Domning, Denise (28 page)

Gilliam met her halfway. "We can house mayhap ten men at the back of the place, depending on how many of the better mounts you wish to stable here. How many you can cram in above with our folk, well, who knows." He eyed her change of attire. "You certainly look more at ease, but far less like the lady of the manor."

Rowena smiled briefly and touched the sleeveless overgown that protected her loose-fitting, homespun gown of gray. "Ilsa would prefer I never dressed like this, but for what I wish to do today, anything else is too fine."

Suddenly, her stomach lurched. She clutched her midsection in surprise and pain. The pain instantly faded away, but it left her so sick, she wondered if she'd find the garderobe in time. She blinked hard; his face swam wildly before her. With a coarse word that made him laugh with surprise, she closed her eyes and swayed.

"Rowena!" he cried, and grabbed her arm. She tilted forward and leaned against him when her knees would have given way. Blackness tunneled in on her vision, and only his powerful arms around her kept her standing. "What is this"—she heard his voice as if from a far distance—"are you ill?"

For the briefest of instants, there was nothing but velvety blackness. Light was the first to return, but she still could not see. Sound came next, but the noises she heard were muffled and oddly distorted. She became aware of the softness of his gown beneath her cheek and his arms around her. While she knew she should move away, there was nothing she could do. No sinew or bone would obey her command.

As she drew a deep, steadying breath, she felt her vision settle back into its appropriate perspective, and her stomach calmed. Slowly, she pushed away from her brother by marriage and took a trembling step back. "My apologies, Gilliam. I do not know what happened."

From behind her came her husband's harsh voice. "Happened? Everyone in this yard can see what happened."

Rowena's eyes widened in shock as she whirled to face her husband. He stood directly behind her clad only in shirt and hose. This was not possible If he were here, where was the bishop? There was no sign of the dignitary's arrival. "What are you doing here?" she blurted out.

"I seem to have surprised you both," he snapped back.

Gilliam's hard cold words silenced her awakening rebuttal. "So everyone can see what has happened, can they, Rannulf?" His eyes were narrowed as he glared at his brother.

She gasped. She'd never even dreamed the young man capable of such harshness. "You may let go," she said to him as she pushed away. "I can stand now," she added rather loudly. "The spell has passed."

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice gentle for her, yet its very gentleness was meant as a barb for his brother. She stared up at him in horror. He was making it worse on purpose. Stepping anxiously away, she turned to face her husband, but he had eyes for no one except his younger brother.

"Have you no more sense than to stand here before every soul in the keep with your arms about my wife?"

She yelped in startled surprise at Gilliam's sudden growl of anger. "What right have you to chastise me? I have done nothing wrong here." His words were like steel, slashing dangerously into the air between the two men. "Is this your kindness? Am I ever to be your scapegoat? Well, I'll not join you in this living hell of your making, brother," he spat the word out. "I did my penance on the stony soil of the Holy Lands. You saw to that."

"You stupid pup," Rannulf said grimly, but the sting was gone from his voice. "I made you no insult, only wished to point out how improper it looked." He spread his hands out before him in a gesture of peace.

"And I will call you liar," his youngest brother ground out. Rowena gasped as she looked at him. Had she thought him overly young once? There was nothing of the boy left now, only the look of an experienced and battle-trained knight. "Think hard before you answer too quickly."

Now, her husband's eyes narrowed. "How do you dare?" he asked coldly.

"Think hard before you answer," the young knight repeated. "Or, if you wish, meet me on yon field and say it to me with your sword." He paused, as if waiting for his brother to accept the challenge, then continued. "It is time we parted ways, brother, and gladly so." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the gate.

"My God," Rannulf breathed as he stared after him, "what have I done?" His head lowered for a moment as if in pain, then he turned on her, his eyes blazing in rage. "What in God's name were you doing? Why did you fall into his arms that way? Or is this your revenge on me, to make such a show in front of me and all my folk?"

Rowena cried out, wishing she could cover her ears and stop his words before they reached her heart. "My lord, how could I have done so? I did not even know you had returned."

"Now, that puts an even more heinous look to the whole matter, does it not?" His sarcasm cut to the bone.

"Stop it," she snapped back. "Why ask me for an explanation if you only intend to twist what I say into something else? I took a sudden illness and nearly fainted. He caught me as I fell."

"Try again. That lie is tired after being used by so many women. It insults me when you think I would believe it."

Again his words struck out at her. Suddenly, she realized he sought to ease his own pain by hurting her. Her fingers curled into her palms. Anger too great to contain boiled up within her. With a scream of utter frustration, she hit him squarely in the chest with both fists.

"You idiot, you fool," she shrieked, "see what you want to see, then. It is not Gilliam who is your scapegoat, it is I." She tore off her overgown and threw it at him. "Here, take this. It is the badge of my ladyship at this place. Have it back. I am quit of you and Graistan." She swung her foot and knew it met his shin in bruising impact.

He yelped and leapt on one foot, but she was too enraged to enjoy her handiwork. "You treat your pigherds better than you treat me," she screamed as she turned. Dust flew from her heels as she ran from the courtyard, down through the bailey to the postern gate.

"My lady, stop," cried the man who watched the portal. He spread himself across the gate in an attempt to prevent her departure. "Oh, stop, please. Do not leave without an escort."

"Move, churl," she snapped, her voice low and furious. He leapt aside and she stomped through the stone arch, then stormed off along the narrow winding path that led down to the river.

"But where do you go?" he called after her as the washerwomen all straightened from their pounding and rinsing to look up at her and the keep.

"Away," she shouted back, her voice echoing angrily against Graistan's high walls. "Tell that stupid son of a worm I married that I am going away."

Chapter 17

Rowena knew nothing but the red heat of her rage as she strode angrily along the river, which followed the town walls to the road at the foregate. Nor did anyone give her a second glance as she passed. Dressed in only her plain gown with a simple headcloth to cover her hair, she looked no more remarkable than any other modest townswoman out about her daily business.

But once she'd stepped away from the protective walls, common sense returned. There was no haven for her here. She stared ahead on the dusty road. Fields and forest, orchard and village made a peaceful patchwork from the surrounding countryside. But these were his holdings, his lands. She needed a sanctuary beyond his reach.

To the east lay the convent where she'd confined Maeve. They would take her in, but her heart would break if she were so close to Graistan and could not return. Would Jordan cry when he found she'd left without even a word in farewell? She breathed a ragged sigh, but now there was no going back.

From within the town walls came the sound of screaming along with splintering wood. The sudden commotion woke her from her twisted thoughts. Hoofbeats thundered and people shouted. She did not need to look to know who it was. She grabbed up her skirts and leapt from the road and raced across a field toward the forest beyond with its concealing trees and brush.

A glance behind showed her a single rider erupting through the gateway, sending carts and cursing townsfolk sliding into the ditch at either side. Rage put wings on her feet. Yet by the time she dashed between the first trees, she could almost feel his horse's hot breath on her back.

"Leave me alone," she yelled, cutting suddenly to the right. Here the trees were close, and a horse could only walk. She ducked beneath a low hanging branch, seeking growth that was denser still. Twigs and thorns raked her skin and tore off her head-cloth. Too slow!

She flung herself out of the other side of the thicket. He stood there waiting for her. With a cry, she struck out wildly. There was a satisfying depression of flesh beneath her hand. When he grabbed for her, she whirled away, sprinting through the trees.

"Rowena, this is insane," he called to her as he chased her. "It is useless, I have you."

She screamed in wordless rage, but knew that he was right. Her foot caught on a root. Her palms scraped against the tree's sharp back as she tried to catch herself. His arms closed about her waist, and they fell together. When she would have scrambled away, he dragged her back. She twisted around to strike out at him, and he grabbed her arms. Suddenly, she lay on her back, her arms pinned at her side, while he sat atop her thighs.

"Let me go," she cried out, struggling hopelessly from beneath him.

"You
little fool," he growled. "What were you thinking to leave my walls? How long do you think you would live without my sword to see you safe?"

"Better a swift death than the torture of life with you," she shrieked, writhing beneath him in an effort to overbalance him and win free.

"Best you stop that," he said, his voice so full of sudden amusement it shocked her into stillness. She stared up at him. His gray eyes were warm with his awakening desire. Laughter softened the lines of his mouth and awoke strong creases in his lean cheeks. Here was the handsome man who had so charmed her on their wedding night. "I have never hunted a woman before. I found it—exhilarating."

Her stung pride made her cry out. "You are laughing at me." With every ounce of her strength she sought to throw him off.

He laughed again. "Aye, but at myself as well." He loosed her arms. When she struck out at him, he caught her hands as if she were no more trouble to him than a fly. Then, holding both of her hands in one of his, he ran his free fingers through his hair in a distracted gesture. "You may as well cease, I will not let you go."

She yelled out her frustration, damning her womanhood, damning him. There had never been any escape from him or from their marriage. Whether she lived in his keep, a convent, or a hovel, she belonged to him. Her anger died against this realization, and she caught her breath in a choking gasp. The same aching pain that stabbed at her side tore her heart to bits. "Aye, you have me. I concede. But you only need me until you have my inheritance safe in hand. If I vow to help you obtain my lands, will you promise to let me live elsewhere?"

His smile died, and his eyes saddened. "Sweet Jesu, to hear my own words thrown back at me," he whispered. "I have treated you so badly, I do not deserve to be forgiven. Tell me I will not lose you, too."

Her eyes widened in disbelief at his words. "Lose me?" she angrily spat out. "You cannot lose me. As you, yourself have said, you own me."

"Too late," he breathed to himself. "Nay, it is Graistan that holds your heart. I have no claim on you, and now I have driven you from the only thing that binds you to me." He released her and eased away to sit beside her. Pain radiated from him. "Temric is right, I have been determined to prove myself cursed. I have destroyed my home, my brother, and, now, you. Even Temric is leaving. There is no one left. I am alone."

She lay still, finding no sense in his sudden change. Above this tiny glade the canopy of fresh, green leaves rustled against a sky of crystal blue. The gentle breeze brought her the scent from a nearby clutch of lilies. Beneath her head, the moss was springy and soft. Golden sunlight trickled through the branches to find the auburn in his hair and gild the strong planes of his face. He gazed off into the woods, his expression all harsh lines of heartbreak.

Suddenly she knew if she were to walk away, he would not pursue her any farther. So why did she not rise and leave? Her eyes clenched shut against the truth she kept trying to escape. It was not prestige or power or any keep she wanted, it was him.

She rolled to her side and pushed her tangled hair back to better study him. "How can I believe you after what you said to me, to Gilliam?"

He jerked as if startled by her voice. When he turned to look at her, he seemed surprised to see she was still there. It was a moment before he spoke. "When I saw you in his arms, I wanted to kill him. You are mine, and I could only see that he was holding you. The words fell unconsidered from my lips." He stared down at his clenched fists in his lap. "Then, when I realized what I'd done to him, I struck out at you as a way to ease my own pain. Mea culpa," he breathed.

Against all her better judgment, her heart leapt at what he'd said. Jealousy? Over her? She reached out and touched his hand. His fingers opened to enclose hers in his. "Your apology is accepted," she whispered, hardly daring to believe and half convinced she'd just see his scorn again.

He studied her for a long moment, then seemed content with what he saw, for the corner of his mouth quirked upward. The bitterness she'd come to know so well seemed to melt away with this motion. "We are a couple of strange ones, eh? You have scandalized my folk by attacking me before them all, while my ride through town has done the same. No doubt it will cost me a pretty penny, although I cannot say I regret riding down the courvesier. What a pompous ass. A few bruises could do him nothing but good." There was the oddest glimmer in his eyes, something between laughter and tears.

Rowena stared at him. "You rode him down?" she breathed. "But he sits as headman on the council this year." Of all the town's guildsmen, this one was the most powerful as well as the most arrogant. He would, indeed, make a complaint and cry loudly about all the hurts done to him.