Graelam laughed, much to Daria’s surprise. “Nay, don’t look at me like I’m a monster. It’s just that early in my marriage to Kassia, there was strife between us. I didn’t believe her innocence in a certain matter. And then, finally, it simply was no longer important, for I had come to love her. The truth came out later, but it didn’t matter by then.”
“There is a difference here. Roland doesn’t love me and I doubt he ever will. The king forced him to wed me. Nay, more’s the truth, his own honor forced him, for he did care about me; he felt sorry for me. He also wanted my dowry. And now there is no way I can prove the truth of my claim. You see, I swore to myself that Roland would never know. I didn’t want him to feel guilty that he’d taken my virginity. I didn’t want him to feel responsible for me, for all of it had been my idea. Then I was with child and everything changed. I was sorry for it, but there was naught I could do. And now there is no reason for him to trust me, to believe anything I say. There is no reason for him to ever care for me again.”
“Why do you harp on that? Are you a shrew? Are you a nag? Do you gainsay him in front of his men? You haven’t an answer, I see. Let me ask you this, Daria. Who does Roland believe to be the man who raped you?”
“Most likely the Earl of Clare. But if he didn’t rape me, why then, Roland just accepts that another man must have, a man he doesn’t know about, a man who must have attacked me in Wrexham whilst Roland was ill in his bed.”
“So if I were to bring this Earl of Clare here and he denied having raped you, Roland still wouldn’t be convinced?”
She shook her head.
Graelam stood slowly, for his every move brought pain from his bruised ribs. “You saw that wall collapse on me. You saw your father die. What is this with Roland?”
“It is just that when I saw him, I knew him. Deep inside, I knew him, recognized him as being part of me. I know it seems strange, mayhap even close to madness, but it is true.”
“I doubt it not. I will leave you now, Daria. Do not disappoint me; do not disappoint yourself. I am in your debt. I always pay my debts, but I must consider all this very carefully. Aye, very carefully indeed.”
He left her and she was again alone. And she pondered his words.
“Have you heard anything else?” Roland asked.
Salin shook his head. “He’s gone to ground, the whoreson. I don’t like it, nor do I like the stories I’ve heard about the Earl of Reymerstone. I would take some men and search him out. I would like to kill him.”
It was Roland’s turn to shake his head, and he did. “Nay, Salin, not yet. When it is time for the hunt, I will lead the pack. But I cannot leave yet, not until—” His voice trailed off.
“Until your lady heals,” Salin finished for him. “Gwyn told me she smiled this morning. It was a new overtunic sewn for her by Lady Katherine.”
Roland wished he’d seen that smile. Over a week had passed since she’d miscarried the babe. She seemed well again, though she was too thin and there were the dark smudges beneath her eyes. Yes, he wished he could have seen her smile. Either he or Graelam played chess with her in the evenings. Kassia refused to play against Daria, saying that women were too smart to go against each other. Roland wondered at Graelam’s attitude toward Daria. He teased her and mocked her skills at chess and laughed at her until Daria sputtered and Graelam only teased her more. And since two nights ago, Roland had begun sleeping in his own bed again. But he’d made no move to touch his wife.
The previous evening he’d seen her looking at him and he’d returned her look before she had time to glance away. The pain in her eyes had smitten him deep. He’d wanted to say something to her, but she’d withdrawn immediately and he wasn’t ready to scale that wall as yet, for, in truth, he didn’t know what to say. His life had become a damnable mess and he loathed it, yet he felt powerless to change it.
Both Salin and Roland looked up to see Lord Graelam de Moreton striding toward them across the inner bailey. He looked strong, fit, and fearsome in his black-and-silver mail. For a man who’d very nearly met his maker not too many days before, his appearance now bespoke something of a miracle. His men gazed upon him with looks approaching awe.
He was slapping his gloves against his thigh. He looked thoughtful and mildly worried.
“I believe you are healed, Graelam.”
Graelam grinned at Roland. “You will now have peace and perchance some success at chess, my friend, for I am leaving you. It is time I returned my wife to Wolffeton.”
An odd way to say it, Roland thought. “And what do you then, Graelam?”
“Why, I’ll rot in my own castle, what else?”
“I don’t know,” Roland said, frowning at him. “I don’t know.”
Graelam pulled on his gauntlets. “Mayhap I’ll go a-raiding and steal some of Dienwald’s sheep. He is a joy to behold when he’s crimson with fury. Ah, my errant wife. Kassia. Come, dearling, and bid your good-byes to your kind host. Then you can bedevil me all the way back to Wolffeton.”
Daria watched Graelam and Kassia and their soldiers ride from the keep. She wasn’t particularly surprised when Lord Graelam suddenly turned in his saddle and looked for a long moment back at the castle. It seemed as if he was searching her out. She wondered at him. So fearsome a warrior, yet so kind to her. She would hate being his enemy, for she knew he would show no quarter. She felt suddenly unsteady and eased into a chair. The damnable weakness. It wouldn’t leave her. Kassia had told her what to expect, at least what had happened to her after Harry’s birth. Then she’d kissed her cheek, saying as she gripped her hands, “You saved my husband. For that I am in your debt for all time. I always pay my debts. Don’t give up, Daria.” Skirts swirling, Kassia had left her.
Chantry Hall was filled with people, shouting and laughing and clouting each other, the children arguing and shrieking, and still Daria felt utterly alone even in the chaotic hall. She couldn’t bear the furtive pitying looks, and thus remained alone in Roland’s bedchamber much of the time. Daria rose now and pulled her new overtunic over her gown. It was a pale blue wool and very soft to the touch. She would show her husband her new finery. Perhaps he would smile.
He was speaking to Salin in the inner bailey, and both men looked ready to ride out. She paused on the bottom stone step of the great hall, the early-morning sunlight blazing down on her face, warming her. Roland looked up. He stared at her, unmoving. He said nothing. He raised his hand in a small salute, then turned on his heel and strode toward the stables, Salin at his side.
Ah, yes, he remained kind to her when he chanced to be with her. Nothing more.
But then again, she didn’t expect much more than that. She didn’t see him at all during the days, for he worked beside his men to repair the eastern castle wall, the one that had collapsed on Graelam. It was nearly completed now. Time passed, and with the passing days, her strength returned. As for the interior of the keep, Daria worked diligently to see it cleaned, the trestle tables scrubbed, the lord and lady’s chairs polished to a high sheen. And then, one morning she was able to see the thick oak beams crisscrossing high above the great hall. So many years of smoke had blackened them and it had taken hours of sweating and cursing to scrub them clean. She smiled, pleased with herself. Roland’s keep was becoming almost pleasant. The reeds on the floor were sweet-smelling, the jakes had been thoroughly limed, and only a strong wind blowing in a westerly direction brought any noxious odors to the nose.
Now she needed to see the outbuildings whitewashed, needed to purchase goods and a few new furnishings for the great hall and its antechambers. The goods that had made up her dowry had added warmth, the two brass lavers gleaming, they were so highly polished, the chair cushions thick and soft, and the two tapestries sewn by her grandmother, on the far wall, giving color and protection from the damp. But she had to wait to purchase any further goods, for it required Roland’s approval. She spent her afternoons sorting through herbs, mixing those potions she knew, sewing companionably with her mother, and giving instructions for the castle servants through Gwyn, the girl Roland had slept with, the girl who was friendly and quite nice, the girl Daria couldn’t help but like.