Then she said her farewells to Reynard. His lip trembled and his eyes shone with tears, but he did not cry or fret. She was so proud of him. Peter would have been, too, she thought and had to swallow a sudden welling up of a still raw grief. Giving her nephew one final kiss, she placed him in Roger's arms. There was sympathy in her cousin's eyes, but also a hint of possessiveness in the way he held Reynard. He would love the boy and raise him to be a fine and honorable man. Jolene found some comfort in that.
After Sigimor said farewell to Roger and the boy, he helped her mount her horse, then led them all on the way back to Dubheidland. Jolene glanced back only once to see Roger comforting Reynard. She quickly fixed her gaze in the direction of Dubheidland, beating down the urge to rush to the child's side and comfort him herself. She would accept this parting with a dignity that would make her ancestors proud. Gerards were strong, stout of heart and mind, and able to accept the blows life and Fate dealt them with fortitude.
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Chapter Twenty-one
She had cried all the way home, bawled, sniffled, and wailed like a baby. Sigimor had finally taken her up before him on his horse, muttering that she was sure to fall out of her saddle and crack her head open. By the time they had reached Dubheidland, she had wept herself into a stupor and had had to be tucked into bed like a child. Jolene shook her head, thoroughly disgusted with herself. So much for dignity and fortitude.
Removing the cool, damp cloth she had placed over her eyes, she studied them in the looking glass. They did not look quite as red and swollen as they had when she had first woken up. The lavender water had helped soothe and heal the damage a few hours of sleep had not. Her deep wallow in grief had left her feeling slightly bruised all over, however. The only good she could find in such a complete loss of control was that she had avoided a confrontation with Sigimor.
Then again, she mused as she took one last look at her gown to be certain it was hanging correctly and fully laced, that confrontation might still be ahead of her. It all depended upon how angry Sigimor was over what she had done. For one brief moment she considered claiming a headache or something similar, and forgoing the evening meal in the great hall.
"Nay,” she said as she started out of her bedchamber, “this is no time for cowardice."
As Jolene made her way to the great hall, she stiffened her spine by reminding herself that she had chosen this man. She had turned away from her family, her home, and her country for him with no assurance that she would ever see any of them again. Surely that was enough to soothe any insult or bruised pride caused by the way she had left him. He might have the right to be annoyed over the risk she took in going off alone, but that was all.
Pausing in front of the entrance to the great hall, Jolene admitted to herself that his anger over her leaving was not what truly made her reluctant to face him. She feared he would not understand what her choice meant, or, if he did, not acknowledge it. It was the possibility that everything would return to what it had been, a marriage where he treated her with respect and kindness and gave her passion, but not much else, that made her hesitate to confront him. She needed so much more from the man. It was the chance, the blind hope, of obtaining thatmorethat had made her decide to stay with him. If he did not see her choice as the declaration it was or did not want to, she feared she would begin to think she had made a very bad choice indeed.
The touch of a hand upon her arm startled her out of her thoughts and she looked to see Fergus beside her. There was a look of wary concern in his eyes and his grip upon her arm was firm. Jolene realized he was wondering if she was going to try and slip away again. She then realized that Sigimor may also have gained that wariness because of how she had left him. If so, the man's pride would be badly lashed each time he suffered that doubt. It was a consequence she had not considered.
"Ye still look a wee bit wan and bruised,” said Fergus.
"I feel a little wan and bruised, but I shall recover,” she replied, allowing him to lead her toward her seat at Sigimor's side.
"Your cousin will care for Reynard verra weel. He will have a family and be back in the home he was born in."
"True, and, if I knew I could see him there whene'er I wished, I would not grieve so, but it will pass. Better that I gave him up of my own free will to a man I trust to love and care for him, than have him taken from me by the king and court to be given to someone of their choosing. Tis most fortunate that Roger was both my choice and the king's."
Sigimor watched his youngest brother bring Jolene to his side. She looked more delicate than she ever had before. He had a suspicion that her somewhat alarming descent into blind grief had not solely been because of the loss of the boy, but also because of the loss of her brother. There was a very good chance that she had never really, properly grieved for Peter since she had immediately been caught up in the fight against Harold and the need to protect Reynard. Once certain she was not going to make herself ill, he had left her to her grief, but that had meant he had had no chance to ease his anger. It was still a hard knot in his chest. Seeing how wan she was, he was not sure she could endure any airing of his grievances yet and he felt that knot in his chest tighten.
A quick glance at his kinsmen as Jolene took her seat told Sigimor they would not approve of him unleashing his anger on her. They all wore expressions of concern and sympathy as they looked at her. The looks they gave him were ones of warning. Jolene had obviously won a place in their hearts at some point over the past few days. Although that was a very good thing, the fact that it made them think they had some say in how he acted with his wife was not. Their interest in Jolene's welfare and their involvement in chasing her down also meant whatever happened between him and his wife now would probably not be the private matter he wished it to be.
He sipped his ale and watched her eat. It pleased him to see that her appetite had not fled, but the wary looks she cast his way now and again told him that his anger was probably easy to see. Sigimor hoped the uncertainty he felt was not, however. When he saw annoyance begin to reveal itself in her expression, he actually felt relieved. That was something he could deal with. Her growing anger also put some color into her cheeks, making her look less frail.
"Are you just going to brood then?” Jolene finally asked, unable to endure his silent staring any longer.
"I am nay brooding,” he replied with a calm that he could see only annoyed her more.
"You just sit there, all silent and staring at me. If it is not brooding, then ‘tis sulking."
"Mayhap I am but wondering if ye will try to sneak away again. Ah, but, nay,” he said quickly, silencing whatever she had opened her mouth to say, “ye like to save such sneaking about until after ye have wrung your poor mon's body dry and left him in a blind, happy stupor."
Sigimor almost smiled at the deep blush that colored her cheeks. She was stuttering and bouncing slightly in her seat she was so angry. This was good. This he could respond to easily, even in front of his kinsmen, some who looked as if they were thinking of gagging him. He was not about to stop now, however, not when she was working herself up into such a nice rage. There was a chance to clear the air now and he intended to take full advantage of it.
He helped himself to another bowl of thick rabbit stew. “Now that I think on it, I best eat a wee bit more. If ye have any sly plots twisting about in your head, I will need all my strength tonight. At least then I might be able to recover from your greedy use of me ere ye get yourself too far away. Or thoroughly lost.” His eyes widened slightly at the curse she spat as she leapt to her feet, thinking that he was going to have to have a word with his kinsmen about watching their language. “Leaving the table so soon? Dinnae ye think ye ought to eat some more? The way ye try to keep a mon from guessing what trick ye are about to play requires strength, ye ken."
"You are the most impossible man I have e'er met. Arrogant, rude—"
"If I have so many faults, why did ye come back here then?"
"Because I am insane, kissed by the moon, and have lost whate'er wits I was e'er blessed with. There is no other explanation for why I should love such a contrary, dull-witted oaf!” Realizing what she had just said, Jolene gave a muted scream, grabbed the bowl of stew Sigimor had just set in front of him, and tipped it over his head. “Oh! Curse you, now look what you have made me do! I used to have manners!"
Sigimor blinked the dripping stew from his eyelids and watched as his wife fled the hall. He was pleased that she turned toward the stairs to the bedchambers and not the doors leading out of the keep. Of course, he might find the door to his bedchamber barred firmly against him, he thought as Old Nancy and Fergus tried to clean the stew out of his hair and off his face. A quick scowl at Old Nancy and Fergus did nothing to dim their grins, but he decided to ignore that impudence for now. He had to decide what to do next.
"Are ye really intending to just keep sitting there?” asked Somerled, poorly suppressed laughter trembling in his voice.
"It might be wise, e'en safer,” Sigimor replied as he waved away Old Nancy and Fergus. “There are a lot of sharp weapons in my bedchamber.” He suddenly grinned as the words she had said finally settled firmly into his heart and mind. “She loves me."
