When Love Awaits(46)

If Rolfe’s anger had simmered to mild exasperation, it did not stay that way. Sir Guibert met him in the bailey and told him flatly that Leonie would not leave Pershwick at all unless she left willingly. He was prepared to support his stand with all necessary force.

Rolfe was livid. “Do you understand in what cause you are prepared to die?”

“I do, my lord.”

“Do you know also that my wife’s jealousy is unfounded? There is a good reason for Lady Amelia’s being at Crewel. I do not prefer it that way, but so it must be.”

“We are aware there is a child involved,” Guibert replied, undaunted.

“We?”

“Lady Leonie would not take this hard stand if she had only suspicions.”

Rolfe glowered. “I told you her jealousy is unfounded. The child does not concern her because it was conceived before I wed her.”

“Then you must convince her of that, my lord, for she surely believes otherwise.”

Rolfe was brought up short. The statement was made matter-of-factly. It was bad enough that Leonie had learned of the child when he had hoped to spare her that knowledge as long as possible. But for her to think…

“Take me to her,” Rolfe demanded, angry anew over the foolish notions in Leonie’s mind. It showed clearly what opinion she had of him. He remembered now the doubts he had had about letting Amelia remain at Crewel, but even so he’d never guessed what conclusions Leonie might draw from his leniency with Amelia.

As Leonie watched Rolfe cross the hall toward her, she was surprised by her fear and, just below the surface of her fear, her terrific pride in Rolfe. She had to respect a man who held to his purpose so tenaciously.

The truth was, she hadn’t wanted him to give in to her demands if his giving in would leave him with a longing for Amelia. That would do no good. Leonie wanted the issue settled forever.

Rolfe came to a halt several feet away from Leonie, studying her position and demeanor. She was standing behind a chair, her fingers gripping the high backrest as if to keep the chair between them. Her chin was raised defiantly, but her eyes were uncertain and fearful.

“Was it necessary for you to come here with an army, my lord?” she asked, seizing the opening.

He might have laughed, for there were a dozen armed men about the hall, as well as her stalwart vassal and a goodly number of brutish-looking serfs who didn’t even attempt to conceal their dislike of Rolfe d’Ambert.

“Be glad I did, wife, for if I had come here alone, you would have stood fast to your foolishness and forced me to resort to harsh measures later on.”

She bridled. “It is hardly foolish to—” She clamped her mouth shut. “I will not argue about that. What do you wish to do now?”

“Take you back.”

“And if I refuse to leave? Will you attack my keep?”

“I will leave not a single stone standing,” he answered. “I am tempted to dismantle Pershwick anyway.” His face hardened. “You cannot come here and pit your people against me every time you are upset with me, Leonie. If you ever do this again, I will not hesitate to destroy Pershwick. You belong with me.”

“But I am not happy with you!” She flung the words at him.

She might as well have stabbed him. He told himself not to open his heart to her if all she wanted was to trample on it.

“I had hoped in time you would come to love me, Leonie, or at least to find life with me…pleasant. I regret that you cannot.” His voice was funereal.

Her heart dropped into her belly. “You—you will give me up?”

Rolfe’s eyes narrowed darkly. So that was what she wanted. “No, madame, I will not give you up.”

Joy leaped into her breast, and she cautioned herself against revealing too much of herself to him.

“What of Amelia?” she asked evenly.

He sighed wearily. “She will be moved to another keep.”

“To another of your keeps? What real difference will that make?”

“Do not be heartless, Leonie,” he growled. “You know she is with child. Would you have me abandon a pregnant woman?”

“I would never ask that of you!” she cried. “But must you keep her always within reach, so that she is there to comfort you whenever you are angry with me?”

“Damn me, where have you gotten this notion? The woman was my mistress, yes. I regret that a child was conceived. But I have not touched her since I wed you, and I am mystified by your implying that I have—or shall.”

“Lady Amelia says differently, my lord,” she informed him.

“You mistook her,” Rolfe replied rigidly.

Leonie turned her back to him, so furious she wanted to hit him with something. Sweet Mary, how could she love him when he made her so furious? He was lying. He surely was!

“Gather what you will, Leonie.” Rolfe addressed her stiff back. “We are leaving. Now. And if you value Sir Guibert’s life, you will tell him you are going willingly.”

She swung back around. “I am not going willingly, but you won’t have to drag me away or kill anyone,” she hissed at him.

She swept past him to order her trunk packed. Then she conferred with Guibert, who was greatly relieved to know that she had agreed to go home with her husband.

“He is not angry with you?” Guibert asked doubtfully as he eyed Rolfe pacing the hall impatiently.

“His anger does not frighten me,” Leonie lied bravely.

“He refused to send the other woman away?” her vassal asked hesitantly.

“No,” she said with a sigh. “He agreed.”

Guibert frowned. “Then you should be pleased, my lady.”

“Indeed—I should be. But I am not.”

Guibert shook his head as he watched her flounce away.





Chapter 47




BUT things were to resolve themselves in a manner no one could have expected.

No sooner had Leonie returned to Crewel and entered the master bedchamber than a maid frantically sought her out.

“My lady, she is dying! You must come—please,” Janie cried.

“It’s a ruse,” Wilda said quickly. The young maid was Amelia’s own servant, and not part of the Crewel household. “The woman has learned that she will be sent away, and she means to prevent it by claiming illness.” She cast a triumphant look at Janie.

Wilda stood firmly planted between Leonie and Janie, and Leonie was gratified that Wilda was trying to protect her, as she so often did. If nothing else had been accomplished by going to Pershwick, at least she had been able to bring Wilda back with her.

“Go back and tell that woman we are wise to her,” Wilda ordered brazenly, and Leonie saw she would have to put a stop to this.

“Tell me what has happened,” she demanded, and Janie wailed, “She will be so angry that I have come, because she wants no one to know what she has done. But she is bleeding and it won’t stop. She is dying, my lady, I am sure of it!”

“What has she done?” Leonie insisted.

“She—she took something. She said it was to make everything right again.”

Leonie paled, understanding at once. “God’s mercy, this is my fault. I had such bad feelings about the child because of the mother, and—”

“My lady, will you come?” Janie begged again, and Leonie shook herself. This was no time to indulge in remorse.

“Wilda, get my medicines, quickly.”

To Leonie’s surprise, Sir Evarard was waiting outside Amelia’s door. He looked very unhappy.

“There is something seriously wrong with Amelia?” he asked dejectedly.

“You are fond of the lady, Sir Evarard?” She had no idea what else to say.

“Fond? I love her!” he said emphatically.

Leonie smiled at him. “I will do all I can.”

“Will you?” he asked more anxiously than diplomatically. “I know you have no liking for her, nor she for you. And she can be childish and petulant, but—but she is not all bad, my lady.”

“Sir Evarard,” Leonie said gently, “please go below. If I can help Amelia, I will. You may believe that.”

Amelia’s quarters were larger than Leonie had expected, and cluttered with objects, most of which reminded her of Alain. He had always liked ornate things, and he had left most of his possessions behind when he fled Kempston.

The room reeked of sickness. The sheets had been changed recently, but the bloodied ones were left in a pile in the corner.

With just a glance at the gaunt figure in the bed, Leonie’s suspicions were confirmed. The face was a sickly gray, and there were huge dark circles under her eyes. Amelia’s body was racked with pain, and in her half-conscious state, she thrashed around, whimpering and moaning, while the two maids standing near the bed looked at Leonie helplessly.

Leonie pulled down the sheet. Amelia was lying in a pool of blood. With the maids’ help, Leonie changed the linens once more and cleaned Amelia, packing her with bandages to staunch the flow of blood. She then forced Amelia to drink a syrup of marsh woundwort, hoping that would stop the hemorrhaging.

In a vial on the candlestand beside the bed was the decoction Amelia had taken, which Leonie had known would be spurge laurel, commonly used to aid the bowels and known to cause abortion. Too large a dose could violently flush the body with vomiting and bloody stools, and often proved fatal. The vial was nearly empty.