wcEND.rtf (25 page)

"It has been a long time," the old man whispered- His once booming voice that made every squire, and even knights, tremble now barely reached Hunter standing not a pace away from him.

"Indeed it has, my lord."

"You look well," Lord Reginald said. "I, on the other hand, am dying."

"I am certain you shall live for many years to come," Hunter lied.

Lord Reginald waved his hand in dismissal. "It matters not. I am ready for death, having grown tired of physicians, leeches, and bitter potions." His chest heaved, and he gasped for air.

Powerless, Hunter watched Lord Reginald's struggle. After long moments the old man's breathing finally eased a little. He opened his eyes and stared at Hunter. "I heard tales of your bravery in battle," he said. "Saved the king's arse at
B
annockbur
n
, did you?" A cough cut short his weak laugh. "I always knew you had it in you, Hunter. You cannot negate your blood. I like to believe I had something to do with the man you have become."

Hunter stiffened and waited. Was that how it would be? Lord Reginald claiming credit for what Hunter had accomplished before he revealed he was Hunter's father?

However, instead of the expected confession, Lord Reginald rambled on, "Heard you were recently wedded.

Lady Détra of Windermere, I believe. Beautiful lady .. . Was she not wedded before?" He paused, catching his breath. "A harsh man, if I recall well. Terrible choice, good riddance, I say! I am certain she is well pleased with you."

Lord Reginald's dark eyes, such contrast to his sandy hair, stared at Hunter in speculation.

Did he know of Détra's reluctance toward him? "She is content, I believe," Hunter said.

"As well she should be. From what I hear you had your choice of land and yet you settled on Détra's small castle. A beautiful woman can sway a man's mind in ways he cannot even comprehend. You should never allow your heart to decide matters of property, my boy."

My boy!

Hunter's heart swelled with the intensity of his desire to hear the words that would forever unbind him from the ghost of a faceless fa
th
er.

"Windermere provides a more than adequate income," Hunter said. "I have no doubt I made the right choice. Besides, what is a man if not his heart and honor?"

Lord Reginald snorted. "A man's heart tends to lead him astray if he is not heedful. You have won the king, the castle, and the lady. It will take more than heart to keep them all."

"Is that why you summoned me to your bedside? To warn me about my heedless heart?" Hunter asked impatiently. The man was dying, every word he spoke an effort; why p
l
ay games with him? What purpose would that serve but to torment Hunter further?

"Danger looms, Hunter. What is unknown to you might be used against you."

What was that now? A vague warning of danger? "Danger always looms, my lord. It is part of a man's life.

I am certain I would not have lived to see this day had I not been aware of that."

"I know what you seek," Lord Reginald whispered and Hunter leaned forward. "Your father's identity."

Hunter fe
l
t the blood drain from his face. "If you have knowledge of that, I pray you share it with me."

"First I will have your pledge," Lord Reginald said.

'To what, my lord?"

"To protect Rupert against his enemies." He paused. "Even yourself, if need be."

That even at the hour of his death Lord Reginald thought of Rupert first lanced Hunter's heart. But what had he expected? A tearful plea for forgiveness?

Naught in Hunter's life had ever come without a price.
I
t was obvious Lord Reginald was no repentant man looking to amend his past misdeeds toward Hunter; he was a man after protecting his own, and clearly Hunter was naught to him.

For a moment Hunter considered turning his back on Lord Reginald and the truth. Let the old fool die with his secret, let Rupert care for himself. But Hunter knew he would not do so. He wanted to know if his foster lord was also his father. Wanted to hear the truth from the man's own mouth. Wanted to end once and for all the quest he had failed to achieve.

Grasping Hunter's arms with his bony hands, half lifting himself from the bed with a strength his frail body belied, Lord Reginald hissed, "Swear it or you shall never know." Their faces were only inches apart and Hunter could smell in the old man's breath the putrid scent of death.

"I swear." Hunter's words escaped through clenched teeth, knowing his vow would someday haunt him worse than not knowing his father's name.

Lord Reginald let go of Hunter's arm and fell against the pillows with a labored sigh of relief. "Are you my father?" Hunter asked.

******************

WITH WOBBLING KNEES AND POUNDING HEAD, ISABEL followed a servant up the stairs. Her entire body ached, especially her head, thanks to the longest journey of her life. Her means of transportation had been no more than a simple cart pulled by horses, and riding in one had been the worse traveling experience of her life. No amount of pillows could
'v
e softened that hard wooden floor she sat and lay on, and the thing rattled and shook as much as a hovercraft crossing the English Channel.

Once inside their bedroom Isabel went straight to the bed and sank on the soft mattress. She watched as Maude directed the servants carrying her trunk to put it down by the bed, then as they left with promises of sending refreshments, Maude began the unpacking. Not the clothing, for that would remain in the trunk, but their personal belongings and the small box of potions and herbs Maude didn't seem to live without.

Isabel was thankful for that and waited impatiently for Maude to mix a potion for her headache. As she waited she scanned the room. Standard medieval accommodation
s
—
a
bed, a table and chair, and a fireplace. The walls were bare of decoration but mere was adequate illumination with the window shutters open and burning wood in the
f
ireplace.

As Maude brought her a cup, Isabel gulped the contents down, not even minding the bitter taste.

"You have not added a sleeping draught, have you?" Isabel belatedly asked.

"Nay, my lady."

"Good." Although she could use a good nap, Isabel
wanted to be awake when Hunter
f
inished his conversation with Lord Reginald. Hunter had said very little about what he expected to hear from the man, but he was visibly tense throughout the trip. Isabel had a feeling this conversation was much more important to Hunter than he had wanted her to believe.

A serving woman appeared with a carafe and cups, and a round piece of bread filled with some kind of meat stew. "Would you have some fruits, by any chance?" Isabel asked. "Apples, pears, anything ..." She wasn't used to heavy breakfasts. Tea and fruit were her usual fare.

The woman nodded, put down the tray she brought, then left.

Isabel fell back on the bed, stretching her body, her muscles screaming for a massage. She'd settle for a long, hot bath.

At her request, Maude stepped outside in search of a servant, leaving the door slightly ajar. Meanwhile Isabel sat up again, took off her shoes and the woolen stocking
s
—
s
he'd have to wait for Maude to help her with her gow
n
—
a
nd then ambled to the trunk to rummage inside for what to wear after her bath.

Suddenly, a man grabbed her from behind, spinning her around and sealing her lips with his in a move so fast Isabel didn't have time to utter the scream lodged in her throat.

She struggled to free herself from his grip but he didn't seem dissuaded one bit by her efforts. Finally, he pulled back a little and Isabel slapped him so hard her hand prickled.

The stranger let go of her. "Détra!" The man had the gall to look shocked as he rubbed the imprint of her hand on his fair face.

Détra? He knew Détra?
Who the hell was he, anyway?

At that moment, Maude returned. She rushed to
I
sa
be
l'
s side as if to rescue her, though Isabel wasn't sure whether Maude had witnessed the kiss or the slap.

"Leave us," he ordered Maude. "I have matters to discuss with your lady."

"My lady," Maude said, not moving an inch away from Isabel. Her gentle hazel eyes were open so wide Isabel thought they would pop out. "It is very improper for Lord Rupert to be alone with you in your private bedchamber. What would happen if your husband walked in on you?"

Isabel's heart raced. Something was very wrong here.

"Has the bastard laid a hand on you?" Rupert demanded, taking her injured hand into his. There was no misunderstanding Rupert's proprietary indignation.

Isabel pulled her hand free. Who was he accusing of hurting her? Surely not Hunter! "I fell and hurt myself," she said. She wanted to add that it was none of his business, but he
l
d back.

It was obvious Détra and Rupert were acquainted. However, how well acquainted they were or how much Maude knew was uncertain.

What was certain was that Lord Rupert had touched her with a presumption that spoke of intimate familiarity, and Maude's attempt to protect her reputation seemed a little more than a simple matter of propriety. Her look of pure fright couldn't be just hurt medieval sensibilities.

Isabel's curiosity was piqued. But more than curiosity, an odd feeling of danger, of something being terribly wrong prickled her skin.

What if there was some shady business going on between Détra and Rupert? And yet what could she do if there were? And what gave her the right to interfere in these people's lives?

How could she not, after what she and Hunter had shared?

"
Tell your maid to leave," Rupert said, bringing Isabel
out of her musings. "I must speak with you."

Isabel wanted to know what Rupert had to say, but she couldn't risk being alone with him. Maude was right; what would Hunter do if he found her alone with another man?

"Maude, would you please fix me my morning drink?" Isabel asked. As Maude moved to the table, Isabel ambled to the window on the other side of the room. Rupert followed her.

"I understand Hunter is here speaking with my father," he said after a sly glance at Maude. "I know not what he does here, but while he is occupied I must speak wi
th
you."

Isabel didn't like how sneaky that sounded. "I am a
l
l ears."

"Have you heard from King Edward?" Rupert whispered.

Isabel was blindly navigating uncharted waters here. "I have not heard from him lately," she said cautiously.

Rupert shook his head. "I have just learned that my petition for our betrothal lay on the king's desk unread even as he granted Windermere and you to that bastard Hunter." He threaded long fingers through his sandy hair. "Lord, I could kill him with my own hands," he spat.

Isabel trembled. Did he mean to kill the king or Hunter?

Rupert's ire wasn't faked. One could never dismiss a jilted man's hatred. The question was what role did Détra play in this?

"Forgive me," he said, probably seeing the fear on her face. "I meant not to frighten you, but that bastard has been stuck in my craw for too long now."

Isabel said nothing. She wasn't even sure who Rupert was most angry wit
h
—
H
unter or the king.

"It will be sweet indeed when the king grants your petition for annulment of this travesty of marriage." He
took Isabel's hands into his. "I know how difficult it must be for you to continue to keep him at bay, but you must not give in. As long as your marriage is not consummated, we may dream of being together soon."

If her life depended on it, Isabel wouldn't be able to speak. She stared at Rupert in horror. Good God! Détra wanted to annul their marriage? What would she do when she returned and realized that was no longer an option?

So much for not interfering in other people's lives.

And what about Hunter? Isabel hurt for him.

Misreading her grief, he touched her face softly. Fearing he was about to kiss her, Isabel swiftly stepped back.