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CHAPTER FOUR

H is orders were to stay with the lady every minute, of every day, up to and including when they reached Snow Hill Castle. Tarran du Reims had been a warrior since knighted at nineteen years of age, nearly sixteen years ago. He had fought the bloodiest of battles and had accomplished the most difficult of orders flawlessly. But he knew for a fact that his most recent assignment would be the most difficult challenge he had ever faced.

Lady Tresta had been the nightmare he had anticipated from the outset. No matter what her husband said, she resisted both him and his attempts to send her home. Tarran had stood by silently while Teague quietly reasoned with her, then quietly threatened her, then finally held her as she wept. The two of them disappeared into the town of Calais for a few hours and when they returned, Tresta had some lovely garments that Teague had bought at a seamstress stall along with beautiful pieces of jewelry. It had been a bribe, they all knew, but she wasn’t interested in the bribe.

It did not lessen her determination to follow her husband.

Before they had departed Calais, Teague had taken Tarran aside. Tarran had permission, he said, to do whatever necessary to promote Tresta’s safety and ensure that she remained at Snow Hill until such time as Teague returned. Anything necessary. Tarran had asked his lord, quite frankly, what he meant by anything . Teague had left it at that. Anything.

It was wide open to interpretation.

Which left Tarran in a bit of a quandary when Teague departed for Vézelay, leaving behind a hysterical wife, two young pages, ten men-at-arms that he was loath to part with, and a stoic, though somewhat disappointed, knight. When Tresta tried to fight her way through Tarran in order to follow her husband, he interpreted anything as meaning exactly what he did– he tied her up.

And he left her that way for six straight days, until he was positive that Teague and the party from Snow Hill were well out of her range so that she had no chance of following. Tresta had run a range of emotions during those days– hysterics, anger, sadness, and back again until Tarran was exhausted simply from watching her. They sat in their rented room overlooking the bay in Calais, mostly in silence when Tresta wasn’t weeping and coughing.

Tarran kept her bound to prevent her from escaping, but it also created some logistical problems when it came to sleeping or relieving herself. For the former, he simply let her sleep in the chair, but for the latter, he would untie her legs and have one of the tavern maids help her. Yet, he remained right by the door, back turned, in case she tried to run. He wasn’t keen in treating her like a criminal but, in his opinion, she gave him little choice.

Her behavior dictated his actions.

It had been a draining experience for both of them. Tarran honestly wasn’t sure who was more exhausted– him or her. It was beginning to wear on his nerves of steel. Worse still, a nasty storm rolled in on the second day and their rented room developed a leak in the roof, one that went down the wall and onto the floor, which had her feet wet and, like a martyr, she refused to lift them up or let them dry. To Tarran, it seemed as if she wanted to suffer. Feeling all of the pain she could feel.

And punishing him for it.

On the eve of the sixth day, however, change was on the wind. Literally. As the storm finally began to wane a little, Simon stoked the fire in the hearth while Channing brought his lady and the knight some food. Tarran kicked the boys out of the room because mealtime with Lady d’Mearc had been a volatile event. He didn’t think it was something the young squires needed to be party to so, as usual, he had them take their meal on the landing just outside the chamber so they would be close if he needed them.

Anticipating another brawl, Tarran set the trencher down on the ragged, worn table near Tresta. She sat like stone, staring into the blaze, her features pale and tight as he found himself looking at her. Six days of being bound. Six days of limited food and water. Tarran knew that she couldn’t keep it up and now that her husband was long gone, perhaps there was no longer a need to keep her tied to the chair.

“If I untie you, will you promise not to run?” he asked quietly.

Her answer was to close her eyes, briefly, in fury. “I hate you, Tarran du Reims,” she hissed. “I’ll hate you ’til I die.”

“Be that as it may, if I untie you, will you promise not to run?”

“Of course not.”

“Then I shall have to feed you. Again.”

Her head snapped in his direction, venom in her eyes. “You will do no such thing. I would rather starve than take food from your hand.”

Tarran gazed steadily at her. “I doubt your husband would appreciate that. It is his wish that you stay strong, safe and healthy, and it is my task to ensure that.”

“Stay away from me.”

Tarran paused. “You know that your husband is long gone,” he said. “He left six days ago and all of the growling and clawing will not change that. Starving yourself will not change this. His ship is long away by now and there is no way to follow him. Do you understand that? Be a martyr if you wish with your behavior, but it will not change things.”

Her answer was to turn her head away and ignore him.

Tarran didn’t push her. She was unsteady now, but with time and a growling stomach, he hoped that she would calm and come to accept things as they were. He ate his knuckle of beef and half a loaf of brown bread, trying not to think on the adventure the lady was causing him to miss. He had been looking forward to the trip to The Levant more than any of them, and now, he was forced to abandon his hopes. He could have very easily hated the lady for changing his fortune, but as much as he would have liked to, he found he could not. In fact, he felt pity and envy at the same time– pity that she would miss her husband so, and envy that Teague had such loyalty and devotion from her.

It was an odd combination.

The night deepened and the storm, so violent over the past couple of days, had faded. Tarran was feeling his fatigue, but the lady remained unmoving, staring into the fire. Eventually, her eyes closed and her chin dipped to her chest. Tarran watched her sleep in the same position she’d slept in for five nights, and thought that perhaps on this night he should do the chivalrous thing and move her to the bed. Quietly, he rose from his chair and gently lifted her into his arms. She was light, no resistance to his strength, and he deposited her very carefully onto the bed. She stirred slightly, hindered by the ropes, and he began to feel guilty for having her tied up so long.

Against his better judgment, he pulled the ropes off and she settled in her sleep, her arms wrapping around the pillow and a great sigh escaping from her lips. Tarran turned his back on her with the intent to remove his boots and was met with the sound of feet hitting the floor. By the time he turned around, she was halfway across the floor. He caught her before she could open the door and wrapped his massive arms around her, effectively trapping her.

“Let me go!” She struggled as he hauled her back over to the bed.

“My lady.” Tarran grunted as her foot caught him in the knee. “You must rest now. Now that the storm has passed, we have a long journey back tomorrow.”

She was as out of control as two cocks in a fight. Tarran was having a hard time holding on to her, purely for the fact that he didn’t want to hurt her. He could have effectively and easily stopped her struggles, but he did not want to break her finger or an arm in doing so. As they reached the bed, she managed to trip him and they both fell heavily onto the lumpy mattress.

Tarran would have found the position enticing had any number of factors not been rolling through his mind, primarily the fact that this was his liege’s wife. She was a stubborn, spoiled lady and he did not like her manner one bit. No matter that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and, certainly, she had her moments of brilliance. He had seen them over the years. But she was also far too disobedient for his taste. Grabbing an arm, he flipped her onto her side, wedged himself in behind her, and trapped her in a vise-like bear hug.

“Now,” he growled in her ear. “Go to sleep and I’ll not hear another word from you until morning.”

She grunted and groaned. “Let me go, du Reims. You’re not my master.”

“According to your husband, I am. You will obey me until his return.”

“Never!”

“Then prepare yourself for sleeping in the same bed with me, eating every meal with me, and spending all of your days with me from now until Teague returns.” She tried to pinch him, but he caught her hand and smothered it. “Listen to me well, my lady. I have known you for many years. ’Tis true we have never gotten on well. I am not entirely sure why you dislike me so, but I can tell you that my distaste stems from moments like this. You are spoiled, mulish and defiant, and this I cannot abide in a woman. Had I been your husband, I would have beaten some sense into you long ago. Do not think for one minute that your tantrums or your tears will sway me, because they will not. ’Twill only make it harder for the both of us.”

As his words drifted off, her struggles lessened. In fact, they came to a stop altogether and a brittle silence settled. It was tense, as if waiting to start fighting again. But she didn’t. In his arms, Tarran felt her sigh heavily.

“’Tis not that I dislike you,” she said. “That was never the case.”

“It does not matter what your reasons are,” he said. “That was not my attempt to discover them. It was simply a statement of fact.”

She fell silent and even though she wasn’t actively fighting him, there was something about her that was still coiled.

He could feel it.

If he let his guard down, he’d find out just how coiled.

“You are an abrasive man,” she finally said. “You and I have known each other for many years, have eaten together, have shared many experiences at Snow Hill together, but still, it seems that you have ever kept hard and aloof to me.”

Tarran wasn’t sure what to say to that. Something was threatening to take this conversation into a confessional, and he had no intention of crossing that line. He couldn’t imagine that it was possible that she’d never realized, long ago, that he’d been attracted to her. She wasn’t stupid. But that had been years ago and he had absolutely no intention of entertaining that subject again.

It had taken him years to forget it.

Hard and aloof? He had been. It had been self-defense.

It was part of him now.

“Go to sleep, my lady,” he said. “Things will look better come morning.”

She acted like she hadn’t heard him. “You are my husband’s greatest warrior,” she said. “As he respects you, so do I.”

“Then if that is true, obey me. Obey me until your husband returns.”

“Teague trusts you, too.”

“Aye, he does.”

She fell silent for several long minutes. He thought perhaps she had fallen asleep. But her soft voice floated between them once again.

“Du Reims, I promise not to run if you will release me.”

He instantly let her go, though he would admit, deep down, that he was sorry. He rather liked the feel of her, cursing himself for even thinking such a thing.

It was stupid and destructive.

Rising from the bed, he planted himself back in his chair. Tresta lay upon the pillows, her lovely face thoughtful and serene as she looked at him.

“Do you really dislike me?” she asked.

There she was, on that subject again. She’d been trying to fight him for six days. This was just another tactic in her arsenal, he was certain. He wouldn’t be fooled.

He cleared his throat quietly.

“Mayhap that was too strong a word, my lady,” he said.

“Then what did you mean?”

“I simply meant that you are a willful lady and, at times, I have found that disagreeable.”

“I see.” She propped herself up on the bed, sitting up to face him. “Tarran, you must understand something. Accompanying my husband to The Levant is not a matter of being willful. It is a need.”

“A need?”

She nodded her head, her expression tense. “It is a matter of life and death that I go with Teague. I need your help, not your hindrance.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “I am sworn to your husband, my lady. I must follow his orders.”

She sat, lost in thought. Then, she stood up, pacing to the fire, now burning brightly in the hearth. There was resignation in her shoulders.

“I will never see my husband again then,” she said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I will be dead before he can return home, if ever he does.”

Tarran’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? How would you know that?”

She looked at him then, her eyes intense. “Tarran, though you and I have never gotten on, you must put that aside. I must ask you for your word of honor now. What I tell you must never leave your lips.”

He stood up, slowly, his pale blue eyes focused on her. “I am not sure what you…”

She cut him off. “Listen to me, Tarran,” she said. “Please. Did it ever occur to you that my desire to attend Teague was something more than wifely devotion? Something more than a spoiled whim?”

He looked confused, perhaps suspicious. “I do not understand, my lady.”

Passion filled her manner. “I will never see my brother or my husband again if I do not go with them to The Levant,” she said. “It is not a matter of fearing for their deaths. It is a matter of knowing that I will be the one to die, not them. Teague will return home to a dead wife and four motherless boys. I must go with Teague because if I do not, I will die alone, at Snow Hill, with my husband years away from me. It is because when I die, I want it to be in Teague’s arms, not our bed in a cold chamber, alone. His face must be the last one I see before meeting our Lord. Do you understand that?”

Tarran stared at her. “I am afraid that I do not. Why are you going to die?” He suddenly looked stricken, furious. “Do you intend to make this so?”

She looked away, sorrow etching her lovely face. “Your oath, Tarran,” she said softly. “You must swear to me that you will never repeat what I am about to tell you.”

He’d known Lady Tresta for many years. He had never known her to be manipulative, or a truth bender. In fact, she had a reputation for being exceedingly honest and forthright. But, at this moment, she had him on edge.

“You have it, my lady,” he said. “But I will not allow you to kill yourself.”

She closed her eyes, briefly, before turning to him. “The physic is concerned for my health,” she said. “The cough, you see… he believes that it is something more than a cough. A disease, I’m told. It is very possible that I will not be alive when Teague returns. Now do you understand why I must be with Teague?”

The longer he looked at her, the more he began to comprehend. Aye, she’d had a nasty cough since her bout with illness some time ago. Sometimes she coughed so violently that she would faint. Teague had always been gravely concerned for her health, always watching over her activities and rest habits. They all knew this; there were few secrets at Snow Hill. He could not have imagined that Teague would have left for the Holy Land had he known her cough was something more than just a spasm.

“Lord Teague does not know any of this,” he said softly. It was more a statement than a question.

She shook her head. “Nay.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged, wrestling with a question she had been asking herself for a year. “Because it would destroy him,” she said. “I told the surgeon not to tell him, either. What good would it do? Why punish him with the knowledge that I may not grow old with him? Why torture him with the awareness that, someday, he may have to face the world without me, and tell our sons of their mother as he once knew her? I cannot do that to him. It is too painful.”

Comprehension settled on Tarran. “And you thought, by sheer pleading, that he would allow you to accompany him on the quest,” he said. “You thought he would leave it at that and never ask why you wanted to come so badly.”

“I would hope that he would assume it was because I love him.”

Tarran inhaled deeply, thoughtfully. This was not a burden he wanted, this knowledge. He began to wish she had never told him and that he had never promised to remain silent about it.

“So you curse me with this secret,” he said, feeling his anger rise. “You encumber me with the information and hope that it will change my mind about taking you back to Snow Hill.”

She was honest. “That was my hope, aye.” She could see he was wavering. “Think whatever you like about me, du Reims. Hate me for being stubborn and willful. Hate me all you like for the bad qualities a woman may possess, only help me get to my husband. Help me to see him before this disease inside my chest kills me.”

He struggled with his wants versus his directive. Help the lady and disobey her husband. Obey the husband and watch the lady die without him, knowing the separation would probably hasten her passing. He knew that Teague and Tresta had been inseparable for ten years, shadows of each other, happy together as few people ever are. Even though their passion had cooled with time, the affection, the genuine love, was still there.

Everyone knew that.

But Tarran could not see beyond his orders. He could not take the lady to her husband and then not explain why he had done so. He would only be seen as a weak, disobedient knight. That, he could not allow.

Tresta could see her answer coming before it left his lips.

“I cannot.”

Outside, a thunderclap rattled the very building down to the foundation.