Nothing Else Matters (29 page)

“What!”

She flinched at his angry roar. “My lord, I—”

He was on his feet. He grabbed her arm with his good hand and hauled her up as wel . “Look at me, woman.” When she did, it was from beneath her thick

lashes. The look in her dark eyes reminded him of a frightened fawn. He dropped his hand from her shoulder. “What happened?”

“They left.”

“They…left. Together. My father’s widow and my cousin left for Denmark. As lovers. You let them leave.”

“Yes,” she answered, to al his statements.

“Why? Why did you let them leave?”

Eleanor could do no more than spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “They wanted to,” she told the furious man before her. The rightful y furious man before her. “She’s my sister,” she added. “I want her to be happy.”

Stian couldn’t find words to argue with Eleanor’s simple reasons. He didn’t even want to argue with her. It was the runaway lovers he was angry with, not his wife. She probably couldn’t have stopped them if they were real y determined to leave. He sat back down. Eleanor did not, she backed away from the table. Since he didn’t want her to be afraid he let her.

“May I go, my lord?” she asked, voice quavering.

The sound of her fear twisted painful y in his gut. It hurt worse than the throb in his upper arm. “Stian,” he said. “My name is Stian.” When she didn’t respond, he sighed. “Yes, of course you may go,” he told her. “I’l see you tonight,” he cal ed as she hurried toward the stairs. Tonight, he told himself as she disappeared into the tower. Tonight he’d make it al up to her.

“I am here and she’s over there.”

“That’s true,” Hubert answered. The priest stopped scratching an importunate hound long enough to say, “You sound as if there’s something wrong with

your places in the hal .”

The distance from the hearth to the windows wasn’t so far, Stian acknowledged with a look around the hal . If that was so, why did it feel as if the whole world was between his wife and him?

Perhaps it wasn’t the whole world, Stian thought. Maybe it was just himself. Eleanor might not be hostile at al . She’d said or done nothing to show anger.

She’d done nothing to show any emotion at al . Perhaps it was just grief, the weight of her new position, loneliness for her sister. Perhaps she needed comforting. But if she did, why did she hide among her women instead of turning to him?

Perhaps if his own body hadn’t betrayed him the night before he wouldn’t feel so worried about his marriage. He was feeling less than a man today—that certainly added to his unhappy mood. He’d planned to hold his wife in his arms last night, to make love to her. He’d hoped to make himself feel whole by proving to them both that they were stil alive.

Instead he’d grown tired long before coverfire. His arm had pained him so he’d gone up to bed while dinner was stil being served. He’d sent a servant to fetch Eleanor from the bower but he’d been asleep long before she’d arrived. He remembered her beside him in the bed during the night. He’d welcomed

her soft warmth and held her close with his good arm. He hadn’t quite woken up enough to tel her how he’d missed her and wanted her. In his dreams,

he’d thought he’d felt the wet warmth of her tears and heard faint sobs.

She’d already been gone when he’d woken before dawn. It had been hours before he’d seen her again. She was just across the hal now. He wanted to

go to her but he had the feeling that wasn’t what she wanted at al .

“What is the matter with that woman?” he muttered.

“It’s the babe,” Hubert immediately answered.

Stian gave the priest a puzzled look. As ever, Hubert was completely unperturbed. “What?”

“The babe. Women have strange moods when they’re with child.” He put his hand on Stian arm. “Al a man can do is treat a pregnant woman kindly, dry

her tears and duck when she throws things during the temper fits. That’s what I do.”

“Temper fits? Tears? I think she was crying last night.”

Hubert nodded. “It’s the babe then.” He patted Stian again. “Don’t worry.”

Worry? No, Stian wasn’t worried, here was something that made sense. Suddenly he felt as if a weight had been lifted from him. “She’s with child. I’d

almost forgotten.” He slapped Hubert on the back, almost knocking the thin man into the fire pit. “I’m going to be a father.” He felt wonderful. Eleanor made him very happy. He needed to do something to celebrate. He wondered what one of her gentle, true knights would do to honor the mother of his child?

She could feel his gaze on her, as heavy and hot as the embrace he’d locked her in as he slept the night before. At least sometimes she thought he was looking at her. She’d had the women come down to work on mending the tapestry. They’d brought Kate down with them, so Eleanor sat down next to the

young prisoner at a bench set under the hal windows.

Stian and some of the men came in from the bailey soon after the women got to work. He’d stayed near the hearth with the hounds and Hubert but kept

his attention on her. Or Kate. Did he want the girl? Was he stil plotting revenge? She was almost tempted to ask. Tempted but thought it was best to let the matter be rather than remind Stian of his vicious plans. She prayed he’d just forget and ransom the girl back to her people, and she prayed that it would be soon.

Though she tried not to pay any attention to Stian, she couldn’t keep from casting glances his way. She studied him surreptitiously but careful y. A part of her was pleased to see he was recovering so wel and quickly. The part of her that was a dutiful chattel was pleased to see her lord recovering, she told herself. Stian’s strong arm was needed after al to keep the people of Harelby safe.

Liar
, she chastised herself.
It wasn’t his strong arms I longed for when I crawled into bed beside him last night. I was just doing my duty,
she countered her own accusation.
I thought it better for him to spend his lust lawfully. That was all it was. It was not lust I was feeling.

She almost laughed
at her own effort at self-deception. She’d enjoyed spending the night in his arms far more than she should have. It made no sense that she should take comfort from just touching the miserable lout. She already knew her body was a traitor for it hungered for him. There’d been a craving deep inside her that was stil there. Even though he slept while she lay in half-denied need beside him, his size had felt more like a haven than a threat.

That her spirit could take comfort from his closeness left her feeling guilty and confused.

Better to attend to the work, she decided than to try to understand her own confused mind. “Fiona,” she said. “I’m going to add some gold thread to outline the tapestry’s design. Please go look through the thread box Lady Edythe left. I think there’s some in it.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Fiona hurried off to do her bidding. Eleanor watched her go and was surprised when Stian cal ed her to him as she passed near the hearth. He spoke a

few words with the girl then she bobbed him a curtsey and went on her way. Eleanor wondered what the exchange had been about and intended to ask

Fiona when she returned. She hoped it wasn’t something to do with Long Kate. She’d find out soon enough, she supposed, and looked back to work.

The torn tapestry had been taken down from the wal then taken outside where the dust was beaten out. Now the circle of women sat beneath the tal

windows in the morning light with candles burning in tal stands for added light, and worked on mending and enhancing the cloth before it was hung up

again.

“This is a fine piece of work,” Eleanor said as she ran her fingers along a line of stitching. “As fine as any in…oh the Devil with Poitiers and al its finery,”

she finished angrily. Why was she always thinking of some faraway land when the life at Harelby was busy enough to fil her days.

“It was Dame Beatrice who designed this,” Wynnol said. “She has a fine eye for needlework, does the dame.”

“Aye,” one of the others said. “I’ve seen the state of the hangings in the abbey church. She’l have them down and fine new ones made soon enough.”

There was a murmuring of amused agreement about Dame Beatrice’s talents and managing ways. The women of Harelby obviously missed the former

chatelaine. Eleanor was given to understand that Beatrice was a fine woman, though she had no cause to share their affection for her. She nodded at

their kind words for Beatrice and went on stitching.

She did ask, “Did someone send word to Honcourt Abbey? Does Dame Beatrice know about Lord Roger’s death?” She should have sent the

messenger, she knew, but had completely forgotten.

“Oh aye, my lady,” Wynnol answered. “I saw to it.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor said with relief.

“She took it hard. I’m told she spends most of her time in church praying for his soul.”

“I should visit her and pray with her.”

“I’m sure she’d appreciate that, my lady,” Wynnol answered, but she didn’t sound very convincing.

Eleanor sighed and turned the conversation to another topic. “I’ve had the masons begin work in the tower again. It’s going wel . The garderobe wil be finished by the feast of St. John.” She said the words cheerful y and received hostile looks in response. “What?” she asked the suddenly sul en women.

“It’s not safe, my lady,” one of the women final y answered. “We could al have been murdered thanks to that great hole in the wal .”

“It’s not a great hole,” Eleanor defended the modern convenience Lord Roger had ordered. “And it’s safer to have it done with a strong iron grate bolted across the bottom than to leave it as it is. When it’s done, you’l be grateful for it, I promise you that.”

There was a look of stubborn disapproval on every face in the circle except for Long Kate who had eyes only for the needlework. She stabbed the needle into the cloth with such fierce deliberation Eleanor thought the girl must be pretending it was an enemy she stabbed rather than a tapestry. Long Kate never spoke except to Fiona and then never more than a few words in her own language. Except for doing her best to protect the prisoner’s virtue,

Eleanor paid little heed to the hostile girl.

She kept her attention on her own women. “The garderobe wil be a wonderful thing to have. They’re very comfortable to use.” Her words fel into a dense, staring silence.

Final y, Brione spoke up, “As you say, my lady.”

“Wel , I’l be glad when the stonemasons go back where they came from,” Wynnol added. “It’l be good to have it done and them gone back to Durham.”

“Housing and feeding them sly southerners not so bad,” the steward’s not particularly grieving widow said. “It’s trying to understand their foreign talk. Our peasant folk hate taking orders they can’t hardly understand.”

“Foreign talk?” Eleanor asked. “Durham’s not so far from Harelby.”

“It’s more than twenty miles,” Wynnol answered. “That’s farther than I’d want to go in my life.”

Eleanor just shook her head at the agreeing comments the other women made. It made her wonder what they thought of her and her foreign ways if they

were so disapproving of people from just a few miles south of Harelby.

Sly, the steward’s widow had cal ed them. While the steward had had more dealings with the masons than she had, she certainly hadn’t found them sly.

They kept to themselves and kept within the confines of the castle wal s while engaged in their work. That was part of their contract, it was to limit contact with the outside world for safety’s sake. The fewer people who knew about alterations to a castle wal , the better.

Eleanor looked suddenly up at Kate. “The fewer the better.” The words came out as a rough whisper. “How did you discover the garderobe?” she asked

the girl. Kate didn’t look up. Besides, Eleanor’s shocked words were barely audible. “Did a scouting party come across it by accident? Or—?”

Someone did betray the castle to the Scots.

Someone who knew about the garderobe. Not some peasant or castle guard, she was sure of that. Someone who knew about it and was angry at Lord

Roger. Eleanor had no doubt who the traitor was. She put down her needlework and marched up to Stian, ful of a sense of certainty and outrage.

He turned a welcoming smile on her as she approached and held out his hand to her. “My—”

“Dame Beatrice,” she cut him off. “There’s your traitor, my lord.”

“What?” he asked, as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Traitor,” she answered. Speaking slowly, so even a lackwit would understand, she went on, “You accused Lars. Edythe. Me. You accused
me
of

betraying Harelby to the enemy.”

“I know. I’m sorry I—”

“You spoke words to hurt but you never real y sought the truth.”

Stian stood in the center of the room, feeling rooted by the anger in Eleanor’s dark eyes, the pain in her voice. The room had grown silent. Everyone was gaping at the pair of them. For once in his life he didn’t care that people were watching, that he was the center of attention. Eleanor mattered.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he told his wife. “I’m a fool—”

“Wil you listen to me? Dame Beatrice is the traitor!”

“Dame Beatrice?” he repeated. Then what she was saying final y began to sink in. A spark of anger kindled in him as he grabbed his wife’s shoulder with his good hand. “What?”

Eleanor barely felt Stian’s tight grasp. She had no fear of the big, fierce man before her. She was too intent on convincing him of the truth. “She’s the only one who could have done it. Harelby was betrayed and it was by your aunt.”

He didn’t argue. He said, “But why?”

“Men!” Eleanor spat out the word. “She was jealous of Edythe, of course. I just realized it myself. She was furious with your father for bringing us here.

Mostly, I think she was furious over Edythe.”

“Why?”

Faced with Stian’s blank confusion, Eleanor almost laughed. “Men,” she repeated. “You’re blind fools who never take our feelings into consideration.”

“That’s true,” Hubert piped up from nearby.