Leonie figured swiftly. It had been a month since she was brought to Crewel to live. She could remember clearly the night Rolfe left their chamber angrily. Ameliahad been in exceptionally good spirits that next morning.
Leonie left Amelia without saying another word. What was there to say? But that night was the most miserable of her life. Alone, she cried and stormed, cursing Rolfe for his weakness and his lying. But she cursed herself as well—because it mattered to her, it mattered much too much.
When another note arrived from Alain Montigny the next day, Leonie was too distracted to think about it. She tucked it away with some other papers and forgot about it. She sank into a terrible melancholy all the remainder of the week, an unhappiness caused by the shock of learning that she, too, was pregnant.
The fact that the babies would be born about the same time was most telling. It was not unusual for a lord to ask a new wife to raise his bastard children if he had any. The wife had no grounds to refuse because those children had been conceived before her marriage to their father. But it was another thing entirely to accept children conceived by other women after the marriage.
Leonie did not think Rolfe would ask her to raise Amelia’s child. But she had little doubt that he would want to keep both child and mother near him. This would not be the child of a serf. A serf could be expected to give up her child because the father would give it a better life than she could. But such was not the case with Amelia. Amelia would never give up her child, and so Rolfe would never give up Amelia.
The future looked progressively grimmer. She no longer had the hope that Rolfe would send her away one day, not if she had his child. Rolfe would never let her go if he knew there was a baby on the way.
She was not going to tell him. She could hope toleave him before her body gave the truth away. Perhaps she could lock herself away in Pershwick until after the child was born. She would not, she determined, give him an excuse to keep her.
Leonie could share some kinds of love, could share her gift for healing, but she could not share her husband with another woman. Always there had been the hope that Amelia would leave. Now that hope was gone. It seemed her heart flew out of her, for she bore an ache in her breast that did not diminish, even with the passing of many days.
Sir Bertrand and his oldest son Reginald came to Crewel late one afternoon with news that Rolfe had sent for them to meet him at Crewel. Bertrand was Leonie’s own vassal at Marhill Keep, one of her holdings. Why her husband should ask to see Bertrand was a mystery.
All she could think about was that Rolfe would be home soon. She managed to ask the proper questions about Marhill, about the harvesting there, but she could not later recall what was told her. Her mind was in complete confusion over Rolfe.
It was a busy time. She entertained her guests as best she could, with Sir Evarard’s help. Thankfully, Amelia kept herself absent from the hall. It grew late and still Rolfe had not come. Leonie readied rooms for her guests, but the men preferred to remain in the hall, curious as to what Rolfe wished to see them about.
Sounds of his arrival were heard at last, and Leonie quickly excused herself, retiring to her room. She had finally concluded that she could not face Rolfe without her resentment bubbling over, and to let that happenin front of her vassal was unthinkable. Safe here in their room, she did not have to conceal her feelings.
There was no time, however, to prepare herself for what she assumed would be a full-fledged battle. Rolfe came to her immediately, so quickly that she realized he could not have spared more than a moment’s greeting for their guests below. What might excuse such rude behavior? After all, he had sent for the two men.
Her brows narrowed suspiciously. “You have not shamed me, have you, my lord?”
“How so?”
Rolfe tossed aside his helmet and gauntlets, but his eyes did not stray from Leonie. She kept her position by the hearth, standing stiffly at attention.
“You sent for Sir Bertrand and his son. What can they think of your ignoring them?”
Rolfe grinned, moving to close the distance between them. “I told them I was tired and would speak to them in the morning. They understood.”
“How could you?” Leonie hissed. “You must go below and speak to them now!”
“They have already retired, dearling, and—”
He fell silent as Damian came into the room. Leonie swallowed her ire and turned her back while Damian assisted Rolfe with his heavy hauberk.
It did not take the young squire long, and it was only moments before Rolfe said agreeably, “Off to bed with you, lad.”
Openmouthed with surprise, Damian left the room. Never had Rolfe spoken to him so pleasantly. It was amazing how the sight of his wife could change his manner completely.
Leonie waited only until the sound of the door closed before she swung around, ready to get everything off her chest at once. But the sight of Rolfe in only shirtand chausses stopped her. The thick muscles straining on his long legs, the breadth of chest—always startling because it was just as wide with his armor removed—his hair curling riotously about his head, all of it brought out the man and the boy in him at once. It was unfair that he could affect her so powerfully that she couldn’t even remember what she’d been about to say.
“You have missed me, dearling.”
“I have not, my lord,” she said stiffly.
“Liar.” He had moved over to her before she could move away. He tilted her chin up and gazed into her eyes. His eyes were velvety brown, yet intense. “You are angry because I stayed away so long.”
“There are many things I am angry about, my lord, but that is not one of them.”
“You may tell me what they are tomorrow, Leonie, for this is no time for anger.”
She tried to move away, but Rolfe caught her to him and kissed her.
