Rebellious Love Read online

  Murmuring soothing words, Curran mounted the steps to their chamber in rapid strides. Lady Emelie and Arianna followed as he laid her carefully on the bed. Her cloak was slipped from her and a warm blanket tucked around her slim form. Only then did Curran move away to make room for Lady Emelie.

  Her still beautiful face suffused with concern, the older woman took Verony's hand gently. Managing somehow to keep her voice steady, she asked: "Can you tell us what happened? What you are feeling?"

  At the love and worry so evident in her mother-in-law's tone, hot tears rose in Verony's eyes. She was just able to blink them back as her free hand

  clenched the coverlet. "I'm all right, really. . . . There's no reason to be concerned. . . . I'm so sorry I frightened you. ..."

  Lady Emelie exchanged a silent glance with her son. Neither thought Verony was telling them everything, but they could not imagine why she should do otherwise. Unless she felt some embarrassment at the natural physical problems that could occur with pregnancy.

  "Are you certain?" Lady Emelie prodded gently. "There is no bleeding or contractions?"

  "No . . . nothing at all," Verony insisted, appalled by how her voice trembled. "I just became dizzy . . . and a little sick to my stomach . . . that's all "

  Lady Emelie studied her a moment longer before apparently deciding she was telling the truth. Remorsefully she said: "You have been doing far too much, and I blame myself for allowing it. After your exhausting trip to London, you should have done nothing but rest."

  "It wasn't your fault," Verony protested. "Curran will tell you how stubborn I am and how eager I was to see the court again." A faint smile touched her pale lips. "I'm afraid I would not have seen reason, no matter how hard you tried."

  "Well, you are certainly going to do so now," Lady Emelie proclaimed with loving sternness. "I don't want you to move out of that bed until we are absolutely certain everything is all right. And then you're going to take it very easy. No more rushing back and forth to court." Her hand tightened on Verony's. "You must allow us to care for you, my dear, not simply for the baby's sake, but for yours as well. You are already very dear to us."

  Deeply touched, Verony could only nod silently. Unshed tears burned the back of her throat as she relaxed against the down-filled bolster. After assuring Curran that she really did think Verony was all right, but was not to be allowed to lift a finger, Lady Emelie took herself off. The memory of her own early months as a bride was still firm enough for her to know that her son and his young wife needed to be alone.

  When the door closed behind her, Curran allowed the firm grip he had maintained on his self-control to ease. Beneath his tan, his rugged features were gray. A nerve pulsed near his square jaw, and his mouth was drawn in a hard, tight line. Strong, calloused hands shook as he sat down beside Verony.

  "When I saw you there on the bench," he muttered thickly, "so pale and trembling . . . never have I felt such fear ..."

  Reproaching herself as much for having so alarmed him as for not being able to tell him the true cause behind her upset, Verony drew his powerful head close against her breast. Gently stroking his hair, she had to be content with admitting that perhaps his mother was right and she should rest more, even though she really was well and there was nothing wrong with the baby.

  Hesitantly, Curran allowed himself to be convinced. From an acute pitch of dread more intense than any he had known in battle, he slowly regained composure. Verony still looked very strained and fragile, but some color had returned to her cheeks, and her skin was once more warm to the touch.

  He stayed with her awhile longer, even after the lids had fluttered over her luminous eyes and she drifted into sleep. Not until he was certain she was resting comfortably did he slip quietly from the room.

  Verony woke several hours later. Muted sounds filtering across the courtyard told her preparations were under way for the evening meal. Most of the servants would be busy in the kitchens and the Main Hall. Curran was most likely with his father and brothers, talking over the day's events at court. No one stirred in the house around her.

  Grateful for the solitude, Verony sat up slowly. Her body still ached from the combined effects of severe tension and John's mauling, but she felt considerably more herself. Enough to understand full well the dangerous dilemma she faced.

  Half regretting her decision not to tell Curran of the king's demands, even as she still believed her reasoning had been correct, she realized the moment for revealing the truth was past. Were she to speak now, her husband's rage might easily be directed at her as well as her assailant. She did not for an instant believe that Curran might harm her, and for far more reasons than simply the child she carried, but the mere thought of his displeasure sickened her. More than ever, she needed his love and comfort.

  Yet if she did not speak, and John followed through on his threats, she would be helpless to protect either herself or the baby.

  Slipping from the bed, Verony made her way cautiously to the washstand. She splashed cold water on her face and toweled it vigorously, trying to banish the fog of doubt and fear still clouding her thoughts.

  Her best hope, she decided, was to maneuver for time. Her collapse at court provided an indisputable reason for her to remain safe within the walls of the family compound. If the king could not get at her, he might eventually lose interest.

  Telling herself that strategy made sense, she wondered how long it would take before John decided she was not a worthwhile quarry. His mercurial temperament predisposed him to sudden fascinations and equally abrupt dismissals. Surely not very many weeks would have to pass before some other, more accommodating lady caught his eye.

  Reassured that her problem might not be as great as it first appeared, Verony began to leave the chamber with the intention of joining the family for supper. But at the door she paused. Well-run though the d'Arcy household was, some slight chance lingered that John might have spies among the servants. Failing that, there could be some weak enough to be bribed for information. If her plan to remain within the compound was to succeed, she must play the invalid for all.

  Returning to the bed, she resignedly slid back between the covers and propped herself up with the bolster. A quick search in the adjacent chest located her needlework. She was industriously, if not cheerfully, occupied when a light knock brought her upright.

  Schooling her voice to sound weak, she called: "Who is it?"

  The only answer was a faint creak as the door eased open. A serving woman slipped inside, eyeing Verony warily. "Beg pardon, m'lady, I didn't mean to disturb you."

  Thinking the woman might have been sent to check on her welfare, Verony smiled kindly. "That's all right. I wasn't asleep."

  The woman nodded but did not return the smile. She remained poised by the door. "I have a message for you, from one who thought you should receive it as quick as possible."

  A frown marred the smoothness of Verony's brow. "What message?"

  The woman came a few steps nearer, betraying her nervousness with twisting hands and quick looks back over her shoulder. "The gentleman you spoke with this afternoon wanted you to know he still looks forward to your company. He charges you to find some means of leaving here tomorrow when the rest of the family is at court. An escort will await you on the river road to bring you to him."

  A leer twisted the woman's mouth, clear evidence of what she thought lay behind the message. If Curran d'Arcy's wife chose to play the whore, so be it. The servant was well paid by a messenger who wore the royal crest, and she was far too wily to question her betters.

  Verony did not notice the woman's condemning stare. Sickened, she had turned her head into the bolster, her slender body heaving with fear and anger. The servant watched her for a moment, then shrugged and left. Let the lady solve her own problems. She had far too much to do as it was.

  Much later, when she looked back on that time, Verony was never sure how she got through it. Not for a moment did she consider obeying the king's summ
ons, but it took all her strength to keep from revealing her distress to Curran. The fact that she took her meals in the chamber and always pretended to be asleep when he returned from court helped. But even so, by the end of the week her endurance was almost gone.

  Twice more the king sent word through the serving woman that he expected Verony to come to him. Each message was more sharply worded, hinting at dire punishment for her disobedience. But each she stalwartly ignored.

  He will lose interest, she told herself, so repeatedly that the words became a prayerful chant. Sequestered in her chamber, bereft even of Lady Emelie or Arianna's company since they were in attendance to the queen, she wavered between dread and faintly flickering hope.

  The messages were frightening, but the simple fact of their repetition seemed to indicate that the king could do nothing but sling words at her. He might be able to torment her mind, but he could not touch her body while she remained within the compound.

  Slowly a tremulous sense of safety grew within her, only to be abruptly shattered five days after her removal from the tower.

  On the morning of that day, John's patience ended. Driven to the brink and beyond by frustration and rage, he called his nobles together. Before them all, he announced that the marriage of Curran d'Arcy and Verony de Langford had taken place without his permission and was therefore invalid. The couple, he declared, were living together in contradiction of the laws of God and man. They must be separated at once.

  CHAPTER 11

  The flushed, angry faces of the d'Arcy men told the story even before they gathered the rest of the family together in the Main Hall to explain what had happened.

  Curran stood beside Verony, his arm around her shoulders, as the Earl Garrett described the king's charges. "He seems quite serious," the older man said at length. He shook his dark head in bewilderment. "John has done some outrageous things in the past. He has never been a reasonable man and has always acted on impulse. But this ..."

  "How could this happen?" Lady Emelie murmured, her face white with concern. "There was no warning ... no hint of what was to come. . . ." She looked at her husband. "You have not argued with him recently?"

  "No, on the contrary, since the king 'suggested'

  we delay any resolution of the nobility's demands until Easter, he has been very cordial. Why not? He thought he had won an important point. But then he suddenly launches this all-out attack against us. Such charges cannot be considered as anything less than a personal declaration of war."

  "Perhaps," Mark offered hesitantly, "he was deliberately trying to provoke us." He glanced at his brother sympathetically. "John might have hoped such an announcement, made in your presence, would send you at his throat. If you had made a move toward him ..."

  "I would have instantly been cut down," Curran finished flatly. "Don't think I didn't consider it. But I also saw the guards positioned all around him. John chose his moment very well. If I had gone for him, I wouldn't have stood a chance, and all the rest of you would have paid for my attempt."

  The Earl Garrett smiled faintly, glad that this second son of his, who had always been rather hotheaded, was gaining in wisdom. "It was still best for us not to linger. I have some experience dealing with John's maliciousness, yet even I found my temper sorely strained."

  "And the other lords?" Arianna asked softly. "How did they react?"

  "With shock," Curran told her, "but also with clear-cut sympathy for us. John managed to earn even greater enmity today."

  "He is not a stupid man," Lady Emelie mused. "Surely he must have foreseen that this would only stiffen resistance to him?"

  "You would think so," the Earl Garrett agreed.

  "That's what makes the whole thing so incredible. Why should the king choose this time to threaten us? And why make the attack so personal? It makes no sense."

  Instinctively the family turned toward Verony, as though hoping she might shed some light on the puzzle. Of them all, she was the only one to hear the news in silence. Now, with attention focused on her, she found it almost impossible to speak.

  "I . . ." she began, her throat so dry that she had to pause and try again. "I believe the king thought himself . . . provoked. ..."

  The family continued to regard her inquiringly. Taking a deep breath, Verony plunged on. "His anger is not directed at you, but at me. ... He wanted to . . . that is, he tried ..."

  "That day you were taken ill at court," Lady Emelie broke in, "John had something to do with it?"

  Mutely Verony nodded. Slowly and painfully she reported the events of that afternoon. Before she got very far, her lord was roaring in rage. "He did what?! That contemptible bastard! Guards or not, he dies!" Frenzied anger gave way almost instantly to icy calm. With deadly implacability, Curran stated: "I'll kill him." He turned to stride from the hall.

  Instantly his father and brothers hurled themselves after him. Curran resisted fiercely, but the combined force of the Earl Garrett, Mark and the other two boys was enough to overcome even his maddened strength. Gently but determinedly they shoved him onto a bench and held him there.

  Kneeling before him, Verony clasped his hands in hers. Tears flowed down her ashen cheeks as she pleaded: "You must not, my lord! I beg of you. The king would like nothing better than to cause your death."

  "Listen to her," the earl said. "If you go anywhere near John in this mood he will take delight in having his guards hack you to pieces. You realized that this morning; remember it now!"

  "There are better ways, Curran," Mark advised gently. "We will be avenged, but in the proper time and place."

  "And in the meantime?" Curran grated, still straining against the hold of his father and brothers. A red mist rose before his eyes. He was blinded by rage more terrible than any he had ever felt. The knowledge that another man had dared to put his hands on his wife, to try first to seduce her and then threaten her into his bed, banished all reason. He knew only that he wanted to drown the insult in blood.

  "Just what am I supposed to do while we wait for revenge? Smile at the king and bow and scrape while he lusts after my wife and labels her a whore?" This last ended in a snarl indicating his rage was about to burst all bounds.

  Hastily the earl shook his head. "There is no reason for you to attend the court right now. Go to Canterbury, see Stephen and explain what has happened. The archbishop knows the law better than any man. He will find a way to prove your marriage is valid."

  "Your father is right," Lady Emelie asserted. "No one in his right mind would believe the king's charges for a moment. But you cannot take the risk, especially not with a child already coming."

  Verony's hands tightened on her husband's as she thought of their baby. Since the men's return from court, she had concentrated solely on the need to tell the family of John's lust and her worry over how they would react. Now, for the first time, she realized fully just what the king intended.

  All the trials suffered during the years with her brutal father and later in the forest were as nothing compared to the chasm of horror that awaited her should she be separated from Curran. Without him, her life would be meaningless. Not even the child nestled in her womb, the baby John sought to condemn as a bastard, could console her.

  A sob rose within her, only to be choked back as she caught sight of the steely glint in Curran's eyes. Trained on her, his gaze seemed to drill straight through to her soul. She flinched instinctively, trying to draw away from him, but his grip instantly tightened. Trapped on the floor before him, she was forced to endure his cold scrutiny through long, painful moments.

  "Why," he demanded at last, "didn't you tell me of this when it happened?"

  His voice was low but still the rest of the family could not help but hear it. Aware that they were inadvertently witnessing what should have been a strictly private confrontation, they looked away.

  Verony's head drooped. Waves of red-gold hair tumbled over his bronzed hands. "I was afraid," she admitted softly. "I thought that if I told you while we
were still at court, you might do something terrible."

  Her wide, tear-filled eyes raised to his silently reminded him that his father and brothers had considered him capable of attacking the king. "Then later, when we returned here, I did not know what to say. The political situation is so delicate ... it could so easily be overturned ... it seemed that silence was best. When I began getting the messages from John, I believed they meant he could do nothing more than threaten. It never occurred to me that he could ..." Her voice broke, the sob that would no longer be restrained breaking from her. Miserably she bent her head again, her tears falling like drops of fire against his skin.

  It was all Curran could do not to console her. His hand ached to stroke her silken hair, to brush aside her tears. He longed to assure her that he forgave her failure to speak. But in all truth he did not, at least not yet. Much as he understood her reasoning, he could not lose sight of the fact that she had once again chosen to take matters into her own hands.

  Gruffly he said: "You should have spoken. It is not for you to decide what I should or should not be told. I am your husband, and it is my right to know your thoughts."

  Verony did not respond. The deep pain so evident in his voice forced her to realize how profoundly hurt he was by her unwillingness to confide in him. Overwhelmed by regret, she did not dare look at him again. If she had, she would have seen the piercing tenderness of his regard as he studied her bent head. But as it was, she knew only that Curran sighed softly before gently disengaging their hands. Without another word, he rose and left the hall.

  The next few days passed slowly. With Curran en route to Canterbury, the rest of the d'Arcy men remained inside the compound to fortify it against a possible attack by the king. The wide trench between the outer walls and the surrounding streets was deepened. The drawbridge gears, always scrupulously maintained, were oiled once again. Additional guards were posted in the turrets that commanded a clear view of the city.