“Cease, my lady. You have made your point,” he said, chuckling.
“Then will you kindly take your amusement somewhere else? Quickly, before I lose what little patience I have left.”
Rolfe sat up and reached for her, sobering when she stepped away from him.
“Come, Leonie, you cannot blame me if I am delighted to learn I have a beautiful wife.”
“Sweet Mary, help me,” Leonie said to herself. Eyes of frozen silver flashed at him. “My lord, I see I was not clear enough. I want you to leave—now!”
Rolfe made no move. “You are angry.”
“Yes.”
“I cannot blame you.”
“How good of you.”
He grinned at her. “Do not spend your fury so, dearling. No harm was done. Thanks to your aunt, a misunderstanding was avoided.”
“Let me understand you correctly, Sir Rolfe,” Leonie said furiously. “You are saying that if you had made love to me, believing I was a stranger, that would have been merely a misunderstanding?”
“But you are my wife, not a stranger. You see my reasoning?”
“What I see, my lord, is that you are a lecher of the worst kind!” His eyes narrowed, but Leonie was so furious she couldn’t stop. “I am told everything that happens here. I would have known of your transgression before you were finished with the girl. Do not mistake me. I care not how many women you have, but if you take one from Pershwick, then I and everyone here will know of it. I will not have my people pity me for my terrible husband.”
“Are you finished, madame?”
Leonie swallowed hard, knowing she had gone too far.
“Yes,” she murmured, looking at the floor.
“The only thing that matters here is that you are my wife. That means you belong to me, to do with as I will. Do you deny the truth of that?”
Miserably. “No.”
“Then do not forget again that you are answerable to me, not I to you.”
He gathered his things and left. With the closing of the door, she let out the breath she had been holding. No beating for her audacity, only a warning. But a despicable warning…from a despicable man.
Chapter 13
WILDA hesitated outside her lady’s door, dreading the news she must give her. She knew Sir Rolfe had been there yesterday, and that he had left in a very ugly mood. Her lady was downcast all the rest of the day and, indeed, now the very worst had come of the encounter.
The sky was still a hazy predawn violet when the troop of men rode up to the gate demanding entrance. Not even the kitchen servants had risen yet, it was so early. The commotion caused a call to arms, which turned out to be unnecessary. The belligerent shouting was the result of a mistake. The night guard was a Pershwick man recruited from the village, and he spoke only English. The men-at-arms outside the gates were fresh from France and understood no English. The knights waited far behind them, and did not hear the exchange. All was chaos until Sir Guibert arrived and unraveled the situation.
The mounted men-at-arms now waited in the bailey, and the four knights with them had been brought into the hall. Wilda was sent to wake her lady. Sir Guibert frowned at her for hesitating outside the door, but, oh dear, she did not want to be the one to bring this news.
“Wilda!”
She sent Sir Guibert an aggrieved look before opening the door and stepping into the dark room. She lit a candle, stalling for time.
“I am not ready to rise, Wilda,” Leonie murmured sleepily as the light woke her.
“Sir Guibert sent me, my lady, to tell you there are men here, your husband’s men, waiting. They—they say you must go with them to Crewel.”
Silence from the bed. Then a tiny whisper. “Why?”
“They would not say,” Wilda admitted.
“Give me my bedrobe. Hurry.”
Wilda did as asked, not realizing that Leonie meant to rush out of the room wearing only that.
“My lady!”
Leonie didn’t stop until she saw the four knights gathered by the hearth with Sir Guibert, and then she wanted to run back before they saw her. She had expected only men-at-arms, servants she could demand answers from. But knights of the Black Wolf would not be intimidated. Why were there four of them? Was trouble expected—trouble from her?
It was not easy to carry herself forward into the room, but she forced herself.
“You are here by Rolfe d’Ambert’s order?”
Her question was met with silence. Three of the knights actually turned away. The fourth, the man she knew to be Sir Thorpe, scowled at her. She turned frightened eyes toward Sir Guibert, who lost his temper.
“You will answer my lady or she will not leave Pershwick!”
“Your lady?” Sir Thorpe echoed, and the four knights looked at her with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. But Leonie was more embarrassed, realizing that they hadn’t guessed who she was. It was her own fault, dressed as she was, her hair not even covered.
“Your pardon, Lady Leonie,” one of the younger men began. “But we did not realize—”
She waved a hand. “I know. You must forgive me for not greeting you in proper attire. You are…”
“Richard Amyas.”
He hastily introduced the others to her. Amyas was a handsome young man with dark brown hair and green eyes that admired her frankly. Sir Reinald was even younger, with a devastating smile, golden hair, and brown eyes. His skin was a contrasting olive hue, and he was so handsome as to be almost angelic looking.
Sir Piers was the complete opposite. His face was so battle scarred that he aroused pity, but he had the loveliest violet eyes. He eyed her coldly, and she wondered why.
Thorpe de la Mare was the oldest of the four, and near Guibert’s age. He had the same dark coloring as Rolfe, and he seemed to find something amusing. His dark brown eyes fairly danced with laughter, and it was all Leonie could manage not to ask him what amused him so.
Sir Richard told her that her husband had charged them with seeing her safely to Crewel. She waited breathlessly for him to say more, but there was no more.
“Did he say nothing else?” she asked, perplexed and afraid.
“Only that you are to bring with you all that belongs to you by way of clothes and personal effects, so it is assumed you are to reside at Crewel.”
She nearly fainted. She had once been resigned to living at Crewel, resigned to suffering there, but then she was sent back to Pershwick and everything was all right again. Now, it seemed, all was lost.
“It will take time to pack everything,” Leonie heard herself saying in a dead voice.
“That is why we are here so early,” Sir Thorpe supplied cheerfully. “But do hurry as best you can, my lady.”
Hurry to what awaited her? Do not linger or you will begin to cry.
She said to Guibert, “See to their comfort and then send to me all the servants you can gather.” With a nod to the four knights, Leonie returned to her room. For the rest of the morning, if she did not allow herself to think, she was able to give crisp orders about the packing. If she did think, she became a mass of trembling nerves, and was overset by tears she could not stifle.
Confusion tormented her. Despite herself, she had begun to relax with Rolfe, and to enjoy him. That was why she was so devastated when his callousness returned. He did not need to be charming and he knew it, did not have to win his wife to his bed. He needed only to order her there. She had thought she could bear that if she must, but could she, loathing the man? She especially despised his handsomeness, which was like a devil’s beacon, attracting her despite herself.
What hope did she have not to be torn apart by the warring emotions he caused in her?
Chapter 14
IT was late that night when Rolfe returned to Crewel from the siege at Wroth. He had been at Crewel briefly yesterday, after leaving Pershwick, but had stayed only long enough to speak with Lady Amelia.
Now Rolfe did not even want to think about that meeting, which had gone from bad to worse. He had told Amelia that she must return to court and why, but she burst into tears and begged him not to send her away.
Her tears had only annoyed him. After all, there had never been any love professed between them. But he understood her emotional state well enough when she confessed she was pregnant. It was not pleasant news, but Rolfe could do no less than allow her to stay until the child was born. She had agreed she would leave the child with him and go her own way, agreed most happily in fact. She’d promised to stay out of his way, to cause no trouble for him and his wife.
He had wanted her cared for elsewhere during her pregnancy. “It would be better for you to stay at another of my keeps,” he told her. “Axeford is well settled.”
“But why, my lord? Your wife knows nothing about us. She thinks I am your ward.”
“Regardless—”
“Please, do not.” Amelia began to cry again. “I could not bear to be thrust on strangers now. And your wife will be glad to have me, I swear. Sir Evarard has no wife. There is no other lady here to keep Lady Leonie company. Please, my lord.”
He should have refused, but he did not. He owed it to the woman to see to her comfort during her confinement, and since he could not foresee any real harm in it, he agreed.
Now as he entered the keep, a vague unsettled feeling nagged at him that he could not explain. But it was forgotten when he spied Thorpe sitting alone by the large hearth at the far end of the hall. He had known he would wait up for him.