Page 70 of Wed By Proxy

“It’s not her fault,” Robin added quickly, misinterpreting the source his disapproval. “She didn’t know any better. Once we started showing her the ropes, she soon caught on.”

Guy shot him a look of misgiving. He didn’t know what to think about four young squires tutoring his wife into the ways of the world.

“I need to have some speech with her,” he had concluded abruptly. He’d have to pursue this conversation at some future point in time. “Waldon is taking Prudence back to the lodge now, so you could either go back with them, or stay here if you prefer.” Leaving it up to the boy to decide, he nodded at Robin, who cautiously returned the gesture, then strode from the room.

“I need you to talk to me,” Guy told the huddled lump in the bed. “We need to … explain to one another. I need to explain.” Nothing. He reached out and grabbed the sheets, dragging them down to her waist.

She looked pale and wan, lying there in her shift. “Leave me be,” Mathilde said wearily.

“I did not betray you, Mathilde,” Guy insisted. “Julia Allworthy is a guest in my house, nothing more.”

Mathilde turned her face away from him to face the wall. If she would only cry or scream at him, it would somehow be better than this, he thought.

“I’m not giving you anymore time to grieve yourself about this,” he said tersely. “You’ve had two days, and you’ll get no more.”

“I can go home?” she asked in a small voice he barely recognized as hers, so lacking in spirit was it.

“You are home,” he said uncompromisingly. Did she mean the lodge or worse? He refused entirely to acknowledge the possibility of the latter. “We can visit the lodge together at our leisure, but our place is here.” She gave no answer to that. “I’m sending Lettys in to attend you and help you dress.”

“I want Prudie.”

“Well, you’re getting Lettys,” he snapped. He regarded her a moment, his brow furrowed. “When you’re up and about, we’ll talk more,” he said in a stilted manner. “I have much to speak of.”

Her listless reception of this disturbed him more than he could say. She seemed to have passed the distressed stage and reached some place he could not touch her. And he did not like it. Not one bit.

On his way back below stairs, a frightened looking servant approached him. “My lord, a visitor awaits you below.”

“I’m not seeing anyone,” Guy answered, practically grinding his teeth. No doubt it was some prying neighbor who had attended the feast and wanted more salacious details about the state of his marriage!

The servant turned pale. “It’s, er, well, it’s, er…“

“What?” Guy barked. “Oh, never mind, I’ll tell them myself!”

He didn’t care if it was the Earl of Strethneal, he’d send him away with a flea in his ear! However, on reaching the hallway, he found it was altogether a different class of guest.

“Mistress Helga,” he blurted, seeing her upright figure stood just inside the doorway. “I did not realize it was you.”

He glanced about wondering where the servants were cowering. Staying out of his way no doubt. He came across them in small huddles, whispering to each other and glancing at him askance. No wonder that fool had not wished to turn her away. Didn’t have the guts to.

“Come through,” he invited in a weary voice. “I’m sure we can find you some refreshment.”

The large black raven on her shoulder croaked. “Be quiet you,” Helga muttered, sounding annoyed. “Who asked your opinion?”

Guy shot her a startled glance.

“Tancred and I are not on friendly terms this morn,” she said by way of explanation, following Guy down the corridor. “He says I do not deserve to break my fast.” She sighed. “It’s a hard life when one’s actions are judged so harshly, is that not so?”

The topic of conversation struck a chord of fellow feeling, and Guy found himself concurring. He felt very ill-judged at present. Even Temur’s wife Lettys, his previous ally, had looked at him beadily when he had told her she was now to wait on his marchioness. He was quite sure half of his staff thought him an unprincipled lecher who had used his wife very ill.

“Tancred does not appreciate my methods. But I always tell him, the end justified the means, do you not agree, my lord?”

They had reached the Great Hall now, and Guy led her to a wooden bench and gestured for her to be seated.

“Quite,” he murmured distractedly. He caught sight of a shadow lurking beyond the door at the far end of the room. “Hie! You there, fetch us ale and oat cakes,” he ordered briskly. Hasty footfalls told him his orders had been received. “How can I help you this morning,” he asked politely, as he considered his next move in the campaign to break down his wife’s defenses.

Suddenly, it occurred to him that Mathilde had a fondness for the old witch. Maybe he could recruit her to his service? After all, the old crone must know he was quite innocent of any wrongdoing, other than his failure to trust his own wife. When he turned his head to give the old woman a considering look, he was startled to find himself being eyed in the same appraising nature.

“Maybe ’tis I’m here to help you?” she suggested slowly. “Ever considered that?”