Shana Abe (20 page)

“Come, come, don’t be so modest. Your rather amazing hat was perfectly made for a lad of your exquisite refinement.”

“You are ridiculous!”

“You will slay all the ladies with one look, I vow.”

“They will die laughing, no doubt.”

“You have entirely the wrong view of it, Philippe. No, I suppose I should call you Philip now. Leave it on, I pray you, at least until we leave the city. It does set off your looks, you know.”

She shot him a suspicious glance from atop Iolande, but all he did was smile guilelessly. He was telling the truth, so help him. The frills and lace both framed her face and concealed her features, a double advantage as
far as Damon was concerned. He could see her all he wanted, but from a distance all was obscure but for the hat.

He settled his own firmly about his head, then brought Tarrant to a trot, deciding that he was feeling much better, all in all, than when the day began.

Dover was a bustling place, even this late. At Solange’s insistence, they stopped for a mediocre dinner at a tavern near the entrance to the city. Perhaps he was getting soft in the head, he thought, allowing them to flirt with jeopardy like this. But there was no denying he enjoyed watching her pleasure over a tableful of food. He needed to see the shadows under her eyes fade completely. He wanted that, a sign she was better now that they were so close to home. Now that it was almost over.

Damon requested hot water from the tavern girl and brewed a strong tea from the herbs in his medicine pouch.

Solange followed the process avidly even as she devoured the boiled mutton and pigeon pie. It was as if she had not eaten in weeks. There was some satisfaction in seeing her eat her fill, but what charmed him was her complete delight over the fresh hot bread and creamy winter butter. She ate her share and another, then looked around hopefully for more.

He gave her his.

“One would think,” he said mildly, “that they did not bother to feed you at all in France.”

She didn’t reply at first, but then said, “I find myself exceptionally hungry, that is all.”

“I see that.”

She lowered her eyes but did not stop until the last morsel was cleared from their table.

They purchased extra provisions for the journey, two blankets, an extra flask for water, and four more pigeon pies. Despite her pleadings, he refused to stay the night in an inn, citing the obvious hazards of giving too many people an opportunity to remember them. As much as he would like to have slept on a real bed again, even the thought of her sharing it with him could not make him stay in town.

Their goal, he reminded her, was to reach Ironstag as rapidly as possible. Unless she wanted to risk the chance of the Redmond soldiers finding them again? He would, in fact, be interested in hearing what they had to say to her.…

“But I have nothing at all to say to them, my lord. You are correct, it would be much better for us to continue on this evening. I am ready now, if you are.”

And that was that. They made good time out of the city and were quickly into the countryside of Kent. Damon began to breathe a little easier, embracing the smell of the land. The moon was waning, casting a shallow glow that was little brighter than the starlight. They met no other travelers on the road.

They rode in companionable silence, each deep in thought.

Damon’s mind wandered, from childhood to manhood, from innocent moments in apple groves to not-so-innocent moments at court. How strange the path his life had taken. He had ended up where he had begun, at Wolfhaven, but the winding way to get there had proven to be torturous. The Church would tell
him the ways of the Lord were mysterious, and he had to agree. All he had to do was look over at his companion to confirm it.

She rode easily beside him, pensive but not grim. She had kept on the silly hat he bought her; she claimed it kept her head remarkably warm and was truly sorry they had not bought the same one for him.

The lace jiggled in time to the horse’s steps, creating a fanciful dance around her face and down her neck. How beautiful she was, Damon thought, even dressed so strangely. How uncommon she was, how striking.

How he loved her.

He turned his head and tightened his jaw, but he couldn’t deny it any longer. He loved her undeniably, loved her still after all that she had done to him.

It split him into two different men, two men with two minds. The Marquess of Lockewood, Knight of the Royal Court, was in a fury over it. How dare he abase himself to her after what she had done? What kind of man would want to return to a woman who had spurned him to marry another, who had ruthlessly and effectively cut him out of her life after deliberately leading him to believe she cared? And who even had the audacity to pretend she still cared today? It was intolerable.

The warrior in him refused her, refused all she stood for, all the humiliation and pain of the past that she alone had created for him.

But the other man had a different view. It was quieter, all the more determined behind the bluster. Damon was not certain who that could be, the other man in him who looked at Solange and saw his own
completion, the perfect complement to who he was and wanted to be. This man had grown up with the girl, knew her gentle heart, her strengths and foibles. He knew her soul, because it still matched his own.

This man ached for her, for the whole of Solange, in all her passion and glory and false pride. But with it came a price. Damon was desperately afraid that the identity of this part of him would turn out to be his true heart. And then he would be lost again, for who was to say that Solange would ever want him in return?

She had scorned him once and it had been enough to shatter the boy he was then to dust. Deep down, Damon was afraid she still wielded that power over him. He had come too far, worked too hard, and had too many lives depending upon him to ever risk losing himself like that again. He simply could not do it. To have to start over again would kill him this time, he was certain.

It meant he would live the rest of his life alone. Constantly surrounded by other people, yes, and certainly even with a wife someday, but ultimately and utterly alone.

He needed an heir for Wolfhaven, and so he would do his duty to his forefathers, but there could be no joy in him for the fulfillment of it. He planned to be a good husband to his bride. He would provide for her and protect her, father children and admire the mother she would become. He still intended to keep that pledge to himself. But she would not be Solange, so she could not be his soul’s mate. He knew now finally that he would not be able to love the woman he took
in marriage. He was never going to get his heart back from Solange.

God worked mysteriously, indeed. For all intents and purposes, the woman riding beside him now was as free for remarriage as any widow of means could be. In fact, how delighted Edward would be to gain a portion of the treasury and estate of a woman as rich as Solange surely was now. She would have to remarry soon, Damon realized. Edward would insist on all her assets being properly protected.

Odd to think of her as a titled widow, a wealthy woman, this unkempt gamin in her voluminous cloak and frilly beret. Her hands poked out of the cloak to handle the reins, looking like nothing so much as a little girl’s holding on to her mother’s leading strings. The only jewelry she wore, he noticed, was his ring.

His ring. She hadn’t taken it off since he had seen her, from the estate through the storms and the cold passage back to England, she wore it always.

Damon smiled bitterly to himself. Should he be flattered or apprehensive? If only he knew.

“What are you thinking, my lord?” She had been watching his feelings chase one another across his face and could contain her curiosity no longer.

“I was thinking of God, and the strange ways in which He works,” Damon replied.

“I did not realize you were so religiously inclined.”

“Religion finds you when you need it,” he said cryptically.

“Does it? Then I am unenlightened, I think.”

He didn’t respond, so she let the silence carry them
for a while. He seemed to be struggling with something in himself, something dear, she guessed. Poor Damon, it could not be easy for him to deal with her again. It would be much kinder of her to simply let him go, she knew. The way to Ironstag was clear cut from here, even if it was not close. She was positive she could make it on her own.

Then Damon could return to his castle and his lands. To his life. His duty to her was done long ago. It was either pure chivalry or sheer obstinacy that kept him with her. She was being selfish to want him to stay. It was awful of her to make him continue on just to have the fleeting pleasure of his company, to memorize him all over again to last her for the rest of her life.

She thought she had done it once, all those years ago. What a gift it was to have another opportunity to see him, even if the pleasure of it was solidly intertwined with the pain of knowing he did not want her. And why should he? He was a man now, a knight even. He had a life and a world far outside of her own. His future was firmly planted at his beloved Wolfhaven, while hers was really no more rooted than a milkthistle wafting in the breeze.

Leaving Du Clar had been an act of desperation that had built over years of suppression. It was over, it was done, but all she had considered at the time was escape. She was fleeing to Ironstag because it remained her home in her memory. But her welcome there was not assured, she knew.

Her father’s death dealt her a serious blow. After her marriage, after Redmond had removed her to France, she had tried to be at peace with the notion of never
seeing Henry again, but she knew now her resolution had been self-deluding.

She had never really believed it. Even though he had never bothered to see her, to send inquires of her or to answer her carefully reviewed missives, she never believed he would cut her off so ruthlessly. Time had proven her wrong. Her father was gone now and forever, ironically so close to her bid to break away from Redmond. She could never see Henry again, save in marble effigy on his tomb.

She would never be able to ask him if he had known anything of the man he had given his daughter to save his name.

Of Damon she had expected to hear nothing, and was not surprised over the years to have this thought confirmed. Indeed, a large part of her wanted to hear nothing of him, could not bear to even think of him. Far more painful than the loss of her father was her separation from her love, especially knowing that what he thought of her could not by any means be considered loving. But nevertheless, it was Damon who had kept her alive all this time.

How he would laugh to hear it, she knew. The knight riding beside her would not appreciate the information; in fact he barely resembled the Damon who had advised her in her dreams, the Damon who had whispered to her in her heart to be brave, to be cunning and resourceful. It was embarrassingly clear that the man he was now wanted nothing to do with her.

So she would cling to the memories and soon create new daydreams from the moments she shared with him now. It was better than nothing, and she was grateful.
She was greedy, she would take what she could get of Damon Wolf. Ashamed and yet shameless, she would not release him to his world just yet. They would have him for the rest of his days. She wanted to hold on to him for just a while longer, to fill herself with him until she could take no more. That was all. It wasn’t too much to ask.

“Tell me of Wolfhaven,” she invited him.

He seemed to come out of some reverie, shaking his head. “Wolfhaven? What is it you want to know?”

“Anything. Anything you wish to tell me.”

“You know the history of Wolfhaven.”

“I want to know about today. Tell me what it’s like to live there. Tell me what you do there.”

“Do?” He was overwhelmed with answers. “I do what any lord should do for his manor and villages. I plant crops—”

“Which?”

“Mainly wheat, also barley, rye. Some oats and flax.” He made an impatient gesture. “I fail to see why you should be interested in this subject, Countess.”

“Why should I not be? I grew up with you, hearing the stories of your castle. I think it’s only natural I would wish to know of the fulfillment of some of those plans we made.”

Solange grimaced, regretting the words as soon as they left her tongue. She had not meant to remind him of their shared past, especially of the youthful dreams they had built together. She could feel him retreat from her.

“What I mean to say, my lord, is that I am curious—”

“I understand full well your meaning, madam. You
need not elaborate. Wolfhaven is a working system consisting of the castle, the villages, and all the inhabitants therewith. We are largely an agricultural society, relying upon a series of crops to support the population and provide trade with neighboring lords. We also raise sheep for wool, much like Ironstag but on a smaller scale, of course.” His voice was flat and emotionless; he spoke to her as if lecturing a pupil.

Solange gave a little sigh. This was not at all what she really cared to hear about, but she understood that his dry recital of facts was all he was going to offer her unless she queried further. She wasn’t feeling daring enough for that.

“I see,” she said meekly. “Thank you.”

They bedded down for the night against a haystack, one of many dotting the constant fields of stubble left after the harvest. Solange slept with her hat beside her and Iolande hovering nearby, as if standing guard over her sleeping mistress.

Even Tarrant seemed uneasy over something, waking Damon with soft snorts and restive steps in the hay. These were not the signs of danger, however, and so after each disturbance, Damon sank again into a weary slumber, only half wondering what was bothering his horse. Probably the stallion was just as ready to end this trip as he was.

To be certain, he asked Solange about the impending weather the next morning when they awoke.

She stared intently at the sky, and then at the ground, then shook her head. “Fine, I think. No snow, no storms coming soon. Today should be clear and fair.”