Reina had turned away, but now whipped about with a gasp, two spots of color staining her cheeks. She started to say something, made a squeak of noise instead, and clamped her mouth shut. But her icy blue eyes spoke volumes, and Ranulf knew better than to think he had gotten the last word in. When his guts spilled out on the floor later, he would know she had retaliated in kind.
For now, he at least had rendered her speechless, which was no small feat. With a fulminating glare, she huffed off, leaving him standing alone with his father, who seemed actually embarrassed by that last exchange.
“That was…” he began carefully, then changed his mind. “Never mind.”
“You might as well speak your mind here,” Ranulf replied in a neutral tone. “I intend to.”
Hugh winced at the implication, even given unemotionally as it was. “Very well. That was rather unchivalrous of you. She is your wife, after all.”
“Exactly.Mywife. And you are not qualified to judge what passes between her and me when you know not what has gone on before. Suffice it to say the lady was deserving of much worse than that, and well she knows it, or she would have cut into me then and there with that sharp tongue of hers. I understand you have already had a taste of it yourself, to know of what I speak.”
“Actually, I had forgotten about that,” Hugh admitted. “She does indeed have a way with words.”
“She said you were too thick-skinned to notice.”
“Did she?” Hugh chuckled now. “Not at all. Enchanted is more like it. ’Twas refreshing to meet a woman who was not either impressed by my rank, intimidated by my size, or charmed by a simple smile. That has never happened to me ere now.”
“You are not losing your touch, old man, if that is what you think. She was not very impressed with me either when we first met.”
“Still, Ranulf, you have missed my point. A lady can be a veritable shrew, but a knight must still refrain from chastising her or insulting her, at least in company.”
“Chivalry again?” Ranulf snorted. “And where do you get the idea that I learned such things at Montfort? I assure you no such niceties were taught there.”
Hugh had the grace to flush. “I told you I knew not the kind of man Montfort was, Ranulf, leastwise not until I met him at your knighting. My father arranged your fostering. Lord Montfort was a friend of his from old. I was assured you would be well received and taught by the best. And I was kept apprised of your progress, which was nothing short of remarkable. It came as little surprise that you earned your spurs at such a young age. I was nine years and ten ere I was myself knighted. Even my father was impressed by your abilities.”
“Think you I care what that old man thought?” Ranulf could no longer keep the bitterness from his tone. “In all the years he came to the village to check on my development, I had not a single kindness from him, not even—”
“What did you say?” Hugh cut in sharply.
“Was that too much for a boy to hope for, one kind word or look from his grandfather?” Ranulf snarled.
“Dear God, what are you saying, Ranulf? He did not know of your existence.Idid not know of your existence. You were nine years old when he told me, and he swore he had only just learned about you himself.”
Ranulf could do no more than stare at him, feeling as if his guts were being twisted apart. To have the crux of his true bitterness ripped asunder, that his father had so despised him that he would not even acknowledge his existence those first years of his life. He had never once thought he might not know of him. How could he not? His grandfather had known. But he was forgetting the rest of his life, and other bitter disappointments. Nay, not forgetting. The rest was simply not as important.
In a voice devoid of inflection, he said, “He lied.”
“He would not!” Hugh insisted.
“Very well.” Ranulf sighed, too torn apart to care just now. “I lied.”
A brief look of raw anguish crossed Hugh’s face and shook Ranulf to his core. “Nay, I know you do not. Sweet Christ, no wonder you were so distant and unresponsive to me that day we first met. My father told me that was natural, that you had not known of me either. He said to give you time to get used to the idea.”
“Aye, seven more years is time aplenty, especially when I needed no getting used to the idea. I knew who my father was from the day I knew what a father was and that mine was unwilling to acknowledge me.”
Hugh paled at the accusation in those words. “Is that what you thought?”
“What else was I to think? I lived on your land, in your village. Everyone on the demesne knew I was your bastard even before my face and body fleshed out to prove it.”
Reina had heard enough, too much. She had returned to prod them into eating ere the food grew cold, but had stood there and listened instead, aware that they were both too engrossed in this painful dredging of the past to notice her or anyone else. But she could not bear to hear any more, and she did not think Ranulf could either. His face was ravaged, the misery of a wretched and lonely childhood evident in his voice, his eyes, his every word. He was hurting inside and she felt it, hated it, and hated his father for causing it, much more than he did, if he did, for he would not be in such pain if it was only hate he felt for this man.
She could not take the pain away from him, but she could prevent more. “If you have not noticed, Ranulf, we have a hall full of people like to starve, waiting for you to take your seat at table.”
She got a potent glare for the interruption, but also the desired result. He nodded curtly and strode off toward the dais. When Hugh started to follow, she detained him with a hand to his arm. That the violet eyes he turned to her were nearly as tormented as Ranulf’s had been did not sway her.
“I swore I would make amends for my earlier rudeness to you,” she said in a low, though no less fierce tone. “I find I cannot, not after what I just heard. I want you to leave Clydon now, this minute.”
He did not seem surprised by this demand, but he did not comply with it either. “I cannot leave this thing unsettled, lady.”
