I soon learned the true reason behind my new wardrobe and the new courtesy towards me. ’Twas not only from the baroness’s sense of gratitude.
I was to meet with the baron himself.
Twenty-Five
A servant showed me into alarge antechamber in the solarium, not far from where the baron slept. The room was richly appointed, with a carven oak desk and fine chair. The walls were hung with tapestries portraying scenes of what I took to be hunting, though it was difficult to tell. The colors were garish, and the line work crude and unrealistic; the tapestries added comfort to the room only, not beauty to my eyes.
Upon entering, I dropped into a deep curtsy until the baron gestured for me to rise. And there I stood, beneath his penetrating, stony gaze. I felt laid bare, more than I ever had before his son, by whom I actually had been laid bare.
’Twas an uneasy feeling to say the least.
I saw much of Thomas in his father, but these qualities had gone cold and rough with age. The baron’s curls were greyer and sparser than my shepherd king’s; his middle had thickened over the years, his brow furrowed with age. I could remove these years with my mind, and imagine him as young and handsome, or Thomas himself as he might be in the future, when the years had put their mark upon him. But try as I might, I could not summon even a hint of Thomas’s good spirits from this man.
How peculiar, that he should live in such luxury and seem to know so little joy.
While I studied him, the baron studied me, most notably my birthmark, in a way I did not like. Part of me wished I had concealed it with a wimple. Another part of me said it was nothing to be ashamed of, and if he could muster no better manners than this, I ought to snatch out his eyes.
Where hadthatthought come from?
Not safe here.’Twas like the faeries in the forest, or the shadow fae murmuring from the walls.Not welcome. Beware.My blood seethed with revulsion inside me, from the hinge and lock on the door behind me, the fine knife at the baron’s belt. A cross hung upon the wall behind him, and my belly roiled as I struggled to look anywhere else.
My gaze flickered to one of the tapestries, where an orange stag was being penetrated by a sharp blue spear. His blood stained his throat like a rose in bloom.
“Bess the Cunning Woman.” The baron’s deep voice tore my attention from the tapestry, and I dipped into a curtsy again.
“’Twas Bess Grieve, of late. But I have not been a farmer now in some time.”
I did not know how to act, what to say to the Baron de Lyne, a man who had expelled his own son. The Bess I seemed was mere tenant to the baron, and not even of the village in which he lived. Did he even care about my background at all?
“Hmm.” The baron continued to take my measure, which made me want to squirm all over.
We are not meant for such scrutiny. A mere mortal has no right to judge.
“My wife has been singing your praises,” he finally said.
Oh, the baroness.She surely deserved more than such a dour life mate. “Her Grace is most generous.”
“Do not let it go to your head.” His stony eyes narrowed. “Women are easily swayed by trifles, and I have not yet made my mind up about you.”
Trifles? Curing his wife’s illness was a trifle?The baron toyed with me as a cat does a mouse.
I am not a mouse. He’ll learn that to his detriment one day.
For now, a mouse I must remain. “No, Your Grace. I mean, yes, Your Grace.” I bent my head and hated myself for it. “I will keep my pride in check.”
For now.The baron was a lord, but also mortal, and his legacy might pass and fade away before I lost the bloom of my youth.Something to look forward to, then.
“Nevertheless, Helen’s recovery has been remarkable, and it is to your credit.”
’Twas close enough to thanks to make me itchy, or perhaps it was only the way he bit off the words, as if they were difficult to speak. At least it was me he credited, and not the saints, like everyone else.
The baron took a deep breath and folded his hands. “Bess the Cunning Woman, I do not know what to make of you. Learned men have examined my wife and son, university-trained doctors of medicine, and they were able to do little but ensure their comfort in their time of illness. And you, homely little peasant you are, have brought my wife back from the brink.” He scratched his chin. “I have a mind to let you take a look at my boy.”
Look at his boy. Not merely family, but his heir. This was what I had been waiting for.
“I would be honored—”
“I have two boys, as you well know,” the baron interrupted, turning his signet ring around on his finger. “The elder, the natural-born, is taken with you for some reason.”
