“We came here to escape the Black Death, but it was too late.”
His eyes widened before resuming their shuttered, suspicious look. “Your stable groom died of the plague?”
She nodded, noticing that he did not call Philip her husband. But she couldn’t bring herself to argue about it.
“And you…?” he continued.
“Though I nursed him, I did not become sick.” She still thanked God each night for not letting her spread death to the rest of the islanders. She would never have forgiven herself if even one other person besides her husband and child had died.
He studied her for an uncomfortable moment before he looked back toward Wakesfield Manor. “Have you tried to see your parents since his death?”
“No, they made their feelings clear.”
Spencer was rather shocked that she had made no effort to mend the rift. “But it might change things.”
Roselyn seemed genuinely puzzled. “Why should it? My parents are not people who forgive, let alone forget, nor do I wish to return to their treatment of me. Though this last year has been difficult, in many ways I am more content.”
“You can’t be serious,” he said, studying this serenity she wore like a garment.
“You are a man, free to do as you please. For the first time, I, too, can shape my own destiny.”
“Few people can do as they please. Like anyone, I have obligations—and my family is one of them.”
“Mine no longer are,” she said softly.
“Yet this is your destiny? Up before dawn to bake for strangers, harvesting your own food, exhausted and spent each night?”
“Do not mock my life!” she said, leaning over him.
“But I’m not—”
“I know the contentment of providing for myself. Can you say the same?”
Using the tree for support, Spencer struggled up onto his good leg. Her usual serenity was replaced by unexpected fire in her gray eyes.
“I do what’s necessary,” he said slowly. “I can be proud of that.”
“Not from the things I’ve heard and seen.”
“You don’t know everything, Lady Roselyn. And if you believe rumors, then you are too naive.”
“So you’re denying these stories?”
“I have heard nothing to deny.”
Though there were enough true stories about him to make a virgin quake in fear. Roselyn wasn’t a virgin—and he found himself wanting to shock her out of this prim, sanctimonious frame of mind.
“Go ahead,” he continued, smiling. “I want to hear one of these rumors.”
“This is hardly a rumor, not when all the court knows what you did six months ago.”
Spencer felt an inkling of disquiet. Six months ago, he’d been in Spain, spying for the queen, but no one knew it.
“How can you stand here and pretend you do not remember such a scandal?” she said, throwing up her hands and stalking away from him.
What had his brother done?
“Lady Roselyn, I pretend nothing. There are just so many rumors to choose from.”
