La Flamme (Historical Romance) (6 page)

"She's in pain," Garreth said in a troubled voice.

"I saw that. 'Tis a pity."

Garreth slammed his tankard down so forcefully that ale splashed onto the table. "Damn the forces that control my life! Sabine is too young to even understand what goes on between a man and woman. When a beautiful lady catches my eye, I feel damn guilty for what I am imagining. Being a husband does not set well with me."

Stephen leaned against the high-back bench, unconcerned by Garreth's outburst. "Whatever troubles you, I'm sure you'll overcome it." He took a sip of ale. "I noticed you were struggling to make conversation with Sabine today. Why don't you just treat her the way you would any other woman?"

"She's not a woman. I can't imagine ever . . . well, you know what I mean. I will never be able to be a husband to her because I'll always see her as a child."

"I saw something in her eyes today that you obviously missed. She likes you, and I'd say more as a woman than a child."

"Damn!"

Humor danced in Stephen's eyes. "So you said several times. But don't worry, by now she is probably wearing the gift you brought her and thinking of you fondly for your thoughtfulness."

"I doubt it—she still doesn't trust me." Garreth leaned forward. "I must remember to thank your sister for selecting Sabine's gift. What was it?"

"Betty said it was a cape befitting a queen. When you get the accounting, you'll think you bought the Crown Jewels."

"That would be your idea," Garreth said dryly.

"It was. I told my sister not to consider the cost, and she didn't." Stephen drained his ale. "By the way, you wrote your little wife a charming sentiment."

"I suppose that was your idea also."

"Of course." Then Stephen became serious. "I pity the little duchess, Garreth. Be kind to her."

"Perhaps you should have married her," Garreth said sourly.

"The king didn't ask it of me. Of course I don't hold the power and rank of your family. But mark this well, Garreth, Sabine Blackthorn will one day make you proud to be her husband. Even though she's young, she has pride and conducts herself with honor and dignity. Those are rare qualities and you should cherish them in her."

"This conversation begins to weary me," Garreth said, coming to his feet. "If we are going to make London, we had best be away."

6

Sabine was bent over her father's desk while his steward explained to her about keeping household accounts. Her mother had begun to train her more diligently in the management of a large household as she prepared to become mistress of Wolfeton Keep.

Thea, her old nursemaid, appeared at the door. "No more lessons today. Her ladyship's asking for you."

Sabine closed the ledger gratefully and stood. On her way out of the room she stopped at the window to look at the gathering clouds. "It looks as if it'll storm before nightfall."

Thea nodded while peering over Sabine's shoulder. "Aye, that it will."

They had just stepped into the entry when the storm hit. A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows and one flew open, blowing out the candles and casting them into darkness. Servants rushed about, latching windows and relighting candles.

"Tis an ill omen," Thea said. "Something bad is going to happen."

Sabine shivered, not knowing why. She, too, had been feeling restless and uneasy all day, and now that night was approaching, the feeling only intensified.

At that moment, her mother's personal maid came rushing down the stairs, her face red as she gasped to catch her breath. "Everything's astir, Your Grace. Her ladyship is giving birth! I was sent to find your father."

Sabine hurried toward the stairs. "I must go to her at once."

"No!" Thea said emphatically, planting her body in Sabine's path. "Even though you're married, you have no place in a birthing chamber."

Sabine looked stricken, and Thea spoke to her soothingly. "You must think of what's best for your mother. This is no time for her ladyship to be worrying about you. Wait in your room, and I'll come to you as soon as the baby is born."

Reluctantly, Sabine went upstairs, where she settled Richard for the night and then went to her own bedchamber. She tried to concentrate on her needlework, but it was useless, so she set it aside. She turned her head to the window, watching rain patter against the glass, and prayed that this baby would live.

It was not yet midnight when Thea entered the room, sorrowfully shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Sabine, the baby died. Her ladyship's asked to see you."

"No, Thea! How will she endure this loss?"

"Tis a tragedy. I don't believe she'll have any more children—this birth was hard on her. Go to her and give what comfort you can."

Sabine hurried down the corridor and into her mother's bedchamber. Lady Woodbridge was pale and her damp hair clung to her face. When she looked at Sabine, her eyes were dull and so sad. She reached for her daughter's hand. "Do not look so distraught, dearest. It was not meant that the child should live."

Sabine dropped to her knees, pressing her lips to her mother's hand. There were no words she could utter that would bring comfort. "Please rest now,
Maman
. I shall stay beside you tonight."

Her mother managed a weak smile. "You have always been so dear to me, Sabine. Promise that you will take care of Richard."

Sabine exchanged a puzzled glance with her father, who stood at the foot of the bed, looking miserable. "But you will care for Richard yourself,
Maman
. Tell her, Papa."

"Do not speak thus, Ryanne, lest you bring it about," Lord Woodbridge said harshly.

"But if anything should happen—it will not—but if it should, Sabine, you will give Richard the love that I would have given him?"

Sabine could see that her mother needed her assurance. "I promise,
Maman."

"Nothing will happen to you. I won't allow it, do you hear," Lord Woodbridge stated firmly.

Sabine felt a stab at her heart when she saw the uncertainty in her father's eyes. Something was dreadfully wrong. She clasped her mother's hand tightly, willing her strength to flow into her weakened body.

Ryanne Woodbridge's eyes were soft and loving as she looked at her husband. "Go to your bed, William. I will rest now, with my daughter beside me."

He nodded and moved away, his shoulders hunched as if he had been dealt a mortal blow.

Sabine remained with her mother throughout the night. Sometimes Lady Woodbridge would fall into a restless sleep, and other times she would just quietly stare out the darkened window. Her skin was hot to the touch, and she complained of thirst.

The midwife had come in during the night and assured Sabine that her mother's condition was normal and that she would grow stronger each day.

But Lady Woodbridge did not grow stronger—five days after her infant son had been placed in the family crypt, she died. The midwife said that it was milk fever, but Sabine believed her mother had died of a broken heart from the loss of another baby.

A dark pall hung over Woodbridge Castle and in the surrounding village, for Lady Woodbridge had been well loved. The day she was entombed, a storm raged and rain poured down as if the whole sky wept for the gentle lady.

Sabine bowed her head and listened to the glowing words Father Santini spoke about her mother. She held Richard's hand, grateful that he was too young to understand what had happened. He just looked about with interest and kept asking Sabine why all these people had come to Woodbridge.

Before the funeral mass was over, the skies cleared and the sun was warm on Sabine's face. She heard magpies chattering in a nearby oak tree and wondered how everything could go on as if nothing had happened, when her world had been shattered.

Her father stood apart from everyone, his shoulders hunched, his face a mask of grief. Sabine had tried to comfort him, but he had brushed her aside. She managed for Richard's sake not to cry. Later, when she was alone, she would grieve. She felt a presence beside her, and a hand lightly touched her arm.

Sabine turned to stare into the sympathetic eyes of Garreth Blackthorn. She had not expected him to come, and she was surprised at how grief-stricken he looked.

He stood beside her, his arm going about her shoulders, lending her his strength. If only he could know what his appearance there meant to her. In the last few days she had been forced to shed all vestiges of her carefree childhood. Her father was not thinking coherently, and it was she who had made all the decisions that kept Woodbridge Castle running smoothly.

At last the service was over. Garreth reached down and lifted Richard in his arms and the boy lay his head against his shoulder sleepily. Garreth took Sabine's hand and led her away from the mourners.

"I'm so sorry," he said gently. "I know well what you are feeling, Sabine."

It was becoming more difficult not to cry. "Thank ... you, Garreth."

"I came as soon as I heard." He was concerned because of the constraint she was keeping on her emotions. "It's all right to cry, Sabine."

"I dare not. My father is not taking this well—I must be strong for him and my brother."

Thea came forward and took Richard from Garreth and carried him toward the castle.

"Shall we walk, Sabine?" he asked.

"The guests—"

"They can wait."

He drew her closer to him and they moved into the walled garden that had been Lady Woodbridge's pride. Garreth led her to a bench and sat down beside her.

"I have no words of comfort, Sabine. I just wanted you to know that I share your loss."

Now she lowered her head and great sobs tore at her throat. She was supported in comforting arms and Garreth lightly stroked her hair. "There, there, cry all you want. It is fitting to cry for the mother you loved."

And she did. She cried so hard it hurt. Great, deep sobs tumbled from her lips, as her husband gently held her to him. She hadn't even known she needed him until now. All the anger Sabine had felt because of Lady Meredith's visit melted away when she looked into his dark misty eyes and knew that he did share her anguish.

After a while, he wiped her eyes with his handkerchief. "It is good to grieve. The ones who keep it inside will suffer longer."

She nodded. "That's what my father's doing. He won't allow himself to cry."

"Sabine," Garreth said, lifting her chin so she met his eyes, "when my father died, someone gave me something that meant more to me than all the heartfelt condolences I'd received."

"What could that be?"

He reached into his doublet and withdrew a rose that had been slightly crushed. "A rose, my lady wife. Tis a marvel that I found it growing wild beside the road, and this late in the season."

She took a deep gulp of air and looked at him questioningly.

"Yes," Garreth said, "like the rose you once gave me." He touched his lips to the delicate flower and handed it to her.

She clutched it to her like a lifeline and dropped her eyes, fearful that if she looked at him, she would surely cry again.

"Thank you, Garreth."

"Is there anything you need?"

She shook her head. "No, nothing."

"I regret that I must leave you now." He stood and brought her up beside him. "My mother sends her condolences."

"Thank her grace for me."

He took her hand and brushed his lips against it. She raised her head to him, wishing he would take her in his arms again. Like one in a daze, she moved closer to him, raising her head and parting her lips.

Instantly Garreth lowered his head and touched his lips to her mouth as softly as gossamer wings. It was a gesture intended to give comfort, but without him even being aware of it, his hand moved to her silken hair and he held her while deepening the kiss.

Inexplicable, disturbing feelings raced through his veins like molten lava. Suddenly he tore his mouth from hers and stared into her misty golden eyes. What had he done!

Trying to gather his composure, and bring his thundering heart under control, he planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Good-bye, Sabine," he said gruffly.

Her heart was beating so loudly that she could not speak. Her first kiss had stolen her breath and sent the blood pounding in her body. Oh, how she wanted him to remain with her. "Good-bye, Garreth," she said softly.

Sabine sat back down on the bench and lowered her head, unwilling to watch him walk away, but she heard the sound of his boot steps fade into the distance, and then there was only silence.

In wonder, she touched her mouth that was still soft from his kiss. With tears in her eyes, she raised the rose and touched its velvety petals to her lips.

Sabine thought it was strange, that on such a sad day, she had come to love her husband.

7

Sabine's mother had been dead for five weeks, and still her father was inconsolable. He'd shut himself in his study, taking his meals and sleeping there, refusing to see anyone.

Sabine hardly recognized him as the man who had once been the strength of the family. On the rare occasions when he did venture forth from his seclusion, he was subdued, as if he'd lost direction.

Sabine kept her promise to her mother and took over the complete care of Richard. On his fourth birthday, she threw off her grief to make the day special for him. If Richard was aware that his father did not attend the celebration, he did not mention it.

Now, Sabine stood at her bedroom window gazing out at the crescent moon that strained through the ebony sky, lending only a pale light to the land and shrouding the village from her sight. On the eastern horizon, dark storm clouds gathered, making their presence known by the rumbling thunder and the lightening that split through the air like sword shafts.

She wondered what Garreth was doing tonight. Did he ever think of her? He was constantly on her mind, and she often relived the moment of their first kiss.

Thea bustled about, going to the small room that had once been Sabine's dressing closet but was now Richard's bedroom. She smiled at the sleeping boy before returning to Sabine.

"It's late, Thea, why don't you go to bed," Sabine urged her.

"I couldn't sleep. My bones ache, so it'll soon storm. It'll be raining in the hills now."

Sabine realized she'd been clasping her hands so tightly that she had dug her nails into her palm. "I've been restless all day, Thea. I don't know how to explain it because I don't believe in premonitions. It's just that I feel something is wrong."

"And why shouldn't you have feelings of doom? You have the running of Woodbridge and cannot go to his lordship for guidance. It’s too much to bear for one so young."

"Oh, Thea, what will happen to Richard when I leave? Papa must realize that his son needs him now more than ever."

"What Lord Richard needs is you, with no mother to love him."

"Thea," Sabine said wearily, "I only hope—" Her voice trailed off when Richard started to whimper in his sleep. She hurried to him and gathered him into her arms. The child clung to her, sobbing for his mother, and not understanding why she no longer came to him.

"There, there, dearest. Do not fret. Sabine is here for you."

Richard curled up in his sister's arms, sighing contentedly. Each day he seemed to remind her more and more of their mother, with the same light-colored hair and blue eyes and the same sweet temperament. Sabine sat on the edge of his bed and hummed softly until his eyes grew heavy and he drifted off to sleep, his small hand clutching the front of her gown. Her eyes were filled with pity as she gazed down at him. Richard would never remember the love of their gentle mother, but she was determined to give him a mother's love.

Laying him back onto the bed, she covered him and tiptoed to her own chamber.

Thea went about the room, collecting discarded gowns and slippers and putting them away in the trunk at the foot of the bed. After the room was straightened to her satisfaction, she turned to Sabine. "You get into bed. You've carried the load for us all. Rest now."

"I am fatigued," Sabine admitted.

The old nurse wondered sadly what was to become of her charge. She couldn't remain in her father's home forever. Soon her husband would come for her. Then what would Lord Richard do with neither mother nor loving sister to help shape his growing years when he would develop as a man?

The storm was intensifying and lightning illuminated the bedchamber. "I'll just get you something warm to drink, mayhap then you'll sleep," Thea said, lifting a candle and moving into the hallway and down the stairs on her way to the kitchen.

Thea's footsteps were noiseless as she moved through the halls that she had walked for many years. When she passed Lord Woodbridge's study, she noticed that the door was ajar. Thinking that was odd, she reached to close it, but paused when she heard his lordship speaking angrily to someone.

"He dares send an underling to escort my daughter to Wolfeton Keep? I'll not tolerate it! Return to your master and remind him our agreement was that my daughter would remain with us until she reached her sixteenth birthday. And even then, she will not leave unless Garreth Blackthorn comes for her himself."

Thea heard scuffling and flattened herself into the shadows. Her hand was trembling so badly that she dropped the candle, thus casting the corridor into darkness. She heard a muffled cry and then someone brushed past her.

She moved quickly into the study to find Lord Wood-bridge on the floor, the front of his doublet stained with blood!

He attempted to rise, but fell back gasping in pain.

"M'lord," Thea cried, grabbing his arm and trying to aid him to his feet. "What has happened?"

Lord Woodbridge collapsed in a chair, a bloody hand clutching his chest. "Go to Sabine ... at once. Get her and my son to safety ... hasten! There is danger!"

"But, M'lord—"

"Do it now, woman! For reasons unknown to me ... Garreth Blackthorn has sent his men to do murder. I am trusting you ... to save my children. Impress upon my ... daughter that it is her duty to—" A cough rattled in his chest, and it was a moment before he could catch his breath. "It is her duty to keep Richard ... safe."

Thea reached out to him. "I must first see to your wound M'lord."

He shook his head. "There is no help for me . . . but my son must live. You are the only one I can . . . trust, Thea."

Lord Woodbridge's face was devoid of color. Blood gushed from his chest with every beat of his heart.

Thea knew that he had been mortally wounded—he could not live past a few moments. "M'lord," she asked urgently, "why would the duke—"

"Go, Thea!" His voice came out in a gasp, and he was having trouble focusing his eyes. "Save my children! Do not let that monster ... get his hands on my . . . daughter."

Spurred on by her love for the children, Thea obeyed, leaving the earl to his sad fate. Cautiously, she left the room and moved like a shadow toward the stairs, knowing there must be more of the duke's men about.

Suddenly sounds of fighting and struggle reached her. The castle was in turmoil—servants were scattering frantically, being chased by sword-wielding soldiers who were dressed in the duke of Balmarough's blue and white livery. Knowing where her duty lay, the old nurse hurried up the stairs, often peering behind her to make certain that no one was in pursuit.

She reached the top step and was running along the hall, when she heard the clamor of the intruders as they reached the grand staircase. They would soon be searching every room, and they must not find Sabine and Richard.

With breath trapped in her throat and eyes wild with fear, Thea burst into Sabine's room.

Sabine was just getting into bed. "What's amiss? You look like something—"

"There is no time. Make haste—make haste, there is danger!"

"What are you saying?" Sabine demanded.

"No time to talk." Thea moved quickly into the next room and lifted a sleeping Richard and thrust him into Sabine's arms, grateful that the young lord did not awaken.

"We must hurry if we are to escape!"

Sabine stared at her in disbelief. "I will not go one step until you tell me what is happening."

Without ceremony, Thea shoved Sabine toward the door. "You can flee now and ask questions later. To delay may mean the death of you and your brother."

"Father would never allow that," Sabine protested.

"It was his lordship who sent me to save you and Lord Richard. Do you talk until those men are upon us, or do you come with me?"

There was something frantic about her, and Sabine was suddenly terrified. "Tell me what to do."

"Follow me. I don't believe the duke's men will know about the secret passage in your father's room."

"What duke, what men?" Sabine asked.

"Shh! Just hurry."

Sabine wore only her nightgown, so Thea grabbed up the red velvet cape and slipped it around her charge's shoulders.

Then, Thea cautiously opened the door and glanced into the hallway, first one way, then the other. When she was satisfied that it was safe, she motioned for Sabine to follow her.

"They're already on the second floor. I hear them searching the rooms—hurry—it won't be long until they will be upon us!"

Sabine clutched Richard to her and followed the nurse down the dimly lit corridor. Thea extinguished the wall sconces as they passed, thus casting darkness behind them.

When they reached the master bedchamber, Thea closed the door and turned to Sabine. "I know there is a secret panel in this room and you know how to open it—do so with all haste."

"Where is my father? Why isn't he coming with us?"

"I told you that he ordered me to take you to safety," Thea said, knowing this was not the time to tell Sabine that her father was probably dead.

With her mind in a quandary, Sabine moved to the fireplace and pulled down the lion's paw on the ornate facade. Slowly a panel slid open to reveal a dark cavity. Thea pushed Sabine inside and followed, then pulled the latch that closed the panel, throwing them into total darkness.

Leaning against the dank, cold walls, Sabine tried to catch her breath. Richard's added weight, slight though it was, made it more difficult for her to stand. "Now, Thea, you must tell me what is happening."

"He sent his men to destroy this family." There was a catch in the nurse's voice as if she could not go on. "I don't know why he has done this."

"Done what? Who are you talking about?"

"The duke—your husband."

"Surely you are mistaken," Sabine said in disbelief. "Why would Garreth—" She had a horrible thought. "Where is my father?"

Thea's hand came down on her arm. "His lordship . . . was mortally wounded. I'm grieved to tell you that he ... will be dead by now."

A moan escaped Sabine's lips, and she fought frantically to reach the latch to open the panel. "I must go to him at once! He needs me."

Thea placed her body between Sabine and the lever, hoping she could make her understand the danger that lurked on the other side of that panel. "Your father is beyond help—you must think of your brother."

A deep sob was building up inside Sabine, and she choked it down. "How can this be? Why would Garreth do this thing?" She remembered his kindness to her after her mother's death. "There is no reason for such an action."

"There's no mistake—his lordship told me it was your husband's men. Shh," Thea cautioned in a whisper. "I hear someone. Let us be silent."

Sabine wanted to confront the men who had dared to invade her home and she wanted to go to her father, but she could only stand there in the dark, hiding like a frightened animal. Her brother had been entrusted to her, and she must keep him safe—this she owed her father and mother.

Richard moved in her arms, and she rocked him back and forth, hoping he would not awaken. Soon he became still, and she drew in a relieved breath.

Sabine heard the sound of smashing furniture and breaking glass—the men were destroying her father's bedchamber. At last it was quieter, and she could hear the muffled voices of the men beyond the wall. One of them must have moved close to the fireplace, for she could now understand his words.

"It'll go hard with us if we don't find the duchess and her brother. We aren't to return until they're dead."

Sabine now fully realized the danger. Those men must not discover the hidden panel.

"You are certain that Lord Woodbridge is dead?" a commanding voice asked.

The voice that replied was farther away, and the only thing Sabine could distinguish was when he said yes.

She turned her face to the wall, feeling a pain so sharp it was like a knife cutting into her heart.

"Find his grace's wife and we'll find the boy," the man who was apparently the leader ordered impatiently.

Aching with grief and overcome with anger, Sabine cried silent tears. She cried for her father, she cried for her brother, and she cried because the man she had begun to love wanted her and her whole family dead.

But why?

Time had no meaning there in the darkness. They dared not move or make the slightest noise lest they give away their hiding place.

All was quiet but for the breathing of the three in the darkened room. Sabine's arms were aching from supporting Richard's weight, and she moved to brace her back against the wall.

"Thea," she whispered, "dare we leave now?"

"I'm afraid we must. If they question the servants, some may know about the existence of this secret room."

"No one outside my family knows how to open the panel, Thea. Even you didn't know the secret. Let us go forward. It will be difficult without light to guide us. We should move along the wall, for it narrows into an earthen tunnel and slopes downward toward the stream."

"Do you want me to carry his lordship?" Thea asked. "You might trip with your leg."