“Of course he does,” Jhone agreed. “He is your husband now, after all. But you have the choice of accepting that or tempering it with love. As I pointed out before, which do you think would gain you more freedoms?”
They were interrupted after that and did not get a chance to talk privately again. But it had given Milisant more to think about. And imagining Wulfric in love with her was not an—unpleasant thought. But… there was still his original fury that he must marry her.
She still didn’t know what had caused that, yet was now curious enough about it to broach the subject that night in their bedchamber. Theirs…
Aye, all of her belongings, without warning, had been moved that day into Wulfric’s chamber—except for her pets. The animals had been left behind with Jhone—by Wulfric’s order? Or had his servants merely been too hesitant to try to move her pets themselves? Rhiska could be intimidating, after all, especially to a servant not used to handling falcons, and Growls could make anyone leery if he started growling.
Wulfric wasn’t there yet when she went up to retire that night. She was keeping his latest order in mind, though it was unnecessary. She was not the one who was presently angry, he was. And he still was. That was obvious when he walked in stiffly, frowning, and said no word to her as he started to disrobe.
She gave a mental snort. He thought to ignore her? To take his own anger to bed with him? Well then, she might as well get her last question out of the way now, in case it annoyed him as much as the last one had.
She walked up behind him, tapped him on the shoulder, waited for him to turn around. He did so with raised brow. She got the distinct feeling then that he was expecting an apology. For making him admit that he had lied to her? She kept her second snort to herself as well.
“I wouldst finish our discussion begun earlier,” she told him.
“It was finished.”
“For you, mayhap, but I still have a question that needs answering. If there was no other woman—nay, do not interrupt me, hear me out,” she said when he started to cut in. “If there was no other, then why did you come to Dunburh in such fury? And do not try to deny it. You would have preferred to marry another.”
“Mayhap because the only memory I had of you, wench, was that you were a veritable termagant, and what man wants naught but temper tantrums from a wife? I may even have had another in mind. But I was not in love with her.”
She should have been satisfied with that answer. It was not even high in the way of import, as far as she was concerned. But his description of her was unsettling and sparked her own temper. However, she still had not forgotten what she had agreed to last night.
So she did what anyone so constrained in a certain room would do. She took his hand and tried to drag him out of the bedchamber.
He wasn’t cooperating, however, so she didn’t get very far, only a few steps, actually, before he asked, “What do you think you are doing?”
“Taking us out of here, to finish this—discussion,” she retorted.
After realizing what she meant, he chuckled and pulled her to him. “Nay, I think not.”
She pushed against his chest, though not with much effort. She didn’t really want to break the contact, flush as it was, and reminiscent of last night.
“‘Tis to be one-sided then, this setting aside of anger?” she asked.
He smiled wryly. “Nay, and thank you for pointing that out. ‘Twas a silly annoyance anyway, not even worth saving for another day.” His hands cupped her cheeks, his lips hovering just above hers. “I hope you feel the same.”
“About what?” she asked breathlessly.
“If you do not know—far be it from me to be so misguided as to remind you.”
Forty-nine
Two days after the wedding, all of the guests had departed, except for one earl who had made mention that he would be staying for at least another sennight. That would not have concerned Milisant in the least were it not that her restrictions had yet to be lifted, even though she was now married, even though she and Wulfric, at least, had determined that the threat against her had been “called off” by John himself.
Or so she had thought, that they had both determined that. She found out differently, however, when she brought the subject up to Wulfric that day. He had been discussing how much he had liked the window embrasures in Clydon’s Great Hall, and added that he meant to put the suggestion to his father that they build the same here.
She was barely listening to him, afraid she already knew the answer to what she meant to ask. She had found out that morning that if Anne or Wulfric was not available, she was still to be locked in the solar. Worse, she had found it out when she’d arrived late to the hall to say good-bye to Roland and had tried to leave the keep to catch him in the bailey.
Wulfric was already out in the bailey, and possibly Anne was as well, since she was nowhere to be found either. But Milisant had not been allowed out herself, had in fact been escorted straightaway to the solar when she’d been discovered alone in the hall, and locked away just as she had been before the wedding.
‘Twas midafternoon now. They both stood next to the Great Hearth, far enough away from Anne and her ladies to speak in private if they spoke at a normal level.
Milisant waited until Wulfric seemed done with his subject. She had restrained her anger well. She was trying, after all, to keep the peace between them, since she had actually been enjoying that peace. But her present grievance was too great to not mention it, which she finally did.
“You did not think I would want to bid Roland good-bye this morn?”
He raised a brow at her. “After you spent so much time with him yesterday?”
There was the tiniest bit of resentment in that question, which she chose to ignore for the moment. “What has that to do with common courtesy?”
“You had ample time to bid him farewell ere the Fitz Hughs left the hall,” he pointed out.
She gritted her teeth, since he was obviously ignoring the meat of her complaint. “Even if that were so, which it was not, since I arrived too late for that, I still would have liked to be present when they rode out. Yet did I find that was impossible. I found instead that I am still to be locked in that blasted solar if neither you or your mother is around. Why did those guards throw me—”
“Throw you?” he interrupted in a near choking tone, his expression just as incredulous.
“Shove me inside,” she corrected.
“Shove you? They laid hands on you?”
She was snarling by now. “Nay, I am making a point here, Wulfric. Stop jumping on each little word. They insisted! There, does that sound better to you? Which is beside the point. Why am I still to be locked up? We are wed now. The threat is gone.”
“The threat is not gone until I am assured ‘tis gone,” he said in stiff response to her angry tone. “And as long as we still have guests here who come with a full entourage of their own servants, as many do, there will be folk here not easily identified.”
“And what happens when a new guest arrives, or have you bothered to think that far ahead? Am I forever, then, to be shut away like an errant child?”
“Why do you persist in viewing it that way? ‘Tis for your own protection.”
“Mayhap because I do not need protection any longer! Mayhap because at least I am smart enough to realize that the threat is over.”
That last was a direct insult, deliberate as well, she was suddenly so angry. And it struck true. His blue eyes became more intense. A muscle ticked in his cheek. And his tone, well, that turned downright menacing.
“I sometimes think you provoke me in hopes that I will beat you, just so you can then hate me more. Methinks ‘tis time you got what you deserve.”
So saying, he took her hand, dragged her out of the hall, up the stairs, straight into their bedchamber, where he then slammed shut the door. She had not once tried to stop him, too shocked that this was to be the result of a few harsh words between them. But then she h
ad known it would come to this eventually, and that she would despise him for it. She had expected no less from a brute such as he, had known to expect it, which was why she hadn’t wanted to marry him. But so soon after the wedding?!
When she felt no blows yet, she forced herself to look at him. They were standing in the center of the room. He still held her hand. He was staring at her, but his expression was now inscrutable. She was herself so tense now, she could have shattered in a strong breeze.
“What are you waiting for?” she demanded, but got no answer. “Will you beat me or not?”
Wulfric still didn’t answer for a moment, but then he sighed. “‘Tis not a matter of ‘will,’ but of ‘can,’ and I cannot.”
“Why?”
“I would rather cut off my own hand than cause you the least little harm, Milisant.”
She stared at him wide-eyed, and then she started to cry, those words having gone deep to wrench at her heart. She had never heard anything so—so nonbrutish in her life. And coming from him?
“Would that you could have felt that way when you were younger,” she whispered in a small, quavering voice.
“And how were my feelings then any different? I have never hurt you, Milisant. I even once took a great deal of punishment just so I would not hurt you.”
She frowned now, swiping at her eyes, embarrassed to realize she had been crying, yet too bemused by his new statement not to ask, “When was this? I do not recall meeting you other than one time when we were young.”
He smiled sadly. “Aye, and you must admit, ‘twas a time neither of us has ever forgot. I wouldst apologize, belatedly, for killing your falcon that day. I only just learned of it recently from my mother. I had not known the bird died. That was certainly not my intention. Merely did I want to get it off of me when you sent it to attack.”
He was apologizing for the first Rhiska, but not for nearly crippling her during the same incident? But of course, he hadn’t known of her broken foot. No one had known about it. Yet he had viciously pushed her, which had caused it. And he considered that not hurting her?
She was unable to keep the old bitterness from her tone when she corrected at least one part of his statement. “I did not send Rhiska at you.”
“You most certainly did.”
“Nay, I moved to put her back on her perch so I could summon a guard to get rid of you, since you did not leave at my bidding. She did the attacking herself, having sensed my anger. She had only just been tamed, she was not trained yet, so I could not call her off of you. I stepped to you to get her away from you, but you were too quick to throw her off and kill her instead.”
“I did not think I had killed her, Milisant, or I would have made amends then and there. I assume ‘twas your grief that sent you at me tooth and nail? Or was it still your other rage, in hearing that we wouldst marry? And why did that enrage you so?”
These memories were not pleasant, but his last question dealt with the least of them, so she answered that at least, explaining, “One of the villagers had beat his wife to death just that week. The reactions to this were that she must have deserved it, that it was not of great import, that he would have to worry now about who would cook his dinner. She was dead, but he must now cook for himself, poor man.”
“Villeins do not have the same concerns that we do,” he pointed out. “Their priorities in matters of import wouldst not be the same as yours or mine.”
“Mayhap, but I was so appalled by these reactions, I swore then and there that I would never marry myself. I had yet to be told about the betrothal, so did not know the decision had already been made for me. Then there you were, telling me that you were going to be my husband.”
“Verily, that does indeed explain your original anger. I was unaware you had yet to be told of the betrothal. I knew of it, so I assumed you did.”
“My father was still so grief-stricken over my mother’s death that he did not even think to discuss such things with me yet. ‘Twas another two years ere he did, another two years ere I even knew who you were. That day you were no more than a stranger intruding where you did not belong, a complete stranger telling me he wouldst be marrying me, a stranger who had killed my falcon and caused me such—”
She didn’t finish, couldn’t. She was about to cry again and hated that she had so little control over her emotions now—just as then.
“Caused you such—what?”
It was the wrong time to be asked. She was choking on the memory, couldn’t hold it back any longer.
“Pain! And for three months, the horror of thinking I wouldst be a cripple!” “Cripple?!”
“When you shoved me away, you did not look to see the result. You just left.” “What result?”
“I fell on my foot. It broke. I put the bone back in place myself. I have no idea why I did that, other than the thought of being a cripple so terrified me that I was unaware of what I was doing. I could not cry, could not scream, could make no sound at all.”
He yanked her to him, put his arms around her, squeezed hard. His face had gone pale. She saw that just before she was buried in his arms.
“Jesu,” he whispered hoarsely. “No wonder you have hated me. But I had no choice that day, Milisant. ‘Twas the only way I could think to get you off of me. ‘Twas done to save you harm, not cause it!”
“Do you tell me a small girl child was threatening you? Giving you no choice? I may have been insane with grief and barely aware of what I was doing, but you were big even then, Wulfric, big and sturdy. How was I giving you no choice but to shove me violently away?”
“Would you like to see the teeth marks you left on my inner thigh? You bit deep enough to leave scars, though I did not know that at the time, since you had also unmanned me with a blow to my groin that caused any other pain to be insignificant in comparison. Your falcon had also taken a chunk out of my hand. Would you like to see that scar, too? So I could not use that hand to restrain you. You had me on my knees from the blow you landed. You were rending my face bloody as well with your nails. Aye, I felt I had to get you off of me. You were giving me no choice. But instead of hitting you to make you stop, which would have been the quickest way to end it, I tried to save you injury by pushing you back. God, I am sorry my action had the opposite result instead.”
She said nothing. She was trying to take in all he had just said, to picture it in her mind from his perspective, to set it beside everything else she knew about him now—and finally knew, without a doubt, that he was telling her the truth. He had not meant to hurt her. It had been no more than bad luck that she should fall just so, a horrible accident, but an accident nonetheless.
He was still squeezing her so tightly she could barely breathe, let alone speak. At the moment he was more upset than she was. Oddly, she wanted to soothe him now. That was out of the question, but…
“I did all of that?” she said at last.
“You did.”
“Good.”
He stilled. He set her back from him and looked at her mulish expression and then—he started to chuckle. For some reason, she started to laugh as well.
It felt so good to have that tightness in her chest ease away. As it left her, she realized the memory of that day was never going to cause her pain again, and she had Wulfric to thank for that. How incredibly ironic.
Fifty
“Fetch your bow.”
Milisant turned to Wulfric to see who he was speaking to, certain it could not be herself, yet he was staring at her, and she had heard him aright—which left her suspicious enough to question him, “Why? ‘Twould not make good firewood, I promise you.”
He laughed. “Because I feel like hunting, and I thought mayhap you would like to join me.”
She stared at him in utter amazement now. They had just finished the midday meal, were still sitting at the high table, long after most everyone else had left. His mood had been jovial all day, well, had been since yesterday afternoon, when they had cleared up so many misconcepti
ons between them. He had barely left her side since then, and she found she did not mind that at all.
She had yet to fully dissect the conclusions she had reached yesterday, was still so amazed that she had no further serious objections to Wulfric that she hadn’t figured out all the ramifications of that yet. There were still a few things she was not overjoyed with, but they were too minor to mention, and besides, she was enjoying, for a change, not being angry about anything, enjoying his company, enjoying the way he teased her, the way he…
With that thought passing through her mind, she had to ask now, “You are not teasing me, are you? You actually know how to hunt with a bow?”
“Why would I not know how?”
“Because hawking has been considered the elite way to hunt for so long that many lords would not know what to do with a bow if it was handed to them.”
He chuckled. “I assure you I am not one of those, Mili. Verily, like you, I actually prefer using my own skills, and do possess a few of them that do not require the lifting of a sword.”
“Including archery?”
“Aye. Now, what are you waiting for? And wear something… appropriate for hunting.”
He was telling her to wear her leggings? She could not believe this—yet she wasn’t going to give him a chance to change his mind about it. In fact, she threw her legs over the bench so quickly that her skirts got left behind and she nigh fell on her face on the floor as she lost her balance. Wulfric’s hand was quickly there to steady her until she could yank her skirts across the bench.
He didn’t laugh as she might have expected, but she heard her father chuckle nearby and wondered if he had given Wulfric the suggestion to take her hunting. She did not care where the idea came from; that he was willing to do so was what she found so amazing.
She ran into Jhone on the stairs, nearly knocked her over in her haste. She grabbed her hand, pulled her along behind her, unwilling to stop for even a moment to talk, yet wanted to share with her how excited she was.