So the first thing she said to him was the accusation, “What did you do to my sister, to get her to tell you where I went? She would never have volunteered the information to you willingly.”
That drew those sapphire eyes to her. The expression in them was chilling.
“Nor did she. She in fact collapsed in a faint at my feet when I merely did ask her.”
“Merely?” she said suspiciously. “How angry were you when you asked her?”
“Very.”
She sighed in relief. He hadn’t tortured Jhone. He had simply frightened her to death. But then…
“How did you know to look for me here, if she did not tell you?”
“She inadvertently told my brother many days ago when she mentioned the endearment you had given your love. When you could not be found, I finally realized who your gentle giant must be, and that you would go to him.”
His eyes had moved back to Roland as he said it. Hers did now, too, to find the “gentle giant” was grinning. Milisant decided Roland had to be daft to find aught amusing about this situation. Or did he think Wulfric had been jesting about killing him? Or that there was naught to fear because they were discussing this in reasonable tones, despite how furious Wulfric looked?
She wondered about that. There was no doubt that he was furious, yet it was a contained fury. The question was, what was he furious about? Her escape? Or where he’d found her—and with whom?
“You don’t have to kill him,” she said. “I discovered the feelings I have for Roland are only sisterly. Besides, he refuses to marry me, for the same reason. He’s like a brother to me.”
“You take me for a fool?” Wulfric replied. “The evidence is before my eyes.”
With her relief had come the courage Milisant needed to argue with him, despite his rage. “What evidence?” she snorted. “If you mean because you found Roland in here with me, you should ask why ere you make conclusions. If you had appeared a few minutes sooner, you would have found both of his parents here as well. He came here to chase out his mother, who he suspected was keeping me awake. She was not, but she was here. I trust you will have the sense to verify that, Wulfric, ere you raise your sword.”
“Mili, why do you deliberately provoke him?” Roland was finally heard from.
“I do no such thing,” she denied.
“You do exactly that,” he said, then to Wulfric, “my lord, what she says is true. Even were she not betrothed to you as she is, I could not marry her. ’Twould be like wedding my own sister, which, you must agree, would not be a desirable thing to do.”
Roland was trying to ease the tension. It did not work with Wulfric, whose expression did not change. If anything, those dark blue eyes were smoldering a bit more as they turned back to her again.
“Do you say now that you lied to me when you said you loved him?”
Milisant could have wished he hadn’t brought that up, but since he did, she was forced to admit, “I was not in love with him when I said it, nay, though at the time I did think it was possible. I always thought I could love him. I just never gave it enough thought to realize that I already did, but in a way that would not be compatible with marriage. We neither of us feel the least bit of desire for the other. How much more clearly must it be said?”
“You do it again, Mili,” Roland complained, almost glowering at her.
“What?!” she snapped in exasperation.
“Provoke him. The explanation would have sufficed. You do not need to rub it in.”
“Go to bed, Roland. You are not helping.”
“I cannot.” Roland sighed, as if he would like to do nothing better.
She realized then that he was afraid to leave her alone with Wulfric, but wise enough not to say so. She would prefer not to be left alone with him either, but she was more afraid for Roland at the moment than she was for herself, since Wulfric had yet to put away his sword.
Wulfric must have realized the same thing, or thought that Roland was too wary to try and pass by him when he was himself without weapon, because he did put his sword away now, before he said, “I am glad, for your father’s sake, that I do not have to kill you after all. Do as she says.” When Roland still hesitated to move, he added, “She has been mine since the day she was betrothed to me. Do not even think to interfere with what is mine.”
They stared at each other for a long, tense moment. Roland finally nodded and left.
Milisant knew her friend wouldn’t have budged from the room if he thought she was in any danger from Wulfric. She wished she could conclude, as he just had, that she wasn’t. But she was not at all sure. In fact, she had an overwhelming urge to call him back, she was suddenly so nervous. That nervousness increased tenfold when Wulfric closed the door behind Roland—and dropped the bar across it to lock them inside the room together.
“What are you doing?” she asked him huskily, what little color she had gained back in her cheeks draining away again.
He didn’t answer. He walked toward her until he stood next to the bed, looking down at her.
“We can discuss this in the morn—” she tried to suggest, but he cut her off most curtly.
“There is naught to discuss,” he said, and when she started to leave the bed, “stay there!”
Which was when she began to really panic. His expression hadn’t changed. He still looked so utterly furious. And whatever he was going to do, she knew she was going to hate it—if she survived it. She wasn’t sure if she would. She wasn’t sure, either, what he was going to do—yet. And then she was sure when he began to slowly remove his cloak, his eyes not once leaving her.
“Do not do this, Wulfric.”
He didn’t reply to that, he asked instead, “Did you really think you could marry Roland Fitz Hugh and that he would live to enjoy it?”
“If my father had agreed to it, you would have had naught to say about it.”
He shook his head at her. “Think you that would have stopped me from killing him?”
She was beginning to realize what he meant. No matter what she did, he already considered her his. Even though he didn’t really want her, she was his, and thus she could never marry anyone else, because he would see it as an adultery. Totally illogical. Utterly possessive. She didn’t know whether to cry over that or laugh hysterically. She couldn’t win. She had never had a chance to escape.
But she was forgetting about her unpleasant encounter with John Lackland. A king could make even the most powerful of men bend to his will. And Wulfric didn’t know yet that John was opposed to their joining. Verily, he should be delighted when she told him. It would give him the excuse he had hoped to find, to not marry her. If he ended the betrothal, then he would no longer consider her his. She just didn’t have the same option, apparently.
“You do not yet know what caused me to leave. It changed everything, Wulfric.” His sheath and belt dropped to the floor atop his cloak. “Listen to me!”
“Has the betrothal been set aside?”
“Nay, but—”
“Then naught has changed.”
“It has, I tell you! The king has involved himself. He is against our joining. This is the excuse you yourself needed to end the betrothal. We need only tell our parents.”
“Even did I believe you, wench, which I do not, it would make no difference, since John has said naught about this to anyone—except you—has instead offered his approval quite publicly.”
“I am telling you the truth!”
“Then let me be more clear why it does not matter. What John wants cannot be used unless he admits it, but he has not done that, nor is he like to. So we will make sure, here, now, that you know who you belong to, and do not attempt to deny it again. We are already joined by contract. We will put the final seal on it tonight.” So saying, he pushed her back on the bed and made to join her on it.
She could not believe he had not jumped on the excuse she had just given him to get out of marrying her. But then she realized he was too angry r
ight now to care.
It was that anger that made her desperate enough to wail, “Nay! Do not do this, Wulfric. I will not try to escape again. I will marry you, I swear! Just do not take me like this—in anger.”
There were tears in her eyes. She was so panicked, she didn’t even know she had begun to cry. It was the only thing that stopped him, as angry as he was. He kissed her, hard, but then, with a foul oath, he left the bed, and immediately thereafter, the room.
Milisant collapsed back on the bed in trembling relief. Her own anger over the quivering mass he had reduced her to didn’t come until much later—but it did come.
Thirty-nine
It only took moments after she awoke for Milisant to realize that she had slept half the day away. She was not surprised by that, though, not when the anger that had come upon her after Wulfric left her had kept her awake until nigh dawn. She was surprised only that no one had tried to wake her, Wulfric in particular. Or mayhap he did not intend to return to Shefford today as she had thought.
Then, too, he might still be abed himself, after riding half the night to reach Clydon, which would explain it. But whichever was the case, she had much to say to him, now she was no longer frightened out of her wits.
She still could not believe he had done that to her. Not only that, before she had fallen asleep, she had begun to suspect that he had not really meant to bed her, that his intent had only been to frighten her into giving her oath to him—which she had done right quickly.
Not that it mattered anymore, after what he had admitted to last night. Verily, did she marry someone else, ’twould be like signing his death warrant, as far as Wulfric was concerned, and she could not take the chance of that. So she was stuck with him as long as he continued to see her as “his,” and she had run out of all options to alter that thinking when even the king’s wishes had not swayed him.
Milisant dressed hurriedly, ignoring the bliaut she had worn yesterday in favor of her own clothes—just to spite Wulfric. He did not need to know she had brought along what he deemed “proper” garb. He would think she had naught else to wear. A small victory for her, too small to rid her of her anger, though.
That anger was obvious in her expression when she entered Clydon’s Great Hall. The midday meal had finished. The trestle tables were being removed. Wulfric was there, near the hearth with Lord Ranulf. He had noticed her approach—and her expression.
“Get that look off your face, wench,” was his first remark. “If you think I will put up with your temper after what you did, you are much mistaken.”
She did not take that warning to heart, snapping, “After what I did? What of what you did?”
“What I should have done was not done, but we can rectify that right quickly if you insist.”
She opened her mouth to retaliate, then shut it as swiftly when she realized he was talking now about beating her rather than bedding her. And she would not put that past him, oh, no, not him. So she was forced to swallow her bile and moved away from him to the dais table, which had yet to be dismantled, to snatch up a half-filled chalice of wine to help the bile go down easier.
Behind her she heard Roland’s father laugh. Jesu, she had seen him standing there with Wulfric, yet had totally ignored him, her mind centered solely on the brute. It brought a blush to her cheeks, that she had been that rude. Her anger was no excuse; he was still her host.
By the time she turned back toward the hearth, Ranulf was gone. Wulfric was still there, alone now, standing with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed on her. She lifted her chin defiantly. He raised a brow at her. She gritted her teeth, wondering if she could ever win where he was concerned. He no doubt was confident that she could not.
She knew, on a commonsense level, that the prudent thing to do would be to stay away from him until they had both had a chance to calm down. The trouble with that, though, was she didn’t think she could calm down without venting, at least a little. Besides, she also needed to know what he intended to do about King John’s machinations, especially now that she was going to be returned to Shefford where she would have to deal with John again herself.
So she did approach him a second time, though she managed to get the scowl off her face before doing so. And before he warned her again not to berate him, she introduced a subject that he couldn’t ignore.
Without preamble, she asked, “Will you tell your father what John did?”
Wulfric didn’t answer, questioned instead, “What, exactly, did the king do, other than give you the impression that he was against our joining?”
“’Twas more than an impression. He wanted to give you a reason to repudiate me.”
His frown was immediate. “The only way I might do that is if…”
“Exactly.”
She was amazed to see the color leave his cheeks, then rush back in crimson streaks. “Are you saying John Plantagenet raped you?”
She was amazed again that she didn’t want him thinking that, even for a moment, and quickly said, “Nay, he did not. Which is not to say that would not have happened, but I doubt me that he would view it as a rape. It did seem more like he felt that I should be flattered by his offer—and grateful. He did harp on benefits for us both.”
“What—benefits?”
It seemed as if he had to force those words out. His anger was definitely back, though she wasn’t at all sure who it was now centered on.
“He was not specific, Wulfric. I had assumed the benefit for himself would have been merely the pleasure of the bedding, though I later thought it could have been more than that. For myself, he had asked me directly if I loved you, and I answered him honestly. His response had been that I should not mind then if you repudiate me. He had seemed delighted and even said so. His words had been, ‘I am pleased we shall both benefit by this solution.’”
“But you declined?”
She glared at him for even asking that. “Aye, but he was not inclined to accept my denial, was going to ‘ease my conscience’ by making the decision for me, or so he said. I managed to get away, but I was terrified he would want revenge on me for thwarting him. ’Tis the main reason I left, to put myself out of his reach, though I will not try to pretend that was the only reason.”
He snorted at that reminder, but kept to the subject at hand, wanting to know, “This encounter with him happened the day of his arrival?”
“That night,” she clarified. “One of his servants came to fetch me with the pretense that the royal couple had summoned me. But only John was present in the chamber I was taken to, and he was alone. Nor did he waste much time in trying to get me into his bed. When I declined his offer, he made to force the issue—which is when I kicked him to escape his clutches and get out of there. I confess I spent the remainder of the night behind a barricaded door with my bow in hand. Jhone helped me to leave Shefford the next morn.”
“John was in great good spirits all the next day. He did not even remark upon your absence.”
“Absence? Did Jhone not…? Never mind.”
“What?” He raised a knowing brow at her. “Did she not pretend to be you? Think you I cannot tell the difference by now?”
Milisant ground her teeth together at the smugness she detected in his tone. “You cannot be sure. At least not positively, and not every time.”
“I will concede that, which is why I am going to warn you now—do not ever try to fool me in that way again, Milisant, or I will ban your sister from Shefford. Aye, I was fooled, until that eventide when I noticed a nervousness that was unlike you. ’Twas then I realized the ruse.”
She groaned inwardly. No wonder he had found her so soon. As for John’s good spirits, she didn’t doubt that he thought she was afraid to face him, and too afraid to tell anyone what had happened between them.
She said as much, adding, “If I had accused him of aught, I am sure he would have denied it. Just as I am sure now that he fully intended to place the blame on me, saying I seduced him or some silly thing like
that, if he had succeeded. Will you tell your father?”
He gave that a moment’s thought, then said, “Mayhap someday, when it might be useful. I see no reason to now, as long as John continues to offer the pretense of approval for the marriage.”
“Can you guess why John would be against it, other than his brother had approved, and he hated his brother?”
“Certainly. I had not known, until recently, just how rich your father is. To have such wealth combined with Shefford’s holdings will make for an alliance of such power that even John would worry about it.”
“My father would never make war against his king—at least, I do not think he would.”
“Neither would mine, without serious provocation. But consider the army that could be raised with Shefford knights and Dunburh mercenaries. ’Tis a power that may never be utilized, but John would not see it that way. If he had the full backing of all his barons, it would not matter. But when so many have already broken with him, and been branded outlaws and traitors for it, he would be hard-pressed to raise a force as large. Verily, those same barons who despise him now would rally with Shefford.”
“You make it sound not like a matter to merely worry about, but a matter to truly fear and stop before it comes to pass—by any means.”
He guessed the direction of her thoughts. “Including killing you?”
She nodded, frowning in reflection. “He had said at one point, ‘I do you a greater favor than you can realize.’ At the time I thought he was implying ’twas an honor to be bedded by him—in his opinion. But the favor could have been that if you repudiated me, he would not have to have me killed.”
“Mayhap,” Wulfric replied thoughtfully. “But you must also consider there is a long-standing friendship involved, and that an alliance through marriage is not really needed to raise the huge army of which we spoke. That army is more like to be raised if it is known John has tried to interfere. Think you John would really risk that?”
“Did he not risk it when he tried to bed me?” Milisant countered.
He chuckled at her surly tone. “You already answered that yourself. He could easily claim the whole thing was your idea, not his, and that he was too weak to resist such an offer. No doubt that would have been his excuse had he succeeded, when I did learn of it and repudiate you… Did you really kick the king of England?”