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She saw that he was as angry as he had been so long before, when they had first wedded. He came over her again, shoved into her, and moved over her until once again he reached his release.
He held her arms above her head, speaking even as his breathing still hitched. “No lies, Hastings. I will tell you the truth. You are pathetic. Look at yourself. Ranting at me, lying there with nothing to give me but your damned anger that I do not deserve. It is you who have mucked up the miracle, not I. I will not accept this, Hastings. Damn you, become the way you were a week ago. Look to Marjorie, she is sweet and gentle, an angel who walks in the sunlight even when it is night. Aye, try to mold yourself into Marjorie’s likeness.”
He jerked off her. As he walked from the bedchamber, she yelled at him, “I wish your saddle had fallen on you! All that was between us was a lie. I was never anything to you save a convenience. Damn you, I am not pathetic! I would rather mold myself in Satan’s likeness than Marjorie’s.”
He slammed the door behind him. She lay there for but a few moments, then rose to bathe herself. It was at that moment that Hastings made her decision.
22
“IASK IT AS A FAVOR TO MY FATHER. PLEASE, BEAMIS, don’t say no.”
Beamis scratched his armpit, looked everywhere but at his mistress’s face, and wished Gwent would magically appear, overhear what she wanted him to do, and forbid it without hesitation and with great force of voice.
Hastings tugged at his sleeve. “Listen, Beamis, you know my father traveled to this place three or four times a year. Don’t shake your head. Surely you knew of it. You were his master-at-arms. You did, did you not? Of course you did. You accompanied him.”
He nodded finally, praying that if Gwent didn’t come then Lord Severin would appear. No, he would not pray for that. All knew that Lord Severin had mucked things up again with his wife. All knew tha
t he desired Lady Marjorie, an exquisite wench with exquisite silver hair that a man wanted to stroke and rub against. But, Beamis thought, she was still just a wench like any other wench. Hair wasn’t all that important.
Hastings was an heiress and a healer, only a wench secondarily. “I can’t,” he said finally, and wanted to cry.
Her hand was still on his arm, tugging now frantically at his sleeve. “Beamis, I cannot remain here and watch her take my place.”
“I cannot, Hastings. Please, do not ask this of me. It is impossible. I cannot.”
He was miserable, she could see that, but she didn’t care. She said very quietly, “The saddle that fell on me—Lord Severin’s own saddle. You know it was not an accident. Do you wish Fawke of Trent’s daughter to be killed? If I remain here, it could happen and you know it, Beamis.”
Beamis groaned. Half the men thought it had been an accident. The other half wondered aloud, but Beamis knew what they thought. They believed that someone wanted Lady Marjorie to take Hastings’s place as mistress of Oxborough. But who? The lady herself? How could someone so beautiful, with such exquisite hair, be so treacherous?
He was suddenly struck with inspiration. “No one will kill you. I will taste your food.” He beamed at her. There was a wide space between his two front teeth. He habitually cleaned between those teeth with his tongue. “No one can poison you if I taste your food before you do.”
She sighed and turned away, saying over her shoulder, “I am with child, Beamis. You wish my child to die as well? Lord Fawke’s grandson?”
He cursed, spat in a mud puddle, kicked a roving chicken, and cursed some more at Gilbert the goat, who was chewing on a long strap of old leather. He wanted to strangle that goat with that leather strap. But the goat gave milk. Hastings would need the milk so the child would remain healthy in her womb.
He plowed his thick fingers through grizzled black hair. “I would be undone. Lord Severin would kill me were he to find out. And how would he not know? You would be gone from Oxborough and so would I. The roads are dangerous. There are more outlaws between here and the southern coast than men guarding King Edward. I could not sufficiently protect you. Besides, I would be dead because Lord Severin would kill me.”
Hastings didn’t believe Severin would precisely kill Beamis, but what could she say to that? She would have to travel alone. But she didn’t know where Rosehaven was.
She patted Beamis’s arm as she said, “You are right. I did not think this through. I will not ask you again. It was not fair of me.”
Beamis wasn’t stupid. He had known Hastings since she was a child. He’d watched her grow up. He looked thoroughly alarmed. “You will not go by yourself, will you, Hastings? By Saint Albert’s toenails, promise me you’ll not go to this Rosehaven alone.”
“How could I? I have no idea where Rosehaven is.” Well, she did know that it was near Canterbury, but that was all. There was probably quite a lot near Canterbury.
He looked vastly relieved. “No, you do not.” He even looked skyward and she imagined he was giving thanks to God.
She found Severin with Torric the steward. There was no longer any distrust between them since Torric had told him about Rosehaven. Severin looked up, recognized that stubborn look on her face, and sighed. He left Torric, took her arm, and walked beside her outside the keep into the inner bailey. “You wish to apologize to me? You wish to kiss me again in front of our people and Gilbert the goat? Mayhap you could caress me with your hands?”
Severin rather thought she would do none of these things. She looked more likely to spit in his eye. She said, “You know that it is not safe for the Sedgewick people to return yet. It is another sennight, at least, to be safe.”
“Aye.”
“I know you do not wish to leave Lady Marjorie. Thus I would ask that you allow me to take some of your men and travel to Rosehaven. I will find out who is living there and what hold there was over my father.”
“Why would I not wish to leave Lady Marjorie?”
“Because you doubtless love her.”
