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“Desist! She is my wife now. My true wife,” he countered, knowing these words needed to be spoken, although they may be hurtful to Rowena.
Rowena heaved a sigh, beginning to toy with one of the rich sapphire rings which were now adorning her fingers.
“I do not truly care for her. Or what she is to you. I only came to see how all things fared. I had her followed. For a while I was afraid she would be the undoing of me, because I let her live.”
Arthen’s blood turned to sheer ice. He stared at the woman in front of him, at last fully perceiving what she was capable of doing. Understanding the meaning of his gaze upon her, Rowena let out a rueful laugh.
“I did not think you were so soft-hearted and cowardly when I married you. There was a cold assurance and a boldness about you that I liked. And the uncanny way your arrow always seemed to strike true. That is a man for me, I thought to myself – a man I must have. And I had you. Until I wanted you no longer. You know, I even kept faith with you while we were wed, before I ran away. Of sorts, I had to bear the priest’s gaunt, clammy hands upon me, but I didn’t let him bed me. His touch was distasteful. Just as my new husband’s touch is distasteful. Yours never was. But you know that, don’t you?”
Arthen said nothing, too shaken to feel sickened by what his former wife had uttered. She had not done it, but it was plain to him that, for power and riches, she had been ready to murder her own sister. This was the woman he’d once thought himself in love with.
“Yet you never heeded me as Lord FitzUrse does. He heeds me now. Because he understands I’ll lead him on the path togreatness. His touch is sickening, but what of it? I will have greatness. And people will recall my name long after I am dead!”
“It’s not your name though. It’s hers. A name she gave up gladly just to be free. She is your sister! Tell me true. Do you still seek to harm her?” Arthen asked, staring into Rowena’s eyes intently.
He wanted to believe there was something in her about which he had not been so utterly wrong when he'd fancied her – something of her kind, honourable sister, of her gentle mother, and of the bright, mischievous son she’d given him. He wanted to hope Emma and Robin were forever safe from the harm Rowena could do to them.
It was a long while before Rowena shook her head.
“Nay,” she said at last, very softly, in a weary voice.
And at that moment Arthen understood his own guilt. Perchance there had been a moment in their marriage when Rowena could have learnt to love him and could have been steered away from the path she’d taken. Yet he had not been able to love her as she needed to be loved in order to let go of her mad dreams of glory. It was perhaps now saddening to Rowena he had grown to love her sister immeasurably, far more than he could have ever learnt to love her.
“Rowena…” Arthen started artlessly.
Her gaze was hard upon him again, and devoid of any feeling.
“Enough of this. I just came to make sure you will never betray me. I do not seek to harm you or her. It is not worth it.”
“What of Robin?” he asked, knowing the words needed to be spoken between them.
She waved her hand, not showing any kind of anguish.
“He is your son. Far more yours than mine. I never truly wanted him. You did though. And I gathershedoes.”
She laughed mirthlessly, but then pulled her shoulders back.
“Still. He is my son also. Whether I care for him or not, he’ll grow up strong and bold just as I am. And he is cared for. No longer my burden to bear. What more could I wish for?”
Arthen nodded in sheer relief. He now recalled only too well Rowena might have been uncaring of their son, yet she’d never been cruel to the child. And he thought upon the promise he’d made Rowena’s mother that he would see she was safe and sound. He glanced upon her, understanding she was not safe at all. Her mad dreams of glory might lead to her downfall.
“Here,” Rowena suddenly said, extending her hand.
When he glanced upon it, he saw it was the ring with which he’d gifted her on the eve of their wedding.
“Will you tell him of me?” she said, yet her voice did not tremble, and sounded just as devoid of emotion as before.
“Aye, when he’s old enough to understand,” Arthen said with a resolute nod.
She said nothing, just staring away from him.
“Rowena, have a care! Emma has made me see it even more clearly than before. This life you seek. It is a prison, not the freedom you crave,” Arthen cautioned her, knowing it was what needed to be spoken.
She shook her head, and her smile became, yet again, utterly feral.
“I am no longer yours. And I never was in truth. So don’t concern yourself with me,MasterArcher. I am Lady FitzUrse to you from now on.”
The Norman in which she now spoke the words sounded every bit as crisp and high-handed as Emma’s was. Arthen watched how she carefully adjusted the wide hood and veil meant to hide her features. He understood it must be the last time he was setting eyes upon her, and prayed she should not find her end on the executioner’s block. Those who sought greatness often did. He opened his mouth to warn her of it, yetshe cut him off with a regal wave of her hand. Whatever he wished to tell her, Rowena must already know, and it was plain she had chosen her path.
“My lady,” he said formally, with an incline of his head.
She strode away from him, swiftly, not looking back, and Arthen stared upon her until her cloaked silhouette disappeared at last. He then weighed the ring of his former marriage in his hand, knowing he would have to preserve it for his son, and understanding that learning the truth was one of the future trials Robin would be facing in his life. He wondered if his son would find it in his heart to forgive those who’d raised him for what had passed.
Yet when he went back to the home which Emma had filled with flowers and warmth and all sorts of bright-coloured things which pleased the eye, to look upon the beautiful picture the woman and the child were making, now asleep in the bedchamber in each other’s arms, he understood Robin would after all find it in his heart to let go of any kind of anger. He felt certain his son would come to see it could not have been otherwise. Somewhere, in the stars, it had been already written that Emma would come into their lives to love both Robin and Arthen and to be loved by them in return.
