Nigel sat very still, pondering Brian on the other side of the desk. The room itself stilled as the future was mulled over by the four men and Alec began to hope that the meeting with the Warringtons would draw to a relatively bloodless close. The sooner they were out of Blackstone, the better for all.
“Might I have a word with you alone, my lord?” Nigel asked, almost politely. “Away from our sons’ ears.”
Brian glanced at Alec, who shrugged vaguely. It was obvious that Brian was seeking Alec’s reassurance that there would be no brawl were the two younger men left alone, and Brian appeared confident that Alec would make no aggressive action, providing Colin was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. Yet it did not gounnoticed by Alec that his father’s pallor had changed to a pasty yellow as he rose stiffly from his desk.
“Outside,” Brian said shortly.
Nigel rose and followed him out into the foyer. Brian continued into the main dining hall, vacant of servants or soldiers, and indicated for Nigel to take a seat at the end of the long scrubbed table. Nigel glanced about the room, fresh with rushes and scented with dried herbs in earthenware pots. Slowly, he perched on the edge of the bench.
Brian refused to look at him, turmoil wrenching his guts. God help him, he knew what was coming and he knew there was nothing he could do against it. Dark secrets were about to be discussed, secrets he attempted to pretend did not exist.
Which was why he avoided the Warringtons at all costs. Aye, he knew full well of the dispute between Nigel and Albert, and he had heard rumor of the atrocities the Warringtons were accused of committing. It was difficult not to have heard the accusations, being liege of the barony where the crimes were taking place. But he had ignored the rumors, tucking the facts far back in his mind and turning an ignorant eye to the heinous acts. He rationalized his action by convincing himself that if Albert de Fluornoy had not formally asked for his help, then the villeins must be spinning tales to create unrest. Villeins were a stupid lot with an overactive imagination, were they not?
Brian reiterated his reasoning as the years passed until he believed them. He knew he was a coward for not responding to the transgressions, but he simply could not force himself to confront Nigel Warrington. Not when they shared such terrible mysteries.
But now, Nigel was intending to bring forth his darkest nightmare and Brian was sick with it all. Nightmares no one, save Celine, knew.
Nigel saw the man’s face, his ashen pallor, and smiled thinly. “Come now, Brian. I shall not bite.”
Brian’s face was taut. “Get on with it.”
“As you wish. You will break the betrothal between Ali and Lady Ivy and wed the lady to my son. Is that clear enough?”
Brian’s jaw twitched miserably. “I cannot break the contract. It is set and….”
“It is not set. Nothing is set. I do not care if the bitch has been sleeping with the black animal since she was a child, she shall wed Colin.”
“Do not speak of them that way.”
“I shall speak of them however I damn well please. I will consider the marriage to Lady Ivy small compensation for the loss of the heiress to St. Cloven. You sorely push my patience wedding the Lady Peyton to your son, Brian.”
“What’s done is done,” Brian snapped softly. “Alec eloped with the girl, legal and just, and there was naught I could do. They were married in Ely, no less, and nothing short of God can dissolve the union. She is out of your reach, as is the Lady Ivy.”
“Unacceptable. The lady will marry Colin or certain distasteful matters might not remain veiled in secrecy much longer. Do you comprehend my meaning?”
Brian’s brown eyes glared at the man a moment. “Do not threaten me.”
“’Tis certainly no threat, brother.”
“Do not call me that!” Brian hissed viciously. “Do not ever call me that!”
Nigel smiled sinisterly. “The truth hurts, does it not? I am the bastard of your father’s loins. Fitting that my son should reside within your walls, bastard of my loins.”
Brian clenched his teeth. “Your revenge is misplaced and sickening. What you did to Celine….”
“I did nothing but comfort her while her warring husband was away, fighting with Henry,” Nigel said soothingly, mocking the pain in Brian’s heart. “The liaison was of mutual consent, brother. You have known that for twenty-three years and you have no one to blame but yourself for your own neglect.”
“’Twas not neglect,” Brian said, his voice a hollow echo.
“You seduced her, you bastard. You courted her with lies of my infidelity and convinced her that no one but you would take care of her. While I was away warring for our king, you enticed her beyond reason and confused her with sweet words and falsehoods, and when she showed an ounce of refusal toward your onslaught, you raped her.”
Nigel’s eyes glittered like diamonds, cold and sharp. “If you choose to believe those reasons, then that is your choice. But Celine and I know the truth. I suspect Toby will too, someday.”
Brian refused to reply, his jaw grinding as he studied the moldings on the great hearth. Anything to avoid Nigel’s piercing eyes, lest he strike the man down on the spot.
Truthfully, he did not know what measure of control was preventing him from doing so. Was it the fact that he felt a measure of pity for the man, a bastard of noble breeding, never given the same chances in life as his half-brother? Brian did not know why he showed so much restraint when it came to Nigel; mayhap he never would understand. The memory of Celine’s liaison with Nigel, or rape as Brian liked to believe, was like an open wound after all of these years. A wound that Brian could not bring himself to tend, and it seemed to ache deeper every time he gazed upon the result of that particular encounter. Toby had no idea the pain he caused Baron Rothwell. Or why.
After several long moments, he spoke. “Why would you seek revenge on me for my father’s indiscretions? What have I ever done to you to warrant your hatred?”
