The warlord crossed the room to approach her. She locked her knees to hold her ground. As her gaze fell to his lips, she experienced the wistful urge to be kissed by him. When they kissed, she felt treasured and revered.
“I should have you punished, lady,” he said in a voice devoid of emotion.
“Why?” she asked, taking a startled step back.
“You swore to me, no more lies.” Thunder rumbled outside, adding a menacing undertone to his words. “You told me you came here because Ferguson sent you to poison me.”
“I did!”
“Another lie,” he snarled. “You came to Helmesly to be closer to your beloved.”
“Nay, if I wished to be near to him, I’d have stayed in Abbingdon.”
“The day you wanted to go with the servants to pray, you had planned to meet with him, hadn’t you?” He tilted her face up, putting his fingertips beneath her chin. His touch was searing.
“I meant to speak with Ethelred,” she corrected, “so he could contact Alec for me.”
“Ethelred,” said the warlord, stunned. His mind was quick to grasp at clues. “Is he even now at your behest?” he guessed. “Is that why he’s gone to the abbey?”
“Of course not. He has gone to see the papal seal on the interdict.”
“Is that all?” he pressed, his gaze incinerating.
She jerked her chin free and stepped to one side. “Nay, that isn’t all,” she admitted, darting him a wary look. She had come to his solar to tell him the truth. So be it. According to Ethelred, truth was a stronger fortress than deceit.
The sound of rain showering the cobbles told her that the clouds had buckled. The room gave an eerie flash as lightning forked the sky. The warlord made a sound of disgust and stalked back to the window.
Clarise looked to Sir Roger for help. The knight sat straighter. “My lord, make no rash decisions,” he warned uncertainly.
Decisions? “What will you do?” she asked. Volatile currents filled the chamber, making her uneasy.
Simon seemed to sense her agitation. His round face crumpled with distress. He sobbed against her shoulder. Clarise felt like weeping with him.
The Slayer stood with his back to her. “I have had enough of your lies, lady,” he announced grimly. “I will not be used to reunite you with your lover. Nor can you convince me again to raise arms on your behalf. I will return you to Ferguson,” he announced, against the backdrop of pouring rain. “You and the Scot have more in common than you think. You are both dissemblers.”
She soothed the baby with automatic gestures. Shock settled over her, leaving her emotions in frozen limbo. “Return me?” she cried. “What makes you think Ferguson would want me back? He will see that I have failed and he will hang me, along with my mother and sisters. Aye, he’ll hang us all!”
The mercenary shrugged, still presenting her his back. “What does it matter to me, Clarise DuBoise? I have tried to turn myself toward righteousness, and you and others have taken advantage of me. Leave me to my sins. You had no intention of staying with me, anyway.”
Clarise frowned as she struggled to interpret his words. She gave up trying. All she knew for certain was that he’d sentenced her, her mother, and her sisters to be hanged. It was too horrific even to envision. Even the Slayer of Helmesly was incapable of such malice!
“Er, my lord, why not take some time to think about it?” Sir Roger asked. Alarm had turned his face into a map of battle scars.
The Slayer flicked him an obstinate look. “I have made up my mind,” he snarled, his profile unfamiliar against the screen of rain.
Sir Roger closed his eyes and dropped his face in his hands. He said nothing.
“You’ve forgotten about Ethelred,” Clarise offered in a quaking voice.
The warlord swiveled abruptly. “What did you ask him to do for you?” he demanded.
“Simply to see if Alec had received your offer.”
“So, you take on yourself to settle my affairs for me,” he observed, his eyes as silvery as the rain, “and in the bargain you get yourself a landed husband.”
If she had a knife, she would carve a matching scar on his right cheek. “He was my betrothed before you stripped him of his inheritance,” she shot back, fisting her hands.
Simon matched her volume with a deafening wail.
“I do not recall meeting him on the field of battle,” the warrior rebutted. “He ran like a coward for Rievaulx. Or mayhap he was simply grateful for a reason not to wed you!”
With his face still in his hands, Sir Roger groaned.
Clarise went perfectly still. The pain that diced her heart gave her something to cling to. “Do what you will with me, you monster.” Her voice turned fearless and resolved. “I pray one day that you will eat your words, for I will have naught to do with you even if you crawl on your knees, begging my mercy. You do not deserve this babe that I have loved. . . .” Her voice broke and the dam burst behind her eyes, flooding them. Before they betrayed her, she spun around and raced to the door.
She slammed it behind her, startling Simon into silence. Then she hesitated, pricking her ears to the quiet on the other side. Just when she despaired of hearing anything through the thick wood, Sir Roger drawled with irony. “Well done, my liege. Your father would be most proud.”
Chapter Fifteen
Clarise worked the laces of the boy’s braies tighter and marveled at how quickly her circumstances had changed. One day the Slayer was determined to have her for his mistress, the next he wished never to lay eyes on her again. The pain of his rejection made her fingers stiffen as she tightened the last two stays.
Nell had secured the boy’s clothing from one of her brothers. “The lord told me to bring all manner o’ knowledge to him, and he would ease yer circumstances,” the young girl whispered as she arranged the pillows on the bed to take the form of a person sleeping. Clarise could tell that Nell was torn.
“That was before he threatened to return me to my stepfather,” she retorted. “He suffered a moment of human compassion, ’tis all. Do you put faith in his promises, you will be sore disappointed.”
“But why must ye travel at night?” Nell complained as she straightened from the bed.
In the darkness Clarise could just make out the golden halo of Nell’s hair. She nosed through the oversize tunic until her head popped through the proper hole. “Do I look like Callum?” she asked, holding her arms out to her sides. As she was standing in the only puddle of moonlight, she was certain the maid could see her.
Nell shook her head. “Nay, m’lady. Me brother ne hath such a bosom as thine.”
“That is precisely the reason I must travel at night,” Clarise pointed out. “Now remember what I said. You last saw me when I went to sleep earlier this evening. When asked, you don’t know where I am, or how I ventured through the gates. You must lie to protect yourself. Is that clear enough?”
Nell mumbled an unhappy answer.
“Where are those awful boots I have to wear?” Clarise asked, peering around the perimeter of the moon’s glow.
She had lived through the past few days as in a dream. The warlord was too busy tracking down Ethelred to make good on his threat. The Slayer had ventured to the abbey twice now to demand an audience with Gilbert. According to the monk at the gate, both abbots had fallen ill. There was nothing the warlord could do to gain entrance or prove otherwise. The abbey was sacrosanct. To attack it would be a violation of the Church proper.