"I never said the creature attacks," Corbett countered. "Indeed, I told you repeatedly that it was quite shy and would flee at any pursuit."

"But there was nothing there more than any greensward might hold: deer, the occasional hind or boar. I say he is just spinning some fantastic tale for his own amus.e.m.e.nt!"

"But I myself have seen the flighty creature." He grinned then lowered his gaze to Lilliane's puzzled face.

"But no doubt never caught it!" Sir Charles accused wryly.

Corbett hesitated and his eyes seemed to warm as he looked at her. "I don't believe it can be caught, at least not as other creatures might be."

Lilliane could not prevent a blush as she realized to which wild creature he referred. To her relief none of the others seemed aware of Corbett's meaning as they continued in their boisterous conversation.

Once the servants appeared with ale for the guests, she beckoned Corbett away from the others. She wanted to tell him about Hughe's arrival, but it appeared the raucous company had brought Corbett's brother downstairs. When Corbett's arm became rigid beneath her palm, she did not have to turn around to know who he had seen.

How she wished this animosity between the two brothers could be dissolved. But as Lilliane looked up at her husband, it was not so much dislike she saw as it was regret. That and an expression akin to pain.

But then that rare glimpse of his feelings was covered by a mask of polite greeting.

"Welcome, Hughe." Corbett strode toward his brother. If he was surprised by Hughe's broad smile and hearty slap on the back, he hid it well.

"Glad I am to share these festivities at Orrick with you and your lovely wife. It's far too long that this valley has been torn apart by mistrust. Now the two of us can see Windermere Fold united."

It should have been perfect, a pretty domestic reunion, Lilliane thought as she was drawn into the crowd that encircled the two brothers. Yet she could not escape her suspicious thoughts about Hughe; she was certain he planned something.

Corbett was behaving in a manner equally confusing, for he was maintaining a farce of his own. Unbidden, Dunn's words exhorting her to keep her loyalties solely with her husband came to mind. Did that imply more than she had at first realized?

She truly did not know her husband well enough to decide. He held his feelings in check. Once she'd thought him capable of murdering her father. Lilliane stared at him thoughtfully and felt a twinge of doubt. If he'd had any part in her father's death, then he was most certainly capable of plotting against his brother. She knew that to hold both Colchester and Orrick castles would give him immense power in northern England. And Corbett was most definitely a man who relished his own power.

But he had not contributed to her father's death, she told herself sternly. That had been a natural occurrence, well attested to by old Thomas. What lay between the two brothers she could not say. She would just have to keep faith in Corbett.

Lilliane wearily rubbed the small of her back. It had already been a long day and the evening feasting was still to come. Then two more days until Christ's Ma.s.s. At that moment Lilliane lost all enthusiasm for entertaining. She was exhausted by the preparations and tired of the endless machinations among the n.o.bility. More than anything she wanted everyone simply to leave her and Corbett alone at Orrick. They might have a chance if Hughe and all the others were gone. Then she could tell Corbett about the child she carried and they might finally be happy together.

A short time later the head table was well filled, for Hughe, Odelia and Aldis, Tullia and Santon, and Sir Gavin joined them along with the earl of Gloucester, one of King Edward's triumvirate. The seating arrangement had perplexed Lilliane sorely, but to her relief Sir Gavin was charming Odelia and the earl of Gloucester was keeping both Corbett and Hughe well entertained. Once the meal was underway she relaxed.

"How I wish Father were here," Tullia said wistfully. "Everything has turned out as he hoped."

Lilliane squeezed her sister's hand. "You knew all along that he planned this?"

"I knew that you and the man you wed would rule at Orrick. That's why he was so inflexible in the choice of your husband."

"But he couldn't have held out hope for my betrothal agreement with Corbett all those years."

"No, perhaps not. But he didn't truly hate the house of Colchester. Even after all the misery they brought to Orrick, he always respected their motives in avenging their father's death."

"But they were wrong in accusing him," Lilliane insisted.

"Yes. I know. But that is all past now. All that remains is for you to bear an heir for Orrick."

"Then our father shall soon be most content," Lilliane confessed in a whisper.

"Oh! I knew it. I just knew it!" Tullia exclaimed, bringing a curious look from both Corbett and Santon. Tullia quickly composed her features, but her bright brown gaze was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with happiness for her sister. "Have you told him yet?"

Lilliane bit her lip and glanced at her handsome husband. He was speaking to Hughe and it appeared a most peaceful scene. But she knew much still brewed beneath the surface, for this festive occasion had not been planned by accident. She shook her head slowly. "I've told no one but you." Then she looked at Tullia intently. "Say you'll keep my secret for now."

"Of course I will. But you might do well to tell Odelia also."

"Odelia? She feels no good will toward me. Why, she and Aldis would be quite annoyed to see their right to Orrick further eroded."

Tullia shrugged. "Perhaps that was the way of it once. But Aldis has heard much of Corbett's connection to King Edward. He is wise enough to accept things as they are. Besides, his father now seems more willing to hand some of the responsibilities for Gaston over to him. Plus," Tullia added with a secretive grin, "Odelia is also with child. But do not let on I told you!"

Three little cousins to be borne of three sisters. Lilliane smiled at the thought of the three families sharing many years of festivities such as these. When Sir Hughe retired early from the table, it seemed the best of omens. Those who then remained in the great hall were all of good nature and fine company. In her happiness, Lilliane finally pushed all thoughts of strife or plotting from her mind. They gathered to celebrate the Christ's Ma.s.s, the birth of the son of G.o.d, the baby that had brought peace to all the world.

Lilliane let her hand slide down to rest comfortingly on her belly. Her eyes sought out her husband. G.o.d willing, this baby of hers would help bring peace to Windermere Fold.

Sir Hughe's mind dwelt on Windermere Fold, but his version was far removed from Lilliane's. Under cover of a moonless night he made his way toward the gate tower, startling the pair of guards who maintained the lower watch.

"Do you go without, milord?"

Hughe shook his head then groaned and put one hand to his brow. "Sweet Jesu, but the wine flows freely tonight," he muttered.

At that the guard who had spoken began to chuckle. "Aye, it sounds to be a considerable feast."

"And you stout fellows left out in the cold." Hughe gave them each a sympathetic look. He took two more erratic steps then leaned heavily against the stonework of the gatehouse. "I'll tell you what, my good fellows. I've a flask here. I'd intended to curl up with it and find my sleep-" He groaned again and this time held his stomach. "'Tis time to quit the wine." He gave them a lopsided grin and struggled to stand upright. "Here. You take the rest. 'Tis sure to keep you warm despite the bitter cold."

"We can't drink during the watch," the same guard replied reluctantly.

Sir Hughe stared at them both then shrugged. "Oh, well. 'Tis only a little left anyway." Then he seemed to brighten. "Perhaps the creatures in the moat would like to drink as their betters do." He pulled the stopper from the flask and began to make his way toward the bridge.

"No, wait!" The second guard grabbed Sir Hughe's arm, then looked back at his partner. "'Tis but a taste left for each of us. Surely there's no harm in just a swallow or two."

Sir Hughe stood very still as the other guard weighed the matter in his mind. It was all he could do to restrain a grin of triumph as the two guards reached for the bottle. Within a matter of minutes they both had collapsed to the ground, victims of the strong dose of redroot he'd added to the wine.

Before any note could be taken of what he'd done, Hughe dragged the two men into the shadows behind a flanking wall and then a.s.sumed their position at the gate. When a single figure approached the bridge some time later, the upper guards hailed him. But when one of the lower guards questioned him then bade him enter, there was no further comment from the ramparts. Only then did Sir Hughe relax.

"You see, William, 'tis as I said. My brother is but a mortal man. And as easily as you have gained access to Orrick, so now shall you gain access to your child. Also to the fair Lady Lilliane. She will not hesitate to flee Orrick if she knows both you and the babe await."

William pushed back the hood that covered his head. His face was grim but his eyes had come alive at the mention of Lilliane.

"Aye. She was so close to coming before. But that demon cast me from the castle." His voice shook with emotion. "This time he'll never know until it is too late!" Then he paused. "But he'll follow. He'll not lose easily."

"I told you to leave that to me. Once he is dead you will be free to take Lilliane. Then you'll have Orrick and we'll be a force that Edward must reckon with."

There was a stirring in the shadows and Hughe looked around furtively. "The guards will not sleep forever. Hurry to your task. Everyone is yet at the feast. You know where the babe lies. Be quick about it!"

The ladies retired when the men began to gamble at dice. There was much boasting and ribaldry as well as numerous oaths to be heard when a large group of men drank and gambled. Lilliane deemed it best to escort the ladies from the great hall before things became unruly; she relied on Corbett to keep the men reasonably in line.

Corbett bade her a fond good night when she rose to leave, kissing both her hands then holding them more tightly when she would have left.

"Shall I wake you when I come to bed?"

Lilliane's eyes fell away from his intense gaze and she felt her cheeks color. "Yes."

"It may be quite late. You'll not be too tired?"

At that Lilliane looked up into his serious face. "I'm never too tired to attend you, my lord."

Again there was a pause. "You've been most weary lately."

So he had noticed. Lilliane resolved then and there to tell him about their child. Tonight, after they had made love, she would confide in him. Then she would know where she stood with him.

"I'll be waiting for you," she vowed.

Once in her own chamber, Lilliane paced restlessly. She was as eager as a new bride, she admitted. Surely it must be a sin to desire your husband so. Yet she knew no church admonition that clearly forbade her this deep-rooted longing for Corbett.

He would be a long time coming. She knew that some of the men would happily remain at the gaming until almost dawn's light. At the thought of that possibility she frowned and wrapped her arms about her waist. Her sweet secret lay cradled deep within her. Corbett did not know of it.

But he could not be as unaware of her love for him. Even if he'd not heard her whispered words of love, he must at least suspect how she felt. She was an utter failure at hiding her emotions, quite unlike him.

He'd never really sought her love. Still, there had been times when he would look at her in a certain way, or perhaps say something unexpected. She bit her lip in uncertainty. Perhaps it was time to tell him exactly how she felt.

A quiver of nervousness shivered up her spine at the thought of such a revelation. She could win all she hoped for, or her dreams could be dashed forever.

Lilliane began to pace again. Then she stopped. Perhaps she could while away the time with Elyse. Ferga still gave the child a nightly feeding, but tonight she would do it herself. Satisfied with that idea, she slipped her tunic back over her kirtle. When she realized her hair was streaming loose across her shoulders in the most wanton manner, she donned a short, hooded mantle and quickly tucked her thick hair inside the woolen garment. Then she quietly made her way down the stairs and across the loggia to the wing where the nursery was.

The scene that greeted Lilliane was hardly one of juvenile repose.

"Ferga! Ferga!" Lilliane rushed to the bound figure lying upon the carpeted floor.

"She's gone, milady! He's taken her!" the weeping woman exclaimed, sobbing, once Lilliane removed the cloth that gagged her mouth.

"Elyse? Someone's taken her? But who? Who?"

"Sir William! He said she was his and no devil of King Edward's was going to raise her."

"Oh, dear G.o.d in heaven," Lilliane whispered as she helped the frightened woman to rise. "He must be mad to take such a tiny infant into the winter night like this. Hurry, Ferga. We must go to Corbett with this. He can-"

"But, milady, wait. Read this first." Ferga grabbed her arm and showed her a bit of paper. "Sir William was most adamant that I give it to you when no one else was present."

Lilliane's hand trembled as she took the single piece of parchment and then read the words William had written.

She is my daughter. She was given to you to raise. We may yet do that together. Join me at the crossroad to Burgram Abbey, sweet Lilliane. We have been denied our happiness too long. But now we must act. Come to me at once. Tell no one of your destination. Do not fear to leave all behind for I've made plans to rid you and Orrick of your cruel husband once and for all.

William Lilliane stared at the parchment long after she'd read over the words. He'd made plans to rid her of Corbett? Dear G.o.d, dear G.o.d! He must truly be mad! Did he really think she valued her wedding vows so lightly? Even had she been married to a man she detested she could not so easily betray him. But she loved Corbett with her whole heart and soul. With every fiber of her being. She would never leave him. Nor would she allow William to hurt him in any way.

Lilliane looked up at Ferga. "How did he seem? Was he crazed or distraught?"

"No. No, he was calm and polite. He even apologized for binding me. But then, you know he was never a violent man."

Lilliane did not respond. William might not appear to be a violent man, but his threat said otherwise. She balled up the parchment and flung it into the fire, not knowing whether to be more furious with him or with herself. She'd never explained to William how deeply her feelings for Corbett ran. She'd foolishly allowed his affection for her to continue long after it should have died. He had every right to his child, she knew. But he was terribly wrong to take her like this and thereby endanger her life. And to threaten Corbett's life!

In agitation she weighed her alternatives. But given William's hatred of Corbett, Elyse's delicate condition, and William's dire threat, Lilliane could come to only one conclusion. No matter how she debated it, the answer was the same. She must meet William as he'd instructed and then try to make him see the futility of what he was doing. If she could just appease him, he might abandon his foolish threat. And perhaps even let Elyse stay until the spring. She would promise to deliver the child to Castle Dearne then. She would not deny him his child, no matter how much she had grown to love the little girl.

Resolved on this, Lilliane faced Ferga. "Lie down and seek your rest, Ferga. I'll see to William and Elyse."

"Shall I fetch milord?"

"No!" Lilliane's startled cry drew Ferga aback. With an effort she made herself sound more calm. "No, it would be best if he did not hear of this at all. Sir William is only misguided in his devotion to his daughter. But if I go to meet him as he asked, I can soothe his fears and persuade him to bring Elyse back. Besides, you know my husband's temper would not hold were he to face William now."

It was that last that convinced Ferga to keep silent. That and Lilliane's promise to take two guards with her. But although Lilliane made the promise, it was one she had no intention of keeping. Not pausing to weigh the consequences, she hurried to the stable, saddled her favorite, Aere, and without a word to the two hunched-over guards, thundered from the castle.

22.

THE NIGHT WAS PITCH black and bitterly cold. Had Lilliane not known the road so well, she would surely have lost her way. No moonbeam glinted off the bent stalks of dried gra.s.ses, no starlight caught in the bare, reaching limbs of the oaks and beeches. It was a night fit only for wolves and owls, those deadly hunters and their hapless prey.

Lilliane tried not to think of all that might go amiss with her pitiful plan. Aere could stumble and fall upon the road, although Lilliane kept her at a nerve-rackingly slow pace; thieves could beset her from the forest, although it seemed unlikely that even highway robbers would be out this night.

She would not dwell on the possibility of not finding William nor on Corbett's anger when he found about her escapade. She would simply locate William and straighten things out with him. Then she would smooth everything over with Corbett.

It was her determination alone that kept her going through the cold, murky night. She knew from the curves in the turnpike that she was nearing the river and then the Middling Stone. The crossroads would not be much beyond there.

She and Aere were going along at a fast walk while she peered ahead into the darkness when she heard a cry. At once she pulled Aere up. Had it been just a hunting bird, or perhaps a rabbit caught beneath the deadly talons? She strained to hear, holding her breath. Then it came again and she was certain. It was a child, a baby crying out in fear or cold or hunger. At once her flagging spirits were renewed and she urged Aere on.

"William! William, please wait! It's me, Lilliane!"

When his call came in reply, Lilliane's heart surged with relief. Following the direction of his voice, she cautiously guided the mare off the road. She did not see anyone at all; she could barely make out the upright shape of an ancient yew tree when William spoke again.

"Stop there, Lilliane. Dismount." There was a pause. "I trust you came alone as I instructed?"

"Oh, yes. Of course, I'm alone. But how is Elyse? I heard her cry."

As if on cue the baby began to whimper, and Lilliane immediately hurried toward the sound. But William blocked her path and put his hands on her shoulders. "I knew you would come," he murmured. Then he enveloped her in a smothering embrace.

"Please, William. Let me breathe," Lilliane muttered as she struggled to be free of his unwelcome grasp. She was tired and angry, and frightened half to death. With a final yank of her arm she was free, and she moved back a step and tried to make him out.

"Forgive my eagerness, my love," he began, stepping forward even as she backed away. "It's just that I've dreamed of this day for so long."

Lilliane's first inclination was to lash out at him for his foolish notions toward her and his selfish lack of concern for Elyse. But something warned her-perhaps the tone of his voice, perhaps only her sense of self-preservation-to proceed cautiously with him. It was her goal to bring Elyse to safety, she reminded herself. To do that she must reason with William, not berate him.

"I-I know you've waited," Lilliane whispered most reluctantly. "But we must see to your daughter first. She might be cold or hungry. Have you any changing rags?

"Changing rags?" William turned his head toward the sound of Elyse's cry. "Harold? Have we changing rags?