When Love Awaits

Chapter 41

ROLFE rubbed his face wearily. He was sick of this room, sick of the pathetic man who had drunk his life away.

"If you meant to kill me, why couldn't you do it quickly?"

Rolfe had heard that lament a dozen times in the last grueling days.

William of Montwyn was feeling deeply sorry for himself, and hurting miserably. But his hands no longer trembled quite so much, and his nightmares had begun to lessen.

Rolfe decided he had waited long enough. He finally replied, calling across the room, startling Montwyn and his servants, Rolfe's men, and Lady Judith. "Because, my lord," Rolfe drawled, "I want you to know why I wish to kill you."

The voice was so emotionless that William did not quite credit the statement. His eyes, still slightly streaked with red, fastened on Rolfe. He had been fully dressed that morning despite his protests, and forcibly seated at a table where a feast of wholesome foods awaited him. He ignored them, staring hard at the man responsible for his miserable condition.

"Do you, indeed, Sir Rolfe?" William asked sarcastically, his voice cracking. "Be so good as to tell me why."

"William, no!" Judith rushed forward, alarmed. "Do not provoke him!"

"It is you who provoke me, madame," Rolfe said harshly as he rose and came forward. "Out, all of you," he ordered, nodding to Sir Piers to indicate that Judith would need help in leaving.

"You take too much upon yourself!" William blustered, but he did not even rise.

Rolfe waited until the door was closed before his eyes pierced William. "You know me now?"

"Of course I know you. I just married you to my daughter. God's pity for that."

"Just?"

"What do you mean, sir?" William demanded.

"It has been a full three months since I wed your daughter. Do you know that?"

"Three?" William deflated. "Where has—the time gone?"

"Do you remember the wedding?" Rolfe's voice was coldly menacing now.

"Well, most of it."

"And before?"

"You signed the contract."

"Before that," Rolfe hissed, leaning across the table. "Before you came to Crewel."

"Now, see here." William sighed, exasperated. "If you have something you want to say, then say it. Do not keep prompting me. I am very tired."

"I want to know exactly what you remember doing to your daughter!"

Confused, William rubbed his temples, trying to think. What could he have done to so incense his son-in-law?

"Ah, yes, I do recall she was very upset with me, and with reason," William admitted frankly.

"Upset?" Rolfe growled. "What you did merely upset her?"

"I make no excuse for myself," William said contritely. "I gave her no warning about the wedding because I did not remember it myself. In truth, I still have no memory of receiving the king's order that insisted she marry you."

"Damn me!" Rolfe shouted furiously. "You speak of trifles after the brutal beating you gave her!"

William came slowly to his feet, his fact mottled with rage. "What knavery is this? How dare you suggest—"

"Shewasbeaten, my lord, forced to marry me, as she has finally admitted to me. I did not know it myself, but God knows everyone else did."

The crimson turned to pallor. "It is impossible."

"Impossible that you do not remember, or that you did the despicable deed?"

William shook his head. "I tell you, whether I could remember or not, I would never hurt that child. She is all I have left of my Elisabeth. I could not hurt her. I love her too dearly."

"Love her?" Rolfe was truly astonished. "You love her so much you banished her from here and forsook her for years?"

"What lies are these?" William demanded. "I . . . sent her away for a time, in the agony of my grief, yes, I remember that. But not for long. I could never be long away from my only child. She was—" He pressed his palms to his temples, trying to remember. "Judith swore . . . Leonie was busy . . . I . . . Judith swore I . . . God in heaven!" He moaned. "I did not recognize her that day at Pershwick!I cannot rememberseeing my Leonie grow up!" He looked at Rolfe, stupefied, as though expecting some clarification from him.

Rolfe frowned. Something was not right. The man's anguish was genuine.

"What are you saying, Sir William?" Rolfe asked carefully. "That in your drunkenness, you thought Leonie was still here with you?"

"She was." The voice had weakened to a whisper.

Rolfe sighed, disgusted. "If you had been sober when I came in here, I would have killed you for the pain you have caused your daughter. Now

I can feel only pity for you." He turned slowly and moved toward the door.

"Wait! I do not know who has told you these lies about my Leonie, but Judith can tell you—"

Rolfe swung back around, eyes flashing. "Fool! It is Leonie who told me."

"No! God's mercy, no! May my hand be struck off if I ever hurt her. I swear—"

"Let me think!" Rolfe bellowed, and William subsided.

"Who else was with you when you told Leonie she must marry me?"

Rolfe asked.

"I can barely remember being there, and you expect—"

"Think, my lord!"

"There were servants . . . Leonie's man Guibert . . . my wife."

It made no sense. Leonie's people would not hurt her, and Judith wasn't strong enough to do Leonie harm. Sir Guibert wouldn't have hurt her.

"What did Leonie say when you told her the news? Did she attempt to leave Pershwick?"

"I have already told you she was upset. She said not a word to me but fled to her room. If she came out before the next day, I do not know."

"You didn't even try to talk to her?" Rolfe demanded. What was wrong with this man?

William dropped his head abjectly. "Judith felt it would do no good, after my unpardonable forgetfulness had caused Leonie's dismay. She insisted I leave the matter . . . to her." William's voice faded again. "She pointed out that I would be in the way of the preparations. She had Guibert amuse me with a hunt. You see? I am beginning to remember things."

Rolfe stepped to the door and called for Sir Piers. "Where did you take Lady Judith?"

"Below."

"Bring her back—quickly." To William he said, "She is a woman. What man here would do her bidding without question?"

"All," William admitted. "I am ashamed to say I cannot remember the last time I dealt directly with my people for anything."

"Do you tell me your wife has had full control of Montwyn for a matter of years?" Rolfe asked incredulously.

"I . . . she must have," William whispered.

William's mind was still very slow, but one thing was becoming crystal clear. If he could believe all that his son-in-law had been telling him, then Judith was not simply guilty of tricking him into marrying her—and yes, he did remember that—but she had also kept him separated from his daughter. He didn't know how she had done it, but she had.

Leonie's husband was enraged over the pain inflicted on her because of the wedding, but William was devastated by the pain she must have borne thinking her father had abandoned her for so long. And he had abandoned her, in truth, abandoned her to his grief, to his weak will, and to a woman who manipulated and lied to him so easily, for so long.

He was remembering too many things all of a sudden, and the blackest rage engulfed him from deep within himself. He was to blame.

He had let it happen, let his scheming wife take over his whole existence.

When she stepped into the room, Judith was met by such a murderous look from her husband that she knew she had been found out in some way. She couldn't brazen it out with lies, for William was sober and in control of himself. She hadn't seen him like this since the time he discovered she had tricked him into marrying her. He was looking at her as if he wanted to kill her. She would have to throw herself on his mercy and play for time until they were left alone and she could get him to drinking again.

Her fear was real enough as she threw herself at her husband. Tears came quickly, and she looked up at him beseechingly.

"William, whatever you think I have done, I am still your wife. I have served you well and—"

The back of his hand sent her sprawling to the floor. "Served me well?

I am nearly dead from what you have served me!" he spat.

Judith's fingers touched her burning face, her stomach twisting in knots, remembering the last beating he had given her. She was no longer aware of Rolfe. Her husband's hate-filled eyes impaled her. He would show no mercy, she knew that. She would have to save herself with lies after all.

"No one could have stopped you from drinking yourself into oblivion, William," she said. "I did not like it, but what could I do?"

"Liar!" he hissed, and she cringed as he took a step toward her. "You encouraged my drinking. Do you think I don't see that now? And the one person who could have helped me wasn't here. You made certain of that.

You made certain she did not return here, while you lied to me, convinced me I saw her often. Why did you keep Leonie away from me?"

Judith froze in terror. How had he figured so much out already?

Desperate, she latched on to the first thing that came to her. "I did it for you, and for her. Can you not see how devastated she would have been to see you as you were? I tried to save you from shame. And I tried to protect her innocence."

"By Christ's holy blood! Do you take me for a complete fool?" William snarled. "The only one you were protecting was your despicable self! You knew I wanted none of you. You knew you would have been cast out if I had come to my senses. So you kept me senseless. And I believe you kept my daughter away by making her think she was not welcome here." He saw the truth of this in Judith's eyes, and he reached for her.

Rolfe stopped him. It was not in him to stand by and watch a woman beaten, though he knew how William would deal with her later, when there was no one to stop him.

"My lord, I would have a word with her." Rolfe's tone impliedbeforeyou do what you will.

William forced himself to muster some control. He owed Rolfe whatever he could give him.

Rolfe extended a hand to Judith, and helped her up. "Why did you have my wife beaten?"

His voice was deceptively calm, and Judith's eyes flew to William, looking for his reaction. But his face registered nothing. Had he already known about the beating? She looked back at Rolfe.

"It was necessary," she said defensively. "She refused to marry you. Do you think I wanted us to go against the king?"

"You took it upon yourself—without your lord's consent?" Rolfe ventured softly.

"I could hardly depend on him to get her to the altar," she said with a glance of contempt at William that she failed to hide. "The king must be obeyed."

"There were other ways!" Rolfe said furiously. "You could have sent me word and left the matter to me!"

Judith stared at him incredulously. "You dare to quibble about the means, when you were only after her land. Itoldyou she was forced to wed you. You got what you wanted. What difference does it make how you got it?"

It took every bit of self-restraint Rolfe possessed not to strike her. "You know nothing about it."

"Not so!" she said, sneering. What was he making this fuss about? She had enough to deal with already. "You offered for Pershwick before you offered for Leonie. When I refused both offers, you asked the king's help!"

The words out, Judith paled. "I—I mean—I—"

"Judith." William interrupted her stammering with a weary sigh.

"How many offers have you refused in my stead? How long would you have kept Leonie unmarried?"

"She did not want to marry," Judith asserted. "I saw no need to give up

. . . her lands were well run. Why should someone else profit from them?"

The two men stared at her silently.

"What did I do that was so wrong?" Judith demanded. "I tell you Leonie did not want to marry. Why else would she flatly refuse Lord Kempston?"

"She had reasons for refusing me of which you know nothing," Rolfe interjected coldly. "Madame, what you have done to Leonie warrants . . . but you are not my concern. All I demand from you is the name of the man who follows your orders, any kind of orders."

Her chin jutted out stubbornly. "There is not a man here who would hesitate—"

William hit her again. "Tell him what he wants to know, or by God—"

"Richer Calveley!" Judith threw the name out for whatever leniency it might bring her. She didn't give Richer another thought, and would never have considered protecting him. "He—he is my master-at-arms and was the logical one to force Leonie because she knew what he was capable of."

Rolfe turned and left the room, leaving William to deal with his wife in whatever way he would.

When he found Richer Calveley in the barracks with his men, a change took place in Rolfe's countenance. His fury hid itself deep within him.

The man was huge and brutish, the arms and chest beefy, the hands enormous. Leonie's beating must have been brutal. His little wife was incapable of defending herself against a man this size. How brave and foolish she must have been to think she could withstand this monster!

She never had a chance, and so Calveley would have no chance.

When Richer saw Rolfe d'Ambert's eyes he knew instantly why he had been sought out. He spared a moment to curse the faithless lady who had thrown him to the wolves. But he had known when she ordered him to beat Lord William's daughter what might come of it.

He had enjoyed that experience because the lady was a noblewoman, but her status was also what condemned him. It didn't matter who had ordered him to do what he did. There was not a lord in the realm who would hesitate to kill him for raising his hand to a lady. And this was the lady's husband.

Richer began to sweat, wondering in what manner his death would come, for death is what he saw in the lord's eyes. His death might be the most horrible imaginable, torture to last indefinitely. No one would prevent it. He was surrounded by men who followed his orders, yet not one of them would dare defy a man of d'Ambert's stature. It was a putrid feeling, the fear that took hold in his gut, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop what would happen to him.

"Richer Calveley?" Rolfe did not wait for confirmation, for he could smell the man's fear. His voice was curiously flat, making it sound all the more ominous. "For what you did to my lady, I am going to kill you.

Draw your sword."

It took a second for Richer to realize his good fortune, and then there was a rush of giddiness as he realized his death would not be drawn out after all. The lord was not going to take advantage of his rank. He was going to give him a fair fight, more than a fair fight, because he was not wearing armor, though Richer had at least a modicum of protection in his thick leather jerkin.

There was a chance for Richer to win, a good chance, but it was set somewhere in his mind that he was going to die, and that destroyed his chance, worked against him, and undermining his skill. Once his sword was in his hand, he swung wildly.

Rolfe's sword found its mark with his first effort, sliding smoothly through flesh and bone to pierce the heart. No pity stirred in Rolfe's own breast, no regret for killing a man. In his mind was a picture of his Leonie suffering under those brutish hands. He turned and walked away before Calveley's large body had collapsed to the floor.