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“Does the lord of the castle not care that your nurse is so sleepy all the time?” Edyth asked.
“He’s very busy,” Justin replied, as though that should explain.
“I see,” Edyth said feebly, and exchanged wondering glances with Lillis.
“What of your Aunt Leta?” Lillis asked. “She manages the household for your brother. Does she not care about your lack of supervision?”
The children cast glances at each other, then looked at Lillis.
“Aunt Leta doesn’t mind us as long as we’re quiet. And Barbara says it would be mean to make us do what we don’t want to, because we don’t have parents.”
“Oh, my!” Edyth cried, unable to contain herself any longer. “What kind of place is this? Even the children in the orphanage had better care!”
“It’s none of our concern, Edyth,” Lillis warned. “We’ll not be here long enough to make any difference in the lives of these children, so just get those thoughts right out of your head.”
Edyth looked at her very pleadingly. “But, my dear, they’re just babies—”
“It would be unwise for us to become involved with these two,” Lillis said firmly, then looked at Candis and Justin. “Although I suppose it would be all right to see if they like to play games. Do you?”
“What kind of games?” Candis asked, wide-eyed.
“Why, all kinds. Edyth and I know almost any game you’d care to name. And stories, too. I know a wonderful story I can tell you this very minute, if you wish it.”
They did wish it, and both came closer. Edyth set one child on each knee and Lillis began her tale.
“The knight took up his lance,” Lillis said toward the end of the story, standing and using her arms to demonstrate just how it had been done, “and he took one step, two steps, three steps closer to where the evil man lay. Slowly he lifted his lance, aimed it at the man before him, and—”
A shriek from across the great hall surprised the little group. The children clung to Edyth, and Lillis dropped her hands; all of them looked to where the scream had sounded from.
It seemed to have come from one of the ladies who sat sewing at the other end of the hall, though from which one it was impossible to tell, as they were all now standing and looking with distress at Lillis and Edyth. Two of the ladies, Aunt Leta and a stunningly beautiful redheaded lady, came flying across the room.
“Hold them!” Aunt Leta shouted to the guards behind Edyth and Lillis. “Hold them!”
Looking rather uncertain, the guards moved to do as they were bid, and in a moment Lillis and Edyth found themselves dragged into the firm grasps of the two men. Justin and Candis still clung to Edyth’s skirt in an effort to protect themselves from whatever it was that threatened them.
“How could you threaten such innocent children?!” the redheaded lady cried as she came upon them. Lillis stared at her in surprise.
“I—”
The redheaded woman, or rather girl, for she was certainly younger than Lillis, grabbed Candis and pulled her away from Edyth, scaring her so badly that the child began to cry. Aunt Leta came huffing and puffing behind her and did the same to a bewildered Justin.
“What were you doing to these children?” she demanded.
“I—we—” Lillis sputtered in wonder. What did they think they had been doing to them?
“She was telling them a very interesting story,” came a voice from the shadows of the nearby stairwell. “I should think that would have been obvious, Aunt Leta.”
Alexander of Gyer strolled slowly into the light.
“Release them,” he instructed the guards, and received immediate compliance. “Do not lay hands on these ladies again unless your instructions come directly from me. And I mean directly. Do you understand?” he asked. They nodded.
“Alex!” The redheaded lady stamped her foot angrily. “That woman was getting ready to strike one of the children! I saw it with my own two eyes. You should have the both of them locked in chains in the cellar. Who knows what a daughter of Wellewyn is capable of doing? She’s already caused poor Hugh and Hugo to be punished quite horribly.”
“Barbara.” Alexander of Gyer sounded surprised, and Lillis couldn’t keep herself from looking at him. His expression was pained as he gazed at the redheaded girl, and she suddenly realized that the tiny creature before her was his betrothed. Barbara. She looked back at the girl and felt a familiar twinge of jealousy. Here was everything that Lillis, herself, was not, yet had always wished to be. The lady Barbara was as delicate as a butterfly, her features were lovely and feminine; her hands, her feet, everything about her was dainty and frail looking, as though she could easily be broken. And she was beautiful. Very beautiful.
“It’s true, Alex,” Barbara returned petulantly, “and I’m disappointed that you would take the word of this—” she looked at Lillis with contempt “—lady over your own brothers. And after they did you such a favor by capturing her. You should be praising instead of punishing them.”
How did she do it? Lillis wondered. How could she speak so angrily and yet still seem so sweet and merely a little silly? If anything, her childish speech would melt a man’s heart rather than enrage him. Lillis looked to see what effect it had on Alexander of Gyer.
“No, Barbara, I’m the one who is disappointed,” he chided gently, coming closer and looking impossibly handsome. “I assured our guests that you would be ready to welcome them in the hall this afternoon, but when I came to see how things fared I found they had been kept separate from the other women. I expected better of you, and certainly better of you, Aunt Leta.” He gave that lady a more pointed look.
The dainty creature’s big green eyes welled with sudden tears. “You—you cannot be so cruel as to expect me to entertain them! Prisoners, my lord?”
“While they are here,” he said curtly, “these ladies will be treated as honored guests. Now take the children to their nurse. We shall discuss this matter later.”
His tone did not invite discussion, though both Aunt Leta and Lady Barbara looked as though they had more to say. However, they kept silent and dutifully led Justin and Candis toward the stairs. A gentle hand grasped Lillis’s elbow.
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” Alexander of Gyer apologized sincerely. “You must forgive my aunt and cousin. They tend to think the worst of anyone from Wellewyn, I fear.”
“Do they?” Lillis wrenched her elbow free. “Do you know that your betrothed has been telling your brother and sister that I am a witch who turns children into mice and sets houses afire?”
He stiffened, yet his expression remained polite. “If that is what Candis and Justin told you, then either you misunderstood them or they are mistaken. I know they have some childish idea about you being a witch, but Barbara would never tell them such ridiculous tales. They heard them from Hugh and Hugo, more like, or from one of the villagers.”
“I did not misunderstand them, my lord, but that is neither here nor there. She is your betrothed, not mine, and you may believe what you wish of her. She is none of my concern.”
He seemed amazed that she would dare speak to him so. “That is true, my lady, and you will do well to remember it. My cousin is my concern alone, and I’ll not discuss her with you. Do not speak of her again.”
Lillis uttered a laugh. “As a matter of course, my lord, it would please me greatly to neither speak of nor see her again. My companion and I have enough to worry over without having to endure the distinct pleasure of Lady Barbara’s company.”
Alexander of Gyer’s face flushed, but still his voice was calm. “I had thought, my lady, to give you as much access to my household as possible as a way of making your stay more pleasant, but I begin to think I was wrong. Mayhap I should keep you and your Edyth locked in your chamber. Then you’d need not worry about having anyone’s company but your own.”
His rigid self-control and polite manner of threatening were unnerving, but Lillis wouldn’t let herself be intimidated.
“Perhaps you should,” she agreed. “But why stop there, my lord? Why not do as your Barbara suggests and shackle us in chains? It would be most gratifying to know that your brothers had come by their inhuman natures honestly.”
His eyebrows rose in further amazement, indicating the success of this strike; nonetheless, his tone remained maddeningly calm.
“Perhaps I should,” he softly repeated her own words back to her. “Perhaps, depending upon your father’s future behavior, I shall. For now, however, I have promised that you shall be treated as guests, and will be content to escort you to your chamber so that you may enjoy the afternoon meal in the privacy you requested of me this morn.”
Lillis measured his polite words and expression and understood that he’d ceded the battle to her. He’d not argue the matter with her further, which was a relief, though Lillis wasn’t certain if he’d given way because she was too unimportant to waste his time on, or because he’d known that she, herself, would not give way. She would, however, gracefully acknowledge his peace offering by extending one of her own.
“You have not yet been properly introduced to my maid,” she told him, reaching out a hand to draw her timid companion forward. “Alexander of Gyer, I make known to you Edyth Lielyn, daughter of Sir Edward Lielyn of Cantfield.”
He looked appropriately surprised to discover that Edyth was a lady by birth, and immediately bent to take Edyth’s hand.
“I am honored to make your acquaintance, Edyth of Cantfield. The circumstances of our meeting are somewhat unusual but I hope you will believe that I am very pleased, nevertheless. And I hope you will accept my apologies regarding the behavior of my aunt and cousin—” he glanced at Lillis “—as I hope your mistress will accept them.”
Edyth shyly stammered something appropriate while Lillis met Alexander of Gyer’s frank gaze steadily.
“Let us speak of it no more, Alexander of Gyer.” She offered the truce gracefully.
The Lord of Gyer nodded and extended an arm to Edyth. “Will you allow me the honor of escorting you to your chamber, Lady Edyth?”
Edyth blushed vividly but placed her hand upon his arm, allowing herself to be led forward. Lillis and their guards followed behind as they made their way up the staircase and to the chamber that was their jail. Not for the first time Lillis regretted that she and Alexander of Gyer were destined to be enemies. Despite their short-lived battle of wills, she liked him, and liked him very much. He seemed to be a fair man, one who possessed both strength and gentleness, and she could not help but admire his willingness to give way in a dispute. She knew little of men, but this, it seemed to her, was a fine and rare quality in them. It had been mean spirited to suggest that he shared his twin brothers’ mischievous natures, especially in the face of his kindness to Edyth. She could not remember when, if ever, Edyth had been treated with the respect she deserved. Lillis herself did not even do so.
“Can you tell us, my lord,” she asked conversationally, “what the door in our room is? Not the main door, but the door that is in the middle of one of the walls?” She wasn’t going to admit to him that she and Edyth had already unbolted the door and tried, without success, to open it.
He was thoughtful, then, remembering, said, “Ah, yes. It’s been so long since I’ve used that door that I’ve almost forgotten its existence. It’s an unusual feature, I suppose, but was designed that way apurpose by my father. The chamber you’re staying in was my mother’s, the chamber next to it was my father’s and now is mine. The door you speak of joins the rooms together.” He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Lillis. “My father felt that the device made his life much easier, as my mother wished to have a private place of her own. She spent a great deal of time there, and I think the door must have been useful when she and my father were arguing.”
They had reached the hallway of the floor that was their destination by the time he finished speaking, yet both women stopped and gaped at him. Lillis, in fact, drew to such a sudden halt that the guards nearly stumbled into her, and Edyth removed her hand from Alexander of Gyer’s arm and stepped away from him. The look on her face was as horrified as Lillis knew her own must be.
The Lord of Gyer looked at them first with concern, and then with curiosity. “Is something amiss?”
“Amiss!” Lillis heard herself saying. “Amiss!” she repeated, unable to think of anything else to say.
He looked at her strangely, and then at Edyth, who took a step farther away.
“Good day,” a pleasant voice broke in, and Willem appeared, strolling toward them from the other end of the hall with a shy smile. He stopped beside his brother and surveyed the two unhappy women with interest.
“We—we cannot stay in that chamber any longer,” Lillis said. “You must lodge us elsewhere.”
Alexander of Gyer’s face held honest surprise. “Because of the door? Why?”
“Why!” she half shouted in disbelief. “How could—how—how could you put us in a place where almost anyone could walk in at any moment and—and—well!” She clamped her jaw shut tightly and didn’t notice that she had dropped everything she’d been holding. Fine silk thread and cloth fluttered noiselessly to the floor.
“Anyone?” Alexander of Gyer repeated, his voice deepening with anger. “You mean me, do you not, my lady? You think that I would come into your chamber unannounced simply because our rooms are joined?” He was clearly insulted, and for a brief moment Lillis feared him. He was a big man, and seemed bigger in his fury. “If you’ve not noticed,” he continued curtly, “there is a bolt on your side to keep you safe from any such intrusion. And there is one on my side to keep me safe, as well. And, Lillis of Wellewyn—” he bent, speaking close to her face “—I will have you know that I am the lord of this castle. If ever I want to come into your chamber unannounced I will do it! Without your permission. Not—” he leaned even closer “—that I would ever want to enter your chamber, for any reason, in the first place.”
Lillis could have done without his last sentence and its most obvious meaning. She knew full well that she was odd looking and unattractive. She didn’t need Alexander of Gyer to tell her that. The nuns at Tynedale had spent ten long years making certain she understood it. And yet it hurt deeply, hearing the truth from the mouth of such a man, and Lillis felt young and angry all over again, as if she’d never left Tynedale at all.
“What a good thing it is, Alexander of Gyer, that you’d never have reason to do such a thing,” she said between clenched teeth, praying that she wouldn’t start crying and make a perfect fool of herself in front of him. “If I ever thought you’d come to my room with that intent, I would most certainly be ill!”
But this only enraged him more, and the expression that contorted his handsome features made Lillis’s hands clench in quick fear.
“Have no fear, my lady,” he assured her, “you shall never be subject to such an incident. But even if there were any danger of that event taking place, I would not move you to another chamber. I feel much safer at night knowing that you are so close by. I am a light sleeper, you see, and would know of it instantly were you to attempt an escape. You’d not get past the hallway before I caught you again.”
Lillis laughed at him contemptuously. “Of course you would. The guards outside our door would alert you. Do you think us complete idiots, my lord?”
How long this exchange might have continued, no one would ever know. Willem had been standing by, horrified, watching his brother speak to a lady in a manner he’d never before heard him speak to anyone.
“Alex,” he said, stepping between his brother and Lillis of Wellewyn, “I should be most pleased to offer my chamber to these ladies, if they are unhappy with Mother’s chamber.”
Alexander frowned at him. “I have said they will stay where they are. There is no need to make such an offer.”
“This is so,” Willem agreed diplomatically, “but perhaps it would be best to consider the idea. Lady Lillis and her companion are already being kept at Gyer under unhappy circumstances. It seems a small thing to make them as comfortable as possible.”
Driven by a demon that she, herself, didn’t approve of, Lillis said oversweetly, “Thank you kindly, Sir Willem. You are truly a noble and chivalrous man. It is certain that you’ve taken your vows to God quite seriously.”
Alexander of Gyer’s eyes narrowed. “And I have not? That is what you mean. I have done all that I can to make your confinement at Gyer pleasant, yet you would make me a villain who has no right to call himself knight. I was fool enough to think this morn that perhaps you sympathized with the difficulty of my situation, but I now see that you are as stubborn and thickheaded as your father. I never should have supposed otherwise, Lillis of Wellewyn.”
“Alex!” Willem gripped his brother’s tensed arm. “You know not what you say! Please forgive him, my lady.”
Willem’s words fell on deaf ears, though his standing between Lillis and the Lord of Gyer was the only thing preventing her from slapping Alexander.
“How dare you expect sympathy from those whom you hold against their will!” she cried furiously. “There is naught you could do to make our captivity pleasant, save to let us go free, and well you know it! As to your knighthood, Sir Alexander, you may examine for yourself how well you have kept your vows. I will not be made to feel guilty for your failings.”
He stared at her for a silent moment, then shook off Willem’s hand. “Take them to their chamber. Mother’s chamber. That is where they will continue to stay, and I’ll not argue the matter further.” He gave Lillis an especially aggravated look. “Make certain to lock them up well. It is clear—quite clear—that one cannot trust a daughter of Wellewyn.”
“Oh!” Lillis shouted after him as he strode toward the stairs. “I would rather be the devil’s daughter than have anything to do with Gyer!”
But he neither stopped nor made any reply. In a moment he had made his way out of their view.
Chapter Four
“Damn!”
Alexander slammed his way into his private chamber.
What in God’s holy name had just happened? He could barely remember, though he’d walked away from Lillis of Wellewyn only moments before. He didn’t even know what he’d said to her, exactly. All he knew for certain was that he’d been unforgivably rude, that he’d behaved like a common, ill-mannered lout. What was he about to be speaking to anyone in such a way, let alone to a lady? Especially to Lillis of Wellewyn. Was he not already using her badly enough without hurling insults of the worst kind at her, as well?
“Oh, God!” he beseeched the ceiling and the Being Above. “Tell me I didn’t say the things I think I did. Make it all a terrible mistake of my memory.”
Why had he done it? He paced the room angrily. The very room where that morning they had talked so reasonably with each other. Where he had felt so much admiration for her. And attraction. And desire. God’s mercy! What was happening to him? He was a betrothed man. He had no right feeling such things for anyone but Barbara, no matter how fair Lillis of Wellewyn might be. She was nothing more than his prisoner, and nothing less than his enemy’s daughter. These facts he must not lose sight of. Ever.
Turning sharply, his eyes sought the banner of Gyer, which hung above the mantel. There—the red and the white. The red and the white. Looking at it, Alexander could almost feel his father’s hand closing about the neck of his tunic and dragging him up from the muddy practice field; he could see again the rage on his father’s face, and hear the words, as he’d heard them over and over in his dreams and nightmares.
“Weakling! Stupid, foolish weakling!”
The faces of his father’s men, noble, fighting men whom Alexander revered, were there in his memory, too, some grinning in amusement, some watching in silent sympathy. It had been humiliating, being felled so quickly on his first day of battle training; more humiliating when the tiny blow he’d received had drawn blood; utterly humiliating when the sight of the blood had made him physically ill, right there in front of them all. In front of his father.
Alexander could still see the silk banner his father had snatched from his steed, could remember just how the colors had looked, thrust before his face, mangled in his father’s fist.
“The red is for courage, Alexander!” his father had shouted at him. “The white is for honor! Red for courage! White for honor!”
The colors had blended before his eyes, the silk had felt cold when his father roughly scrubbed Alexander’s face with it.
“Red for courage! White for honor!”
His father had tossed him down, then, and he remembered the damp chill of the earth, and lying there as the men moved away. His father had been the last to go.
“God, but you sicken me,” his father had said. “I’m ashamed to have such a weakling for a son. What honor will you ever bring Gyer?”
Running one hand through his hair, Alexander let out a long, taut breath. It was good to remember that day. Always good. When he thought of that day, he remembered anew the vow he’d made himself, and remembered, as well, that he’d kept that vow. Gyer was his now. His. It was wealthy and strong and secure, as it had never been under his father’s hand, and Alexander himself was one of the most powerful men in England. Nothing was going to threaten that—not memories of his father, not Jaward of Wellewyn, not Lillis of Wellewyn.
Lillis of Wellewyn.
He would apologize to her. God knew he’d done it plenty of times already since he’d met her, once more would make little difference. She would understand. He would explain that he was under a great deal of stress and worry. She would accept his apology. Really, aside from her beauty, she was a most intelligent woman. And quite a worthy adversary. Barbara would have cried and whimpered if he’d spoken to her the way he had to Lillis of Wellewyn this day.
He strolled to one of the several windows in the room and looked at the garden in the bailey below. It was almost time for the midday meal. He wondered if Lillis of Wellewyn and her maid had eaten yet, and he hoped, if they had, that the food had met with their approval.
