Elizabeth Elliott (22 page)

She pictured every demon that lived in the woods, some creatures she knew were real, most she could only imagine. Nothing would convince her uncle to leave the safety of his fortress at dusk. Why should Guy be so noble?

His loyalty to his missing men was another trait she wanted to hate but couldn’t. She recalled how she had felt while stranded in the forest, thinking he had abandoned her. His men would know better, sure in the knowledge that Guy would search for them. That must be a comforting feeling.

“Make sure my horse is ready, Stephen. I will join you soon in the stable.”

“Aye, my lord.”

The squire departed, and Claudia forced her gaze to remain on the floor. They were alone. She had an overwhelming desire to fling herself into his arms, to pour out everything in her heart before it was too late.

It was a ridiculous urge. He would probably return before dawn. There was no pressing need to tell him anything. He didn’t want her to touch him, or to kiss him, or show any other sign of her affections. This morning he had ordered her to leave him. She could do nothing but sit in miserable silence and watch him leave. Was this some sort of punishment?

She heard him walk closer and found herself staring at his boots. He took hold of her hands and drew her to her feet. She stared at his chest, at the white wolf of Montague that was embroidered on his blue surcoat. If she wrapped her arms around his waist, her head would rest against that fierce-looking
beast. It seemed appropriate that the emblem covered his heart, one ruthless predator atop another.

“I am your betrothed, Claudia. It displeases me to see you so distraught over another.”

What was this obsession he had about her feelings for Thomas? Only one man held her affections, and he stood before her. Was he blind? She supposed he must be. She was not about to enlighten him.

He brushed his fingers beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I would rather carry the memory of your smile with me.”

“Then do not leave,” she whispered. “Send another in your stead.”

His jaw tensed as he studied her face, his eyes searching hers. “Your tears are for me?”

The uncertainty in his voice crumbled her flimsy defenses. She threw her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against the wolf, a creature that could devour her whole. The sharp metal links of his chain mail bit into her skin but she didn’t care. She wanted to hear the steadying sound of his heartbeat, but his armor made that impossible. She heard only her own, pounding an uneven rhythm in her ears.

“Please, Guy. Do not leave me.” She held him tighter, but his hands remained slack at his sides. His lack of response only made her more desperate. “I will agree to anything you wish, if only you will not leave. I cannot bear it!”

Oh, God, she was making a fool of herself. A complete and utter fool. He stood stockstill, no doubt shocked by her hysterics, at the very least, disgusted by them. Before he could answer her besotted plea, she tore herself away and spun toward the door. His hand plucked at her sleeve, but her sudden flight must have startled him too much to give chase. He called out just as the door slammed shut behind her, cutting off the sound of her name.

Guy did not return by dawn. Nor did he return by midmorning when Lenore coaxed Claudia to the kitchens to bake the rat poison they had made into sweetened wafers. They spent most of the afternoon tucking the wafers into small crevices, high ledges, and any other out-of-the-way place that only a rat would find. Still, Claudia asked Lenore to warn everyone of the danger. The girl’s eyes lit up at the opportunity to spread that bit of information and doubtless a few tidbits of gossip at the same time.

Without Lenore’s company to distract her, Claudia wandered through the castle to the walkways that ran along the outer walls, anxious to avoid Guy’s chamber or the solar, knowing the memory of his presence was too strong in those places to let her do anything but worry about him.

Evard came upon her on the walkways an hour later. “I did not realize you left your maid’s company, my lady. Would you mind mine?”

She interpreted the polite comment as a warning that she was not to be alone in the castle. Seeing nothing wrong with that edict, she inclined her head. “Nay, Sir Evard. I would welcome your company, for I hoped to speak with you today.” She looked out over the high battlement walls, her arms propped up on the smooth stone, her chin resting in her hands. The countryside unfolded below her like a beautifully worked tapestry, but she had eyes only for the roads that led to Montague, watching for any movement or cloud of dust on the horizon that would announce Guy’s approach. It seemed much longer than a day since he left, longer than a day since she made a fool of herself with lovesick declarations. Last night she had lain in Guy’s big, empty bed and whispered all the things she wished she had said, practiced them aloud until they sounded just right. Now she would gladly swallow her pride for the opportunity to say them to his face.

“My lady?” Evard prompted. “You wished to ask me something?”

“Ah, yes.” Her gaze returned to the road that led into the forest. “Does your baron have a violent temper?”

“Lord Guy?” Evard sounded incredulous. “Nay, my lady! What would make you think such a thing?”

“Lenore and Sir Thomas acted very strangely in the gardens yesterday morn when Lord Guy grew angry.” She gave Evard a sideways glance. “I would say they looked afraid of him.”

Evard considered this for a moment. “ ’Tis likely you saw wariness rather than fear. The baron is not a cruel or unjust lord, but his punishments to those who displease him are swift and long-remembered.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lord Guy knows each of his people,” Evard said, “well enough to know which punishments will prove most effective. A few months ago, Lord Guy discovered that one of the chandlers had gambled away the guild dues of his apprentices. He ordered the apprentices to collect the chandler’s earnings for a fortnight while the chandler went to the dairy barns for the same length of time to serve as a milkmaid.”

Claudia wrinkled her nose, unimpressed. “That does not sound like much of a punishment to me. Most barons would flog such a man to dissuade him from future gambling.”

“The chandler is deathly afraid of cows, my lady.” Evard’s smile grew broader. “Lord Guy does not beat nor maim his people, yet you will see influences of his temper everywhere if you know what to look for, or, what not to look for. ’Tis rare you will find any drunkards at Montague, for they know they will be wakened at dawn the next day to clean garderobes.” He tapped his chin and looked skyward. “And I once knew a young knight who charged into a skirmish with a band of mercenaries, anxious to prove his worth and bravery to the baron, yet in his haste he left the men in his charge without a leader. For a month afterward, Sir Thomas was awakened an hour early each morn, ordered to arrive an hour early for each meal, and sent to his bed an hour early each night. ’Tis likely Thomas recalled each of those dull hours when he faced the baron’s anger yesterday.” Evard shook his
head. “Nay, Lord Guy is not a violent man, but many on the receiving end of his judgments would call him devious.”

“Little wonder his clerks do not complain,” Claudia mused, intrigued by Evard’s insight into how Guy’s mind worked. Devious, indeed. “If the baron were displeased with me, what do you think his punishment would be?”

Evard looked baffled. He gave her a helpless shrug. “I could not say, my lady.”

Claudia propped her chin on her hands again and gazed out over the forest. “I think he might delay his return to Montague an entire day, knowing I worry about him every hour of that day.” Her voice turned almost hopeful. “That could be the reason he has not returned yet, don’t you think?”

A long silence passed between them. “If you say so, my lady.”

Three days later, Claudia knew that Guy’s prolonged absence from Montague had nothing to do with an imagined punishment. No one spoke their fears aloud, but she could see the worry on every face.

“He will return today,” Evard said. He pretended to contemplate the abacus that sat on the table in Guy’s solar, sliding the wooden beads back and forth in a random pattern. “My hunches are rarely wrong, and I have a strong hunch that this is the day he will return.”

Claudia wished he would find something else to occupy his time. The abacus beads clicked together in an annoying rhythm. She wanted to toss the stupid instrument out the window. Instead she continued to sew. Her silver needle moved steadily through the white samite. Four thousand, three hundred and eighty-seven stitches, eighty-eight, eighty-nine. A few more rows of embroidery and the tunic would be complete, a tunic sewn with hands frantic for anything that would keep them busy, sewn for a man who would probably never wear it.

She forced herself to speak her worst fears aloud. “My
uncle would demand a ransom if he had captured Lord Guy. We would have word by now if he were a prisoner. I—I do not think he will return, Evard.”

“There could be any number of reasons for the baron’s delay,” Evard said. “Lord Guy can hold his own in any battle, and he rode from Montague expecting to find trouble. He is not likely to fall prey to a trap.”

“ ’Tis surely some trickery of my uncle’s that lured Guy away from Montague,” she insisted. “Each night I try to prepare myself for the worst, to imagine …” She rearranged the tunic across her lap to hide how badly her hands began to shake. “The people within this fortress will hold me responsible.”

“You are letting your imagination run away with you,” Evard said, an uncustomary harshness in his voice. “By Lord Guy’s own orders, I will protect you with my life, Lady Claudia. None here will harm you.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “Who will become baron here when news arrives of Guy’s death?”

Evard scowled and looked away. She had wondered if Guy had told anyone about her brother, Roberto. Now she had the answer. Evard could not protect her if Guy’s brother, Kenric, became Montague’s baron.

“You have little faith in your baron’s abilities, lady.”

“Nay, you are wrong. I have great faith in Lord Guy’s abilities. He is the one who made me consider all possibilities when I would try to hide the truth in false hopes.” She bowed her head. “And he is not my baron, Evard. Only those sworn to him may claim the protection of his name. An illicit betrothal will not protect me.”

“This is foolishness, Lady Claudia. I, too, am worried by the baron’s absence, but I am not ready to order his shroud sewn. I know him too well.” The abacus abandoned, Evard began to pace. He raked his hands through his hair until it fair stood on end. “Lord Guy is like a cat, always landing on his feet.”

Claudia felt a humorless smile tug at her lips. “Guy does not like cats.”

Evard made a sound of impatience. “I feel a need for fresh air, my lady. Will you walk with me along the curtain walls?”

She knew why he made the suggestion. They had walked the curtain walls each day near dusk, both using the excuse of fresh air and the fine view, both straining to see any sign of Guy’s return. There was no longer any need to keep watch, for there would be no sign this day, or any that followed. Still, she could not push that last thread of hope aside. She set her sewing aside. “A walk sounds like a fine idea, Evard. There are clouds on the horizon. Why don’t we go now, before it rains?”

“I would rather you stayed.”

The sound of the deep voice made her heart stop beating. Even as she turned toward the sound, she told herself that it was nothing more than her imagination. She had conjured the sound of Guy’s voice in her head because she wanted to hear it so badly. Last night she had sworn she heard him call out to her, yet she awoke to an empty bed, her arms clutching the pillow that still held a faint trace of his scent. Perhaps it was his ghost calling out to her, trying to answer the tearful pleas she made each night that he return to her. Aye, why wouldn’t he haunt her as thoroughly in death as he had in life? She took a deep breath and slowly lifted her gaze from the floor.

Her imagination summoned up a perfect image of him as well. Guy stood in the doorway of the solar, one broad shoulder propped against the doorjamb, dressed in the same clothing as the day he left. Ghosts were not supposed to smile, but Guy was smiling. He pushed away from the door and moved toward her, his arms outstretched as if he meant to enfold her within them.

His image wavered, and the entire room seemed to shift beneath her feet. She tried to take a small step toward him. Guy and the room itself suddenly disappeared as everything went black.