By Arrangement Part 22

Could this be his reaction at having his plans thwarted? If he had gone to France, and risked what he risked, had the turn of events angered him? For there had been anger in those blue eyes, and a cold distance that chilled her.

He joined the household for dinner. He sat beside her and received reports from Andrew as he ate. Nothing specific conveyed his displeasure, but she could sense it distinctly. At the end of the table, Sieg ate his meal with a methodical silence that suggested he at least recognized David's mood. She had a.s.sumed that they would tumble into bed at the first chance upon his return, but under the circ.u.mstances she didn't mind too much when he moved his chair to the hearth after the meal. The others left and she sat across from him and watched him stare into the fire. A very strange silence descended. She bore it awhile and then tried to fill it with conversation. She described small events in the household while he was gone, and the reaction when the fleet returned. Chattering on anxiously, she told him about her sad leavetaking of Morvan and then her relief upon his unexpected return.

He turned those haunted eyes on her while she spoke. His steady regard made her uncomfortable. She had imagined his homecoming many times, and it had been filled with elation and joy and her newly discovered love. She found all of those emotions retreating from the dark presence sitting near her. She began telling him about the Easter joust, but he interrupted with an abruptness that suggested that he hadn't been listening to anything.

"You were seen," he said.

She jolted in confusion. The frightening realization struck her that this change in him had something to do with her.

"Seen? What do you mean?" She instinctively felt defensive.

He rose from his chair. Grabbing her arm, he lifted her and began pushing her in front of him through the hall.

"What are you talking about?" She glanced back at the stranger forcing her to scramble up the steps. He dragged her to the bedchamber and slammed the door behind them. She sensed his anger spike dangerously. Some anger of her own rose in response and mixed with her worry and fear. She shook off his grip and backed up to the windows.

He faced her with tense hands on his hips. "You were seen, girl. With your lover."

"There were men at court who paid me attention, David, but it was harmless. No doubt many saw me, but not with any lover."

Her light response only made it worse. His anger surged. "Men paying you attention are inevitable. Stephen Percy, it seems, was inevitable, too, despite your vows and your a.s.surances to me. It did not take you long to find your way back to that knight's bed."

His crisp words stunned her. She had actually forgotten about that dinner with Stephen these last few days. Stephen Percy had ceased to exist for her as she reveled in her love for David. She stared at him speechlessly and knew that the truth, that she had met with Stephen, was written on her face.

"That was harmless, too," she said, knowing that her denial would not matter. The meeting itself was the betrayal and he would a.s.sume the worst.

"You have no talent for adultery, darling. You don't even know when to lie and how to do it. Harmless?

Lady Catherine was seen taking you up to a chamber in that inn and then returning without you. An hour later you emerged with Percy. I am told that your kiss of farewell was chaste enough, but he could afford restraint and discretion by then."

"What you were told is true, but I did nothing wrong in that chamber," she explained with a calm she did not feel at all. She could offer only her word against the d.a.m.ning evidence. "Who told you of this, David?

Many saw, I am sure, and I am sorry that I did not think how it would appear to them and what it might cost your pride. But who felt the need to tell you? Was it Catherine? She helped Stephen in the ruse that brought me to him unknowingly."

"No doubt Lady Catherine eagerly awaits letting me know," he said bitterly.

"Then who?" but even as she asked it she knew the answer. He had just arrived back in London, Whoever had told him this was someone he trusted. Her indignation at the implications helped beat back the desperation.

"Oliver," she gasped. "You were having me followed. Dear saints! All of the time? When I walked about the city, was he always there? Did he hide in the shadows of Westminster and follow us into the forest for the hunt? Did you trust me so littlea"

"He followed you for your protection, and not to catch you thus. In this one tiling I surely trusted you, or I would not have let you go back to court where he could not follow."

"He was there? At the inn?"

He advanced toward her, dangerous and tense, and she backed up until she b.u.mped against the window.

"He tried to hide the truth from me, but I can read him as I read you, and I forced it out." He reached out and laid his hand against her face. There was nothing soothing in his quiet voice or rea.s.suring in that touch. "So you have finally had your knight, my lady. Was it all that you expected? Like the songs and poetry of chivalry on which you were raised? Did that knight's hands give you comfort that you are still who you were born to be? That you had not been debased beyond redemption in the bed of a merchant?"

Nay, she wanted to say, it was the other way around. But admitting that Stephen had touched her would only throw oil on this fire.

He neither crowded her nor restrained her, but she suddenly felt extremely helpless. A sensual edge in his soft tone made her wary.

"I did nothing wronga" She repeated, searching his eyes for belief and understanding. She saw only shadows and fire and something else that alarmed her.

When he lowered his head, she tried to turn away. His hand twisted into her hair and held her as his mouth claimed hers.

She loved him and missed him and wanted him, and at first her body and spirit accepted him gratefully. But as she felt his pa.s.sion rise and his kiss deepen, she knew that it was neither love nor affection driving him but rather pride and anger, and this reminded her too much of Stephen's a.s.sault. She jerked her head away and struggled as he pulled her into his arms.

"Nay. Do nota"

"Aye, my girl. I have been two weeks without a woman. That is the best thing about marriage. One need not waste time wooing and seducing when it waits for you at home." He imprisoned her with his embrace and cradled her head steady with a forceful grip. "This is the problem with adultery, and you might as well learn it today. The man can avoid his wife if he chooses, but the woman must return to a husband who still has his rights."

He held her firmly and kissed her again. She desperately squirmed against those strong arms. Her shock eclipsed every other emotion. He might have been a stranger handling her.

"I feared that you might repulse me, knowing where you had been and what you had been doing the first time I left the city," he said as his hands moved over her body.

He smiled faintly but she could tell that his anger hadn't abated at all. "It would be ironic, wouldn't it? To have paid all of that silver for property and then found that I no longer wanted the use of it."

Her mind clouded with horror at hearing him speak so coldly of their marriage. There had certainly been evidence that he thought of her thus and had even seduced her to lay claim to what was his, but to hear the words bluntly spoken and to have the confirmation thrown into the face of her love sickened her.

"Propertya" she gasped.

"Aye. Bought and paid for."

Her eyes blurred and she thought that her heart would shatter. But his words also insulted her pride and her fury flared.

"I don't choose to be property to be used at your convenience," she cried, twisting and kicking to break free. "You will not do this in anger and punishment."

Her struggle only infuriated him. With two rough moves he pinned and immobilized her against the window.

"You are my wife. You have no choices."

She screamed as he lifted her and carried her to the bed as if she were a carpet. When he threw her down, she rolled away and tried to scramble free. He caught her and pulled her to him, pressing his chest into her back and throwing a leg over hers.

He held her until her thrashing stopped. She emerged from her delirium of rebellion. He softly stroked her hair and back as if she were a skittish animal.

Devastation flooded her. She bit her lower lip and fought back tears. She thought of the stupid and trusting joy which she had carried down to him just a few hours before. Love, alive but battered, searched for shelter somewhere inside her.

He shifted off of her and ran his hand down her back. His fingers pried at the knot of her cotehardie's lacing.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you, but I share you with no man, least of all that one." His voice came quietly and gently, but anger still radiated from him, mixing with the pa.s.sion of his body. "You must never go to him again. If you do, I will kill him."

He said it simply and evenly, in the voice of the David she knew. The hands that she relished stroked her back through the loosened garment, their warmth flowing through the thin fabric of her shift. Her foolish love glowed in response. Her bludgeoned pride pushed it back into a corner. She turned onto her back. His mood had not improved much although he tried to hide it now. She gazed at that handsome face that could so easily make her heart sigh. His expression softened, and he caressed her stomach and breast. A pleasurable yearning fluttered through her and it horrified her that she could respond under these conditions. Her love started stringing through her, offering to weave an illusion for escape.

His blunt words repeated themselves in her head. She grabbed his wrist and stayed his hand. Love or not, she could not delude herself about what was about to happen and why he did it and what it meant to him.

"So, we are down to base reality at last," she said, narrowing her eyes. "How tedious it must have been to have to pretend otherwise with the child whom you married."

He stared at her. His lack of response and denial turned her anguish to hateful spite. "The merchant has need of his property, much as he rides his horse when it suits him? Well, go ahead, husband. Reclaim your rights. Show that you are equal to any baron by using one of their daughters against her will. Will you hurt me, too? To make sure that the lesson of your ownership is well learned?"

Still he did not react. Her heart broke with a suffocating pain and she threw out whatever she could to hurt him, in turn. "Do not bother with seduction and pleasure, mercer. Soil feels nothing when it is tilled, nor wool when it is cut. I will think about who I am and what you are and feel nothing, too. But be quick about it so that I can go cleanse myself." And then she looked at him and through him the way she had that day after her bath.

She thought that he was going to hit her. In that brief moment of his renewed anger, as he drew up and his eyes darkened, she rolled frantically off the bed and half ran, half crawled to the door of the wardrobe.

She slammed and barred it just as he reached her. A vicious kick jarred the door and bolt. She pushed a heavy trunk over against them and stood back fearfully as he kicked again. Then came only silence. She ran to the door leading to the exterior stairs and barred it too. She waited tensely a long time but the quiet held and he made no more attempts to enter. Heaving breaths of relief, she sank down on a stool and finally let the tears flow. She cried long and hard, awash in misery and shock, his cruel words echoing in her ears. Her pathetic love fluttered out of hiding and added to the agony.

Eventually a numb stupor claimed her. Only one thought came clearly, over and over again. She had to get away and leave this house and this man. She would not, could not, live with the reality he had forced on her this day. Not now. Not for a long while. Maybe not ever.

The rain pounded relentlessly, its blowing spray stinging David's face. He stood on the short dock and watched the patterns that the drops made in the muddy Thames. Beautiful, rhythmic splashes, full of faint highlights of purity, existed for split instants before the dirty flow absorbed them. He let the rain wash over him. It soaked his clothes and plastered his hair to his head. After a long while it cleansed the black anger from his mind.

And then, with the madness gone, he faced the memory of what had occurred. That would never wash away and he lived it all again. His spiteful words. Her harsh insults. His vicious debas.e.m.e.nt of her. Thank G.o.d she had gotten away.

They knew each other well enough to point the daggers expertly and draw blood from each other's weaknesses. He would never forget what she had said, but he couldn't blame her for admitting those feelings and thoughts. Since the day she had come to him, she had tried valiantly to ignore what this marriage meant to her life.

He had never been as cruel and hard to a woman as he had been with Christiana this day. Oliver and Sieg had been right. He should never have returned home and confronted her while the knowledge of her infidelity still flared like a fresh log tossed on a fire. He had known that they were right even as he ignored their advice and entreaties.

He pictured Oliver sitting across the tavern table from him and Sieg, listening with studied absorption to their tale of waiting on the Normandy coast for signs of the fleet pa.s.sing. David described how the days had turned dark with storms and how he had realized that this month at least he would be spared the decision awaiting him in France.

And all the time that Oliver carefully listened and prolonged the tale with questions, he had watched the signs of ill ease on his old friend's face. They betrayed him worse when David asked after Christiana. Poor Oliver. He had tried to lie and then to equivocate when he probed for details. David knew that his own expression had turned dangerous when he felt Sieg's hand on his shoulder and that lilting voice urging him to stay away from the house for a few more days.

Impossible, of course. He had to see her at once and look into those diamonds knowing what he knew. He wanted and expected to feel dead to her, to be free of the love that was complicating his life and making him suddenly indecisive.

For when he had stepped off Albin's boat this morning after two treacherous days at sea, he had known that he loved her. He had recognized the feelings for a long time, but in Normandy he had put the name to them. He had sought out Oliver before returning home, because he knew that when he entered that house he would not want to leave again for a long while.

In his mind he saw her running to him, face flushed and eyes bright. He had watched her exuberant greeting with dark fascination. He had not expected her to be so good at deception. And mixed with that initial reaction had been the appalling realization that he still wanted her. A dangerous mix, he thought now as he raised his face to the rain. Anger and desire and jealousy. Why had he let her play the game out? Why had he permitted those hours to pa.s.s as she pretended that nothing had changed and his own rancor grew? He grimaced and wiped the water from his face. He had been watching and waiting and, aye, hoping. Waiting for a confession and hoping it included the admission that her infidelity had been disillusioning.

Waiting for her to beg forgiveness and say that she now knew that she no longer loved Percy. Fool. Unfaithful wives never did such things. Even when cornered with the evidence, the prudent course was to lie. Honesty was too dangerous. Men reacted too violently. He had certainly proven that today, hadn't he? He had forced her into lies born of her fear.

He closed his mind to the memory of her shock and terror.

She had denied it, but he didn't believe her. She loved Sir Stephen and her knight had been leaving for war. Her own testimony suggested that Stephen had no skill as a lover, but that did not rea.s.sure him in the least. A woman in love sought more than pleasure in bed and would forgive any clumsiness. He contemplated that denial as he walked back to his horse. One part rang true. Lady Catherine brought me to Stephen unknowingly, she had said. He believed that, and it was something at least. Christiana had not arranged that meeting on her own, but had been lured there. Considering how she felt about Stephen, perhaps the rest had been so inevitable as to make her practically innocent. As for Lady Catherine and her role in thisa Well, when he settled this new account, he would permit himself the pleasure of revenge and not just justice.

He couldn't stay away from the house forever, and so he rode back, not knowing what he would say to Christiana when he got there. The temptation presented itself to pretend that the whole day had never happened, that he had never confronted her in his rage.

Would she accept their behaviors as an effective trade? One infidelity and betrayal for one attempted rape? If it had just been that, the accounts might be cleared, but his words and manner had insulted her more than any bodily a.s.sault could. To hurt her, he had told her that she was only a n.o.ble wh.o.r.e whom he had bought. She would not quickly forgive him that.

He rode into the wet courtyard and handed his reins to the groom. As soon as he entered the hall, a corner of his soul suspected.

The house felt as it had before their wedding. It had been his home for years and he had found contentment in it and so he had never noticed the voids that it held after his mother and master died. Only after Christiana filled those s.p.a.ces with her smiles and joy had he realized their previous vacancy. Now he heard his footsteps echo in the large chamber as if all of the furniture had been removed. He paced to the hearth, avoiding the confirmation of his suspicion.

Geva entered from the kitchen with crockery plates in her arms. She glanced at him and shook her head.

"You be soaking wet, David. Best get out of those garments," she scolded. He turned his back to the fire. Geva hummed as she set out the plates for supper. She acted as if nothing was amiss, and his foreboding retreated. With one final glance at him, she disappeared back into the kitchen.

He looked at the tables. He counted the plates. One short. The foreboding rushed back. He slowly walked across the hall and up to his chambers, knowing what he would find. In the wardrobe, hanging on their pegs and folded in trunks, were all of the garments that he had given her, including the red cloak. He flipped through them, noting that her other things, her old things, were mostly gone. Not all of them, however. One trunk still held some winter wools. He lifted them to his face and savored her scent, and an invisible hand squeezed his heart.

He left the wardrobe and pa.s.sed quickly through the bedchamber, not wanting to look at that s.p.a.ce that still held the vivid images of the wounds they had inflicted on each other. Sieg squatted in the solar, building the fire. He raised his eyebrows at the soaked garments.

"Did you throw yourself in the river then?"

David ignored him.

"Did you harm her?"

He shook his head.

Sieg finished with the fire and then rose. "I told you to wait, David. Your mood was blacker than night. I've not seen you like that, even when the Mamluks first threw you into that h.e.l.l with me after that s.l.u.t sold you out to them. Not even during our escape when you killed the one who had flogged us."

"I should have listened."

"Ja, well you never have where this girl goes, so this is no different."

David hesitated. With any other man he would not have asked, but Sieg had seen him weak before.

"Where is she?"

Sieg's eyes flashed and his posture straightened. "h.e.l.l! You don't know? I swear she told me that you'd agreed to it or I'd not have taken hera"

"Where?"

"Back to Westminster." He turned toward the door. "I go and get her now. h.e.l.l."

"Do not. Leave her stay awhile."

"Do you mean to say that you will stand down to this fool of a knight who steals your wife? You will permit this?"

"If it comes to that, I have driven her to it," he said. "Do you think that she plans to remain at court? Did you sense that she intended to continue on elsewhere?"

"She promised to remain there, which I found odd, since she owes me no explanation."

"Sir Stephen left for Northumberland several days ago. Oliver told me. She knows that I will know, or find out. Her promise was to a.s.sure me that she does not go to him." He smiled thinly. "I said that I would kill him if she did. My behavior gave her reason to believe me."

Sieg threw up his hands. "It makes no sense, David. If this man is up north, why does she just go to Westminster? If she doesn't go to him, why run away at all?"

David didn't reply, although the answer was obvious. She does not run to Percy, he thought. She runs from me.

Christiana sat in a garden redolent with the scent of late May flowers. She gazed at the pastel buds and smiled. Being a woman instead of a child wasn't all bad. Last year she would have taken the flowers'

beauty for granted. Today she carefully admired their fresh purity.

David had taught her this. To pay attention to the fleeting beauties in the world. Not a small gift. She sighed into the silence. The garden was empty despite the warm weather because the court attended dinner in the hall right now. She had avoided those crowded meals and all other events where she would be required to chat and make merry. She had escaped to Westminster for sanctuary and to heal her heart and soul.

She had found welcome and sympathy when she arrived. Lady Idonia had taken one look at her and known the reason for the visit. That little woman asked no questions and settled her in as if they had been expecting her. Joan and Isabele, warned by Idonia no doubt, sought no explanations either. They were the only family she had known for years, and they surrounded her and protected her in her pain. Even Philippa, on hearing of her extended stay, had come to see her. Alone together in the anteroom, the Queen had tried to be a mother to her for once as she explained the difficulties of marriage. Upon leaving, she had offered to write to David and say that she requested his wife's continued attendance. He would not dare come for her then, and Christiana would have more time. More time. For what? To reconcile herself to living her life with a man who at most wanted her available to satisfy his needs? Who had purchased a well-bred and well-formed bedmate, much as he carefully chose his horses? A man who did not believe her now after she had always been honest with him to the point of cruelty? A man who barely cared for her at all, but whom she loved despite everything?

There lay the real problem, of course. The rest she could manage and accept if she didn't love him. It was the lot of most women, and she had even ridden to her wedding a.s.suming that it would be hers. Mutual indifference would make it bearable. Wasn't Margaret surviving?

Aye, she needed time. Time to stop loving him.

She had been working hard at that these last few weeks. She kept the memory of his harsh indifference and his attempted rape sharp in her brain. She reexamined the evidence implicating him in some treasonous game. It hadn't worked and she was in a quandary. The love wouldn't die and he had robbed her of the chance to build illusions out of ambiguities.