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Chapter Sixteen

B y the end of the day, almost all the knights had departed.

The only one who had stayed behind, predictably, was Lord Spelling, Lord Cantle’s cousin.

Sian pleaded an indisposition to be allowed to stay in bed instead of bidding the men farewell.

It was the only way she could ensure she would not throw herself into Christopher’s arms in front of everyone and beg him to take her with him on Warrior.

A week later, unable to bear it any longer, she went to speak with her husband.

She was finding it hard to shake off her profound despair.

It had been seven long days since the tourney had ended and Christopher had ridden away, taking her heart with him.

Her chest constantly felt hollow or too full to contain her overflowing grief; she wasn’t quite sure which.

She was like a person in mourning, which, in a way, she was.

She was mourning the life she could have had.

“My lord,” she said once he had finished writing his letter. “If I may, I would ask you if I can go and visit Sheridan Manor.”

He arched a brow, more surprised than disapproving. “We left barely over a month ago.”

“I know. But Seren will turn eight next week. I would be with my family to celebrate.”

How fortuitous that my sister was born in December , she thought, averting her gaze.

It provided her with the perfect opportunity to go see Lord Ashton—the real one—without raising her husband’s suspicion.

She was determined to demand an explanation from the man.

He was responsible for her and Christopher’s wretchedness, and she could not let him get away with it.

Instead of explaining what the situation was when she and her father had gone to Throckmorton, he had made it sound as if Christopher had consciously used a title he had no right to, fooling everyone in the process.

He had called him a usurper. At no point had he told them what needed to be said, that he was, in fact, his half brother and innocent of any wilful deception.

That omission had had terrible consequences.

If he had been honest, if he had explained the confusion, Sian would never have believed Christopher had set out to trick and then abandon her.

She would have understood, if not agreed, with his reasons for thinking they could not be wed after the loss of his title.

Most importantly, she would be free. Lord Cantle was a good man who didn’t deserve to be married to a woman who wished she belonged to someone else.

Lord Ashton had to pay for ruining so many lives. How, she wasn’t sure, but the first step was to ensure she told him exactly what she thought of his duplicity.

“Of course, my dear. “It’s only normal for you to wish to be with your loved ones,” Lord Cantle said, bringing her hand to his mouth in the familiar gesture.

His eyes were gleaming with understanding—and perhaps something else.

Did he suspect her of hiding the real purpose of her visit from him?

Sian fought hard to stop the heat warming her chest from spreading to her cheeks.

Your loved ones , he’d said. Not your family .

Had that been deliberate?

Did he think she was, in fact, planning to go to the man she should have married?

Lord Cantle could reasonably imagine her lover lived near Sheridan Manor even if he didn’t know who the man was.

Was he sending her away knowing full well that while she was away, she might meet with a man who had bedded her?

A man she desired and loved still? Was he … giving her his unspoken agreement for?—

No, of course not. Sian shook her head. She was getting herself into a state for nothing.

Her husband had no reason to suspect her of deception.

The day he had proposed, she had made it quite clear the man she had been betrothed to didn’t want to have anything to do with her.

Why would Lord Cantle suppose that had changed?

“I will provide you with an adequate escort, but, forgive me, I will not accompany you. We have just undertaken repairs on the barbican, and I would like to oversee the progress.”

“Of course, I understand.” Their wedding had already kept him away from home for longer than he had anticipated.

He tilted his head in consideration. “It will be Christmas soon. Mayhap you would like to spend the holiday at Sheridan Manor?”

This proof of solicitude pierced her heart. The tears she had fought for days sprang to her eyes. What was wrong with her? There she was, married to the best of men and all she could think about was Christopher.

“No. I thank you for the thought, but I will come back to Clearfield in time for the festivities.” She owed this man at least the appearance of happiness. “And we shall celebrate together.”

“My lady.”

Lord Ashton was reading a letter when Sian was introduced into the solar on a drizzly afternoon.

He barely lifted his head from the parchment when his squire announced her.

While she waited for him to acknowledge her presence, she looked around, and relief washed over her at the idea that she wouldn’t have to live in the place after all.

It was not just that the decoration was not to her taste; the castle was falling in ruins.

It would never feel like a home, no matter what anyone did.

No, she was well away from Throckmorton Castle. She had never wanted to live there, only to be Christopher’s wife and the mother of his children. And the man purposefully ignoring her had robbed her of the opportunity for a reason she could not fathom.

She straightened her spine. Before she left, she would know what had possessed Thomas Harrison to make her and her father believe Christopher was a usurper rather than explain he was his half brother and a victim in the whole affair.

“Good afternoon, my lord.” Sian forced some warmth into her greeting. No sense in antagonizing him at that point. Recriminations would come soon enough. “Do you remember me?”

“I cannot say I do.”

Why was she not surprised? Not only was she used to being overlooked, but he had also barely glanced at her. “I came some three months ago with my father, Lord Sheridan. I was not yet Lady Cantle then, of course, but we came to enquire about your brother.”

This got his attention at last. He abandoned his letter on the table next to him and walked closer to her. “My brother?”

“Whose existence you were ignorant of until the summer. Christopher.”

“I know who you’re talking about!” he snapped, coming to stand next to her. He was just as tall as Christopher, she noticed, even if not quite as imposing. “I only have one brother. Or half brother, actually. That doesn’t make me a fraud. I am the rightful Lord Ashton.”

“I do not dispute it.” That was not the issue.

“You would be the first!” he sneered. “Every day, I am met with complaints. People who bemoan the loss of a man who was, by all accounts, a better Lord Ashton than me.” He glared at the letter he’d just discarded.

Another such complaint, Sian imagined, which would account for his foul mood.

“Men want the competent ruler back when, surely, my judgment is as good as his, and women want the lover who made them quiver with one touch, as if my caresses were lacking in any way. I’m tired of it, do you hear?

Tired of having to justify my existence.

It’s been months. Why can’t they all just accept me! I am my father’s true heir!”

She took a step back, worried at his vehemence. The man was getting himself into a state. It seemed she had chosen the worst possible moment to come to him, when he was already bristling with resentment. The light in his eyes had gone wild.

“It’s not my fault I was kept in ignorance of my own importance and raised as little more than a peasant, with no idea of how to administer a domain as vast as Throckmorton! I should have been taught how to fight, how to read ledgers, how to talk to other lords.”

At any other time, with any other man, Sian might have sympathized.

Indeed, it could not have been easy for him to take the place of someone like Christopher, who was, as he’d said, an excellent ruler.

But she was not disposed to sympathy toward a man who was acting like a petulant child and had ruined her life.

“Your brother was wronged too. He was also kept in ignorance, and—unlike you, who gained a title and everything that goes with it—he lost everything when the truth was revealed,” she reminded him.

“He never lied about his identity, never meant to enjoy a fortune he had no right to; he truly thought, as did everyone else, that he was the real Lord Ashton. The fault for the confusion lies with your father, who thought only of himself and did not think it appropriate to tell his own children the truth.”

“Yes, yes.”

He did not sound convinced, but Sian was not so easily beaten. “Now, to the reason for my visit. Why did you let my father and me believe your brother had wilfully wronged you when we visited in the summer? You should have been more honest, explained what the situation was.”

There had been no misunderstanding his intentions. The man had made it appear as if Christopher had taken advantage of the fact that no one had known the real Lord Ashton, so far away from Kent, when he had only lived the life he’d been told was his to live.

“My decisions are my own. I will not allow anyone, much less puny little ladies who think they can come in here accusing me of deception, to question my rightful place in the world anymore, do you hear? I am Lord Ashton, my son will be Lord Ashton after me, and I will silence anyone who dares doubt it.”