Heartsong (33 page)

“Thank you. Wait for me here?”

He nodded, then sat down under one of the small trees through which they’d passed. She hurried toward the garden Tom had mentioned, knowing exactly where Lord Richard waited, probably for the return of his wife.

Rhianna had spent a lot of time in that very garden, while she had waited for Garrett’s summon to return to Knockin. However, that request had never come. She paused and swallowed a surge of grief. Nay, this was not the time for remembrances. She hurried on.

The garden path was barely lit and she stumbled several times. She gave no thought to getting caught. Richard would listen. He would return her babe, all she had to do was explain what had happened. She trudged on, moving toward a bench at the edge of the plantings.

Such deep silence surrounded her, she could hear the frantic beating of her heart. What if Tom had been wrong? What if Richard wasn’t in the garden? What if he’d left?

Then she spotted him.

In the half-light of the young eve, he sat on the stone bench, his back toward her. Deep shadows concealed him but she staggered to a stop, amazed at how much he resembled Garrett from this position. However, his posture looked like one of dejection. That surprised her. As a new father, he should be strutting with pride, drinking, celebrating with his men.

She took a step toward him, rehearsing in her mind the words with which to plead her case. Would he even listen to her? Nay, she could not question, not now. Somehow, she had to make him understand the babe was hers, that Gwendolyn was all she had.

Mayhap she should present herself in supplication. She sank to her knees, bowed her head and clasped her hands before her breasts. He said nothing to indicate he knew she was there. She cleared her throat, closed her eyes and tried to speak over her fear.

“My Lord.” She struggled with the words, her raw voice hoarse and scarce above a whisper. “For some reason, your—your lady wife took my babe. Please, I want her back. I—I need her, I...” She stopped before she dissolved into tears, struggling for control. How could she make him understand if he had to listen to her sobs? She swallowed against a ball of panic in her throat, forcing the words passed dry lips, her veil falling forward, covering her face.

“Margot took my child. Please, you must give her back to me. She is all I have left.” She fell forward with the remembered pain of having the infant torn from her arms.

“Who are you?” His voice came at her, familiar, beloved, a voice that sparked her dreams. She lifted her head, gazing at the man towering over her.

“Garrett?”

“Rhianna?”

“You are dead.” The words slipped out before she could contain them. Margot had said he was dead. Could she have misunderstood? Nay, he died, wounded in a battle months ago.

Then, was this Garrett? Had her mind vanished with her babe?

She clambered to her feet, staring into a face she had dreamed of for months. Nay, this could not be her Garrett, not the man she had loved. His face carried an expression of astonishment, his brow creased with surprise and his glorious mouth, the mouth that had kissed her so tenderly, was open with shock. Could it be he no longer wanted her, had sent the message he died so he would no longer have to care for her? She tensed against a stab of betrayal.

Margot had told her he was dead. He must have told his sister to lie about his death so she would never return to Knockin. A slashing thrust of agony nearly sent her to her knees.

“Nay,” she whimpered. Had he not cared for her at all?

“Please, the babe...” Her voice sounded stronger. She had to continue, “Please, may I have her back?”

Garrett looked stunned.

“The babe? Do you mean the child that Margot birthed? Rhianna, where did you go? Why didn’t you come to me? I needed you.”

Something inside her crumbled like a piece of old bread. He needed her? How could that be when Margot had said he was dead? Still, he didn’t stop pelting her with questions.

“Know you, even your brothers have searched for you for months? Have you no care for them at least? What of your half sister? Lily has cried her eyes out for you. Why did you leave Fiston? Why go back to Wales? Edward claims Wales. And I needed you.”

Rhianna quaked with each word, startled into silence. Garrett knew her brothers, of Lily? He must, for he said her brothers had searched for her. How could that be? Was all of Wales truly in the hands of the English king?

Still, his words pounded at her.

“Why did you refuse to come to me? You left me to endure the tender care of strangers. I thought you cared for me—at least a little.”

“Nay,” she whimpered. “Margot said... Garrett, please. The babe is ours. Margot took her away from me. You must get her back.” She was pleading for her life, but he only stared at her as if he could not believe her words.

Her body sensed her need for the babe and her breasts filled with milk. She grimaced at the pain, and glanced at the bodice of her gown. Once more, she gazed up at the man who had been everything to her.

“Oh, Rhianna, what has happened to you? You don’t have a child. The babe is Margot’s. Remember? I sent you here to help her.” He uttered the words with such pity she flinched.

Something in her snapped. A quiet anger began to grow. His pity? Nay, she didn’t want his pity? If he didn’t want her or the child, then so be it. Humility and disappointment grew apace.

“If I have not birthed a child, you whoreson, then why is the front of my gown wet with milk? See for yourself. I have only just recovered myself. My breasts ache to suckle that babe. Aye, see how the milk stains my gown and puddles at my feet.”

In the soft shimmer of moon glow, there was no mistaking the dark stains of moisture down the front of her gown. She stepped back and dropped her eyes to the small puddle at her feet.

She watched the dim light of evening reflect the shock, the anguish, the agony that covered Garrett’s face. He stared at the ground. Then he lifted his head and his eyes met hers. He believed her, that she had birthed a child. It was written in his expression.

Her body lurched with expectation. She stared into his eyes but the pain she read there stopped her.

“Then why did you go to Wales, why not return to Knockin, to me?”

She twisted away from his words. He didn’t understand. Margot had told her he was dead. How could she return to someone dead? It was all an excuse. It had to be. And that was the final thrust to her heart.

“She said you were dead.”

Then she turned and ran—like an injured animal, seeking a dark place, a place to die, where alone with the agony, she could draw her last breath.

She gave no thought to Tom waiting at the gate, knowing only that she had to get to the cottage. She bolted past him, trying to outrace the twisted, throbbing lump that had been her heart.

She had lost their child. Garrett didn’t care. He didn’t want her. She was oblivious to everything except the misery that speared her with each breath.

The cottage loomed out of the darkness, the single window glowing with lamplight. She flung open the door and dived for Pernith’s arms.

“All is lost.”

She collapsed in the old woman’s arms.

Nineteen

Garrett watched Rhianna flee from the garden. Never had he seen such anguish in the face of anyone. He dropped his gaze to the pool of liquid shimmering in the moonlight. ‘Twas no contradicting her about birthing a child. Rhianna had delivered a babe.

A long ago conversation with Richard Parrish surfaced, something about the waters of Wales being conducive to breeding. If Margot had conceived in Wales... He had also bedded Rhianna while they were in Wales. Stunned, he glanced at the drying puddle then toward the spot where Rhianna had disappeared. He turned and raced for the entrance to the keep, his thoughts muddled and confused.

Joseph met him on the stairs.

“She is a tiny, little thing. Have you seen her?”

“Nay, but I intend to visit now.” Garrett wanted the truth, but he waited for his knight to move to the side.

“Never thought to like a newborn, but this one is...” Joseph shook his head as he moved to one side.

Garrett gave him a quick glance and galloped up the stairs.

“The babe’s with the wet-nurse and I was told not to bother Margot. She is resting,” Joseph’s words followed him up the stairs.

Was Margot ill? Sometimes women didn’t recover from childbirth. Would his sister be one of those? If she was she couldn’t be allowed to suffer alone. Richard would have to be told to come immediately if that were the case. He took the stairs three at a time.

He gave a sharp rap on Margot’s chamber door then strode into the solar. After a quick glance around the room, he gazed at her maid. She sat next to a chest, her eyes wide with fear.

“Your Lady, where is she?” He gazed at the bed, the chairs, even the corners of the room. Margot was not in this room.

“Where is she?” he repeated, trying for a greater calm the second time he restated his question.

“She—she, ah she...” The maid dissolved into tears.

“She’s not here? Where could she go?” He couldn’t keep the astonishment out of his voice. “The babe? Where is the babe?” Margot had to be with the babe. But Joseph had just come from seeing the babe and he said Margot was... He couldn’t finish the thought.

Slamming from the room, he jerked open several doors, empty chambers all of them. Finally, in the last room, he found the nurse. She held the swaddled child close so he could not gaze at the babe.

“Margot?” he asked.

“Resting,” the nurse replied.

“Nay,” he roared. At his yell the babe started to cry.

“My Lord, see what you ha—”

He was gone from the room before she finished. “Rhianna,” he yelled as he plunged down the steps, his heart pounding. He knew Margot, of what his sister was capable. But this... Nay, she could not have taken Rhianna’s child to claim as her own. He sped for the garden. Mayhap someone had seen Rhianna leave.

A young boy stood trembling in the shadows.

“Rhianna?” Garrett asked. Instinct told him this boy knew where she was.

“It is Tom, Lord Richard and you made her cry.”

“Take me to her,” Garrett demanded.

They were at the cottage in minutes, Tom perched on the back of a nag Garrett had grabbed from the bailey. Ignoring Tom, Garrett jumped from the horse.

From the cottage, a Welsh lullaby sung by a husky voice sprung from his memories of a distant past. Garrett stopped in confusion. He knew the words, recognized the voice, had heard it raised in song along with his own mother’s, singing this very song.

He stepped into the cottage.

“Pernith?”

“Aye.” She had her arms around a hunched figure and their backs were to him. “You have turned into a cruel man, Garrett deShay. Why send word you were dead?” She stood then, blocking his view of the woman on the cot.

“I don’t know what Margot said. I didn’t die, if Margot told you that. I sent my men for the lady from Wales. I needed her.” He didn’t have to name her. She was here. He could feel her presence. “I love her.” His voice wobbled. Embarrassed, he stepped closer, bowing his head. “I need her still.”

Pernith moved away from the cot. The hunched figure straightened and turned toward him. He stared into the face of his beloved, stricken with such an intense grief, it shamed him. He fell to his knees. “I did not die. Why did you run away from here?”

“I—I didn’t run away. I never left Fiston. I have always been here.” Her voice sounded strained, uncertain.

“I didn’t know,” he said, ignoring Pernith’s whispers. “Margot said...” He glanced toward the castle. “Everyone said you had gone back to Wales. Margot told her people... Margot lied.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Come. We go to collect our babe.” He stood and reached for her hand.

“You believe me?” She struggled into a standing position.

“Aye.”

He held his arms open and she rushed into them. He planted soft kisses on the top of her uncovered head, her forehead, her wet face, her closed eyes. She hadn’t rejected him, had never deserted him. Waves of relief coursed through him. Margot had lied.

After a time, he pulled away to gaze in her face. “I made the babe cry.”

She jerked backed. “Why? How?”

“I yelled.” His heart soared as she returned a tentative smile. “Come, let us go get the babe.” He led her toward the door.

“Nay, not
the
babe. Her name is Gwendolyn. Pernith named her,” she informed him.

“Gwendolyn?”

“Aye,” Pernith said. “I named the babe. My Gwendolyn, your mother, was also a Welsh princess, just like Rhianna.”

“My mother was a Welsh princess?” Garrett stood beside the women, stunned. He had never known.

“Aye. There is more. That woman from Sanford, Morgana Hubbard, she lied to your father. She wanted him and told him that Gwendolyn was in the arms of her lover. But it was not so. That day, Gwendolyn met with her brother. She was in her brother’s arms. They were saying good-bye. But your father believed that witch, Morgana. Aye, then in a jealous fit, your father killed my Gwendolyn.”

Garrett saw the old woman wipe her eyes.

“Morgana caused my mother’s death?” It was almost too much for him. “Because she wanted my father?”

“Aye. And now her son wants what is yours.”