Authors: Sarah Hegger
What in the name of hell . . .?
Rosalind gave a smug smile and bent her head closer to Guy’s sculpted chest.
Helena’s eyes locked on the pair. She wanted that woman’s hands
off
Guy. Her fingers bent into claws and dug into the fabric of her bliaut as a maid dodged around her with a bucket of water.
Her anger built until it spun like a whirlwind.
My husband. That woman!
She could not bear it.
Guy uttered a sudden, harsh grunt.
Rosalind slapped him on the shoulder. “Do not whine.”
In the light from the window, Rosalind’s needle flashed as she plied it through the swell of muscle in the arm Guy had raised above his head. He was . . . wounded?
Rosalind merely tended him. And Helena had thought the worst.
Even so, why did she, his wife, have no knowledge of it? She should be the one tending him. She opened her mouth to say as much and then shut it again. She desperately wanted to ask what had happened, but nobody had seen fit to tell her aught. Yet Guy had told Rosalind.
Betrayal twisted like a rusty dagger in her belly and rendered her foolish and unwelcome. Standing there and watching as Rosalind did what was a wife’s task by rights, Helena fought the urge to whirl about and storm away. She wouldn’t leave them alone.
She tore her gaze away from the pair and cast it around the room, noting the lined tub filled with water and the spicy fragrance of sandalwood perfuming the air. She could see what Rosalind was about. The conniving strumpet had laid a scene of tender seduction. Nay, Helena wasn’t going to leave and let her have sway.
“You have prepared a bath.” Her voice strangled in her throat. Her hands twisted the delicate velvet of her bliaut.
“I know it is what Guy wants just as soon as he returns.”
Yes, I would wager you do at that.
Helena silently fumed.
Rosalind threw her a friendly smile, which didn’t quite warm the cold blue of her eyes.
“Have done, Rosalind,” Guy groused.
“Guy and I are such old friends. I am able to anticipate his every need.” Rosalind stroked her hand over his shoulder.
Helena dug her nails into her thigh through the bliaut. She refused to give the
trull
the satisfaction of seeing the words had hit her sharper than a slap. She would have enjoyed taking Rosalind’s fingers off Guy’s flesh and snapping them, one by one.
“I feel sure you are.” She managed a cool smile.
“Is it done?” Guy interrupted. His jaw was clenched and a fine coating of perspiration covered his top lip.
“A few more stitches, dearling,” Rosalind cooed and bent back to her task.
He grunted and his eyes found Helena’s. There didn’t seem the remotest vestige of the lover about the grim lines of his face.
“Is the wound deep?” She ignored Rosalind and kept her attention on Guy.
“Aye.” Rosalind refused to remain ignored. “It is his own fault.” She gave Guy’s shoulder another stroke. Helena tensed. Guy merely frowned at Rosalind’s hand on his shoulder.
Rosalind dropped her hand, but chattered on blithely. “That idiotic boy should never be allowed near a sword.”
“Nay,” Guy growled at Rosalind.
“Geoffrey did this?” Helena paid Rosalind no heed.
“Aye.” Guy nodded curtly. “He missed.”
“Poor Geoffrey.” At Guy’s raised eyebrows and glare of reproach, Helena stifled a laugh. “And poor you,” she hastily amended. “I am sure he did not mean it.”
Guy grunted again and shifted his weight on the stool.
“Hold still,” Rosalind snapped. She leaned forward until her mouth was almost at his flesh.
Dark spots danced in front of Helena. Her thighs would soon be bruised by the marks of her nails.
“There.” Rosalind bit off the thread with her teeth and rose again. “Another scar to add to your others.”
“My thanks.” Guy rolled his shoulder experimentally.
“My pleasure,” Rosalind purred. “Shall I attend you?” She motioned toward the steaming tub. “You should be careful to keep the stitches dry.”
“I believe I can manage that,” Helena fairly hissed at the brazen woman.
“Do you?” Rosalind raised one dark eyebrow. “I believe I could manage better.”
“Do not be daft,” Guy barked. “My wife attends me.”
Ha
! Helena had the satisfaction of seeing her own surprise registering on Rosalind’s face. Victory was sweeter than honey.
“I believe we no longer have need of you. My thanks for the bath,” Helena added as Rosalind slid past her. “I was about to order it and you saved me the trouble.”
“How very wifely of you,” Rosalind sneered.
“Which is what I am. His wife.” Helena narrowed her eyes.
“Are you?” Rosalind laughed softly. “‘Tis not the way I heard it.”
How could Rosalind know what happened—or didn’t—in their bedchamber? And how to deny such a thing when it was the truth?
Rosalind turned back to Guy, a lovely smile blooming across her face. “You know I would do anything for you, Guy. After all you have done for me.”
The brazen strumpet
!
Her words seemed to have little to no effect on Guy, which was all that stopped Helena from snatching the woman bald.
Guy looked up at her suddenly. “I was meaning to tell you, the king is coming.”
“What?” Helena and Rosalind spoke at the same time. Helena’s eyes glinted as she stared down the idiot woman until she glanced away.
Grimacing, Guy started untying his cross gartering. “Stephen comes. Geoffrey just informed me.”
“But if the king comes here, then so does the rest of the court!” Rosalind collapsed onto the bench before the fireplace, all signs of the seductress gone. She went alarmingly pale. “They cannot see me. How could you allow this?”
Guy merely raised an eyebrow. “He is the king, Rosalind. I cannot deny him the keep. You brought this on yourself.”
“You need not sound so pious.” Rosalind’s eyes flashed fire. “This babe could very well be . . .”
“Leave off, Roz,” Guy snapped. His eyes flickered in Helena’s direction.
“Oh, she knows,” Rosalind snorted and waved a dismissive hand. “She knows you and I were lovers.”
The room seemed to tilt momentarily.
Rosalind had lain with him. Helena had known this. Still, the idea was as bile in her throat.
Deny it
, she wanted to scream at Guy.
Tell her she is a liar and deny it. Lie to me, if you must, but do not let it be true.
Instead, guilt clouded his expression until Helena wanted to howl. She ached as if she’d just taken a direct hit to her vitals.
“Leave us,” Guy barked at Rosalind.
Helena dropped her gaze. She couldn’t look at either of them. She was raw within.
Rosalind’s skirts brushed against hers as she made for the door. Then she turned in the doorway. “Oh, Guy,” she called softly, “I am gladdened to see you wear the surcoat I embroidered for you.”
The barb flew wide as Helena stared at the floor.
After the door slammed behind Rosalind, Helena spun to face her husband. “The babe? Is it yours?”
“I do not know,” he replied slowly. “But mayhap.”
The blood drained from her face. It hurt more than she could have imagined. Blindly she turned to the fire, her back to him. Rosalind had taken great delight in telling her as much, but to hear Guy confirm it made her chest spasm in pain.
I do not care
. The vow whispered furiously in her mind.
Yet she
did
care, and the knowledge made her yearn to lash out.
“Helena?” He spoke from just behind her.
She spun to face him, a silent demand for him to tell her all. He just stood there, saying nothing further. In disgust, Helena shrank from him.
“Helena.” His growl of frustration followed her.
“I am going to require more from you than a few growls.” Her voice shook, choking on the need to scream and rage.
He closed his eyes as if asking God to grant him strength. The silence stretched out between them. His muteness was a slap in her face. He didn’t even consider her worthy of an explanation.
“Get in.” She motioned to the bath.
He hesitated for a moment and then dropped his chausses. Water slopped onto the floor as he climbed into the tub. It reminded her of Rosalind again and she bit down on the inside of her cheek.
“I will fetch Geoffrey.” Helena didn’t trust herself to be near him at this moment, preferring to go somewhere and hide her hurt.
“Stay.” It wasn’t quite a command, but near enough.
Damn him and his whore. Helena turned on her heel and marched for the door.
“God’s wounds, woman!” he shouted from behind her. “Would you come back here?”
“Why?” She refused to turn around. He would see the hurt in her eyes and she couldn’t stomach it.
“I wish . . . to explain.”
Despite herself, she turned. Mayhap the philandering cur would draw her a picture in the air, since he never seemed to have the words when she wanted them.
He sat in the lined tub with his knees around his ears and a thoroughly aggrieved expression on his face.
She hoped he got stuck in that ridiculous position.
“Rosalind is not my—mistress.” He pounded the end of the tub for emphasis. “Nor will she be. I got drunk for one night and
that
. . . may be the result.” He waved his hand in the direction of the door Rosalind had slammed behind her.
Every word just made Helena want to scream at him.
“She was my lover when we were younger.” He pulled a wry face. “It has been many years since I have thought of her as anything other than a good friend.”
Good friends did not magically find themselves with child. Rosalind was a poor candidate for Immaculate Conception. Helena struggled to keep from slapping her hand across his mouth to make him stop speaking. Every word he said stung more than the last. And she had actually wanted him to speak more.
Guy scowled at the water in his bath.
She was jealous. To-the-core jealous of something that had happened months before Guy had come to Lystanwold.
The reasoning did nothing to quell her anger. It would be too humiliating to admit her weakness.
She forced her legs to walk toward the bath, her face a careful blank mask. Anger yowled like a caged beast.
I have no feelings for Guy. He is nothing more than an instrument of my vengeance.
She grabbed for the soap and worked it savagely beneath her fingers.
He snatched the soap from her hand. “I gave my word. I cannot send her away.”
“You gave your word to me, too.” Helena wrested the soap from his grip and slapped a large dollop on his shoulder. “When you married me, you gave your word before God.”
“You are right,” he said. “But one does not replace the other.”
“I see.” Impotent fury choked her. Helena attacked the skin along his spine with vigour. Much as she relished the thought, she wouldn’t insist on casting a woman with child out into the world.
He was silent as she finished scrubbing his back. “The king comes to assure himself of my loyalty,” he stated quietly.
“Oh?” She didn’t care about the king and his visit. She was cold to her core, a relentless ice maiden with no emotion.
Gall churned in her belly to think how easily she’d believed Guy was different from other knights. To look into his pale blue eyes and think she had found one who was not a lust-addled, boorish lout like the rest of them.
“Helena.” He caught her hands. “I am not good with words.” His gaze locked with hers. “I can only beg your pardon for this intolerable position you are in.”
“There is no need.” Helena tried to tug her hands away. She wouldn’t relent. “It matters not.”
“Then why are you wroth?” He tightened his grip on her hands to keep her in place.
“I am not wroth.”
His eyebrow rose in a silent challenge.
“I do not like her,” she burst forth.
As Guy remained still and waiting, she forced a trill of laughter that bore a nasty resemblance to a sob as it left her lungs. “I understand how this works.” The warm clasp of his fingers branded her skin as she sought release.
“Meaning?” His gaze never left her face.
“You know what I mean.” Her throat tightened and she cleared it rapidly. Her pulse hammered against the side of her neck. “Marriages such as ours are not bound by vows that have no validity for either of us.”
His silence was intolerable. She couldn’t bear it. “Our marriage was arranged by Roger. Fidelity is not demanded of men such as you. Nor, according to Lady Rosalind, of women such as me.”
“You will never take a lover.” His voice grated.
“I might,” she retorted, her jaw aching from the effort of forcing a smile.
“Never.” Guy’s lips drew back in a snarl.
Helena’s grasp on her own raging emotions slipped. “
You
did.”
“Not anymore.” He raised his voice to match hers. “It matters not what happened in the past. There will be fidelity in this marriage.”
The swiving, hypocritical pig. Her vision wavered before her. Her breathing hissed in and out of her chest as she battled to contain herself. She had to get out of the solar before she lost control.
Helena wrenched her hands out of his and scrambled to her feet.
“Come back here,” he bellowed as she made to rush toward the door.
Her flight halted suddenly, her legs trapped in her skirt. She kicked at it with her legs, but the pressure increased. She whirled back to Guy.
He had the train of her skirt tightly held in his fist. As she tried to free herself, he yanked and sent her stumbling toward him.
“Loose me.” Helena’s temper ripped free.
“Stay.” A muscle tensed in the side of his jaw. He tugged her closer until her knees hit the edge of the tub.
“There is nothing for me in this chamber.” Her jaw quivered. “Call for Lady Rosalind if you want company.”
“We will settle this.” His eyes were colder than stone.
“There is naught to settle. It matters not to me,” she panted as she twisted. It was for naught, for his grip was fast.
She gave up and threw her hands into the air. Even as his eyes glittered a warning, Helena seethed, “I understand my place. You have made it abundantly clear to me. We are no more than strangers who suddenly find ourselves married.”