Page 27 of Defy Not the Heart

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  The eel in a savory herb sauce was still warm, as were the chicken with pine nuts and the spicy creamed rabbit. Ranulf did not touch the fare before him. Hugh did not touch it. Reina was not one to let any emotion affect her hearty appetite, but in deference to the two men on either side of her, she merely sipped her wine.

  It was a silent table in comparison to the norm. Walter's merry wit was sorely missed today. Though Reina's ladies spoke quietly among themselves, they were subdued by the brooding atmosphere at the cen­ter of the table. Even the servants were on their best behavior, sensing the tension in the air.

  But it did not continue for the duration of the meal, much to Reina's misfortune. She had assumed Ran-ulfs thoughts were solely on his father, but some small portion must have been spared for her. He rose and with a hand under her elbow, brought Reina to her feet as well. And then without a word of expla­nation to his father, or to her for that matter, he es­corted her from the table. She would not have questioned him if their direction were not the stair­well leading up to their chamber.

  "What are you doing?" Reina demanded in ^n anxious whisper when she could not manage to break his hold on her arm.

  "I need a distraction, lady, ere I explode."

  She immediately thought of his lusty nature and cried, "Not now!"

  "Aye, 'tis no better time, for I would not have you dreading the night. Or did you think I would forget what I promised you earlier?"

  Promised? Dreading? Sweet Jesu, he spoke of the chastisement he felt she had earned this morn, not lovemaking. Her color receded, only to flood back with visions of what he intended to do. The way she saw it, did he punish her now, 'twas likely to be quite painful, very painful in fact, for he needed an outlet for the turmoil raging inside him that his father's visit had thus far caused. But if she helped toward a rec­onciliation first, his emotions were like to be less tur­bulent, so would he not go easier on her, mayhap even just give her a severe scolding instead?

  She did not try to stop him, but she did glance back at the table and silently beckoned Lord Hugh to fol­low. Fortunately, he was watching their departure. And just before they reached the stairwell, she saw that he had stood up. But his expression seemed un­certain. Curse and rot him, was he remembering what she had last said to him? He was the one who had said he would not leave here until he had settled things with Ranulf. Did he expect to find a better opportu­nity to get his son alone?

  Reina was dragged up the stairs, not at all certain now that she would have a reprieve. A tight knot formed in her belly, the dread Ranulf had mentioned. She did not want to become acquainted with the palm of his hand, as he had once promised would happen did she provoke him, especially when that hand had been naught but gentle to her since she received that warning. Yet she did deserve some form of punishment. She had deliberately provoked him, as well as forced him to confront his father against his will. But, Jesti, she had never believed he would actually do this to her. Too often he had threatened her with this same consequence, but naught had ever come of it.

  He did not let go of her until they were inside the bedchamber, and then only to close the door and bolt it. Reina's trepidation increased tenfold. Common sense said it would be over with quickly, that if chil­dren could suffer this, so could she. Common sense be damned.

  "Ranulf, can we not talk about this?"

  "Nay," he said flatly and crossed to the bed. He sat down on the edge of it, sideways, and patted the spot next to him. "Place yourself here, lady, and raise your skirts."

  Reina blanched. "You mean to humiliate me as well?"

  "Humiliation is the foundation of this lesson. You will forget the discomfort right quickly, but the hu­miliation you will long remember."

  "I will also remember that you took pleasure in this!" she snapped.

  "Not even a little, lady. I like this no better than you, but you have defied me one time too many. Now come here." She remained rooted to the spot. "Do not make me come after you ..."

  Or it will go worse for you, he could have finished, but did not. The warning was clear enough and she heeded it. But it had never taken so long for her to walk a few spaces. Her hands had already begun to sweat. 'Twas not so much the stinging bottom she feared, but the telling blow to her pride, and she could not think of any way to ... unless . . .

  She had reached him, and in a desperate move, slipped her arms around his neck. "Ranulf, you wanted a distraction. Make love to me instead."

  Fire leapt into his eyes, but only for a moment. His lips were a hard, straight line, unyielding. Slowly, he unwound her arms and placed them at her sides.

  "I will—afterward."

  Fire leaped into her own eyes then, but of a differ­ent kind. "Curse and rot you! If you touch me after­ward, I will never forgive you!"

  "Meaning you will forgive me for this lesson you have earned?"

  He was right and she was wrong in this instance. Of course she would forgive him. But she would not assure him of that.

  "You do not have to do this now!" she cried. "At least wait until you are not so angry."

  "I am not angry with you any longer," he replied patiently. "I even understand what you tried to do." But then his voice hardened and she knew she was lost. "But I will not be manipulated like that, lady, and best you learn it now."

  She wondered if tears would help at this point. Likely not. He was too barbarous a lout to appreciate them.

  "What if I promised to be the boring, silent, cow­ering wife you apparently want? I will give you no more reason to call me little general. Will that satisfy you?"

  Obviously not, if his frown was any indication. Jesu, what had she said to bring back his anger? But she had no chance to find out. The reprieve she had hoped for came at last in the sound of a knock at the door.

  With a relieved sigh, she told Ranulf, "That will be your father, and none too soon."

  His frown darkened considerably. "He would not dare."

  Reina cringed inwardly, afraid her next words were going to make her situation even worse. "I—ah—I believe I invited him."

  Ranulf came to his feet with a growl, making Reina jump back with a gasp. But he did not say anything. The look he gave her said it all, giving her no doubt that he felt she had again contrived to manipulate him.

  "I—I will send him away," she offered in a small voice.

  "Nay, you will let him in," he replied, his own tone rough but controlled. "And you will stay also. I do not intend to hunt you down when this is fin­ished."

  She winced but complied, opening the door. For the briefest moment she thought of defying him again and fleeing. Her own curiosity put the thought aside. And she still had one hope, that Ranulf would rec­oncile with his father and thereby forgive her for her part in bringing it about. A small hope, but one that put her on Lord Hugh's side again.

  "Do you come in, my lord," she said, closing the door when he did. "You can speak privately here, do you deign not to notice me. Unfortunately, I cannot leave. I am to be punished as soon as you are fin­ished, you see."

  "Reina ..." Ranulf said warningly.

  "What difference if I tell him?" she retorted with a baleful glare. "I am going to scream loud enough when it happens that the whole of Clydon will know anyway."

  "Thank you for the warning," Ranulf said low, with distinct menace. "I will be sure to gag you first."

  Hugh cleared his throat at this point, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "If this is not a good time—"

  "There is no good time for the opening of old wounds," Ranulf snarled. "But you are determined to see mine bleed, so have your say and be done with it."

  "Think you I like this any better than you, to learn after all these years that my father lied to me? I even realize now that he deliberately kept us apart, before I knew of you and afterward. He was still an active man when you were sent to Montfort, yet he turned over the management of all his holdings to me at that time. I was barely older then than yo
u are now, Ran­ulf, nor did I know the first thing about stewardship, for I had practically lived at court with my wife up until then, thinking I had many years yet ere such responsibilities would be mine."

  Ranulf said nothing to that, and the look on his face was no indication whether it made any difference as to how he felt. Reina felt like kicking him for his silence. If he had no questions, she certainly did.

  "Why would your father do what he did?"

  "I cannot say, lady, and his reasons died with him several years past. Mayhap he did not know of Ran­ulf's birth until much later, and then—"

  "He knew," Ranulf cut in. "My mother told him, which was why he wed her to the village smith."

  "And near half of all village babies die in the first or second year," Reina pointed out. "Could he have kept the knowledge from you to spare you the loss if Ranulf had not survived?"

  "Lady, had I known of Ranulf from his birth, he would have been brought into the keep to raise, given every care. I simply do not know why my father would leave him to the care of villeins."

  "Jesii," Reina whispered, recalling another who had given her baby to villeins with the hope it would not survive. She glanced at Ranulf and wondered if he was recalling the same thing, or if he had already surmised that possibility but thought it was his father who had hoped he would die. "Iwas better not to mention that, but Hugh had not finished anyway.

  "And I can think of only one reason why he still kept the knowledge from me. I had another natural son, whose mother's family was very powerful. They would not let me marry the lady. She was already betrothed. But I was forced to make her son my heir.''

  "Forced?"

  "The concession was wrung from me at the boy's birth. My father was in concurrence, for 'twas either that or they would make war on us, which he could ill afford at the time."

  "But you were so young," Reina said. "Surely they expected you to marry and have legitimate children."

  "Aye, but in either case, I was still to provide for the lady's son. That kept them from having to do so, and unofficially allied our families, which in fact de­lighted my father. For that reason he may have wanted Ranulfs existence kept from me, and from Lady Ella's family."

  "Ella?" Reina looked sharply at Ranulf. "Ella?" His scowl made her burst into laughter.

  Hugh did not see the jest. "Do you know the lady?" he asked Reina.

  "Nay, my lord, though I am well acquainted with her namesake." A low rumble from her husband wiped the grin from her lips. "But that has naught to do with this. Why would your father finally tell you about Ranulf?"

  "I was home that summer after several years' ab­sence. The court was traveling, and my wife thought she was with child, so I was in no hurry to leave. Ranulf had reached an age where I would only have to see him to know he was mine."

  "So your father feared you were like to discover him for yourself, and possibly suspect that he had already known and deliberately kept it from you? Telling you and swearing he was as surprised as you would effectively put your suspicions to rest ere they even formed."

  "So I must assume."

  "But why keep you apart after you knew of him?"

  "Again I can only guess, lady, that he wanted no bond to form."

  "Did you form a bond with your other son?"

  "Nay." Hugh sighed. "Ella's family raised him and he is nothing like me. Sometimes I even wonder if he is truly mine. And yet he is closer to me than Ranulf, for Ranulf has never let me get close to him.''

  "Can you blame him? As I understand it, my lord, this is only the third time in his life he has ever spo­ken with you. For the first nine years of his life, he thinks you do not want him. For all the years of his fostering, you never sent for him or visited. Consid­ering that, I can see why he doubts your sincerity. I doubt it myself."

  She got a frown from both of them this time. Well, that was just too bad. She did not hear Ranulf asking his own questions. And she had yet to hear anything to truly support what Hugh had told her earlier. If he really cared about this son of his, he would have ended their estrangement years ago.

  "I happen to know, lady, that Clydon has been under your control these past several years," Hugh said defensively. "Tell me how often you found the time to travel for your own pleasure."

  She had the grace to blush. "In truth, not once."

  "Neither did I. My father had never been one to delegate his power to others, and in those first years that I took over his duties, I had not yet found men I trusted enough to share the burden with. I think now that he had a lot to do with that, but I have no proof. But I do know that he discouraged me from interfer­ing with Ranulfs training. And since I was being given regular reports on his progress, and was kept so busy anyway . . . but that is no excuse. I was wrong, and readily admit it. I should never have let so much time pass before seeing him again, nor left communication to letters."

  "What letters?" Ranulf finally broke his silence to demand. "I received but two from you, and those after I had left Montfort."

  "Nay, you must have had others. I wrote to you at least a half-dozen times each year the entire time you were at Montfort. I did not expect replies. I knew how grueling a squire's training could be from my own experience. I simply wanted you to know you were not forgotten."

  Reina nearly cried out at the look of anguish on her husband's face as he shouted, "I tell you I had no letters from you there!"

  Hugh was also shaken by RanulFs obvious pain. "Then my father must have intercepted them."

  "Or Lord Montfort," Reina said quietly. "Did you not say he was a friend of your father's?"

  Hugh did not answer or look at her. He stepped closer to Ranulf. Reina had the feeling he desperately wanted to embrace him. She wanted to herself. But Ranulf had his emotions under control again, and his expression did not invite any overtures of that sort just then.

  "I did write you, Ranulf," Hugh insisted. "I swear to you I did. I also sent for you four times, but each time I had back from Montfort excuses why it was not a good time to release you. I suppose you were never told that either?"

  For answer, Ranulf merely scowled. Reina hesi­tated to interfere again. Ranulf obviously did not be­lieve everything he was hearing. But then why should he? He had only his father's word, and that word could be false. Still, they were not getting close to a rec­onciliation, and if that was to come about, there had to be something to support Hugh's word.

  "You claim to have had reports on Ranulf while he was at Montfort, Lord Hugh, even if he did not write to you himself. What I do not understand is how you could know so much about his doings after he left Montfort."

  For a moment she thought he would not reply. He seemed more than just hesitant to do so, more em­barrassed.

  "One of Ranulfs men is actually my man."

  "A common man-at-arms who can write?" Reina scoffed.

  "He was my clerk. He did not like the duty I as­signed him, but he has been well paid for the risks of soldiering. He has even come to finally enjoy it."

  "So you spied on me?" This from Ranulf, and without much surprise.

  ' 'How else was I to know what became of you? I wrote to you after you left Montfort, if you will re­call. You admit you at least received those letters. But still I had no answer from you, and, coupled with your coldness the second time we met, I was finally forced to accept that I was not like to ever hear from you."

  "I was your sin, grown to your image." The bit­terness was back in Ranulfs tone. "You were naught but ashamed of me."

  "Never that," Hugh swore. "How could I be ashamed of a son so like myself?" And then in a burst of exasperation, "Sweet Christ, Ranulf, what must I do to convince you that you are dear to me?"

  Again Ranulf did not answer. Reina had an answer, but she was likely to be throttled by one or the other of them did she give it. When had that ever stopped her?

  " 'Twould seem you must beat it into him, my Lord Hugh."

  "Lady," Hugh growled, "you are being no help to me." br />
  "Did I say I would help you?" she asked with arched brow. "As I recall, I asked you to leave Cly-don ere you caused him any more pain. You were the one who said you could not go with this unsettled. You said you love him, that you have from the day you first saw him and knew him to be yours. Well, you also said that before you leave here he would know it, if you have to beat the truth into him. Your words, my lord, not mine. And 'twould seem that is the only recourse you have left—unless, of course, Ranulf finally has some doubts that what he has be­lieved to be true all these years might not be true. What say you, Ranulf?" She changed the direction of her attack. "Can you believe him? His father is dead and cannot verify what he says, but is Montfort? Or will you question this clerk of his turned soldier? Or will you simply accept his word and the love he seems determined to give you? It might behoove you to try, for he appears to be the one man you cannot be com­pletely assured of besting. 'Twould be a shame were you in no condition to deliver my promised chastise­ment."

  "A shame, indeed, so do not count on it," Ranulf said darkly.

  Reina shrugged. She had gone this far. She might as well do her worst.

  "You have not answered my question, Ranulf, but before you do, you should be aware of something I have noticed that mayhap you have not. This man is very similar to you, and I do not speak now of resem­blance. His temperament is the same as yours. He is as stubborn. Jesii, you both even scowl at the same things. Could not your sense of honor also be the same? I also wish to point out that had I not believed you when you told me about Rothwell, we would not now be wed."

  "Christ's toes!" Ranulf exclaimed. "What has that to do with this?"

  "It has to do with trust. I had never heard of Rothwell, nor has he come here to verify what you claimed. I took you at your word without proof that you spoke true. You owe the same trust to your fa­ther, especially since most of what he claims can be verified and he knows it, so he would have no reason to lie. And did you not say yourself that your grand­father had never shown you a kindness? It does not take much sense to see that you have unknowingly blamed the wrong man, Ranulf, and this is no time to remain stubborn about it. Do you ask hie—"