one hand. “I am obviously not the only imbecile in the land.”
Cecily felt her lips press together in a thin line. “Oh my. The poor man.”