Lady Deception

Rizzo Rosko

She would do anything for the money.

Though Elizabeth Holton is the daughter of a wealthy knight, she was raised in poverty after her mother ran away before she was born. ‘For your protection,’ she would say, but Eliza’s mother had to sell her body to cruel men to provide for her daughter.

After her death, Eliza made up her mind to become the lady she believes herself to be. She arranged for the local lord’s son to have an accident while out riding. But the men she hired were too severe. Instead of merely robbing Blaise Gray, they beat him and left him for dead.

Except fall in love.

For saving his life, Eliza is brought to live in Blaise’s castle where she fights her attraction to him, terrified of the pain she will feel should he discover it was her who nearly ended his life.

Though Blaise cannot deny his heated lust for the beautiful peasant girl who saved his life, he also cannot halt his suspicion that she may have had something to do with his attack. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone from the lower class attempted to use him, yet he finds himself falling in love with her anyway. But the confirmation that she had nearly killed him to become a lady could be his undoing.

Lady Deception

By Rizzo Rosko

Published By Rizzo Rosko for Amazon Kindle

Copyright 2011 Rizzo Rosko

Discover more books by Rizzo Rosko at her website www.rizzorosko.com

Cover art done by Kimberly Killion at Hot Damn Designs

Medieval Romance

Visit me for more books and free reads at Rizzorosko.com

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Lady Deception

Rizzo Rosko

Dedication

Again, for my mom, for loving this one so much

Chapter One

Hampshire

Summer, 1318

Elizabeth attempted to halt her rushing feet. She slid in the muck and tripped over them instead. Her body fell flat in the mud which splashed up her gown, caking her legs, chest, and face in the sludge that horses tread and shit on.

She struggled to lift herself out of the clinging, wet dirt, but only made it as far as her hands and knees. She threw off her hood in spite of the heavy rain, and gaped at the image that shocked her into halting in the first place.

There was a naked man in front of her.

His body did not so much as twitch to give her proof of life as he lay face down in the middle of the road. There was no sign of a horse, nor any small item that could have belonged to him. He had been robbed.

Elizabeth struggled against the mud to pull herself to him. She crawled as her feet slid for purchase in the slop, but her skirt, heavy with muck and rain, hampered her.

His face lay half inside a rain puddle that grew and filled with every heavy raindrop that spattered inside, filling the pool and endangering him. If he did not wake on his own his fate would be sealed. He would drown if she left him like this. Elizabeth gave up on her feet and pulled herself to him with her arms.

‘Twas easy with the slime-like quality of the muck. She reached his still form, took his large shoulder and pulled hard until he lay on his back and out of danger from inhaling the brown water.

‘Twas no simple task, and she was out of breath from the effort. He was a large man, well muscled, and much larger than Elizabeth. Though he was helpless in his current state, she was still in awe of him.

The dirt that darkened his face washed away in the warm rain, revealing a square jaw, prominent brows and cheekbones, and a nose with only a slight crook in it. No bruise marred his perfect features.

"How did this happen?" She asked before deciding the answer may lie beneath his mud caked hair.

Her hand hesitated before gently moving forward. She probed her fingers through the rough string. Mud and rocks slipped away with the intrusion until she found what she searched for.

A lump the size of a robin’s egg sat stiffly on the back of his head, it cracked open like an egg as well, despite her attempt to be gentle, trickling blood into her curious fingers.

She shook her head, terror filling her gut as she searched for anything he might posses, anything she had missed that the wretched band of thieves may have left behind. A horse could take her to the nearest village where she could sell it for medicine. Surely he would not mind in his condition.

She held back a sob as the bending trees, the sloppy road, and some leaves swirling in the whistling wind crushed her prayers. "Those brutes. Evil son's of swine."

Elizabeth stared down at the man in her arms, who did not stir at the sound of her black tongue. Her small body provided him with no protection against the weather and her helplessness engulfed her.

If she left him here he would surely die, yet, she had naught with which to carry him back to shelter with, no cart, no horse, not even a mule.

Elizabeth ran her finger through his orange hair. She could not leave him to this monstrous fate. She would not have the blood of a man resting on her soul because a group of foolish men had to excite themselves by taking their games too far.

Elizabeth threw off her cloak. The rain soaked through the thin material long ago, making it useless to dry him, but it could spare the man's dignity well enough. Perhaps when he awoke and discovered that she had dragged him by his hands through mud, twigs, and filth, he would not take his anger out on her.

Luckily her hut was not far.

***

Blaise's head burned. The heat ravaged his skull so harshly that he turned over in his sleep to angle himself away from the fire. The flames followed him.

"No more logs," His slurred voice commanded. His bed felt rough and gritty, bits of straw poked him and made his body tingle and itch. He would command the servants to laundry the sheets when he decided to awake. It felt as though he slept on a mound of hay.

A hand touched his shoulder. His father, surely, for no one other than he would dare enter his chamber to wake him.

No, the hand that touched him was small and thin, not large like that of a man, he realized. His step-mother? If so then the woman was in another of her playful tempers that only caused him more annoyance.

Blaise pushed the hand away. "Off with ye, Marianne. I am in no mood for yer games."

"Marianne?" The feminine voice huffed. "I am Elizabeth!"

Blaise forced his eyes open, a difficult task since they were being weighed down by rocks. When they finally obeyed his commands, Blaise shut them tightly again with the sharp stabs that assaulted them.

He hissed and rubbed his fists to his eyes. Those same feminine hands wrapped around his wrists and tried to force him to pull away but he held firm. Whether he could see or not did not matter. His senses returned and the awareness that he was in a foreign place with an unknown woman filled his body with sharp displeasure.

He wished to see more of where he was, but pain, tears, and blurred images greeted him when he opened his lids.

"What did ye put in my eyes, witch?" He growled, rubbing harder and hating his blindness.

The hands yanked themselves away. "Witch! I put nothing in yer eyes! 'Tis only dirt."

He did not believe her. He had dirt in his eyes plenty of times before and not once had he ever been in such pain. "'Tis more than dirt. Only boulders could do this."

He tried to rub out the offending things, or at least move them to an area of his eyes where they did not cause him such discomfort. He needed to open them again and see where he was, and be aware of his surroundings so that he might make an escape.

The female voice softened. "Aye, 'tis true. I would not be shocked if there were some rocks in there scratching at the whites. 'Tis actually mud from the road where I found ye."

Blaise halted the rubbing but his hands remained in place. The road where she found him?

Aye, that was correct. He had been riding, heading back to Graystone castle because of the rain when he was stopped by a portly man in the middle of the road. His memory could conjure no solid image, but he did recall how the man humbly begged Blaise for coins to feed his starving family.

Eager to be out of the wet weather, Blaise reached for his pouch. He was promptly grabbed from behind and dragged from his horse. He was held down by what could only be a giant with the strength that overpowered him, and then beaten over the head before all had turned black on him.

Beneath the damp blanket, Blaise became aware that he was naked. He clenched his fists harder over his useless eyes.

The thieves took everything then. He could hardly believe his luck that they hadn't taken his life as well, though it would only serve him right for allowing himself to be fooled.

He swore to himself to never trust another individual outside of his family after Robert's betrayal. Now, because he so much as trusted that a beggar might truly be in need of sustenance, he found himself blind and helpless.

He clenched his fists in the straw. Relying on a peasant woman for aid…‘twas humiliating.

“Is the pain so horrible for ye to scowl so?”

The voice was soft, indicating that he was not being made a joke of. He still ignored the question. "Was there nothing left of mine scattered in the road? My sword, or horse?" he asked.

"Nay, only yerself. Ye are fortunate that I came when I did as ye would have drowned had I not been travelling down that road."

Blaise sputtered at her strange lie. "Drowned? There are no streams near that road."

"Nay, but the rain does create small streams and lakes of its own, and ye were laying face down in one of those growing puddles."

Her plainly spoken statement silenced him. He could hardly think at all. So the thieves left him for dead. He supposed he should feel grateful they had done so rather than seeing to the job themselves, otherwise he would not have been rescued by the woman sitting with him.

He had no eyes so he relied on his ears to tell him that Elizabeth picked herself up from where she sat next to him and went to the other side of the chamber. Blaise heard a liquid being poured from a pitcher before she returned and sat next to him.

"Remove yer hands. I'll wash it out. 'Tis clean water."

Blaise kept his hands over his eyes for one second longer. Without the pressure from his fists the stabbing would return, but the offending rocks had to be taken out or else he would suffer with them for hours.

Her hand pressed against his chest, pushing back down into the straw. "Put yer head back."

He did as he was told, removing his hands and forcing them down but still keeping his eyes firmly shut against the onslaught of mud in his eyes.

Her thumb and finger pressed just under and over his left eye, and he knew what she prepared to do before she explained it. "When ye open yer eye, I shall hold it open and pour the water in."

Blaise nodded and opened his eye right away. The pressure of Elizabeth's fingers kept it open when instinct forced him to try and lock it shut as cool water splashed inside and blurred his vision.

Blaise grit his teeth, counted, and could stand no more and forcefully turned his head away.

Elizabeth cursed above him as she stilled the bowl to stop the water flow. "Fool! I have not yet finished!"

"I have!" Blaise hissed back, wiping the water out of his face and keeping his other eye shut while he tried to force vision to come to the one that was open. His eye was clean, he could see perfectly through it without the pain of being pricked with tiny mud rocks.

Instead of peering at his surroundings, his good eye focused on the woman sitting above him who had dared insult him. Blaise's breath caught.

Only at the sight of her did he realize that 'twas no common peasant who rescued him. Her language, while foul, had no country accent. The fingers that tended to him were not rough with working hard labour. Though her ragged appearance and loose wet hair suggested that what he saw was a common serf, her treatment of him proved otherwise.

"Who are ye?"

"I told ye, I am Elizabeth Hollow. Ye are in my home."

Blaise looked beyond her, his one hand still pressing against his dirty eye.

What he thought was a chamber in a much larger dwelling was actually a hut that could hardly be considered a home. His bed of hay was at the far corner, in the center sat a small, dying fire that could in no way be responsible for his earlier discomfort.

His hand flew to the back of his head. He winced as the lightning-quick pain struck him. The burning returned.

“A gift from my attackers, no doubt,” he muttered.

The girl said nothing, likely not wishing to anger him with any misplaced comments on his loss, so he returned to inspecting her home.

There were shelves of meagre possessions, pots for cooking and, to his shock, what he was sure was a lady’s gown, folded and stuffed in one of the crooks.

He could hear the rain outside. It had been pouring down during his attack, enough to keep him from seeing that there were men surrounding him before it was too late. ‘Twas now at a gentle shower. Though Elizabeth's roof still leaked and dripped in some places.

Elizabeth gripped his chin and forced him to look to face her again, the bowl of water still in hand. "That is enough of yer gaping." She forced his other eye open and poured the water quicker than she had the last time.

Blaise nearly turned away again but fisted his hands into the damp hay and grit his teeth.

"Be still." Elizabeth commanded.

"I am, ye wench." Blaise hissed, allowing her to wash the remains of dirt from his eyes.

When the bowl was empty he brought his hand up to wipe away the remaining drops still on his face.

Elizabeth slapped his hand away. "Stop that. Ye're spreading dirt around on yer face." She applied a rough bit of cloth to do the job for him, then took his hands and washed them with the damp rag as well.

He kept his eyes on her while she diligently cleaned the mud from his fingers. Her thin brows came together over the largest eyes he had ever seen as her hands gently wiped the filth from him.

His hands heated under her care, as did his body. He cleared his throat, reminding himself that she could likely be the enemy. "I thank ye."

The movement of her hands against his halted. Her head did not lift but her eyes turned up to look at him beneath thick strands of her dark, wet hair that fell in her face. "I never would have thought that ye should thank anyone for anything, milord."

The muscles in Blaise's body tensed, any warmth he felt over her touch vanished as a chill raced through him. He took his hands from hers and stood up, ignoring his nudity.

Elizabeth scurried to her feet and backed away, her eyes wide.

"Milord, I—"

"How do ye know me?" he demanded, stepping towards her. She stepped back again in fright. He hardly cared. She hadn't outright spoken his name but she knew who he was, at least enough to know that he was a lord despite how she supposedly found him naked in the muck. "How do ye know me, woman?"

She blinked, regaining her composure, though her hands clenched together in front of her. "Yer hair."

His—? "What?"

She raised her finger and pointed. "Everyone knows that Lord Blaise Gray has that color hair. 'Tis the only reason I can think of as to why anyone would bother with robbing ye."

He listened to her words, then sighed. Relief pulsed through him at the obvious answer, and he despised how true her words rang to his ears. “I suppose that would have to be the truth.”

Blaise relaxed his body, he did not want to appear threatening to this woman who'd taken him in and, according to her, saved his life. Despite his calm stance, she remained tense and at a distance.

Ah, yes, he was naked and they were quite alone, and he was so large in her hut. Blaise did not consider himself to be of a massive size, certainly of no comparison to Sir Ironside’s size, he was still larger than she. Blaise sat back down in her bed of hay and pulled the filthy blanket over his lap. Only then did Elizabeth release a breath. She still did not approach him.

"I apologise. I had forgotten that I am so easily recognised by my despicable hair.”

Recognisable enough to be made into an easy target by thieves, he thought sourly.

Elizabeth nodded. “It is a despicable colour.”

Blaise clenched his hands into her damp, filthy blanket. Water droplets leaked between his fingers when he did so. “Regardless, ye have my word that while I am here, I mean ye no ill will."

If she made another comment like that, however, he might just take back that promise.

"Do ye behave so rashly with every lady ye meet?"

He raised a brow at her and smiled at the obvious jest. "Lady?"

She bristled as his eyes travelled up and down her ragged gown, covered in the same muck she'd washed from his face, hands, and eyes, fraying in all the places he could see, and thin enough for holes to penetrate and allow him indecent glimpses of her chemise "Aye. Lady. My father was a wealthy knight, but my mother decided to raise me in poverty rather than have him know me."

“And, where is yer mother now?”

Her eyes did not meet his. “She is dead.”

Blaise's thoughts went away with him again. He would allow himself to feel no pity while in this suspicious state. "I suppose ye would prefer some sort of payment for yer services then?"

She did not attempt to deny her intent, though there was no malice in her words. "'Tis the least ye could do for a woman who saved yer life, milord."

His suspicions that she may have had something to do with his situation raised up again. 'Twould not be the first time a member of the lower class had attempted to manipulate him to get what they sought.

Marianne Holton had attempted to kidnap him and force a wedding on him when he denied the proposed agreement of marriage. Instead, through sheer luck, she kidnapped and married his father by mistake, William Gray. Now they were known throughout the land as a couple completely in love and devoted to one another, with one child already and another on the way.

While alone with Elizabeth, nude and not a weapon on him, Blaise did not mention his theory lest she turn into a raving banshee and attack him with a log from the dwindling fire. She stirred something that smelled heavenly in the dented pot with a wooden spoon.

"I was not far from Graystone when I was attacked," he said, ignoring the scent. "Why bring me here instead of to my home?"

She looked over her shoulder, the disbelief in her eyes suggesting she thought he might be the crazed one between the two of them. "Do ye take me for a lunatic? Why would I go to yer father's castle, dragging his naked son behind me and demanding entrance from the rain? They would have me locked away until ye awoke, and then who would believe that I had nothing to do with yer robbery—"

"When ye asked for payment?" He finished.

Elizabeth turned her head away, but Blaise glimpsed the rising color in her neck before she did. She poured a thick stew into a crooked bowl and handed it to him with a spoon.

She turned away from him immediately, not waiting to see if he would eat the stew while she stood to face the opposite wall with her arms crossed. "Ye are not obligated to give me anything, nor am I entitled to anything. I was merely hoping that someone in yer position may be able to help me leave this." She waved her hand around, indicating the square hut.

Blaise thought about it. The scent of the stew called to his nose and his stomach twitched, but he put off eating from it. "Ye are correct. I do owe ye nothing."

Her back cringed at his words.

He sighed. "Yet I am not of the sort to abandon someone who did not abandon me. When the rain stops I will take ye to Graystone and explain yer situation to my father."

Elizabeth spun to stare at him. Her eyes sparkled with tear drops and her jaw trembled at his offer.

Feeling generous, Blaise dug the wooden spoon into the bowl, lifted out a mouthful of the steaming brown stew and took a bite. His eyes slid shut, savouring the taste. "Perhaps since ye are skilled as a cook we can give ye a position."

Elizabeth's face fell. Blaise chuckled and took another spoonful into his mouth.

If this wench thought he would give her a house and finery before he knew the truth about his robbery, then she was as mad as they came.

***

Elizabeth clenched her teeth, seething as he enjoyed the stew she created with the last of her food.

Still, she supposed she should feel grateful, but she would suppress her sigh of relief until later. Whether it had been accidental or not, intended or not, if he suspected that she had anything to do with his attack, he would kill her.

Chapter Two

The walk to Graystone castle took a few hours after the rain stopped. It seemed like days to Blaise, who had nothing to protect his feet against the mud and rocks on the road.

The ragged blanket Elizabeth had offered was all he had to spare his dignity. Indeed, the only other option was to wear her cloak, and from the way it draped heavily around her, filthy from overuse and mud, it would have not been any better.

His eyes scanned the trees, and his fingers itched to wrap around the handle of a sword he no longer had. A sword he regretted losing above all else. "If we are to be ambushed I would have to defend ye with nothing but my fists."

"'Twas ye who did not wish to wait for the roads to dry." Elizabeth replied in an equally sour tone, kicking muck off of her flimsy shoes. “My gown is already filthy, and now being ruined further as I trek in the mud next to ye.”

Blaise shook his head. He eyed the gown she wore—which original color he still could not discern—with contempt. She managed to clean some of the muck from it before they started on their journey, but all it did was spread the dirt deeper into the cloth. “As though it makes a difference,” he muttered.

She looked at him. “What did ye say?”

"I spoke of nothing, and I wished for a quick departure because 'twould be best for a helpless woman and her naked companion to travel before the thieves who live in the woods decide the weather is fine enough for them to stalk their prey. They wish to sit in the bushes, not in the muck. Like us."

Elizabeth would not look at him. She adjusted the parcel in her arms and continued to walk, as though hoping he would not see the color climbing her neck. A fine neck it was, despite the filth. "I had not thought of that."

She had wrapped the gown Blaise had seen in her small hut in a clean skin to protect it against any damage similar to the gown she currently wore. She carried it with her as though it were a precious child.

Blaise couldn't help but remark upon it. "Are ye wishing to look presentable when I introduce ye to my father?"

Her pale cheeks heated again. 'Twas easy making that color appear in her skin, it seemed. The pink color contrasted nicely on her pale cheeks.

She swallowed. "Aye, I am a lady and wish to look as one when I am in good company."

"Ah, then ye should be wearing it now as ye are in my company." He grinned. He visualised her wearing finery, a clean gown with color, and the dirt washed from her hair and face, but his efforts were constantly stalled as he could only picture her as she was now. Still, even dressed as a filthy serf, she was beautiful.

She looked at him, one dark eyebrow raised, a sardonic smile touching her full lips. "My apologies, milord, but as ye are wearing nothing at all beneath my blanket I foolishly assumed 'twould not be necessary."

Blaise grumbled at her biting reply, eager to get into a pair of leggings, boots, and tunic instead of walking around with the cold breeze tickling his shrivelling manhood.

He needed to take his mind away from the chill that assaulted him. "Where did ye come about a fine gown such as that? Considering yer situation and all, my lady, I find it unlikely ye had it made."

She glared at him. "'Twas a gift from my father to my mother, from before she stole herself away like she did."

"Yer mother kept the gown all this time? I thought she despised the man enough to run away?" Even had that not been the case, Blaise would have had trouble believing her simply because of the condition in which she lived.

"She did despise him, and was always seeking to make me despise him with her stories as well.”

She stopped and cleared her throat, as though only now aware of what she had said. “I believe she kept it for something to sell should we ever be in dire need. When I grew old enough, fearing she would soon sell it, I begged her to give it to me instead."

"Hmm," It seemed like a plausible explanation, but her story combined with her current situation and miraculous rescue of him, made him question her true motives, as he'd learned to question everyone's since Robert, a mere groom, used him to try and lift up his social status.

"There, 'tis where I found ye."

Blaise pulled himself from his thoughts and stared at the spot where her delicate finger pointed. In the center of the road was a small pond of rainwater. A toad swam frantically inside while a pair of robins twittered around and harassed it.

Curious as to how deep the puddle ran, Blaise bent down, picked up a fist sized rock, and tossed it in the water. The splash frightened away the birds and saved the toad, but the water was deep enough that when the rock went in he could no longer see it.

Blaise turned to stare at Elizabeth, who met his gaze with no smirk on her face or victory in her eyes. When she claimed to have saved him from drowning in, of all things, a puddle, he assumed she had been making the situation seem worse than it was to claim her reward for his rescue.

However, if this small lake in the middle of the road had been where he lay with his face pointed towards the earth, he no longer had any doubts that he, a knight, could be killed by it.

'Twas mortifying and surprising, and he thanked the Lord that being killed in such a weak manner had not been his Fate. To be remembered as a man who drowned in a puddle! 'Twas worse than death itself!

"'Twas not so deep when I found ye, but the rain did fall heavily. Had I left ye there the water would have filled—”

"And I would have met my end. I see that now." Blaise turned his eyes away from the offending water to continue his walk.

Elizabeth followed at his heels, as he expected she would. "I shall introduce ye to my family and explain how I came to know ye." He stopped abruptly to glare at her. "I will tell my father the manner in which ye saved my life, but no one else is to hear of it, am I understood?"

As if sensing the threat, she bobbed a minor curtsy. "Aye, milord."

***

Elizabeth could barely contain her excitement as Graystone came into view. ‘Twas a stone fortress of immense length and height that stood proudly on top of a small hill, with powerful cylindrical towers that bolstered its thick walls, rising into the sky.

The image before her made Elizabeth feel small, her plan for a better life inside those battlemented barriers foolish. It also made her legs wish to run in the other direction now that she had made it so far.

She forced herself to keep moving with Lord Blaise. The young lord she travelled with seemed to become more and more sour every step they took. She knew by his earlier threat that 'twas solely because he did not wish to be seen wearing nothing but the ragged blanket she gave him for cover.

His scowl deepened until crooked hills lined his forehead as they came up the road that led to the gate. Serfs and other men and women who tended the fields halted with their tools in hand as they passed. They stared openly, some pointing their fingers.

Elizabeth waited for Blaise to call out a command for them to return to their duties, but he remained silent and angry, likely because he wished to draw no further attention to himself.

Elizabeth longed to do something to rescue him from this humiliation. Perhaps then he would treat her with a little more gratitude.

No solution came to her. Elizabeth remained silent as they walked until they finally stepped up to the gatehouse. The drawbridge was down, but the portcullis was lowered. It allowed her to see the inside of the courtyard but denied them entrance.

Blaise raised his head and bellowed, "JAMES!"

A knight of a similar age to Blaise stuck his head between the battlements. His eyes squinted, then widened at the sight of his lord, without a horse, wearing a strange garb, and the woman with him.

"Lord Blaise! What ha—"

"Let us in! I shall explain when I am properly dressed!"

James's head ducked back behind the battlements. He shouted an order, and with the sound of heavy chains clanging, the portcullis was lifted from the ground and Elizabeth and Blaise were allowed entrance.

Elizabeth walked with uncertainty under the holes in the stone above her. Fear embraced her as visions of the men above locking her in the gatehouse, shooting her, then pouring boiling water over her dying body came to her.

No such measures were taken. She breathed a heavy sigh when she and Blaise appeared on the other side of the gates unharmed.

James and other knights rushed down from their positions above and around the castle to gape at their lord. "Milord, were ye attacked?" asked James, who sent Elizabeth cautious stares.

She did not bother herself with the Knight. Elizabeth’s attention was on Lord Blaise. How did he intend to answer the question without revealing his humiliating defeat at the hands of street thieves? None of her expectations prepared her for his arm around her waist, pulling her close until her body was firmly against his, and with only the blanket to cover himself with, she was instantly aware of the firmness of his body.

"I am in the company of a beautiful woman and wearing only a blanket. Do I look like a man who has suffered a defeat?"

There was a slight pause, and then most of the knights laughed at the meaning behind his words. Elizabeth flushed and ducked her head. Anger bubbled inside her. How dare he make her out to be some common whore? She would shriek his ear of later, lord or no lord!

James was the only man in the group who showed no mirth. His eyes trailed up and down Elizabeth's filthy gown, her muddy face and hair, to the blanket Blaise had draped over his shoulders and wrapped around his middle. "Lord Blaise, yer horse—"

"Ah, yes.” Blaise’s blue eyes returned to Elizabeth. Her shock tripled as he stared at her with something akin to admiration. “While no man can best me in a match I am ashamed to admit that 'twas all too easy for them to sneak off with my belongings while I was with a woman such as this."

Elizabeth was forced to bite down on her lips to keep from shouting as the men laughed again, all of them shrugging off the fact that their lord was robbed so long as it was done while he was bedding a woman.

Although she was the filthier of the two of them, he was the swine.

"And as ye can see, the gown she wears is for travel." Blaise said, pulling the skin packaging open so the men could see the fine green gown and bodice beneath, leaving them no room to think that their lord was travelling with some meagre peasant.

Eager to stamp on any misconceptions before the men in front of her took her to be a whore eager to be the plaything of any man among them, she spoke without thinking. "Aye, as yer betrothed 'twas easy for me to enjoy yer attentions, Lord Blaise."

The knights stopped laughing. They all stared at Elizabeth with round eyes, including Blaise. He righted his features, squeezing her tighter to his side. "That is was, my sweet Eliza," Though he smiled, his eyes were dark, and he hissed her name as though it were cursed.

Elizabeth instantly regretted her mistake in presuming she could insinuate something such as that. Whatever punishment or humiliation was available for her words, Blaise would likely see to it that she suffered it.

"Where is my father?" Blaise demanded.

"I am here."

Elizabeth spun at the sound of the commanding voice. An older man with blond hair with flecks of grey in it approached. His clothing was fine, his back straight, and face concerned. The men parted for him as he entered their circle.

Elizabeth inhaled sharply as she realized that this was Lord Gray.

A child of five or six ran at his lordship’s side to keep up with the longer legs of his father before picking up speed and rushing to Blaise.

Blaise knelt down and threw his arms open for the squealing child to rush into. “Blaise!” The boy said. “Where were ye?”

Blaise stroked the blond head. “Enjoying a pleasant walk.”

“Too pleasant by the look of things.” Lord Gray said as he eyed his eldest son with curiosity.

Elizabeth looked at them side by side, and comparing height and hair and faces, well, ‘twas hard for her to imagine that this man was Blaise’s father. They looked nothing alike.

Lord Gray stood tall and proud before his son, but not taller, and the older man sported hair that spoke of soft sand which suggested Blaise inherited his hideous hair from his mother. And while Eliza could nary accuse Blaise of appearing small, he almost appeared so when his shoulders were compared to the broad mass of his father’s.

As if hearing her thoughts and becoming insulted by them, Blaise gripped her hand and yanked her towards the older man. "Father, may I present Lady Eliza Hollow—”

“Elizabeth.” She corrected.

Blaise’s lips curled. “Elizabeth. My betrothed." He said the last part through clenched teeth, squeezing her hand as he did so. "Eliza, this is my father, Lord William Gray."

Elizabeth curtsied low, wishing to avoid any questions the man might give her following his shocked gaze. He surely did not expect his son to confess to being betrothed to a woman who looked as though she sat below a serf on the grand scale of things.

She groaned at the mental image she gave herself, wishing with all her might that she had time to throw away the ragged thing she wore so that she might be dressed properly like she had planned.

Lord Gray peered behind her instead and addressed Blaise. Elizabeth’s knees shook when a pleased smile lifted his lips. "Betrothed?"

She couldn’t believe it. Was the man not angry?

"Father, may I have a private audience?" Blaise rushed his words, grabbing Elizabeth's hand in his iron grasp again. She fought to keep from showing any pain as his hand squeezed too hard.

William blinked, seeming to sense the desperate mood surrounding his son. "Very well, but I want ye dressed first."

Blaise looked down at himself, as though remembering how little he wore. He released Elizabeth's hand and rushed across the courtyard.

Elizabeth rubbed her wrist, her entire hand cold now that his firm grip no longer kept it hot.

Lord Gray put a gentle hand over her shoulder and pulled her along with him. "Come, Lady Elizabeth, I shall introduce ye to the mistress of the house."

Her body tensed at his unexpected touch and soft voice, especially since her crusty garments were now ruining his clean clothes. But he did not seem to mind, nor did he give another glance to the hideous gown she wore with its dirty hems and tears. Indeed, he did not even hesitate as he led her in the same direction Blaise had run off in.

His words of being introduced to the lady of the castle finally reached her. Elizabeth jerked to a stop in panic. "Nay, milord, I—" She cleared her throat and forced calm into her heart. "Please, milord, may I dress first? I am appalled in the manner in which I presented myself would like to do better for yer wife."

He laughed. Laughed! "I do not believe Marianne will much care how ye look, but I shall send ye off with a maid if it calms yer soul."

He spoke in such a gentle manner that Elizabeth already felt at ease in his presence, as though she were a dear friend.

Elizabeth had always been taught that wealthy men, lords, and ladies were cruel beings who did not much care for pleasantries unless they were directed towards themselves. Her mother told her that they took what they wanted, and did not care a whiff of anyone else.

She had always known it had been a mistake. The nobles were called nobles for a reason and Lord Gray was proof enough of that. She'd known the man for less than five minutes and she liked him already.

***

Elizabeth was taken an empty bedchamber, and as promised, a young servant girl came to help her out of her filthy rags. The tight sleeves pealed from her arms like a second skin, and Elizabeth’s body seemed to inhale a breath of fresh air as it was removed.

Despite the wonderful welcome and treatment, Elizabeth could hardly contain her awe at her surroundings. 'Twas no servant’s room she had been directed to. She could tell even though she had never been inside of a castle before.

The elegantly carved four poster bed, with a mattress that looked thick and soft with clean quilts was the item worth the most admiration. She could not wait until she could sleep in it. Thick rushes on the floor welcomed her feet, and painted oak furniture were proof enough that Lord Gray must indeed have enjoyed their first meeting.

As she had yet to explain that she'd saved the life of Lord Gray’s son, 'twas likely she’d only been shown this room because Lord William assumed she truly was Blaise’s betrothed. She shuddered to think of what he would do when he discovered it had just been a jest on her part.

Eliza wanted to bathe, but with how quickly her gown had been thrown on her, and the promise of meeting the lady of the castle in mere minutes, she didn't dare ask for one. ‘Twould be too presumptuous after having been given so much already, and take far too long.

“Ye seem out of sorts, milady.” The girl said while her fingers worked on the many buttons and laces.

Elizabeth scratched her arm under the tight sleeves; dirty skin itched beneath the fine fabric, driving her mad. Though she had scrubbed her face with an old rag before setting off with Blaise, her body protested any further movement before washing. “Could we perhaps take another moment for me to wash?”

The servant girl’s face widened, as though she hadn’t thought of it. She turned her head to the empty basin where water should have been, and bobbed an apologetic curtsy.

“Forgive me, milady. I ‘ad not realized water ‘ad not been brought in.” The girl promptly scurried out of the room like a frightened little bird. Elizabeth stood confused when alone. How long would she take? Would Elizabeth still be in time to be introduced to Lady Gray?

Those thoughts barely left her head before the girl rushed back inside with a pitcher in her hands. She poured the water into the basin that sat on the table, and Elizabeth sighed and surged forward like a starved man towards food.

She splashed her face and rubbed her neck with the cool liquid while the girl behind her worked on loosening her gown so that she might scrub her arms. She washed until the water turned brown with the mud from her hair, face, and arms. The servant girl swiftly carried off the soiled water and brought fresh water to her so that she might finish cleaning herself.

Ah, what would she have done without the swift little bird behind her? Elizabeth did not care that the water splashed against her gown as long as it was only in small drops, just so long as she emerged a clean lady.

She scrubbed everywhere she could without entirely removing the only fine bit of clothing she owned, even scraping the dirt out from under her fingernails.

Her skin felt lighter, not tight with drying mud, and while her hair was again soaking limp because of when she put her entire head in the basin, she still felt clean and refreshed. She heaved a happy sigh and addressed the girl trying to dry her hair without wrinkling her gown. "I think I am ready now. What is yer name, girl?"

"Olma, milady," she said, leaving her hair so that she might return to helping Elizabeth back into her gown. "Shall I send that one for washing?" She asked, indicating the tattered gown with a jerk of her head.

Elizabeth looked at it and winkled her nose. "Nay, I shall never wear it again after tonight."

***

Elizabeth was led to the solar where Blaise intended to explain to his father that he was not betrothed to the woman he had brought home with him. While she did not look forward to what would no doubt be a humiliating encounter, she delighted when all eyes in the room focused on her.

Blaise's especially. No longer wearing the shoddy blanket she presented him with earlier, her heart fluttered at the sight of his clean tunic, boots, and leggings, all of which fitted him tightly.

Elizabeth resisted the urge to reach up and touch her heart. How strange! She had seen him naked before and walked with him knowing there was naught beneath that foul robe she gave him but hard flesh, and yet the sight of him fully clothed still sent a shiver through her.

He suddenly seemed ... perfect. Even his hideous hair, now washed of the dirt that darkened the orange color, seemed as bright as a flame on top of his head.

He turned his head away from a conversation with his father, looked at her, and his jaw dropped while the color of his eyes seemed to become a brighter shade of blue.

She had no jewels to speak of, but the gown she wore and a hard scrubbing made her feel as refined and beautiful as any real lady. The little servant girl, Olma, had done a wonderful job braiding her thick brown hair in a shining crown above her head.

Remembering herself, she curtsied to everyone in the room. "My lords, my lady." She amended, seeing the woman standing beside Lord Gray. Her belly protruded heavily away from her body, but that did not deter the gentle smile on her face.

She had hair of such brilliant, impossible red that Elizabeth would have been certain she was Blaise’s mother, if only they did not appear so close in age. "Are ye to be my new daughter?"

“New—” Elizabeth sputtered, her body heating. Had Blaise not explained that they were not to be wed after all?

Lord Gray took the woman's hand and patted it gently. "Marianne, my dear, I am sorry to say that 'tis not to be. Ye have only just arrived shortly before our guest, and have not heard Blaise's confession."

William looked pointedly at his son. Blaise's face coloured all the way up to that flame-shaped orange head of his, and in turn Blaise sent a sharp glance towards Elizabeth. "Yes, Marianne. Elizabeth and I are not to be married. 'Twas her simple chattering that spawned that rumour."

Elizabeth bristled and clenched her fists. "I would have made no comment at all had ye not been jesting with those men outside that I was yer whore."

William snapped his eyes towards Blaise. 'Twas the first time Elizabeth had seen their calm blues appear so sharp. "Is that true?"

Blaise had the decency to duck his head in an abashed manner. "Father, I was attacked on the road last night in the rain and robbed of everything."

Marianne brought her hand up to cover a small gasp. William's eyes widened. "Was this the reason for yer grand entrance today?"

Blaise nodded. "Aye. I did not want the men to know that I had been taken in by a few peasants. So I explained to them that I was robbed while bedding her."

"Foolish boy." Lord Gray said.

Elizabeth's mouth dropped when, instead of scolding him further, Lord Gray pulled Blaise from his seat to hold him. "I care not about the nature of yer robbery so long as ye are returned safely."

Blaise pulled eagerly away from his father's grasp and cleared his throat. "Aye, well, 'tis also the reason why I bring Eliza with me today. She saved my life."

All eyes returned their attention to her. Elizabeth’s body warmed under their curious stares. She ducked her head as though she could avoid the heat.

Lady Gray grinned proudly. Lord Gray eyed her curiously, rubbing his chin. "Is that so? Against a band of thieves? Well then, I can certainly see why ye wouldn't want the men outside knowing of that."

"William!" Lady Gray’s grin disappeared.

"I was only saying," he muttered.

Elizabeth decided to speak for herself before Blaise could utter another word. "Actually, milord, I came upon Blaise later. The men attacked him and left him for dead in the middle of the road. He lay in a puddle, and if he had been left there and not awoke before the rain could fill it with more water, he would have drowned."

William looked to his son for confirmation.

Blaise folded his arms tightly over his strong chest. He sneered at naught in particular, as though hesitant to admit to his near defeat at the hands of a puddle. "'Tis true. I have the wound on the back of my head to prove it."

"Thank the Lord ye are safe." Lady Gray said as her husband reached his hand behind his son’s head to find the giant lump. Blaise hissed when his father’s fingers touched it.

"It appears we owe ye quite a bit of thanks, Elizabeth." Lord Gray said. "I am not one to let a deed like this go without its reward. Name whatever ye wish, and I shall give it to ye."

Blaise smiled playfully at her. "She has expressed an interest in working in our kitchens."

"Nay! No! I—" Elizabeth stopped herself, humiliated by her outburst. She cleared her throat and softened her voice. "Please, milord, my father was a wealthy nobleman, but unfortunate Fate had me taken from him before the time I was born and raised in poverty. If ye believe ye owe me anything, I would like to have that rectified."

William shook his head. "I cannot give ye a title, but if money is what ye seek, I can arrange for something."

***

Blaise awaited her reply. He waited for Elizabeth to prove that she was just another greedy harlot out to make a profit off of him, despite how difficult it was seeing her as anything but innocent with the beauty that seemed to encase itself in her very being. She practically glowed with it as her wide eyes blinked while she thought of what answer she would give.

Her dark eyes turned and met his. Blaise’s breath stilled. How did she have the power to do this to him? ‘Twas infuriating. She gazed inside of him as though attempting to see what was in his head. Blaise did not like it. He scowled and turned away.

Elizabeth returned her attention to his father and hesitated, as though unsure of herself. After a moment she shook her head. "Nay, milord, for payment in saving the life of yer son, I humbly ask to be able to live in this castle with ye and yer family."

Blaise rocked back on the soles of his booted feet. Surely she jested! He looked to his father. The man scratched his chin as though contemplating an answer.

Finally, William looked at him. "'Tis yer life she spared, what say you?"

Blaise wanted to deny her the right to live in the castle as an equal instead of a servant since that was the wench's goal the whole time. He stared into her eyes, the same color as the mud which had been caked on her during their walk back to the castle. He'd nearly been thrown off his guard when she presented herself, washed and dressed like a true lady, but he knew the truth.

Or at least, he thought he did. The pleading look she sent him now was nothing like the manipulative stares he used to receive from Robert whenever the man wanted something.

He knew better now. He would never allow himself to be manipulated again.

Still, Eliza was...different. He sensed something beneath her, hiding, and he did not like it. If he was wrong about her, would he be tossing a woman who had saved his life, with nothing but the best intentions in mind, out into the cold?

He needed to know for certain before he made that decision. He needed to prove to himself whether she was innocent or guilty of using him for her own benefit. Whether or not she be a greedy social climbing wench, she still saved his life. The least he could do was allow her to stay while he made up his mind. "She stays, for now."

Eliza's chest deflated as though she’d been holding her breath. "Thank ye, milord."

His smile was the only response he would give to her. He would not forewarn her about his intent to watch her, that any misstep she made, any hint he received that she planned for this, would be her undoing. He would send her out himself.

His step-mother, Marianne, went to Eliza and put her arms about her shoulders, welcoming the other woman whole heartedly. "I am sorry to hear of yer situation, Elizabeth. Perhaps we can send a messenger to yer father and let him know that ye are here."

Eliza shook her head. "'Tis very generous, milady, but my father died six years ago. I don't believe he even knew I existed. I am a bastard."

Sympathy swelled inside Blaise when she uttered that profanity. "Do not call yerself that vile word."

Elizabeth’s eyes went to him, their shock that he should defend her from herself plain even to him. Then she smiled, and Blaise’s anger melted away. He felt light and well.

"Thank ye, milord, but 'tis true nonetheless. My mother took me from him before I was born and hid me away until she too finally went into hiding. She feared he would take me from her. 'Twas how she explained it to me, at least."

"Do ye know the name of yer father?" William asked.

Eliza nodded. "Sir Bartholomew Ferdinand."

As though the very air had been sucked from their lungs, everyone ceased their breathing for some seconds.

A flash of memory passed through Blaise's mind, as vivid as though it were happening before his eyes. 'Twas of that old man, Ferdinand, a villain known for torturing women, running towards William and Marianne with a blade in his hand, intent on destroying them.

Blaise had rushed forth and kicked the man's feet out from under him, and the devil fell and stabbed himself in the neck with his own dagger.

Blaise never thought much of the memory, and he had certainly never lost any sleep over it. Now, however, guilt wracked his soul that he had apparently murdered Eliza’s father.

Chapter Three

Elizabeth awoke from her dream and snuggled further into the warmth of her bed. A lazy grin touched her lips. The feather mattress provided a better night's sleep than the mound of putrid hay she'd been using in her mother's hut.

Memories of insects and dirt brought a shiver to her shoulders. Nay, never again would she trouble herself with those memories. Now she was here, in a small, albeit, beautiful chamber in a castle, and lady in waiting to Lady Gray.

She allowed herself a luxurious stretch before sitting up. It seemed the bedchamber she had been led to the day before had once belonged to Lord Gray's mother, and while it had almost never been used since the death of the woman, it had been kept in a good, clean condition. Now Elizabeth was free to have it.

"I think 'tis time a new soul brought life to it." William had said after suggesting that she stay there.

She'd been shocked at first, having expected to share the space with another servant rather than being given it all to herself. Though she supposed 'twas one more thing the lord of the castle thought so little of when compared to having his son’s life spared.

Blaise. How angelic he appeared while observing her in Lord Gray’s solar, compared to when she first saw him in the road.

The image brought a shudder to her shoulders and a regretful stirring in her chest. No. ‘Twas best not to think of that. He was safe now, and that was all that mattered.

He had been handsome once she'd brought him in from the rain and cleaned him up, despite the displeasing color of his hair. She had spent a good deal of time with him, listening to his complaints of the muck during their trek back to his castle, so Elizabeth became unnerved when he simply vanished after she explained her situation and who her father was.

His face had paled of color, allowing her to see every individual freckle on his otherwise tanned nose and cheeks. He had excused himself and all but fled from the room.

Elizabeth lifted herself from the bed, walked across the room, and gazed out the narrow stone window at the sunrise that coloured the horizon.

'Twas two days ago, and since then she had only seen him during meals in the great hall. Though there were fireplaces in each room, enabling a lord and his lady to have their meals in privacy, it seemed Lord Gray insisted upon eating with the men and women who served him, as well as requiring that his family and guests do the same.

"'Twas something Lady Gray demanded when she first came to be mistress of the castle," said Olma when Elizabeth gave her a curious glance. "She said it keeps the servants respectful."

Elizabeth was not precisely certain how that worked, but if the lord and lady insisted on it then she would oblige.

Though they hadn't rushed out of the solar and avoided her as Blaise had when she revealed the name of her father, Lord Gray, and especially Lady Gray, had been giving her strange glances when they thought she would not see them. Being raised the daughter of a prostitute, Elizabeth grew to know when the eyes of another stared at her.

She did not like it. The name of her father obviously stirred displeasure in their hearts and Elizabeth longed to know the reason of it.

Did they know Sir Ferdinand? Was he ally or enemy? And was he truly as horrible as her mother claimed? Or was she a selfish woman who demanded that her daughter live with her in the most foul of circumstances? Was this the reason they had taken such an interest in her, wished to know her age, where she was born, and the name of her mother?

Elizabeth had to answer questions they asked of her, though because of who they were she would never dare to demand answers from them. Olma had yet to offer any information either, but she could ask Blaise.

She would have to step cautiously while in his presence. If the man ever became aware that she had plotted his robbery, she would be tossed from the castle, if she were lucky.

She had hired those men because she knew them, almost. They were part of her mother’s clientele, and harmless enough, or so she had thought. They were to simply watch out for the man with orange hair and surprise him. They were not to beat him into unconsciousness, steal his clothing, and leave him for dead in a rain puddle.

Elizabeth sighed and shook her head. Perhaps the amount of money she had given them as payment was smaller than she had thought. “‘Tis my own fault for trusting them.” She supposed she should feel grateful they had not outright killed him in their attack, and not simply because then her plans would have been for naught. Elizabeth did not know how she would have been able to live with herself had a man’s blood been put on her hands.

Elizabeth turned away from the colourful glow rising from the East. Perhaps if she confessed…

She shook the thought away quickly. Nay. She could never tell him. To do so would risk everything she had worked hard to accomplish. She could never sell her body as her mother had, and what little she could grow behind that hut or steal from the unsuspecting travellers was not enough to ensure her survival.

Blaise Gray was known for his lonesome rides. Or, at least, Elizabeth imagined they were lonesome. Every time she had seen him he was always alone, not a knight, a paige, or even a dog with him. 'Twas a miracle no one had thought to rob him before. As reckless as he was, Lord knew he practically begged for trouble. Elizabeth had done him a favour. At least now he would be more aware of the dangers.

A knock sounded on the door, breaking her silence and startling her into a fearful jump. Dear Lord! What if a servant heard her speaking to herself on the other side of the door? With a trembling voice she called, “Who is there?”

“‘Tis I, Lady Elizabeth.” Olma's voice carried softly to her ears.

Elizabeth sighed. She had not lived at Graystone for long, but she knew already that Olma kept to herself and did not search for gossip as other servants did. Still, she would have to remember to keep her thoughts inside her head and not speak them out loud.

Elizabeth allowed the girl entrance, and then Olma proceeded to bustle about and dress her in the green gown she had worn her first day in the castle.

Lord Gray had promised to find her some old gowns that belonged to his mother and have them hemmed to fit her, but until then she would have to wear her green one. She hoped the other gowns would be ready soon, for she had no desire to use hers any longer than necessary. She wished to preserve it. It had, after all, been a gift from her mother.

"Olma, where is Lord Blaise?" Elizabeth asked while the girl worked on the strings of her corset.

Olma paused briefly before the tightening at her back continued. "‘e is usually with the men at the gate or tending to the mews."

"The mews? Are there not men who will do that for him?"

"Aye, but ‘e prefers to go down anyway, Lady Elizabeth."

Elizabeth's spine tingled as Olma referred to her as a lady. 'Twas not the first time she had heard it since arriving, but she never grew weary of the sound.

‘Twas what she had always dreamed of, to be what she truly was, more than a peasant girl who struggled to feed herself.

The delicious tingle soon vanished, replaced with a cloud of worry and fear. Though Blaise would never learn of her part in his near death, and, God willing, Lord Gray would never learn it either, Blaise’s obvious suspicion frightened her.

'Twas impossible that he could know of it, though her fear had almost gotten the better of her when he stood up, naked in her hut, and demanded to know how it was that she knew his name. Her fear had nearly prevented her from giving a valid response until she recalled that his hair would make the perfect excuse. After all, 'twas what she used to send those men after him in the first place.

Though she was certain her lie had worked, she still caught his narrowed glances that were surely meant to be secret, and the distrust that lay across his face as he observed her.

Anger twisted her guts. He acted so distrustful of her when he and his family obviously hid things of her own past from her.

Elizabeth would rectify that. She would be with Lady Gray and accompany her throughout whatever the lady decided to do during the day. Eventually, Elizabeth would make it known that she wished to become better acquainted with the young lord whom she had saved.

She knew better than to attempt any romantic involvement. She would befriend him. Then she would hint and pry until the answers of her father were revealed to her. 'Twould be difficult, but she would persist until all that anger and suspicion in his soul melted away.

She was not some evil fiend out to steal his wealth, and she would not be thought of as one simply because he chose to dislike her. She merely wished to live a life outside of that hovel where she had been raised, clean, and safe from predators of both the animal and human variety.

She would befriend Blaise, gain his trust, and in return he would be at ease knowing his home had not been invaded by a creature of foul intent. Elizabeth could hardly wait for their next meeting.

***

Blaise lounged while his father paced. Marianne stood by and watched her husband with her hands clasped above her bulging belly.

"The girl is six and twenty. Too old to be yer daughter. Ye know this," she said.

Blaise shuddered and lifted his goblet to his lips to chase away the chill. He thanked the Lord for that small miracle. The fact that the woman who had rescued him, and for whom he had experienced physical lust, no matter how brief, was not his sister, was a tremendous relief.

Still, his father continued to pace. When Eliza revealed who her father was, next she spoke of the identity of her mother.

When she explained that her mother was Bertha Hollow, the same prostitute whom William had once visited in his youth, panic had entered his eyes until she revealed her age. She had been born a good year before his father ever went to Bertha for her services.

As Blaise had not been in the solar at the time to learn of this, he had to be told later. Terror chilled his blood at the thought until Marianne used calm logic to explain how Eliza could not have been mistaken. If she insisted that Ferdinand was her father, then her father he must be.

“She claimed that her mother took her from her father before she had been born and that her mother went into hiding later. I had assumed Bertha had been killed by Ferdinand when we stopped hearing from her.” William said.

Marianne’s eyes were downcast. “That poor woman. To have to hide away from Ferdinand her entire life.”

“Aye,” William stopped his pacing and sighed.

Blaise shrugged, refusing to let the tale bring any pity out of him. “I still distrust the daughter.”

His suspicion aside, he could hardly believe his rescuer was older than he by almost a full year. His step mother was also older, and Blaise's original betrothed until he had written her a letter calling off their marriage.

Insulted, the red-headed wench had gone and kidnapped his father and married him instead, even if only by accident. It seemed Blaise would be forever haunted by older women in his life.

William nodded at Blaise’s earlier statement. "Aye, I know ye do, but ‘tis not all that concerns me. If she truly is the daughter of Ferdinand then she has no doubt inherited some of his more dubious personality traits."

Blaise found himself under the hard blue stare of his father. "I believe this would be a fine time for yer suspicious nature to run free. Keep on yer guard around her."

"William! 'Tis nonsense that a person can inherit any bad behaviours and ye well know it. If it were true, I would be a gambling addict,” Marianne said. “Elizabeth saved Blaise's life. We owe her more than our suspicion."

"My dear, I am shocked that ye so eagerly defend the girl, considering yer hatred for her father."

Blaise had heard this story more times than he could count, and so he stopped paying attention to the bickering of the older people in the room. Blaise's true father was not the man standing in the room with him at all, but a mere groom who worked in the stables. Robert.

Despite his lack of education or wealth, the man had still managed to deceive Blaise's mother, the first Lady Gray, Alice, into believing her husband felt no love for her because of their constantly botched intimacy.

She allowed herself to be fooled by a man far beneath her, letting a mere servant seduce and bed her. William, unaware of his wife's betrayal, sought the help of a prostitute named Bertha to teach him the ways of the marriage bed. It would allow him and his wife to perform their matrimonial duties without William causing any harm to Alice.

Thankfully Alice confessed to her sin shortly after the affair. Unfortunately, she already had the child of another man in her womb. She gave birth to Blaise months later. She died during the ordeal, but William, who loved them both so dearly, raised a bastard son of a servant as his own anyway.

The groom, Robert, was sent away, only to return years later, cold and starving during the winter months. William took pity on the man and allowed him to stay as a groom once more.

As Blaise grew older, he too allowed himself to be fooled by the man just as his mother had been. Believing Robert to be the victim of William's lack of love for Alice, Blaise had sympathized more with a servant than the man who had reared him. He had allowed himself to be used, not realizing until Robert kidnapped Marianne and sold her to Ferdinand that he had been tricked.

Robert had only taken such an interest in Blaise in the hopes that one day, after William's death, Blaise would lift him from his status as a groom and allow him luxuries other men of such low stations could never even dream of.

William did not hold Blaise responsible, and when they went to Ferdinand to retrieve Marianne from his clutches, Blaise was forced to take action when the man pulled out a dagger and rushed to kill his father and Marianne.

Did Eliza know that Blaise was responsible for the death of her father? Did she even know what sort of man her father had been? Blaise knew that if he would ever have any peace in his own home, he would need to find the answers quickly.

William approached Marianne and gently took her hand from its resting spot on her belly, though she still frowned and turned her head away in a pout. "Do not trouble yerself, my dear. I am not accusing the girl of anything, merely giving warning to stay on guard."

Marianne's face softened. "I like her. She reminds me of myself."

"'Tis a dangerous notion ye speak of," Blaise said behind his goblet. Marianne spun her vicious eyes on him. Blaise knew that if not for her condition she might have leapt across the chamber to brawl with him.

'Twas just as well that a knock sounded at the door.

“Enter,” William called. Olma opened the door and curtsied to the people in the room.

Blaise's eyes were drawn to the vision behind the servant girl. The same gown as before, yet she still appeared as serene and heavenly as when his eyes first witnessed her in it.

She was too beautiful, too innocent to be involved in some devious plot to worm her way into his family and this castle.

He shook his head to clear it, willing the distrust for her to bubble within him once more. Thoughts such as that were exactly why he needed to keep his defences strong against her sinful smile. Her eyes were half lidded, and her full mouth parted seductively, as though inviting him to kiss it, to thrust his tongue inside. Surely she could not know the silent message she was sending him at that moment?

He shook himself again. Fool. She is the daughter of a prostitute. She is perfectly aware of her behaviour.

Blaise returned her lusty smile with a snarl. Oddly displeased with her open shock and the way she stepped back.

"Blaise!"

He cringed at Marianne's voice shrieking in his ear. She glared down at him with her hands fisted on her hips.

He met her stare of annoyance with a playful smile, refusing to be moved. "Aye, Marianne?"

She made a sound of displeasure and walked forward to greet Eliza with a warm smile. Blaise watched them eagerly.

***

Elizabeth found herself being embraced by Lady Gray with all the warmth and comfort of a sister. Elizabeth grew warm under the treatment and promptly forgot about the hateful glare Blaise had sent her.

When Olma had first brought her to the door of the solar, shock greeted her at the sounds of the voices within. "I thought Blaise was at the mews?" She had asked.

"'e was, last I heard, milady," the small girl said timidly, and Elizabeth decided that Olma truly hadn't known Blaise returned to the castle.

Olma raised her hand to announce their presence with a soft knock, but Elizabeth grabbed her hand. "Wait."

She pressed her ear to the door, eager for any information that could aid her in making Graystone her permanent home.

“Milady! What are ye—?”

Elizabeth hissed, waving her arm at the girl as though she were a fly. “Shh!”

Olma twittered about nervously. “Lady Elizabeth, please, ye cannot…‘Tis dangerous to spy on the lord. ‘e can ‘ave us removed from the keep.” She whispered, but Elizabeth continued waving her off.

What she heard struck her harshly. Aside from Lady Gray, neither Lord Gray nor Blaise trusted her.

How could this be? She was certain her demeanour gave no reason to have anyone suspect her. Did they believe her to be responsible for Blaise’s attack?

No. A moment longer of listening and while she had no definite answer, she was certain they did not have any thoughts that she could have arranged for Blaise’s attack.

‘Twas relieving, but what had Lord Gray meant when he spoke of her father? So they did know Sir Ferdinand. Elizabeth would find out what sort of girl they thought she was based on a man she did not know.

She allowed Olma to knock, and they entered the solar together. She straightened her back, and prepared to smile at the lord of the castle, hoping to win his affections enough to convince him that he had not invited a dangerous woman into his home.

Instead her eyes were drawn to Blaise, sitting on a stool and leaning his back against the stone wall, a goblet in his hand and hair windswept. He must have come into this room straight from riding his horse. Perhaps his experience with the men Elizabeth had hired had not convinced him to take safer precautions when it came to his daily routines after all.

Regardless, his blue eyes captured her and held her in place. The innocent smile she had meant for Lord William turned into a wanting thing devoted solely to Blaise.

Her memory conjured the image of his naked form, standing before her, dangerous, and demanding. Elizabeth's breath left her, and her lips parted so that she might breathe easier.

Blaise returned her gaze with a fierce longing she had never seen before, as though he too was captured in whatever spell had ensnared her.

Then he glared at her.

Elizabeth stepped back, shocked at the hostility she found in his blue eyes. Fool! She admonished herself. The man believes ye are out to steal from him and ye look at him in such a manner? 'Tis no wonder he chooses not to trust ye!

Then Lady Gray rushed forth and put her arms about Elizabeth's shoulder, holding her so close that the belly between them bumped her and pushed her away again.

Elizabeth smiled and pulled away from the lady of the castle and curtsied to her, the one person who seemed to believe she was worth trusting, that she was worth more than peasant. Tears welled in her eyes, stinging their dry surfaces.

Stunned sympathy was in Lady Gray’s voice. "Whatever is the matter?"

Elizabeth shook her head and wiped her eyes. "I have not been embraced like that since the death of my mother." Never had she expected a gentle bred lady to do so for her either. It brought up old regrets and made her wish that she and her mother had not fought so often before she died so horribly.

Lady Gray pulled Elizabeth into another embrace and held her tightly. Lady Gray threw a dirty look to Blaise, who turned his head away from the scene. Could he perhaps feel guilty over his words about her now that she was in an emotional state?

If he sought her honesty and would trust her for it, she would give it to him. She would spill all of her secrets, or at least, most of them, if it meant she could keep her new position in the castle.

She sent him another smile, though this one lacked the lust that thumped through her earlier. She squashed it down and replaced it with the excitement of her new plan. All she needed was to carry it out.

Marianne took her cheeks in both hands and turned her head so that she might face the older woman. "I am sorry for yer mother, but I have some news that will cheer ye. To celebrate Blaise's safe return, we have invited friends and family to Graystone to feast. There will be music and dancing to put a smile on yer lips, and 'tis also likely there will be a handsome man who will fall in love with a pretty girl such as yerself."

Elizabeth's face heated beyond anything she ever felt. Hope presented itself, stretched, and sprang around like an excited child. Being in love and married would ensure her comfort indefinitely. "Do ye think so?"

"Marianne! The woman's been in this castle less than a fortnight and yer already trying to wed her?" Blaise barked, glaring.

Lady Gray stuck her nose in the air in a haughty manner. "Simply because ye choose not to wed does not mean that everyone else wishes to be a hermit."

Blaise crossed his arms, his sour mood radiating from him. "I am no hermit,"

He was pouting!

William shook his head and left the solar, mumbling about finding Edward.

Lady Gray returned her attention to Elizabeth, ignoring Blaise who still growled like a cat in the corner. "This celebration shall not be for at least another fortnight. We haven't even sent the messengers to inform William's friends of our intent. Ye surely shall have a new gown ready by then."

Elizabeth glowed. Then like a disappointed bird, her puffed feathers shrank back into herself as her glee disappeared. "Milady, if ye introduce me, I shall surely make an embarrassment of myself and ye. I am not knowledgeable in the ways of courtly love, or manners, or—"

"Ah," Lady Gray raised her hand, silencing anything else that would have escaped Elizabeth's mouth before she took her hand and patted it. Elizabeth could hardly believe the woman who behaved so motherly towards her was so close in age to herself.

"I should tell ye that while growing up, I never had a nurse to teach me these things either. I learned as much as my brothers could teach before they passed on. Even then I never learned music, languages, or even sewing until Lady Anne took it upon herself to teach me."

"Lady Anne?"

"William's cousin, and mine now I suppose, but as ye can see, despite all the flaws I possessed, William fell in love with me."

"Had no choice in the matter, as I recall," Blaise muttered.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to ask about his meaning, but Marianne squeezed her hand and stole her attention again, smiling brightly as though she hadn't heard the insult Blaise uttered. Though it did appear to be a forced smile. "If ye need a tutor, then I'm certain Blaise will be a true gentleman and offer his services."

Blaise nearly teetered off of his stool with how hard he rocked on it to stand on his feet. "The devil I will!"

Again, Lady Gray pretended not to hear. "I am certain that by the beginning of the celebration ye shall be a lady to be admired." She forcefully shoved Elizabeth in Blaise's direction with more strength than a woman in her condition should possess.

She stumbled on her gown and landed in Blaise's chest. His hands clenched like iron shackles around her arms as he steadied her. Elizabeth turned her head up and met the complete displeasure on his face, as well as a dark glow under his tanned flesh.

Lady Marianne laughed as though she had not nearly injured her new lady in waiting. "I certainly shall not hold fault against ye for wishing to proceed straight away. Come find me when today's lesson ends!"

"Marianne!" Blaise roared, still squeezing Elizabeth's arms in his tight fingers.

While unsure if her eyes played tricks on her, Elizabeth thought she saw Blaise's orange hair blaze over his head in fiery indignation. 'Twould be fitting to be named after the flame that burned over his skull.

The lady ignored the furious call of her step-son and waddled out of the solar as quickly as her feet would take her. Olma, frightened of the display, followed her instead of opting to stay.

For the first time since she arrived at Graystone, Elizabeth found herself completely alone with the man she had rescued on that rainy road. He still held her close to his strong chest, as though unsure of what to do with her.

Elizabeth did not mind. She marvelled at the solid form of his body beneath his tunic and her fingers. When she had first laid eyes on it, she immediately knew of love and admiration for his handsome appearance. She was not a blind woman, but never would she have thought to feel such pleasure being held so tightly to him.

"Well, my sweet Eliza," he said, and Elizabeth turned her head up, lifting herself from her lustful thoughts and once again banishing the image of Blaise's broad shoulders, bare chest, strong legs, and long manhood in her hut.

He stared at her with one side of his lip curled and his nose scrunched, as though his current situation was somehow her fault. "I shall speak to my father, but because he allows Marianne every freedom she desires I doubt we shall escape this arrangement.”

She swallowed. “What do ye suggest, then, Lord Blaise?”

His lip did not curl, nor did any hint of amusement enter his eyes. “Shall we begin?"

She nodded. “By all means.”

Chapter Four

Blaise had been correct about his father. Damn, could he never count on the man to take his side in an argument? Before beginning the lesson, he dragged Eliza to where William was, inside the stables with the horses, hoping one last effort would get him out of the responsibility of tutoring her.

'Twas not to be, however. When Lord Gray learned that his beloved Marianne had put them together, he refused to pry them apart again.

"'Twill be difficult enough as it is convincing everyone who heard her declaration that we are betrothed, that we will not wed, if we are seen dancing together." Blaise snarled. He’d tried having Eliza speak, to force reason into him using that innocent smile of hers. William would not be moved.

“Eliza, wait for me outside.” Blaise did not take his eyes away from his father as he gave the command.

She lifted a brow at him before doing as he bid her. The door did not shut entirely behind her, and who knew if the servants were prying, so they kept their whispers small and scathing.

“‘Tis not my problem. Ye brought her here, ye can be the one to handle her.”

“I thought ye wished for me to take care around her? To be on my guard.” Blaise’s fists clenched as he hissed his argument.

William shrugged and pushed him towards the door. “‘Twould be best to do so with her closer to ye, do ye not agree? What better way to have her watched then have ye do it now that there is excuse enough to prevent her suspicion?”

Blaise opened his mouth to argue further until his father opened the door, forcefully shoved him out, and then slammed it on his nose.

Eliza stood with her back to the wall. She stared at him when he came out. Mild panic hollowed his insides at the thought that she may have heard their words. “Did ye hear any of what was said in there?”

She shook head. “Nay, but by yer angry expression I know ye did not convince yer father to have someone else teach me.”

He folded his arms and glared at her. “Aye, and now we will have to convince the rest of the castle that we are not betrothed.”

***

Despite the hurt in her chest that Blaise obviously wished to stay so far away from her,

Elizabeth swallowed it and felt genuinely sorry that she ever jested about marriage. “Why do ye need to convince anyone at all? Ye are lord. Simply say ‘twas a jest and they will have to believe ye.”

“‘Tis not that simple. Some of them will believe my word because I am lord, but for the other knights, some of whom I have trained with since I was a lad, ‘twould be a fantastic story for them to pass around at my expense for years to come. That I could ever wed a peasant girl…”

The fact that he uttered the last part, trailing off as though it were some foul fate, made Eliza’s anger surge up. “I am not a peasant girl. I am a lady.”

Blaise rolled his eyes and shook his head. Grumbling to himself so that she could not hear, he took her hand and yanked her all the way to the Great Hall. Upon entering with a slam of the doors he called out a command to all the servants and sewing maids to leave. They looked amongst themselves with confusion before rising from their tasks and doing as they were told.

As the last girl left, Marianne still felt entirely too alone with Blaise, as angry as he was.

"Come, Eliza," Blaise called as he moved to the center of the hall. "If we are to do this then it shall be away from prying eyes."

Elizabeth swallowed and did as he bid of her. His hand flew out to grab hers, and he positioned her so that she stood before him, ready and waiting for his instructions.

His grip on her pained her. She yanked her hands away, uncaring for the shock on his face. "Ye can be gentle with me. I am not made of rock."

He glanced down at her hands, then back up to her face as quickly as a hummingbird. He cleared his throat. "Forgive me, I intended no harm."

She did not believe him. "Ye treat me as though I were a partner in yer swordplay."

His blue eyes flashed and he spoke through his teeth. "As I said, I offer my apologies." He offered her his hand instead of reaching out to take hers.

Elizabeth's entire body seemed to hesitate. She wished dearly to reach out and take his hand, to make the animosity between them vanish, but she knew 'twould take more than that.

Blaise's face softened. All traces of his displeasure vanished like a wisp of cloud in the wind, replaced with an eagerness to be accepted by her. "Please, Eliza."

The word please made her move. She put her hand into his and allowed him to position her again. Unlike before, whenever he gripped her hand to the point of causing a heated pain to burn in her fingers, the heat appeared again in his gentle clasp. Odd.

She tried to push it away. She wanted him to befriend her, to believe her to be a respectable woman, not an insatiable dog. "Ye should know, I do not like being called Eliza."

His lips turned up. "Is that so?"

She nodded. "Aye, 'tis not a respectable name. I had a difficult time as it was convincing my mother not to call me Beth."

That amused little smirk never left his lips. "Ye poor creature."

He was not taking her seriously! She clutched her nails into his hand, not realizing she had done so until he winced.

She pulled her nails from his hand. "Forgive me."

He grumbled. "There are no drums or lutes so we will have to go without them." His hand slid around her waist. "This is likely to be one of the dances ye shall dance, so I will teach it first.”

Elizabeth fought the rising heat in her body as her midsection was pulled to his until they nearly touched. She stood so close she could feel the warmth of his body pulsing from him.

He did not seem to notice. “Most other proper dances consist of many other people, so I will not be able to show ye them, but tell ye the steps and hope ye do not make a fool of yerself and stumble over yer gown."

Elizabeth's face burned. He was discussing how she fell into his chest when his step mother pushed her. "I will do my best to make the most of yer teaching."

"I hope ye will. I am not a nurse, I should not be the one to teach ye manners." He grumbled again. "If Marianne believes I will teach ye sewing she is a madwoman."

"I know how to sew." Curiosity overcame her need to argue. "Ye seem to be quite hostile towards her. May I ask why?"

"I am not hostile towards her. 'Tis simply how we behave around one another."

"'Tis a strange relationship ye have," she said.

Blaise positioned her, took her hand and gripped her shoulder before forcefully spinning her. Elizabeth caught herself on the first spin, and before she could scold him for doing such a thing his hands were on her waist and she was thrust into the air.

Elizabeth shrieked, then laughed when her feet were planted safely back on the floor. "Again! Again!" She cried, taking Blaise's hand and spinning freely this time when prompted. She jumped when his hands touched her waist to help him lift her into the air, delighting at the lack of floor beneath her feet and the rush that came with it.

She couldn't stop her laughter. "I love dancing!"

"I never much enjoyed it."

"What!" He was lying. 'Twas not possible any man or woman could not enjoy what he had just done to her. "I think ye are mad, milord."

His playful grin returned. "Perhaps the reason for this is that my partners were never as enthusiastic as yerself, and while dancing in groups I always felt like a fool."

"Ah, but I would wager ye were the most graceful man on the floor."

"Grace has naught to do with my lack of appreciation for dance, 'tis simply not what I would do for enjoyment. However, since this is not about my questionable dancing, but yers, shall we return to the lesson?"

He held his hand out for her to take. Elizabeth slipped her smaller hand into his rougher one freely.

***

Eliza's laughter and joyous smiles were enough to make Blaise reconsider his position on dancing. Never had any of his partners been so happily thrust into the air, or spun, or held. Most ladies he’d danced with moved as though dancing were a chore rather than a pleasure, their faces grim as they went about the steps. To them, ‘twas merely a way for them to speak to and be held by the heir of Graystone, hoping that, if they were successful, they might snare him into a marriage.

Their ideals must have latched onto him like a disease, because with Eliza shrieking and giggling like she was, Blaise could think of naught else that was worth his time.

He thrust her into the air again, higher this time. She screamed like a child enjoying her play too much. She pulled back as though meaning to step away from him, but with both their hands held she yanked herself back so they were chest to chest.

Stupidity claimed him when her breasts pressed against him. Blaise abruptly forgot what they were doing as the smooth angles of her face were close enough that he could see every detail. Her skin was not flawless by any means, nay, the life she lived would have made that impossible. Still, ‘twas pale and lovely regardless. He swallowed heavily. With their close proximity, so much as tilting his head would bring her lips to his, or even any part of her skin that might be kissed.

Eliza seemed unaware of her power over him, and she positioned his hands against her waist so that she might be thrust into the air again. Blaise shook himself, regaining control, and did as she bid, returning to the simple enjoyment of their awkward dance.

No longer were these the spins and thrusts of the dances she would be dancing when Marianne's celebration occurred. He should be teaching her the proper steps, and she would certainly make a fool of herself if she attempted dancing with her partner in this manner, but he could not refuse her.

Blaise lifted her again, and she slapped his arm in the midst of the leap. Tears streaked her cheeks but her face remained lit with happiness. "Nay, cease! I can take no more."

Blaise returned her to the floor. His insides warmed as she continued to giggle and glance at him with those bright eyes. Her happiness latched onto him and demanded his spirits be uplifted as she wobbled on her feet.

That he could be the one to bring her such joy made him smile. "I am to understand that ye enjoy dancing? Even with the lack of other partners and music?"

She shook her head, wiping the last of the tears from her eyes. "'Tis of no consequence if there is no music or people, I adore dancing. From this day forward we must dance everyday."

Blaise’s blood halted in his veins. Surely she must have made the demand of him without thinking. He would do no such thing. "Dancing is usually done at celebrations, with other guests present to enjoy it."

Her face became curious. "Does Lady Gray hold many celebrations?"

He shrugged. "A good amount, I suppose. I never paid them much heed."

Eliza nodded, her face bare of the joy that had been there moments ago. "'Tis understandable, perhaps as dancing is not to be done on a daily basis, 'tis something I can never grow weary of, like ye seemed to have done."

He raised a brow at her. "Ye believe ye shall stay long enough to see more than one celebration?"

Her back stiffened. She clasped her hands in front of her. "I was under the impression I would."

Blaise shrugged. A cold frost built in his chest where it had once been warm and pleasant. He ignored Eliza's hurt expression, reminding himself she was the daughter of an enemy and might be seeking revenge. Even if that were not the case, she was still the daughter of a poverty stricken prostitute and could truly be after his father’s wealth. Two possible options, and neither of which were pleasant.

"'Tis true, ye are free to stay. However, it does not mean that should ye ever be caught misbehaving, stealing, or in a lie, that ye are loved enough to have those offences overlooked."

"Ye will never catch me doing such things." Eliza muttered.

Blaise's curiosity peaked. What could she be hiding?

Surely there was something. All women had their secrets, if he was to go by the example of his mother, who had a secret affair with a servant, and Marianne, who had secretly set out to kidnap herself a husband. What did his little Eliza hide from him? He would discover the answer, but not now.

He reached out and snatched her hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss that was meant to be apologetic. He delighted at the color in her neck and cheeks brought on by his lips. "I meant no harm and made no accusations. I was merely pointing out the hazards of those actions."

She nodded, though she did not appear satisfied with his claim. Her smile did not return, and the air between them grew stale as Eliza stole her hands back, scratched them, and glanced away.

She obviously wished to speak. Impatient to hear it already instead of watching her cower before him, Blaise nearly yelled that she should spit it out when she beat him to it.

"Lord Blaise?"

"Aye?" He prompted.

She seemed to fight to keep their eyes connected. "Is yer suspicion of me...that is to say...do ye not like me because of my father?"

He hadn't expected the question. "What?"

"Earlier today, ye and yer family spoke of my father, and how Lady Gray seemed to hold him in no fine regard. Is that why ye are suspicious of me?"

Anger flared inside him. "Have ye been spying?"

Her shoulders stiffened. "I had been walking with Olma to meet ye and yer mother and happened to hear voices at the door."

“So ye listened?”

She nodded, shocking him with her honesty.

He folded his arms. “That is the same as spying, ye naive fool.”

Her face paled. “I...forgive me. ‘Twill never happen again.”

He nodded. “Nay, it shall not.”

Her eyes tentatively found his. She wet her lips and clasped her hands. “About my father ...”

He clenched his jaw. He should have known the little fool would not leave all alone. “Did yer mother not explain what sort of man Ferdinand was?”

Her cheeks heated. “Aye, but she only said that he was a cruel sort whom she disliked.”

Blaise lifted a brow. “I take it ye did not believe her?”

She seemed to have difficulty keeping her eyes on his. “How could I? When she never told me why, or what he did. All I knew was that we were starving, and men, who were cruel and vicious, used her, sometimes until they bruised her, or even without paying, and she allowed it.” Her fists clenched, voice hissed, and body tightened as she spoke. Blaise could see the memory upset her.

Collecting herself, Eliza’s shoulders slumped, fingers released from their fist, and voice softened. She did not look at Blaise. “I always wondered what could have been so horrible that she would do that to herself, and to me.”

Blaise’s eyes widened. “Ye sold yerself?”

She shook her head, her eyes shining. “My mother suggested it once, but I said I did not want to, and she never brought it up again. I loved her for that, but it never stopped any of those men from turning their attacks onto me whenever I tried to stop them from hurting her. Our home was small, nearly as small as my hut, as ye may recall. There was nowhere for me to go but to wait outside the door as the men came for her, and I always heard if they were being too harsh.”

Blaise wanted to reach out and hold her, if only to diminish her pain, but after such a story, he knew that contact such as that would be unwelcome. He decided to tell her what he knew. “I met Ferdinand only once while he was alive.”

Eliza’s still shining eyes found his, waiting for what he would say.

He took a breath. “Believe me when I say that yer mother did ye a service by fleeing.”

***

The doors to the great hall burst open. Edward scrambled inside and ran for where Blaise stood. Elizabeth nearly did not notice, shocked as she was by Blaise’s declaration. Hastily, she dried her eyes before the boy could see.

"Brother!" Edward whined. "Why are the doors closed? Where are the servants?"

"‘Where is yer nurse?’ is the better question." Blaise snapped, but Elizabeth detected no true heat in his voice as he allowed the boy to wrap his small arms around Blaise's waist. Edward's head barely passed that height marker.

"She's sleeping!" He happily announced.

Blaise ruffled the boy’s hair. "Useless wench. She cannot keep up with ye, can she?" Blaise grinned devilishly at his brother as he spoke. Edward shook his head, his lips pressed together as though holding back his bursts of laughter at his own cleverness.

Elizabeth's heart warmed at the sight of him. 'Twas merely the second time she'd seen the boy speaking with his brother, and while Blaise put on a show of mock annoyance, their relationship sparked envy in Elizabeth's chest.

How she used to long for a sibling, when she was younger and still unaware of where that sibling would come from. She had almost received one, but it was not to be. Now she was without a mother and a brother.

Edward grabbed Blaise by his tunic and began tugging. "Come fight me. I've improved my swordsmanship."

Blaise did not budge. "Yer swordsmanship involves a wooden toy. I do not use toys."

"I can still beat ye."

Elizabeth giggled. The heads of both men turned to her. Blaise's face changed color, as though he had forgotten she was there listening to their banter. Edward's face lit up with excitement, and Elizabeth had no doubt he could teach the torches how to illuminate a room.

"Eliza thinks I can do it! She will cheer for me when I beat ye."

True annoyance slipped into Blaise’s voice. "She will do no such thing."

Such a thing to say! Could it be Blaise was affronted by his small brother's claims to easy victory? Or that she would be the one to cheer when he was beaten? Her cheeks unexpectedly heated.

She shook herself. Perhaps spending time with him, trying to convince him that she was not an evil wench out to harm him or his family, had been a horrible idea. It had to be if she continued to feel this warm pooling in her belly. Perhaps the intelligent way to gain his trust would be to stay clear of him, and prove through her other actions that she was trustworthy.

Aye. That was indeed the solution. No longer would she seek Blaise out if it only brought this odd fluttering in her chest. She would do as Lady Gray asked and allow herself to be taught by him until she could find a suitable replacement, then let him have his peace.

Edward pulled her from her thoughts by yanking on the sleeve of her gown. "Ye will come. Watch me throttle him."

"Edward, do not pester her. A woman has no patience for watching children throw their sticks about," Blaise said, yanking Edward away from her.

"I would be delighted to watch."

Both men twisted their heads to her again. Blaise's brows came together in thought while Edward jumped up and cheered.

Elizabeth inwardly shrieked. 'Twas not what she meant to say!

She opened her mouth to make some sudden excuse and pardon herself out of the room, but Edward's joyous smile halted her. He grabbed his older brother by the hand and started to pull him in the direction of the great hall, trusting that Elizabeth would follow.

"Eliza will see how well I am doing!" He yelled.

Blaise muttered to himself but Elizabeth didn't catch his words. She did frown though. 'Twas the second time she heard Edward refer to her as something as simple as Eliza, and he had obviously gotten it from his brother.

She did not to correct the boy and allowed herself to be led out of the Great Hall and towards the courtyard.

Blaise turned his head to look at her when they walked next to each other, though Edward still retained a firm grip on his hand. His smaller body leaned heavily forward as he put his weight into making Blaise increase his speed towards the courtyard. They looked comical as Blaise walked calmly towards their destination as though a boy were not yanking him along.

Elizabeth smiled at Blaise. "He is to be a paige soon, correct? Perhaps indulging him would not be a crime."

"Aye. I shall be a paige and sent off to Sir Ironside's."

"Nay, ye shall not." Blaise said to his brother before turning his attention back to Elizabeth. "Marianne insists on coddling him for a few more years yet before he is sent off."

The mention of Lady Gray while both Blaise and Edward stood together prompted a question in Elizabeth's head. Edward appeared the spitting image of his father, having luckily inherited the light coloured hair instead of Marianne's deep shade of red. Blaise looked nothing like his father or his brother. Perhaps his mother had that same color hair? "D'ye look like yer mother?" She asked.

Blaise’s face heated, and Elizabeth noted how he carefully avoided looking at her. "I am told I have her eyes."

"Only her eyes?"

Blaise glared at her, and Elizabeth realized too late what it all meant. Blaise was not the child of Lord Gray.

“No more questions out of ye. I grow weary of answering them.” He said harshly.

Edward released Blaise’s hand as they exited the castle. He ran to the far wall of the keep, and picked up two wooden swords, about half the size of a normal weapon and obviously meant for small children such as himself.

"Now, sir knight,” he called out, swinging the mock-blade. “We shall fight for the lady's hand."

Blaise reluctantly took the small wooden blade that was only about the size of his forearm. He glanced behind himself to Elizabeth at Edward's comment.

She turned away to hide her smile and scratched at her neck, willing the heat to go down.

"That mark!"

Elizabeth snapped her head back at him. Blaise marched towards her, the wooden blade forgotten in his hand as his eyes bore into the spot on her neck.

"Blaise." Edward whined and gave chase. His cry was ignored.

Blaise lifted his hand and touched her cheek. The familiar heat from whenever his skin connected with hers returned, only now there was no dance between them to take her mind away from it. The heat gathered and pooled into her knees. If she did not pull away she would surely collapse.

"Lord Blaise—"

"Shh," His fingers slid down and lifted her chin, exposing her neck. His face leaned closer.

Elizabeth trembled. Then his intention dawned on her, and the heat in her body tripled. He meant to kiss her!

She swallowed and forced her limbs to cease trembling. If he wished to kiss her neck she would let him. Nay, she would not simply let him, she would command him to if he did not press his lips to her aching flesh.

The pressure of his mouth never came.

"What is this?" He asked instead.

Elizabeth blinked, confused as though she pulled herself from a good dream and found none of it were real. "W-what?"

"This mark? Is it a scar? Where did it come from?" His fingers trailed along where her neck met her jaw and tapped the spot. She shivered at the luxurious contact.

Edward jumped around at their feet. "What is what? I want to see!"

Blaise swatted him away and asked his question again. "What is this mark? It looks like a sword."

"Oh," She knew of which he spoke now. The red mark she had been born with, just under her jaw. Though not in a place easily hidden, no one ever saw it unless she turned her head in an angle that made it more prominent. "'I have always had it. ‘Tis something I was born with."

Blaise continued to stare at her, as though judging the honesty of her words.

"May I ask why, milord?" She asked. While its shape did bring about a compliment or two, or even a lewd comment, no one had ever taken such an interest in it as Blaise had.

Instead of answering her, Blaise returned his attention to his brother, lifted the wooden toy, and proceeded to have a playful match with him in the center of the courtyard

Elizabeth was left to watch, scratching her jaw and wishing with all her might that she knew what brought such an interest in the mark. She also desired, with every drop of blood inside her, for Blaise to return and kiss her.

Chapter Five

Blaise had his play match with Edward. He played the evil dragon, clacking his wooden sword against Edward's feeble attacks with a mixture of boredom and glee at the boy's obvious frustration that he, the great knight, could not defeat his older brother.

'Twas not all Blaise felt mixed about. Eliza watched him, pleasant smile tugging the corners of her luscious mouth the entire time. He did not know whether to be delighted that she still bothered to witness their little game, or give into the temptation to drop the foolish sword he held, walk over there, and put that mouth of hers to better use.

Instead he spent the whole time in a lazy daze until Edward finally kicked him in the knee. The pain of which, promptly pulled him from his reverie.

"Ye're a bad dragon!"

The comment had naught to do with the character he portrayed and everything with how he played the part. Blaise knew 'twas not very well considering how he normally did it.

He smiled stiffly through the throb in his leg. "I apologize. Next time I shall play a better ogre."

"Dragon!"

"Aye, that." He glanced at Eliza after she giggled. Her hand was to her lips, trying to stifle it. He glared at her but her grin widened.

He could take no more. He shooed Edward in the opposite direction so that he might be alone with Eliza. "Run along and play. Go bother Archer’s son before yer mother discovers that ye have escaped yer nurse again."

Edward's face twisted in horror before he ran in the opposite direction as quickly as a deer in the forest. Eliza let her laughter soar at the sight.

The woman was mad! Was she constantly laughing or giggling at something or other? "Ye certainly seem to find joy in everything ye do."

She shook her head, as though denying his claim. "I adore yer brother. I only wish I had one of my own."

Blaise snorted. "If ye had one ye would never say something as foolish as that.”

She sighed. “I very nearly did have a sibling. ‘Twas how my mother died. In childbirth.”

Blaise winced. He imagined that because of their lot in life Eliza was likely the one to play midwife while her mother suffered and died. He did not need to ask to know that the father was likely one of Bertha’s clients.

He wished for comforting words to come to him. “Small siblings are always devising tricks to steal yer time for themselves and their games."

Her catty smile returned. It confused and intrigued him. "Ye seemed to be enjoying the game well enough, Lord Blaise."

“I do not enjoy making a fool of myself.”

She waved a finger at him. “Ah, but ye enjoyed it enough to stay in the game when ye could have left it.”

“I enjoy being with my brother, not playing his ridiculous games.”

“Yet ye still play them.”

He could not win against her! She insisted on proving some point, what he was not certain, but she obviously would not cease arguing until he relented.

‘Twas true, he did enjoy being with Edward. Next to their father, the boy thought Blaise was a King. Still, that did not mean he enjoyed making an arse out of himself when a woman was present, regardless of whether she was a peasant or not.

He frowned at the thought. If she was the daughter of Bartholomew Ferdinand like she claimed, then, like she constantly reminded him, she was no peasant. The daughter of their dead enemy perhaps, but if that mark on her neck meant what he thought it meant—

"Are we to return to my lessons now?"

Blaise jumped back a step. The wench snuck up on him while he was lost in thought, her face a breath away from his with that same foolish grin lifting her cheeks and brightening her eyes.

He could not return to dancing with her. Not until he discovered the truth about her regarding this new secret. "Nay, we shall continue on the morrow. I have pressing matters to see to with my father."

Her grin slid from her face like rainwater sliding down the stone walls of the castle. As quickly as it left, it came back again. "Next time we will dance where there will be no interruptions."

Blaise nodded, reached out to take her hand, and brought it to his lips. Her face heated like a fire when his mouth touched the soft, pale skin once again. "Until our next lesson then."

Even as he dropped her hand and walked away, leaving her to go and find Olma by herself, he scolded himself for kissing her hand. If he continued to allow himself that sort of luxury, then he would find himself tied to her more tightly than what should be allowed.

***

"A sword? Are ye certain of this?"

Blaise nodded. "'Tis a birthmark, not a scar, hidden under her jaw. She would have to be looking in a high angle for it to be seen."

"Or for someone else to be leaning down on her to see it," Marianne chimed in happily, sitting on a stool with her back against the wall, her delicate hands on her belly.

Blaise glared at her. "I did no such thing."

"Cease yer bickering, please," William sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, as though warding off a headache. "I would prefer to see it myself, if only to be sure.I will also have to have Nicholas examine it for true confirmation."

"We should send word to him," Blaise said.

William paced around his solar. It seemed that since the vixen came, he was forced to do that a lot, as well as for the three of them to come into the room for privacy. "Such news cannot be trusted to a messenger."

"Even if we do not send word to him,” Marianne said. “He shall likely be preparing to ride out for our celebration early with Sir Hugh and Sir Bryce. ‘Twould not be as though we waited a full fortnight for him to come, and should we be mistaken, we will have given him cause to ride here at breakneck speed for no reason."

Blaise despised it when his step mother spoke wisely.

"She will have to be told of the possibilities." William said, stealing the attention of the two other people in the room away from each other. "She shall have to be prepared for this possible new truth. We cannot simply have Nicholas arrive, put them into a private room together, and reveal what we have learned. Both will think us all mad, and neither will be pleased."

Blaise sighed. "From how Eliza has spoken of Ferdinand it seems that she holds him in no particular regard. From what she has told me, it would seem Bertha did not make her fully aware of his reputation.” Blaise dearly hoped that was the case. “Even so, being told there is a chance that the man she thought was her father may very well not be could come as a shock to her."

"Ah, so she is still Eliza to ye, is she?" Marianne asked.

Blaise glared at her. “I only call her that because she despises the name. ‘Tis not some lover’s name like ye think.”

William shook his head and sent his wife a pleading look. "Please, my love, now is not the time for yer matchmaking games."

Marianne bowed her head, trying to hide her shameful blush.

William returned his attention to Blaise's previous statement. "'Twould be a heavy shock, aye, but know they must. I don't know why I did not see this sooner. Nicholas was with Bertha before I ever was. 'Twas he who recommended that I see her! The timing for him to be Elizabeth's father is too perfect."

Marianne raised her head. "Who shall reveal that Nicholas may very well be her father?"

"No one," Blaise said. Both his father and Marianne whipped their heads at him.

"She needs to know—"

"She need know nothing. We shan't give her a false hope of a living sire when this could easily be a speculation. I only spoke of it to satisfy a curiosity, not harm the poor girl's feelings."

They were both silent for a moment until William broke it. "I agree. At the celebration I shall ask to see the birthmark on Nicholas's forearm. Then I shall have the girl show me the birthmark on her neck. Should they be an exact match, I will gently broach the subject with Nicholas and ask if he would like anything to do with the girl."

Those words caught Blaise's attention like an iron fist around his throat. "Do with her?"

William shrugged. "Aye, he may wish to take her home, leave her here to continue being Marianne's companion, or refuse to acknowledge her altogether. Though I very much doubt 'twill be the latter he will choose since he has always longed for a child."

“She is no child.” Marianne reminded, though not unkindly.

Blaise knew that better than either of the two people standing in the room.

William nodded. “I have seen that, and while ‘tis too late for him to raise her, I imagine Nicholas will wish to know her as a father knows his daughter.”

Blaise clenched his fists and folded his arms over his broad chest. “Ye believe ‘tis likely he will take her?”

The thought that this new development could mean Eliza would be leaving had never crossed Blaise's mind. Had he known of the possibility, he would have left all alone.

He shook his head, clearing the thought away. How could he say such a thing? Earlier he warned Eliza that should he catch her in some foul act, he would toss her out himself. Now it seemed he did not wish her to leave at all.

Marianne sighed. "'Twould be a shame to see her go, but for her to be the daughter of Sir Nicholas is a much better outcome for all than having her be the child of Ferdinand's."

Blaise had told her that Bertha had done Eliza a service, but he had not told her why. If his father decided that breaking the news gently to Nicholas was proper, then he could gently open Eliza's eyes to what the man she thought was her father truly was.

'Twould stun her, surely, but if Nicholas was truly her father, then perhaps the news would not be such a shock to her after knowing what sort of man Ferdinand was.

If she was the daughter of Sir Nicholas, and Blaise highly suspected it to be true, for he'd seen the same sword shaped mark on Nicholas's forearm many times in his youth, she needed to know that she thought of the wrong man as her sire.

He set off to find her.

***

Elizabeth pulled her thumb from her mouth when the sting of pain pierced. She took to biting her nails to keep herself from going mad, and instead of banishing her nerves she cracked her thumbnail with her teeth to the point where she saw blood.

"Are ye well, Lady Elizabeth?" Olma asked when she stopped walking.

Elizabeth sucked on the tip of her thumb. A painful throbbing bloomed from the cut anyway. "Aye, I am well."

Olma waited for her to keep moving, but she could not, even when satisfied that no more blood would trickle out of her thumbnail.

She had been the one who wished to walk outside along the courtyard, hoping to clear her head and calm her heart. Instead she found herself in a worse place than before. The urge to run back and spy outside the door where the lord of the castle spoke with his family caused a twitching in her legs.

She forced them to move again, but not back towards the castle. She continued her walk along the outer wall, knowing Olma followed obediently behind her.

She suspected that as a lady in waiting, she was expected to spend more time with the lady of the castle. But for the most part, ever since she arrived at Graystone, Elizabeth had been able to freely walk about wherever she pleased.

Lady Gray always seemed to want private discussions with her husband and step-son, discussions that Elizabeth was not privy to.

Despite their wishes and how she had yet to spy again, she knew of which they spoke. Her.

From what Blaise said to her earlier, 'twas obvious that there was some history with her father and the lords in command of this castle. It could not be a good history either.

Elizabeth prayed that they were not contemplating throwing her out of the castle. 'Twas only her third day living with them, and already had she grown used to the luxuries of sleeping in a bed, having a bedchamber to call her own, and not frightening herself over where her next bite to eat would come from.

And despite how she revealed the nature in which her mother put food in Eliza’s belly as a child, no one uttered any vile comments to her, propositioned her should she share the same profession as her mother, or attempt to force her into something she did not want.

Then Blaise had defended her when she called herself a bastard. The stiffening of his shoulders and twisting of his face told her how much he despised the word.

She could not blame him if he himself was one.

Curiosity attacked her insides, demanding that she seek out answers. If Blaise did not share the blood of Lord Gray then why did he live as the eldest son? Was Lord Gray the sort of kind hearted man who would raise a boy not his own?

She forced calm into her shoulders. ‘Twas not her business and obviously something Blaise did not wish to speak of. She would not ask one of her rude questions.

Perhaps one small question would hurt no one.

"Olma?"

"Hmm?"

Elizabeth turned to stare at the girl for such an odd response.

Olma's head faced away from her, turned upwards to stare at where the knights worked on the battlements. Some laughed and drank ale as though taking a rest. Others marched stiffly and watched for any possible disturbance among the people working outside the walls.

Elizabeth found the man Olma stared at. 'Twas easy since he stood off by himself and Olma's eyes were pointed in his direction. The knight in question turned his head at the call of a fellow knight, and Elizabeth saw that 'twas the same dark haired man who opened the gates to allow both her and Blaise entrance on the day of their arrival.

"Sir James?"

Olma's head spun so quickly Elizabeth was shocked her headdress did not fly off. Her eyes turned into round orbs and her lips trembled. The image reminded Elizabeth of a trapped animal about to be eaten.

The answer came in an instant. Elizabeth laughed out loud. She could not believe it. The girl was in love with the knight!

Olma's head suddenly returned to the post above where James stood. Along with the look of a frightened animal, her face paled as well.

Elizabeth turned her head upwards. Apparently James heard her laughter, turned, and saw the both of them standing there. Elizabeth waved and hooped her other arm through Olma's. “Hello, Sir James!” She called.

James hesitated before he turned, and walked away without sending a greeting back, as though he had never even seen them.

Elizabeth's face fell, her hand slowly doing the same. She did not understand. Beside her, Olma's tiny body shook. Elizabeth looked down at the girl, her expression that of mortification, and Elizabeth did not know if the girl held back anger or tears.

"But, I assumed—"

"He is a knight, Lady Elizabeth." Olma said, though she did not face her. Her eyes pointed firmly at the grass beneath their feet. "He has not much of his own, so he will marry a wealthy bride, not a servant."

Elizabeth's head spun back to where James stood, among other knights of varying ages who conversed joyously among each other, though from the distance she could tell that his expression remained solemn.

Shock churned inside her like an overflowing pot of boiling water. Could it be that the nobles were capable of such cruelty? But then again, Sir James was not quite nobility. Perhaps there had been a mistake? Elizabeth took both of Olma's shoulders and forced the girl to look her in the eyes. "Do ye love him?"

Olma looked up at her, the brows of her eyes coming together in confusion.

Elizabeth shook her for good measure. "Do ye love him?"

The confusion melted away, replaced now with a mild fright. "Aye, Lady Elizabeth. But 'tis not possible for us—"

"Do not speak of impossible to me! Before arriving here I was no better than a serf! Poor, filthy, and constantly in fear of the men who would lurk outside of my hut at night," she hesitated a moment to allow Olma to absorb her words. "Now I am here, ye are my friend and equal."

The panic returned to Olma's eyes. "Nay, Lady—"

"No, do not call me that. Remember where I came from. From now on, ye shall refer to me by my Christian name. Elizabeth."

Olma did not speak. Her head remained lightly ducked, and her face bright as though suffering from a horrid embarrassment. “I could never presume—”

Elizabeth leaned closer to her. "Say it. Eli-za-beth," she prompted gently.

Olma opened her mouth, half shut it again, then opened it once more, struggling with the word. "El—Eliz—abeth." She smiled brightly when the words finally escaped her lips.

Elizabeth clapped her hands in delight. "Excellent, now, does James return yer love?"

Olma's had bowed again, the shameful blush returning to her cheeks. "I do not know, Lady Elizabeth. I thought ‘e did, once, but I must ‘ave been mistaken."

"'Tis Elizabeth, and if ye believed he returned yer love then he must have given ye some hope that he indeed returned it."

"But La—Elizabeth. He is searching for a bride, and will likely choose one at the celebration Lady Gray has arranged."

Elizabeth tapped her chin in thought. A celebration of any kind would be a marvellous way in which to meet a potential husband, or in the case of James, a wealthy bride.

As ‘twas usually the case, her brilliant idea came to her in one neat package. "I do not know why I hadn't thought of this sooner, but while at the celebration, I shall dress ye in one of the gowns Lord Gray has promised for me! When Sir James sees what a beauty ye are, he will abandon any thought of wealth and choose ye."

Olma's shoulders stiffened again. "Nay, milady! I could never—"

"Do not be so quick to assume we shall create a fuss and announce ye as Lady Olma. Ye shall be dressed to woo yer noble knight, and before anyone else sees ye there, whisk ye off to return to yer normal clothing. 'Tis a perfect idea! And while we are at it, I too shall dress to catch a lord's eye."

“Please, Lady Elizabeth.”

“I shall hear no more of it. Ye are simply allowing yer fear to guide ye. ‘Tis not a habit that ye should have if ye want certain things.”

As if sensing there was no point in arguing Elizabeth’s plan further, Olma moved the subject off of herself. "Anyone in particular, Lady Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth blinked. “In particular?”

“The ball,” Olma said, turning her head back up to where the knights worked and jested with each other. “Any man ‘ose eyes ye would like to catch?”

Elizabeth smiled. "I am not sure to whom the eyes will belong, but they shall be dazzling, I am certain. Perhaps I will find the owner of those eyes and he shall make me his wife."

She would not mind at all if those eyes were a sparkling blue like gems glistening in a lake. ‘Twas a shame such a fancy was impossible.

***

At first, hard jealousy claimed Blaise when Elizabeth waved so merrily at James on the battlements. The man had been lucky he turned away instead of returning the gesture or Blaise would have felt forced to fight him.

Burning anger scorched inside of him like a hungry fire, and for a moment he thought it would consume him until he listened closer.

Relief extinguished the fire like a splash of cool water. Elizabeth was merely speaking of the servant girl's silly infatuation with James. Surely she must know that a man in James's position would need to find someone worthy for a bride, and not a poor sewing maid.

He listened with an amused ear as they plotted to woo the poor, unsuspecting man during the celebration of Blaise's good health and life. Then his Eliza happened to mention that she would be searching for a husband during that celebration, and his jealousy returned.

He shook himself. What did it matter if the woman sought out a gullible knight to be her husband? He felt nothing for her, nothing romantic at any rate.

Perhaps 'twas a mere possessiveness that took over and squeezed him at the thought of her with someone else. Shrieking that same joyous laugh she'd made when he twirled and lifted her into the air.

'Twas possible he could be feeling such a thing because she was the first his eyes landed on when he awoke after his attack.

A wicked smile twisted Blaise's lips. If he felt possessive toward her, then why fight it? If her goal the entire time had been to find herself a husband, an innocent enough scheme when it came to women, then he should be there to ensure that the only man she saw at that celebration was himself.

First, he had to find a delicate way to tell her that the man she thought of as a father was an evil whore-son.

“Eliza!” He called. The two women turned their heads to him before they could walk back to the castle.

Eliza’s face heated. Blaise liked to think ‘twas because he angered her over the use of her name. Slowly, they came forward.

“Aye? Lord Blaise?” Eliza asked. He noted the difficulty in which she met his eyes.

“Eliza,” Best to get it over with quickly. “I would like to introduce ye to a friend of mine.”

Her eyes widened slightly and became interested. “A friend?”

He cleared his throat. “Aye, a friend, as an added reward for saving my life.”

Quickly would be too harsh on her. He needed to lull her, relax her, give her something to amuse her for a few moments, then he would tell her. Perhaps then the news wouldn’t seem so harsh.

“I—” She sputtered, as though trying to discern how introducing her to a mere friend would amount to the same thing as a reward. Finally, she smiled. “Very well, I would be delighted to meet yer friend.”

“Good. Olma, ye may return to yer duties.” Blaise didn’t wish her to be present when he revealed such personal matters of Eliza’s past to her.

The girl curtsied obediently and scurried off.

Eliza watched her go with sad eyes.

“Does it comfort ye when she is around?” Blaise asked.

“Aye, I suppose it does. She is a wonderful listener.”

Blaise nodded ‘Twas the same reason Marianne adored the girl when she first came to Graystone.

He would have to send Eliza back to Olma to weep on her shoulder when he told her the truth. He should not be battling his nerves at the thought. “Well then, kindly follow me.”

He walked on. She followed. “I expect ye not to wander over here at any other time. The falconers do not need ye distracting them.”

“Falconers?”

He nodded and motioned towards the area where the mews were kept. Eliza gasped behind him and quickened her steps until she was nearly leading him.

“Ye will show them to me?” Her head spun between the mews where they were heading, and Blaise, as though she wished him to hurry his pace.

“Briefly,” he said with a smile. Offering to show her the falcons had not originally been part of his plan, but Marianne had taken to the birds. He suspected Eliza would wish to see them as well, and he’d been correct.

The falconer, a tall, skinny man with scarred hands, stood up from where he inspected one of the perches at Blaise’s approach.

“Do not concern yerself with us. We will not be long,” he said.

The man nodded and returned to cleaning the perch. “Aye, Lord Blaise.”

Blaise reached his hand out to grab Eliza’s but found only empty air. He turned. She already stood before the perch of his father’s falcon.

The bird was tethered and hooded, but he did not like how close she was to it. Cedric, the falcon, could hear her feet shuffling and rapid breathing as she admired him. His head twitching from side to side told Blaise as much.

Eliza reached her hand out. Her fingertips so close to stroking the near spotted, white-tipped feathers.

His hand reached out and grasped her wrist before she could.

Confused brown eyes met his.

“His eyes may be covered, but his beak is not.”

Her eyes widened before pointing towards the deeply pointed beak, as though seeing it for the first time. Blaise released her hand and she clutched it to her chest, still eyeing the bird fearfully. “But I thought...Are they not trained?”

Blaise reached to take a leather glove from a hook. “Do you wish to take that chance?”

She shook her head.

Blaise took her hand and put the glove on. “Then ye shall wear this.” ‘Twas made for a man so the fit was large, but she wiggled her fingers into each proper slot with little trouble.

Her excitement returned. “I am to hold him?”

Blaise nodded, picked up another glove and put it on his own hand. The fit was a better one. “Aye. His name is Cedric. He does not answer to it when ye call him, though.”

Blaise nudged his hand under the thin, orange legs until Cedric stepped on, then he made the transfer from his glove to Eliza’s, the wings unfolding slightly as he did so. Eliza smiled when the tips of his wings touched her face as Cedric caught his balance.

“Keep yer voice calm, yet firm, and yer movements small. Do not startle him.”

She did not take her eyes away from the tiercel peregrine perched on her hand. The bird opened his beak to release soft, confused cries, but otherwise did naught else. “Are ye not frightened he will fly away?”

“His leg is still tethered. He will go nowhere.”

“He is beautiful.” She gasped her words.

Blaise nearly opened his mouth to say that Eliza was the beautiful one. He halted himself and closed his mouth tightly before the words could form. He would never tell her that.

“Ye’re shaking. Calm yourself.” Blaise stood behind her and reached his arms out so that they held onto hers. Her shaking ceased immediately and only then did Blaise smell the fresh scent of her hair and skin.

She bathed recently, ‘twas the only explanation for the lavender scent. He inhaled deeply, then sighed for being foolish enough to put himself in such a position.

She leaned back into his chest. The touch burned and tingled through his tunic and he clenched his teeth at the odd, though not entirely unpleasant feeling. Did she feel it too?

He wanted to toss her off of him and march away, anything to put that sensation at bay, but he could not. ‘Twould frighten Cedric, and she could be injured with a panicking falcon flailing about.

He swallowed hard. “I should...ye should know something.”

Her voice was quiet, her form still as she leaned against him. “What is that?”

Blaise wet his lips. The knowledge would hurt her, she may very well have to leave with Sir Nicholas because of it, but it could not be kept from her. “Ye should know that...” He took a deep breath, once again inhaling her scent. “While I am glad ye came, ‘tis not proper for us to be seen standing like this. Especially if ye plan on finding yerself a husband.”

She tensed in his arms.

Fool! Why could he not simply have the courage to tell her the truth?

Eliza pulled herself free from him. “I see.” With calm deliberation she turned and placed the bird back into Blaise’s gloved hand.

He returned the falcon to its perch, then removed the glove and studied her face for any signs of displeasure.

There were none. She handed him back the leather glove she’d worn and grinned. “Thank ye for introducing me to Cedric. ‘Twas very kind of ye.”

“Perhaps I shall allow ye to pet him, next time.”

Her dark eyes became bright. “There shall be a next time?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps.” He would make her no promises when he did not know the extent to her stay.

She did not cease her smiling. That smile revealed dimples under her eyes, lovely teeth, and she positively glowed. Like the horizon as the sun prepared to rise.

“I would like that very much, but I must be going back now. I have been away from Lady Gray for too long.”

He nodded while she curtsied, spun, then retreated. His eyes remained on the small of her back until she disappeared inside the castle.

He slapped the gloves into his open palm. Annoyance gripped him now that she was no longer standing before him. How was he expected to tell her such a horrendous thing about Ferdinand without harming her feelings?

Why did he have to feel guilty over it?

Chapter Six

"Lady Elizabeth, please, I canno' do this. If Lord Gray sees—"

"He shall not see." Elizabeth insisted while braiding Olma's thin, blonde hair in the same manner the little servant girl had done for her when she first arrived at the castle. Elizabeth did not know which Lord Gray Olma referred to, but she suspected that Olma did not care since either could have her punished for this.

"'Tis one dance. Ye shall be in and out of that room before anyone sees ye, and should anyone recognise ye, which they will not, I will take full responsibility."

The day of Marianne's celebration had finally arrived. Olma became more and more fearful when it became obvious to the serving girl that Elizabeth intended to go through with their plan. The poor girl nearly feinted when Elizabeth showed her the gown she would wear.

‘Twas a lovely cream colour that would brighten her hair without drawing too much attention to her during the dance.

Olma’s fright seemed to latch onto Elizabeth, yet dressing the servant girl gave Elizabeth something to keep her mind on other than the challenges she would face.

Tonight was perhaps her one chance to catch a husband, and her nerves nearly matched those of Olma's as the moment to be introduced to Blaise's friends, cousins, and whatnot, drew near.

She was six and twenty. Fortune would have to be smiling at her, kissing her hand, and shoving men in her direction for at least one potential husband to look at her without seeing a desperate old maid.

Olma groaned, thrusting Elizabeth out of her depressed musings.

She forced cheer into her voice. As long as she was focussing on Olma’s troubles then Elizabeth’s own worries seemed small. "Come now! Ye behave as though ye were not becoming the most beautiful lady before my eyes."

‘Twas true. Anyone who looked at Olma would never guess what her true station was.

"I am no lady. The gown itches." Olma complained, scratching her arms.

Elizabeth smiled brightly. If they were becoming comfortable enough around each other that Olma felt she could complain then at least there was hope. "The itching shall pass, and ye are correct, ye are no lady, but tonight, for a quarter hour, ye shall be one!"

Elizabeth stepped back to admire her work.

The gown she chose truly was a lovely one. Lord Gray had been good to his word and provided Elizabeth with no less than twenty gowns, each a variety of colors that made Elizabeth's head swim as she fantasized about wearing each of them.

"'Tis only a little something to show my appreciation for what ye have done for Blaise." Lord Gray had said as the servants held out the gowns for her inspection.

Hot guilt flooded her face, and she looked upon the gowns with a new dread when the words left his mouth. If only he knew the truth, he would have her lashed and thrown into the cold to provide for herself once more. "Milord, 'tis too much for me to accept."

He waved his hand as though batting a fly. "Nonsense. Ye shall be lovely in these, and besides, not all of these are new. Marianne is so round now that she cannot fit into her own gowns. She offered some of her own as gifts."

New gowns as well as gifts from the lady of the castle. Elizabeth would burn in hell for her crime.

She forced a smile and thanked Lord Gray for the gifts. She also asked him to thank Lady Gray since she was not there to witness Elizabeth's joy at having received such fine garments.

Elizabeth knew the only way to counteract her evil deed of accepting so much after deceiving the entire castle was to do as much good as possible. She would aid Olma in taking her happiness, whether the servant girl liked it or not.

If she did not win Sir James's heart then the man was a fool who did not deserve her. The cream coloured gown she wore did make her look like nobility rather than a simple serving maid.

Though Elizabeth had no jewels to place on the girl's neck or ears, she knew Olma would rather die than wear them, and so made no comment. Perhaps the lack of such things would ensure that no added attention was brought onto the poor girl.

The tight sleeves and tied corset showed off a lovely figure, and while Elizabeth had worked hard to braid Olma's hair properly, she knew that 'twas not as well done as it should be. A few strands of hair came undone and trickled down the side of her face, tickling her cheeks.

Elizabeth leaned closer to examine her mistake. How queer, it seemed to highlight her high cheekbones and make her appear prettier. Olma's embarrassment brought a rose color to her flesh, which made her look lovelier than what should be possible.

"I am thinking I should pick an uglier gown since ye will likely draw the attention of every knight in the castle looking as ye do."

Olma's cheeks reddened further. Good. Elizabeth wanted her to keep that color.

"I feel naked." Olma whispered.

With any luck she would be before the night ended. As long as she became naked for James, of course.

"Do not be foolish. Ye are a vision. I am concerned that all the attention shall be stolen away from me when ye enter the Great Hall."

Olma's shoulders stiffened. "I thought I would not be making an entrance?"

Elizabeth picked imaginary hairs from the gown, giving an image of calm indifference before clasping Olma's shaking hands. "I was merely jesting. Remember what I told ye?"

Olma nodded. "I shall ‘ide outside of the Great Hall until everyone is present, then enter. Once I see James away from anyone else, I shall approach him."

"Very good. And remember that should ye to speak to him, do so quietly so that no other lord or lady hears that accent ye have."

"Aye, Lady Elizabeth." Olma said, then sighed. "I am still in a shake all over that ye 'ave convinced me to do this. I almost pray that I do not see 'im alone."

"What a thing to say! Do ye want the man to love ye or not?"

She bowed her head. "I do, but—"

"Then, 'tis settled. Stop being a mouse and take what yer heart wants. Dance one dance, and escape before anyone sees that ye do not belong. After seeing what an angel ye are he'll surely be mad to turn ye away."

Olma smiled. Elizabeth gripped her hands firmer before leading her out the door of her chamber. "I shall go to see Lady Gray and accompany her to the Great Hall, ye must run downstairs and keep well hidden until all the guests have arrived.

"I will."

***

Blaise kept his eyes trained on the road through the small window in his room. The guests, friends and relatives of the family, travelled on the road leading straight to Graystone. Many more had already arrived early, and more still were expected to come. Still, the sight of the scraggly line of moving dots eased his spirits.

James lounged behind him. "Ye must be lookin' forward to dancing with yer betrothed. She certainly must be, as all women seem to enjoy their dances."

Blaise clenched his fist against the stone wall. "For the last time, Eliza is not my betrothed. 'Twas simply a jest she spoke of."

A jest that Blaise now desired to be reality, it seemed, but as it was not, he could not claim it to be the truth.

He clenched his teeth. Ridiculous that he could even contemplate such a thing. He was merely going to speak with the woman. Distract her so that she could not trap some poor soul into an unwanted marriage.

An image of her dancing and laughing with another man, laughing and smiling that same smile she gave to Blaise when he danced with her, brought a rush of anger into his veins.

How dare she—

"'Tis a lucky woman who can make such a jest and not suffer the consequences of a false story," James said, interrupting his thoughts.

Blaise turned as the words lifted him from the building fury. James eyed him as though he still didn't quite believe Blaise’s earlier statement.

"'Tis not her fault ye fools all believed it when clearly 'twas a jest." Blaise snapped.

James lowered his head, his mouth twisting as though biting back a reply.

Blaise turned back to the window. As the guests arrived and the castle filled with people expecting good food, ale, and music, Blaise's spirits became more and more anxious.

It had already been explained to the servants that Elizabeth indeed found him and rescued him, but not that she had rescued him from a rain puddle. As far as the inhabitants of the castle knew, she discovered him wounded and unconscious, and nursed him back to health.

'Twas the same story he planned to tell any guest who asked. He did not want to be degraded by the other knights by having the truth spoken of behind his back in barely concealed sniggers. ‘Twould be one more thing on top of his not so secret parentage to add to the whispering that concerned him.

‘Twas not all he was anxious of. Was Eliza already inside the Great Hall? Perhaps dancing in a group or in another man’s arms?

The thought made him wish to rush inside like a man running from the devil. His fists became clenched boulders once again. He would not allow it! She would only dance with him!

Blaise pushed himself away from the window. "Shall we enter?"

James's spirits perked as he stood a full inch taller, apparently at the thought of finally presenting himself so that he might attract a wealthy bride.

Blaise sincerely hoped the man succeeded this time, Lord knew he deserved it.

"Aye, milord."

When they arrived the wooden doors were already open so that any guest could simply walk inside. Music and gossip floated through the air like a thick cloud above the hall.

Two groups of no less than ten danced in a wide circle, coming together before spreading out again like a ripple in a pond between the tables.

Men and women laughed noisily, spoke with full mouths, and drank entire goblets of ale in one go. Some guests were already drunk and stumbling over their benches as they reached for the pitcher.

A woman with golden hair and a sharp chin, wearing a blue, jewel incrusted gown that matched her eyes bumped into him. Blaise took her by her skinny arms and pulled her off of him. She righted her hair and he recognised Lady Claire, daughter of his cousins, Lord and Lady Seacliffe.

Her eyes flew to his hair. Though they were glazed from over indulgence, recognition dawned and she made a quick and clumsy curtsy as he held her. “Lord Blaise! I had wondered when ye would grace us. Would ye care to dance?”

“Nay, I apologize but I have pressing matters to attend to.” Blaise shoved her off onto the nearest group of dancers before she could protest. Like a hawk weaving through trees in a forest, Blaise avoided anymore confrontations with women eager for a husband.

He stopped for a moment to gathering his bearings and sought out the face he wished to see most. He stood still for too long as drunk and overly happy guests quickly surrounded him on all sides, limiting his view of the room.

“Milord! ‘Ave an ale wi’ me! It ‘as been too long since we spoke as friends!”

Blaise never saw the man before in his life.

He tried to turn away but an over eager woman pushed her daughter, who could be no older than thirteen, at him. “Lord Blaise! May I introduce my daughter—?”

“Ye may not.” Blaise weaved around her.

Damn! His hair stood out like a beacon. It made him too easy of a target. He should have worn a helmet, or dyed it, anything to have kept him away from the questions he did not wish to answer now that he allowed himself to be trapped.

"Quite the woman ye've found. Though are ye sure 'tis wise to marry 'er? She may 'ave saved yer life an' all, but she's still a peasant." Said one older man, Blaise couldn't remember his name.

"We are not to be wed." Blaise said, inwardly cursing that the rumour had spread so quickly. A painful twinge entered his chest at the reminder that ‘twas merely a jest, and he cursed again.

A shocked feminine voice to his right stole his attention. "I had hoped the rumour of a woman finally melting yer heart was the truth. Pity ‘tis not. She is such a stunning creature."

‘Twas his cousin who spoke, Lady Anne Seacliffe. She was an older version of her sixteen year old daughter, though she had the grace to keep from overindulging in wine. Her expression was that of a crestfallen woman who had been denied her chance at romantic gossip.

Her sentence finally struck him. Blaise's body tightened, ready to search out the woman who made jealousy stir so easily within him once again. "Ye've seen her? Where is she?"

Lady Seacliffe's stricken expression transformed to confusion at his eager question. She looked to where a new dance took place among partners of two only. "I believe she is dancing with Sir Steele. Marianne already introduced me to her. She is quite ladylike despite her upbringing."

Blaise ignored her and pushed through the crowds, avoiding anyone he knew who might want to ask him questions about his rescue and false betrothal.

His eyes found her like one of his falcons that found a field mouse. Her gown was a rose red color that was so rich it seemed to accent her shimmering brown hair. Pink stitching laced the gown and bodice that lifted her breasts. She drew the attention of every lord and knight around her, looking as beautiful as she did with her wide smile.

Blaise stared at her and melted, then glared at her partner who spun her around and stood too close. Indeed, she danced with Sir Ian Steele, and Blaise’s teeth clamped together.

Ian had been one of the few his father bothered with fostering while letting his castle fall into ruin. While they had been close at first, eventual rivalry to see who could be the better paige, better squire, and later who would be knighted first turned their once thriving friendship sour.

Blaise’s eyes narrowed to arrow slits. The bastard had likely heard the rumour of their engagement and was choosing to dance with her solely to be spiteful.

How dare he dance with Blaise’s betrothed!

Ian's hands found Elizabeth's waist, and she gripped his arms in preparation for when he lifted her into the air. He then twirled her with a finer grace than what Blaise had used to cause that delightful laugh to escape her lips.

Blaise’s face heated as their hands connected. Their eyes never left each other’s as they turned in accordance with the dance

Blaise's feet worked before his mind could catch up, and he marched over to put an end to their growing infatuation. Or at least, to Elizabeth's growing infatuation as she openly stared at Ian with nothing less than godly admiration. She did not seem to notice that the man was nearly drunk off his feet, nor the apparent lust in his eyes.

Was the girl mad? Considering the profession of her mother Blaise would have thought that 'twould be obvious why the man stared at her in such a fashion. If she was not careful this night she would be bedded, and not necessarily by her choice, before being tossed aside.

Blaise stopped his angry march.

Unless allowing herself to be seduced was her goal all along. If Eliza truly did seek a husband, then perhaps she wished to be taken in the hopes that the man who did it would wed her. How many times had she gone through with such a plan? If at all?

Blaise shook himself. 'Twas only a few days ago when he decided that her heart was too pure to not trust, and now he brought up these foolish fantasies.

His father was right. Blaise would never find love and marriage if he did not learn to let go of what his mother and Robert had done.

Ian leaned down to whisper something into her ear. Eliza giggled and held his hands tightly into hers. Blaise used it as the fuel he needed to claw his hand about her shoulder and spin her so that she might face his angered visage.

"We shall dance." He ordered, stealing her hand and pulling her away from Ian, who stood silently as though unaware his partner had been stolen from him.

Eliza herself seemed to be in a daze since her struggles did not begin until 'twas almost too late. She attempted to pry his hand from hers with her fingernails but he refused to be moved despite the sting. He yanked her roughly so that she stood with her body against to his, both awaiting the lutes and drums to start again.

Elizabeth seethed into his ear. "Are ye mad? What is the meaning of this?"

He refused to look her in the eyes. He kept his gaze trained over her head, watching in case Ian attempted to steal her back. He would not tell her the true reason he stole her away, but he still needed a likely excuse.

"Nearly everyone in the castle believes that we are to be wed, entirely because of ye. Because of the gossip half the guests seem to believe 'tis true as well. Until that rumour has dissolved, I shall not see ye acting like a..." He nearly said a word she would likely never forgive him for. "Acting so impulsively with Sir Steele."

Her face turned to a shade of crimson that matched her gown, she pressed her cheek to his shoulder to hide the burst of color. She believed him.

Even though she believed his half-truth, he could not bring himself to feel any relief for it. The warm heat of her cheek against the spot so close to his neck brought the strange sense that she fit there perfectly. Her dark hair sat right under his nose where it picked up the clean scent.

Blaise couldn’t resist inhaling it like he’d done at the mews.

Seemingly unaware of his behaviour, Eliza muttered. "'Tis not my fault those fools believed me."

He nearly laughed out loud. "'Tis exactly what I said."

The music started again, and Blaise stepped into the dance with her as casually as though he danced every day. Eliza followed his steps with the same ease.

"I must be a good tutor. Ye dance lovely."

"Thank ye, Lord Blaise, but the trouble was not entirely yers. Since ye have often found yerself to be too busy for me, yer father has volunteered more than once for the task."

Blaise lifted her hand above her brown braided head so that she might twirl gracefully beneath, then he pulled her back to his chest. "My father?"

He had not expected anyone else to take up Elizabeth's tutoring when Blaise effectively ceased it. He enjoyed the foolish dance they had done together, but 'twas that very reason, along with how his body reacted when he held her at the mews, that he could not continue to teach her.

Being so close to her, her body pressed to his, burning through the fabric of his clothes, was a dangerous thing. Like what was happening to him now. As if of its own accord, his hand snaked around her shapely waist, drawing her tighter to him to prevent her from leaving. She eventually would, leave, that is, whether or not he told her about Ferdinand and Nicholas.

She drew him to her, whether she realized it or not, he felt it. He’d thought being away from her would enable him to resist, but it only left him agitated and miserable. He grew weary of fighting it.

Eliza easily performed the steps to the dance, and her eyes fell shut. Blaise did not care. Let her shut her eyes, it allowed him to look at her with that same lust driven drunkenness Ian had looked at her with only moments ago.

"Aye, yer father,” she said. “He taught me proper dancing, with help from Lady Gray. Now I believe that ye sought out to humiliate me by teaching me improper dancing."

Her voice, huffy with insult, made Blaise smile. He brought his face to hers, stopping just before his mouth could touch the supple mound of her lips. They glistened in the candlelight when she licked them. Blaise turned his dry mouth turned away from the quenching oasis it desired, and tickled along the softness of her cheek.

She shivered, her eyes flew open so that he might see the flecks of gold hiding behind the dark, earthy color. It described her perfectly, he realized with a start. A golden woman who spent her life living in the dirt. He could hardly blame her for wishing to shine, now could he?

Shine she did. Lord, she was brighter than the sun. She could teach the fires to properly glow if they only shared a language.

His mouth trekked to her ear, tenderly kissing the lobe before he spoke. "I do not recall ye having a horrible time while learning my improper dancing."

She shivered, then pulled away. The disappearance of her body left him cold.

"Lord Blaise, people will see. Ye want them to know that I spread a false rumour, do ye not?"

"To the devil with it." He growled. His hand found the back of her head and pulled her forward until his mouth crushed over hers.

A tiny squeal escaped Eliza's throat when her lips meshed against his but no other words could escape. Blaise would not allow her the chance to form them as he parted her mouth with his tongue.

Only a woman’s shock could have allowed her to grant him entrance. Either that or she was more experienced than he knew.

He didn't care. She could have had ten men before him, and 'twould not have made a difference. While he did not know it the moment he saw her, his want for her had been building, and now that her lips were firmly against his, awareness flooded him. He wanted this woman in his bed, at his side, and as his wife.

Eliza's body remained as stiff as stone until she crumbled against him. Their feet stopped, neither moving along with the other dancers. Blaise only came up from the haze Eliza's lips, mouth, and tongue brought to him when a hand on his shoulder yanked him backwards.

"'Laise! Ol' friend."

Blaise could have punched Ian in his drunken mouth for daring to come between them. His fist formed to do just that, but when the man put his arm around Blaise's shoulder in a show of old, forgotten friendship, he allowed some mercy to slide through his veins and refrained from hitting him.

"What do ye want, Sir Steele?"

"Such formalities! 'Tis not to be had amongst—" He hiccoughed through his words. "—friends."

The man's stance told Blaise that his former friend was more than drunk. Ian turned into an imbecile. "Ian, I do not know—"

"Ah! And here is my love! Ian shoved himself off of Blaise with the grace of a cripple and pulled Elizabeth close, as close as Blaise had her only a moment ago. "I saw the performance, but do not fret, shh." Ian put a finger to his lips. "I shall not tell a soul."

Amazement flickered across Eliza's face. "Ye shan't?" Her head spun about, searching the faces of the other guests. "Did no one else see?"

The fear in her voice brought a pain in Blaise's gut.

Ian's lips flapped in a negative response. "Nay, the crowd is too busy drinking, dancing, and payin' attention only to themselves to notice two more people sharin’ a bit o’ intimacy.

Blaise turned his head about the same way Eliza had. To his horror, Ian was right. Far too many people were already drunk on their ale, assisting those drunk on their ale, dancing, or even sharing some intimacy of their own to bother with anyone else. James himself stood hidden in a corner, latched to some wench and kissing her for all he was worth.

Disappointment raked his belly. He'd hoped to be seen, but by Eliza's expression, she was relieved that they had not been.

"Now my lovely, as I said before," Ian wobbled slightly on his feet, struggled for purchase, then righted himself. "Shall we ‘o away for a private word?"

Her eyes went to his. Blaise glared at her, willing her answer to be the one that sent Ian away with his tail between his legs.

"Aye, I would very much like to see what it is that ye wish to show me."

The floor beneath him fell away and Blaise descended into a pit. It felt that way at any rate. Eliza and Ian attempted to walk by him, but Blaise reached out and took her by the arm, halting the both of them.

"Do ye even know what it is he wishes to show ye?" He hissed, his eyes ablaze with hatred for the knight who wished to cart off Eliza and have her.

'Twould prove that she was merely some wench out searching for someone to trap into caring for her. He did not want her to be that person he once thought she was. He wanted the truth to be that she truly was the innocent she described herself as, otherwise, how could he love a manipulative shrew?

She yanked her arm free of his hand, whispering spitefully so that Sir Ian could not hear. "'Tis not yer concern what I do in the time Lady Gray allows me to have, Lord Blaise."

Actually, it was.

"And after avoiding me and going to the trouble of telling everyone in the castle that 'twas only a jest I spoke of, just to kiss me, I am shocked ye have any concern for me a’tall when 'tis clear ye wish to make me into some whorish, cruel villain!"

Blaise stepped back. Surely he had not been so cruel to her that she would think his kiss had been ill conceived? He taught her to dance, once, and promised that she could visit the mews again. Admittedly it had been less of a promise and more of a suggestion, one which he had yet to follow up on. Still, she should have taken those things into account to see that he was not a cruel man.

Sir Ian waved drunkenly at him, unaware of what had just been spoken of before leading Eliza off and out of the Great Hall.

Blaise clenched his fists until his nails bit the flesh of his hand and followed them.

Chapter Seven

Elizabeth allowed Ian to take her out of the Great Hall. His hand gripped hers like a shackle to prevent escape while he led the way to she didn't even know where, and was certain he did not either.

He stumbled over the rushes at their feet and giggle as they both nearly collapsed onto the floor, prevented only because Eliza put all her weight in the opposite direction of his fall, keeping Sir Ian on his wobbling feet.

He giggled again and put a finger to his lips. "Shhh,"

The breath left his mouth and surrounded her face like a soap bubble, trapping the stench of alcohol and forcing her to breathe it in.

She prayed that he would quickly show her what he wished her to see so that she might leave. His hand slipped with sweat as it held hers, and the farther away from the noise of the Great Hall, and Blaise, she travelled, the more the unease in her belly demanded her attention.

Blaise. Simply thinking the name of that red haired devil made her gut churn with anger and other fluttering emotions she wished would disappear.

The man treated her like some vile, unwelcome creature out to harm his family, and had all but ignored her after their first dance lesson, then demands that the servants and fellow knights know that when she spoke of their supposed wedding, that 'twas merely a jest by some foolish woman. Not to be taken seriously.

The last part was the truth. She had spoken in jest to anger him, but she knew her mistake. It did not mean he needed to run about the castle ensuring that everyone know he was not betrothed to some lowly peasant girl, as though the prospect of marrying her disgusted him.

Then he kissed her! Anger heated her face as the memory of how he dared to pull her close and caress her like a lover. The swine. He may abhor the idea of wedding her, but that did not mean she would sink to allowing him to bed her so that she might be known as the castle whore.

"'ere we are." Ian slurred, pushing a door open with the weight of his body and stumbling inside. Elizabeth forced to hurry along with him as her hand was still gripped in his, pulling her gown up to avoid slipping on the hem.

‘Twas a dimly lit, plain, and very small, bedchamber. A fire had once burned but the dying embers cast the dark room in a sleepy haze that barely allowed her to see.

The chamber was simply furnished. Likely ‘twas shared by some of the higher servants, perhaps even Olma since Lady Gray adored the girl. Eliza saw nothing special about the bedchamber warranting them to leave on some foolish adventure to see it.

“‘Tis fortunate that I rescued ye ‘efore anyone saw Blaise, ‘issing ye like ye were ‘is own.” Ian slurred and burped his words.

Humiliation brought heat to her cheeks again. Elizabeth glared at the memory and looked away from him. “Aye, thank ye, Sir Ian.”

“Ye d’not wish t’ be seen with the castle bastard pawing ye, for certain.”

Elizabeth snapped her head back around. “What? What did ye say?”

Ian waved his hand, as though insulting the man who was once a childhood friend were nothing. “Everyone knows tha’ story.” He laughed, and could not seem to stop as he retold it. “O’ course, no one can prove it. Lord Gray keeps ‘im ‘ere out of guilt. Hoping to ‘ide that ‘is lady shared a bed with a serf, but everyone knows.”

The memory of how Blaise demanded that she not call herself a bastard came back to her, how his eyes became sad when she spoke the word. He’d called it vile.

A reaction like that could be brought on by having the word thrown at him, whether behind his back or not, he seemed to know the pain of such a word. She herself knew the truth after she commented on his eyes, but she never thought low of him for it.

The urge to defend him screamed a war cry like a knight charging into battle. “Lord Gray says that Blaise is his son. ‘Tis good enough for him and should be for ye as well.”

Ian waved his hand again. Fury spread inside her like a disease at having her words so easily dismissed. “‘E will be lord, ‘tis true, but i’ does not change that ‘e is the son of a peasant and a whore.”

"Sir Steele—!"

“I came not to argue.” Ian's mouth latched onto hers much the same as Blaise's had done. Only this mouth was hungrier, messier, and unwelcome as well as foul tasting. His arms wound about her shoulders, chaining her to him.

Elizabeth brought her hands to Ian's neck and pushed, separating his mouth from hers and gasping for breath that was not tainted by ale. Then, like a waterfall crashing down on her, she knew why Sir Ian took her away from the Great Hall and brought her to an empty bedchamber. The knowledge chilled the breath in her lungs.

He leaned closer, the weight of his neck against her hands choking him. The strength required to keep him at bay burned her arms and Elizabeth contemplated releasing him so that the red in his face would turn back into a normal color.

She forced as much control into her voice. "Sir Steele! I did not come here so that ye might bed me! Sir Steele!"

She shrieked when he bobbed his head around her hands, dropped to the floor, scooped his hands under her knees and lifted her into the air.

His sudden rush back up and her unnatural weight on his shoulder nearly toppled him backward into the fireplace. Elizabeth screamed, her guts twisting around her heart as she descended into the low burning fire. A finger’s length further and the flames would be licking her face!

Ian righted himself, pulling her to safety as he did. Elizabeth only remembered the other cause for concern as he threw her into the bed. She rolled to the side and leapt off the offending object before he could jump on her. She ran to the door but was thrown to the floor by an enormous weight.

Ian's body lay on top of hers, pressing her chest into the floor and preventing her from taking in proper breaths. Elizabeth couldn't breathe! Ian's weight suffocated her!

The man behind her rubbed himself against her rump, searching for friction as his hands searched for the bottom of her gown. Elizabeth felt the fabric of her gown and chemise lifting and, using the last breath inside her, screamed until her lungs burst. The sudden lack of oxygen brought darkness behind her eyes.

***

Gentle slaps irritated her dream. She raised her hands to wave away the offending person but they persisted in abusing her cheeks.

"Eliza, my love, wake up."

Blaise's voice brought consciousness to her as though he'd doused her with water from an icy lake. He looked down upon her as she lay in his lap, still on the floor. She could tell by the dim lighting and bed frame he sat against that they were in the same room.

Elizabeth's tears cascaded down her cheeks. She hid her face behind her hands so that he would not see but the broken sobs escaped her throat ensured her humiliation. Blaise's larger hands, which had been cradling her, lifted her up so that she leaned against his chest.

She did not wish to, 'twas likely that he would laugh about this to her and any other male friend he could find, but her arms wound around his neck without her permission. They held on as tightly as if he were the very thing that kept her heart beating.

He rocked her as though she were a child.

"Hush, Eliza, 'tis over now."

"I'm ruined!" She wailed.

He didn't seem to hear her as her despaired wail was muffled by his shoulder and tunic. He pulled her back slightly so that he might look at her, but she hid her swelling eyes behind her hands again.

"What was that?" He asked.

"I am ruined. No one will want me if they know!" ‘Twas bad enough she was an old maid, but now that she was no longer a virgin her hopes of finding love were damned to Hell.

Elizabeth found herself being crushed against his chest once more, only more fiercely this time. "Do not fear, Eliza. I came in before he could do any more. Cease yer tears. Look."

He raised her face and pointed around to the other side of the bed. Elizabeth leaned back behind the post and looked in the direction Blaise pointed.

She released a fearful gasp. Sir Ian slouched motionless against the stone wall, his face pointed down at his chest. She did not realise that he would not rise to attack again until she sighted the blood and spittle that dripped from his face.

Elizabeth squinted in the dark, her eyes following the source of the leaking. Though his face was down, both eyes swelled so profusely that she could make out their mounds on what used to be a flawless countenance.

She shuddered and leaned back into Blaise's protective embrace. "Is he—"

His arms tightened around her smaller frame. "I do not know. Nor do I care."

"Will ye not be punished if he is dead?"

He shrugged, the blue eyes he stared at her with were as hard as rock and as cold as one on a frozen winter morn. "If he dies, he dies. I shall deal with the consequences later."

Elizabeth shuddered again and snuggled into him to chase away her chill. Blaise had rescued her? "Thank ye."

She felt his lips brush against her hair. "Ye need not thank me."

But she did, and even then it wasn’t enough. “I shall find a way to repay ye.” Elizabeth's tears burst through her with an ongoing sob once more, and Blaise's arms tightened protectively around her.

"Eliza? What is it?"

The image of Sir Ian, staring at her in what she now recognized as lust filled her head. How stupid she had been to not see it! "I—I never thought that the noble could be as cruel as the poor," she said, sniffing loudly.

"I do not understand." Blaise said.

Elizabeth could not look at him. To do so would be far more humiliating than what she’d just suffered. All she could do was clutch him tighter.

"The people my mother...serviced. They were always rude, cruel people. Sometimes they would look at me and ask how much 'twould cost to have me, but my mother never sold me to them." Elizabeth's sobs came louder as she told her mother's story. "Sometimes they would take her without her permission, or without paying. I hated them all!"

Elizabeth pounded her fist down on Blaise's shoulder. He seemed not to mind. "I always thought that the nobility were noble because they were nothing like the poor I grew up with. Mother tried to tell me, but I never listened."

Her voice broke when she spoke the last part. Regretful memories of how disrespectful she herself had been, and how she wished she could return to that time and take it all back, make amends, and tell her mother that she loved her one last time.

She dared to look into Blaise's eyes. He stared passed her, his eyes far away. "Is that why ye went with Ian when he led ye from the Great Hall?"

She nodded, wishing she weren't so foolish. "Aye. I thought he only meant to show me something. ‘Twas all he said he wanted. To show me some secret or other that he knew of."

The distant look in his blue eyes remained until he finally blinked down upon her. "And, when I kissed ye? What were yer thoughts on that?"

She blushed harder. "I thought ye meant to deceive the castle into thinking I was a kept whore. Only because ye were so adamant about avoiding me, and demanded everyone acknowledge that ye were not betrothed, then ye kissed me so suddenly," she said quickly at his shocked glance.

“But, as I am one of the nobility ye thought were so honourable, what made ye think me capable of such acts?”

She could hardly bring herself to open her mouth, but after what he had done for her, he deserved a little of the truth, even if she herself was not certain of it. “I am not certain how I justified it, but it thought ye were the exception to that rule.”

"Is that was ye thought?"

She expected him to be angry, but his face remained calm. "Ye do not like me in yer home. What was I to think?"

He adjusted her so that she leaned against his chest once more. "I shall tell ye what to think. I will go to every man I have spoken to of our betrothal and tell them that 'twas I who jested. I will say that yer claim of our marriage was a valid one because I want ye for my wife."

Elizabeth tensed. She didn't believe it. Her earlier doubts against him plagued her once more and she did not know what to trust. "Do ye play with my emotions? Are ye being truthful?"

He took her hand into his larger one. "I am being truthful, aye." He released her hand and cupped her cheek. "Eliza, there are cruel men in the world who wish to harm anyone weaker than themselves no matter what their lot in life is, and for some reason or another ye seem to think that good can only be found in the hands of the rich.”

“Do ye not believe in good people at all?” She asked, wishing to defend herself.

He shook his head. “Not the way ye seem to. I know ye have yer secrets, and I no longer care what they might be, ye can have them.” He paused. “I promise ye I am not a man like Sir Ian, or any other man who has caused ye to cry." His thumb brushed a dangling tear from her cheek. "Be my wife?"

Elizabeth's bottom lip trembled. She did not know how 'twas possible. Perhaps it had already been there, since the moment he awoke in her hut and spoke to her, and had been slowly growing since then. Like a seed she had dropped by mistake, it had grown into a blooming flower without her knowledge. Then his kiss, followed by his rescue and kind words were what caused her to finally see it.

She loved him. Not for his wealth, or the comforts he could give to her.

She simply loved him.

She threw her arms around his neck. "Aye! I will!"

***

"Mine? Are ye certain of this? How can I have a child?"

“Aye, we are certain. I told ye of the mark of the blade.” William said, ignoring the last question as he handed Nicholas Godwyn a filled goblet. Though the man took it, he stared straight ahead with eyes rounded into perfect circles.

William could not blame him. ‘Twas not every day a man discovered he was a father, nor that the child in question had grown well passed womanhood.

Finally Nicholas looked down at the cup in his hands. He lifted the goblet and downed the warm ale as though it had been days since he last drank. William refilled his drink, but Nicholas did not lift the liquid to his lips this time. He held the goblet between his trembling hands and seemed to stare right through the wall.

"And...ye are quite certain of this?” He blinked, control returning to him. “Where is she? I wish to see this mark upon her neck."

William looked to Marianne, and she gave the answer. "Blaise volunteered some days ago to reveal to her our suspicion, though he has managed to put off the task," she muttered. "I did see him leave the Great Hall, following at her heels along with some other knight. I imagine he should be telling her now since there can be no putting it off any longer."

Nicholas put down his goblet and rubbed his face before pacing in the spot that William occupied whenever something was amiss.

To William 'twas odd seeing his normally so cheerful friend in such a state of unease. "What troubles ye? That she is yer daughter with a prostitute? Or that ye had yer only child out of wedlock?" He asked, though not unkindly.

Marianne clenched her hands together, as though fretting over his possible answers to both questions.

Nicholas stopped, his mouth dropped, and he shook his head. "Ye have me wrong, old friend. 'Tis not my methods of conceiving her, nor with whom, that have me shaking like a frightened woman. Truly I am glad for this blessing."

William stepped back, having not expected the answer. "Glad?

Marianne clapped her hands together and squealed. "'Tis wonderful news! Wait until ye meet the girl, ye shall adore her!"

Nicholas addressed William as though he had not heard the outburst of Marianne. "I have no children. Not for lack of trying but for all my conquests and two dead wives, none came to me. Now, ye suddenly claim that after giving up hope, I may just have been a father all along. I do wish to meet this girl, as soon as possible, and if the mark on her neck is a match to the one on my arm, I shall question this no further and take her back to my home tonight."

Marianne's smile melted from her face like ice at the end of a long winter. William expected as much.

She stepped forward, her face pleading. "Nicholas, I know that ‘twould be an odd request, especially after being told that she is yer blood, but I beg that ye consider allowing Eliza to stay. I believe she and Blaise may have formed an attachment to one another."

Nicholas fell back a step. "Attachment? Are they to wed?"

Marianne looked to William. He could only shrug his shoulders, for he truly did not know the answer. Blaise either spoke of the girl without pause for hours on end, sometimes without realizing he'd done so until William begged for silence, and other times he brooded alone in a corner, arms folded and refusing to take part in any conversation regarding her.

William was certain his son was infatuated. Though, being stubborn as per usual he refused to admit to it, even to himself.

As for the girl, when William took Blaise's position as Eliza's instructor on the constant insistence of his wife, Eliza could not seem to keep her mouth closed without mentioning Blaise. She spoke of the horrendous color of his hair, his nerve for no longer teaching her, his kindness for introducing her to his family and falcons, usually without pause.

Surely they held some attachment to one another, but neither seemed to have made any promises to the other.

"Nicholas, while we are certain that they will court one another, as of yet there is no engagement."

"Then 'tis settled." Nicholas picked his goblet back up and drank the contents in one gulp like before, finishing with a satisfied sigh. "I shall see the girl, and if she is the fruit of my loins, she leaves with me this night."

"Now, Nicholas ye cannot simply take her." Marianne complained, her eyes darting about the room as though she would find the proper words hidden among the furniture. "I too have grown fond of her, and 'twould only upset her should ye take her from Blaise so soon in their romance."

"We are not even certain there is a romance.” Nicholas argued. Then his entire face dropped with shock. “Good God, did the both of ye think to tell me that I had a child living like a peasant, and expect me to want to do nothing of it? Not take her so that I might know her? Make amends for my crime of not having provided for her?"

William was struck dumb by Nicholas's words, as was Marianne it seemed for she said nothing at all to his claim. William opened his mouth to make the denial, to insist there had been a mistake, but not a word left him.

Nicholas shook his head and took a step towards the door. "I apologise if my reaction is not to yer expectations, but if she is indeed mine I shall take her to the home she should have known.

“I'm not denying the chance that she may be courted by yer son, simply not here. Again, my apologies, but I shall not be moved, and I pray ye are correct that she is mine, for now that the possibility has arisen and my hopes with it, I shall not know what to do with myself should I be childless once more." With that, Nicholas departed the room to find the woman who might be his heir.

***

Blaise lifted Eliza into his arms as though she weighed less than a small bird, and took her away from the bedchamber where she nearly lost a part of herself to that son of a pig.

He would see to it the man was punished further, yet ‘twould likely not be enough.

William would surely demand the harshest penalty possible for what Ian had attempted, but Blaise was perfectly aware that to rape a peasant was no crime, let alone attempting to rape one. Ian would escape with only the injuries Blaise had put on him.

No matter, if Blaise ever saw him again he would kill him.

He allowed his bloody thoughts to slip from his mind as his sweet Eliza suckled along the ridge of his jaw. His heart thumped like a mad man against his cage, attempting to break free. He swam in delighted pleasure that his exploring hand did not cause Eliza to move away from him, fearful of touch. If anything, she could not seem to get enough of the contact between their hot flesh. 'Twas a good sign for what he wished to do to her.

"Ye’re a vixen." He groaned as her mouth travelled up to the shell of his ear. She ruined his concentration with her wicked ways, making it impossible for him to navigate the familiar halls of his own castle with the need she caused in him.

"I cannot help myself." She moaned against his ear. “I want ye, but I'm not sure why."

The Devil in Hell. The woman was an innocent. Blaise would be her first...and her last. The thought forced a quickening into his feet and a sharpness of mind that allowed him to locate his bedchamber at last.

He kicked the door shut behind him, crossed the space and dropped her on the bed without grace. She bounced and laughed the same laugh she'd given him the day he’d danced with her.

With an eager smile he lowered himself and captured her mouth, lightly tugging against her lower lip with his teeth before releasing her. "I shall have ye remember this night for the rest of our lives."

Her fingers combed through his hair. "If that is yer wish." Her eyes unexpectedly came together in a frown.

Concern peaked inside him. "What is it?"

"Yer hair. 'Tis not as awful as I once thought, especially in the dim light. The color…’tis darker."

Blaise's eyes flew wide. All thoughts of romance blew away in the night breeze as he laughed heartily. "What a thing to speak of at a time like this!" he said before his mouth returned to hers.

Her hands fumbled with his tunic, searching for a way to get her fingers under and meet the flesh of his chest. She finally gained access and slid her nails across his firm stomach.

He delighted in the little moan she released before she pulled away from him. "Yer skin, 'tis hot."

"Aye, and if yers is not 'twill soon be as well."

He couldn't wait, could not for the life of him take the time to remove her gown. That would wait for the next time. Now, he had to have her. His hands slid lower, lifting the fabric.

"Nay! Do not!"

Blaise's hands stilled. "What is it?"

Her face heated, as though shamed. "'Tis what he tried to do. If ye should take me then do not do it like that."

Seconds ago he could not hold himself back, now, taking his time seemed like the better course of action. He could not fight the lustful smirk that pulled one side of his mouth. "Ye would prefer yerself to be naked?"

Her neck and face coloured in that familiar way he adored. "Aye, but, ye shall be as well?"

Blaise lifted himself up to his knees and made a mock bow. "Of course, my lady." He lifted his loose tunic off and threw it to the other side of the chamber where it disappeared in the darkness.

She lifted herself up to join him, her mouth touching his chest while her hands smoothed along his ribs and waist, as though mapping him. Never had a woman he'd taken to his bed shown such an...interest. 'Twas usually a game of sheer pleasure, ignoring all sensuality and intimacy until the deed was done.

Blaise found the pink laces to her corset and pulled them loose so that he might return the favour. "Ye are so beautiful," he said, flinging the thing away to disappear like his tunic.

Eliza pulled his face to hers and fell back to the bed, towing him along with her so that his naked chest rubbed against her. Her nipples peaked through her chemise, tickling him.

He lifted the garment without removing it, stopping at her neck so that he might touch the sensitive nubs and put them at ease. Eliza arched into his hand, her breath heavy as his thumb flicked over the dark pink peak.

Her hard breathing turned into a long moan when he lowered his head to take it into his mouth. So lovely the way she arched to him…

The chamber door behind them burst open, filling their dark paradise with light from the torches outside.

Eliza shrieked and pulled her chemise down with both hands. Blaise spun to glare at the intruder before his angered sneer turned to shock.

"Nich—"

The older man's fist connected with his jaw. The blow launched Blaise from the bed and to the floor with a hard thud.

Eliza screamed again and scrambled to rush down to him. Nicholas captured her arm and forced her to remain still on the bed.

"Blaise!"

He rubbed his jaw, glaring at the older man. "Ye’re safe Eliza, he shall not harm ye." His eyes connected with Nicholas's. "Will ye?"

'Twas not a question, but a threat. The older man seemed to recognise this, but did not release Eliza. Nicholas’s gentle voice did naught to calm her quaking shoulders. "Yer name, girl, is it Elizabeth Godwyn?"

She shook her head, her eyes darting from Nicholas, to Blaise who stood to dust himself off. "Nay, 'Tis Elizabeth Hollow."

"Hollow?"

"Aye." She yanked her arms out of Nicholas's grip and rushed off the bed to stand with Blaise, allowing him to put his arms about her and sinking into his warm embrace.

"Ye took the name of yer mother? The prostitute?"

Her face heated. Blaise tightened his grip on her and glared once more at his friend.

"Speak louder, Sir Nicholas, someone on the other side of the castle may not have heard ye."

Nicholas's face was the one to flood with color. "Aye, I apologise, 'tis not what I meant to say..." He seemed for a loss of words. "Ye look so much like yer mother."

The flush of humiliation turned to an angry red. "I see. Ye are a customer. I must apologise, milord, but I am not in the same profession as my mother and ye shall have to look elsewhere for yer pleasure."

Nicholas rocked on his feet and clutched his heart as though he couldn’t believe the accusation. "Nay, ye have me wrong. I merely wish to see yer neck."

Eliza's hand flew to her throat. "Ye shall not come near me!"

"‘Tis not for any foul intent. I wish to see the birthmark ye have there."

Blaise could have kicked himself. All this time, avoiding Eliza and his conflicting attraction and suspicion towards her, he'd been constantly putting off the task that he himself volunteered to perform.

"My—?"

Blaise took her hand and removed it from its protective spot over her birthmark. "Eliza, this man is Sir Nicholas Godwyn. He has a mark similar to the one ye bare on yer neck."

Eliza looked to him, her eyes wide. Nicholas raised his sleeve, allowing her to see the reddish sword-shaped mark that lay on his forearm.

Eliza's fingers tickled along the spot just under her jaw where her own mark awaited patiently to be viewed. "What does this mean?"

Blaise swallowed. He should have been wearing his tunic, sitting with her somewhere privately, days ago to allow her to take in the news he was about to reveal. Thrusting this upon her so suddenly while both of their clothes were in tatters would not help.

"Eliza, I know ye believe that Sir Ferdinand was yer father, but because of the similarities in yer birthmarks, my father and I suspect that Sir Nicholas is yer true sire."

Eliza sputtered, then her eyes turned up in a faint. She would have gone into the fire had Blaise not caught her.

Chapter Eight

James all but devoured the lips that pressed against his own with the eagerness of a starved animal. Be damned anyone who might be staring, he didn’t care, and damn the hurt in his chest that pierced like stabbing knife. He didn’t care about that either.

When his eyes found her, walking towards him in that gown, he thought his mind played a foul trick on him, or perhaps a lady walked to him who happened to look like her.

But nay, ‘twas Olma, and whatever magic of bravery it was that caused her to dress in such a fashion had dressed her very well. She had been lovely before in naught else but servants garments, but as she was, in a lady’s gown, she glowed like a winter faerie.

He pulled his mouth away with the hesitation of a parched man leaving water. He had to know, had to ask her. “Why do ye do this? This ache I have is nearly too much bear without seein’ ye like this,” he pulled her closer. “Havin’ ye stand so close.”

Her pale skin around bright eyes made them glow as she stared up at him. Her pink mouth opened and closed, as though searching for a proper answer and finding none.

She put her ear to his chest. Whether to hide her face, rest, or listen to his heart beat, he did not know. “I only wished to dance wi’ ye before ye found someone to marry.”

The stabbing returned. James felt as though he were being hacked at by a madman, and he hissed.

He wrapped his arms around her and locked them tight like chains. “‘Tis going to be difficult now that I have had the pleasure of dancing with ye, being as lovely as ye are now.”

She turned her face up, pale cheeks reddening with delight. She lifted herself onto her toes to reach for another kiss. James bent his head to comply.

“And who is this pretty—”

They turned their heads in a panic at the voice. Lady Seacliffe and her daughter stared with an open mouth at Olma. “Aren’t ye a sewing maid here? Yes, yes ye are, I recognise ye.”

Lady Claire’s mouth dropped like her mother’s. “A sewing maid? What’s she dressed like that for?”

James’ body grew cold as Olma stepped away from him, shaking her head in denial. James turned his head about. Lady Seacliffe’s shocked declaration drew the attention of the other dancers, who stopped their movements to see what was happening.

The knights who worked for Lord Gray stopped, also appearing to take notice with their shocked mutters which were made loud against the silence as the musicians ceased playing.

Lady Seacliffe, though her face was not twisted in fury, continued to stare and draw more attention still. “Girl, why are ye dressed like that?”

Olma ran from the great hall.

“Stop her!” Someone shouted. Immediately several men jumped up or left their partners to run after her. James did not immediately move to aid in chasing her down.

***

Olma flew down the hall. She could hear the men behind her gaining more ground and her terror twisted in her gut. Even if she were to get back to Lady Eliza’s room, ‘twas too late for her, she could not get out of the gown by herself, or in such a hurry.

Even if she could, her face had been seen and she was recognised. There was no possibility of outrunning her pursuers, but the logic of that would not stop her feet which felt as though they could run forever.

“Thief! Thief!”

Her terror doubled. Thief! They thought her a thief! They would never believe that Lady Eliza had given her the gown to wear. She would be lashed, or thrown out of the castle, or into the pit and forgotten!

She kicked off her shoes so that she might run faster. Turned a corner and ran directly in the waiting arms of one of the knights.

His giant hands wrapped like manacles around her small arms, squeezing tight and pinching her skin. “Gotcha, ye little wretch! I’ll take ye outside and teach ye the penalty for stealing.”

Her legs crumbled but her captor would not let her fall. Defeated tears leaked from her eyes. “No!”

“Take yer hands off her! Ye’re hurting her!”

James. He had followed her. Relief enveloped her like a gust of wind but ‘twas not enough to dry her eyes.

The man who gripped her arms shook her. “She is a thieving maid and needs t’ be taught a lesson!”

James looked at her, then at the knight who held her. “Then ‘twill be done by Lord Gray, the way he sees fit. Not by ye.”

“Lord Gray will ‘ave her lashed at any rate.” The man moved to pass James, tugging her along with him. James stepped in his path, and though James was shorter, he stood tall before the bigger man.

“And if ye are wrong? ‘Tis Lady Gray’s favourite serving girl ye hold. She will prefer to supervise the punishment, I am sure.”

The knight’s face twisted in a knotted scowl. His giant mouth opened to yell again but Lady Gray’s voice was the first to be heard.

“What is all of this? Why did everyone leave?” Lady Gray demanded as she marched quickly into the fray. Her eyes found Olma, and as they travelled down to the gown she wore, they widened.

Relief and humiliation fought for dominance inside of Olma’s chest. She could not decide whether ‘twas better or worse for her lady to be standing there.

Lady Gray’s mouth fell open. “Good Lord. What are ye doing dressed like that?”

James smiled the same victorious smile that her captor produced. They both seemed confident that Lady Gray would take their side. Olma’s confidence, the very little she had, cowered in a corner.

The knight who held her flung her forth with the ease of tossing a rag. James leapt forth and caught her arm before she could fall on her face.

“Go on then, explain yerself!” The older knight jibbed, which prompted the onlookers to cheer along with him.

Olma swallowed hard and lifted her head to look at Lady Gray,who stood tall before her, dark red hair braided over her shoulder as she looked between Olma and the knight who held her shaking hand.

***

Elizabeth awoke to light behind her eyes. She opened the lids and sighed. She awoke from the most horrendous dream in the room that Lord and Lady Gray gave to her. She lay alone in bed, Sir Ian not with her, nor anywhere in the room. And Blaise—

Blaise.

An unnatural hurt presented itself inside of her chest, eating and biting at her like fleas. The force of the pain caused her to twist on her side and clutch her heart.

The only good part of the dream had been when Blaise proposed marriage to her. She would not have minded that part of the dream. Something as wonderful as that could never happen to her in real life.

The door to her chamber opened, and an older, squatter, plumper woman Elizabeth did not recognise shuffled into the room. She carried a tray of what Elizabeth could only assume was her breakfast.

She placed the tray on her bed, bobbed a curtsy and a quick, "Yer breakfast, milady," Before turning to leave.

Elizabeth’s hand flew out. "Wait!"

The old woman stopped in the middle of the open door and turned her whole body to give her a questioning look. “Aye, milady?”

"Where is Olma? And why am I eating in here? Should I not be joining everyone else in the Great Hall?"

"’is lordship thought i' best to leave ye in bed, seein' as ye had such a bad fall, milady."

"Fall?" Her hand flew to the back of her head, searching for any evidence of a fall. She felt no lump, no tender cut, naught at all. "I had no fall. And what of Olma?"

The servant woman continued to look at her questioningly, but addressed her last question, her nose wrinkling slightly as she did. "Olma is being punished. 'Tis not wise for a simpering servant girl such as 'erself to ge' all ‘igh and migh’y. Dressin' in a lady's gown and such."

Elizabeth flew off of the bed and rushed passed the shocked servant woman. She would discover what had happened to herself at a better time. She had to rescue Olma before she could be punished for Elizabeth's mistake!

***

Blaise sat in a corner while Marianne stood off to the side watching the events unfold. Olma stood before William's writing desk, though he did not sit behind it. He circled the room, his hand on his chin, occasionally glancing up to confirm that 'twas Olma who stood before him.

Blaise could hardly believe it anymore than William or his step-mother could. He knew that Eliza schemed so that Olma would have her chance at wooing James, but never did he expect dear, sweet little Olma to allow herself to be dressed in a lady's gown and attend the celebration as though she were invited.

As of yet, the girl did not mention Eliza's part in their plan. Blaise would give the her credit for that much. He would not allow her punishment to be too severe, not when she bravely defended Eliza by keeping her out of the story.

William ceased his pacing. "If ye could simply give me an answer as to why ye did it, I'll send ye back to yer duties and we can forget this ever happened."

Blaise sighed and shook his head. The man was too soft for his own good.

Olma bowed her head. "I ‘ave no reason, milord. ‘Twill never ‘appen again." 'Twas the same thing she'd spoken of when William asked her the first five times.

Marianne rubbed her belly, as became her custom whenever her nerves pressed on her as much as pacing was William’s.

Blaise shook his head. He wished to have her admit to her plan without letting on that he was aware of it. His father was a lenient man, he would not have her lashed for such an offence. "Olma, ye obviously did it so that ye might dance with Sir James. Everyone knows of yer infatuation with him."

Her eyes widened into round orbs at his words, though she still kept her face pointed to her feet.

"Is that why ye did it? Not to cause harm or pretend to be a lady, but so that ye might share a dance?"

To Blaise's ear, it sounded as though William encouraged her to answer yes to his questions merely so that he could send her on her way.

Lord knew the man loved Olma almost as much as Marianne did since, when his castle was in chaos and hardly a servant could be found to do their jobs in the absence of a chatelaine, Olma had been one of the few to properly, and efficiently, perform her duties.

"I ‘ave no reason, milord. I am sorry for the ‘arm I ‘ave caused. 'Twill never ‘appen again." Her voice broke and tears spilled down her cheeks.

Amazing. She refused to reveal Eliza's part in their plot even now. Was the girl frightened that Eliza would face punishment as well and possibly be removed from the castle? Or was she simply that loyal?

William turned to Marianne for advice. "What would ye have done with her?"

Blaise did not believe Marianne knew anymore than William. Her helpless expression and shrug of her shoulders said as much.

“'Twas our cousin who recognised her. If she is not punished, 'twill not speak highly of how ye handle yer own castle." Blaise said, though not unkindly as the poor girl continued to shake where she stood.

He decided to show some pity on the poor thing. “Of course, we could merely say that we had her punished. No one would know that we actually did not.”

William looked to the ceiling and sighed. "'Tis yer first offence, ever, in this castle, I'm certain a few extra chores in the kitchen will be enough of a punishment, but ye’re to never do such a thing again."

Olma nodded frantically at the warning in William's voice. "Nay, milord. Never again."

Blaise smirked. 'Twas humorous even thinking of his father attempting to threaten any of the servants. Usually Marianne did that.

The door to the solar burst open. Eliza rushed in, dressed in naught but her sleeping garments, dark, chestnut hair down and chest heaving.

Blaise rushed to her but she pushed passed him.

She fell to her knees before William, her hands clasped together in a begging prayer. "Please do not punish her! The fault is entirely mine! I dressed her! I told her to hide and enter the Great Hall. 'Twas entirely my idea!"

Blaise could not decide between feeling pleased or horror stricken.

Pleased won out, and warmth spread inside him at the sight. How could he ever have harboured a suspicion against a woman willing to throw herself at the mercy of a lord for the sake of a servant?

William's lips twitched as he stared down at her, Blaise could see him fighting back a smile. Olma stared with a face as white as a cloud, her mouth open, having chosen horror over amusement like everyone else in the solar.

Blaise went to Eliza, took her by the arm, and lifted her to her feet. "Her punishment has already been decided, my love. She will work in the kitchen, 'tis all."

Blaise watched with fascination as the color drained from her face, as though her blood were being poured out of her from a pitcher. "The kitchen?"

He nodded. "Aye."

Eliza's face twisted to Marianne, William, and then Blaise before starting over again, as though now wondering what her punishment would be.

Marianne had difficulty containing her giggles. "'Twas decided that the crime was not severe enough to warrant a strong punishment."

"However," William started. "There is now the question of what shall be done with ye. Had ye not burst in like ye had, we would have known nothing of yer involvement."

"Nothing?" Eliza looked to Olma now. The servant girl risked glancing up to see her face.

Blaise shook his head. "Aye, she spoke naught at all of yer part. Perhaps yer punishment will be that ye are no longer privileged to have a chamber all to yerself."

She cocked her head, clearly not grasping his meaning.

"Father, I believe she should be forced to share my chamber for what she has done."

"What!" She pushed away from him. The smile melted from Blaise's lips.

"I shall not share a room with ye! Ye can barely tolerate me!"

"Barely tolerate ye!” Anger replaced the warmth in his chest at her utterly stupid statement. “I asked ye to wed me last night!"

His words seemed to catch her off guard. "Ye did?"

"Aye!" Foolish woman! Did she forget everything after a mere fainting spell?

His father watched their interaction with a confused expression all his own. "Blaise, perhaps when ye offered yer hand to the woman, ye were not as clear as ye thought."

"I was clear!" He snapped, memories her throwing her arms around his neck and allowing herself to be led into a private chamber where they almost made love still fresh in his mind.

Her hand slowly came to her neck. "'Twas no dream."

"Dream!"

"Ah, I see the problem." Marianne said with a wave of her finger. "The first time William spoke of his love to me, I was so happy that I thought I dreamed it as well."

"Why are women so fickle?" Blaise snarled, folding his arms and half glaring at the woman he proposed to the night before.

"I am not fickle!" Eliza said, the outrage melting from her face as though a troubling thought struck her. "Sir Ian!"

Blaise growled. "Has been taken care of."

Marianne came forth and put her hands gently on Eliza's shoulders. "Blaise told us all of what happened last night. Sir Ian was sent back to his uncle’s, Sir Hugh Steele, for his punishment until his parents can be made aware of what has happened. He shall not be welcome back here."

“‘Tis hardly any punishment at all,” Blaise muttered.

William nodded. “Aye, but the severe beating ye gave him was. He will never look the same again.”

"'Tis not a crime to rape a peasant girl." Eliza said, her voice small.

Blaise winced at her words. Ian, while a fool who enjoyed his drink and his women too much, would get nothing more than a finger shaken at him from his father. Blaise did not care if he already gave Ian a beating, the man deserved so much more than that.

However, Sir Nicholas and Sir Hugh were good friends. When Hugh discovered that his nephew nearly raped a lady and the relation of a dear friend, perhaps Ian's punishment would be more gruesome.

The thought brought Blaise some comfort.

"Ye are not a peasant girl, remember?" he said.

Her face became pale again with the memory.

"Olma, ye may take yer leave now," Marianne said. Olma curtsied and scurried out of the solar like a mouse escaping the cat’s den, leaving them to their privacy.

Eliza’s eyes seemed far away as she searched through her memories. "Sir Nicholas Godwyn. He believes I am his daughter."

"He does not just believe it any longer." Blaise said. "He examined yer birthmark and confirmed it."

"But I have not yet seen—" She stopped herself. "Nay, I have seen it. He is..." Eliza sank into Blaise, who held her tightly to keep her from falling to the floor.

“My father. I have a father.”

Chapter Nine

"Are ye troubled, my love?"

Blaise's smooth voice and hand stroking her back brought little comfort. She sagged against him, needing him to keep her shaking legs from letting her sag to the floor.

"I truly do not know. I am happy to discover that last night was no dream, but saddened all the same. Ye say I have a father who is alive, but I do not know him.” She looked up at Blaise. “What of Sir Ferdinand?”

Blaise had told her that her mother did her a service by denying her the chance to know him, but this new knowledge, the knowledge of a new father, still confused her.

Blaise gave her a pained look, as though he were not sure of what to say.

Lord Gray cleared his throat. “Ye were not aware of how Ferdinand behaved whilst alive, correct?”

Eliza shook her head.

“Has Blaise told ye anything?” Lady Gray asking, pointedly glaring at the red haired man. Blaise coughed and shuffled his feet.

“Just that I should be grateful for not knowing him.” Eliza’s voice sounded small even to her own ears.

Lord Gray nodded. A pregnant pause filled the room, as though he too were struggling with the proper form in which to speak. “He was a torturer of women,” he said finally. “I imagine yer mother was only ever in his company because he forced her, but ‘twould still be enough for her to imagine that he was yer sire and not Nicholas.”

Eliza shivered. A torturer of women?

Blaise wound his arm about her shoulders, hugging her to him. “He was no better than the men ye witnessed hurting Bertha,” he said softly.

Eliza swallowed. The dry motion hurt her throat. She needed to think of anything other than those awful images that Blaise’s words brought into her mind. Her mother’s blue and swollen face after one of the men became violent, of her tortured limp, and of her false smiles over cut lips.

“Sir...Godwyn. Aye, I believe that was what he said his name was.” She turned her eyes back to Lord Gray. “Is he a good man?"

Was he good to my mother. ‘Twas what she wished to say.

Perhaps if she had known Sir Ferdinand, had loved him and been cared for by him, she would have felt so much more than just the nothingness she did now. As it had not been the case, the most prominent thing she felt was curiosity.

What was her true father like?

Lord Gray's voice came strong and proud to answer her question. "Nicholas is the best of men. When we told him of ye, he demanded to see ye and wished to take ye to Godwyn castle immediately."

"Take me—" Elizabeth could not finish the sentence. How foolish she'd been to assume last night had been a dream, and now that she knew for certain it had not been, she clutched Blaise tightly to her as though that would be enough to keep them together.

Blaise’s arm, still around her shoulder, tightened. "Ye shall go nowhere. Ye are to stay here and be my bride."

Eliza nodded her head, immediately accepting Blaise’s words. Still, regardless of where she lived, she wished to see Sir Nicholas. She wanted to meet the man who had not been a part of her life, not even through the stories of her mother.

"Where is he?"

Knowing who she referred to, Blaise answered. "I imagine he is in the Great Hall. He demanded to know of yer condition at all hours and is insisting upon staying until ye leave with him."

Elizabeth swallowed hard, her blood buzzed and tingled under her skin as she took Blaise's hand. "Will ye take me to him?"

He seemed equally troubled by the thought of their meeting, but still nodded. "Aye."

Lord Gray stepped forward, as though he wished to follow. Lady Gray stalled him with a hand on his shoulder. "We shall see to our other guests. Everyone seems to still be sleeping off their ale and will likely want William's company and their meals soon, but, before ye meet him, ye may wish to dress in something proper." She reminded, eyeing Eliza’s garments with her lips curled up.

Elizabeth's face heated, and she nodded, allowing Blaise to walk her out of the solar and back to her chamber where she would get a maid to help her with one of her new gowns.

***

"I wish to be there to set Nicholas straight. Last night was different, we hadn't known Blaise offered to wed her then." William said the second Blaise and Eliza left. "Nicholas can't take the girl if she is to be my daughter."

Marianne rubbed his shoulders and lifted herself on her toes to kiss his cheek. She wished she had a proper answer to give that would satisfy both him and Nicholas, but she had none.

She kept her voice soft, hoping to save what could be a crumbling friendship. "Consider that he has just discovered he has been a father for all of these years. He wishes to make amends for not knowing of her."

"Of course he did not know of her! Bertha was a prostitute, Eliza could have been the child of any man her mother had taken to her bed. Had it not been for the mark upon Eliza’s neck we would have continued to assume she was Ferdinand’s."

Marianne nodded. "Aye, 'tis true. But we know now, and we did tell her of it. And though Blaise's explanation is late, Nicholas knows as well. Despite all of his—” Marianne stopped herself, could think of no gentler words to phrase it, and raced ahead. “—tales of carnal adventures, Nicholas never had any children, 'tis only natural he would wish to know her."

William sighed in defeat. "Can he not know her without taking her?"

Marianne moved so that she stood in front of him instead of behind, though she kept her hands firmly on his shoulders. "Try to see it from his view. To him, we have just shown him that he has a daughter, and in the same breath we are the ones taking her from him."

William grumbled. "'Tis not our fault that Blaise cannot make up his mind until the last possible moment."

Marianne kissed his cheek and rested her head against his chest, letting his heartbeat soothe her and the impatient kicking in her belly. "We shall have to hope that when they announce their intent, Nicholas will see reason."

Marianne only hoped that everything would be as simple as she made it sound.

***

Blaise opened the door for Elizabeth, allowing her to step into the room where such a fantastic party had been held the night before.

'Twas quiet now. The musicians had either gone home or were sleeping somewhere, but all that stood in the great hall were a few sewing maids. Hardly fit for a private conversation, but Elizabeth did not mind. The news of her parentage would soon be spreading about at any rate.

Nicholas, the man whom all claimed to be her father, sat on a long bench, facing away from the doors and staring into his bowl. He did not seem to hear the doors opening behind him as he did not move from his position.

'Twas just as well. Elizabeth did not wish to have his eyes staring at her as she approached.

Blaise pushed the door shut, the resounding slam of the heavy wood echoed in the hall. Nicholas’ body jerked. He lifted himself and turned his head towards the sound. At the sight of her he rushed to his feet.

Elizabeth's cheeks heated. She tossed a glare to Blaise, whose face expressed that he did not know why she would be upset with him.

Foolish men, the lot of them. Elizabeth straightened her back and moved towards the other side of the table.

Nicholas’s stayed fixed on her as she approached, as though afraid she would vanish if he blinked. He studied her, drank her in, as though she were some legendary treasure that was his to claim.

Eliza’s shoulders tensed. His stare unnerved her. He did not look at her the same way sir Ian had the night before, his eyes were soft, and a wishful smile tugged his lips as he observed her, but she did not know this man. That alone was enough to make her feel strange under his gaze.

He did not sit until she did. Blaise remained by the door, and Elizabeth released a relieved sigh for both the space he gave, and his presence.

She straightened further under Nicholas's proud gaze. His eyes shone as he stared at her, his eyes moving up and down, to her hair, face, and hands. Everything in his gaze spoke of possession.

Finally, he spoke. "Hello."

Elizabeth nodded. Without her permission her head ducked under his stare. She could not face him. "Hello."

His mouth quirked. "Ye look so like yer mother."

Just like that, he recaptured her attention with the words he already spoke when they first met. The stiffness in her back melted away, and she leaned forward. A hundred questions dropped into her head. "How well were ye acquainted with her? Did ye love her? Why did ye leave her?"

He raised his hands to stall her. "Patience, please. I was well acquainted with her, but what is this talk of love?"

Elizabeth cocked her head. Then the only possible reason for his question made itself known to her. As quickly as the warmth came, ‘twas banished by frost.

"Did ye not love her?"

He shifted, as though his seat made him uncomfortable. "Bertha was a prostitute. I favoured her, treated her well, surely, but of course I did not love her."

Her heart fluttered like an injured butterfly. She should have known better than to hope. Last night she learned that simply being of noble birth did not make a man noble, why should the man sitting across from her be any different?

Elizabeth's mouth pressed into a thin line. She sat away from the man before her and straightened her back once again. "I see. Then what would yer interest in me be?"

He sputtered. "Ye are my daughter."

For a moment she wished that were not the case. "May I see yer mark again?"

Sir Nicholas lifted his tunic sleeve. Eliza inspected the mark that sat there, so innocently, as though it were not destroying everything she thought she knew about herself.

Her mother had once been given a small mirror from a wealthy man she took to her bed. Lord knew that the mirror might even have come from Sir Nicholas himself. 'Twas one of the gifts she had received before she ran from Sir Ferdinand and was forced to accept a more common clientele.

Elizabeth had looked into the mirror several times before and had seen the clouded image of her sword that pointed down on her neck. Sir Nicholas bore the same mark. ‘Twas identicle down to the color and size.

Her cold eyes found his. "How are we to be certain that 'tis not some coincidence we bare the same mark?"

"Ye require more proof?" Nicholas gaped before collecting himself, his eyes growing serious. "Very well, 'tis a mark that my own father possessed on his leg, and his father before him on his shoulder. Ye bare a mark that has been in my family for generations. 'Tis impossible that ye are not mine."

Her fingers dug into the table with her next question. "And, should ye find that ye have sired another bastard, a son, with a woman of wealth, will ye throw me away for him?"

"Good God no! Of course not. What would cause ye to believe such a thing?"

Elizabeth could not bring herself to feel any sympathy at the stunned horror on his face. All she could feel was the anger and insult that the man before her, like all the others, used her mother for his own pleasure. "Ye have no love for my mother."

"What would that have to do with ye?"

He truly did not understand. A hand gently touched her shoulder, and she knew that Blaise stood behind her. She couldn't have been happier to have him there. Had he not been she may have leapt over the table to strangle her new father.

She stood. She'd had enough of listening to this man and wished to go away with Blaise.

Nicholas stood as well. "I mean to take ye home with me."

Her body froze. Blaise's arm wound tightly around her waist. He released a tiny growl.

"Go with ye?" The thought horrified her. She would have taken a step back had Blaise not been holding onto her so tightly. "I will go nowhere with ye."

His face fell in sadness, his shoulders did the same. "Why ever not?"

She did not wish to look into his eyes and feel pity, so she turned her head away. "Ye are just like the rest of them. No better than all those men who thought they could treat my mother cruelly simply because they paid her. I will have naught to do with ye, I will stay here, and I will marry Blaise."

Elizabeth did not bother to curtsy to him before she walked back out of the Great Hall, nor did she pay any mind to the sewing maids who stopped their chores to openly listen.

Sir Nicholas, her father, did not attempt to follow them, for which she was glad.

The moment she stepped out of the Great Hall and the doors were shut behind her, she turned into Blaise's chest and released her anger and frustration in a flood of tears.

He pulled her into a corner so that her scene would be less noticeable to scurrying servants, but she did not care if they saw. Blaise's hands rubbed soothing circles against her back, but even that could not bring her comfort.

"Hush, my love, ye did well."

She could not control how her breathing hitched and jumped when she spoke. "He—cannot force me to—leave—can he?" The mere thought of being dragged from the castle, away from Blaise, made fresh tears spurt from her eyes. She dug her fingers into his tunic as though that would prevent their ever being separated.

He held her tighter. "Nay, of course not. We will marry tonight if it puts yer heart at ease."

The tone in his voice told her he spoke the truth, but she kept her head low so that he would not see the swelling in her eyes. "Ye would do that? Marry me tonight?" She could not help the flutter of glee that tickled her belly.

That he loved her enough to wed her immediately lit a fire inside her that sizzled and popped excitedly.

"Aye. This moment if we could, but I am certain there are a few small arrangements that need taken care of first."

'Twas more than Elizabeth could have ever hoped for. She would be secure, free from hunger and cold, but loved as well. Now more than ever, that was most important.

She loved Blaise. Loved him enough that every time he held her she wanted to sink into him like she sank into her bed at night. Loved him enough that even if their children inherited his hideous hair, she would not mind. That alone made the rewards of her marriage all the sweeter.

"I love ye," she said, her eyes drying with happiness.

His hand caressed her cheek until his fingers were in her hair. His eyes were adoring on her. "Ye are the most wonderful woman I have ever met. Ye are gold that has been buried in the sand for too long, and I intend to make ye shine."

Her face heated at his creative description of her. "I am not wonderful, nor am I made of gold."

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. "Of course ye are. I have never been talented with trusting those outside of my family, for reasons I'm sure ye are aware of by now."

Her face heated and she nodded. She risked a glance up at him to see that the knowledge did not anger him like it had the first time he gave her hint of it.

Perhaps if he discovered that Sir Ian had told her he would be angry. Elizabeth closed her mouth to keep from confessing. She would not tell him that.

His purring voice wrapped her in shivering pleasure as his thumb stroked her cheek. "Ye have taught me to trust again. While ye are learning that, not everyone in this world, nobility or otherwise, has a virtuous spirit, I have learned through ye that good people do still exist."

Elizabeth gaped at him. He took the opportunity to press his mouth to her lips.

Her remorse prevented her from returning his kiss right away. Should he ever discover that 'twas her who arranged his attack—

Nay. He would not discover it. She would never tell him. Regardless of that incident, she was still the good person he thought of her, and she loved him.

Comforted with the knowledge of his love for her and her future life as his wife, she leaned upwards and allowed herself to return his caress.

Chapter Ten

"Married! Tonight? Yesterday ye claimed an uncertainty of their intent, and today 'tis marriage?"

William raised his hands for peace. Blaise leaned against his writing desk, his arms folded as he took in Sir Nicholas's reaction.

"'Twas a shock to me as well, but that is their wish."

“And it is our wish.”

“Blaise—” William warned.

"Only to keep me from knowing my daughter!" Nicholas roared, glaring at Blaise.

Blaise admitted to himself that he had never seen the usually docile man in such a temper. 'Twas a sight that he'd only seen in Bryce, another of his father's close friends, when the man felt that his honour was being challenged.

"'Tis not to keep ye from knowing her, but to keep ye from taking her." Blaise said. Nicholas could lose his temper all he wanted but Blaise refused to lose his own. "Eliza does not wish to leave, and if that means that we wed tonight then so be it."

"Ye are taking my daughter from me." Nicholas muttered.

William drew Nicholas’ attention to him, attempting to show him reason. "Yer keep is but an hour's ride from here. Surely ye do not believe I would prevent ye from visiting, or stop her from seeing ye should she wish it."

Blaise wasn't certain about the latter. He would have to exercise caution should he ever take Eliza to visit her father just to ensure the man would not attempt to kidnap her.

"Ye are, of course, more than welcome to stay for the ceremony, and afterwards as well, for as long as ye wish." William said.

Blaise shook his head. "He shall never leave if ye give an invitation such as that."

Nicholas's face twisted in a way Blaise had never seen before, and the older man took one step towards him with clenched fists. William moved between them before the Nicholas could reply to Blaise's remark with another punch to the jaw.

"Regardless, ye are welcome to stay. For as long as ye wish." He emphasised his words while glaring at Blaise, a silent warning to say nothing further evident in the air.

"What about the celebration? Food? Guests? Ye cannot expect to have a proper wedding so soon." Nicholas argued.

Blaise smirked. "My step mother is already announcing to the guests that there will be another celebration and more feasting since hardly a man has left the castle for their own homes last night. There will be plenty of guests, and more than enough food and ale to satisfy."

"And a betrothal ceremony? What of that?"

"This coming from a man who always claimed they were a waste of time and slowed the progress of true love." Blaise hissed.

"Nicholas," William put his hands on the man's shoulders. "I promise ye she will be in good hands. I'll adore her as though she was my own daughter, and again, ye never need an invitation to see her."

Nicholas hesitated, as though weighing the sincerity of William’s words. "'Tis unfair she should think herself yer daughter before she thinks herself as mine," he muttered, shaking his head. "I still do not know why she became so insulted when I told her I wished her to live with me. Is it so odd that a man wishes to know his only child?"

"For a man who has known many women and boasted of his understanding of them, ye are certainly in the dark." Blaise commented.

William glared again, another warning, but his words did not seem to offend Nicholas like his previous ones had.

"'Tis one thing to woo a lover, I have never had to experience the fiery temper of a daughter." Nicholas sighed and turned to leave. "I will have to go and collect myself. 'Tis too much for one man to think of."

"Nicholas," William called, but the man did not turn back as he left.

William turned on his son. "Ye would do well to have more respect and sympathy for his predicament."

"The man blatantly insulted Eliza's mother and then attempted to take her from the castle." Blaise shot back.

William waved away his reply. "Don't be a fool. He attempted nothing. He made his wish known to her and she refused. There was no harm in it."

"He still insulted Eliza by insulting her mother.”

William stared hard at him. Blaise shifted under the gaze, feeling as though he were being picked apart by crows of shame.

William sighed. "Is it insulting to Eliza that I held no love for Bertha when I bedded her?"

Heat crept up Blaise's neck, but his power of will kept the color from entering the plains of his face. He did not enjoy hearing of his father's sexual exploits. 'Twas difficult enough looking at Marianne in her condition and seeing the proof of his conquest growing in her belly.

"'Tis different. Nicholas referred ye to her. Ye went to her for...tutoring. Not for physical pleasure like he had."

Aye, tutoring. William was once a young man who did not know how to please his first wife in bed, or even how to prevent her discomfort while he performed his husbandly duties. So when the opportunity to learn presented itself, he had taken it.

Blaise would never hold that against him.

"Is there a difference?" William asked.

Blaise would not be manipulated into seeing things William's way. "Aye, of course there is a difference."

William sighed again and rubbed his eyes in a tired gesture. "I see what ye are doing, and I do not like it."

Blaise stood firm, refusing to be moved.

William motioned towards the door. "Go and comfort yer soon-to-be-wife. Tell her that her sire may wish to have an audience with her before her vows are spoken."

Blaise pushed himself off of his father’s writing table and left. If he felt a twinge of pity for Nicholas 'twas no doing of his own.

***

Eliza sat on the stool in her chamber while Edward swung his wooden sword about, chatting of the fearsome adventures he would have when he was a knight.

"A dragon lives in the king's woods. I shall slay it! And in return he will give me his crown."

"His entire crown?” Eliza gasped. “Are ye certain he would not simply hand over a few jewels from it instead? A crown seems like much."

"'Tis the only payment proper for slaying a dragon." The sandy haired boy said, jabbing his sword forward to stab an unseen foe, who happened to be in front of her.

Eliza ducked backwards to avoid being hit. She did not mind. "And who was it that told ye there was a dragon in the woods?"

"I did."

Eliza looked up. Blaise stood in the doorway smiling down at her. She was so enraptured with Edward's play that she had not heard the door open.

She leapt to her feet and ran to his open arms, allowing the warmth of his chest to seep into her and delighting in it.

"We shall wed tonight." He leaned his mouth to her ear. "I hope ye are prepared for my bed."

Despite the effort to keep Edward from hearing the remark, the boy made a sound of disgust and stuck his tongue out. Blaise swatted at him but Edward dodged the blow.

Eliza cleared her throat and thought of a way to take Edward’s mind from what he just heard. "Yer brave brother was just telling me of how he plans to be a knight by the age of twelve, and king by thirteen when he slays the dragon."

Blaise raised a brow. "Oh? Bit young to be a knighted."

Edward puffed his chest out and held his sword firm. "I'll be the youngest!"

Blaise scratched his chin. Eliza was overcome with the urge to take his hand and kiss the fingers that touched his face, but she squashed it down for later.

"Will ye not still need yer nurse?" Blaise asked.

"She's hardly a nurse." Edward grumbled, turning his head to stare at the older woman who slept on Eliza's bed. She'd come in with Edward so that the boy could see his new sister. First she sat on the bed for the lack of another stool, then complained of her joints so that she might lay down, and now she slept deeply, snoring like the dragon from Edward’s tale.

Blaise shook his head at her. "Marianne is too lenient with that woman."

"Why is she lenient on her yet demands everyone do their work?" Eliza asked.

"Because the old bat is good for naught else and my step-mother does not wish to feel any guilt that she sent the woman out into the cold." Blaise nudged Edward out the door. "Go and find yer mother. She should be making arrangements and informing the guests of the new celebration we are to have.

Edward bounded from the room, leaving her and Blaise alone apart from the log on Eliza's bed.

His mouth latched onto hers when he was gone. He backed her into the wall, taking advantage of her open mouth when she gasped in shock.

Eliza adored the caress of his warm tongue and the feeling of his large hands as they massaged her waist and pulled her close. Her breasts peaked beneath her corset, and the friction between her nipples and tight cloth erased all thoughts from her head as the madness took over.

"I think we shall have to go to my chamber if we are to take this any further."

His words ripped her from her pleasure filled haze. "Nay, please. I wish to wait until we are wed."

He sputtered, and Eliza became aware of the hardness between his thighs, and she flushed with guilt. Of course he would wish to be with her as soon as possible considering the interruption he had to face when Sir Nicholas attacked him.

She licked her lips and spoke quickly. “I can hardly explain it. Last night ‘twould not have mattered, but now that I am nearly yer wife...” She took a long breath. “I would like my first experience to be proper.”

Blaise’s lips curled devilishly.

Her panic that he may not understand broke through her. "'Tis only a few more hours yet. I promise I shall make it up to ye."

He barked a laugh. "Ye do not even know of the insinuation ye have just given me, do ye?"

Insinuation? Her face became as hot as fire. "What insinuation?"

He threaded his fingers through her hair. She had left it down since its thickness and tangles made the process of putting it up entirely too long and difficult, which would have halted Blaise's romantic action. "My sweet Eliza, I will gladly wait until the vows are spoke if that is yer wish, and rest assured, 'tis I who shall make it up to ye."

***

Lady Gray was not a lady at all, Eliza reasoned. She was a sorceress. After the entire castle and all of its guests consumed every bit of food prepared the night before, she had somehow managed to have another feast ready in short notice for the wedding.

Roast mutton, quail, boar, and partridge lined the long table in the Great Hall, along with various other fruits and vegetables sliced and surrounding each dish for a colourful decoration. Wine goblets were prepared, and bowls of sauce placed. The servants had to struggle to keep the guests from consuming everything before ‘twas time.

'Twas not as big a feast as she had seen during the celebration of Blaise's safe return, but the men and women attending did not seem to mind as they eyed the line-up with dripping mouths.

Lady Gray and Olma had worked to paint her face, lips, and crown her hair with flowers for the occasion. Marianne insisted that Eliza wear her red gown for the occasion, and would not allow Eliza to be talked out of it as she wrapped a blue ribbon into her hair to accent the flowers.

Eliza was made a wife in the courtyard. Lord Gray had found a priest willing to perform despite the lack of a betrothal ceremony, though Eliza suspected that Lord Gray paid a steep penalty for it.

Her love for the man standing before her swelled so deeply that the ceremony ended before she realized it. She thought Blaise had wanted to kiss her, so she returned it, but then grain rained down upon her and cheering erupted.

Blaise took her and rushed her away from the guests. The men dove, leaped, and grabbed for her gown and tried to get under it in a mad frenzy. Blaise laughed, lifted her into the air, and ran faster with her in his arms.

Fear swelled inside her as the men continued their chase, each seeming more desperate than the rest to remove her gown. “What do they want?”

"Yer garter, my love, or any other piece of yer gown. They believe 'twill bring good luck to their own loves. Did ye not know that?"

She had not known. She had never attended a wedding and had never learned about them. "Oh," She could not bring herself to admit her fear, but relief filled her that 'twas merely a group of men who simply wanted the luck of a garter rather than her body.

Glee filled her as the good cheer of the men who chased them infected her. She reached down, lifted her gown and exposed her legs.

Blaise groaned and his steps quickened, as though eager to get to their chamber at the sight of them and not because the men behind him sped up as well.

Eliza took her garter and pulled it down her leg and off the end of her foot, losing a shoe as she did. She twisted herself and flung the garter to the crazed crowd behind Blaise's shoulder.

They stopped abruptly as a group, as though the sight of it in the air put them in a trance before it landed in the grass. Eliza watched them dive for it like starving men, and she burst out laughing before Blaise turned and they were back in the castle.

Blaise's warm breath came out rough and needy against her cheek as he leapt up the stone stairs two at a time. "I have wanted this since the moment I set my eyes on ye. We shall join the feasting and celebrating after."

She shivered, knowing perfectly well what he intended to do to her. For the first time she wished she were experienced so that her nerves would not be working so tirelessly on her now.

She grabbed his chin and forcefully turned his head, bringing his lips to hers since that usually worked to make her forget her troubles.

He tried to pull away so that he might see where he was going, but she clasped her hands about his head and refused to let him leave her. Before she slid her eyes shut she saw that he kept his open so that he might see where he was going.

She giggled through their kiss. How silly he would look should a servant see him kissing her so passionately while looking in the other direction.

Because her eyes were closed she did not see exactly where he took her, but had the vague sense of when he stopped to open a door and enter a chamber.

Her eyes flew open when her back landed on a bed, and she smiled as Blaise hooked his legs over her waist to straddle her before he leaned down to resume their kiss. Her fingers found the hem of his jewel encrusted robes and slid inside, searching for warmer flesh.

He pulled his mouth away with a smack of their lips. "I love ye. I hardly know what I ever did without ye."

Her face heated, and he seemed to take it as a sign that his words of love had their proper effect before resuming the kiss.

‘Twas the opposite that was true. Her guilt attacked her again at his proclamation, but she forced it to the back of her mind and allowed his kiss to fight off the rising shame building inside her.

As he worked on tearing the laces of her bodice out a new pressure built inside her. Her breath turned heady before she realized it, and her mouth craved more of his until she moved her lips faster and faster against his.

Blaise jerked his head away. "Ah!" His hand touched his bottom lip.

"What is it?" Her breathing made her sound as though she were the one running from those men carrying him.

"Ye bit me."

Her eyes widened. "I did no such thing!"

The side of his mouth that he did not touch lifted in a smile. "Ye did so, look." He removed his hand and indeed, a small red swelling was growing there.

She had done that? Confusion over whether or not to be frightened or humiliated coursed through her. "I—I am sorry."

He laughed. "Fear not. Ye are free to do that whenever ye wish."

She opened her mouth to ask why but he seemed to see it as an opening and swooped in to take advantage. Again, Eliza lost all thoughts to the sensations his mouth delivered while he pulled off her bodice and threw it aside. With both hands he took her chemise and ripped it down the center.

Eliza squealed at the desperate attack before moaning as his mouth found her breast.

She arched her back up towards the hot cavern, her hands fisting into his orange hair and gripping tightly. He groaned but made no complaint as his other hand found her nipple and tweaked it in time with his mouth.

The pulsing between her legs intensified. She had not even realized it was there, but now that she did, it felt wonderful, fast, and heavy.

Her gown sailed across the air next, following the discarded bodice. Despite how he removed her layers and tore holes in her flimsy chemise, Eliza still felt hot. She wanted it all off!

"Take it off. 'Tis too hot." She tugged and pulled at her chemise but it did not rip anymore like it had done for Blaise.

"In good time. Ye can handle the heat if I can. See? I'm still fully dressed."

She raised her head. He was telling the truth. Though his garments were dishevelled from her earlier treatment, they all remained firmly in place. That could not be comfortable for him. Eliza reached her hands out to rectify his situation when he grabbed her wrists, stopping her.

She turned up to face him questioningly, though he merely smiled a lecherous smile. "'Tis not time for that yet."

Remaining on his knees, he moved down her body and lifted her knees. Her entire body turned to fire at the awkward position.

"Sit up." He ordered.

Stupidly, she did as be bid her, resting her body against her elbows as she watched with curious fascination what he was doing. His mouth touched the side of her knee, his proud eyes glancing up at her as though wishing to see her reaction as his mouth went further and further up her leg, or down, depending on the view, leading to her—

She grasped his shoulders. "Nay, what are ye doing?" Surely he could not mean to kiss her there!

His mouth touched her lips once. "Hush, ye will enjoy this."

She did not believe so, and the look on her face must have told him her thoughts before he set back to his task with a new passion she had never before experienced. His mouth touched her opening, just after the spot where her legs met.

A rush of lightning jolted her from that space all the way up to her neck, spreading at her arms and weakening her elbows.

"Lord!" She fell back on the mattress. Her legs quivered but she refused to allow them to fall like her arms had done, not if it meant having Blaise pull his tongue away and having that delicious feeling disappear.

His lips kissed her there while his tongue worked and probed. She felt rather than heard him release a delicious moan that vibrated along her skin and inside her, tingling the sensitive, pulsing flesh.

Stars erupted behind her eyes as the pleasure rose, became stronger, pulsed faster, and then made its final bloom between her legs. The shock that touched her body was so great that she arched, a foreign sound tore away from her throat before she landed back on the bed.

Her breathe came in unsteady puffs as the air slowly cooled around her. Her heart pounded like the stomping feet of everyone who danced in the great hall. Her heart pulsed like hands against a drum before slowing, as though tiring after being petted and stroked so wonderfully.

Blaise climbed up her body to lay with her, facing her. A pleased grin touched his face.

"That was wonderful." She moaned, curling into his delicious warmth. Her eyelids felt remarkably heavy. “I wish I had discovered it sooner.”

“Discovered—?” Blaise hesitated, and in that time Eliza nearly fell into slumber. “I know ye are an innocent, or, as innocent as can be after this, but have ye never so much as touched yerself?”

Her eyes flew open. What sort of question—? How could he ask her—? But he did ask. How should she answer? If she lied would it be obvious?

Her answer seemed to take too long as Blaise brushed a thick lock of her dark hair behind her ear. “I suppose with yer limited knowledge of intimacy ye would shy away from it.”

Her face heated. He was correct. As though he looked inside her head and saw the answers, he knew. Years of waiting outside of her small home while her mother earned their living inside gave her an idea of lovemaking that she did not enjoy.

And yet, she forgot of the horrible possibilities that she always feared when Blaise brought her to his, their, chamber.

Eliza swallowed hard. “Would it please ye if I touched myself?”

She felt his arms tense around her. “Would it—? By God, yes!”

She snuggled further into him. She was pleased with his response, with how she did not fear the thought of what she offered to do, and everything around her.

Blaise cleared his throat. She felt his lips press against her forehead. "That can wait, at least for when yer heart has calmed enough to try again."

Her eyes snapped open again. "Again?"

He chuckled. "Surely ye did not think I would be going the night without satisfying myself."

She tensed in his hold. She had not thought of that at all. Now that he mentioned it, she could still feel his hard arousal pressing against her.

Her mortification must have showed, because he burst out laughing. "Eliza, ye are far too innocent for an older woman."

She huffed and turned her back to him. "I am barely four seasons older than ye are! 'Tis not such a difference."

His hand reached around and plucked one of the blossoms that had come loose from her hair, took her hand, and placed it in her palm. "Nay, I suppose not."

She could not remain angry at him while she admired the pretty flower as his hands massaged her bare arms. "When shall we try again?" She asked.

"In a few moments, I'd say. After that we should go back down to enjoy the feasting in our honour, otherwise Nicholas will likely become displeased with me."

Her lips tugged upwards in a lazy smile. 'Twas an amusing thought. "I look forward to learning more of yer bed."

"I look forward to teaching ye." The sharp points of his teeth showed as he grinned. “I never thought a lady could curse in such a lovely manner as ye do, especially while in the throes of passion.”

Had she been cursing? Sounds were escaping her throat but she hadn’t known she’d been speaking foully.

Knowing that denying his claim would only prompt more jesting, she closed her eyes and made herself comfortable, intent on resting until their next love play. Then she frowned against the layers of clothing he still wore.

"Remove yer tunic and hose, 'tis too uncomfortable resting against the jewels sewn into them."

***

A small group of men sat around a weakening fire pit, all grumbling to themselves as they picked at the bones of their catch and huddled closer to the dying light for warmth.

They muttered hatefully to themselves. "We do all the work and that little bitch reaps all the benefits."

“‘Twas I who did all the work.” Ivan muttered, the pheasant he just finished eating barely amounted to a stone being dropped in a well. His hunger put a growl in his voice as well as his stomach. “Colin stopped ‘im, but I was the one ‘ou ‘ad to sneak up on ‘im and pull ‘im from ‘is horse.”

The shorter, heavyset one in the center spat out a small bone. "Is going ta marry the boy. Works fast, she does."

The third man, the most handsome of the three as he was neither too tall, short, skinny nor fat, with hair of spun gold and the face of a perfectly carved statue, tossed a rock into the fire, sputtering sparks and ashes. "Had I known the little wench was going for a bigger prize I would've demanded more than the few coins she had."

"Don't think she had anything else," said the heavyset one.

"Don' be a fool, Colin. She 'ad plenty to give under those rags o' hers." He snarled. "We could o' been killed doing as she asked. Wha' if someone should a' figured out 'twas us who knocked that boy from his horse? Damn animal ran like a coward. Couldna even find it to sell it."

The other two men turned to stare into their dirty hands. Then they turned back to their leader, who nodded as though he'd just proved his point.

"See? We took all the risk, did all the work, and she gets to be a lady while we starve!" He slammed another rock into the pit, scattering the remains of the burning logs that nearly went out with the assault.

"Stop! We need those. The nights are gettin' colder." Said Ivan, quickly tossing a few more dried twigs into the sparks in the hopes of feeding the flames that were as hungry as themselves.

"We shall not survive many more nights if we keep on like this." Their leader shook his head.

"Speak for yerself. Ye would have been as fat as me had ye not gambled away the gold we got selling that boy's finery. Now we truly will not survive!" Colin said.

"'Tis not true." Ivan raised a thick finger. "When that celebration comes to an end there'll be plenty o' folks travelling to get back home. Travellers make easy game."

"Our scars say otherwise,” said their leader, who had no scars at all. “There'll be too many on the road at one time. We'd never catch anyone alone."

"What would ye 'ave us do? There ain't no way we can survive otherwise." Colin sneered.

The handsome man's lips turned upward, his eyes brightening at the same time. "Aye, there is plenty we could do now that we got us a secret against a lady." He pulled out the sword he'd taken from the boy, the only thing he saved from chancing with dice.

'Twas a beautiful weapon, sheathed in decorated leather and cloth, and jewels encrusted in the heavy hilt. If used properly, the weapon would not only free himself, his brother, and Ivan, but feed them, clothe them, and provide shelter for the rest of their lives.

The other two men caught on and grinned, showing off yellow teeth with deep spaces.

Chapter Eleven

Eliza awoke to a delicious ache, turned, and snuggled into the hard chest of the man who lay next to her.

Her husband.

She giggled.

"Why do ye laugh, my love?"

She tensed. She did not know he was awake. Quickly she relaxed back into the warmth of his embrace, allowing his arms to slide leisurely around her waist to pull her close.

Why lie about this? "I was thinking of how wonderful it feels to be wed, of how much I love ye, and yer family."

His lips touched her loose hair. "I was thinking something similar."

The night before, after spending a few moments in bed and losing her maiden head, Blaise brought her downstairs to the jeering and cheering of the guests who stayed to witness their marriage. Sir Nicholas was the only one who did not seem entirely pleased, but she did not allow that to trouble her.

"Dance and be merry. 'Twill make the ache ye feel more bearable."

"'Tis perfectly bearable already," she’d said. 'Twas true, his lovemaking, while it caused her some pain at first, was now nothing more than a delicious reminder of what she planned to have him do to her again.

"Then ye have no desire to dance?" He had asked.

Eliza's eyes widened. She turned to look at the guests who held hands and moved in a circular motion before breaking up into pairs, stomping their feet to the rhythm of the drums.

‘Twas too much for her to resist. "Perhaps one dance before we leave again." She took his hand and ran with him to the center of the floor.

One dance with her husband turned into two when Lord Gray asked to dance with her, and then three when Nicholas insisted on cutting in.

She allowed him to lead her, his hands felt like thorns pricking her sides and she squirmed. ‘Twas the only discomfort she felt the entire night.

“Are ye well?” Nicholas had asked, but did not remove or adjust his hands. He had no need. He was neither gripping her too tightly nor placing his fingers anywhere they did not belong.

She forced a smile. “I am. ‘Tis odd dancing with my father as I previously thought my father was dead.”

“And another man entirely.” Nicholas grumbled, the lines on his brow becoming heavy as he scowled.

Eliza bit her lip, guilt and regret over how she’d been angry with her mother for never allowing Eliza to know her possible sire sprung inside her. “I have been told he was not a good man.”

Nicholas nodded. “Ye were fortunate to not have known him,” he said, speaking nearly the same words Blaise had spoken. “But enough of this sad talk, ye are meant to be happy on the day ye wed, yes?”

She looked back up at him, allowed him to gently twirl her, and blushed as she thought of how happy the night had made her. Thinking of her husband now allowed her to sense his eyes on her back, watching over her protectively, and she smiled.

“I am very happy today, Aye.”

He nodded. “Good.”

The remainder or their dance was loud with uncomfortable silence. She sensed him making an effort to please her simply by being there with her, but he had seemingly run out of things to say, and so did she. He made no mention of her mother either.

She pulled herself away from him quickly when the musicians stopped to play another song. She found Blaise and moved towards him.

“Elizabeth,” Nicholas called.

She stopped and half turned to face him. “Aye?” Would he apologise to her? Ask her to dance again?

“I...I am happy for ye.” He turned and made his own escape, and she lost him in the crowd.

Before she could retreat, every inebriated man at the celebration rushed to take her hand and share a dance. Eliza kept her calm, knowing Blaise was keeping his protective watch over her.

She soon realized that dancing was not the sort of distraction she longed for. Dancing was a joy, but only when it was with Blaise, and after a third dance she wished he would save her so that she might be away with him again. Her flesh already ached for his touch. She wanted to reacquaint herself with him.

As though he listened to her thoughts, Blaise rushed forth, grabbed her hand, and dragged her from the great hall before another man could insist upon a new dance with the bride.

She was tired and out of breath, but her exhaustion was put on hold as Blaise took her into his arms and kissed her. He all but dropped her down on the bed, still unkempt from their previous romp in it. Eliza shrieked with laughter.

Blaise went to the foot of the bed and pushed a heavy chest that was there in the way of the door, blocking it.

She cocked her head to the side. “What are ye—?” Her words stopped when the door started to bang with pounding knocks from the other side. The excited guests behind it cheered, knowing they were within.

"What do they want?" Eliza said. Her legs itched for her to rise to the door so that she might tell them to come back later, but she stayed where she was.

"They wish to spy on us," Blaise returned to the bed and kissed the back of her hand, his eyes remained firmly locked onto hers. "But as ye can see from my precautions, I am not willing to share ye anymore tonight."

They spent the remainder of the night making love.

Now ‘twas morning, and Eliza looked towards the windows. The light streamed down on them strongly, suggesting the sun had been up for some time.

Eliza sat up sharply, freeing herself from Blaise’s hold. "What time is it? I should be with Lady Gray!"

Blaise slung his arm over her naked chest and pulled her back into the pillows with him. "'Tis the morning after our wedding. I doubt she expects to see ye today."

Eliza calmed herself. "I suppose, but I have not been a good lady in waiting to her. She does not seem to demand my attention as I thought she would."

"And she shall demand none of it today. From now on, in the mornings and after the sun sets, ye are mine and mine alone." His voice sounded like a mix between a purr and a growl.

She liked the promise she heard in that sound.

***

They did not get out of bed for another hour, and when they entered the Great Hall, Eliza was pleased that only a few guests were inside of it, nursing their aching heads from enjoying too much of the offered ale.

That pleasure left her when her eyes found Sir Nicholas. She froze, still uncertain what to think of the man who blatantly admitted to using her mother like every other peasant desperate to fornicate.

Lord Gray sat with her father, including a few other men. The other two, Eliza did not recognise. At the sight of her their conversation ceased, and each man rose to his feet.

Eliza swallowed, straightened her back, and strode forward to meet them. Blaise took her hand in a reassuring gesture. She squeezed his fingers.

The taller man of the group, who seemed twice as thick with muscles as every other man at the table, bowed his head and smiled through a beard that resembled a poorly clipped garden shrub. The other, a lighter haired man of about the same height as Lord Gray, also sent her a smile for greeting, though his seemed to be embarrassed as he stood up and approached her.

Blaise took in a breath. "My love, this is Sir Hugh Steele."

Sir Hugh bowed respectfully, much deeper than she was certain was required. "My lady."

She smiled and dipped to curtsy, stopping halfway when the name jarred inside her head. "Steele?" She straightened herself up. "Are ye related to Sir Ian Steele?"

She felt Blaise's hand clasp hers a little tighter while Sir Hugh glanced away in shame. "Aye. He is my nephew, and I have been told of his behaviour towards ye at the celebration two nights ago."

Her eyes searched around the great hall, though her panic did not subside even when she could not find him. "Is he—?"

"Rest assured, he is not here. He will be punished for his actions against ye." Sir Hugh growled the last part.

She swallowed and looked away. Though she used to insist that she was a lady, even demanded that those around her acknowledge her as one in an effort to avoid any mistreatment, at the moment she did not feel like one enough to warrant having a man punish his relation for becoming drunk and attempting to be...carnal with her. Aye, that was the most polite way of putting what had nearly happened.

"Sir Hugh, I should tell ye that I was not a lady when yer nephew made his advances upon me, and the fault was partially mine to bear since I was incapable of seeing his intent when he laid it out so plainly for me."

"Makes no difference." Blaise muttered.

"Regardless," Hugh interrupted. "He has been dealt with, and sends his deepest apologies. He will eventually return to give them to ye in person, but he feels his welcome is somewhat thin at the moment and wishes to not upset ye further."

Eliza knew the man standing before he was sincere in his own apologies even though he had done nothing wrong to her, but could she ever bring herself to forgive what Sir Ian had attempted? Even if she was a mere peasant at the time, she had always thought that knights were meant to be noble.

She could not tell this to Sir Hugh, however, or how she came to such a ridiculous conclusion in the first place, even though he too likely knew what profession her mother partook in. She swallowed over the lump in her throat instead. "Thank ye. I shall bear that in mind."

The larger man pushed passed Sir Hugh and joyously went to where Blaise and Eliza both stood. His lips pushed his cheeks to his eyes in a great smile as he surveyed the three people before him. He greeted Eliza with the air of an old friend, happy to see her, and bowed. "Milady."

His voice was nearly as thick as his muscled body, but held a great deal of warmth. Eliza smiled at the man and curtsied.

The large man straightened himself and clapped Blaise on the shoulder. "Never thought I’d see the day when ye would finally take a bride. Ye continue to shock me, boy."

Blaise grinned. "Eliza, this is Bryce of Ironside. I worked to become a knight under him."

She sensed the warmth in Blaise’s voice and it trickled into her, bringing an immediate liking of the man before her.

"I can see why Blaise chose ye for ‘is wife, and I 'eard of what ye did for him. A beautiful woman such as yerself..." He shook his head. "He would have been a fool to allow ye to escape."

The familiar shame flooded her cheeks with color. Blaise brought her hand to his lips and chuckled, as though taking it as a sign of womanly embarrassment.

"I very nearly was a fool."

"I for one, am looking forward to grandchildren." Lord Gray said, his face matching that of his comrades in happiness.

Blaise tensed beside her, though she detected no annoyance in him. "Ye are expecting a child of yer own! Can ye not have some patience?"

Lord Gray shrugged. "I am an old man and would like to see them soon."

A foreign boldness overcame her, and Eliza had to speak. "Ye may be expecting them sooner rather than later," she said, thoughts of the previous night reheating her cheeks.

All heads turned towards her. Her face continued to heat up the air like fire, but she would not be shamed. She loved Blaise, wanted his children, and cared not who knew of it.

She squeezed the hand of her husband. "We spent almost no time at all at the celebration last night—"

"Workin' on yer grandchildren, they were, William!" Bryce boomed.

Eliza smiled coyly, delighting in the splotchy color that tinted her husband's neck and cheeks as his friends spoke of them.

"My lord!" James bounded into the great hall, turning everyone's attention towards the knight who jogged towards their group.

William’s shoulders tensed and eyes hardened. Blaise’s stance mirrored that of his father. “What is it?”

"There are three men outside asking for entrance."

The tension lifted from the room at them mention that ‘twas only three men outside. Blaise’s hand loosened around Eliza’s, and William sighed. "Is that all? Who are they?"

"They claim to be minstrels. They wish to perform in honour of Lord Blaise's marriage." His face crumpled into a scowl. “They demand entrance as though they were nobility.”

"Tell them that we have already celebrated and have no more use for jugglers or jesters." Lord Gray said.

Eliza wished to see them anyway. "Wait! Milord, do we not usually watch minstrels for our meals, regardless of the occasion?"

He gave her a soft look. "Aye, but after two celebrations in a row, I would very much prefer to have the majority of the guests leave for their own homes before they become too comfortable and wish to stay indefinitely. This will only delay their departure."

She did not hear his reasoning. Her bubbling happiness demanded more. More laughter and smiling to celebrate her marriage to the man she loved.

"Please, could we allow them inside, just for one night? Because of my husband's impatience I missed most of the festivities last night." She sent Blaise a coy look. He did not return her gaze. Indeed, he seemed to not have caught the meaning behind her words, though his face did brighten to the color of his hair.

She returned her attention to Lord William. "Could they come inside? Only for this one night." She begged.

Ever since arriving at the castle, 'twas the only time she had ever seen singers, musicians, or jugglers, and she enjoyed watching every one of them. 'Twould be wonderful if she could see more before Lord Gray decided to dull their dinners to encourage the unwelcome guests to leave.

William made a face of hesitation.

Blaise sighed, though Eliza detected no impatience in it, only a loving indulgence. "One more night of singing and juggling will do no harm, father."

William relented. "Very well, this one night only,” he said, staring at Eliza as he did so. “Then they shall receive their coins and be gone."

Eliza clapped her hands together excitedly before tossing them around his neck. "Thank ye, milord!"

"Aye, yes, well,” William extracted her from his person and addressed James. “Show them inside. I would like to know what talents they possess before I commit to offering them anything."

Eliza could not wait to see them. She had heard that some men were brave enough to jump through hoops of fire, or even had animals they took with them to perform tricks. She hoped these men could do things like that.

James rushed from the great hall. William released a breath as Bryce clapped him on the back. The palm of his hand against Lord Gray's back caused a slapping sound that echoed through the entire hall.

"Ye are too soft hearted. When will ye learn?"

"'Tis the day after my son's marriage. I cannot deny my new daughter something so simple."

Nicholas muttered something Eliza did not catch before the man went back to staring into his goblet. She did not care for his muttering. Lord Gray had referred to her as a daughter. ‘Twas nearly as joyous as being Blaise’s wife.

James returned moments later, three men, the jesters she presumed, walked with tall backs behind him. Eliza shook with excitement and waited to see them.

Her smile faded as the familiar small, medium, and large shapes halted her heart. She stared into their faces, wishing they would become different, turn into anything other than what she saw.

They smiled at her. They recognised her as she did them, only the sight of them robbed her body of all heat, making her cold, whereas they seemed to glow with every step. They were like men walking towards a long awaited reward.

Eliza's face heated, abruptly changing from cold to hot, but it became too hot. A small sound grew in her ears and her head swam. She saw the three men she hired walk towards Blaise as though they had nothing to fear before bowing.

She did not hear any exchange of words between the men to discuss their fees to perform as her world went black and she fell over.

***

Someone gently slapped her face. Eliza remembered the men and she jumped up. She sat in the bed she now shared with Blaise. He sat with her, watching her, then he placed his palm against her forehead and cheek as though searching for something.

The lines in his brow were creased with worry. "‘Tis the second time ye’ve fainted in two days, and ye look like a frightened animal. Are ye well?"

Was he not angry? In a rage? Perhaps Albin and his men had been recognised and taken away. Could Blaise love her enough to forgive her for her crime and still allow her to be his wife?

"My love? What is the matter?"

She threw her arms around his neck. "I love ye. I love ye."

He laughed, returning her embrace. "'Tis good to know. Ye can be certain that I return those sentiments, but again, I must ask, are ye well?"

She looked into his eyes and touched the skin of his face, delighting in it. "Of course I am. I could never feel any better than I do now."

His lips thinned as he studied her. "Then, what caused ye to feint as ye did?"

"What?"

Blaise stood up. "Father requested that we wait before sending for someone to see to whatever yer condition may be, but I will send for someone now."

Her hand flew out and captured his wrist in a falcon grip. "Nay! Stay. I promise I am well."

He stared a moment longer before sitting back down next to her. "Then what caused yer collapse? I do not wish to worry so."

Dread filled her stomach as the only possible answer came to her. Blaise had not recognised the men she had begged into the castle. He still knew nothing of her plotting with them. She still had to keep the secret.

"I—" She forced a smile, though her lips trembled. "It must have been the excitement. I was so eager to see them and what tricks they could perform."

His eyes stared questioningly at her. "Yer hands were trembling as they approached..."

She waited with her breath held. Waited for him to call out her lie and demand the truth.

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek instead, then touched his mouth to her lips. "Perhaps if such a small excitement brings this out in ye, 'twould be best to stay here and rest."

Rest was the last thing she felt she could do. Not while those men walked in her new home, endangering her new life with the man she loved. "Will ye stay with me?"

He smiled, his fingers stroking a sensitive spot behind her ears before massaging her hair. "I will always stay."

Not if ye knew what secret I hold, she thought, snuggling into Blaise's chest as he slipped into bed next to her.

He promised her before they married that whatever secrets she held, he loved her regardless. After that time, she imagined herself telling him of her crime against him, not straight away, but one day. She imagined him nodding and accepting, praising her honesty.

Nay. ‘Twas not possible. No longer was her faith in his words set in stone now that Albin was in the castle.

The man wanted something from her. Soon she would have to face it.

She kissed his hands when they went around her chest and pulled her close. She wished she could lock his hands there so that he could never leave.

***

Blaise wished with all his soul that he could believe his wife. He attributed it to his experience with Robert and the stories of his mother.

Eliza lied to him. He felt it in his bones.

Despite how her body still shivered as he held her, she slid into a fitful sleep, leaving Blaise alone with his thoughts. He wanted to believe that his own fears caused this ache inside of him, this monster that made him suspect her.

He wanted to believe her, he wanted to be happy and have faith in her. He promised her she could have her secrets and he would do naught about it, but he saw something in her eyes. ‘Twas something that undid all the trust he allowed himself to give to her.

‘Twas fear.

Those men frightened Eliza and she refused to tell him why.

A low, protective growl built in his throat. Whatever it was, before the end of the night, he would discover what their crime had been towards her and have them locked away for it.

Chapter Twelve

Blaise walked to his father, stood next to him, surveyed the scene, and asked, "How are their skills?"

William, who stood with Bryce, Hugh, and Nicholas, turned to face him. He raised his hand towards where the bigger man who wrestled with the visiting knights.

"The one called Ivan seems to be drawing the largest crowd, but only for the men. They all wish to see if they can knock him over."

Hugh scratched his chin, a smile of interest on his face. “I disagree. ‘Tis not his skill that draws the crowd, but the chance to win gold in a wager, though they all seem to be in favour of that tree of a man.”

Blaise turned his head up and watched as another man charged at Ivan the giant. Ivan held one hand out, halting his charging attacker and throwing him aside as though he were a child.

Blaise’s eyes searched for the other two men. The thinner peasant, the one who seemed to be the leader of their band, sang to the maids in a voice as fine as any woman's.

Blaise nearly laughed at the ridiculous sound, but the women swooned over him as though he were a great prize.

The fat one of a small height juggled a group of no less than ten pears, though very few seemed to be paying attention to him in favour of the strong man and his singing comrade.

Watching them, especially the squat one, Blaise felt his blood spike with unease in his chest. "What do we know of them?"

Hugh shrugged. "They seem as ordinary as any peasant folk. Like all men, noble or otherwise, they wish to stay as long as possible to gather a few coins from yer father."

"Which will not happen." William insisted. "As soon as Eliza has taken her joy, they will be gone. We’ve had enough merriment here already."

"What is her condition?" Nicholas asked, his eyes soft with worry.

Blaise hated that he felt pity for the man, so he turned away from the hurtful stare. "She is well. 'Twas the excitement that brought about her lapse."

"Or her condition, eh boy?" Bryce elbowed him in the ribs.

Blaise fought away the splotches of heat that coloured his face. He hated that he could do something as silly as allow his face to heat and Bryce damn well knew it.

"'Tis too early for that to be possible, fool. Ye know that," he muttered.

Bryce chuckled. "Aye, but it did not hurt nothin' to see yer humiliation."

Blaise opened his mouth with a few curses in mind before William interjected. "Enough! Bryce, quit yer teasing of my son. Blaise, mind yerself."

Blaise grumbled but did as his father bid him, turning back to the men who performed for the servants and guests in the courtyard. "I do not trust them."

"Ye trust no one." Nicholas said.

He stopped before he could defend himself. He wished to say that he trusted Eliza, but until he knew the reason for her secrecy regarding these men, he found that he could not, regardless of his promise.

***

Colin slipped from the sights of the men and women who watched in the courtyard with ease. No one paid any mind to his weak skills as a juggler, not with Ivan testing his strength against the knights, and Albin wooing the maids.

He may be the rounder one of the group, but his short size and lack of skill made him easy to forget. 'Twas exactly the way Albin planned. He would find the girl, and let their demands be known before she could have them tossed from the castle.

She did not stand in the courtyard, but he had been told to expect that after her performance in the grand hall. He snuck inside and travelled down the corridors with haste.

"Ye there! What is yer business here!"

Colin froze. How could he be caught so quickly?

A knight wearing the colors of the lord of the castle, with a long sword at his hip approached him. Ivan could likely toss the man aside like nothing, but Colin himself could do very little to protect himself without the giant man's aid.

The knight stopped before him and stared down at him with a scrunched nose and suspicious eyes. Colin despised that look. It came from being both remarkably short for a man, and also being less in the eyes of whoever gave him that foul stare.

"I asked what are ye doing wandering about here?"

Colin swallowed, struggling to recall the words he'd been told to speak should this happen. "I—I have been given permission to get some bread from the kitchens."

The knight lifted a thick eyebrow at his reply.

"'Tis a reward fer the services my brother and I performed today."

The knight rolled his eyes up, as if thinking about it, or struggling for patience. Colin held his breath.

"Very well, but yer heading in the wrong direction. The kitchen is that way, fool."

Colin bowed, hatred boiling inside of him. "Thank ye, milord. I shall go right away!" He hissed and turned. He all but ran in the direction the conceited knight pointed him towards.

How he hated them! Rich, spoiled creatures they were. Before he had been nearly hesitant to do any harm to the lady, but the constant reminder of his status as being of less worth than the dirt knights and lords walked on grated on him. Now he could not wait to have the little wench pay for his comfort.

He grumbled as he soon came to realize that the knight who pointed the way had been the true fool between them. This was not the direction towards the kitchen! He stood in front of the chapel!

His mission was not to find the kitchen, but bread and cheese, perhaps a bit o’ ale or wine, sounded delicious before searching for the horse haired wench. He nearly turned and walked away, but halted as the doors to the chapel opened. Out stepped his prize.

She tenderly wiped a finger beneath her eye, as though shooing away a stray tear.

He eyed the fine clothes she wore. Colourful things trimmed with furs, her hair braided and curled in some fancy knot on her head.

He snarled, much like the snarl the knight had stared at him with. Married for a day and she was already a lady in both mind and body. His hatred for the higher class spread onto him like fleas to dogs.

She halted at the sight of him. He could not suppress a tiny smile and mocking bow. "Milady." He drawled.

She stepped back, her head darted around as though searching for help. "What are ye doing in my home?"

"Yer home?” He raised a brow. “Married for one day and already 'tis yer home?"

"They said 'twas my home, and it is." She challenged with a stiff back.

He waved a finger at her. "Ah, but when they discover yer little secret, will it be yer home then?"

Her flesh became stiff with fear once more. Courage swelled inside Colin’s thick chest. "'Tis exactly as I thought."

She shook her head and took another step back. "Ye have no proof. They shall never believe..."

"They'll believe enough when my brother reveals the sword 'e took from yer husband." Colin snapped. “The one he failed to unsheathe when Ivan pulled ‘im from ‘is horse.”

Her body remained stiff. The color drained from her face.

"We kept it. It’s with us even now, ‘idden. We shall use it unless ye do as we wish."

The wind made no whisper as he awaited her answer. She clasped her hands together as though to prevent them from shaking. "And, what is yer wish?"

Glee filled him like fine wine. "Our demands are simple, ye are fortunate for that much, milady. We merely want food and shelter. When ye paid us to knock the boy off 'is horse, ye said naught a word about ye marrying him and living all ‘igh and migh’y in his castle."

Her hands shot to her mouth and her shoulders quaked at his words. "Keep yer voice down! Do ye wish to have yer plans ruined before they take fruit?"

He did not care. Victory clouded his mind like a drunken haze. Nothing could stop them! All he had to do was recite the words Albin told him. "Tell me, milady, do ye believe this castle has a pit?"

She inhaled so quickly for a moment he feared she would faint again.

"L—Lord Gray would not have...Blaise would never allow..."

Her quaking hand went to her throat. He could almost see her mind conjuring images of being thrown into that pit within a pit, with the rats and bones and left to starve as she was forgotten.

Her shoulders helplessly slumping was the sign he waited for. She nodded her head. "I shall see what can be done." She made one last attempt at bravery by storming passed him.

"We want new clothes as well, ours are falling into tatters." He called after her.

She halted, though did not bother turning back to look at him. "I shall see what can be done."

He grinned, thinking to add a few things to Albin’s list of demands. "A few spare coins would 'urt no one either, milady."

She stormed off without answering him.

Colin skipped back to the courtyard. He could not wait to tell Albin that their plan had worked. It worked without flaw.

***

Blaise’s heart halted like a stallion suddenly brought to a stop after a charge. He thought Eliza would spot him in his hiding place behind the corner as he listened with bleeding insides of her betrayal.

Fortunately for him, she was too preoccupied with staring ahead as she marched away from her blackmailer to notice him. The little juggler was too pleased with himself to notice that someone had spied on them as he went back to the courtyard.

Blaise slid down the stone wall and clutched his chest. His attack in the woods, the stripping of his dignity and theft of family heirlooms...had been Eliza's doing?

He touched the spot behind his head where he'd been hit. A painful lump no longer sat there, but the spot burned, like the inside of his chest burned.

Of course, he should have seen it instantly. A man of that size outside could be the only one tall and strong enough to knock him from his horse.

He did not recognise the small, round man who begged for coins because of his hazy memory brought on by the attack on his head, but hearing his voice just now confirmed his identity. The singing man outside had to be the third who aided in beating Blaise into unconsciousness and leaving him for dead.

He clenched his fists until his nails bit his skin. His heart beat against his chest as though attempting to escape. He could not breathe. He would be ill.

Blaise spun where he sat, moving to his knees and resting his hot forehead against the cool stone. ‘Twas little comfort. Still clutching his aching heart, he fist flew to punch the wall.

CRACK.

He yelped as one of his knuckles burst. ‘Twas enough to make him forget the diseased hole eating away at his chest. He punched the wall again.

CRACK.

CRACK.

He should have known! He should never have trusted her and look what he'd done! Married her!

Good Lord. He married her. He fell in love with her, comforted her, and offered her every reward she could ever ask for. And she planned it all.

Nay. A voice in his head disagreed. It had to be false. Perhaps there was some explanation, something beneath the surface he had yet to see.

Blaise stood and left his hiding place. Cradling his broken hand, he searched out his wife.

***

Eliza ran as soon as she was out of sight from the little man, though with the way he spoke to her, she left feeling like the smaller one of the two.

She went back to the chamber she shared with Blaise and threw herself onto the bed where earlier she had slept. She never should have left it. What would she do? She could never tell anyone of this. Not Lady Gray, not Olma, certainly not Blaise. Not if she ever wished to keep his love for her intact.

"Eliza?"

She jerked and rolled. Blaise stood over the bed! Fright crept into her veins like winter snow that crept up on autumn. How had she not heard him enter the room? "How long have ye been standing there?"

He stood straight as he looked down upon her, as though surveying her. "I was wondering why ye haven't come out to the courtyard with me yet."

Her heart ceased its frantic beating. "Ah, yes, I am still not feeling well. I shall be down shortly."

His eyes softened. She wondered what had made them so hard. "Is anything the matter? Anything at all?"

He sat down and took her hand into his. Something akin to pleading entered his eyes.

Warm liquid touched her hand. Eliza looked down and gasped at his bleeding, swelling knuckles. “Yer hand!”

She rushed to the basin of water and took a rag. Wetting it, she returned to the bed. She winced sympathetically as she dabbed the blood away, revealing open cuts.

“How did this happen? Are ye hurt?”

He hesitated. “I punched a wall.”

She gaped at him. “Why ever would ye do such a thing? Are ye mad?”

“I was insulted.” He growled.

Eliza wrapped his hand in what she hoped was a tender motion. Understanding dawned upon her. “Ye heard guests speaking of yer mother?”

He said naught a word.

She brought his bandaged hand to her lips. “Do not listen to any words they say. Ye are wonderful, and better than any of them.”

He sighed, turning his eyes down to his ruined hand, then to her eyes. “Are ye certain nothing ails ye?”

She told as much of the truth as she could. “Not while ye are with me.”

He looped his arm around her back and began pulling her to the door with strange vigour. "Come with me then, the visiting jesters downstairs have been asking after yer health. I wish to assure them that ye are perfectly well and are able to witness anything they wish to perform."

Eliza dug her shoes into the rushes and held still despite the pressure he put against her back that urged her forward. "I said I was well, but not well enough to see any performance."

"Ah, shall I send them away then? After all, the entire purpose was so that they might amuse ye."

He could not send them away! They would squeal her secret! "Nay!"

He blinked at her, his expression perfectly calm, yet she detected a hint of pain behind his blue eyes. They reminded her of the sky before it cried rain.

"Ye wish them to stay?"

She had to look away from him. "Merely for however long it takes for my strength to build. Then I wish to see what they are capable of."

He nodded and dropped her hand. "Very well, Elizabeth, if that is yer wish."

Elizabeth? Whatever happened to Eliza? Or my love? Her insides exploded with fear as the only possibility came to her.

Nay. Despite his odd behaviour, she looked him in the eyes and saw no hint that he wished to lock her up or send her away. Surely he would do those things if he knew. Therefore he must not know of her betrayal.

Perhaps he was the one who was feeling ill. "Are ye well?"

He blinked. "What?"

She reached her hand up and touched his forehead. He jerked away, and she pulled back as though he had burned her.

"Are ye angry with me?" Another horrendous thought occurred to her. "Was last night..." Her face heated. She didn't even know if she could say it. "Was it not to yer satisfaction?"

He had been extremely attentive to her before, during, and after the deed had been done. Perhaps not all husbands behaved in such ways and he regretted putting in the effort.

It did not help matters when he laughed at her, but she preferred that to the stony expression he gazed at her with before. He finally stopped to rub the glee from his face, though his eyes were still alight with mirth. "My love, I can assure ye that everything was to my satisfaction, and as I recall, to yers as well."

No. Her body could not be the color of his hair, not if he made her feel this sort of humiliation. Her body was as hot as the sun.

"Do ye not recall?" He prodded with a grin.

He would not rest until she gave him what he wished for. The satisfaction of reminding her of her voice as it wailed loudly into the night while he toyed with her body. "I recall, aye," she muttered.

He took her hand again, his fingers weaving through hers. Eliza's body melted now that his anger seemed to vanish.

"Now," He pulled her closer to his body, though he did not lead her towards the door. "Let us forget about music for now. Ye seem in good health now, and I'd enjoy myself perfectly well by making music with ye."

***

Hours later, after he’d come down from the heights of lust, the memory of his wife’s bargain outside the chapel came back to him.

He extracted himself from her arms and took a moment to gaze down at her sleeping form. The pleasures of the bed did seem to make her need her rest. How was it that he could be taken in by her? And how did she continue to play him for a fool even now that he knew her secret?

She stirred when he left the bed, so he quickly adjusted his clothing as none of it had fully come off, and quietly left his bedchamber. He needed to confide in someone about this, Release his anger before he released it on her.

Blaise thrust his hands out and burst through the doors to the Great Hall. "She is responsible!"

The heads of every sewing maid, paige, and knight in the room shot up, including his father's and Marianne's.

William stood and addressed the entire hall. "Everyone is to leave. I wish a moment alone with my son."

The sewing maids, knights and paiges, looked amongst themselves and back at their lord curiously before rising. The Great Hall was not a place for privacy, they likely wondered what was of so much importance as they shuffled passed Blaise on their way out.

There would likely be a few lingerers who wished to spy, but Blaise did not care. His anger returned a thousand fold and if he did not rid himself of it he felt as though his body would collapse in on itself from rage alone.

He couldn't believe he allowed himself to be taken in again! He had given her the perfect opportunity to announce that something was amiss, to confess to her crimes of conspiring with those common devils. Instead she remained quiet, and lead away from the subject before feigning concern for Blaise's well-being.

Like a fool in love, he allowed himself to be taken in by her doleful eyes and gentle touch. He made love to her before returning to his senses, remembering that she shared no love for him, and was only in his bed because he allowed himself to be taken in by her wonton, womanly ways.

He waited some seconds after the doors behind him shut. William stared expectantly. "Who is responsible? What happened to yer hand?"

Blaise stepped further into the Great Hall. He ignored the last question. "Eliza. She took us all for fools. Those men outside are the ones who threw me from my horse and robbed me of my dignity. Eliza conspired with them to have it done so that I might bring her here and make her my wife."

Marianne's hands shot to her throat as she sank back into her seat. "It cannot be!"

William's entire face dropped with the shock of the revelation, though he did not attempt to deny it like his wife had. "What made ye see this?"

Blaise spoke through clenching teeth. "I overheard a conversation between my wife and one of those foul creatures outside the chapel. Apparently they are dissatisfied with their payment, and now that Elizabeth is my wife they thought to come here and enjoy some of the luxuries afforded to her."

Anger twisted Marianne’s features. "We must lock them all away."

"Marianne!" William exclaimed, having not expected the outburst.

"Not Eliza.” She amended. “But those men need to be punished. 'Tis not right that they escape from their crimes against Blaise unscathed."

William sent her a piercing look. "Were those yer same thoughts the day ye kidnapped me and forced me to wed ye?"

Marianne's lips lifted nervously. "'Tis an entirely different matter."

Blaise had no wish to hear of the differences between Eliza's situation to Marianne's. "I do not wish them thrown into a pit quit yet."

Both lord and lady turned to look at him again. "What would ye have done?" William asked.

"I would rather wait."

Both sent him curious stares.

Blaise also had no wish to allow them to see how much his love for Eliza blinded him. The idea came to him while he was with her, attempting to have her confess through subtlety. Now he knew that his plan was her, and his, last hope to salvage any part of their love.

"I wish to see how much guilt truly belongs with my wife. If she willingly confesses then I wish to be generous and have those men released, though not without some punishment."

"And Eliza?" Marianne asked.

He shrugged, a hurried attempt at appearing uncaring. "She will have proven that she is capable of owning some guilty emotions, though I have yet to decide what shall be done with her."

That much was the truth at least. Would he allow her to remain his wife? Or did he posses the stones to toss her out as well? Somehow, he doubted ‘twas the latter.

William scratched his chin. "I can understand yer willingness to discover any sort of innocence in yer wife, but we cannot have thieves staying here."

Blaise clenched his fists. "Then have someone watch them. Let them sleep in the barn. I want them to stay under my watch until Eliza is willing to point at them and admit to what she did!"

"Ye love the girl." Marianne said, though no silly smile graced her lips.

"Of course I did! I married her!" He roared, then winced and unclenched his swollen fist.

"Did?" William asked.

Blaise sucked in a breath and forced himself to look into his father's eyes. "I do not know what I shall do with her if I discover that she holds no remorse for her actions. I do not wish to believe her capable of such a thing, but after what I have discovered..."

He allowed himself to trust her, and she betrayed him. Yet he still defended her. Still wished to search out some plausible explanation towards her actions.

Her poverty with her mother? Her wish to become a lady since she grew up believing she had been denied the right? Perhaps they were excuses enough for her, but not for him. Nothing would be an excuse for tampering with his heart the way she had.

William nodded after some seconds of thought. "She is yer wife, and as my heir, harsh decisions will eventually come whether ye want them or not. I shall allow ye to decide what her fate shall be if she fails this test of yers."

Blaise sighed in relief. "Thank ye, father."

Marianne reached out to touch her husband’s arm, gaining his attention. "William, I do not want Edward near those men, not after what they have done to Blaise."

Blaise tensed and searched about the Great Hall. He hadn’t noticed his younger brother’s lack of presence until now. "Where is he?"

"He is with his nurse." Marianne said before groaning. "Which means he has stolen off somewhere on his own."

"I'll call some men and have him brought here.” William said. “Marianne, keep him in yer sights at all times after this, as long as those men are on my land I want to be certain that Edward cannot be swept away by them.

“One of those jesters was too large for my liking, I'll let Bryce know of this since he would be the only man sizable enough to deal with him should violence become necessary."

"I'll search until Edward is found, then go back to... Elizabeth." He nearly called her his wife, but found that until he had her confession, he could no longer use the term.

If anything happened to his brother because Elizabeth had to live a life of luxury, she would be the one spending time in a pit.

Chapter Thirteen

In the halls of Graystone castle, Eliza halted her frantic marching. She escaped from the Great Hall, unable to stay while those men performed. She needed to catch her breath, to collect her thoughts.

They had been living in the castle for nearly a fortnight, always speaking pleasing words to the lord and lady of the castle, always performing outstanding feats, and always giving Eliza the highest of compliments. ‘Twas trying on her nerves.

Every meal Eliza had to witness the three perform for her in the Great Hall, and whenever there was no meal to be had, they were outside, juggling, singing, and wrestling for the knights.

The most horrible was that every night she had to make an excuse as to why she wished them to stay.

Lord William always relented, usually after glancing at Blaise, who would nod his head in agreement. ‘Twas obvious he did it only to please her.

The prolonged stay of Albin and his two companions only lengthened the visit of the guests who came for Blaise’s celebration, and then later, his wedding. After all, if Lord Gray wished them gone, why would he be keeping such wonderful performers in the castle for them?

Edward had complained to her how his father, brother, and mother forbid him from ever being alone with any of the three men.

“Ivan was telling me about fighting tricks that would make me a skilled knight when Father and Blaise arrived,” he said while they walked in the sun around the courtyard. “If ye put enough pressure on the back of the arm, where it bends, ye can break it!”

Eliza winced, grateful that such a tactic had not been used on Blaise. “Is that so?”

He nodded. “He was going t’ show me more, then tell me a story when Father pulled me away.”

Lord Gray and Blaise not only have strong, but accurate instincts, it seems. Eliza thought, though she doubted Ivan to be the kind of man to ever wish to harm a child.

Eliza had not spoken to any of them since they arrived, since Colin found her outside the chapel and made their demands known. When Albin sang, his eyes went to her, and the evil spark she saw prancing there, in the face of a victorious man, forced her to stare down at her plate like a beaten animal.

Their plan to stay had worked, almost too easily. Eliza almost did not need an excuse to give Lord Gray.

She had to do naught but suggest that she might enjoy having them stay an extra night or so, and without argument he offered to have them stay as long as she wished it.

She did not know what brought about his change of heart since he was adamant that first night that their stay be a short one, but because William gave her what she asked for so easily, her guilt ate away at her like insects that fed off of wood.

Somehow, it would have seemed better had she asked and been denied. Then she would have been forced to admit to the truth. ‘Twould lift the heavy weight from her shoulders, but instead she gave in to her fear.

The thought of being tossed out frightened her, but not nearly so much as the idea of no longer having a place in Blaise’s heart. If he discovered the truth and allowed her to stay, yet refused to acknowledge her as his wife, the pain would be a thousand times greater than if he simply threw her to the wolves.

She wanted those three gone.

Despite that wish, Eliza pitied them. Though they threatened her to gain what they desired, were their motives so much different from hers?

Shelter, food, proper clothing. Albin and his men did not even speak to her so long as they were satisfied. When Eliza did confess, she would have tell this discovery of hers to her husband. Perhaps he would then take pity on both her and, if Fate were smiling, them as well.

Eliza jumped as a warm hand pressed to her perspiring forehead. "Ye do not seem to be well, milady."

'Twas Blaise. Her heart warmed at the sight of him, yet pounded at the same time.

She left the Great Hall to be alone since Albin, Ivan, and Colin were performing. Though their only contact with her was the warning held in their eyes, she still preferred to be away from them.

Her eyes darted about, searching for anyone else who might have followed her. There was no one.

She gazed at him, smiling now that she calmed enough to appreciate his presence, but his face, which was void of any caring emotion regarding her well-being, brought her low again.

He seemed to regard her in such a way for so long that she did not know where her true husband had gone. Where was the man who held her at night? Who whispered words of love in her hair during the morn?

Blaise still came to their bed at night. Their coupling was no less passionate than it had ever been. In fact, 'twas filled with more love and urgency than he had shown their first times, yet, afterwards, he was gone.

Eliza awoke to an empty bed in the early morn, and his behaviour towards her resembled that with which he treated her when they first met.

Perhaps it was those instincts of his. He knew something was amiss, but he did promise her that she could keep some secrets. Was that why he did not ask her of it?

"Eliza?"

She blinked, lifting herself from her thoughts. Blaise stared down at her, seemingly worried since she had not answered him. Her elation returned. Surely she was wrong. The proof of his love was in his eyes as he fretted over her health.

She cleared her throat. "I am well, milord. I have simply been lonely."

"Lonely? Ye have Marianne, who demands yer attention at most hours of the day. Surely she has been keeping good company."

Her face burned at his misunderstanding. "'Twas not what I meant."

"Oh? Then what of the servant girl? Olma? I know ye are much fond of her since ye worked so diligently to give her a dance the night before our marriage."

She snorted. "All the good it did. James no longer speaks to her, and she barely speaks a word to me except to answer when I am the first to say something."

His voice turned cold. "'Twould serve ye right, bringing her hopes as high as ye did, knowing they would fall when James returned to looking for a suitable wife."

His emphasis on the word suitable spiked her blood. "What is so unsuitable about her? She is very intelligent for a sewing maid, has a warm heart and is a good listener. Are those not the qualities one should search for in a mate?"

His non-committal shrug irked her. "Only if he wishes to wed someone who has no value."

"No value? I certainly had about as much value as Olma when ye met me, and yet ye made me yer wife."

His eyes became as cold as his demeanour. Eliza shivered with the lack of warm love she detected in them. "Unlike James, a poor wife does nothing to harm my future, but perhaps 'tis why ye married me to begin with."

Eliza fell back a step as though he'd shoved her. She could not believe those words had left his lips. "What?"

But they had. He stared at her, waiting for her to deny his claim.

She stood taller before him, her eyes meeting his despite the height he had over her. She swung her entire arm and slapped him.

His face turned against the force but he his eyes snapped back to her just as quickly. They were surprised this time.

"Is that what ye think of me?" She shrieked, not caring should any servants or guests see her outburst. Tears immediately poured down her cheeks as though someone were emptying buckets. 'Twas the same whenever she got into a serious confrontation with her mother. She could not hold back her emotions.

"I married ye because I loved ye! Now I am wondering whether I was mad at the time to have ever felt anything other than contempt for ye!"

His fists clenched, becoming rock hard as he glared like the devil at her. She imagined he would strike her with one of those fists, but they remained at his side when he responded. "Ye deny that yer decision to wed me had naught to do with yer wish to become a lady? To live in a castle with servants running at yer every call?"

She shouted at him despite her fear of his fists. "If I had no love for ye then I would have left with Sir Nicholas when he offered it to me!"

He opened his mouth, then shut it again when no response came to him. They stared at each other for a moment. Blaise's anger left his face, replaced with an expression Eliza could not name as he studied her.

Understanding dawned on her like the rising sun. Her eyes dried and she flew to him, wrapping her arms around his chest for his comfort. His body tensed, as though he had not expected the act.

"Forgive me Blaise, I had forgotten how little faith ye have in people." She looked up at him when he snorted, and he stared down at her with a single brow raised.

She wet her lips. "I should have expected this. Although ye claimed I have helped ye to trust, I should have known ye would recall my wish to become a lady and question my motives towards ye. Ye are right, I did wish for those things when I came here. Fine clothes, and servants, but I would throw them all away if it meant I could have ye."

His eyes widened. "Is that the truth?"

She nodded. "It is."

His hands gripped her arms and pushed her into a corner. 'Twas like a falcon's claws digging into her flesh through the sleeves of her gown. Her fingers released their grip on Blaise's tunic as he stared at her with something akin to a mad panic.

"Then tell me, why do ye behave so differently? Why do ye mope about as though frightened of yer place here at my side?"

His blue eyes bore into hers, begging her to speak, to answer. Eliza wanted to answer, the confession to her crime sat in her throat, waiting for her to throw open the gates and allow her husband to hear of her betrayal.

However, if he could act in such a way merely because he had a suspicion against her, how would he react when he knew that she had planned his robbery? She shook her head. The lie she forced from her lips in place of the truth scratched her throat as she spoke it. "I swear to ye, that there is nothing that is upsetting me. I am perfectly well."

A hint of ice returned to the waters of his eyes. He gave her a light shake. "Tell me if anyone in this castle has put ye under any unease and they shall be removed. Again, are ye well?"

The ice in his eyes trickled down her body, and she shivered with fear.

He could not possibly know. His actions hinted yet denied any knowledge at the same time, confusing Eliza's perception of things. She swallowed and shook her head once more. "Perhaps 'tis merely the weather that has been making me seem out of place with ye. It has been raining quite a bit."

He released her, warmth spread through her arms as her blood flowed once more, but his stare put her blood at a standstill. "Aye, the rains seemed to have taken a permanent residency over this castle ever since those fools arrived."

She blinked at the insult. "Ye do not like them?" ‘Twas the first time he had ever outright said it.

He had sat surveying them with his arms folded at every meal, stealing glances at her and Edward whenever he thought she did not notice. "Is it because of when Edward disappeared? They did not harm him."

"Ye defend them?"

"Nay. I am merely questioning yer sanity." Loving the one moment and a man of stone the next.

Blaise chuckled and shook his head. "Milady, I need no reason to distrust, or dislike anyone. If I decide to not enjoy the company of a particular individual, whether they be gentry or peasantry, 'tis no business of yers."

Eliza despised the cold stare he gave her. She did not wish to think of it, but perhaps he grew weary of her like some husbands did with their wives. He spoke of James' and Olma's infatuation as rubbish because Olma had naught do give to James.

He said otherwise, but she needed to know for certain. "Do ye have any regrets of our marriage?"

He stared at her and said nothing. His silence was like the blow of his fists that he did not deliver earlier. She sniffed as her throat swelled, more tears threatened to deepen the tracks the previous ones had created.

"I see.” She sniffed. “If ye have grown tired of me already, then ‘tis my own fault I suppose.

His eyes widened, the tension lowered his tight shoulders.

“I still love ye," she said.

His solid arms wound around her, pulling her close. She softened against his body, finally sensing some of the compassion and love that he had been denying her for weeks. His lips touched her hair. "I am sorry, my love. I did not mean to cause ye any upset."

***

If she was lying to him, then she was the most talented at creating falsehoods than anyone he had ever met.

He at first thought she meant to confess when she claimed that his lack of attention to her was her own fault, but then she declared her love with watering eyes. ‘Twas his undoing.

God's teeth, he loved the woman, but her insistence on hiding the truth grated on his nerves and created a piercing suspicion he could not handle. Why did she not simply admit to her crime? Why did she test his patience by hiding it?

He offered her a chance at every turn to tell the truth, promising his love and her safety, yet she said naught of her schemes with those men.

Blaise could admit that he had difficulty trusting other people, but the fact that his wife, who claimed to love and cherish him above all others, seemed to have no faith in him, tested his already crumbling patience.

She snuggled him and held her arms tight around his chest, allowing him to pat her thick curls. He looked down and found her smiling against his chest in contentment.

He could not seem to find the anger that had been the cause to their argument. Indeed, now all that remained was his too soft heart. "I suspect that ye plan to fall asleep against me."

She nodded and mumbled. "I have been so exhausted. I can barely stand."

He did seem to be supporting most of her weight. Did her exhaustion stem from her lies to him? Or perhaps her efforts to avoid the three men who obviously frightened her? Both seemed as bad as the other.

Blaise decided not to push her any further today. He took her shoulders and spun her without any resisting effort, and pushed her down the corridor.

"What are ye doing?" She asked.

"Taking ye back to our chamber. If ye are not well ye are to be in bed until whatever it is that ails ye is gone."

"It shall never leave," she muttered.

We shall see about that. He thought

***

After putting Eliza to bed Blaise marched out to the courtyard. The meal in the Great Hall had finished by now and he knew his father would likely be outside.

Just beside the stables his father stood by himself. Blaise was shocked to see him without Bryce, Hugh, or even Nicholas by his side. Though, Nicholas was surely still moping in the Great Hall, trying to think of a way to have his daughter forgive him for his harsh words so that she would at least speak with him.

"Where are they?" He asked when he made it to his side.

William motioned his head towards the front of the stables. "There, my men seem keen on showing up the larger man. They will not give up until someone comes out of a fight as the victor."

Blaise looked up. Ivan wrestled with James while the men around cheered and bet their gold on who would be the winner of their contest.

While before the larger man threw around his challengers with ease, James’ quick ducking and weaving allowed him to attack with the club he held while staying out of Ivan’s long reach.

"I meant Bryce, Hugh, or Nicholas, but 'tis good knowing where they are as well." Blaise muttered just as James was finally caught and tossed aside like a child. To his credit, the man got back to his wobbling feet before charging at his unmovable opponent.

"Hugh is with Marianne, and since Edward is at an age where he does not wish to constantly be with his mother, Bryce offered to keep an eye on him should he try to disappear once more. I trust they will be protected while these men are in my castle," he muttered, sending a meaningful sidelong glance to Blaise. "Are ye any closer to getting them out?"

Blaise twisted his head to look at his father. "Tonight shall be their last night here. I grow just as weary of Eliza's lies as ye do of the presence of these men."

William nodded and went back to watching the fight. James swung his elbow, hitting his mark which was the nose of the giant he fought. The men in the circle surrounding them jumped and cheered.

Blaise caught sight of Albin and Colin, both of whom were frowning, as though they hadn't expected James to get such a hit in. The frowns on their faces spoke of worry, and Blaise wondered how much gold they would lose should James win the battle.

He inwardly cheered for the man.

Ivan threw out his boulder fist, catching James in the face and sending him flying backwards.

He did not rise to his feet this time.

The other knights left their cheering positions and swarmed around their fallen comrade. Blaise ran through the crowd, shoving until he knelt at the center. James’ eyes were shut and face swollen with the beating he'd taken.

"He'll be fine."

Blaise had not heard his father following him. He searched for whatever had given the man a clue towards James' condition and found it in the rise and fall of his chest.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Get him inside." He ordered.

Two men came forward, one grabbed James by his shoulders, the other by his legs. They lifted him and took him away from the fighting circle.

Blaise stood. Ivan righted his giant nose with a sickening crack using his thumbs, while Colin's pockmarked face twisted with joy as he collected the coins from their victory.

Blaise's blood boiled. He’d had enough. He'd given Eliza plenty of time to confess and she hadn't, and all the while these men lived and made profits where they were not welcome!

"Blaise! What are ye doing?"

Blaise ignored the call of his father and continued his march towards the men who laughed while counting their coins. "Ye there! Giant! I challenge ye!"

Ivan stared up at him in astonishment. His head turned towards Albin, as though searching for the proper answer.

His leader stood up and bowed before addressing Blaise. "Milord, I know a victory seems within yer reach now that Ivan has been tired out by yer other man, but I assure ye that challenging him will only lead to defeat. Please, turn back and reconsider."

Blaise recognised the poorly concealed insult and then considered having the man beaten for it, but no, it would wait until the right moment.

"And let me assure ye, that I am not making this challenge because I believe I will win solely on the grounds that yer man has just fought. I have seen him fight five of my own men one after another and still come out the victor. I know he is up for the challenge, and since 'tis only possible that a coward who sneaks up from behind may win against me, I am certain that I shall be the victor of this match."

Albin's eyes turned into round orbs at Blaise's words, clearly recognising what Blaise had not come out and said. Colin sputtered, and the little man's legs shook as though he were fighting to keep from pissing himself. The coins dropped from his hands but he did not bend to retrieve them.

Albin's mouth opened, presumably to deny what Blaise had just implied. He must have thought better of it since he closed his mouth again.

Blaise did not blame him. To deny anything would be admitting to knowing what Blaise spoke of, and to say naught at all was also admitting to having some part in Blaise's attack. There was no way the three men could answer without convicting themselves.

Albin jerked his head towards Ivan, his soft voice became as harsh as rocks grating against each other. "Get up and show his lordship yer skills."

The crowd re-gathered in a circle around them to witness the new fight, though they seemed far more eager than before now that the young lord of the castle rose to the challenge.

Blaise hardly noticed them, however, as Ivan rose to his feet, standing a good head and a half taller than Blaise, and at least twice as thick.

Blaise's arm was jerked back, and he found himself facing the angry stare of his father. "Are ye looking to make a fool of yerself?"

Blaise carefuly extracted his arm from William's grip. He smiled easily. "I shall win this, and have them gone immediately after. I won't have them taking the money of the men who rightly belong."

"And, should ye be carried out like James?"

"That will not happen."

A war cry thundered behind him like a storm as Ivan charged. Blaise ducked out of the way, feeling the air swoosh behind him where those huge arms soared passed in an attempt to grab him.

The crowd of men and knights cheered with renewed excitement and cried out. Certainly bets being made once more, only Blaise didn't mind this time because he would be the one who came out on top.

He crouched low, bending his knees and launched himself out of the way when the giant man charged at him again like a wild horse.

"Be still!" Ivan growled.

"'Tis no fault of mine ye are slow!" No, no fault at all now that Blaise had seen, thanks to James, that the giant was weak against quick feet.

Ivan charged again. Blaise saw the red in his eyes and used his rage against him. He jumped out of the way again, but did not put as much force into his leap as before, leaving his legs in the path of the raging animal.

Ivan stumbled over Blaise's feet. For a falcon’s breath of a second, Blaise feared the small attack would not be enough to bring down the man. Finally, he fell over like a cut tree.

Blaise scrambled quickly, jumping on top of Ivan's back before the ogre of a man could rise to his feet and charge again.

He twisted his arm around the thick neck beneath him, and locked his hands together so that they would not come apart.

The neck beneath him tightened as Ivan struggled for air. Blaise braced himself as the hulking man beneath him panicked and flew onto his back, pounding his weight into the ground beneath him in an attempt to jar Blaise loose.

He was being attacked from both sides. The pounding of the earth on his back and the weight of the man smashing down against his chest. The air was sucked from Blaise’s lungs and he grit his teeth.

Blaise refused to release his hold despite the jolting pain in his back as Ivan slammed himself again and again in the dirt, attempting to knock Blaise off. Blaise’s mending knuckles burst, but they remained strong and tight under his command. He refused to release the man above him.

The cheering of the knights around him turned into ringing as his ears ceased to work. A cracking in his ribs brought an explosion of pain that blinded his eyes with white.

He tightened his arms around the meaty neck. He would not be had by these men. He would not allow them to make a fool of him any longer!

Finally the heavy body on top of him slowed its thrashing before it ceased altogether and began to twitch instead.

Blaise would not allow himself to be tricked. He waited until the twitching ceased, then waited a moment more before thrusting the heavy rock-like body off of him with an anguished gasp of relief. Blaise sucked in air as though ‘twas the first time he ever breathed.

The moment he was relieved of the weight, another knocked the wind from him and blinded him with pain from the pressure against his assaulted ribs.

"Ye fool! Utter fool!"

'Twas Eliza who put pressure on his cracked ribs. What was she doing here?

She grabbed him by his tunic and shook. "He could have killed ye!"

With the last of his strength in his aching arms, he thrust her off of himself and fought his burning muscles to sit up. "He needed to be taught a lesson. I thought I left ye in our chambers."

"I heard the men. They ran up and down the castle screaming that ye were fighting the giant!"

He stared at her incredulously. "Ye worried for my life, and yet it never caused ye any loss of sleep that my men were fighting him."

Her face darkened and she turned away. He growled.

"She is correct. 'Twas foolish of ye to challenge him." William stated, kneeling down to inspect the damage. Blaise grimaced when William touched his chest. "Are ye injured?"

"My sides will heal once they are allowed to rest. Help me to stand, Eliza."

She rushed to pull him to his feet, allowing him to lean against her.

"Is he dead?" She asked, staring in awe at the giant form on the ground. Albin and Colin were kneeling with him, attempting to revive their comrade my slapping his face and pouring ale down his throat.

"He is lucky he is not dead, but he shall soon wish he was." Blaise said through clenched teeth.

Eliza stared at him in fearful curiosity. Albin and Colin raised themselves from their task to give him a similar stare.

"What do ye mean?" Eliza asked.

Blaise stared her in the eyes, his voice becoming hard. "My love, these are the men who attacked me and left me for dead." His eyes hardened. “Do ye not know that?”

Answer. Answer, damn ye!

"Take them away!" William's voice boomed. Immediately a herd of men swarmed around the three minstrels, grabbing them and hauling them out of the courtyard with ease since Ivan was unable to defend his friends.

While Albin did fight to escape the men who dragged him towards the castle, he was no match for the three men who had him. Colin put up no fight. He wept like a small child. Ivan had to be carried away by four men.

Eliza stared at Blaise with panicking horror, as though she expected him to send her away as well.

Blaise looked to his father, waiting for the man to say something.

William said nothing, and Blaise knew that his father spoke the truth when he said he would leave Eliza's fate to Blaise. She had one last chance.

Blaise smiled at her. "Come, my love, we have much to discuss."

Chapter Fourteen

Eliza eased Blaise into bed, pulling the covers back and positioning his pillows just so to be sure that his comfort was obtained. She ran to the pitcher of water and poured it into the basin. Wetting a rag, she approached him and gently lifted his tunic.

She hissed at the bruise she saw there.

"Does it pain ye?" She asked.

"Does it pain ye?" He replied.

She stared at him, laughed nervously, then applied the damp cloth to the swelling area. He flinched once, then allowed her to continue soothing the heated muscles with the cool rag.

He stared at her as she worked. She wished he wouldn't do so. It put her on edge. Eliza cleared her throat.

"To think that those men were responsible for yer attack, and all the while they lived here."

"Aye, on yer insistence." His voice rang strong, and angry.

She could not bring herself to look him in the eyes. If he did not know then he certainly suspected. The suspicion angered him. "I apologize for that. It pains me to see ye in such a way over me."

"I am most certain that it does," he muttered.

Her hand clenched around the cool rag and trembled as she washed his deep bruise. She managed to bring her head up to look at him. The cold manner in which he spoke to her, his eyes glaring as though she were guilty, and yet he continued to say nothing of her guilt.

She rose from her place beside him. "Perhaps I should not be here, not until someone who has been trained properly has seen ye and ye are in better spirits."

Despite his weak appearance his hand snatched out to grab her, like a vicious animal trapping its prey. "Stay."

The chilled command halted every muscle, every movement she could have made. She could not leave his side, nor turn her head while her guilt hung thickly in the air. 'Twas as if he could smell it, and was savouring the scent as he drank in her discomfort.

"Sit down."

Her body obeyed. She bent her knees to sit on the bed, hot under his scrutiny. He snatched her hand into his uninjured one, his fingers curling about hers and holding it as though not to reassure, but to imprison.

She would go nowhere without his decision to release her.

Eliza could no longer deny that he knew. Not with his strange words and heated gaze. She forced her eyes to his and swam...nay, drowned in the fury she saw there. It lay just over top of the knowledge she pretended to not see for so long. “Ye know.”

He cocked his head. No shock widened his eyes or touched his mouth. “Know what, my love? Do tell me of this secret that ye keep.”

She winced as his voice cut her like broken glass. No softness, nor love. Bitterness and impatience coated his words as they fell from his tongue.

He squeezed her hand. "Is there something ye wish to tell me, my love, before the men downstairs are questioned?"

Her eyes flew wide. It had not occurred to her they would be questioned. They would reveal everything, being certain to add their own twist to the story.

Eliza knew that in an effort to seem innocent and avoid death, torture, or imprisonment, the three men would spin a tale in which she had been the evil player.

Blaise knew of her part in his attack, and yet it seemed he wished her to admit to it on her own.

A confession did not leave her lips. She had to speak the words in case 'twould be the last time she ever spoke them. "I love ye."

He slammed his free fist, the injured one she had yet to bandage, down on the mattress so roughly that tiny feathers flew up around him. A fist printed in blood was left in the sheets. "Ye love me? Love me! After what ye have done I am sorely tempted to think otherwise and throw ye to the wolves ye deceiving wench!"

Eliza’s lungs opened and closed, her chest heaving in a rapid pace that she could not control and made air difficult to attain. She swelled painfully. "I deserve to hear such things.”

"Ye deserve all that and more! To think that 'twas ye all along! And I allowed myself to be fooled!"

She stared at him, horror stricken. She sobbed and she could not stop. "Ye have not been fooled!"

"Haven't I? Ye planned to have me taken by surprise in the forest, nearly killed me, all so that ye might nurse me back to health so that I would bring ye here..."

His body shook, as though he were containing to worst of his fury. "Ye convinced me to wed ye. Ye are quite the seductress I might add. I would gamble all the gold in the world that ye knew what Ian had planned, and were using it as a lure to trap me!"

She stood abruptly, unable to be so close to him. Her tears blurred him and everything in their chamber. ‘Twas a good thing as she could no longer stand to face his cruel snarl.

"Sit down!" He bellowed.

"No!" she screamed. She swiped the back of her hands over her soaking cheeks. Her face only flooded again, and now her hands were wet. "I will listen to no more of this!"

"Oh? And why not? Because ye are a lady now? Because 'tis beneath ye to be reprimanded?"

Despite her claim to listen to no more, Eliza could not leave the room while Blaise roared so hatefully at her. At least when he was in a foul mood before, she still sensed his love hiding beneath the surface, especially when he brought it forth during the night. Now she found nothing but emptiness.

Her voice left her mouth in a small whisper. “They were not to be so rough with ye, or steal all yer possessions. ‘Twas not what I paid them for.”

Blaise shook his head. "Ye certainly did not pay them enough since they deemed it necessary to steal from me.”

Then he sighed. Anger removed itself from his face. She could see now that she wiped her eyes some more. Though his face, no longer furious, but fallen in sadness, was worse.

He did not even look at her, opting instead to stare with glittering, downcast eyes, as though he too were battling tearful emotions, at the wall to his right. “'Tis my own fault I suppose, allowing myself to be done in like this. And I can assure ye that there shall be no dungeon awaiting ye like with that band of devils ye have brought into my home."

Her heart swelled with hope. "Then, if ye will not send me to the chains below the castle, ye will allow me to stay?"

He still would not face her, his shoulder shrugged limply. "'Twas what ye wished for all along, was it not? Ye have made it no secret that ye believed ye were wronged as a girl, and should be a lady by right. 'Tis the reason ye are not being thrown away since I was foolish enough to listen to that pathetic ranting, yer very motive, and still allow ye to become my wife."

She tensed under his assault. Even though he had not intended the words to lash her, they did. "'Tis not pathetic to wish for warmth from the cold, or a day without going hungry."

"And ye have received those things and plenty more. Do not fret, Sir Nicholas loves ye dearly. He shall see to it that ye continue to have yer heart’s desires, along with any finery ye should ever wish for."

Her heart plummeted. "When I asked if ye would not send me away, 'twas not because I feared being poor again. 'Twas because I feared being without ye."

He launched forward from his pillows, fury returning to his face and shielding him from her pleas. "'Tis a lie!" He gasped at the pain his movement caused and clutched at his ribs.

Eliza went to aid him but he pushed her away. "Do not touch me!"

Eliza backed away as though he'd slapped her. Tears brimmed her eyes again but she managed to hold back the filling pool.

Blaise's face twisted at the sight of her returning tears. "Stop that! Yer whimpering will not get ye what ye want! I have been more than patient! I have waited a fortnight for ye to simply admit to what ye have done, but even a few moments ago ye still insisted on hiding the truth!"

"I was afraid." She sniffed. “Ye said I could have secrets and would not care.”

“‘Tis entirely different!”

The pool broke and a river ran down her face.

"I said stop! Get out of here! Go to yer father and have him take care of ye if that is yer wish! I'll have nothing more to do with ye!"

"Blaise, I love—"

"DO NOT SAY IT! Ye scheming harlot! I'll not listen to another word that comes from yer mouth! Go!"

Eliza ran from the room. Servants spied at the door as she ran passed, but she gave them no more thought as she ran out of the castle.

More people stood about, all turned to see the spectacle she made. Face wet and swollen, her chest heaving from the run. She needed someplace where she could be alone. She did not wish to be seen ever again!

The courtyard was filled with bustling servants and knights going about their duties, speaking of the events that had just taken place. Not a place for privacy, but she dared not re-enter the castle.

She ran to the stables, more men were inside tending to the horses, but she could run no more. She collapsed in a pile of fresh hay and tucked her face in her knees to weep.

***

Less than an hour after his wife fled the bedchamber, Blaise’s father strode inside, jewelled sword in hand with Marianne beside him.

"They confessed. Especially the fat one, he refused to cease his blubbering even after we finished. Was afraid we'd gouge his eyes out if he didn't say anything.” He informed.

“I have no doubt of that.”

“The singing one told us where he was hiding yer sword." William held out the weapon and handed it to where Blaise still lay in bed.

He had not moved since he cursed his wife away from him, and now that he pulled his body out of its death-like slumber, his arms were heavy. He took the weapon and unsheathed it. No jewels appeared to be missing. "I feared I would never see this again."

‘Twas true, he had feared that. Indeed, he was glad to see it...but not as glad as he thought he should be.

"Ye should know that I prefer ye to an heirloom. I too am happy for its return, but would have done just as well without it." William said.

Blaise put the blade back into the safety of its sheathe and laid it next to him. He could not look William in the eyes. He’d had enough of being told how much he meant to everyone. "What of Elizabeth?"

"Weeping her eyes out in the stables." Marianne huffed. "The men left because they could witness it any longer. Poor thing."

Blaise snapped upward before falling back into his pillows from the sudden pain in his chest. He’d forgotten about that."Poor thing? Her? What of me!"

"Calm yerself! Ye will irritate yer wounds." William snapped.

"I would not have these wounds had it not been for her." Blaise muttered, settling himself back into his pillows.

"Ye would not have those wounds if ye had brains enough to not battle a man of that size." William stated. “Or put yer fist to a stone wall.”

Blaise could not help the pride that trickled into his voice. "And yet despite our sizes, I still managed to take him to the ground."

“But did naught against the wall.”

“I shall destroy it later.”

William chuckled. Marianne shook her head and muttered about the foolishness of men and the fate of her own son.

William returned to being serious once more. "What will ye have done with her? 'Tis likely not something good as the woman refuses to quit her weeping."

Marianne looked to Blaise, awaiting his answer his answer with baited breath, it seemed.

Despite the soreness over the topic, Blaise prided himself over the generosity he'd shown. While there was naught he could have done to her as Sir Nicholas's daughter, he could certainly have frightened her a great deal with threats of a dungeon.

Instead he was merciful and offered her an easy escape from her crimes. "I told her that her father shall take her to his castle. She shall live there in peace if she chooses. Nicholas will provide for her."

William and Marianne looked at each other a moment before returning their stares to him.

"So easily?" Marianne asked. "Will ye not attempt to forgive her?"

Blaise bristled at having his merciful decision so easily overlooked. "I have attempted forgiveness and offered her chances at every turn. Even when those fools were taken away she continued to lie in the hopes that I still had not known of her deceit. She would have continued to lie had I not mentioned that they would confess out of fear of torture."

"Of which I do not approve." William stated.

"Aye, but it does not mean ye have never done it."

William grumbled but said naught else.

"Regardless, I cannot have her here. She used me and if she wishes to retain the lifestyle she has grown accustomed to then she has no choice but to leave with Nicholas."

"And, do I not get a say in what ye do with my lady in waiting?" Marianne snapped, her arms folded over her bulging middle.

"Father gave me the authority to decide. This is what I have decided." Blaise said through his teeth, turning to William and demanding that he confirm it to his wife with blazing eyes.

William turned to Marianne, a soft sigh escaping him. "I'm afraid 'tis true. If he wishes her gone, then she shall leave."

Marianne pursed her lips. "I would still prefer it if ye would let her stay. I've grown fond of her."

Damned woman! Why did she insist on making things difficult for him at every turn? "I would say that ye have been taken in by her act as well. She cares not a thing for anyone in this castle. Nicholas wants her, let him have her."

"She's spoken of ye to me, Blaise. She loves ye." Marianne insisted.

"Leave." Blaise demanded. He could bare these declarations of love no longer. "I wish to be alone to rest."

Marianne opened her mouth to speak, but William gently took her by the arm and led her away. "Let him alone, my dear. He'll do as he wishes and there's not a thing ye can say that will change his mind."

Blaise growled as the door to his chamber closed behind them. William made it sound as though Blaise were being unreasonable. The woman lied to him and used him to raise her status, and yet to them 'twas not reason enough to send her on her way.

"'Tis not as though I'm sending her to starve in the forest." He reasoned, gingerly turning himself so that he faced the spot where she once slept next to him for the brief period of their marriage. He touched the space.

Blaise pulled his hand away when he found the spot cold.

"Fool," he said to himself. Of course he would feel nothing. She had not been there for hours, and she would never return to that place at his side. He would never make love to her, or listen to her light snores as she slept. He would not have a wife who cared nothing for him! Blaise took a pillow and slammed it in Eliza's old place, as if he could beat the memory of her out of the bed.

Chapter Fifteen

Eliza listened to Sir Nicholas, nay, her father, with half an ear as he accompanied her on a walk around the courtyard.

He came to her hours earlier in the stable. He arrived with a gentle face and sympathetic shoulder that she allowed herself to weep on.

Despite her earlier aversion to him, she had been grateful for his forgiveness, and the comfort he offered her.

The man had rocked her gently on the hay bed. “There now, ‘tis not as bad as all that. He shall come around,” he’d said.

Eliza did not believe so. Blaise had vowed he would never give her cause to cry, and with that vow broken she doubted he meant to change his mind and keep her around at all.

Though she knew he meant well, her father’s sympathy towards her situation soon turned into excitement as he tried to cheer her with thoughts of living in his keep. ‘Twas a cheer that only he seemed to feel as she half heartedly listened while they walked.

The weather was far too bright, too beautiful, and too pleasant to match her bleeding heart. A heart that remained in the castle, locked up with Blaise. Her ears strained for any sound that might bring news that he would forgive her.

"I shall give ye gowns far more elegant than the ones Gray has provided ye with. Ye will never find the need to wear his gowns so long as the ones I shall give ye are in yer chest."

"I shall never wear them again regardless." Eliza said. Her voice held no emotion as the gowns were the least of her problems. "They shall stay here with their proper owners."

Would Blaise ever see them and remember her? Regret her, miss her, long for her?

She wanted to take none of the gifts she had received while she had been Lady Gray's lady in waiting. She feared that anything she took would be one more sign to Blaise that she’d meant to use him for his wealth.

Before taking her walk with her father, she went back up to her old room and had Olma help her into the green gown she had worn on her first night in the castle, the one her mother had left to her. She meant to leave with it and it alone.

Nicholas blinked at her, as though confused that she had bothered answering him at all since she remained so silent throughout his conversation with her. "I see, well, all the better then."

Eliza could hardly understand his excitement. Blaise seemed to despise her for what she had done, yet her father seemed to care very little, if at all.

She stopped, unable to take another step. "Does it not concern ye? That ye will be bringing a deceiver into yer home?"

His face brightened with a tender smile. “Ye are yer mother’s daughter, and most importantly, mine as well. Of course I am not concerned.”

Ah, yes. He’d been serviced by her mother, the very reason why Eliza came into being. She should have known her mother would have spent some of her days in his castle.

“I gave her that gown.”

Her head snapped up. “This gown? Did ye truly?”

He nodded. “Aye. Ye look as pretty as she did in it.”

Eliza blushed. She had never seen her mother wearing the gown, and the double compliment eased her soul. “I believed it came from Sir Ferdinand. ‘Twas the only bit of finery she did not sell.”

Nicholas’ eyes widened at that.

She continued to speak, even though she already knew how he felt she needed him to know how she felt as well. “I believe she loved ye. ‘Tis something I had thought of after discovering that ye’re my sire. I know ‘tis an odd belief because why else would she hide yer own daughter from ye—”

“I do not believe she did it purposefully.”

Eliza blinked. “How would ye know such a thing?”

He shook his head. “I do not know it. But I do believe it, very strongly.”

She waited for him to explain.

He sighed, as though reminiscing about such things brought discomfort, which she imagined it did. “Though we were...intimate, Bertha had never once seen the mark upon my arm. We had always been,” His cheeks coloured. He coughed. “Partially or fully clothed during our lovemaking. I believe she truly did think ye to be the daughter of Sir Ferdinand, and rather than see ye grow up in his care she hid ye.”

“But ye told me yerself that ye cared for her! And if she indeed loved ye then she should have gone to ye for protection. Ye would not have sent her away.” She ceased her quick speech so that she might take in a breath. “Would ye?”

He shook his head. “Of course not. I know a great deal about women, with the exception of ye, of course. If Bertha did love me, then taking shelter with me would have been the last thing she would have done.”

“I do not understand.”

He gave her a strong look. “Would ye wish to be in the company of a man whom ye loved, but did not return it?”

As though a spike jabbed her heart, she winced and thought of Blaise. “Nay, perhaps not.”

Nicholas nodded. “I have been thinking a great deal of her as well. I remembered that, after vanishing the first time, when she returned to me I was happy to see her. Truly happy. She had been gone for several months, but it had not occurred to me that she had borne a child.”

His face became saddened. “I believed her to be in need of some sort of help, so I told her of William and the problem he had with his wife.” He looked at her pointedly. “I assume ye already know of this?”

Eliza nodded. She knew by now that Lord Gray had been serviced by her mother. Lady Gray told her, explained how he was in need of her teachings in the bed. ‘Twas revealed in an attempt to make Eliza see that, simply because there were men who paid her mother for her body, that it did not make them horrible men.

At the time she had blindly, and without reason, offered immediate forgiveness to Lord Gray while still harbouring bitter thoughts of Nicholas. Another thing to make amends for.

Nicholas cleared his throat and continued. “I assumed, falsely, that the gold Gray would pay her would help to aide her in whatever predicament she had. I had offered her money, but when she refused it I assumed that her pride kept her from accepting, and that earning it would be the only way she could allow herself to live.”

Again, his eyes filled with misery. “I did not understand at the time why she would be saddened when I suggested Lord Gray to her. I understand now.”

Eliza did not speak. She waited for him to continue.

He rubbed his neck. “‘Twas the last I ever saw of her. Shortly after Blaise was born, she disappeared from all knowledge. I believe now that she chose that time to vanish because, she knew that Lord Gray was raising a son not his own, as most suspected but none spoke of aloud, and either did not believe me capable of raising a daughter that was not mine, or did not wish to burden me by asking that I do so. I wish she had, though.”

Eliza reached her hand out, pulled back, then gathered her courage and held him. Nicholas’ body stiffened before warming to her.

She could hardly blame him as this was the first time she had ever held him.

Ever since she arrived at Graystone, little pieces of her mother that she hadn’t been aware of, or simply refused to see, started to reveal themselves. Her mother meant to protect Eliza from Sir Ferdinand, and Eliza only ever gave her trouble for it.

All the horrid things Eliza had done made her shudder. Constantly arguing with her mother, whom she would do anything to see again, deceiving Blaise, and then treating the man who wished to be a father to her so poorly. All were now regrets she would live with for the rest of her life.

“Perhaps I am not deserving of anyone’s love.”

Nicholas pushed her away and held her at arm’s length. He stared at her with a gaping mouth. "Where is this coming from? Of course ye are deserving of it, and yer foolish husband will soon grow some sense and remember that."

Her ears perked and heart fluttered. "Do ye believe he will forgive me?"

He waved a finger at her. "A man should never send the lady he loves away after having harsh words. 'Twill be ye he begs forgiveness of in good time."

Eliza's eyes watered. How could she have ever held any anger against this man?

"We are to be gone by tonight, Elizabeth, but fear not. I shall keep in constant contact with Gray to know if his stubborn brat has made any progress towards sanity."

"Eliza."

He blinked. "I thought ye preferred Elizabeth? 'Twas what I was told."

She shook her head. "'Twas true once, but no longer. I am simply Eliza now."

Only because Blaise had loved her when she was Eliza. She sighed. With luck, he would call her by that name once more. "Is it possible to say goodbye to Marianne before I go?"

Nicholas scratched his chin. "'Twould not take much time to ready our horses, but I suppose a quick farewell would not be much of a bother either. We must be certain that Blaise does not see ye though. I understand he is still in a right temper after what happened. I want to see ye happily with him if that is yer wish, avoiding a screaming fit is my concern at the moment."

Eliza nodded. "I believe he is still being confined to his chamber because of his injuries." She did not know whether to be grateful for that or not. His injuries were a result of her own foolishness, but they also prevented him from sighting her and giving her another tongue lashing.

Nicholas hooked her arm through his and walked her back to the castle entrance. Eliza moved with heavy feet. One step closer to the castle was one step closer to her leaving it, and everyone inside of it, behind.

They found Marianne inside the chapel, or rather, rushing out of it. Eliza gently extracted her arm from her father's, and was glad when the man allowed her to go to the lady of the castle on her own.

Marianne spotted them immediately, and stood stiffly with a hand on her belly while Eliza approached with a bowed head.

Eliza curtsied when she stopped before her former mistress, blocking her path. She could not bear to look into her hard eyes as she cleared her throat. "I came to bid ye goodbye, milady, and to thank ye and Lord Gray for yer hospitality."

She tensed and nearly jumped back when slender arms quickly pulled her towards a bulging belly. Eliza could hardly believe that Marianne wished to even be in the same room with her, much less hug her.

She held her back and squeezed tightly in case it was the last time she ever saw the woman she had grown to love.

"We shall see each other again." Marianne said, as though she used magic to hear her thoughts. With a quick kiss she pushed away and held Eliza at arm's length. "But I must be off now."

Eliza halted Marianne by taking her hand before she could leave. "I am sorry, please do not leave hating me. I had no intention of hurting Blaise the way I did."

Marianne extracted her hand from Eliza's grip, her eyes nearly wild as she eyed the younger woman. "'Tis not that. I believe ye love Blaise, I do—"

"Then why are ye in such a rush to be away from me?"

She sensed when her father went to stand behind her, as if he too were curious about Marianne's need to depart.

"Well," She looked down at her belly again. Eliza looked as well, noted her trembling, white knuckles as she clutched the rounded top. Farther down, the bottom of her gown around her feet was dark, as though it had been soaked with water.

In fact, Lady Gray seemed to be leaving a damp trail as she hurried to be away from the chapel.

Eliza's eyes rounded as she whipped her head up to confirm it, saw the painful twitching in Marianne's jaw, and knew the truth instantly.

"Ye should be in bed! With a midwife!"

Nicholas choked behind her. "Midwife?"

Marianne chuckled. "'Tis where I am going now."

Eliza took her by the arm, using her other hand to support Marianne's back. "Father, go announce to Lord Gray that his second child is coming."

Nicholas flew from the room before Eliza finished the command.

"He seems in a panic," Eliza said. Her heart pounded with her own barely concealed fright.

"Men always are when it comes to this, but unless I get a midwife I shall soon be in a panic as well," Marianne said.

Chapter Sixteen

She had been gone for months. The hot months turned cool until snow fell, then melted away again, and herbs were being grown once more in the gardens. New animals were being born and only the nights remained chilled.

Yet his insides remained just as raw as though she’d left only yesterday.

Had it truly been so long? It seemed Blaise did nothing but eat and sleep. ‘Twas no wonder he couldn’t recall anything of importance happening over the seasons.

Other than his confrontation with those three devils, that is.

They had confessed to every crime they’d ever performed and then some, fearful of the consequences, but the moment Blaise felt strong enough he went down to speak with them himself.

“How do ye know Eliza?” He’d demanded, standing while they slouched to accommodate short chains piked into the dirt. He left the door open behind him, but no light came down into the small dungeon beneath a dungeon.

The only light came from the torch in Blaise’s hand. It barely allowed Blaise to see the three men at all, yet ‘twas enough to give them cause to squint their eyes after being in the dark for so many days.

“Please don’ ‘urt us, milord.” The fat one wept. His tears tumbled down thick cheeks and spilled into his trembling lips. “We knew ‘er mother.”

“Colin! Shut yer mouth!” Their leader, Albin, shouted at his brother.

“Saw her from time to time. We were never cruel to ‘er or ‘er daugh’er, milord.”

“Fool. Utter idiot.” Albin muttered.

“Why?” Blaise demanded, turning his glare to Albin, who did not shrink away like his weakling brother.

The giant man sat in the corner and did not speak at all. Blaise figured that if he was to get any answers that were not wept out, he would have to speak with their leader.

Albin’s eyes widened and his head cocked, as though he did not understand the question.

“Why is yer brother a fool for speaking?” Blaise asked.

“Because ye will not believe a word he says, milord.”

It seemed he was mistaken then. The leader would not speak on the belief he would not be listened to. It seemed Blaise had to gain his answers through tears after all.

“Ye there, before coming here, what was the last thing ye ate?”

Colin sniffed loudly. ‘Twas the only sound in the entire damp dungeon. Ivan and Albin stared at him as though he’d gone mad.

“Answer the question.” Blaise snapped.

“I-I canno’ remember, milord. ‘Twas hard bread and weak ale I think.”

Blaise’s eyes moved up and down his round form. “Ye certainly look as though ye eat well.”

Colin’s face turned red. “I’ve always been this size. Don’ know why,” he said.

Blaise nodded, accepting the answer as he’d enough large servants to know that size did not have to have anything to do with the food one ate. “What did Eliza pay ye to rob me?”

“Not enough.” Albin growled. “‘Twas why we robbed ye.”

‘Twas the same thing Blaise had thought. “And why ye returned here, I imagine.”

Colin and Albin fell silent. Ivan raised his head, his thick voice strong despite the gloom of his surroundings. “We are not evil men, milord. We sometimes do evil things to survive, but we are not evil.”

“And when ye left me for dead?” Blaise hissed, his fingers tightening around the torch, ready to throw it if any of them spoke the wrong words.

“We did not leave ye for dead.” Ivan said. “We knocked ye off yer horse and left ye in the road. ‘Twas not our fault a puddle chose that place to form.”

Blaise’s arm tensed, he readied himself to toss the torch at Ivan’s head.

“And yet,” Ivan said, halting Blaise’s arm. The man spoke as though having fire thrown at him was not something to be feared. “We are sorry for it.”

Blaise sighed and turned his back on them. He stopped in the doorway but did not turn back to face them. “I shall send a man down to unlock ye. Ye’ll be given a loaf of bread each, and then I want ye all to leave and never return.”

And so they did. Blaise did not go to see them off, but had a knight come to him to inform him when the three men disappeared from sight.

He’d nodded, returned to his bedchamber and went to sleep. He all but slept away the months. He must have considering how little he remembered of them.

Blaise stepped into his father's solar and closed the door behind him. He’d been summoned from his bed and so he dutifully dressed and made an appearance, though his clothes were hardly in fit condition, and his jaw scratched the skin of his hand when he touched the stubble there.

The harsh lines in William’s forehead spoke of displeasure. Blaise found himself standing in the chamber with his hands behind his back as though he were a child once more. This time, unlike then, he felt no remorse or guilt for his sins, because he had none. Naught but emptiness lay with him at night.

William poured two goblets of ale and offered one to Blaise. Blaise took it in his hands, and, as though being handed the drink were permission, sat down while William paced.

"Ye are seeking a new wife, I have heard. Is this true?"

Blaise shrugged. He should have expected this conversation from his father since, apart from lying in bed, attempting to find a new bride to fill the hole the first one had left was about the only thing he did. "'Tis about time I married, produced some brats so that ye might be a grandfather. I assumed ye would take the news with more joy than this."

"Ye’re already married." William said.

Blaise gripped his cup sourly. "Not for long."

"Ye have no grounds for an annulment so ye may as well cease yer trying."

Blaise lifted a finger. "Ah, but I do have grounds. Sir Nicholas is my godfather. I have heard of annulments being granted for such situations when the father of the bride is too close in relation to me. When I speak with the bishop he shall give me what I want."

William slapped a hand over his eyes. "Ye cannot be serious."

"I am."

William pulled his hand away from his face and growled. "Nay, ye are simply being stubborn, like always."

Blaise shrugged. "I care not."

"I do not wish ye to get married without love, or to wed at all now that ye have found love."

"Because loving the last woman was such a pleasant experience?"

"Ha! So ye did love her."

Blaise set his goblet down and rose to his feet. "And look where it has gotten me. Ye say that she is still my love, well what is love without trust? She had me thrown into the mud and fooled me into thinking she might have cared."

"She does care. She took none of the fine things with her when she left with Nicholas, and Marianne told me herself that she did not know how she would have survived had Eliza not been there to hold her hand."

Blaise sucked in a breath at the reminder. He had still been wounded in bed when it happened, but when Marianne finally decided to give birth to his new younger brother, the delivery turned into an attack on her body. The midwife went so far as to baptize the boy's leg the second it was free, fearing he would die before the rest of his body would emerge.

All the while, Eliza sat with Marianne. She wiped the sweat from her face with a cool cloth, held her hand, and offered whispered words of encouragement.

Blaise had been told the story by a number of different servants who'd tended to him while his ribs healed. He’d wanted to go to his step-mother but had been forced to stay in bed thanks to the knights his father put at his door.

Thankfully Marianne made it through the ordeal, and so did little Henry.

After, when Eliza was assured of their safety and was persuaded to go with Nicholas, Marianne had moped. She made her disappointment of having a friend taken from her known by ignoring Blaise when he was able to eat in the Great hall, and then glowering at him when she thought he was not looking.

He pushed away any warmth that tried to spread throughout his chest at the thought of Eliza taking care of Marianne, keeping her calm when things became dangerous.

He allowed the cold to penetrate him instead, and it had naught to do with the fact that his wife had been gone for months now, and he missed having her next to him at night.

"What does her treatment of Marianne have anything to do with her treatment of me, and of ye for that matter?"

"Me?" William asked.

"Aye, she fooled ye as well, not just me, and on her insistence dangerous thieves were allowed to stay within yer castle walls."

"She did not do much insisting. I could tell from the beginning she did not want them here anymore than ye did. 'Twas only on yer own insistence they stayed." William raised a brow at him. “Then ye set them free.”

"The point," Blaise ground through gritting teeth. "Is that she conspired with them, and nearly had me killed, all so that she could wear a few jewels."

William raised a single brow at Blaise's description of events. "I think ye have forgotten the life that Eliza described to ye when she came here. She was not merely after rank, and not initially after yer hand, if I recall her dances with the knights that night ye so gallantly rescued her from Sir Ian, that is."

Blaise's face heated, recalling Eliza's words to him before he accused her of being a heartless harlot.

'Tis not pathetic to wish for warmth from the cold, or a day without going hungry.

William's eyes were hard as they bore into Blaise’s soul, as though searching for a hint of compassion for the woman he once loved enough to so hastily wed. "Ye are a stubborn boy, always have been, and ye are showing this stubborn nature with yer delusions of finding a new wife."

Blaise waved his hand, dismissing William's speech. "Very well, I shall not find a new wife. I shall spend the rest of my life alone, and ye will have to make Edward yer heir since he will be yer only hope for grandchildren."

"I would prefer ye gave me grandchildren first, and that ye were to take Graystone after death forces me to leave it."

Blaise clenched his fists at the soft words. "I do not know why we even have these conversations. Edward is yer heir, and now ye have another son as well. Give them Graystone. They are yer children."

"Ye are my child." William said through clenched teeth.

Blaise slammed his fist onto William's writing table, knocking over William’s goblet that had been forgotten there. "I am the bastard child of yer adulterous first wife. Stop pretending otherwise!"

William crossed the room, slapped his fingers around Blaise's neck, and pushed him to the stone wall, nearly knocking over the tapestry hanging behind him.

Blaise stared with round eyes into William's snarling face. Deep lines of rage that Blaise had never before seen ran down his face.

"Do not speak that way of yer mother! Ye will have more respect than that!"

Blaise choked for air before finding the strength to push his father, the man who had raised him, off of him.

William released Blaise's neck and stumbled back while Blaise held the sore area, coughed and sputtered.

William’s face did not relax its angered expression. "I never wish to hear ye speak in such a way about Alice, or of yerself, ever again. Have I been understood?"

Blaise sensed true anger in his father for the first time. He nodded his head. He should have known better, but he could not help himself.

The woman had betrayed her husband, and then her own son before Blaise was even born by fornicating with another man. Though William forgave her, and accepted Blaise as his own out of love, Blaise still grew up listening to the whispers.

The bastard son they’d called him, before he even knew what the words meant.

He did not know how ‘twas possible for his father to think so highly of love when it had consumed him with pain for so many long years the first time he had experienced it.

However, Marianne did seem to make him remarkably happy, and had given him two sons already, despite their horrendous beginning.

Perhaps William was correct to be angry at Blaise for sending Eliza away.

William continued to glare at him, then nodded towards the door. "Go, and I wish for ye to think about yer decision to wed again. Long and hard. Do not make a mistake ye will only regret for the rest of yer life. Forgive her and be happy."

Blaise straightened himself and allowed his irritation to consume him all over again. He marched passed his father and knocked the door open with his fist before charging out.

***

William shook his head as Blaise went.

He knew he could have handled it better, but he'd thought he was making progress with his son, had thought that Eliza had made progress with him. Not so, it seemed. Whatever steps forward had turned into backward leaps when Blaise discovered her secret.

He outright refused to see reason.

Sighing, William sat down at his writing table and cleared away the spilled wine so he could prepare his next letter.

***

The doors to the stables that were usually held open now that the days were warm again were shut. Blaise did not care why as he slammed his open palms into them, forcing them open. His one hand had healed completely, affording him the action of pounding on doors without pain.

He stopped. All anger splashing out of him to be replaced with shock.

James and Olma leapt away from each other at the sight of him. Their hands wiped at their mouths as though erasing the kiss from their lips would erase it from Blaise's memory.

"Milord." James coughed and straightened himself. "Can I be of service?"

Olma fled the stables, running passed Blaise and out of sight. It did not escape Blaise's notice how James' eyes followed her regretfully.

Blaise’s mouth dropped. "Did I just imagine yer hands all over a servant?" He asked, searching about. "And where are the grooms?"

James shuffled his feet like a scolded child. He shook his head. "I sent them away so that she and I could be alone, and ye did not imagine anything."

Blaise struggled to find any reason as to why James would do such a thing. He breathed a sigh that everything in the world had not suddenly turned upside down when he found one. "I see, ye have decided to take her as yer mistress."

James' face heated, his cheek tightened and twitched while he kicked some stale hay and dirt with his boot. "Nay, I will not degrade her like that."

The only other meaning possible dawned on him. Blaise sputtered. "So ye will degrade yerself by wedding a servant? Ye shall have nothing."

"I have had nothing for a long time, and yet I have survived it.” James’ defensive voice became soft. “With her at least I shall feel as though I have everything."

The pride in his voice…the man sounded as though he spent quite some time thinking on this.

"'Tis because of Eliza's meddling that ye are making such a rash decision.” Blaise said, though he confused himself. Was he reasoning with himself, or James? “Had it not been for her ye would have found a proper bride at the celebration Marianne arranged instead of settling for a servant."

Scowling eyes appeared with James' twitching cheek. "Milord, I beg of ye to not speak of Olma in that fashion."

Blaise threw his hands in the air. "Ye are making a mistake in choosing Olma to be yer wife. Had Eliza not—"

"I make this decision not because of yer wife, milord, but out of love."

James' words halted anything else Blaise would have said. Everyone seemed to be throwing that word at him lately.

He laughed, madly. "Ye do not love her. Ye desire her. Eliza threw that at ye and ye succumbed to it. Once ye wed her ye will grow bored and regret making this choice."

James shook his head. "Milord, ye are wrong. Lady Elizabeth did indeed make my infatuation more obvious, aye, but 'twas always there. She spared me from making a mistake. I adore Olma above all others and if I do not have her then I will truly have nothing."

Blaise shook his head, denying the possibility of what he was hearing. "Ye do not have to do this."

James smiled patiently. "Ye are wrong again, milord. I do have to do this."

James walked out of the stables, a happiness Blaise had never seen glowed about him. He left Blaise alone with the horses and his thoughts.

***

Nicholas took his seat at the table, sitting on the bench next to Eliza instead of in his usual chair.

“This arrived from Graystone.”

Eliza lifted her head as he unrolled the bit of parchment.

Nicholas glanced at it. “‘Tis from Lord Gray.”

Eliza sank down that the message wasn’t from Blaise, but continued to eye Nicholas with urgency and impatience.

Though she had begin to learn to read since living at Graystone, and then later after her father took her in, she had yet to master it and Nicholas always read the news that concerned her.

Her spirits shook like fearful lambs when his soft eyes made their apology to her before he spoke. "It seems Blaise will attempt to convince the bishop to annul yer marriage."

Eliza gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "But, how can that be? We have consummated our marriage! Often!"

Nicholas held up his hand for her silence, his face pained at hearing his daughter describe private marital details to him. "I can see that, dearest. He means to use the fact that I am his godfather as grounds for the annulment."

Eliza's heart sped up at the thought of no longer being married to Blaise, no longer having her chance to prove her love to him. Time had passed, a lot of time, but it did not mean she gave up hope that he would one day forgive her.

"Is it possible?"

Nicholas sighed and glanced at the words on the parchment again. "I do not know. If it does not and he is desperate enough he could simply have a midwife testify that ye are still pure in the ways of the bed. That ye refused to give yer chastity to him."

"Refused—" Eliza looked down upon herself. "That is not possible!"

"Again, I see that as plain as the daylight outside, but ye are not required to be there to prove Blaise wrong."

Nicholas shook his head. “Lady Claire is his likely choice. Her parents will not fight against the match. They will wish them to be wed as quickly as—” He stopped himself, as if only realizing then that he was speaking out loud.

Eliza's bottom lips trembled. Her hands wrapped protectively around the swelling in her middle where her child slept.

Her father wrapped his arms around her for comfort but they did little to still her quaking shoulders. “I am sorry dearest. Do not cry. I did not intend to be cruel.”

His words did not reach her ears. Blaise wanted nothing to do with her, and now she would be alone for the remainder of her life, surviving off of the generosity of a man she had once thought so little of.

Abruptly, Nicholas released her and slammed his fists onto the table, rattling the plates and goblets and bringing the heads up of any servants who bustled about.

"It won't be done! I'll not have him toss ye aside like some filth for another!"

He rose to his feet but Eliza grabbed his hands before he could leave the table. "Ye mustn't do anything!"

His face did not soften. "I'll not hurt the boy, just beat some sense into him and drag him back here."

"No!" she shouted.

Nicholas stopped trying to remove her hands from his and stared at her incredulously. "No?" He sat down next to her again. "Do ye not want the little one to have a father?" He asked, pointing at her rounded belly.

Her hands found the swelling and cupped it lovingly. "Aye, I would, but not if it means that the father will not love him or me."

"He had better!" Nicholas boomed.

“Father,” Eliza started. She didn’t use the word often but when she did it captured his entire attention, which was exactly what she needed right now. “How many messengers have I sent to Graystone? How many of them have been answered?”

“Gray and his wife have been very loving in their replies.”

‘‘Twas not them I spoke of.” She whispered.

Nicholas sighed and sank back to the bench. “Aye. I know.”

"I will not force Blaise to be my husband if he does not wish it. My child shall be brought up properly, with love by me and ye. If Blaise will not have me then 'twill have to be enough."

Nicholas folded his arms. "I would never treat a woman near to my heart in such a fashion. 'Tis a crime. A crime! He needs to be aware of his child."

"He will." Eliza insisted, though she did not look her father in the eyes when she said it. "I will simply wait for the right time."

Nicholas took one of her hands and cradled it in his. "Even if the right time to reveal his child to him is the wrong time for ye?"

Eliza forced a smile through her tears. "'Twas the wrong time for me from the beginning. What I did, regardless of the reason, was wrong. I see that now. If Blaise will not have me, then I shall not force his hand."

“I do not want ye to repeat yer mother’s mistake.”

Eliza’s cheeks coloured at his softly spoken words. “That will not happen. Blaise shall know, just...not now.”

Nicholas sighed and released her before standing. "If that is yer will.”

Eliza also stood. Her argument had mentally exhausted her, and with the added weight she had to carry, 'twas enough to make her yearn for her bed. "Thank ye. I'll go and rest a moment now. I am tired."

"Rest well." Nicholas said as she went.

***

He waited until his daughter was out of sight before he left the great hall in the direction of his private chamber and the solar that connected to it. He stopped suddenly. Nay, this could not simply be told in a letter. He'd kept Eliza's secret for so long due to her wishes, but no more.

She might not wish for Blaise to know the truth, but what of William and Marianne? Certainly they had to know that a grandchild would make an appearance.

Nicholas turned and ran in the direction of his stables, arranged for his best horse to be made ready, and set off on his journey.

‘Twould take him less than an hour if he rode hard enough. Eliza would sleep for much longer than it took for him to get to Graystone and back again with Blaise, even if he had to take the stubborn man as his captive.

William would allow it under the circumstances, he was sure.

***

From her window Eliza watched her father ride out of the stables and through the castle gates as though he were in a race. She sighed, moved to her bed and sat.

The man loved her, but he thought of her as a fool it seemed. The only thing that surprised her was that he waited this long to rush off and bring her husband to her.

Eliza slammed her fist into the feather mattress. She fooled no-one. She was a fool, and she had no right to ask her father to keep her secret while she waited for Blaise to forgive her.

Seeing Blaise again would be both a joy and a terror, and Eliza did not know which emotion to hold closer to her heart as the time to meet with her husband drew nearer. The thought rid her of her earlier fatigue and knew she would get no sleep.

She ached. All over. Walking usually helped with that. Eliza lifted herself to her feet and left for the courtyard. She breathed in the cool spring air, allowing it to refresh her like water before taking her walk, which was more of a clumsy waddle than a walk.

Nicholas’ courtyard was comparably smaller than the one back at Graystone, but Eliza enjoyed it regardless. Indeed, Nicholas’ castle was more of a wooden fortress with a single stone tower. Much different from the stone monster where she had briefly lived.

Eliza sighed as she watched the men go about their business. Servants and carpenters busy at work, children who followed their mothers with the laundry, and even the men at arms. Everything was different. Every face, every sight, and every scent.

She missed the scent of Graystone. Nicholas’ keep held a scent that reminded her of the forest, likely because ‘twas made of more wood than stone.

Most of all she missed Blaise’s scent. She missed sleeping in his bed, she longed for their playful banter, and their dances.

Her father did leave to retrieve her angry husband, so there was still hope to be had. Still, she wondered...

“For the last time, be off before we shoot ye!”

Eliza spun. The angered yelling of the knight brought her out of her woeful thoughts and made her see the crowd of men gathering at the top of the gate.

“Who is out there?” She called.

Every man atop the battlements looked down, some more briefly than others, at the sound of her voice.

“‘Tis naught that ye should be concerned about, milady. Simply a—”

A desperate voice on the other side of the gate called to her. As there was no gatehouse to create more distance, only a single wooden barrier, the voice came to her strong, clear, and familiar.

“Lady Elizabeth! Please allow me entrance. ‘Tis of great importance!”

As though the voice had the power to shove her, she stumbled backwards. Her eyes found those of the knights atop the battlements when she righted herself.

The leader of the men worried his bottom lip. “We had been given orders to not allow him entrance, milady.”

“Orders?” She sputtered. “‘Tis not the first time he has been out there, then?”

Almost hesitantly, the knight shook his head. “Nay, milady, he has shown his face before.”

Eliza frowned and eyed gate, wishing she could see through it. Would Sir Ian look the same? Or would his face be as disfigured as she had imagined after his beating?

She made up her mind in that instant. If he was so desperate to give her an apology, she wanted to see his face to determine his sincerity. “Let him enter.”

“Milady!”

She cut him off before he could protest. “Open the gate.”

Chapter Seventeen

Blaise watched as Marianne gently deposited Henry into Edward’s arms. The boy’s wish to hold his younger brother finally came true with the act, but only because Marianne had allowed it, likely because Henry could now hold his own head without her support, and she still hovered protectively over her youngest.

Edward’s grin took over his entire face as Henry reached up and grasped his hair.

Blaise smiled as well. He knew Edward delighted at no longer being the youngest son in the family, and now that he held the honorary title of 'elder brother,' he walked with a proud air of a boy who suddenly became a responsible man over night.

Henry squawked in Edward's hold, and turned his head to Marianne as though begging her to rescue him from his brother's clumsy clutches.

"Be gentle with him." Marianne chided softly, taking the infant back and holding him close to her breast where he settled.

"When will he be able to come and play with Blaise and me?" Edward asked, still staring at his brother.

"Not for a few years yet." Marianne said. She held Henry out for Blaise to take. He folded his arms tighter around his chest and shook his head.

Henry did not seem to mind as Marianne put him back to lay against her chest, though she did send him a questioning look. "Ye have not held him once since his birth."

"And I never intend to."

"He is yer brother."

Marianne had different ideas about rearing her children than other women. She insisted that infants be able to stretch and crawl wherever they pleased, doing whatever they wished. She had to have Henry in her arms, or in her sights, at all times. Blaise hardly knew how his father handled it.

"So is Edward, and I never picked him up until his second year."

Edward's eyes grew round before darkening. "Ye never held me?" The boy stomped his foot on top of Blaise's.

Blaise roared and jumped up. The new throbbing in his toas fuelled his anger. "Little brat! I'll teach ye—"

Marianne grabbed him by the ear before he could lunge and threw him back down to the bench. She remained standing as she glared at Blaise and her son. "Ye shall not lay a finger on him. Edward, yer father shall hear of yer behaviour tonight."

Henry laughed and clapped his hands together, a trick he’d recently learned. Edward fell at Marianne's knees to beg, clutching her gown in his little fingers but she would not be bought.

Blaise watched their banter until the world around him became a haze hidden behind his thoughts.

'Twas not that he held no love for Henry. Nay, 'twas impossible to not adore the little survivor who lived through his birth and grew stronger with every month that passed, who would grow into another replica of his father, like Edward.

Nay. 'Twas merely that he felt more and more like an interloper in William's castle.

Though William insisted that Blaise was his son and heir, he could still not shake the feeling of being an outsider.

Though, perhaps it had naught to do with that. The conversation where William wrapped his hands around Blaise’s neck had not been the last where they had spoken of Blaise’s mother. But it had been the last where a brawl had nearly taken place.

With every talk Blaise had grown more and more comfortable, able to accept the things he could not change. He’d slowly begun to forgive his mother. So what was this intrusive ache that slipped into his chest?

Watching Marianne with his brothers, loving them as well as William, served to only deepen the lonely pit in his heart. The reminder that he'd lost the chance to have the same. Perhaps that was the source.

"Blaise?"

He blinked at the hand waving in his face. His vision focused on the pitying blue-grey eyes that stared into his soul. He could not form the energy to scowl at her.

"Are ye ill?"

He did manage to yank his head away when she tried to feel his forehead.

"I am perfectly well." He snapped. He searched around the chamber for the usual distraction to awkward moments and did not find him. "Where is Edward?"

She leaned away and squinted her eyes suspiciously. "He ran off to search for more trouble before I could give him another scolding. Which is just as well I suppose since I do not want him hearing of our conversation."

He tensed. "What is the matter with our conversation?" He could not think of any heated arguments he had with her in recent memory. Arguing with his step-mother had lost its flavour, as everything had these past few months.

"Nothing at all, yet. I wish to discuss Eliza with ye.”

Panic tightened the muscles in his neck and shoulders. Marianne did not seem to notice.

“Edward asked me when she shall return yesterday."

Blaise slapped his hand over his eyes, having heard this a thousand times before already. "And ye filled his head with hopes of her soon living back within this castle I suppose?"

She shook her head. "Nay, I told him she would never return."

Blaise stared at her with an open mouth. "Ye said that?"

She shrugged a single shoulder. "I had to, since ye are going to travel to the bishop's to get an annulment. Edward will need to know why the next wife ye bring home is not Eliza."

Blaise's face burned, and so did the lonely hole in his chest. "I may have changed my mind about finding a new wife."

Marianne's face turned to mildly interested. "Oh? Then ye shall go and ask Eliza to return?"

He shook his head. "I do not know. I do not know why I even thought of getting a new wife. There is only one I wish for and she is unsuitable."

"Just because ye think someone is unsuitable, does not make her unsuitable." Marianne huffed. "Ye thought I was unsuitable, but ye were wrong."

Blaise rolled his eyes at the reminder of his near engagement to Marianne before he called it off. "Nay, I was correct. Ye were unsuitable, for me. Simply because ye happen to fit well with my father does not mean I am wrong in this."

"It does not make ye correct either."

Thoughts of James and Olma came into his head. He certainly thought that was a match doomed to fail, but the annoying grin James sprouted whenever Blaise saw him told him otherwise.

Eliza had thought they were a perfect match for each other, and had encouraged it when she should not have. Now the pair seemed uplifted and joyous, the same as Blaise had been when he married Eliza.

But Eliza was gone, and his joy had fled with her.

"What do ye think of James' marriage to a servant?" He asked.

Marianne halted her bouncing of Henry in her lap and looked at him, then up at the ceiling, as though thinking. "'Tis odd, but I love Olma and James. They were with me when I first came here. I am grateful that Eliza has made them happy."

"Even if their happiness will likely end in bitterness when James' wits return to him?"

She shrugged, and Blaise's irritation peaked at her constant disregard of the problems around her. "'Tis his choice to make, and as I see it, if he marries her, then he will not go the remainder of his life regretting that he had not."

Blaise hated that, even though they spoke of two separate people, she seemed to be speaking of him. Ever since Eliza left Graystone, his regret over throwing her out of his bed and castle were turning into clawing fears.

He hated looking years ahead and not seeing her with him. If he did not return her to his side, would he regret doing nothing for the rest of his life?

He growled. “It has been months! If I go to retrieve her Nicholas will have me shot!”

Marianne’s face lighted like a torch. “I knew there was still some sense in ye!”

A knock on the door halted anything further she would have said.

Olma entered. She stopped abruptly at the sight of Blaise before clearing her throat and announcing, "Sir Godwyn has just arrived, milady."

Blaise abruptly stood. Dear God the man had finally decided to kill him.

Marianne’s mouth fell open. "Nicholas? Now? I thought we would never have him back after—"

She stopped suddenly, and Blaise glared at her before she moved on. "Never mind. Where is he? Is Eliza with him? Have they been given any food or lodgings yet?"

"He came alone, milady. I asked 'im if he would be wantin' something to eat or drink, but 'e went straight to Lord Gray's solar, then they shut the door."

Blaise took in the information, his gut churning with conflicting emotions. Whether he should be worried for Eliza or angered that the man had obviously come to speak about him behind his back.

Olma waited for Marianne's reply, but she seemed to be having similar thoughts as Blaise due to her lack of response. "I thought to tell ye milady so that ye would tell us what to have done."

Marianne nodded. "Perhaps, 'tis best to wait until we know whether he will be staying or not. Blaise, where are ye going?" She called as Blaise stood and left the bedchamber.

He ignored her call. His gut settled on anxious fear for Eliza and he could think on naught else. He would discover what had happened to her and why Nicholas felt the need for a private audience with his father.

He quickly travelled to the solar, keeping his pace at a brisk walk so as to not attract the attention of any servants.

Several servants were outside the door, sweeping, dusting, and standing near enough as they did so that ‘twas obvious they were spying.

Blaise growled and cleared his throat, though he did not raise his voice to them as he had no wish for the men on the inside of the solar to know of his approach.

The maids raised their heads and scattered fearfully at the sight of his twisted scowl. Blaise waited for the lot of them to be gone before standing before the door, his fist raised to knock.

He stopped. Even if he did get in, Nicholas would not allow him to know of any news regarding Eliza. He turned to his right, and then to his left, searching for any sign of the spying servants.

He heard not a sound but the muffled voices on the inside of the room. Satisfied that he was alone, he put his ear to the door and stilled his breath.

He heard his father's voice. "To think the poor girl has suffered with this alone all this time."

Nicholas' angry voice seemed to spit through the door. "She has not been alone. I have been tending to her, unlike yer selfish brat who forgets she even exists. 'Tis his fault! And with her tender condition 'twas a huge blow to hear that he was arranging for an annulment."

The inside of Blaise's chest twisted guiltily. Eliza had heard of his plan, and whatever illness she had seemed to worsen upon hearing the dour news.

"Why did ye tell her then? Surely ye must have known she would not take it well." William asked.

"I cannot keep secrets from her when she looks at me with those injured eyes,"

Injured eyes? What happened to her?

"Besides, she did take the news better than I anticipated which is why I am here now." Nicholas said, Blaise heard him drawing in a breath. "As her condition moves along her sickness' are becoming worse, rather than better. She barely eats anything put in front of her."

That did it. Injured eyes could be attributed to hurt feelings, but her condition? Sickness? Blaise burst into the room without an invitation, shocking both the men inside who spoke leisurely to each other as though they hadn't been discussing the failing health of Blaise's wife.

"What are ye—"

Blaise took Nicholas by the neck of his tunic and lifted him from the stool where he sat, forcefully backing him into a wall. "Ye will tell me this instant what is wrong with Eliza!"

William's hand gripped his shoulder in a tight warning, but Blaise did not acknowledge it. "Blaise, release him now. The only thing that ails her is—"

"Quite serious." Nicholas interrupted. "Her condition worsens with each day. She's swelled out like a cow that has eaten too much, can barely stand for more than minutes at a time due to the pain, and cannot bring herself to eat a thing for fear 'twill come back up."

Horrified, Blaise's hands came undone from their grip in Nicholas' tunic. The man shoved him away the moment he was freed. Blaise stumbled but did not retaliate.

"'Tis all yer fault." Nicholas hissed.

"Mine?" Rage rose inside of him like a rabid animal. Thoughts of Eliza, laying in bed, her beautiful face and body swollen beyond recognition as she suffered fuelled his anger. "She only contracted this illness when she left with ye! She was in perfect health when she left Graystone!"

He nodded. "Aye, if only heartbroken and weeping yer name at any given chance. She worsens without ye there, and now that she has discovered yer need to be rid of her forever I fear 'tis the last she can take before she succumbs."

William sputtered. "Nicholas, what are ye—"

Nicholas glared at his friend, stopping William from saying anything further. "The boy needs to know so that he may take his share of the responsibility." His hard eyes returned to where Blaise stood, though he didn't think he could stand for much longer with the way his knees shook as they did.

"Ye broke her heart and it has caused her this pain. Ye may try to blame me all ye like, but remember, 'twas ye who sent her to me."

His legs could stand no longer. Blaise sank into the stool he'd plucked Nicholas out of before staring up at the man. With the way they spoke, 'twas as if they did not expect...

"How long does she have?"

William raised a brow at Nicholas. When the other man nodded his head, he spoke. "From what Nicholas has already told me, a matter of days."

"If that." Nicholas muttered.

Blaise nodded, then forced strength into his legs so that he could stand. "I must go to her."

Nicholas drew himself up to his full height. "Ye shall do no such thing!"

"I am her husband and I demand to see her!" Blaise shot back.

"Husband now, eh? What happened to yer wish for an annulment?"

Blaise clenched his jaw. "I have spoken of it, but have not made the effort to obtain one. We are still married and I will not be denied access to my wife."

Blaise waited a gnat’s breath for Nicholas to protest. When he did not, Blaise rushed out of his father's solar, refusing to give the older man anymore of an opportunity to deny him again.

Not that he could in this situation, but he didn't need Nicholas on his heels, guilting him with his actions and demanding that he turn back.

Blaise rushed to the stables where his father's fastest horse was being fed and groomed.

"Get him ready to ride." Blaise demanded. “I wish to leave immediately.”

***

William cast Nicholas a curious glance. "Ye made it sound as though the girl were dying instead of simply carrying his child. Might I ask why?"

Nicholas sat down on his stool, leaned against the wall and rested his hands behind his head. His smile spoke of satisfaction. "Ah, love is a foolish thing, old friend. The man is too stubborn to admit to any wrongdoing, yet he will rush to her side if he believes his presence will bring Eliza some comfort, or perhaps even spare her life."

William shook his head. "The symptoms ye described—"

"Are all true. Her belly is swelling, she has trouble eating for fear that she will be sick with it, and her body aches with the pains of carrying a child. I told the boy no lies. Now he is off to be at his love's side, and when he arrives and finds her with his child he shall scold himself for ever daring to be apart from her."

William sighed. "Bryce always said ye were too romantic, and he was correct. Ye sound like a fool."

"A wise fool." Nicholas corrected.

"Well, oh wise fool, how is Blaise to enter yer keep without ye there to allow him entrance?"

Nicholas' smile left his face, and he rushed out the door, heading in the same direction Blaise had gone off in so that he might get back on his horse.

While his men knew Blaise by sight, there was no telling what their response to him would be if he tried charging into the castle while Nicholas was not there.

Chapter Eighteen

Blaise rode his horse faster than what could be considered healthy for the animal. He was not one to abuse his horses, but he could not stop his feet from constantly kicking for more speed.

He would be lucky if the panting animal under his legs did not collapse as soon as he arrived. He would make amends for his treatment later.

Nearly there. Do not stop! He inwardly begged.

‘Twas the last thing he wanted to do, but as soon as he finished the silent prayer another rider on a white horse leapt into his path.

No time to slow! Blaise pulled back the reins and shouted the command to halt. The other rider leapt out of the way just before Blaise could crash into him. Both horses reared, kicking up dirt in the road and crying in fright.

They missed each other but Blaise’s horse continued to rear and cry, offended at having been pushed so hard only to come to an abrupt stop.

Blaise tightened his legs around the animal and gripped the reins with no intention of letting go. Finally, with enough soothing words the animal dropped back to all fours, but he continued to twitch his head and tail.

“I’m sorry.” Blaise stroked his neck, hoping for peace. He doubted the animal would ever let him ride him again after this.

Blaise spun in his seat. “Are ye mad—?”

Everything he was prepared to say halted in his throat. Sir Ian stood next to the white horse, apparently having jumped off to soothe the beast once he had managed to calm it.

Ian scowled at him with a face that was no longer perfect. A long scar ran down his left eye where the skin had split open during Blaise’s attack, in turn dulling that once dark eye so that it was a paler brown than his other. His nose was hideously crooked, and lower lip, which had once been as full as any lady’s, was scarred at a downward angle from where his own teeth had bitten through during his beating.

“Ye.” They said at the same time.

Sir Ian drew his sword. Though his face was badly scarred, his voice remained as strong and arrogant as it ever was. “What are ye doing here? Come to finish me off?”

“I have a mind to do so with the idiot trick ye pulled. Were ye trying to murder me, or the both of us?”

“I did not see ye,” Ian hissed. “Ye can blame yerself for that as my eye has never fully recovered.”

“A fate ye can blame yerself for.” Blaise nudged against Reginald’s sides in a gentle attempt to renew the journey. The horse resisted.

“Where do ye think ye’re off to?” Ian marched forward, his mind completely off his own horse which now roamed freely.

He had no time to deal with this! “Come on, Reggie.” He pleaded. The horses ignored him.

Sir Ian stepped in front of the animal. Blaise wished with all his might that Reginald would charge forward and trample him. He didn’t.

“What do ye want?” Blaise groaned.

“To scar yer face every bit as much as ye have scarred mine, ye filthy coward!”

“Coward?” Blaise sputtered. “I am not the coward here.”

“Ye attacked me while the odds were in yer favour! No true man would beat on a helpless drunk and continue to think so highly of himself.”

“No true man would attempt to force himself on a lady.” Blaise hissed.

Ian narrowed his eyes, the left one angrier in such a position than the right. “What do ye care? Ye threw her away days after ye had her.”

His control shattered. Blaise lifted his leg and jumped down from Reginald’s back.

Ian smiled at his murderous sneer. “Do ye deny it?”

“Another word and yer right eye will match the left.”

Ian shook his head. “Ye treat me so harshly. ‘Tis not as though forcing myself on women is a habit. ‘Twas an accident.” He pointedly glared at Blaise. “At least I didn’t wed the girl before tossing her on her ear.”

Blaise drew his sword and lifted it above his head. Ian lifted his own blade, allowing Blaise’s attack to strike against the metal before he kicked Blaise in the stomach.

The wind blew straight out of him. Blaise dropped to his knees, clutching his gut and attempting to breathe. He vaguely heard a slapping sound echo behind him before pounding horse hooves faded in the distance.

He should not have lowered himself from Reginald. While the animal was intelligent enough to return to Graystone, Blaise was trapped where he was without him.

“Ye shall not have an easy match against a drunk this time.” Ian said from behind.

Blaise rolled out of the way as Ian’s hands reached out to grab him.

Blaise twisted his sword so that the heavy end of the handle became his primary weapon. He threw his weight into smashing the blunt handle into Ian’s temple.

The man flew backwards, landed on his back in a muddy ditch, and did not get back up.

Blaise sheathed his weapon and stood, wincing at the pain in his stomach. He glared at Ian’s unmoving form. “I once promised to kill ye should I see yer face again. Consider yerself fortunate I have no time for ye.” He hissed, clutching his bruised ribs.

Had he known he would have faced a battle, he would have put some armour on over his hose and tunic before riding off.

Horse hooves sounded in the distance. Blaise turned his head towards the sound. Was Reginald returning?

His heart sank as a brown coloured horse that could not Reginald came into sight. As it closed in Blaise recognised Sir Nicholas riding the animal. He groaned.

Nicholas slowed his horse to an elegant halt, looked at Ian’s white horse, which still grazed peacefully as though no battle had taken place, then at Ian who lay in the ditch.

He raised a single brow at Blaise, opened his mouth, then shook his head. “Never mind, I do not believe I want to know.”

“Are ye here to stop me?” Blaise gripped his sword tighter. Would he be able to use it against this man if he had to?

Thankfully, Sir Nicholas shook his head. “Nay. I want ye to see her. I came so that ye can get passed the gates and not simply stand outside them when ye reach yer destination.”

Blaise rocked back on his feet. “Is that the truth?”

Nicholas nodded. “Aye.” His eyes found Ian again. “I should have suspected ye would run into him. He has been making a fool of himself for months.”

“How has he been doing that? He makes a fool of himself so often I suspected no one noticed anymore.”

“Hugh has told me that he no longer sees the boy as his nephew. Ian’s parents are considering disinheriting him unless he makes amends for his actions. He is an only son, however, ‘twill likely not come to that.”

“Ye haven’t been allowing him near Eliza, have ye?” A chuckled rose out of Blaise’s throat. For once, pleased with the man’s over protective nature towards his daughter.

Nicholas shook his head. “Nay, I have not, but if yer wish is to see her then ye’d best be off. I believe he shall not mind if ye were to use his horse.” Nicholas motioned his head to where the animal grazed, then motioned back to Ian. “Ye shall have to risk that my men may not allow ye entrance while I see to him.”

“I imagine I can handle it.” Blaise grinned, sheathed his weapon and dashed for the animal. The white horse was in much better spirits than Reginald and allowed his new rider to kick off without trouble.

***

Eliza sat at the table, staring into her plate. The bread was freshly baked and steaming, but the scent that came with the simple food was enough to make her push the loaf away in disgust. Her baby kicked inside of her, as though demanding she eat the bread to settle them both.

She reached for her goblet instead, opting to sip at the weak wine in the hopes that 'twould be enough to settle her child until Blaise arrived.

'Twas hours since her father left, surely if the man had succeeded in kidnapping her husband he would have returned by now.

Though her head was down, the startled gasp and even a few screams of frightened servants did not escape her notice. Shuffled feet ran beyond the hall where she ate, but a few did venture inside when they saw her still there.

A woman’s panicking voice called to her. "Milady, Lord Blaise has entered the castle. He is running into all of the chambers searching for ye!"

A man’s voice came next, she assumed he was the leader of her father's knights with the authority in which he spoke. He was at his knees beside her place at the table. "Milady, I insist on being present when he speaks with ye. 'Tis not safe to allow him near ye in yer condition."

Unable to drink anymore, she merely fingered the rim of her goblet, not bothering to look at the frightened servants. “If ye believe so then why did ye allow him inside?”

She looked up to see the man’s face burning. “I did not want to. My men recognised him and opened the gates.” His muttering grew more hateful. “They did no’ think he’d run amok like this.”

Her father was not with him? She tried to keep her features calm lest the knight in front of her sense her panic.

"'Tis not a stranger ye speak of, but my husband. He will not harm me if we are alone." Not physically at any rate, she thought.

Her heart trembled, and it shivered in her chest when the echo of Blaise's voice reached her ears. The doors to the Great Hall were still open, but Blaise had yet to make his appearance between them.

He must be searching every chamber but the one I am in. His voice sounded pained, and a loud crash suggested that he'd knocked over a servant in his haste to find her.

Her brown creased with confusion. What did her father tell him?

His form finally appeared in the doorway. His hands reached out to support himself against the arched entrance as his chest heaved from all of his running. His eyes did a quick sweep of the room. In his haste they must have passed right over her because he turned to rush away before jerking himself to a halt.

She knew his panicked blue eyes finally found her when they widened in her direction.

She swallowed painfully, aware of how she must look to him. Her lack of sleep had put a darkness under her eyes that could rival the night. The added weight of her pregnancy must surely be what caused his mouth to drop in such a shocked fashion.

Blaise pushed himself off of the door, his legs hobbling as he entered the Great Hall. The knight who was at her side lifted himself and rushed to meet Blaise halfway.

"Milord, I must ask that ye wait for Sir Godwyn to arrive—”

Blaise face knotted in fury at the hand that stalled him. "Nicholas shall not hinder me from seeing my wife!"

The knight, Eliza did not remember his name, did not lose his temper the same way Blaise did. "Milord, 'twould be much easier if Sir Godwyn was here to confirm yer permission to enter. My men recognised ye and allowed ye entrance, but they do not know that ye are no longer the lady's husband."

“I am still her husband!” Blaise roared.

The knight appeared thoughtful. “I was led to believe ye had annulled the marriage.”

Eliza winced at the reminder.

Blaise's shoulder's sagged. The proud arrogance he'd charged into the Great Hall with vanished, much to Eliza's worry. His blue eyes looked beyond the man in his way and found hers again. The pleading she saw there was nearly her undoing.

"Yer father came to see mine, and he spoke of ye in such a way that I feared ye would be dead before I arrived."

Eliza's throat thickened and swelled, her eyes trickled with water. She opened her mouth to speak, but not a word made it beyond the trap in her throat.

"Perhaps 'twas wise of him to speak of such things, now that I see ye are in perfect health. If it was not for his cruel words I might not have come here in such haste, nor would I have discovered what a true fool I had been."

Eliza felt as though she were lifting a heavy weight, struggling and fighting so that she might obtain what she wanted most for the sake of her love. "Sir knight, leave us."

His eyes rounded under his leather cap. "Milady—!"

"Yer presence was required when Sir Ian paid his visit—”

“Ian!” Blaise spat the name.

Eliza ignored him. “—‘Tis not required now. I will call if I have need of yer assistance."

Her voice sailed and seemed to fill the wide room with her authority, consuming the man who wished to protect her from Blaise. He gave a slight bow and left the room, along with every servant and sewing maid who had been inside at the time.

The knight sent her a meaningful look just before shutting the door behind him. He sent another look, more of a glare, to Blaise. A warning for him should he cause any trouble.

Eliza allowed the comfort she felt to embrace her, knowing that, even if what Blaise had to say was not what she wished to hear, there were people nearby who would help her through any pain she had to bare. Could a mere knight even hope to threaten a lord as that man had done to Blaise?

Eliza would have to praise the man’s bravery to her father when he returned.

Blaise stood perfectly still, even when they were alone and the door firmly closed behind him. “I passed Ian on the way here. Though I hadn’t suspected ye would have seen him.”

Eliza shrugged. “He came to make an apology, he seemed sincere, and so I accepted it.”

Blaise’s eyes widened. “Did ye?”

She nodded. “Had I known my father had been keeping him out, I would have arranged to accept it sooner.” She groaned then, pained. “His face allows me to believe he has been punished enough.”

Blaise folded his arms. “Ye need not be made to feel any guilt for his circumstances. ‘Twas not yer fault, what happened.”

Eliza sighed. “‘Twas what he said, but again, I believed him to be sincere, despite what ye believe.” She glared at Blaise, remembering his words to her regarding the matter as he threw her out.

He winced.

She continued to speak before he could say anything. “I have decided that I was indeed, at least somewhat responsible. Ye warned me not to go with him, and I did regardless of that warning, or of his rude behaviour, or my own heart that told me not to go. If I was not so naive, I would not have allowed him to lead me away.”

Blaise shook his head. “Being naive does not put any of the responsibility on yer shoulders.”

Her eyes remained guarded on his. “I would have thought ye would be delighted to know that I am attempting to be responsible for my actions.”

He said nothing. His eyes seemed to move all over her body, or at least, the top of her body that he could see since she still sat at the head of the long table, which blocked his view of the rest of her.

Would the sight of her sagging belly frighten him away and make him rethink his decision to annul their marriage? Eliza steeled her nerves. If that was all it took for him to retreat then she would not mope for someone who was not enough of a man to accept what he'd done with her.

His hands rubbed his face. "I can see I am not going to get through to ye now. All I care about is that ye're alive." His smile touched his eyes. “And ye look well.”

'Twas not what she expected to hear. "Ye said my father spoke of me as though I were dying. What has he told ye?"

His expression changed from gladdened to angered. "He nearly put me in a grave of my own. Worrying me with talk of yer body swelling, of illness, and a lack of appetite. I came here expecting to find yer weakening body in bed, fading away."

"And this is why ye chose to come here now? To see for yerself that I am not being led by the nose by Death before returning home to arrange for yer annulment?" She gnashed her teeth together. "Well, now that ye have seen I am not about to drop dead ye can be on yer way."

She did not mean for her words to sound cold, but 'twas cold enough for Blaise's hot anger to be snuffed out like a blizzard chasing away the summer sun.

He stepped towards her. She tensed at his approach, fearing he would sight the proof of her pregnancy, but he fell to his knees without once gazing at her middle. The cloth over the table disguised the mound there anyway, and he took one of her hands into both of his without being aware of her condition.

"Come to Graystone with me."

She yanked her hand away. "What?"

He did not rise from his feet. "Come home with me. Be my wife again. I forgive ye for the misdeeds that brought on my attack and I can only pray that ye shall forgive me for sending ye away."

She could barely look at him. His large body kneeling before her, his pride gone, was enough that she believed his words, but if she looked at him she would throw her arms around him and tell him to take her with him.

She desperately itched to do so, but...not yet. "And for calling me a harlot?" She asked softly.

His face burned brighter than the color of his hair. "I curse myself for allowing the word to leave my lips."

She sensed the sincerity and regret clinging to him, but she was not done. She would not remove his guilt from his shoulders until she knew everything. "And, what of Lady Claire?"

Blaise blinked. "What of her?"

She folded her arms. "Ye do not intend to make her yer wife when ye receive yer annulment?"

He shook his head. "I do not intend to make her my wife at all. Ever for that matter. Where did that thought come from?”

She did not want to admit that it came from her father. She had never even met Lady Claire before, yet hearing that Blaise might wish to make her his bride sent such a jealousy through her that she could not reason with. “Who else would ye marry?”

“The idea of an annulment was merely the deranged mumblings of a man lonely for his true wife beside him. As for Claire, I never harboured an interest in her, even before I met ye."

Blaise wet his lips. "I told ye once that ye were the reason I could trust, and I tell ye right now that ‘tis still true."

Warmth spread in Eliza’s chest.

Blaise took her hand again and she allowed him to cradle it. "Before ye taught me trust, I believed in fortune and luck. 'Twas luck that brought ye to me. Aye, ye arranged for my accident, but even though ye sought out a different husband, ye came to me despite my temper."

He wet his lips again, drawing Eliza’s attention to them, and a yearning for his lips against hers, trailing along her body as he used to do, struck her hard.

"Come home with me." He begged.

She did not fight against her eyes when the tears rushed down her cheeks like twin rivers. "Then ye...will not get an annulment?"

He sighed through a smile. "No, I shall never hold the thought again."

Her mouth issued horrible sobbing sounds, and despite her efforts she could not stop the hiccoughing that erupted when her throat opened and closed as quickly as it did.

Eliza hid her face in her arms on the table, wishing they would stop but unable to express in any other way how happy she felt. Her chest became sore with the urge to burst with it.

Blaise took her hand again, but said nothing to her. Her violent sobbing became gentle with time, but he waited until she finished before speaking.

"Ye shall come with me then?"

This time Eliza did throw herself at him. "Yes I will!"

His face erupted in a joyous smile. He pulled her from the bench and made to lift her into the air before halting. Eliza felt him lower her to her feet, then saw the shock on his face as he stared at her belly that sat so noticeably between them.

She swallowed nervously, encouraged only by his tight grip on her hand. Of course that could be his panic. "Ah, yes. I have been meaning to tell ye about this.”

He sank to his knees, his face lost its colour but his eyes never left her stomach.

“Blaise? Blaise! ‘Twill be well. Someone fetch me some wine! My husband is going to be ill!”

Epilogue

Eliza curled her toes as she was leisurely kissed to wakefulness. She opened her eyes and stared up into the twin blue pools that stared back down at her. The thick blanket over top of their heads blocked out most of the light, but she knew 'twas morning.

"'Tis a beautiful morn, my love. Ye should have been awake by now."

She groaned and pushed him away. She would never understand where his infinite energy came from. Of course, he was not the one carrying a heavy child in his womb, a child who seemed far more determined than her first offspring to kick her into submission.

After the birth of their daughter, some years passed before Blaise managed to put another child in Eliza’s belly. Not for a lack of trying on their part. But after so long with no other little ones coming, they had just settled themselves with the thought that they would only be blessed with one. Then it happened again, and Eliza was grateful that she was not alone during the first months like she had been the first time around.

Eliza closed her eyes and pulled a heavy pillow over her head, turning away from the cheeriness in her husband's face.

No sooner had she done so did her back tingle as Blaise's devilish fingers laboured against the hard flesh, taming the stiff muscles until they became happy slop.

She moaned, allowing the pillow to slip from her head as Blaise's lips came to her ear. "Are we to have another day in bed, my love?"

She opened her mouth, and a sound came out but 'twas not coherent even to her own ears, so she nodded. So long as he did not stop rubbing that spot she did not care what they did.

***

Alice quietly shut the door and ran away from her parent's bedchamber. She had been told very strictly from her parents and both her grandfathers that if she were to ever burst in her parent's chamber and find them hidden under the covers, she was to ask no questions, make no sounds, turn about, and leave as quickly and quietly as possible.

The words in which the warning was continually spoken made her curious, but fearful, and she kept to the wishes of her family.

She ran into the great hall and took a seat beside her grandmother, though she didn't seem to notice her presence. Her uncles were attempting to best each other in an eating contest and Marianne was too preoccupied in trying to put their game to a halt to pay any mind to her.

Her grandfather, William, shook his head at the antics of his sons before he took his third son, Jefferey, from Marianne’s arms, allowing her to properly scold Henry and Edward.

The infant made delighted sounds for his father, and William’s hand softened the head of red hair in a gentle motion before he kissed the boy’s head.

Alice’s father had always been particularly pleased that Jefferey had red hair, though she did not understand why. ‘Twas an awful color, and she was always grateful to have inherited her golden locks, though there were some tiny freckles on her nose.

"Will grandfather Nicholas come for a visit tonight?"

Her grandfather turned his eyes away from his children for a moment to address her question. "It has been two days since his last visit, so we can likely expect him since he is overdue."

Alice grinned. Her grandfather always brought her small gifts whenever he came. She enjoyed being spoiled.

"Where are yer parents?" Marianne asked, having finally settled the eating game between Henry and Edward. She took Alice’s blonde hair in her hands and began to braid it.

"I think they are ill again because they were under the covers in bed."

Marianne abruptly halted her actions. Alice looked up as she sent a secretive smile at William, who sent her the same look.

“What is it?” Alice asked.

Her grandmother resumed her work on Alice’s hair. “Nothing ye should concern yerself with. Try not to knock on their door while they are inside. Allow them to come out on their own.”

William lifted his goblet in his free hand to drink. "Then we shall not see them all day, I fear."

THE END

About The Author

Rizzo Rosko lives and works in Ottawa, Ontario, is a romance junkie, a lousy web designer, and is working hard to improve the craft of creating an actual plot. She one day hopes to stop mooching off her big brother for cheap rent, because, as we all know, writing is an easy way to earn a lot of cash.

Rosko has won no awards, requires eleven hours of sleep per night, and sometimes has to force herself to sit in her chair to write because, for the most part, she is too lazy to write an outline before sitting down at her computer.

Other Books by Rizzo Rosko

From Siren Publishing (As Mandy Rosko)

Mate of the Wolf

Night and Day (M/M)

Eclipse

The Wolf’s Pack (Sequel to Mate of the Wolf, Coming Sept 2011)

From Noble Romance (As Mandy Rosko)

Angels & Demons (M/M Coming Soon)

From Smashwords

Lady Thief

Lady Deception

Other Projects

The Calm Before the Storm (Working title, sequel to Night and Day)

Mate of the Wolf

By Mandy Rosko

From Siren Publishing

Chapter One

Shelley Star shifted awake before her eyes opened. She stretched, then froze. Something was wrong. Her air mattress was scratchy, grimy, and damp. Dirt, leaves, and grass.

A twig snapped. Pinecones crunched beside her head as she moved.

Shelley’s eyes flew open.

She was face-to-dick with the biggest penis she’d ever seen. She screamed. The shriek flew into the sky and shook the birds from their nests and probably woke up all the critters in their little holes, too. She tried to scramble away, but her stiff limbs weren’t as fast as her attacker, who came awake when she stupidly opened her mouth.

Large hands whipped out, cobra fast, and wrapped around her face, holding her mouth shut by squeezing her jaw. Hurting her. Oh God, any more pressure and the bones there were going to crack. Shelley’s scream turned into a wail of pain and blood-pumping terror. She scratched at his wrists and arms, but there was no loosening of his grip.

With the sun directly behind him, the figure was as black as a shadow in an alley at night. Even if she managed to get away, she could never give a description to the police.

He was going to kill her. Rape her first, then kill her. No, beat her, rape her, and then kill her. She was dead, dead, dead!

“How did you get here? Who are you?” the figure demanded in a deep rumble. He shook her a little when she didn’t answer.

Must have forgotten he was holding her mouth shut. Tears leaked from Shelley’s eyes. She moaned—a pitiful noise under his big hands—and shook her head as much as she could.

His giant fingers slipped away from her mouth slowly, as though realizing his mistake. A flood of warmth hit her over the spot where his hands had been, blood returning to her jaw and lips. An unpleasant tingling followed. Though, she couldn’t pay much attention to that as Crazy-Guy’s hands moved to either side of her head. His naked body remained mostly on top of hers. She got the message—he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Don’t be scared. I’m sorry. I’m not going to hurt you.”

His soothing voice and gentle words didn’t bring her any peace. That was what all serial killers said. She was sure of it. They said it to lure their victims into a false sense of security right before they killed them, chopped them into little bitty pieces, and used those pieces for fertilizer.

Shelley coughed out a petrified sob and squeezed her legs shut. Like that would work, with those muscles of his. If he really wanted, he could force them back open again.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

How did she even get here? Where was she? And what was she doing alone in the woods with this man?

“Are you injured? Do you have any cuts? Or animal scratches? Here, I’ll check.”

No time to think!

His large hands went to feel and touch her body, and Shelley’s knee flew up in response. Like a rocket blasting off skyward, it crashed into his groin.

His breath whooshed from his throat. His body spilled weakly overtop of hers. Shelley flattened her hands against his bare chest and pushed.

The man rolled off her and crumpled in on himself, coughing and holding his hurting flesh with both hands like he was afraid it would fall off. Shelley jumped to her feet before he could rise up and kicked one leg in front of the other in a clumsy race for her life.

Find the road. Find the road.

Twigs, leaves, and heavy branches from low trees slapped and scratched her face, but she didn’t stop. She took a few pine needles in the mouth and stepped over rocks so sharp she felt them through her shoes, but that didn’t hinder her either.

She would find the road. Where the road was there would also be a car. She was going to stop it and get the driver to take her somewhere, anywhere, just so long as she could call the cops. Then she would go home, sink into her soaker tub, stay there for forty-eight hours, and never think about this ever again.

A heavy force knocked her forward, and she fell down, down, down into the leaves, pine needles, and sticks. She tried to rise, but a huge weight on her back kept her immobile.

That man was behind her, on top of her again, pinning her. Shelley’s shriek made her own lungs vibrate.

The large hand returned to her mouth, yanking her back and pressing her into his chest.

“Listen!” he hissed, snarling into her ear. “Don’t ever do that again. Don’t make a move unless I say, and don’t make a sound unless I say. Do you understand?”

Her pounding heart and the pine needles stabbing her hands disrupted her thought process, but she did indeed understand. She nodded.

“Good. I want you to stay still and stay very quiet because I’m going to move my hand.” He did as he said he would do.

Shelley gasped through her mouth and fought to breathe properly through choked words. “Please let me go. I won’t say anything to anyone. Just let me go.” Even to her own ears, she sounded like she’d witnessed a mob hit. Not good if she wanted him to release her.

Thoughts of a time, back home, when it had been discovered that a man had been prowling around outside her house, taking pictures through her windows, flashed through her brain. But he had been caught before she even knew of the threat.

Last she’d heard, however, his prison had been minimum security that consisted mostly of therapy and locked doors rather than iron bars and barbed wire fences.

Still, if he had been released, or escaped, she would have been informed. So who was this man?

“What are you doing out here?”

“Please let me go.” She could barely see through her tears. He wouldn’t let her go, she knew it. Her fists clenched into the needles on the ground, but even though they pierced her fingers, she couldn’t unclench her hands. She was dead.

Shelley let out a tiny shriek when he gripped her upper arms and his blunt fingertips dug into her flesh.

“What are you doing out here?” He repeated the words as though through a clenched jaw.

“I—I…I was hiking.” That’s right. She remembered now. Her agent had suggested it. Had said the country air away from the city and everyone who knew her name would be good for her, and ultimately, her career as well.

So much for that advice.

Shelley recalled the drive, nothing but her, the highway, and her loud stereo spilling Shania Twain for hours until she passed out of California State and into Washington, then just a little farther until she found the right spot. She’d set up a tent rather than rent a cabin. She’d been excited for that part, especially since she’d never done real camping before.

She had found and placed large stones to make a fire pit before inhaling the pine-scented air in a deep sucking motion and feeling more relaxed than she ever remembered. She had thought coming out here was the best thing she’d ever done for herself.

Then a deep, animal rumble had sounded behind her. She’d spun and dropped the tin kettle she’d been holding and gasped.

A gray wolf. A bundle of murdering muscles with shaggy fur and pointed teeth stood just inside her clearing, golden eyes staring at her.

Shelley hadn’t known what to do. It shouldn’t have even been there at all. She didn’t know a lot about camping, but she’d researched and made sure all her food was kept in airtight containers to keep the animals away. But one was here now and looking right at her. Should she be still? Play dead? Or try and scare it away with loud noises?

The wolf had decided for her by lunging.

Shelley had grabbed a stick from her fire pit and swung the heavy log like a bat. She’d hit her target in the muzzle and the wolf had cried out as it went down.

Shelley made a similar pained sound as the fire that had been eating away at her weapon licked her hand. She’d dropped the stick without meaning to just as the wolf turned its glowing eyes back to her.

Shelley had turned tail and run like the Flash.

She didn’t remember anything else up to waking up with this dangerous, naked stranger on top of her. Guess she wasn’t Flash material.

Comparatively, Shelley would rather be eaten alive than raped and murdered in the woods.

“Hiking.” He repeated her answer. “Did you come across any animals? A wolf?”

She turned her head as much as possible, trying to stare up into his face. She still couldn’t make out any features because of the damn morning sun, and craning her neck like that hurt. “How,” she swallowed and sniffed, “how did you know?”

“God.” He groaned as if in pain, like she’d kneed him in the balls all over again. His large hands went under her shirt and moved to lift it off.

Shelley shrieked and tried to punch his hands away, but it was awkward because he was still behind her. She kicked and twisted and screamed, but he was too heavy to be thrown off.

He pressed his palm into her back, pushing her into the dirt and making it all the harder for her to hit him. “Stop it! I said I’m not going to hurt you.” His harsh voice became softer toward the end of his sentence.

She didn’t believe him. “Don’t rape me. Please, I have money, lots of it. I’ll give you as much as you want.”

He turned her over but didn’t move to get off her. Though she still couldn’t make out his features that well, hills high into his hairline suggested raised brows.

“Rape you? I swear I’d never—what made you think that?”

She couldn’t contain herself. “You are naked, on top of me, and trying to take my clothes off, you bastard!”

“Jesus, lady!” he hissed, rubbing one of his ears with his palm.

She inwardly relished it. Good. She hoped she gave him permanent hearing damage.

His hands went palm down on the ground on both sides of her head, not seemingly bothered by the pine needles pricking him. It was a reminder of who was large and in charge as he leaned in close. “I’m only trying to see if you have any bites or scratches on you. This isn’t sexual.”

“Why are you naked then?” she demanded, though it didn’t sound as strong as she wanted with her shaky breath.

He sighed. “I can’t answer that, but I promise it has nothing to do with assaulting women in the woods.”

She didn’t believe him.

He must have seen that. “I’ll only lift your shirtsleeves. How ’bout that? You can check everywhere else on your own, and I won’t take off your clothes. But if you fight me on this, I’ll tie you to one of these trees and strip you naked so I can see for myself.”

She totally believed that. His hard voice gave no indication he was joking. Shelley let her body go slack.

He breathed a sigh. “Okay, I won’t hurt you.” His hands were gentle on her wrist, not gripping too hard or digging his fingernails into her skin. He used his other hand to lift the sleeve of her thin pink shirt.

She’d worn something with sleeves because she didn’t want too much skin exposed to the blood-sucking insects, and it was thin enough and made of that breathing material so she didn’t sweat all over the place in the heat. Now, she wished she were wearing a tank top instead so he could perform his little search with his eyes.

Ugh, never mind. Just the thought of a strange, naked man’s eyes roaming over her gave her the chills.

Wait a minute. That was right, her arms were covered. There was no way she could have cut or scratched herself against the trees while she ran. And if that wolf had bitten her, the wound would have bled right through her clothes.

What was he really doing?

“Relax. You’re tense. You’re working yourself up,” he said, lifting the sleeve of her other arm.

She could see his eyes now, which was strange because she was still blind to the rest of his face because of that damn sun. They were flashing, bright enough that she could make out their gray—no, silver—color. Was it even possible for eyes to do that?

Didn’t matter. Those silver eyes were extremely focused, as if he didn’t dare miss an inch of her flesh.

“What do you think I’m hiding?” she asked.

His eyes met hers, glistening brighter than ever. “You have scratches on your neck.”

Her hand went to the spot. A sting of pain flared. It wasn’t wet but a little sticky. Blood, but not much. “It must’ve been from the tree branches when I was running.” From both the wolf and later him, no doubt.

If he thought she didn’t notice how he didn’t answer her question, he was so wrong. She tried to move, to put distance between their bodies. His hand took her wrist and gripped it like an iron shackle.

“Let me go,” she said.

He didn’t blink. She could tell his face remained steady because the deep shadows blocking him from her didn’t move. Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Shelley tensed, panic rising inside her. “You’re sorry?”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t let you go.”

One of his muscled arms reached under her knees, and the other wrapped around her back before she fully understood his words.

And his actions.

He hoisted her into the air and onto his shoulder. The ground blurred, and the wind rushed in her ears like someone was blowing in them nonstop.

No. That couldn’t be right. The ground wasn’t blurred, it was just moving really fast. So were his feet. He was running so fast with her that the wind flapped her hair around, made a haze of the earth, and made her deaf to everything but that noise.

Then the more important fact came crushing in on her. He was kidnapping her. Taking her deeper into the woods. Away from any help.

Shelley’s scream rocked the trees.

Connect With Me Online:

Website: www.rizzorosko.com

Blog: www.rizzorosko.blogspot.com

Twitter: http://twitter.com/Rizzorosko

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/rizzorosko