Page 12 of Lion of Thunder (De Lohr Dynasty: Sons of de Lohr #5)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

W estley knew his mother and older sisters had arrived toward sunset because he saw the carriage enter the bailey. They were traveling in the larger and more fortified de Lohr carriage, one that was like a prison on wheels. It was so heavily fortified that the “Rolling Fortress” was exactly what they called it. When one was traveling with women, however, that was the carriage to take.

Surprisingly, Westley had spent the day with Marius walking the perimeter of Massington alongside Harker and Olan. Marius was suffering through his first truly sober moment in nearly two years, ever since that horrible day when his son had been killed. It had happened near the gatehouse, so it was difficult for him to show Westley the structure and not remember seeing Emory astride the horse that threw him into a wall. Emory had laughed it off, but the truth was that he’d hit his head. Hard. Everyone thought he was fine until an hour later when he developed a horrible headache. Shortly thereafter, he’d lost consciousness and died the next day. A swollen brain, the physic had said. The hit on the wall had been hard enough to bruise his brain—and once that happened, there was nothing to be done.

God, how Marius hated that gatehouse.

But he’d taken Westley through it anyway.

Of course, Westley hadn’t known any of that, and neither Harker nor Olan had mentioned it. That wasn’t their right. They’d simply followed silently, each man to his own thoughts, which included one man greatly resenting the privileged de Lohr son because he would be marrying the woman he loved, while the other was thinking that de Lohr was too arrogant for his own good. Different men, different thoughts.

All of them in turmoil.

But it all became too much for Marius. His head was throbbing and he felt sick, so he begged off from any further conversation later in the afternoon and disappeared. Harker disappeared as well, but Olan remained for a short time, talking about the fine Belgian horses in the stables and how Marius liked to breed the mares with Spanish Jennets to create a more agile horse. He evidently sold them for a great deal, and Westley very much wanted to talk to Marius more about his horses because he, too, had a great deal of knowledge and affection for them. Their conversation was cut short, however, when Olan was called away, leaving Westley on his own to wander the grounds and inspect his future home.

A home that came with a woman he was increasingly interested in.

In fact, even though his mother and sisters had arrived, he didn’t go to greet them. Not right away. He wanted to introduce his mother to Elysande, the woman he hadn’t wanted to marry. The woman who’d caused him to fight his brothers for a chance to escape her. The woman he’d been ignoring for the past ten years. He wanted to see his mother’s face when he introduced Elysande without any reservation at all. He suspected his father would tell her first, but she probably wouldn’t believe it until she saw it.

His mother was hard to convince that way.

Seeing that his father had met up with his mother when she entered Massington, Westley headed for the keep. He knew Elysande was no longer in the armory because he’d been there, so he could only assume she’d gone inside. He went to the keep entry but didn’t enter because to do so without invitation, when women were in residence, was considered inappropriate. Therefore, he sent a female servant to seek audience with Elysande, and the servant returned with an invitation to enter.

Gladly, he did.

“Sir Westley?”

A disembodied voice called to him as he came through the door. He paused, looking around to see where it was coming from.

“Where are you?” he called.

The door to his left immediately opened and he could see a hand waving at him. “Here we are,” Esther said. “Come in, my lord. Join us.”

Westley went to the door, surveying the interior before he entered. It was a small chamber, with a festive hearth, and it looked very much like a woman’s chamber. There was a loom, baskets of wool, and sewing kits among other things. A fat orange cat sat on a stool near the fire, dozing. Esther was sitting near the door in a comfortable chair while Elysande sat on the other side of the chamber with a mass of red silk in her hands.

And she didn’t look happy.

“Since we are to have a wedding tomorrow, Ella thought she should wear something lovely,” Esther said, fully aware of how much it was embarrassing her daughter to say so. “She doesn’t have much of anything that is serviceable, as she would never allow me to make such a thing for her, so we are having to alter one of my gowns for her. Ella, show him.”

Red-faced, Elysande held up the red silk. Westley could see the sleeves and a ripped seam. He could also see that Elysande’s fingers were wrapped up with cloth, and he could see small pinpricks of bloodstains.

His brow furrowed.

“What happened to your fingers?” he asked.

Esther answered. “My daughter has many talents, but sewing is not one of them,” she said. “She stabbed herself many a time with the needle as she worked.”

Elysande let the dress drop to her lap as she rolled her eyes. “Mother,” she said, “do you have to say such things?”

Westley wasn’t the best at reading women, but he could sense that Elysande was mortified by her mother’s comments. He went over to her, crouching down next to her as she avoided eye contact with him.

“It does not matter to me what you wear,” he said quietly. “I suspect that you could make a peasant’s dress look beautiful. Wear what makes you happy, not what you think you should wear.”

She looked at him then, gratitude in her eyes. “You may as well know that I have never been one for fanciful clothing,” she said. “I’ve never regretted that until now, so I asked my mother if she had something I could wear.”

He shrugged. “If it pleases you, wear it.”

“She was hoping it would please you ,” Esther said.

Elysande dropped her head again as her mother’s bombardment of embarrassment continued. But Westley simply smiled.

“If she wants to wear her usual clothing to our wedding, then she should,” he said. “I am marrying the woman, not her manner of dress.”

Esther wasn’t dense. She knew that her daughter was ashamed, but that was a good thing. Elysande never thought about clothing or jewels, but now that she was to become the wife of a great knight, those were things she would need to consider.

“That is true, my lord, but how she dresses will directly reflect on your ability as a husband to provide for her,” she said. “She is no longer a maiden who can wear what she pleases and no one will take notice. She is to marry a de Lohr son and become a member of a great house. If she wants to reflect well upon you, she must wear clothing more appropriate to her station.”

That was true. Even Westley knew that. He’d seen the knights at court and their bejeweled wives. The prettiest wives, the best-dressed wives, were often spoken of and admired. His brothers had all married beautiful and well-dressed women, very kind women who would be more than happy to help Elysande become acclimated. But, truthfully, he felt sorry for her. She was a free spirit, completely unaware of her beauty, and he admired that. He admired a woman who didn’t care what others thought.

Even her mother.

“I want you to wear what makes you happy,” he repeated. “I will be happy if you are happy. If you want to wear the red dress, then wear it. But if you do not, then don’t let others convince you it is for the best.”

Elysande looked up from her lap again, a weak smile on her lips. “I do want to wear it,” she said. “If a woman is going to look beautiful, then it should be on her wedding day.”

“If you want my opinion, I think you look beautiful every day.”

Her smile broadened and her cheeks turned the predictable shade of red. “How would you know?” she said. “You have only seen me since yesterday.”

He put his hand over hers. “I only have to see you one day to know that your beauty does not give way in the face of a new day,” he said. “But I will reiterate what I said—it does not matter to me what you wear. I will be happy with whatever you’re happy with.”

His words gave her confidence. “Then I shall try not to disappoint, I promise.”

He gave her hand a squeeze before letting go. “Speaking of disappointment, my mother has arrived,” he said. “She will, indeed, be disappointed if I do not bring you to meet her.”

Esther, who had been listening to the rather sweet conversation, suddenly threw her sewing aside. “We have guests?” she said, standing up quickly. “Why did no one tell me? Ella, get upstairs and find something adequate to meet your betrothed’s mother in. Hurry!”

They were flying out of the chamber. Elysande nearly bowled Westley over in her haste, and he had to steady himself as she fled. But he quickly found his feet, following her into the foyer as she began to take the stairs.

“You do not have to change your clothing,” he called after her. “My mother will appreciate that you do not own anything fine. That means you are not after de Lohr money!”

The last few words were shouted because she had disappeared from his view. When she didn’t answer, he knew she probably hadn’t heard him. Or she didn’t care. He was puzzled because he’d never said anything to her about the way she looked or the way she dressed other than to tell her to wear what made her happy. But given how her mother had responded to him and told him of the red dress they were altering for the wedding mass, he suspected Esther was behind Elysande’s sudden preoccupation with clothing. Westley had developed a hearty respect for mothers in general from the day he was born.

He wasn’t going to get in the middle of it.

As Westley sat down at the base of the stairs to wait for his betrothed to reappear in suitable clothing, Elysande and her mother had made their way into Elysande’s chamber to comb through her limited clothing. Everything she had was stored in a big wardrobe, a heavy thing that had come from Nevele Castle and possessed the du Nor family crest, which was a sword with a decapitated head piked on it. It was carved into the doors, quite expertly done, but the artwork had faded over the years from hands grabbing the doors to open them.

Even now, Esther had flung open the wardrobe and begun furiously moving through the few things that were there. The only thing she had that would be remotely appropriate for an audience with a countess was a green linen overdress with a natural linen sheath underneath. Though linen wasn’t usually dyed, this one had been by an old seamstress who used grass as the dye. It was a beautiful green color that had been made for Elysande when she was younger at the insistence of her tutor at Warwick. So many other fostering girls had fine clothing, and with Elysande dressing like a peasant child, the tutor had insisted the finer dress be made.

But it was too small.

Elysande had grown up and filled out, but that didn’t matter to Esther. She couldn’t loan her daughter unaltered clothing because she was too short and too full in the bustline, so the green dress would have to suffice until something new and finer could be made. Once the green dress was decided on, Esther fled down the stairs to greet Lady Hereford in the hall and wait for her daughter and Westley, who was camped out on the bottom step of the flight of stairs, to join them. Esther ran past him and told him to wait for Elysande, which he gladly agreed to do.

Meanwhile, Elysande proceeded to strip off the broadcloth she was wearing. The old leather girdle came off first, followed by the overdress with the bib and open sides. She had a dirty shift underneath, and just as she went to remove it, the chamber door opened and Freddie entered.

Elysande hissed at her.

“Help me,” she said. “Lady Hereford is here and I must dress in something appropriate or she will hate me and the wedding will be ended before it even starts. Hurry!”

Freddie, who had come up to the chamber bearing watered wine and the small apples that Elysande liked to snack on, came rushing over to her, seeing the green dress on the bed.

“You’re wearing that ?” she asked, incredulous.

Elysande rolled her eyes. “That is all I have,” she said. “My mother has insisted. Where is my soap? Is there any water that I can use to quickly wash? I was training earlier today and surely must have dirt on my face and neck. I cannot be introduced to Lady Hereford looking like a barn animal.”

Freddie went to work, collecting soap and rags from the wardrobe and then running into the next chamber, Esther’s chamber, to collect rosewater that had been brought up to the woman that morning. It was cold, and stale, but that didn’t matter. It was good enough. As Elysande took a wet rag and soap and began to scrub her face, Freddie did the same with her neck and arms.

“The only thing Sir Westley has said about his mother is that when she opens her mouth, they run,” Elysande said, eyes closed as she wiped the white, slimy foam over her forehead. “Something tells me that she is as terrifying as my mother is.”

Freddie was scrubbing her left arm, which had dirt on it from the protection she’d been wearing. “I heard what happened this morning,” she said. “Sir Westley pushed you down whilst you were training?”

Eyes closed, Elysande was scrubbing her right cheek. “He did not push me down,” she said flatly. “He was showing me how a knight charges and I tripped over my feet. I am unharmed.”

Freddie rinsed off her arm. “That is good, because I should not like for you to marry a brute, not when…” She abruptly stopped what she was saying and continued with something else. “I saw the de Lohr carriage arrive with its escort. Some of the men were in the kitchen, procuring food for the escort. They evidently left Daventry without any supplies.”

Elysande grabbed for a clean, wet rag and rinsed off her face. “Daventry?” she said. “Lady Hereford was in Daventry?”

“Aye,” Freddie said. “From what I heard.”

Elysande finally opened her eyes as she continued to wipe down her face. “What were you going to say?”

“When?”

“When you suddenly stopped and began speaking on the de Lohr carriage?”

Freddie didn’t answer right away, which caused Elysande to look at her. “Well?” she said. “What were you going to say?”

Freddie was scrubbing Elysande’s right arm. “I thought not to tell you what I heard,” she said, refusing to look at her. “But if you are to marry this man, then you should know.”

“Know what?”

Freddie’s scrubbing slowed. “I was in the kitchen replenishing the watered wine,” she said. “I was there when the de Lohr men arrived and they were speaking of the journey to Daventry and why they were there.”

Elysande shrugged. “They were there escorting Lady Hereford, I would assume.”

Freddie nodded. “Aye, that is true, but she was there for a reason,” she said. “Ella, do you remember Cedrica de Steffan?”

Elysande didn’t hesitate. “Of course I do,” she said. “You know that Daventry is not far from here. Her mother and my mother were friends, once, and Lady Daventry would come to visit and bring Cedrica when I was very young. I remember Cedrica always wanted to play in the kitchen yard, with the chickens.”

“Why did your mother stop entertaining Lady Daventry?”

Elysande shook her head. “I do not know,” she said. “Mayhap they simply lost touch with one another. They both had children, families to tend to. My mother has never said anything about her in a negative fashion, so I cannot answer your question. But why are you asking me so many questions about Cedrica and Lady Daventry?”

“Because Lady Hereford went to see Cedrica.”

Elysande turned back to the water, rinsing out her rag in it. “Oh?” she said. “She knows Cedrica?”

Freddie hesitated. “She knows her,” she said. “More importantly, Westley knows her. I heard… I heard that Cedrica is with child. Westley’s child. Lady de Lohr went to Daventry to pay her money so she would not tell anyone and it would not interfere with your marriage to Westley.”

Elysande froze, mid-wash. With wide eyes, she turned to Freddie.

“You heard that?” she gasped.

Freddie nodded fearfully. “The de Lohr soldiers must have told some of our soldiers, because our servants heard about it,” she said. “The cook told me. You know how rumors spread like wildfire, Ella. But in this case, I thought you should know. You are to marry a man who has bedded another woman, and she carries his child.”

Elysande stared at her. For several long and painful moments, all she could do was stare at her as she processed what Freddie had told her. When it finally sank in, she let go of the rag in her hand and dropped onto her bed, stunned.

“My God,” she breathed. “Is it really true?”

Freddie set her own rag down and went to Elysande’s side. “That is what they said,” she said gently, seeing how upset her cousin was. “Mayhap you should ask him?”

Elysande felt as if she’d been hit in the gut. All of the air had drained out of her along with everything else. She felt ill. Nay… more than ill. Her chest ached. Her head hurt. The man who had pretended to show her so much attention and care had evidently shown that care and attention to others, too.

Perhaps that had been his game all along.

And she had trusted him.

She’d trusted him when he told her that he wanted to train her. She’d trusted him when he was kind to her, when he told her she was beautiful. He’d even winked at her and made her feel things she’d never felt before. All the while, she’d believed him. He’d rolled out a deception and she had willingly accepted it.

She’d accepted him .

She felt like a fool.

“Freddie,” she finally said, her voice quivering, “I want you to do something for me.”

Freddie nodded anxiously. “Anything you wish,” she said. “What would you have me do?”

Elysande realized that she felt very much like crying, and it was an effort for her not to break down. “I want you to go into the hall and tell my mother what you have told me,” she said steadily. “Tell her in private, where Hereford cannot hear. Then you will tell my mother to ask Lady Hereford if this is true. Let my mother deal with this situation, for I will not.”

Freddie looked at her curiously. “What will you do?”

Elysande took a long, deep breath, struggling to keep her composure. “I will finish bathing and then I will go to bed,” she said. “If anyone asks, my head is aching and I have gone to sleep. I am not to be disturbed, not by anyone. Not by my mother, not by Westley. I just want to… sleep.”

Freddie nodded, seeing how truly distraught her cousin was. She knew Elysande enough to know that. She was sorry to be the bearer of such news, but as she’d told her cousin, Elysande had a right to know the character of the man she was to marry.

Even if it hurt.

Once Freddie departed the chamber and slipped down the servant stairs on her way to the hall, avoiding Westley in the entry completely, Elysande bolted the door behind her and also bolted the connecting door to her mother’s chamber. Then she proceeded to finish bathing with the soap and cold rosewater before donning a heavy sleeping shift, combing her hair and braiding it, and then climbing into bed and pulling the coverlet over her head.

Then, and only then, did she allow herself the comfort of hot tears.

She wept.