Wildewood Revenge (42 page)

“Sorry?”

“Think about it, Grace, it’s quite simple.”

Chapter Forty Three

The king loved his children and often allowed them to travel with him and his queen, which was unusual but showed the measure of the man. So Grace’s suggestion that he might be depicted as a loving father rather than a royal personage sat upon his throne, did not receive the ridicule or outrage, she might have expected. Her portrait of King Edward with his growing brood, the babe on his knee and the little ones at his feet was certainly unique and she had Hugh to thank for it.

She gained the admiration and gratitude of the royal family and more importantly sensed Miles’ relief, although it was obvious he’d no idea of the significance of the painting. As she finished off her final session, almost dwarfed by the giant easel she knew she’d made the right decision and felt liberated by the knowledge.

“How has life treated you since your return, Miles?” King Edward asked with an easy smile. It was obvious to Grace that Miles was held in some regard by the king and she was curious as to the reason.

She watched discreetly, awaiting Miles’ reply, concerned he might reveal the truth about Gerard despite the agreement brokered by Hugh. The truce was tenuous and Miles distrust of any agreement involving Gerard continued to overshadow his respect for Hugh’s bargaining prowess.

“Life is good, Sire,” he replied evenly. “I am grateful to be back at
Wildewood
where I belong. Work is progressing I expect we shall have a good harvest.” His quick glance at Grace was not lost on the king. Grace coloured delicately. Yes, it was highly likely that Miles would reap what he had sown.

The king nodded.

“Good.
And, what of your neighbours?”

“My neighbours are...accommodating, Sire,” replied Miles carefully.

“Indeed.” The king raised a brow. Rising to his feet, he dismissed the many attendants from the room. When they were gone he reclaimed his seat and returned a thoughtful gaze to Miles. “Are you referring to the Scots or the Baron’s?”

“Both.
Sire.”

“Good. Both have their uses and it’s important that you recognise your role.”

“My role, Sire?”

“Yes, Miles. Did you imagine that I rattled the cage of my Northumbrian Baron, de
Frouville
’, simply for the pleasure of doing so? I gave you title to
Wildewood
for a very good reason.”

Grace shifted her gaze from Edward to Miles and noted the tightening in his jaw as he held his tongue.

“You have proven yourself in battle, Miles, and along with Hugh have assisted me before in matters of some delicacy where a knight with less courage and more conscience may have faltered. I may have need of you again. It’s important that you maintain your position at
Wildewood
.”

Miles nodded slowly. “
Wildewood
is my home, I would defend it and the border with the same intensity as I have defended the crown, Sire, but I fear I am no longer the man you recall from our days on crusade.”

“Sir Hugh tells me you are fully recovered now.”

“Yes...Sire.”

“Then you are the same man, Miles, whether it pleases you or not. We are all the product of our deeds, the glorious and the inglorious. You
may wish to put the past behind you...and I may choose to allow it. However it would serve you well to remember we have all done things in the heat of battle which we may later regret. Men may critique our actions, but only God can judge our souls.”

He turned and Grace coloured guiltily as it became obvious by his sardonic smile that he was aware she’d been eavesdropping. “Mademoiselle, you have a fine knight here before you, but I fear you have unwittingly grasped a tiger by the tail. I would suggest you hang on tightly if you wish to avoid his claws.”

He turned back to Miles with a smile. “I hear a wedding is afoot. You have my approval. Make haste, Miles. Enjoy your delightful lady. Fill
Wildewood
with your sons...” He leaned forward, dropped his voice and lost the smile. “But there may come a time soon when you are obliged to revisit your past and I expect you to be ready.”

*  *  *

“What did he mean?” Grace asked when they were free of the castle. She was desperate to know what Miles had done to deserve a reputation that even the king alluded to in hushed tones.

“Edward talks in riddles. Ignore him,” Miles replied shortly. He marched ahead, dodging this way and that avoiding the crowds milling the narrow streets
enroute
to the market place. She was forced to run to keep up.

Grasping his arm she pulled him to a halt. “What have you done that’s so bad you don’t want to remember?”

Miles shrugged her off impatiently.
“Nothing that should interest you.”

Grace ignored the dark look he sent her way, the red flag that flashed in his eyes and ploughed on regardless. “You want me to marry you, but you don’t want to tell me the truth?”

“Truth...” He pulled her off the main thoroughfare and down an alley adjacent to an overflowing hostelry. The noise of the street vendors and the clatter of hooves on cobbles were dampened by the closeness of the walls but the smell of effluent and decay was overpowering. Grace’s eyes watered as she struggled against the odour.

“You ask me about truth? When you have woven a delicate tapestry of deceit and maintained it diligently to this day.”

“I....” she sought for an answer, but had none. He was correct, what right did she have to demand that he relinquish his secrets when she was loathed to part with her own? She pressed herself against the grimy wall, kicked at the dirt with the toe of her shoe. “The king implied that you were dangerous,” she muttered.

“Perhaps I am,” he sighed. “Perhaps you would do well to run as far away from me as you can.” He too dropped his gaze and Grace was overwhelmed by the sudden sense of despair that appeared to cloak him, and of her need to dispel it.

“I could never do that...I love you...whatever you’ve done.”

“Whatever I’ve done?” he caught her gaze and held it.

“Yes,” she replied determinedly.

“Do you still believe I would hurt you?”

She stepped toward him and slipped her hand in his, “Of course not.”

“Then for now, trust me when I say there are things I’ve done of which I’m not proud. However, be assured they will never be repeated, despite what the king may think.”

“Secrets...” she said softly as she laid her head against him and felt
his embrace, “...they will be the death of us.”

*  *  *

Early morning sunshine crept through the irregular glass windowpane creating prisms of coloured light on the chamber wall. Grace watched Miles through lowered lashes, maintaining the illusion of sleep, stretched out beneath the covers in the best room at the grandest inn Miles could afford.  Offered separate rooms at the castle, it had not been difficult to decline. Grace had assumed Miles preference for the inn had been motivated by their need to stay close. They’d been through too much to be kept apart now. After the final meeting with the king she was glad his choice had kept them well away from the castle. The closer Miles got to the king the further he seemed to drift from her grasp. Her hand slid to her abdomen, she had the perfect means by which to anchor him, but sensed his need to reach a decision without her interference.

She felt the mattress depress as he leaned across and kissed her gently.

“We must make a move.”

Smiling, she opened her eyes wide, casting off her subterfuge. “Feel free to make any move you like.” She reached out a hand and gently caressed his cheek, knew in her heart that no matter what he had done she could never leave him.

He shook his head and flashed his crooked smile. “Enough, temptress, or we shall never leave this chamber.” He slid his hand beneath the covers, caressed her silken skin and held her gaze enquiringly as he rested his palm against her belly. She lowered her
lashes and he removed his hand.

“It’s late the sun is well up. We should have left at first light. If we want to reach
Wildewood
before dark we need to leave soon.”

They’d overslept having spent the night making up deliciously after the altercation in the alley and the last thing either of them wanted was to spend the day on horseback, but they needed to get back. They’d spent three days in
Alnwick
, longer than intended due mainly to the necessity to complete the painting before the king’s return to London. The carter had returned to
Wildewood
the day before with all of their supplies and Miles’ concern at the state of the truce was ever present. The king’s words had put a damper on their trip, rekindling doubt and suspicion. Grace knew the time for secrets was almost at an end. Soon all would be revealed but first they needed to go home.

Home...Grace rolled the word around in her mind and smiled.

.

Chapter Forty Four

The journey back took best part of a day and by the time they reached the welcoming safety of
Wildewood
, Grace knew something was amiss. Convinced the pain in her abdomen and the rise in temperature were merely the result of the long ride she shrugged both off, confident that a good night’s sleep would set her to rights.

During the night her fever worsened and she woke bathed in sweat and beset with nausea. Miles roused as she vomited wretchedly. He held a damp cloth to her forehead and cursed the humours that invaded her.

“I’m fine,” she whispered weakly. “I must have eaten something tainted while we were in
Alnwick
.” Although the food at the castle and the inn had been beyond reproach, the same could not be said for the food offered on the stalls and she recalled they had stopped to eat following their argument the previous day.

Miles rose and pulled on his clothes, “I’ll fetch Martha. She’ll have something to give you.” He pulled the covers more snugly around her despite her need to be free of them and slipped quickly from the room.

When he returned he had both Martha and Hugh in tow and the man wore a concerned expression as he placed a cool palm against her brow.

“She’ll be
needin
’
bled no doubt,” announced Martha as she heaved her bulk between Grace and Hugh causing him to take a step back.

Grace looked up in alarm, catching Miles’ eye. “No I don’t. I just need to be left alone. I’ll be fine.” She winced at the pain, and tried unsuccessfully to hide it. “Just go away everyone,” she whimpered.

Hugh pulled Miles to one side and spoke quietly to him gesturing to both her and Martha. Grace tensed, if she were about to be subjected to some form of medieval doctoring then she would have to resist. Miles
approached the bed and crouched beside it taking her hand in his.

“Hugh wishes to examine you, he is skilled in these matters as you know, but if you do not wish it I shall, against my better judgement, send for Gerard’s physician and have Martha make up a potion in the meantime.”

Grace looked from one to the other she wanted neither choice but figured Hugh to be the lesser of two evils.

“Hugh may help if he thinks he can,” she muttered and Hugh nodded as Miles stepped back.

“Martha, away and make your potion, Miles go with her. Grace will be safe with me till you return.”

Miles shot him a glance, seemed to hesitate then think better of it as he followed Martha from the room.

Left alone, Hugh sat on the edge of the bed and gently pulled back the covers. They were damp with her sweat. “Please don’t be alarmed, Grace, I’m only going to place my hands gently against you. You must tell me when you feel pain.”

He revealed her bare abdomen and pressed gently, eliciting a howl of pain. Drawing back he considered her for a moment.

“Grace, not so long ago I suggested there may come a time when it might be necessary to
uncomplicate
matters.” He replaced the covers and smiled kindly at her. “I think that time has come.”

“I don’t know what you mean?” muttered Grace warily. Despite the pain she was not so befuddled that she’d forgotten her initial distrust of Hugh.

“You may well be suffering simply from food poisoning,” he began, “In which case, Martha’s potion will set you to rights. But as you are also very obviously with child, I could be mistaken and the pain may be
a consequence of complications with your pregnancy.” He ignored the look of shock on her face. “Either way we do not have the skill or facilities here to treat such a condition successfully and prevent a tragedy. It is time you went home.”

“What do you mean, how do you know these things, you’re a knight not a doctor...and I am home,” she added firmly.

Hugh cocked his head and smiled. “Come, Grace, you know that I am more than a knight. Have you not suspected that since our first meeting?”