WolfeShield, page 12
“My lady?” he said again, louder this time. “What is amiss? What has happened?”
Isabeth looked at him and he could see that she was absolutely terrified. “They… they attacked me,” she said, tears pooling in her eyes. “I came to speak to Lady de Wolfe to tell her that slapping my servants was unacceptable but, instead, she challenged me. She grabbed me and would not let go. She threatened me and tried to hurt me, so I fought back. Then her women came in and they attacked me, so I was forced to defend myself.”
Ronan grunted unhappily at the tumultuous turn of events. “My lady, I told you that I would see to Lady de Wolfe,” he said. “I told you that I would deal with her. You did not have to come to her yourself.”
“I did,” Isabeth snapped. “When I left you, you headed in the opposite direction of where she was. I had no way of knowing when you would speak with her, so I came to do it myself.”
She was right. After speaking with her, he hadn’t gone off to find Marian immediately. He fully admitted to himself that he’d gone to find Christian because he was so embarrassed to deal with his wife’s behavior that he simply had to take time to summon his energy to address the situation, but that delay had cost him.
His apathy when it came to Marian had cost him.
And Isabeth.
At the moment, he realized just how terrible this entire situation was and his focus shifted to Marian, who was back to cowering in the corner. He felt like a fool for ignoring her when, clearly, she was creating such a horrific problem for Isabeth. He’d been told that – and he acknowledged that – but still, he’d delayed dealing with it.
But no more.
The time had come to take a stand.
“It is my understanding that you are creating an intolerable situation, Marian,” he said, addressing her informally in front of everyone. “I am told that you are making demands and that your women are slapping Lady de Brito’s servants. Is this true?”
Marian’s hands came away from her head and her eyes widened as she looked between Isabeth and her husband, realizing that Isabeth had already complained about her before she ever saw her with the French knight. That brought indignance.
It brought rage.
“As your wife, my position is the greatest wherever I go,” she said, thrusting her chin up as if daring everyone to defy her. “You are a de Wolfe. I am a de Grey. My wishes shall be met in my own household and in any other household, it is the host’s duty to ensure my needs and wants are fulfilled. I need not explain this to you.”
Ronan had heard that imperious tone too many times to count. “It is also your duty to be a gracious guest,” he said steadily. “You have not been that while at Ravenscar. You have shamed the de Wolfe and de Grey names with your behavior and the behavior of your women, and now you attack your hostess?”
Marian’s gaze flew to Isabeth. “She… she attacked me first!”
Ronan knew something about his wife – Marian was selfish and outrageous, but she was also cunning. It would be her word against Isabeth’s because no one had been present when the trouble started. Reluctantly, Ronan looked at Isabeth for clarification of the situation, but she simply shook her head.
“It is not true,” she said softly.
It was clear by Ronan’s expression that he believed her, but he was trying to get to the bottom of things. “What happened when you first arrived?” he said. “Did you exchange words?”
Isabeth looked at Marian. She knew that if she didn’t strike hard and strike fast that Marian might end up remaining at Ravenscar as long as Ronan did. He’d made it clear he wasn’t leaving and Marian seemed to want to manipulate the situation. And above all, Isabeth was tired of these people. Not Ronan so much, but certainly Marian. She’d told Marian that she wouldn’t tell Ronan what she saw, but her word of honor wasn’t going to hold up against a woman of Marian’s disrepute. She could just tell that Marian was going to do anything and everything to discredit her in front of Ronan.
Isabeth wasn’t going to let her.
“We did not at first,” she said, her focus returning to Ronan. “I was coming to speak with Lady de Wolfe when I heard strange sounds coming from her chamber. Her women were nowhere to be found, so I approached the door. I heard what I thought was a gasp, as if she might be ill, so I opened the door to find Lady de Wolfe on the bed and a man between her legs. You want to know the truth? Now you have it. She attacked me because I saw her fornicating with another man and if you do not remove her from my home, Sir Ronan, then I shall order my husband’s men to throw you both bodily from Ravenscar. I am sick with grief over the death of my husband and you have brought this horrible woman into my midst, making the situation far worse. I will never forgive you for that.”
With that, she tossed the poker aside and stormed out of the chamber, tears in her eyes that quickly streamed down her cheeks. Odo was behind her, rushing after her, having heard what she’d said. He was heartbroken for his young mistress, following her until she reached the stairs before coming to a halt. Isabeth raced up the stairs alone to the living chambers above, slamming the door and bolting it once she reached her rooms.
She lay on the bed and wept.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I heard what happened,” Christian said. “It’s all over the garrison.”
The night, having been so clear at sunset, was starting to fog over as the mist from the sea began to roll in. The dank, dark, mysterious mist was folding in over the uncertainty of all of Ravenscar. Things were happening, people were in turmoil, and it had nothing to do with Dyce’s passing. There was something beyond that grief, something that Marian had selfishly created, a maelstrom that had enveloped the quiet and peaceful manse and taken attention away from the man whose burial was to take place on the morrow. Ronan had just come from the manse to the yard, his features lined with stress as he encountered his cousin.
“Where is he?” he demanded.
“Who?”
“That French knight,” Ronan said. “De Maurienne. He accompanied Lady de Wolfe from Middlesbrough.”
“Did you notice him when he was part of her escort?”
Ronan’s jaw flexed. “I did,” he said. “I do not interfere in Lady de Wolfe’s business of who she hires to ride escort unless he is a man of ill repute, but I knew nothing of de Maurienne.”
“Now, you know.”
“Now, I do. Where is he?”
Christian had the unhappy duty of telling him the truth. “Gone,” he said. “I saw the man with Lady de Wolfe’s maids not long ago, but he has since departed. He is long gone, Roe.”
Ronan didn’t seem too surprised to hear that. “I take it you heard that he was involved.”
Christian didn’t want a rehash of their earlier conversation about Marian and her infidelity, mostly because he didn’t want to gloat about his correctness in the face of Ronan’s shame. “I heard,” he said simply.
Ronan didn’t waste any time on a conversation that he didn’t want to have in the first place. He simply wanted to get on with it, with what he needed to do.
“I want you to have an escort prepared for my wife,” he said. “She is departing at dawn for London.”
Christian’s eyebrows lifted. “London?” he repeated. “Why?”
“Because she asked to go,” Ronan said, his jaw ticking faintly. “She wants to visit her cousin, Millicent, in London and I have agreed. Truthfully, I have given her little choice in the matter. It is best that she leaves and stays far away from me.”
Marian had been to London many times in her life, visiting her cousin on her father’s side, so it was not an unusual request. Millicent de Haydon was a spinster, rich and alone, and Marian loved to go to London and take advantage of her. But Christian could tell simply by looking at Ronan that this request was different.
There was something in his expression that was different.
As if something, for him, had changed.
“Then I’ll make sure the escort is ready,” he said quietly. “How many men will you send with her?”
“Twenty.”
That was a shockingly low number for such a long trip, but Christian didn’t argue with him. He was in full support of Ronan sending the woman away, alone if necessary. But he felt very sorry for Ronan, a man with a stellar pedigree, a great family, and close friends, but a man who literally had no control over his marriage.
Life was a cruel jokester sometimes.
“The escort will be ready,” he said. “I’ll prepare a wagon as well. Provisions and all that.”
“And for her baggage.”
“Of course.”
Without anything more to say, Ronan simply turned away and headed back towards the manse. He couldn’t even look Christian in the eyes any longer, knowing how the man felt about Marian and the situation in general because he was afraid he would see a lack of respect in the man’s expression. A lack of respect for a husband with a wife who had no regard for him, who had never had any regard for him, and for a husband unable to do anything about it. Ronan had always been the rather quiet type, congenial and much loved by his family, but the House of de Wolfe was full of assertive men. Men who took life as it came and met it bravely. Though Ronan wasn’t lacking in bravery in any case, sometimes his type of calm manner could be taken as a weakness.
Ronan had been dealing with that his entire life.
His greatest fear was that his family would see him as weak.
But he couldn’t dwell on that at the moment. He had other things to contend with, not the least of which was a wife he’d locked up in her chamber. Marian was bolted in for the night and he’d left orders that only he would release her in the morning so that she could depart for London. Since he’d never seriously punished her for anything she’d ever done, because he simply looked the other way out of sheer indifference, she had been shocked that the man had actually taken a stand. He could still hear her cries of outrage as he bolted her into her chamber.
Quite honestly… it had felt good.
Somehow, in that small action, he felt as if he’d reclaimed some of his dignity. Marian had been running all over him since the day they were married and his position had been to ignore it. To pretend it didn’t bother him. At first, it had bothered him greatly but as the years passed and children were born who clearly weren’t his, he’d grown numb to it. He told himself it didn’t matter and, eventually, it didn’t. At least, he thought it didn’t until he’d locked Marian in her chamber and had felt the smallest twinge of satisfaction.
That told him that he wasn’t as numb to it as he’d pretended to be.
Entering the manse, his destination was Isabeth’s chamber. He wanted to assure her that Marian was leaving on the morrow, as he’d promised. He made his way up to the living level of the manse where there were generous rooms with fine views. It was late, and he suspected she might be asleep, but he was willing to take the chance that she wasn’t. Perhaps she was waiting for confirmation that her horrible guest was indeed leaving. Reaching the big double doors of the master’s chambers, he lifted a hand and knocked softly.
The reply was immediate.
“Who comes?” came the muffled response.
“Ronan, my lady,” he said quietly.
A few seconds passed before he heard the bolt thrown. The door creaked open and he found himself gazing into Isabeth’s beautiful face, illuminated by the single taper she held in her right hand. She was in a heavy sleeping shift with a thick shawl pulled around her shoulders. It was strange… he’d always thought the woman to be beautiful but, at that moment, there was something more he was thinking. How Dyce had been a very fortunate man to look upon that face on a daily basis, to love a woman so completely that she consumed his entire being. He could clearly see why Dyce had loved her so much. There was everything to love about her, at least in Ronan’s opinion. He found himself wondering what it would be like to love a woman so completely that she would be part of him and he part of her. He must have been daydreaming a little too long because Isabeth’s eyebrows rose as she looked at him.
“Well?” she said. “Did you want something?”
Shaking himself from his thoughts, and slightly embarrassed for it, Ronan nodded.
“I came to inform you that Lady de Wolfe will be departing on the morrow,” he said. “I have made the arrangements. She is locked in her chamber for the night, so you needn’t worry. She and her women will not be roaming the halls during the night.”
Isabeth was visibly relieved. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. When he nodded briefly and turned to leave, she stopped him. “I am sorry it came to this, my lord. I truly am. I know you tried to do something fine for me and I appreciate it.”
He looked at her. “Trying and failing,” he said. “For that, I am sorry. I hope you will not hold it against me.”
She shook her head and opened the door wider. “Nay,” she said. “In fact, please come in. I would like to speak with you.”
He did. The chamber was almost unbearably warm as he entered, but he didn’t comment on it. She was comfortable and that was all that mattered, even if he was already starting to sweat. She left the door open, however, so that old Gerta in her alcove could keep watch as she went to sit near the ridiculously blazing hearth and indicated for him to sit opposite her. He came to sit down, discreetly moving the chair away from the fire so he wouldn’t melt. He saw Isabeth grin.
“Too hot?” she asked.
He smiled weakly. “A little.”
“Dyce used to move the chair all the way across the room.”
Ronan chuckled softly. “May I?”
“Of course.”
He moved it far enough away so that he wasn’t in danger of heat stroke but he was still close enough to have a normal conversation with her. No shouting across the room, as it were. Isabeth watched him get comfortable.
“As you can imagine, I have had a lot to think about,” she said. “This evening in particular.”
“I can imagine,” he said with a tinge of irony. “The return to Ravenscar has not gone as planned.”
She shook her head. “You misunderstand,” she said. “I have not been thinking about your wife. You will forgive me, but she is not worth the effort. I mean no disrespect to you, my lord, but your wife is not like you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you are kind and dedicated,” she said. “Your wife… she is a selfish woman. I am certain that I am not telling you something you do not already know and I am sorry if my honesty offends you.”
He shook his head. “It does not,” he said. “She is very selfish. But in fairness to her, she was raised that way. It is her father’s fault. He raised her to believe she could do no wrong and to do as she pleased, in any situation. I am sorry that she has shown no restraint while a guest in your home.”
Isabeth waved him off. “I am coming to see that it is not your fault,” she said. “You are correct when you said she has shown no restraint. Even in my own home, she tried to give me orders. That is what you saw earlier – she really did attack me. I have the wounds on my arm to prove it when she grabbed me and sank her nails into me. I hope you do not think I would have actually attacked a guest in my own home unless provoked.”
“I never thought that.”
“Good.”
“Is that what you wished to speak to me about?”
“Nay,” she said. “I… I hope it will not be too much of an imposition if I ask you a few questions.”
“What about?”
She sighed faintly, pulling her shawl more tightly around her shoulders as if to ward off what was to come. “I have no father to speak to, you understand,” she said. “The only male relative I have is my cousin, the same cousin who does not wish to have me at Briarfield, so I was hoping you could help me.”
“I would be delighted to.”
She looked at him, fear in her eyes though she was desperately trying not to show it. “My future has changed drastically in just a few short days,” she said. “In the grand scheme of things, your wife and her behavior does not matter. She is leaving tomorrow and I shall never see her again. But I suspect I will continue to see you, at least for a short time.”
Ronan nodded. “Until Dyce is buried, which is set for the morrow,” he said. Then he sighed sharply and sat forward in his chair, adopting a more casual stance. “But the truth is that I promised him I would take care of you. I hope you know that I simply cannot walk away forever. As you have come to see, my honor is important to me. I must ensure that you are safe and happy, so your future and that of Dyce’s son are my responsibility.”
Isabeth was watching him carefully. “That is what I have been thinking on,” she said. “After we bury my husband tomorrow, what then? What should I do? What do I need to do? I do not know where to turn, so I must ask for your guidance.”
Ronan’s gaze drifted over her, looking so ethereal in the firelight. If only I had a wife like this to retire with every evening, he thought. It was odd how he felt such a sense of peace with Isabeth. Something about her was calming and soothing, as if she settled something inside of him. He wasn’t sure how or why, but she seemed to have that impact on him.
He struggled to focus.
“And you have it,” he said, pushing thoughts of her calming effect on him aside. “Are you sure you want to discuss this tonight? There is no great sense of urgency.”
But Isabeth nodded. “There is,” she said. “I must know what I should do next. What should I do next?”
Ronan could see that she’d been stewing about this, and for good reason. She was facing an unexpected and mysterious future, but all he could see was her vulnerability. She looked so lost and vulnerable and he very much wanted to help her.
Protect her.
Something was stirring in his chest, something he was trying very hard to ignore.
“Very well,” he said. “If you wish to discuss it, then we shall. I do not want you to be afraid of the future. Now, you’ve asked what you should do after we bury Dyce. The first thing we must do is make a notification to his liege. Who is his liege?”
