Chapter 21
Lily felt herself yielding to the siren song of sleep. She wanted it so badly, but pain disoriented her.
Added to that, she was aware of the wrath of the man carrying her into the pavilion. Against her wishes or not.
He could not be accused of reticence when it came to displaying his anger. That was certain. She was sure that the good citizens of nearby counties had heard the dressing down he’d just delivered to his men. She did not doubt that he intended to extend that to her own personal drubbing.
And Lily had almost no will left to spar with him.
He laid her on the bed with a solicitousness that completely contradicted the fury in his face.
“What is it, Lily?” he demanded. “Are you ill?”
“No.”
He scowled; black thunder took his brows. She closed her eyes.
“That’s it?” he said, hands on his hips. “No. You almost fainted. And that is all the explanation you offer? And on top of poor Diggens, who but minutes before, unless I misunderstand what you said, you were defending with all the enthusiasm of a hen with her chicks.”
“He is blameless. Your accusation was unjust,” she said. “I am to blame and my nymph too, naturally, if you insist on blame.”
He spun on his heel to face her. “Do you dare redefine my squire’s duties?” he hissed in a terrible voice.
Lily shrank into the pillows at her back in fright.
“Good,” he said, his eyes raking her from top to bottom. After a gloating pause, he waved a hand in mock dismissal. “Smart enough to hold your tongue. But I do not forget this. It’s merely another of your many insubordinations. Do not compound the issue by offering me any more no.”
Almost as an aside, he added: “Not even no, my lord. Damnation, I’d have a man whipped for answering me back as disrespectfully as you.”
“Of course,” she said enigmatically, her eyes downcast.
He rounded on her again. “Would you care to explain that remark?”
She shook her head.
“Hmm. Even as you give me no by the bucketful, let me warn you, do not test me. Now we try again. Why did you faint on top of Diggens? Are you ill, mam’selle?
Lily opened her eyes wearily. She felt hopeless. “No, I’m not ill, I am tired, beyond tired.”
He scowled at her some more, his brows furrowing, eyes burning with anger and something else.
She could not identify the sentiment, only that it exposed her, made her even more vulnerable.
A threat then. A dare? He was goading her, she realized.
To do what? Defy him, perhaps? Stand up for herself? What?
“That is well, for I cannot abide illness when it is used cunningly as a weapon.”
“Let me sleep,” she said, closing her eyes again. “Please.” Perhaps he would leave her alone. She might as well have asked for the moon.
“No doubt. Your absurd adventure would have exhausted the hardiest among us, but weariness does not cause fainting, certainly not all over Diggens. It has a reason.”
Lily blinked. Again, complaining of the squire? Impossible man. Could you not just go away?
As if they’d conjured him, Diggens chose that moment to arrive with a bucket of steaming water in one hand and a pile of things in the other, including Lily’s satchel.
“Set them down and leave,” said the earl testily. “Make sure I’m not bothered further.”
“Yes, m’lord.” Diggens bowed and retreated.
Lily turned her face into the pillows and was asleep instantly, only to be roughly awakened what seemed like a few moments later. The earl sat on the bed beside her, a small bowl in his hand.
It contained a few slices of apple slathered in rich golden honey and several wedges of sweet ripe cheese.
He indicated that she should eat. “In your grand escape plan, you forgot to include supplies, no doubt. A poor quartermaster you would make, my lady. But we’ll soon have that fixed, and then get some of the grime off you.
After that, you can sleep for a while. We’re breaking camp, so you may be disturbed before you are properly rested. ”
Lily eyed the fruit reluctantly, but one look told her he would brook no refusal. The rich combination was surprisingly appetizing, and the cheese light enough not to overpower.
Satisfied with her compliance, he brought her a wine cup filled with a pale liquid that smelled of honey and bade her drink all of it. She’d never tasted anything so delicious, so filled with light.
“Is it a fairy drink?” she teased. “Does it set loose the tongue?”
He looked at her half-amused, his brow lifted in question. “Do you have secrets to tell, my lady?”
Lily smiled. “Everyone has,” she said, but the moment the words were out, she regretted them.
The earl’s expression grew dark again. “Indeed. But you will bring them out and now. I will have a full accounting of your escapade. I mean full. Do not think to hide behind omissions. For I will discover whatever is behind that shield. Be sure of it. Speak.”
“I-I don’t, I can’t. I was frightened,” she managed to say.
“I am sure you were, just as much as you are now, and for good reason. I will make your life uncomfortable if you do not give me what I have instructed you to give. Just so, tell me what frightened you, or who frightened you. For it was a who, wasn’t it? Perhaps more than one?”
For an agonizing moment, she looked up at him in mute appeal. Could he not leave off? She knew the answer, and her pitiful obfuscation wasn’t going to stop him. Nothing would.
Her head drooped, and with halting words, she told him the tale as best she could. She could not force herself to recount everything. The reality of her last attacker remained a horror too fresh. Nor did she give him the reason why she’d fled in the first place.
Throughout the telling, he stood a yard from the bed, arms folded across his chest, and said not a word. His jaw tight, gold shards in his eyes, she saw the wrath inside him rise like a deathly serpent and coil about him from his boots to the top of his pitch-black hair.
Finally, he showed her his back, walking a pace or two away, and only slowly turned back to face her. “If my recollection serves, you have been known to cavort with unsuitable swains in ill-suited places. And now, Lily, you wish me to believe a fairytale of knights who vanish and rogues who chase?”
“Believe me or not,” she said unwisely, her anger spiked by an overwhelming sense of disappointment. She was a fool to think her truth might be believed. What man placed any worth upon the word of a woman?
“Hellfire! You test me, woman,” he shouted at her, and made to grab her off the bed. “There are more omissions in your tale than whole facts.”
She wriggled away as fast as she could, but he easily caught her by her leg, and she gave a sharp yelp.
Edward dropped his grip in surprise. His eyes flew to her face. She was not feigning. He could see she was hurt, he just did not know why. His grip on her leg had not been particularly heavy.
He pushed her skirts up and stared in disbelief. All around his pavilion were the sounds of men dismantling tents and loading items into the baggage carts. Horses nickered, chains chinked, men shouted. Edward did not hear them. He stared aghast at what he had found.
Imprinted on Lily’s calf were the brutal blue-black marks of four fingers and a thumb.
From their size, he did not doubt they were made by a man.
For several heart-stopping minutes, he stared, unable to stop his shrinking gaze from seeking out other bruises, but he did not find any.
By this time, a black frost had settled on him.
Whereas before he had burned with fury, now he was a deadly pike of ice.
“Speak, Lily,” he said with deadly softness. “Explain.”
“I c-can’t… oh, please, my lord,” she said. Slipping off the bed, she tried to temper his rage by lightly touching his hand. “Please don’t be angry. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
“Hellfire, you will tell me now,” he said, his jaw clenched. “What are these marks? How come they were missing from your sorry tale? Tell me. Everything this time. Everything. Even the parts you, with your flawless wisdom, think I should not know.”
Lily could see his dark contempt. She felt herself crumbling inside. It was almost too much to bear. Tears that she had managed to hold in abeyance all morning streamed from her eyes.
“He—one of the ruffians. He caught me, h-hurt me, tried to hurt me,” she wept, her fingers going to the lump on her head.
“He would—the strange knights arrived and stopped him before, before he hurt… anything…. But they… the knights fled, just left me on the forest floor…they left me. I don’t know why.
I swear ‘tis true, I pray you believe me.” She swiped at her eyes, the wetness on her pale cheeks.
“The strange knights? Those you spoke of who vanished?”
She nodded, trying to swallow past the tears in her throat.
“Yes, the one I thought looked like my father’s friend, Sir Hugh.
I swear ‘twas he. But it couldn’t have been.
Lord Pravel would have rescued me. He would not have abandoned me.
If only it had been him, he would confirm my words. I speak true.”
“Pravel, did you say?” His words cut the very air.
Lily did not mark his sudden interest or see the feral glint in his expression.
Somehow, all her fear and insecurity fell in upon her and demolished her defenses.
A storm of weeping took her. Her head and shoulders bent under the force of that gale.
She cried out her anguish, for all the days of doubt, the battering of her spirit, the disapproval of her family, of her many failures, the trammels that caged her.
The horror of the woods had finally pushed her over the edge. Lily felt a terrible need to be held, to be comforted. If only for a little while.
She could not see Edward other than in a blur before her, so bleak, so sorrowful were her tears. Raw, hurtful, the sounds came from her in a shattering plea as she reached out blindly in supplication. “Please, my lord, p-please could you h-hold me? Just for a little.”
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