Page 86 of Wed By Proxy

They both knew he was lying through his teeth. By the time a search party was organized and rode forth from Acton March, he would be dead. Mathilde ducked her head and took a shaky breath. “Very well.”

“And don’t go telling any lies,” he said. “Trying to defend my honor, or some such nonsense. If you tell them we were set upon or attacked by robbers, you’ll get some poor tramp or travelling tinker hung.” Mathilde swallowed and nodded. “We both know I don’t give a damn about my sister’s feelings on the matter.” With a great effort, he pulled his hand away and shoved at her shoulder. “Go!”

Mathilde climbed stiffly to her feet. “Tristan,” she said in a wobbly voice.

“Go!” Wearily, he leaned the back of his head against the cave wall. “Hold!” he said suddenly, seeming to change his mind. “Let me fix you in my mind a moment.” Then smiled at her. “I have you. Leave now.”

Mathilde nodded. “Goodbye Tristan,” she said in a choked voice.

He did not speak, but let his eyes drift shut, still smiling. Then, turning on her heel, Mathilde fled.

Quickly, she traversed the narrow tunnels, following Tristan’s directions until she found herself in the flooded chamber. She was forced to wade through the cold waters, feeling them seep into her ankle boots. Finally, she caught sight of the shaft of light that marked the entrance. With a muffled sob, she plunged through it and started running down the slope on legs that shook. She didn’t even notice the collection of figures that had arrived and were looking over their horses. A tall figure detached itself from the rest and stepped quickly forward, just as Mathilde realized she could not slow down and cannoned into him.

“I’ve got you,” said Lord Oswald Vawdrey, catching her in a surprisingly strong grip. Mathilde’s legs gave way, and she sagged against him, winded as he said sounding relieved. “I was just starting to get seriously concerned about your welfare.”

Mathilde lifted her face from his shoulder. “Please, you must help him!” she said in a low urgent voice. For the life of her, Mathilde could not fathom why the king’s chief advisor should be here at Braeburn Heights, but for the moment, she just knew she had to get help. She clutched at his hands and tried to hold back her sobs. “He— He’s dying! I’ve killed him!” She could hear the note of hysteria in her voice, even as she sought to suppress it. She heard some startled murmurings from the group of men behind him.

“Calm yourself, dear Lady Martindale,” Earl Vawdrey said soothingly. “I’m sure all will be well.” Then he checked his words, and Mathilde saw the direction of his gaze. Her cloak had fallen back, and he was following the bright red bloodstains that streaked down her skirts. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and concentrated very hard on not screaming.

“Do not say anymore just now,” he said in an urgent undertone. “Let’s get you to this tree-trunk and sit you down.” Mathilde found herself deposited carefully onto the large trunk of a fallen tree.

Oswald Vawdrey knelt down before her, his compelling gaze trained on hers. She wanted to look at who was with him, but could not quite tear her gaze away.

“Kerslake is up there? In the caves?” he asked quietly. She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. “But you are not injured?” She shook her head. “Can you check for me now?” Mathilde gazed at him a moment and then looked down at herself. Her skirts were rather a blood-splattered mess.

“It’s not my blood, you see” she whispered. At last he gave a swift nod and straightened up. “Anderson, you will lead a search party up to the caves to recover him,” he said. “You two, go with him. Kerslake is injured,” he said briefly.

Mathilde looked up quickly. “They’ll get lost, the caves are very treacherous for strangers.”

“Anderson is from around these parts,” he assured her with a quick smile. “You must not fret, Lady Martindale. All is well now.”

But how could all be well? She gazed up at him hopelessly, and then to her consternation, burst noisily into tears. A man had died by her hand.

XXXVII

It was not until they were halfway to Woodcote House, where it seemed Lord Vawdrey was staying, that she thought to ask why he had not taken her back to Acton March. No doubt the entire household would now be looking for her return. She was mounted on Sabrina, but Lord Vawdrey rode very close by, and bringing up the rear were two more men that he had not left at the caves.

Oswald Vawdrey had looked apologetic at her enquiry. “You see,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “There is a concerned party at Woodcote that needs to be assured of your good health.”

“A concerned party?” Mathilde asked in bewilderment.

“Yes. And one or two others who are merely consumed with vulgar curiosity,” he said wryly.

Mathilde was too exhausted to react properly to this news. The ride had taken longer than she had realized, Woodcote lying some seven miles to the west of Wickhamford. She felt annoyed with herself that she had allowed herself to be shepherded away like this when her guard was down. But then, she thought, suddenly stricken, perhaps Lord Vawdrey was looking to prepare some charge against her for her crime? After all, she thought wearily, had not Tristan confessed to being some agent of Lord Vawdrey’s? Indeed, she rather thought that he had mentioned something about communicating with Lord Vawdrey only recently. She eyed the Earl warily, but he was smiling affably back at her.

“I do not think I shall allow you any visitors until you are rested,” he said with sudden decision. “It would be a mistake, I think, to deliver you up to them while you are vulnerable.”

“Deliver me up? To the authorities you mean?” asked Mathilde dully. She gripped her reins very tightly.

“The authorities?” A startled expression crossed over Oswald Vawdrey’s handsome face. “Dear me, I seem to have expressed myself very ill, my dear Lady Martindale. I am here, I assure you, purely out of concern for your continued well-being.” He paused. “I am not sure it is advisable to discuss recent events at this present moment. You are wearied and in much need of a bath and then bed.” His eyes tracked back to the men following on behind them. “I would rather discuss such things when we are assured of privacy. You understand?”

Mathilde gazed back at him miserably. Not really. She inclined her head in acquiescence all the same. What else could she do?

“Fenella,” he said speaking his wife’s name in an abrupt change of subject, “will be overjoyed that you have been recovered none the worse for wear. She charged me with several messages for you and sent several parcels and letters. She would have come herself if she could have persuaded me, but we have recently discovered she is expecting my heir.”

Mathilde looked up quickly. “Oh, but that is wonderful news! Fenella must be overjoyed.”

“We both are,” he said firmly, and she could not mistake the pride in his voice.