On the afternoon of their third day home, she resolved to approach Corbett about it. He was out with his fighting men, as he'd been every daylight hour since they'd returned.

Lilliane locked the kitchen storeroom, then made her way up the four short steps. At the top she felt a momentary light-headedness, but after a brief pause it pa.s.sed and she continued on her way. Corbett had been most short-tempered with the poor castle guards, the crossbow men, and his own mounted knights. She should be glad, however. Better that he drilled them until he and they were exhausted than bring his poor humor to her. Still, each night when he had come to bed late he had fallen quickly into a restless sleep, and she could not completely bury her frustration.

But not tonight, she vowed. Not tonight.

For all her resolve, however, Lilliane found herself drooping with unaccustomed weariness before the evening's supper had even commenced. Despite his distracted mood, Corbett noted her obvious exhaustion.

"How do you labor that such an early hour finds you yawning?" he asked in a lighter tone than she'd heard in a week.

"'Tis labor very unlike your own, but tiring nonetheless."

He seated her at the high table and took his place beside her. "I confess to knowing very little of how n.o.blewomen occupy their days."

"I know even less of how you spend yours," Lilliane replied in a voice more plaintive than she'd intended.

Corbett gave her a steady, almost searching look. "I learned much of defense in the East. And of treachery." He paused. "I want Orrick to be una.s.sailable. To do that the guards must be well trained and the castle defenses well maintained."

It occurred to her that Orrick had never had a serious enemy save Colchester. Logic deemed that threat gone now. But then, how to explain the attack on them?

"Have you ... have we so many enemies, then?" she asked haltingly.

Again Corbett's keen gray eyes seemed to watch her most sharply though his answer was wry. "I doubt our attackers were motivated by robbery."

"You have always avoided my questions about that day," Lilliane accused, her confusion combining with her weariness to make her completely frustrated. "Have you learned who it was?"

For a moment she was certain he was going to confide in her, to tell her just who it was he suspected of so foul a deed. But then a commotion at the end of the hall drew his attention.

When Lilliane looked up she saw Sir Dunn bearing down on them, a most furious expression on his face.

"Sir William of Dearne has just arrived. He expects to be admitted and treated as a guest."

Lilliane looked at Corbett for his reaction, but he was staring at Dunn. Some understanding pa.s.sed between the two men, something that excluded her completely.

"And why shouldn't he be treated as a guest?" she demanded, goaded more by their lack of trust in her than by any lingering friendship for William. "His daughter is under my care. He deserves every consideration as a guest. I suggest you keep in mind your position here, Sir Dunn. It is I who attends the guests."

She signaled two servants to see to William, but she did not stay to see her orders carried out. His arrival seemed the last straw in a long and grueling day. What little appet.i.te she'd had was now gone. Dunn was scowling at her. Corbett was treating her most strangely, and she knew she was not up to keeping matters between her husband and William civil.

As she rose to leave Corbett caught her hand and peered at her closely. "Do you flee your duties as hostess and mistress of this table?"

From nowhere tears started in her eyes, and she had to blink them away. "The servants are well trained enough to serve the meat," she managed to say. Then she shot Dunn a disdainful look, lifted her chin a notch, and glanced back at Corbett. "Besides, I doubt my company will be much missed."

Lilliane wanted Corbett to follow her, but to her vast disappointment he did not. Once in her chamber, she dismissed the young serving girl who had hurried after her, then doused the two torches and the five candles in the heavy branched holder. In the dim light of the hearth she slipped out of her simple rust-colored kersey tunic and pulled an old woolen blanket around her shoulders.

A large sheepskin lay on the floor before the glowing fire, and with a disconsolate little sigh she settled herself upon it. Something was terribly wrong, but for the life of her she didn't know what. Before she would have thought William's presence and Corbett's jealousy to be the cause. But Corbett had been remote ever since they'd departed London. Certainly that could not be blamed on William. Then there was that strange look that had pa.s.sed between Corbett and Sir Dunn.

To make matters worse, she must be ill for she was sorely lacking in both energy and good temper. It was one thing for her to snap at Sir Dunn, for he could try her patience acutely. But she had snapped at Cook twice, and even Magda had been the recipient of her bad mood.

The only one who brought her any peace, it seemed, was little Elyse. She had held and rocked the child at midday and had felt truly content to see the tiny girl's trembling yawn and then her restful sleep. For a while at least, all had seemed right with the world.

But now William was back and Corbett would surely turn even more remote.

Corbett was no less occupied with dark thoughts. He had finished the evening supper in silence, but to the cook's eyes seemed not to enjoy any aspect of the well-prepared meal. When he rose to depart the table, he signaled the others at their meal to continue. But Dunn quickly followed his retreating form.

"Where is he?" Corbett muttered when they had quit the hall.

"The puppy has gone to change from his traveling clothes." Dunn snorted in disgust.

"Puppy he may well be. But he is not to be taken lightly." Corbett hesitated as if he dreaded what he was about to say. "He spent several evenings in London in long conversations with Hughe."

Dunn peered keenly at Corbett although he did not appear truly shocked. Then Corbett continued. "There is much evidence to support the idea that William is Hughe's dupe, not the other way around as I had hoped." When Dunn made no protest of that idea either, Corbett rubbed his scarred brow as if he were suddenly weary.

"See that William is given a squire to attend him. Someone completely trustworthy. Then keep me informed of any strange doings on our guest's part."

"Where do you go?"

Corbett glanced only briefly at his man, then turned to stare at the narrow back stairs. "I think I owe my wife a visit."

Holding Elyse was like a balm to her soul, Lilliane thought. She had abandoned her bedchamber, seeking some reprieve from her disturbing thoughts. Now, holding the warm baby, she felt some small relief. At least here was someone she could shower her love upon without fear it might be used against her. Here was someone who would love her back and be contented by her very presence.

As she eased herself into a wide settee upholstered in an exquisite silk cloth of eastern pattern, she waved Ferga away. "I'll call you when I leave. Right now I shall enjoy this solitude."

But she was not destined to have solitude. Only minutes after Ferga had left, Lilliane was disturbed by a knock on the door. When William entered, cautiously at first, then more boldly as he spied her, it was all she could do to force a smile of greeting to her lips. Still, she could not help but be warmed by this evidence of his concern for his little daughter.

"You have come to see your sweet motherless child. Well, she is strong and growing every day. Here, come nearer and look at her." She gently nudged the swaddling cloth away from the tiny chin so Elyse's face could be seen better. "I vow, she favors her beautiful mother already."

William sat beside her and peered dutifully at the sleeping child, then lifted his eyes to look at Lilliane. "Clearly she is thriving under your care."

"Actually, it is Ferga who deserves all the credit-"

"You are too modest, Lilliane. As ever." His eyes swept over her. "Do you know what a model of feminine beauty and responsibility you are? And now, seeing you holding my own child in such a sweet and loving manner." He paused-almost dramatically, it seemed. But Lilliane had lowered her face in dismay at his warm effusiveness and did not see the look that now heated his eyes.

She suspected that William longed for her still-or for what they once might have had. But she longed only for her husband. She was certain that William's eye would soon be caught by someone else. But she could not be so certain for herself. She was inextricably connected to Sir Corbett of Colchester-of Orrick-and nothing could prevent the pain she felt when he kept himself remote.

Unexpected tears stung her eyes and little Elyse's face blurred before her. Oh, Corbett, she thought. Why can you not sit beside me and tell me how you love me ... how you long to see me cradling our own child ... ?

"What is this? Tears?" William turned her face up to his and cupped his hands about her checks. "Oh, Lilliane. I cannot bear it either! How I would like to steal you away from him. We could be happy together. You and me ... and the child as well," he added.

Lilliane was too stunned by William's words, and too choked by her perverse tears, to respond at once. As if her shocked silence were tacit agreement with him, he rushed on.

"I could take you away from here. You could seek protection at the abbey ... or somewhere else. I promise you, Lilliane, it wouldn't be long before we could be open about our love."

Angry words bubbled to her lips but before she could correct his ridiculous misconception he threw his arms around her. "Oh, I know you've been unhappy with him. But now I'll make you happy."

With a wail the baby began to squirm, protesting the uncomfortable pressure of William leaning so heavily against Lilliane.

"Oh, William, do be gentle," Lilliane protested breathlessly.

"Be gentle?"

The hard mocking words came from the low-beamed door of the nursery. Lilliane's heart seemed to drop to her feet as she recognized Corbett's voice. William jumped as if stung. But to her complete dismay, he stayed at her side and even placed his hand quite possessively around her shoulder.

"My, my. How sweetly domestic this looks. How unfortunate that this is my house. And my wife."

"The child, however, is mine," William threw back cuttingly. "And Lilliane is now mother to it."

Corbett had been leaning against the door frame, seemingly at his ease. But at William's words he came away from it and advanced menacingly into the room. His eyes were on William but his words were meant for Lilliane.

"Leave the child and go to our chamber."

"Corbett! Please listen to me. Things are not as you imagine!"

For a moment only his dark-gray stare turned to her. Yet Lilliane knew at once that she was on very dangerous ground.

"And what is it that I imagine?" he asked her silkily. Then his face grew colder and he did not let her answer. "Put the babe in its cradle and leave us."

Lilliane clutched at Elyse as she stared into Corbett's hostile face. He was not in a mood to listen to her, and she feared he would do something drastic.

"I-I will go," she stammered. "But please, I beg you. Do not send this child away. Please, Corbett. Say you will not be so cruel-"

"But he is cruel," William cut in caustically. "He wanted Orrick and so he took it-and you-"

"And I shall not stand by and let you take it all from me!" Corbett thundered.

With that he crossed the room and flung William away from Lilliane. William landed against a low bench, toppling with it to the floor.

Meanwhile, as if William were of no further concern, Corbett rudely pulled Lilliane to her feet. "Put the child down!" he ordered, snarling furiously.

Terrified now, she complied at once. Then he dragged her to the door and bellowed for a guard.

She had no chance for protest or pleading. Elyse was swiftly handed to a pa.s.sing maid who took the child away while Lilliane herself was whisked off to her chamber by a pair of her own burly guards. The last thing she heard before they rounded the corner was the ominous thud of a slamming door followed by the high-pitched wail of the crying baby.

18.

"DON'T RUIN EVERYTHING BECAUSE of her."

"Since when are you William's protector? Or my wife's?" Corbett lashed out at Dunn. "Perhaps killing him now would be the best solution. No one to plot against the king. No one to tempt my pretty little wife!"

"There are others besides William involved in this treasonous plan."

A cynical smile lifted Corbett's lips. "I notice you do not go on to add that there may be others involved with my wife. But then, she has not shown herself to be free with any other man. It is only William I've ever had to worry about. It's always been William."

"That doesn't make her a traitor."

Corbett's eyes narrowed. "What is this? You, singing a new tune about Lilliane? I'd have thought you would be the first to say her treason is confirmed. There's been no love lost between you and her."

Dunn grimaced at that, but his brow was creased thoughtfully. "I'll not dispute that fact. But she's an odd one." He rubbed his bushy blond beard. "She was furious at being confined. And frightened too. But though she raged at you and cried for the child, she said not one word regarding William."

Corbett shrugged "Perhaps you read too much into it. Perhaps she is as guilty as he but sees no need to go down with him."

"I suppose that could be it," Dunn admitted slowly. "But nonetheless, I'm beginning to think all is not necessarily as it seems."

"There is one way to determine that," Corbett declared with a meaningful glare at the heavy door, beyond which William had been cast. "It would take very little to force the truth from him."

"But is now the time?"

Corbett's answer was a long time coming; he seemed to wrestle with his emotions. Revenge was clearly uppermost in his mind. Yet when he spoke, his words were reasonable despite the hard, caustic ring to his voice. "I'll proceed with caution. There will be no discussion of Edward or of treason. At least for now."

Corbett entered the damp chamber alone. William was languishing on a crude stone bench carved into the wall, but he jumped to his feet at the sight of his captor.

"The lord of the castle at last," William said with a sneer. "Are you so uncertain that your bidding will be done that you must see to my imprisonment yourself? Or do you delight in torturing those within your grasp?" He laughed bitterly. "How foolish I was not to steal Lilliane away from you in London."

"Indeed. Surely it was not honor that prevented you," Corbett scoffed, but his jaw was clenched in anger.

"My child was still at Orrick. Who knows what revenge the king's Bird of Prey might take if his wife were to publicly scorn him for another!"

"Lilliane would never shame me-or herself-in such a manner. And you are beneath contempt to imply it." Despite his even delivery, however, Corbett's hands had tightened into fists.

"She is a lady," William conceded. "But she is a woman first. And she does not love you."

Corbett smiled coldly. "You miss the point entirely. Love is not in question here. She is my wife. She will remain my wife. And you cannot change that. No, I think it is time for you to depart Orrick once and for all." He turned stiffly as if to leave, but William started forward furiously.

"I'll have my daughter if I should leave! I'll not have her raised in your household."

"You'll have no one. Not Lilliane, nor Elyse. 'Tis winter. That babe could not survive a trip to Dearne in such frigid air. No. She stays here-with Lilliane."

William's face was livid with rage. "She may stay with Lilliane. But you delude yourself if you believe Lilliane will long stay with you!"

Corbett glanced at the disheveled man as if he considered William's words completely inconsequential. But his eyes were alert as he goaded William further. "Lilliane knows where her duty lies. And that is with me."

"But it's her heart she'll follow. And I have that!"

"You cling to that as if it's of importance," Corbett snapped impatiently. "It's well known I did not marry her for love."

"No, you married her for Orrick and for the children she could give you. Well, consider this." William sneered, an evil smile beginning to curve his lips. "When she does bear you a child ... it might not be yours."

For a moment the chamber was absolutely still. No one moved. No breaths were taken.

If Corbett had wanted to goad William into some careless admission, he'd clearly received more than he expected.

If William had wanted to strike Corbett a painful blow, he'd succeeded. But by his wary demeanor he obviously wondered at the cost to his own well-being.