and through the long-dead reeds in the ditch, making
them sing like soft waves breaking on sand. From a great way off came the
yelping scream of a vixen. Elena shivered and pressed tighter into him.
Looking
down at the top of that small head hidden beneath her hood, Raffe knew the
overwhelming desire of a father or a lover to protect something so small and
innocent. But he was neither of these things to her and she wasn't innocent. He
had not forced himself on her as other men in his position would have done. He
had kept her pure and unsullied, though it had taken every grain of
self-control he possessed when she was there under the same roof constantly,
clay and night. He had not touched her, but she had soiled herself anyway.
Though he told himself he had been ridiculous to imagine she'd never take a man
to her bed, all the same he felt like a child who'd been carefully saving a
sweetmeat to savour, only to have it snatched from his hand and gobbled up by
another.
'When?'
he demanded so furiously that Elena jumped violently, almost slipping again.
Raffe
steadied her and tried to control his voice, 'When did you get with child?'
'I .
. . don't know.'
'Don't
lie to me! You were a virgin when you came to Lady Anne's service, you told her
so yourself. So it must have been after you started working in the manor that
you started slipping off to the barn. How long did you wait — days, weeks? And
was it just this Athan or did you have a stable of sweating field
hands?'
He'd
made her confess the name to Lady Anne, but it almost choked him to utter it.
She
stopped and stared earnestly up at him, a look of astonishment on her face as
if she couldn't believe anyone would accuse her of such a thing. 'It was just
Athan ... I've never been with anyone else and I never will, not even . . . not
even if Athan said he didn't want me any more. I love him more than anything
else in my life. I'm glad his son is in my belly, no matter what you or Hilda
or Lady Anne think. I want this bairn! I want it, do you hear, because it's his baby!'
She turned her head away, but Raffe could hear the tears in her voice, and he knew they were tears of indignation and fury, not remorse.
They walked on in silence.
Elena
struggled to keep pace with Master Raffaele, but she refused to beg him to slow
down. She was so exhausted after the night's events that she couldn't even
decide if she was devastated or relieved to be leaving the manor. She would be
with Athan every day now, lying in his arms every night as she had longed to
do. There was no question of returning to her mother's cottage. Now that she
was carrying his bairn, she was, in the eyes of the villagers at least, Athan's
wife, and a wife always moved into her husband's home to care for him and his
kin. Her stomach lurched as she realized that meant she would be at the beck
and call of Athan's mother, Joan, who made that sour-faced Hilda seem as kindly
as a fairy godmother by comparison. But now that she was carrying Joan's
grandson, surely the woman would soften towards her?
Elena
glanced up at Master Raffaele. His face was turned away from her, staring ahead
down the darkened road. There was no mistaking his anger, it pulsated from him,
and yet she didn't understand why he was so furious with her. Unable to
comprehend it, she tried to convince herself that his foul mood had nothing to
do with her. As Lady Anne had said, with Lord Osborn taking over the manor,
they had far more to worry about than the fate of a village girl.
She
had been so anxious about Athan and then being caught by Hilda that the whole
incident in Lady Anne's bedchamber earlier that evening had simply vanished
from her head. But now she realized, with a little guilt, that perhaps she
should have told Lady Anne what she'd heard. She had understood little of what
had been said, except one thing whoever the men in that chamber were, they
them sing like soft waves breaking on sand. From a great way off came the
yelping scream of a vixen. Elena shivered and pressed tighter into him.
Looking
down at the top of that small head hidden beneath her hood, Raffe knew the
overwhelming desire of a father or a lover to protect something so small and
innocent. But he was neither of these things to her and she wasn't innocent. He
had not forced himself on her as other men in his position would have done. He
had kept her pure and unsullied, though it had taken every grain of
self-control he possessed when she was there under the same roof constantly,
clay and night. He had not touched her, but she had soiled herself anyway.
Though he told himself he had been ridiculous to imagine she'd never take a man
to her bed, all the same he felt like a child who'd been carefully saving a
sweetmeat to savour, only to have it snatched from his hand and gobbled up by
another.
'When?'
he demanded so furiously that Elena jumped violently, almost slipping again.
Raffe
steadied her and tried to control his voice, 'When did you get with child?'
'I .
. . don't know.'
'Don't
lie to me! You were a virgin when you came to Lady Anne's service, you told her
so yourself. So it must have been after you started working in the manor that
you started slipping off to the barn. How long did you wait — days, weeks? And
was it just this Athan or did you have a stable of sweating field
hands?'
He'd
made her confess the name to Lady Anne, but it almost choked him to utter it.
She
stopped and stared earnestly up at him, a look of astonishment on her face as
if she couldn't believe anyone would accuse her of such a thing. 'It was just
Athan ... I've never been with anyone else and I never will, not even . . . not
even if Athan said he didn't want me any more. I love him more than anything
else in my life. I'm glad his son is in my belly, no matter what you or Hilda
or Lady Anne think. I want this bairn! I want it, do you hear, because it's his baby!'
She turned her head away, but Raffe could hear the tears in her voice, and he knew they were tears of indignation and fury, not remorse.
They walked on in silence.
Elena
struggled to keep pace with Master Raffaele, but she refused to beg him to slow
down. She was so exhausted after the night's events that she couldn't even
decide if she was devastated or relieved to be leaving the manor. She would be
with Athan every day now, lying in his arms every night as she had longed to
do. There was no question of returning to her mother's cottage. Now that she
was carrying his bairn, she was, in the eyes of the villagers at least, Athan's
wife, and a wife always moved into her husband's home to care for him and his
kin. Her stomach lurched as she realized that meant she would be at the beck
and call of Athan's mother, Joan, who made that sour-faced Hilda seem as kindly
as a fairy godmother by comparison. But now that she was carrying Joan's
grandson, surely the woman would soften towards her?
Elena
glanced up at Master Raffaele. His face was turned away from her, staring ahead
down the darkened road. There was no mistaking his anger, it pulsated from him,
and yet she didn't understand why he was so furious with her. Unable to
comprehend it, she tried to convince herself that his foul mood had nothing to
do with her. As Lady Anne had said, with Lord Osborn taking over the manor,
they had far more to worry about than the fate of a village girl.
She
had been so anxious about Athan and then being caught by Hilda that the whole
incident in Lady Anne's bedchamber earlier that evening had simply vanished
from her head. But now she realized, with a little guilt, that perhaps she
should have told Lady Anne what she'd heard. She had understood little of what
had been said, except one thing whoever the men in that chamber were, they
Similar Books
