A Lady Under Siege(29)
Kent stepped aside to allow Sylvanne to pass, then followed behind. She stepped into the room, and saw that it was dominated by a large canopy bed, its four heavy oak posts ornately carved with coiling, climbing snakes. Upon the bed, under rumpled white linen, slept a young girl, no more than twelve. Standing over her, with his back to the door, was a man. He brushed a wisp of hair from the girl’s forehead, and felt her cheek with the back of his hand.
Kent cleared his throat. “She is here, m’Lord,” he said.
Thomas of Gastoncoe turned around. “There you are,” he said. He searched Sylvanne’s eyes for a glimmer of recognition, and found nothing but seething anger there.
“Do you not know me?”
“I expect you to be Lord Thomas,” she replied.
“Yes, yes, you can guess who I am, but do you recognize me? Have you not seen me before?”
“Never,” she said coldly.
“But you have. I was at your wedding. That’s how I know you.”
“I swam in a multitude of new faces then,” Sylvanne said. “Preoccupied with my own passage from girl to wife, I remember few.”
“It was a magnificent feast, given by your husband. Nothing spared.”
Sylvanne gave him a withering look. “Indeed, it was the happiest time of my life,” she said. “And now I find each new day to be my unhappiest.”
Thomas dismissed Kent with a glance. With a bow, he left them.
“I’m sorry to hear about your husband,” Thomas told her. “A fine man, but stubborn. We passed good times together at the jousts. I was something of a mentor to him in those days, trying to curb his impetuous nature. We used to talk about going off crusading together. I was surprised when he didn’t go with his father. What was the nature of his illness?”
“You know full well,” Sylvanne spat.
“I apologize if you believe this unfortunate siege contributed in any way to his death.”
“An apology changes nothing. He’s dead, and we live.”
“Yes,” he responded. “And how is it that he died, while every other person in your retinue, everyone from maid to valet, from soldier to charwoman, survived? I know of some who clambered down over the walls and deserted you, but even of those who stayed within, how was it that he was the first and only one to die?”
Sylvanne returned his gaze defiantly. “He refused to eat while others went hungry,” she said.
“And you were not so noble? Or so impractical? You ate while he starved? If so, m’Lady, you are as much responsible for his death as I. Or did he eat somewhat? Or did he eat nearly as much as others, and only now, in death, do you seek to raise him to a false sainthood of self-denial?”
Sylvanne began to cry. She turned her back to him, hating herself for showing him this weakness. Thomas spoke with sympathy. “I don’t mean to make you suffer more for it. You’ve lost a spouse, I know what emotions that arouses, what torments bruise your heart. All I mean to suggest is that, considering that every other person placed in his circumstances survived, then some other malady must have caused his death. And I apologize if my actions in any way hastened it.”
He came to her, and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. She jumped at his touch, twisted away from it, and turned to face him, enraged, electrified.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” she growled. “Don’t you ever lay a hand on me.” She stepped back, eyes darting madly about the room. She spotted a short sword in a scabbard hanging over the back of a chair, ran to it, unsheathed it, and held it with two hands, aiming it toward him so that the tip was chest high. Thomas was alert, and wary, but not frightened, for his martial training had included techniques for fighting unarmed against a swordsman. Not that she was any swordsman—he could tell that from the awkward, insubstantial way she waved the blade at him. The fury that burned like passion in her eyes failed to translate into menace with a weapon. He smiled at her, and the hint of condescension in his eyes drove her mad. In a frenzy she charged at him, wildly slashing with the blade. He ducked nimbly behind one of the posts at the foot of the canopy bed, and when Sylvanne lunged fiercely at his head her sword came to an abrupt halt, embedded in the bedpost, perfectly bisecting one of the ornate snakes carved there. Sylvanne tugged on the hilt, struggling with all her strength to free the blade, but she couldn’t make it budge.
Thomas watched her in amusement for a moment, then stepped around the bedpost and grabbed her by her wrists. In a calm, unruffled voice he called for Kent, who entered immediately. “Help me pacify the Lady,” Thomas commanded. “I want her hands tied securely, but as comfortably as possible. And afterward free this damn blade, but carefully, without causing further damage to the poor furniture.”