“You will pardon me, beau-frère, if I doubt you.” A haunted look misted her eyes and she dropped her gaze back to the unfinished tapestry. “It would not be the first time you have broken your word.”
Her whispered accusation knifed through him, stabbing into an unhealed wound deep inside. The pain made him clench his fists. He quelled the feeling, the guilt, tried again to pose his original question. “Why did you not send word that you were with child?”
“Because I did not think you would care.”
That knocked the breath from him. She said it without ire, as a flat, certain statement of fact. How could she think that her pregnancy would not matter to him? She was the last of his family, she and the child she carried.
Had he truly been so harsh with her? So cold and heartless? He had merely offered suggestions as to her future. Perfectly logical, reasonable suggestions. Avril needed a stern hand. Someone had to look to her best interests.
“Regardless of what you thought my feelings might be,” he said tightly, “you should have sent word. I am responsible for you now.”
“Aye, you have pointed that out many times, beau-frère. Along with the fact that I am to follow your orders.” She returned to her needlework and took a stitch. “Will you allow us to stay here or not?”
“I have given you my word.” He was rapidly losing his temper. “I have three chateaux now. I certainly cannot live in three places at once.”
“Then I shall stay here. Where he is.”
“Where he was.”
“And I shall stay alone,” she continued as if he had not spoken. “I do not intend to remarry. Ever.”
Gaston slanted a grimace heavenward. Was it not enough for God to plague his life with one stubborn, unreasonable, emotional female? Did he truly need two? Precisely what had he done to deserve such women in his life?
“Avril,” he said patiently, “you clearly do not understand your situation. You are but hours from the Flemish border, and the skirmishes have become more serious. Mayhap you cannot imagine what will happen if Flemish raiders sweep through this region—but I can. You are directly in their path. And this keep would make an irresistible prize. What do you plan to do? Don armor, take to the battlements, and defend it yourself?”
She shot him a flashing emerald glance.
“God’s breath,” he groaned, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “You would.”
“I have defended myself before.”
“By nails and blood, you are a woman! A woman alone. It is dangerous for you here—and do not boast to me about your skill with a crossbow. Killing a man is far different from shooting a partridge.”
“I have my guardsmen. And I am confident that you will protect me, beau-frère. Killing and destruction have always been among your finest skills.”
He swore vividly. “Having guardsmen is not the same as having a husband to see to your lands and your safety. And I shall be five days distant—this entire chateau could be in ashes before I ever received word that the enemy was at your door.”
“I will not remarry,” she said simply.
Her calm made him sound like the one who was being unreasonable, which made him all the more angry. He gave up trying to argue that women needed male protection from the violence of the world. Reason was clearly doomed to failure here. Instead he tried another tactic. A new one. “Think of your child.”
She straightened as if he had slapped her. “I am thinking of the child!” she said furiously. “I will not have Gerard’s son or daughter grow up with a stranger for a father. I cannot simply replace my husband because you tell me that I need a new one. Take your practical reasons and be damned! I love Gerard! You are incapable of understanding that, but I love him. As I will never love any man again!”
Gaston winced. There was that female word again. The one that had driven more poor fools to commit more mindless mistakes than any other. “You are only twenty, Avril. The rest of your life is a very long time to spend alone.”
“Do you not think I know that?” She thrust herself out of her chair, her eyes suddenly bright. “Gerard and I were married little more than a year and a half. We had but a handful of days of happiness, and you ask whether I know how long I must live without him?” She choked on the question, then whispered, deadly calm, “I count the hours with every beat of my heart.”
She turned her back, and after a moment Gaston realized she was crying.
He stood paralyzed. He had never seen her cry before. Had never even thought of Avril—strong, independent Avril—in such a vulnerable state. He did not know whether to reach out and comfort her, or walk out and let her grieve in private.