For an eternity they stared at each other, a stunned expression on one face, a fearful expression on the other. Then without a word Corbett turned on his heel and quit the donjon, slamming the door hard behind him.

The entire castle lay in wait. Everyone knew that Lady Lilliane had been confined to her chambers and Sir William had been locked in the seldom-used donjon. No one could say precisely what had happened, but everyone knew the master was enraged. And so the gossip buzzed interminably.

Ferga was in tears as she sat in the kitchen surrounded by the inside servants. "He asked me if the child could travel." She sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with a worn linen cloth. "Could she survive the cold winter days."

"And what did you say?"

"Why, no, of course. Young as she is, and bein' so tiny. Why, it would be the death of the wee thing."

"How did he answer you back?" Magda asked quietly.

"He ... he didn't say anything, really." Ferga blew her nose and sat up straighter. "He just went over and stared at the poor child while she lay sleeping. He stared at her the longest time. Then he left."

"That was all?" the cook pressed. "He didn't say anything else?"

"No. Nothing. I called out to him to ask what I should do, but he didn't answer. I don't even know if he heard me."

"And what about milady?" a young serving girl asked in a tremulous voice. "She's so good to everyone. And now she's locked where only he can get to her."

"She has been short-tempered lately," Ferga put in. "Perhaps she knew something was in the wind."

"She's nothing but kind!" The girl defended her mistress stoutly. "If she's tired, or cross, it wouldn't surprise me if it were because she is with child."

And so a new wave of speculation was born. In the kitchens, in the stables, in the storerooms, and the weaving chamber. Wherever two or three folk gathered the quiet whispering began.

But it was a different story entirely in the great hall. Only two figures sat there, and all was silent save for the hissing of the fire that burned low in the hearth.

Dunn was cautious in his perusal of his lord. Corbett, however, was completely unaware of his friend's concern and was steadily and deliberately drinking himself into oblivion.

"Get me more ale," he said with a growl as he poured the last drop from a wide-mouthed jug into his tankard.

"You've had enough," Dunn replied. He shook his head, stopping Thomas as the aging servant started to shuffle in with a fresh jug.

Corbett turned his head slowly so that he could focus on Dunn. He smiled cynically at the unmistakable disapproval on his friend's face.

"Get me more ale," he demanded once again. "Are you forgetting who's lord here?" Then when Dunn still did not move, he pounded his fist furiously on the wide-planked table. "I'll tear you apart if you don't do as I say!"

Dunn rubbed his chin as he eyed Corbett. There was a measuring look on his face. "Sober, aye, you could do it-though none too easily. But tonight?" He leaned back in his chair. "I don't think so. You're too drunk to face a mere woman. How can you expect to fare against a knight of the realm?"

For a moment it appeared Corbett would attack his friend, so enraged was he by the insulting appraisal. Then Thomas made his presence known.

"You must not mistrust the lady Lilliane," he ventured in a thin and quivering voice.

At that Corbett turned his furious gaze on the slight servant. "On your word?" he scoffed. "If the mistress is false, why shouldn't her servant be?"

"You can't see what's right before your face," the old man muttered, his face creased in a frown.

"Begone from here, old man!" Corbett said, snarling. Then he grabbed his tankard and drank one last, almost desperate pull. When he stood up he placed both hands on the table and leaned toward Dunn challengingly.

"What's between me and Lily is none of your affair. Nor anyone else's." On legs surprisingly steady, considering the vast amount of ale he'd consumed, he then turned and headed for the stairs that led to the tower room.

"And what of William?" Dunn called out.

Slowly Corbett turned. His angry belligerence had disappeared, leaving in its stead a dark and disturbing calm. A bitter smile curved his lips.

"William will be released tomorrow-quite early." He chuckled coldly at the bewilderment on Dunn's face and added, "I shall let my pretty little wife talk me into it."

"But I told you, she didn't say a word in his behalf before. What makes you think she will plead his case now?"

Corbett didn't answer at once. His thoughts seemed to turn inward before he continued more slowly. "Perhaps she is true." Then he shook off his odd mood. "But whether she is faithful or not, William will think she holds me within her control. He'll think me so besotted by her that I would do anything to please her." He released a dark, mirthless chuckle. "He'll very likely treble his efforts to ingratiate himself with her during the Christ's Ma.s.s celebrations." Then, as if content now that all was truly going as he planned, he strode up the stairs.

Left alone in the empty hall, Dunn thoughtfully finished off his ale. But there was a wry expression on his face when he too rose to leave.

"Aye, William will think she holds you in the palm of her hand. Everyone will." He laughed to himself. "It is only you, my good lord of Orrick, who does not recognize the very truth of the situation."

Lilliane was curled upon the trunk, peering out into the dark countryside. She'd railed and wept, then railed again at Corbett all during the long hours since he'd had her confined. Imprisoned in her own chamber! In her own home! She planned, in her impotent fury, to accuse him and threaten him and ... and throw the candle holder at him when he finally faced her. She would never forgive him if he sent Elyse away, she vowed. Never.

It was one thing for him to go into a jealous rage over William. Certainly William encouraged just such a misunderstanding, and it was difficult to know which of the two men to be more angry with. But if Corbett banished Elyse with William ...

Lilliane lowered her face to her knees at that thought, unable to stop the tears that sprang once again to her eyes. She was utterly exhausted by her emotional trauma and, coupled with the general malaise that had been plaguing her, she felt drained of every bit of energy from her body.

She did not mean to fall asleep there, wrapped in a blanket, leaning back against the stone mullions. She had meant to greet Corbett as a furious virago, showing him her temper and the strength of her will.

Instead, when he strode belligerently into the room, he found her relaxed in slumber, her dark lashes casting shadows over her pink-flushed features, her thick chestnut tresses a rich tangle across her shoulders.

Corbett's forbidding expression was not able to hold as he gazed at his vulnerable wife. For long seconds he stood in the doorway, watching the play of the firelight upon her as if it entranced him. When he finally moved nearer he appeared almost reluctant, and yet it was clear that he could not fight the inexorable pull that drew him ever closer until he stood silently above her.

Lilliane was barely conscious of the gentle touch upon her cheek. Her beleaguered senses were too clouded by her deep need for sleep. Still, she stirred at the tender sweep of a broad palm along her hair, and the faintest smile curved her lips. She had been dreaming of birds: of kestrels and falcons and curlews. And of their prey, helpless against the swift birds' determined pursuit. Then she had somehow become the prey, running terror-stricken from the fearful strike of cruel talons. But now, this familiar, provocative caress.

In her dream she was lifted in strong arms, and she turned smiling, knowing now that the hunter was Corbett and that she was glad to be caught by him. Yet in that moment her captor seemed to change and her gray-eyed husband's image altered. From scarred brow to smooth. From raven hair to blond. And as William's face seemed to loom before her, she began to shudder in terrible confusion.

"William?" The word trembled from her lips and tears of disappointment sprang to her eyes.

Lilliane felt the hands fall away from her. With a violent start she awoke, her mind confused and her body heavy and lethargic. She thought she heard a step. But when she shook the cobwebs from her mind and awkwardly pulled herself upright, she realized that although she was now in her bed, she was nonetheless alone. For a moment longer she remained confused. But then memory returned and every terrible detail of the past hours came flooding back to her.

She felt old and tired as she curled into a tight ball on the feather mattress. Despair settled like a dark gloom upon her. Corbett was not coming to her. She knew that with awful certainty. He had judged her guilty and she would not be able to sway him.

With an effort she pulled a heavy coverlet over her trembling shoulders. He was not coming to her and he never would, she thought disjointedly. She could not think beyond that point-not to what the morrow would bring, or the days that stretched beyond that. She only knew that he was not coming and there was nothing she could do about it.

Nothing but weep.

19.

LILLIANE PAUSED AT THE stone work bal.u.s.trade and looked down into the great hall. She had slept far beyond her normal waking hour, yet still she did not feel refreshed. Instead she was tired and sluggish and completely confused.

Something was terribly wrong, and she had an awful feeling that it went deeper than merely Corbett's jealous possessiveness. Yet she could not fathom precisely what it could be. In the weeks since the wedding, she'd come to love and respect her husband. He was fair-minded and even-handed; he was a good lord for Orrick. And as a husband ...

Lilliane trembled when she thought of his horrible expression at finding William's arms about her. She'd hoped so much that he might grow to love her. But now he seemed to hate her and had made her a prisoner in her own home.

Yet even on that score he had bewildered her. She had been certain a guard would still be posted at her door, but to her surprise no one had been there. She had descended cautiously and now, though a few servants moved about the hall, she sensed an odd and somber mood. But then, that was to be expected when the mistress of the castle was imprisoned, she thought in returning vexation.

Still, what had happened since Corbett's furious outburst the evening before? Had he sent Elyse away with William? Or had he, in his rage, deprived that poor babe of her one remaining parent?

Frustrated, nervous, and more than a little angry, she finished her descent to the hall. Though the servants saw her and even bobbed their heads courteously, they did not pause in their tasks. For a moment Lilliane wished she could inspire them to labor so swiftly and with so little chatter. But she also knew that it was fear that drove them today. They feared their lord's ire.

Lilliane's brow creased with annoyance. Well, she was not afraid of his ire. Or at least she was not so afraid that she would cower before him, she amended.

But though she sought him in the great hall, then the castle offices, and finally the bailey, Corbett was nowhere to be seen. She was fuming when she finally crossed to the kitchens, and the entire group of cooks and a.s.sistants jumped in alarm when she abruptly pushed the door open.

"Oh, milady ..." The cook trailed off awkwardly. Then he rallied. "Did you wish to know the day's menus? I confess to taking the liberty of planning-"

"Blast the day's menus! Just tell me where he is!"

There was a dreadful pause and for a moment Lilliane was certain that something awful had happened. Then the pantler cleared his throat. "He's left, milady. He was put out this morning even before dawn."

"Put out? Put out of the castle?" Lilliane stared at the timid faces before her and wondered if she had finally gone mad. "How could ... who would dare put the lord of Orrick from his own castle?"

"Oh, not Lord Corbett," the portly fellow corrected. "It was Sir William that was put out of the castle. The master is likely still off with the guards." At once there was a babble of voices joining in, competing suddenly for the honor of informing her all that had pa.s.sed since the previous evening.

Lilliane hardly heard a word. She was too surprised by the clear relief they all felt that she had been inquiring about her husband and not William. Did they all believe, like Corbett, that it was William she longed for and worried about?

At once she felt even more depressed than before. She was suspect in everyone's eyes, it seemed. No matter that she cared nothing for William beyond a fast-fading friendship, they seemed only to recall her childish longing for him from years before.

With an angry clap of her hands Lilliane silenced the chattering group. "So William is gone. Did his child travel with him?"

"Oh, no, milady. Ferga tends her as ever."

Lilliane did not wait to hear any more. As she hurried from the kitchens, she took a deep breath, only now aware how long she had caught her breath in anxious antic.i.p.ation of that knowledge. William was gone and yet the baby, Elyse, still remained. It was what she had wanted all along, and she felt a wonderful relief.

But what of Corbett?

Lilliane stopped beneath the bare limbs of the ancient chestnut tree. The wind whistled along the high granite walls of the bailey, and she shivered and pulled her short mantle more snugly about her shoulders. She was confused and perplexed.

Corbett suspected her of a terrible thing, and yet he had not come forth and accused her. But although he had not stated it outright, she did not feel the lack of his accusation. Every least servant at Orrick seemed even more aware of what was going on than she. She looked around her once more, glad there was no one near to disturb her thoughts, muddled as they were. And yet still she felt an odd mood over the castle, even to the very walls.

If only she could clear her mind and think things through, she brooded. Then she looked beyond the open gatehouse. She could walk down to the forest. No one was there to prevent her if she decided to follow the path through the woods to a curving stretch of the river Keene, she realized.

It was precisely what she needed, and she felt better immediately. She wished she'd brought her long mantle, but she would be warm enough once she began to walk, she reasoned.

To her relief, she was not stopped when she pa.s.sed under the gate tower and crossed the narrow drawbridge. She was certain the sun seemed brighter and the air fresher once she saw the stubbled fields stretching before her, and she strode along the road with more energy than she'd felt in days. In truth, she half expected to be followed and ordered back. But she was determined to ignore any such command. After all, who could command her now? Only her husband, and he was nowhere near.

If that fact bothered her, Lilliane pushed it sternly from her mind. Instead she breathed deeply of the cold December air, marveled at the cheeky thrushes feasting on the winterberry bushes, and wondered as she did every winter at how the drifts of gold and red and brown leaves had so quickly returned to the earth. It was a miraculous cycle, she reflected as she made the turn in the road. When she came abreast three towering cedar trees, Lilliane moved with easy familiarity onto a narrow dirt path that wound into the thick forest. In the summer she would have been swallowed up at once by the dense growth of towering oak and beech trees. But the forests were barer now, with only the glossy green leaves and bright berries of the small hollies showing amid the stark white branches of the beeches. As she moved along, the rust color of her short mantle was easily visible through the trees.

She was lost in thought, trying to untangle her conflicting emotions about her difficult husband. Things had been going so well between them in London. Until that last night there. William had arrived by then. Could he and Corbett have had a run-in of some sort? Corbett certainly seemed to despise the man more than ever.

She was prevented from following that line of thought by the sharp crack of a dry twig. With a start she whirled around only to find Corbett sitting his favorite black destrier and staring at her.

Lilliane felt a rush of relief, followed by quick self-reproach. How could she be so happy to see him sitting there, his gray eyes cold and hooded, his mouth set in that familiar, grim line? And yet she was happy to see him and to know he had come looking for her.

Afraid that her feelings were surely apparent to him, Lilliane deliberately looked away toward the slow-moving river. As the silence between them stretched out, she was conscious of the rapid pounding of her heart and a peculiar tightness building within her. It took all her resolve not to glance back at him when he urged his mount nearer.

"Do you plan to flee me once again?" His words were curt, said with little inflection. The dearth of emotions in them goaded Lilliane's anger.

"I wasn't married to you then," she said, shooting him a sharp glare. "Despite what you think, I know my duties as a wife."

"Do you?" He lounged back on his horse and stared insolently at her. "So you are not fleeing because we are married now."

This time she could not miss the tension in his voice. For a moment she felt a wild flicker of hope. Could he want her to stay for more than only a sense of duty?

But his expression was inscrutable. He sat so tall and imposing upon his huge steed, so powerful and unmoving, that it seemed impossible that he could ever feel a mawkish emotion. Swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat, Lilliane turned away from him. She would not let him taunt her, she vowed. She would not.

Trying her best to ignore him, she walked down to the riverbank and stopped, bracing her hand on a young beech. There was no ice upon the river yet, although she knew the water must be frigid. But it could not possibly feel any colder than the dreadful sadness welling up within her. More than anything Lilliane wished Corbett would go away so she could succ.u.mb to the tears rising so embarra.s.singly in her eyes.

"How can I be certain I haven't interrupted a tete-a-tete between you and your ... you and William?"

At last it was out in the open. She felt a strange relief that he'd finally accused her. And yet she was terribly sad. Still, now she was justified in turning all her pent-up anger loose upon him.

"I've no reason to meet with William," she began. "He's gone. And you've no reason to be so suspicious!" she ended sharply.

"No?" Corbett swung down from his destrier in one fluid movement. Then he turned a smooth, mocking expression upon her. Only his eyes revealed the fury that now possessed him. "For myself it seems perfectly clear why I suspect you of-" He stopped abruptly and took a harsh breath. Then he approached her almost warily. "You loved him once. Do you deny it?"

"Once," she answered honestly in a shaky tone. "But that was long ago-"

"You did not wish to marry me," Corbett interrupted. "In fact, you denied your own father, so desperate were you to avoid me!"

"Yes, but-but you know that was because of the trouble between our families. Besides, you didn't want to marry me either! All you wanted-"

"All I wanted was a peaceful home and a dutiful wife. Instead I've a woman who cannot be trusted and someone overly eager to strike me down."

Lilliane was temporarily silenced as she recalled the surprising attack on them outside London. Did Corbett think she was somehow involved in that? Or William? At once her anger disappeared.

"Corbett." She stepped nearer him and placed a hand upon his arm.

But he shook off her tender gesture and looked even more suspiciously at her. "Soft tones and a smile will not win me over."

Crestfallen, Lilliane let her hand fall to her side. "I'm not trying to 'win' you over."

His lips lifted in a slight, sardonic smile. "More's the pity," he murmured. Then he became more terse. "William is gone. I sent him packing like the craven fool he is after he told me all I wanted."

"He told you all ... ? You tortured him?" Lilliane's face grew pale with horror.