Tallie's Knight Part 28

"I apologise for cursing in your house."

The shoulder twitched huffily.

"And I apologise for any offence I may have made concerning your

relatives. I am sure they are very worthy and respectable people." He would have them all hanged if harm came to The shoulder twitched again.

"Please forgive me. I did not mean to upset you, signora, but I am extremely worried about my wife."

Carlotta turned and said stiffly, "She is with my relatives, signor.

No harm will come to her, I a.s.sure you. "Blast the woman's touchy Italian soul. He should give up thissoft-soaping and just choke the truth out of her. Magnus made one moreeffort.

"I know," he said.

"It is just that I am very anxious about her. She... she isincreasing, you know."Carlotta frowned in puzzlement."Increasing?" Then her face lit up."You mean a baby?"Magnus nodded, wishing he knew whether he was telling the truth or not.

"Oh, signor, that is wonderful. No wonder you are anxious about thesignora. But how happy you must be. A baby."Magnus nodded, and managed what he hoped looked like a joyful smile.But he was too d.a.m.ned worried to waste much more time grinning at some woman whose blasted relatives had carted Tallie off into some G.o.dforsaken mountain village.

"So, would you tell me now, please, where is my wife?" He managed a reasonably polite tone.

"But I told you, signor, she is in the village of my sister- in--' Magnus held up his hand.

"No more relatives, I beg of you."

Carlotta sighed and said simply, "She has gone to find the place where her mother died."

The breath left Magnus in a great gush. So that green-eyed scoundrel hadn't got her after all. He closed his eyes in relief. The place where her mother died. Of course. She'd mentioned it before. It was very important to her, he remembered. The main reason she'd wanted to come to Italy.

But why had she not waited until he was well enough to escort her? He would have gone with her. No question about it. In fact, now he came to think of it, he d.a.m.n well wanted to go with her. She needed him--not just as an escort, but to support her in her grief. She would need support; his wife was a very emotional little creature.

So why the deuce had she not waited? And why sneak off as she had, pretending she was going to Turin? As if there was something havey-cavey about visiting her mother's grave. There was no need for secrecy and deception for such a visit. So what was she about, creeping off behind his back? He frowned. Carlotta shifted uncomfortably under his stare. She averted her eyes and gazed with sudden interest at the ornately carved settee beneath the window.

His suspicion deepened. There was funny business going on, or Magnus was a Dutchman. And he wasn't. He was English to the core, as far back as the Conqueror. And beyond.

So what was his wife up to, the deceitful little baggage?

Tallie stood and stared desolated at the tumbledown cottage. The whitewash was ancient, dirty, and falling off in great flakes. The uneven shingled roof had holes visible from the narrow track below. A door swung drunkenly on one leather hinge and the wind rattled broken-slatted shutters and whipped at tattered remnants of oilcloth.

It was a ruin. n.o.body could possibly live here.

Her heart sank. She turned to their guide.

"I thought you said a man and woman lived here. With a little boy."

The man shrugged and mumbled something in an incomprehensible dialect.

One of Carlotta's nephews translated.

"He says they used to live up here but he hasn't visited for a year or so. He doesn't know what's happened to them. He's been living in Torino."

"Well, what about one of the people in the village down there? Would any of them know?" Tallie said.

"Perhaps."

They retraced their steps down to the village, about five minutes' walk from the ruined house. They knocked at door after door, but no one wished to answer questions posed by a strange young female, a foreign English female at that. But Tallie insisted they try every house in the village. She had not come this far to give up merely because people were suspicious of foreigners. Finally they came to a house where, after some dialogue between a nephew and the householder, a connection was established; it seemed to involve a great many cousins and in-laws.

Tallie was ushered into a small, neat room which seemed to fulfill the function of kitchen, sitting room and bedroom. A fire crackled and a pot of something pungent and aromatic was bubbling over it. Fat brown sausages, flitches of ham and plaited strings of garlic, onions and herbs hung in the rafters. The room was warm and cosy, with colourful hand-woven rugs on the floor and the bed. Tallie sat on a crude wooden bench. The woman of the house offered her an earthenware bowl filled to the brim with creamy milk. She drank it thirstily.

"Thank you very much, signora, that was delicious," she said gratefully, wiping a rim of cream from her upper lip. The woman smiled and bobbed her head in shy acknowledgement. Then, with the nephews translating, Tallie began her questioning.

"Si, Marta, who lived in the cottage up the hill, is dead."

"No, he was not her husband; he was her brother. Her husband died a long time ago--four years, maybe five. Her brother? He went away.

n.o.body knows for certain. Maybe he went to be a soldier. "

"A little boy? Si, there was a little boy. Her mira colo bambino, she called him. She was nine years barren, then, presto, one day she comes home from church with a little baby."

"Si, it would be about seven years ago."

"No, the baby had blond hair. Marta was dark."

"No, the little boy did not die. Where? Who knows, sign oral Not anyone around here."

"With the brother? No, he did not like the child. Called him little foreign b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Said he was no relative of his."

"G.o.d only knows, signora. In times like these, many children lose their parents. Some run wild in the hills--those who have no relatives, of course. Si, it is a tragedy, but what can one do? One has enough trouble feeding one's own without looking for more."

"What sort of boy, signoraf A bad boy, to be sure. Bad? Eh, steal my apples, ride my goats--Madonna mia} But always merry, you understand--whistling, laughing. Si, signora--a bad, merry little boy."

"Si, of course. If I hear anything... It has been a long time now... but, si, I will ask."

"No, no, you are welcome, signora. G.o.d go with you."

"They come, signer. Your wife and my nephews, they come--see?"

Cariotta gestured triumphantly.

Magnus strode to the window and stared out, breathing heavily. It had been four days since he had discovered Tallie had not gone to Turin.

Four days of ever-increasing anxiety. Four days in which he had discovered that his wife was indeed a liar.

"Yes, I can see her," he growled. He had barely slept the past few nights, and now, to see her coming down the street unharmed and apparently perfectly content. He'd begun to believe he would never see her again, and now. Relief, after days and nights of the most intense anxiety, turned to rage. How dared she arrive as if nothing in the world were wrong? As if she hadn't just run off, w.i.l.l.y-nilly, with a bunch of foreigners, leaving her sick husband with a demented old priest? Pretending she'd gone to visit her mother's grave. Then just to bounce casually in, for all the world as if she'd been off on a picnic! He'd teach her a lesson. One she'd never forget.

He stalked to a window facing the opposite side of the house and glowered out of it, at the mountains in the distance. She wasn't going to think he'd be waiting for her, arms outstretched. Behind him the door opened. Magnus didn't move; he gazed out of the window. There was a short silence.

"M... Magnus?" she said tremulously.

"Madam?" he said coldly, turning at last to face her.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

She opened her mouth to answer him, but not a sound came out. Her lower lip trembled then suddenly her face crumpled.

"Oh Magi)^" e d, and ran across the room and hurled herself into his open arms.

He gathered her hard--a dry lump working in his throat. She clwg to him--hard--as she had when she'd been about to be taken away by the bandits, as if she would never let him go. Her head was buried in the hollow between his shoulder against his Jaw He could feel the chill on her skin from the biting outside, smell the faint tang of woodsmoke in her hair and the lingering fragrance of the lavender soap that Carlotta hA S^e" ller; IIe laid his face against her hair and inhaled de^PA' tightening his hold around her quivering body. She was peeping; he could feel the damp warmth of her tears on his skill- After a moment he became aware of Carlotta beaming tenevolently upon them, and with a silent oath he swung his wife into his '"'" is and carried her up to the bedroom.

He wants'3 to dTOPher onto the bed and fling himself down beside her and tumble her until she knew where she belonged, who she belonged with.

He forced himself to set her carefully on her feet, then released her and stepped back. Her face was awash with tears.

Magnus groped in his pocket and handed her a handkerchief. He wanted to dry her tears himself or, better still, kiss them away. he " "Id not let himself move a single step towards W- If he All, he would be lost for ever, that much he knew. As it was he was t.i.the grip of an emotional turmoil he had never dreamt was possible. He could not believe how weak and irresolute he felt, how strong was the impulse just to take her in his arms and forget the past week. Forgive and forget. Lilse his fatter. Forgive the fact that she had lied to him.

ForjS1 that she had gone off into the mountains without his knowing6 or permission. No, he was weak, but he would make himself strong He would neither forgive nor forget.

He pactd over to the window and stood, coolly looking out, staring at toe mountains into which she had disappeared, forcing down the overwhelming feelings of hurt, humiliation and betrayal, replacing them with cold anger. He waited until the sobbing had stopped, then turned and repeated his question in a bitter, icy voice.

"Well, madam, I asked you before and I will repeat the question. Did you find what you were looking for? Did you find your mother's grave?"

She looked up at him with drenched, bewildered eyes and nodded.

"Yes," she whispered.

"And once you found it, you came straight back here?"

She hesitated, paled, scrubbed at her face, dropped her lashes and nodded.

"Liar!" he roared, slamming his fist against the wall.

She flinched, and regarded him with huge, wary eyes."You found your mother's grave eight days ago! I saw her grave myselfand spoke to the priest about you. Eight days, madam! Eight days! Andwhat did you do in those eight days, eh?"

She opened her mouth, then shut it again, biting nervously on her lower lip in a manner that drove him wild. He slammed his fist against the wall again and swore.

"Shall I tell you what you did in those eight days--shall I? Youbetrayed me, madam. Betrayed the name you took on the day we were wed.Broke the vows you made before G.o.d and man."

She flinched again."B... betrayed your name? So... so you know?Carlotta told you? "He snorted."No, to be sure she did not. You women stick together in your deceptions."

"So how?"

"Do you think I am a fool, madam? I worked it out for myself."

She frowned, puzzled, "But how could you?"

He snorted again.

"Betrayal is something I have been acquainted with all my life. I

believe I am an expert on it."

"Betrayal...! was worried you might see it in those terms." She

sighed, and sat on the bed.

"Worried I might see it in those terms?" he repeated inc red She opened her mouth to answer him, but not a sound came out. Her lower lip quivered, then suddenly her face crumpled.

"Oh, Magnus," she wailed, and ran across the room and hurled herself into his open arms.

He gathered her to him--hard--a dry lump working in his throat. She clung to him--hard--as she had when she'd been about to be taken away by the bandits, as if she would never let him go. Her head was buried in the hollow between his shoulder and his jaw. He could feel the chill on her skin from the biting wind outside, smell the faint tang of woodsmoke in her hair and the lingering fragrance of the lavender soap that Carlotta had given her. He laid his face against her hair and inhaled deeply, tightening his hold around her quivering body. She was weeping; he could feel the damp warmth of her tears on his skin.

After a mo menthe became aware of Carlotta beaming benevolently upon them, and with a silent oath he swung his wife into his arms and carried her up to the bedroom.

He wanted to drop her onto the bed and fling himself down beside her and tumble her until she knew where she belonged, who she belonged with. He forced himself to set her carefully on her feet, then released her and stepped back. Her face was awash with tears.

Magnus groped in his pocket and handed her a handkerchief. He wanted to dry her tears himself or, better still, kiss them away, but he could not let himself move a single step towards her. If he did, he would be lost for ever, that much he knew. As it was, he was in the grip of an emotional turmoil he had never dreamt was possible. He could not believe how weak and irresolute he felt, how strong was the impulse just to take her in his arms and forget the past week. Forgive and forget. Like his father. Forgive the fact that she had lied to him. Forget that she had gone off into the mountains without his knowledge or permission. No, he was weak, but he would make himself strong. He would neither forgive nor forget.

He paced over to the window and stood, coolly looking out, staring at the mountains into which she had disappeared, forcing down the overwhelming feelings of hurt, humiliation and betrayal, replacing them with cold anger. He waited until the sobbing had stopped, then turned

and repeated his question in a bitter, icy voice."Well, madam, I asked you before and I will repeat the question. Didyou find what you were looking for? Did you find your mother'sgrave?"

She looked up at him with drenched, bewildered eyes and nodded.

"Yes," she whispered.

"And once you found it, you came straight back here?"

She hesitated, paled, scrubbed at her face, dropped her lashes and