The Herald's Heart (18 page)

“Why?”

“Who can say why God keeps her from seeing you for who you are.”

Talon studied her in turn. He felt they had talked this way before, in this very garden. Just as he’d felt that strange but familiar comfort when he first approached the anchorage. Yet he could not place where or how he might have met either holy woman. The sensation disturbed him so greatly that he asked, “Have we met somewhere other than here and Hawking Sedge?”

“Indeed, last night we met at the keep.”

“No, before that.”

She smiled. “I’ve not ventured more than a league from this place since before you were born.”

Frustrated, he tried another tack. “Is the anchoress mad?”

“If she is, ’tis a blessed madness.”

Talon frowned and thrust his hoe into the earth. “You speak riddles. How may madness be blessed? Why can’t the anchoress see me for who I am?”

Mother Clement bent to her work once more. “God’s works are mysterious, my son. But think on this. The woman became an anchoress when she lost her child. We feared for her sanity then, and all agreed that the contemplative life would best heal her soul.”

“I am sorry for her loss.”

“’Twas years ago.”

Talon paused, uncertain how to best word his next request. “I must talk more with her. She can clear up some questions surrounding the earl’s death.”

“I don’t know if she’ll speak with you again today.”

“I hoped that you might accompany me.”

“Why?”

“I thought that your presence might calm her. Also, if she becomes agitated, you might be able to explain what I want and help her restore herself to order.”

Mother Clement turned stone-gray eyes on him once more.

Talon pulled his hoe through the dirt. Sweat trickled down his neck.

“Aye,” the abbess finally said. “I will come with you.”

Bells rang in the distance.

“But after prayers,” she continued. She put her shovel down and rose to her feet. Without a word, she turned her back and marched down the path toward the abbey chapel.

He stared after her. The bells had rung sext. She would be at her prayers for some time. He finished hoeing the row of plants he’d started working on, then picked up both hoe and shovel. He deposited the tools in a cart that sat next to the garden wall and followed the path around the abbey buildings to the door in the main gate. He let himself out, checked on his horse, and sat in the shade of a nearby oak to wait.

• • •

Larkin paced the length of the solar. Worried about her fate and so furious with Talon, she hadn’t slept or eaten.

Talon believed her a liar and a murderess. He’d taken the fragile trust they shared and ground it beneath his righteous boot heel. He deserved nothing from her, but she needed him for as long as it took to find the marriage box. That alone would keep her captive to his distrust.

She stopped by the window and stood looking out at the bailey and the village beyond. The courtyard and the lane through the town lay deserted, as soulless as on those nights when she’d crept about the keep in search of the proof she was Lady Rosham. Everyone must be at midday meals. Would she be fed? If someone entered, could she find the means to escape?

She hurried to the door. The guards on the other side spoke of wanting their meal. Then she heard the footsteps of more than one man fading away. She looked about the chamber. Irons for stirring the fire lay next to the braiser. She dragged the stool from next to the bed into place beside the door. Then she took a fire iron and climbed up on the stool. She would have one chance and one chance only.

Soon the footsteps returned, but only those of one man. A key rattled in the door. Larkin raised the fire iron above her and brought the metal rod down upon the head of the man who stepped into the room.

His body slumped, and the tray he carried crashed to the floor.

“Oh dear.” Was she now a murderess in truth?

Cleve lay crumpled just inside the doorway. Larkin hopped off the stool to see that he still breathed, then tugged at his feet and legs to clear the doorway. She found his key ring, stepped through to the hall, and locked the door behind her. Pray heaven one of the other keys unlocked the new door Talon had installed within the secret passage.

She added a prayer that no one would see her from below, then scurried across the top of the main stair to the entrance of the secret passage. She worked the mechanism, grabbed a torch from a nearby sconce, and entered. Not until she closed the entrance and descended the steps toward the outer cave did she dare to stop. She took great gulping breaths of air and became aware that she was trembling. ’Twas the remnants of fear. Thank the Madonna she hadn’t spent time thinking about her actions before carrying them out or she never would have been able to hit Cleve.

The torch flickered in the stuffy air of the closed tunnel. She could not count on Cleve remaining undiscovered for very long. Talon could return at any moment, and he would know where she’d gone. She walked as quickly down the rough passage as the dim light would allow. She passed three openings where various small caves intersected the hewn stone. She’d never had the opportunity to explore them as she wished; she could not pause to do so now. She had to leave, but only so she could someday return and finish the task of finding the marriage box.

The scatter of stones along the floor sounded behind her. Had someone followed so soon? She sped onward. Once outside, she could hide among the rocks or in one of the other caves, as long as the tide did not rise too high.

She looked to where the tunnel rose then bent before plunging to the sea. Before the new door was installed, light from the shore would be visible around that bend. She would have to try the keys in the dark, for once she let go of the torch, it would go out quickly.

She turned the corner, set the torch on the floor, and, in rapid succession, tried one key after another. The torch flame was lasting longer than she’d expected. She had only two keys left. Then there were none.

Nay. She could not come this far and meet with failure. Though she knew better, she began to try each key again. The flame began to die. She did not want to be left here in the dark, forced to stumble her way back to her prison. If she must return, she would walk, head high and able to see where she stepped.

She reached for the torch at the same time that light pooled around her. Talon stood before her, with four guards at his back.

• • •

From within the window embrasure, she watched him dismiss the guards. He stalked to the chair near the braiser and sat, slapping his gloves against his thigh.

He pierced her with a glare. “You hurt Cleve.”

Larkin swallowed. “I am sorry for that.”

He grunted and jerked his head away, as if he could not stand the sight of her.

“Why did you run?”

He knew precisely why she fled, but she would play his game for now. “Why should I wait here for you to hang me?”

“And you think I would hang you because ...?”

How stupid did he think she was? “You have to ask? To listen to you and Father Timoras, no one but myself could have murdered the earl.”

“That is not true.”

She wished he would leave her alone. “Then why did you imprison me here?”

He hesitated. “For your safety.”

“Bah. ’Tis not what you said at the time. You did it because you thought me guilty of murder and that someone would wreak vengeance for the earl’s death by killing me.”

“If you will recall, I also said that two previous attempts on your life placed you in the greatest danger.” He shot out of the chair and advanced on her. “But I do think you capable of taking a just vengeance on a heartless man. Just as I know you capable of lies, deceit, and trickery in pursuit of your name and your home.”

Larkin backed away.

Talon pursued.

“You ... you are right.” She sidled around the bed, aiming for the door. “I did many of those things. But I did not kill the earl, and I. Do. Not. Lie.” Her back hit the stonewall.

He caged her with an arm on either side of her head. “Then why do you deny the desire that rages between us?”

“Because to acknowledge such feelings for my husband’s son would put both of our souls at risk. To yield to passion would condemn our souls for certain.”

With an anguished groan, he flung himself away from her to stand before the hearth, head bowed.

She still felt caged. “Talon?”

“You are right.”

“Did you just say I was right?”

He raised his head to look at her, a smile on his lips but his eyes full of sorrow and regret. “Do not tease, sweet Larkin. I’ve known we could not be lovers since the day you sang a Norman lullaby to Aedwin and trusted me with the story of your family’s massacre.”

“Then why bring this up now?”

“Because I did not want it to be true.”

“Yet you publicly accuse me of murdering your father.”

Talon sighed. “I was wrong about that too.”

Larkin’s world shifted, and she stumbled to the hearth stool beside Talon. She could barely believe her ears. “What did you say?”

His mouth twisted on a dry laugh. “I said I was wrong.”

“About what?” Even to her own ears, she sounded sarcastic. She knew as well as he did what he’d been wrong about. Still, she needed to hear the words.

“I was wrong to believe you guilty of murdering the earl. Wrong to think revenge, title, and lands of more import to you than your name and justice.”

“Why? What could possibly change your mind?” Did she really hope that he’d decided to trust her word?

“Dame Margery and Mother Clement. The anchoress explained the complicated process to blend oils and scents with the wax and still retain the purity the earl demanded. You would have had to work for days to achieve the right blend. She also told me that she gives the candles to the nuns to be wrapped and sealed, that you got the candles from the abbey.”

Larkin’s shoulders slumped. “The anchoress and the abbey are much the same to me. I use them interchangeably.”

“I figured that out before I spoke with the abbess. Mother Clement confirmed that, save for the night before the body was discovered, you have not been inside the abbey since the earl ordered you to be cast out a year ago. With all the will in the world, you could not have made those candles or had them made and sealed before you delivered them. You are innocent, and I was wrong. I beg your pardon.”

She folded her hands before her to still the trembling relief that his words brought.

“You don’t seem surprised,” he said.

“’Tis nothing I did not know.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“I tried to, but you would have none of my protest. You locked me in here without listening to me.”

His face darkened, as if he blushed. “I am sorry for that.”

“No more than I.”

Silence fell between them. She made as if to rise.

“Larkin, please.” His hand shot out to cover her knee, effectively holding her in place. “Listen to me. I’m sorry.”

She looked at his hand. Under her skirts, her skin heated beneath his touch. “You admit you are wrong and beg my forgiveness. Is that supposed to make up for your distrust?”

“No, it is supposed to make you listen to me. I want to apologize.”

“You have already apologized.” She shrugged off his hand and stood. Her heart hurt. Even with his apology, she knew his claim of trust to be a feeble thing. “We have nothing further to say to each other.”

“Nay. Wed me and put an end to your search for the marriage box. No proof will exist of your marriage to my father or that you are Lady Rosham. No one will be damned, and you will be safe and happy.”

Why did he ask this of her now? He’d never said one word of love, and he knew she was his stepmother. Was that the reason, greed? With the earl dead, did Talon think to gain Hawksedge through marriage with its countess? Or mayhap he simply felt guilty. Well, she was neither the road to riches nor absolution.

“Safe, perhaps. Happy, never. Damned, definitely, for I will still have been married to your father in the eyes of the church and God whether proof exists or not. But did I marry you, I would condemn myself to a living hell with no name and no heritage. No thank you.”

His jaw clenched.

“Is that how you see marriage to me, a living hell? If nothing will satisfy you but justice for the dead and regaining your name, then I will get it for you,” he snarled. “Then I will seek annulment of your marriage to my father. Then I will haunt your days until you admit before God, church, and man that I am right. What I claim, I keep.”

“Nay, you cannot claim me.”

“You are wrong, Larkin.” He crowded her.

She backed away. “I am not, can never be, your wife,” she whispered.

“Mayhap, but you are mine.” He kept coming.

Her back hit the wall once more. She dared not meet his gaze, or he might see her denials for the falsehoods they were.

“Mine,” he whispered, taking her in his arms and sealing her mouth with his.

“Nay.” Larkin’s lips yielded to his. She wanted this, wanted him more than she could say. Her hands fisted in his hair and pulled. She could not want him; wanting him would only lead to more pain, more regret.

His hands wandered down her torso to her hips and beyond, stroking her buttocks and pulling her to him.

Her knees went weak, and she reveled in the crush of her breasts against his chest. Pulling his hair hadn’t worked. She tried pushing against his shoulders but could not get enough leverage.

His hardness pulsed against the juncture of her thighs. An answering pulse rose deep inside her, spreading through her body. More. No more. She drew one leg back, then gave a swift upward thrust with her knee.

Talon howled and fell to the floor. He lay there, curled into a ball, his hands clasped between his legs, and gasped for breath.

Suddenly free, Larkin sagged against the stones. Had she killed him?

Tears streamed down his face and his mouth moved, but no words escaped.

“I’m sorry, more sorry than I can say.”

Pure, unadulterated fury stared back at her from his pain-glazed eyes.