Page 41 of Ondine

From Justin, Ondine learned that Anne could be a jealous beauty, though she collected lovers herself as another woman might add gowns to her wardrobe.

She had assumed—after Genevieve’s death and the demise of her husband—that she would marry Warwick, though Justin stated with laughter that Warwick, had he not been so strange with brooding sorrow and anger after his first wife’s death, would not have married Anne anyway.

They’d been back at Chatham a week. She walked with Justin toward the stables as they spoke.

Ondine had no permission to ride, yet she enjoyed seeing the horses where they stood in the fields, or in their stalls.

Jake, she knew, would not be far behind her, but not close enough to hear her words, and so she easily plagued Justin with questions that he didn’t seem to mind answering.

“You didn’t know my brother long before your marriage, did you?” Justin asked her, his bright eyes alive with laughter.

“No,” she admitted, but told him no more. With a winning smile she placed a hand upon his arm. “So you see, dear Brother, I need all your help to understand my lord of Chatham.”

That much was true; she longed to understand the man, to discover what role she played, and then leave!

“Ah, fair Sister, touch me not!” Justin implored, smiling his flattery. “My brother’s bride sets a tempest in my own soul, and I am not made of stone.”

“I believe that he is,” Ondine muttered, the words slipping from her without thought.

“Ah-ha!” Justin declared, laughing. “So—this court excursion brought disharmony betwixt you, because of Anne, no doubt.”

She had no desire to explain the details of the estrangement in her marriage that Justin so obviously sensed and viewed with amusement. She moved forward to pluck a wildflower from the heath, then turned back to her handsome brother-in-law.

“Tell me more about Anne.”

Justin laughed, taking her hand and swinging it at his side so that they could continue their walk.

“Anne is a cunning vixen, nothing more, nothing less. She has partnered the king, among others, and from that alone, I can assure you, my brother never thought of her as anything other than amusement alone. The ‘beasts’ of Chatham are just that at times, my lady—proud and possessive. Beasts play where they will, but when they choose a mate, they do so with the gravest care, and might well be prone to kill for that mate’s honor and virtue.

Can you foresee such a life with the lady Anne? ”

Ondine did not reply. Warwick had, after all, taken her from the gallows, and he had, so it seemed, assumed her to be of the loosest morality.

She grinned sweetly at Justin, enjoying the lightness and laughter in his eyes, the tender flattery of his tongue, when all she received elsewhere was the most distant, forced courtesy.

“Tell me, Justin, do you know so much of beasts since you are of their number yourself?”

“Me? A beast? Nay, lady, never! The second child receives not the title, nor the land—but neither must he go through life with the label either!” Justin laughed.

Ondine laughed along with him, yet suddenly she was uneasy. Justin could hold the same intrigue in his visage as Warwick at times, the same ultimate charm, the same flirtation with danger. Did he ever resent his brother for the accident of birth, that Warwick held the title and the income?

It seemed that a cloud came just then, precisely to cover the sun, to riddle her with chills of doubt.

Ah, it was the madness of this place! It was her husband—oh, the devil should indeed take for a beast!

—forcing her to a tempest only to dash her upon the coldness of a barren shore!

There was no rhyme or reason to it, yet like him, she watched all with a jaundiced eye and found that mistrust came like a wall between any friendship, any closeness.

“Ah! Speak of the ‘beast,’ fair sister! There he is yonder, where we walk, with Clinton and Dragon!”

Justin caught her hand and hurried her along. She was flushed when she reached the stable yard, and being so, she felt that Warwick’s golden gaze touched upon her suspiciously, and she could not forget that his temper could be sparked to a high blaze with jealousy.

Clinton, observing them all from a casual stance, greeted them cordially.

Warwick said nothing, but he had little time, for Justin moved in to touch Dragon’s warm muzzle, demanding of his brother, “Have you seen the colt in the field, then, Brother? I do warrant that the son shall rival the father soon!”

Warwick laughed at his brother, seeming to forget Ondine for the moment. “What? You say, for the colt is yours, Justin! I’ll wager easily and well that it will take many a year for even his offspring to rival Dragon in strength and speed!”

“Nay! One more year, and we’ll see to that wager!”

“Aye!” Warwick declared.

“You’re about to ride?” Justin said. “Wait but a moment, and your wife and I might accompany you.”

The laughter faded from Warwick’s face; again he stared at Ondine in that harsh way she had as yet to fathom. Yet she cared little now; her heart pulsed with the excitement of riding. Surely he could not deny her when he rode himself!

“Ondine may not ride. I’ve an appointment with a Flemish wool merchant and haven’t the time to wait for her to change clothing. Nor should she be so reckless with her health and our child.”

“I beg you, milord!” she said very softly. “I swear, I can ride well in what I wear! My health is excellent. The exercise would do me and”—-she paused, challenging him with her eyes—“the child a world of good.”

She heard his tsk of anger and knew with a fleeting pleasure that she had annoyed and embarrassed him, behaving like an abused spouse before his brother and cousin.

“Come, then!” he said irritably.

“It will take no time to saddle a suitable mount,” Clinton said pleasantly, and Ondine gazed at him quickly with wide grateful eyes, further annoying Warwick, yet she did not care in the least.

“I’ll tend to my own mount,” Justin told his brother, “and there will be no wait at all!”

Ondine did not gaze at Warwick; she sped behind Clinton, finding a bridle even as he selected the saddle for a small chestnut mare.

She thanked Clinton warmly for his support, yet thought fleetingly that Clinton, too, had that manner about him!

Indomitable; arrogant for all that he was, pleasant when he chose, kind when he chose.

But he, too, was a Chatham, not the younger in birth, but of improper birth.

Chathams! All possessive, too proud. And around them lurked a shroud of mystery.

She should fear, but she didn’t know what it was she should fear, only that whispers plagued the manor, and Warwick kept his secrets to himself.

“Come, my lady, now or never!” Warwick called out harshly.

Clinton boosted her onto the mare; she was aware that his hands were powerful, like her husband’s.

Justin paused for a word with Clinton; Ondine started off with Warwick. They were but paces from the stable before he turned to her, eyeing her most callously.

“What now, my lady? The king’s rapture was not enough? Would you string along my own flesh and blood?”

She was already on the horse; there was no further need for even her customary nominal courtesy.

“The devil take you, Warwick,” she said with a condescending smile and a lift of her chin; then she nudged her heels against the mare and felt that she flew—beyond him, beyond his hurting reach.

“Ondine!” The roar of his voice followed her, yet could not touch her.

She laughed with delight, laughed with the wind and the freshness of the air and the marvelous feel of the muscular horseflesh beneath her.

The mare was sound and small and swift. She raced!

But Ondine had forgotten that Dragon was indeed a fierce steed, a stallion as powerful as his master. He was soon beside her.

“Cease this reckless speed!” Warwick blazed out as they came neck and neck. “You know not the terrain! By all heaven I swear you’ll never sit upon a mount again . . .”

The threat brought her fleeting glimpse of freedom to a staggering halt.

She pulled in on the reins, but not before she discovered what he meant of the terrain.

The mare’s hoof caught upon a root. The horse stumbled, and Ondine was left to leap quickly away from the falling horse, lest she be crushed.

She landed in a thicket, with Warwick quickly at her side, his hands too intimately upon her as he swore vociferously and checked for broken bones.

“Leave off!” Ondine pleaded. “I am fine!”

“Leave off! Fool! Vixen, you’ll not listen, even when it’s your life and limb I look to!”

She lowered her head as he dragged her to her feet, loathe that he should know how his touch, even in anger, too vividly reminded her of a different time.

“Ah, marital bliss!”

Both of them started violently at the sound of a female voice. Warwick moved from Ondine, frowning as he turned. They had both been too involved with one another to notice anything else, not even the approaching thud of hooves.

And Ondine could have sworn she was as startled as he at the mounted appearance of Lady Anne.

“Anne,” Warwick stated irritably, his hands upon his hips, a frown creasing the line of his brow. “What—”

A second horse moved around the lady Anne’s, carrying Lyle Hardgrave.

“Hardgrave,” Warwick said quietly, yet the name sounded from his lips like a curse.

“Chatham,” Hardgrave returned. He doffed his hat to Ondine. “My lady . . .”

And those words sounded like a caress.

“The viscount so kindly invited me to his estates,” Anne said sweetly, “and so here I come upon the two of you! Tsk! Tsk! Warwick, I can’t imagine that you’ve not taught your bride to sit a horse properly!

Poor lady! Ah, and with child, at that! I shall pray all is well.

Oh, my dear girl, you’ve grass all about you!

Such a fall! Or is the grass from your sleeping quarters?

Warwick, surely you do not keep her in the barn? ”

“Nay, lady, he does not!” Ondine spoke out, carefully modulating her voice to sound cheerful before Warwick could answer in anger.

“Do you ask because that is where he might have kept his . . . sluts before? Have no fear, I am well housed. And I ride quite well.” She smiled as sweetly as a contented kitten, slipped her hands about Warwick’s rigid arm, and moved closer to him with an adoring gaze.

“We just discovered that we must touch one another at the strangest moments . . . anywhere, at anytime . . .”

Warwick’s arm then locked around her shoulder; he pulled her closer and idly moved his fingers over her shoulder, apparently moved from wrath to amusement, and more than willing to take his cue from her. “Hardgrave, what are you and your guest doing on my land?”

“I beg to differ,” Hardgrave responded to Warwick, but his eyes did not leave Ondine. “This is my land you’ve stumbled upon.”

“Ah, perhaps we have,” Warwick said lightly, giving his attention to Ondine, as if she were such a rich distraction that his mind could fathom nothing less. “Ah, love, see!” he accused her as tenderly as a lover. “You’ve led me far astray.”

Anne made an impatient sound from her saddle. “Ride with us a while, Lord Chatham.”

“What? Oh?” Warwick tore his eyes from Ondine, lazy eyes that fell over Anne with little interest. “I’m afraid we cannot. I’ve an appointment.”

His chilly gaze then turned to Hardgrave. “We’ll take care not to stumble upon your land again, Viscount!”

He turned about swiftly, hands encircling Ondine’s waist so that he could set her upon the mare once again. Then he moved to procure Dragon, who had wandered several feet away to feast upon a thicket of high grass.

Anne moved her horse closer to Ondine’s. She smiled quite pleasantly.

“Lady Ondine. Lady! I’ve a mind that you are no more than a common and talented . . . whore! And I will prove it, my lady. Mark my words—I will discover you!”

Ondine smiled in return. “Do your best, Anne.”

Over Anne’s head she saw Hardgrave staring at her, leering in such a way that her blood ran cold. It seemed that he would consume her with greedy eyes, and despite herself she blanched, even as he bowed from the saddle, spurred his horse, and rode away with the lady Anne following at his heels.

Warwick, mounted upon Dragon once again, came to her side grimly, gripping the mare’s bridle.

“Damn you and breakneck paces!” he swore. “I warn you, and my words make no difference! You caused this, girl, and I warn you the two of them will stop at nothing; they are not to be trusted!”

“Trusted! It appears to me that you long and well ‘trusted’ the lady Anne, with all your heart, mind, soul—and body!”

“Jealous, my love?”

“Nay! Revolted!”

“I am ever so sorry to offend you. Yet something like this cannot happen again. Perhaps you should be restrained to the house!”

“Were you not such a horrid beast of a jailor, it would not have occurred.”

“Horrid beast! Watch it, Lady! Should you request one, you will get one!”

Justin came dashing up just then, warning them that they crossed the border of their lands.

“I know!” Warwick spat out. “And I believe that my lady is now aware of her boundaries, too!”

Justin gazed at Ondine; she shook her head. Warwick rode ahead, and Ondine and Justin followed behind in silence.