Chapter 4

He was so silent, almost as if he had suddenly been turned into stone. His expression was the same as when she said those fatal words. For a moment, she questioned whether she had made the right decision in telling him. She bit her lower lip nervously. He seemed so distant.

"William," she called softly. When he didn't respond, she reached out tentatively and touched his arm.

He flinched, pulling away from her. Sneering, he retorted, "You dare offer yourself to me when you are not pure."

He grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him. His voice was low, yet so fierce that it sent a shiver up her spine. "Tell me, slut, why should I pay for you and my brother's sin?"

He released her, as if she the very touch of her skin was repulsive to him. He turned his back on her, looking at the grayness of the sky. William was more disappointed than he thought, to see this beautiful woman the same as every other lady he had ever had the displeasure of meeting in Pelicana. Was she not as despicable as any of them in her hypocrisy? More so, even, for she seemed so innocent.

She didn't bat an eyelash at his insult. It was understandably expected, but it hurt nonetheless. "You know what they would do to me if they found out," she countered. "The punishment for consummation outside of marriage is abandonment in the mountains, regardless of how powerful my father is."

"You should have thought about that before you fucked my brother," he said without pity.

If you only knew my pain, she thought. Without raising her voice, she asked, "How many women have you bedded in your lifetime, my Lord General? Ten? Thirty? And how many of those women do you think you've unknowingly impregnated?" When he didn't reply, she continued, "You would never really know now, would you? From what I've heard, the army life is quite mobile. You would never see those poor women again. If they're lucky, perhaps they would be able to raise your bastard children alongside their legitimate children. If they are not ... well, you would never know that either, would you?"

She stepped closer to him, her nose inches away from his chin. "How do you place the blame? How do they hold you responsible?"

"Enough. You've made your point," he snarled.

She felt a bitter triumph at the twitching muscle along his jaw. "Because we are forced by the Gods to bear children, we are always held responsible for any extramarital relationship and any illegitimate children formed from the union. Tell me, General, how is a society just if women are punished more severely for the same crime as men?"

He finally turned his impassive face towards her. "Lady Aubren, if you came here to lecture me on your social theory, I'm afraid I have not the political power nor the inclination to change a whole society."

"I do not lecture," she said calmly. "I was merely pointing out that you have no right to judge me for what I might or might not have done with your brother when you yourself must have done the same with other women, many times."

She no longer looked like the meek obedient woman who entered the chamber. In her eyes there was a fire that burned for a passion he had not thought existed. Her posture was erect, and her head held proudly despite his best attempt to stare her down. She seemed like a completely different woman, one that commanded respect. His estimation of her was raised by another notch.

"There are ways to rid myself of the child, do you think I do not know this?" she said quietly. "There are midwives and apothecaries who would willingly provide me the potion at the right compensation. But I could not bear to do that to an innocent unborn. It's a part of me too." Her hand flew to her stomach, beneath her bodice. "I was hoping that you would do the honorable deed, since your brother is unavailable to give this child the name it deserves. I am not asking for your affection, or your faithfulness. I am asking you, for the sake of this child, to lend me the protection of your name in exchange for my hefty dowry."

"I don't want your money," he growled.

She smiled, but her expression was cold. "Without my dowry, you will have to sell off your land to pay off Henry's debts. Don't for one minute think that this will bear well with a man of your position. Why do you think all high-ranking generals are also landowners? A man without land has less vested in the loss of a country."

William pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the headache he was beginning to feel. This was all Henry's fault. Before his brother's untimely death, he had never had headaches. Now he experienced them constantly. He had to admit that Lady Aubren's logic was beginning to make sense, although he wasn't quite sure that it wasn't just because of his pounding head. Life used to be much simpler just a few weeks ago.

Lucia was secretly thrilled. He looked as if he were changing his mind. She bit down on her tongue to hide the smug smile that threatened to bloom.

"How do I know that the child is my brother's?" he asked finally.

She lifted her chin. "Take a look at me," she commanded. She didn't move until his eyes met hers. "Take a good look at me. Do I look like a loose woman?" she demanded.

"No," he said after staring at her for a moment. "I don't know why I'm taking your word for it. It's probably an error of judgement on my part, but I do."

He paced to the fireplace, leaning on the mantle and looking up at his mother's portrait that hung above. Not for the first time, he wished that she had not died. Perhaps then Henry would behave normally, and maybe their father could love them a little. When he turned to face her, his expression was composed.

"Lady Aubren," he began, "a man cannot make such life-altering decision at the spur of the moment. Won't you allow me tonight at least to consider this proposition? I will inform you of my decision by tomorrow."

"Certainly, my Lord," Lucia replied. "I understand your reluctance. Please bear in mind my arguments." She curtsied, and left.

"I most certainly will," William grumbled, sinking down in his father's armchair while wondering how in hell his life got so complicated.

Maria was waiting for her when she stepped into the refuge of her room. "How goes it, lass?" she asked, anxiously closing the door behind Lucia.

Dazed by the events of the morning, Lucia collapsed onto her bed. Her trembling fingers started to tug at her bodice. The contraption was uncomfortable enough when she wasn't pregnant, and almost unbearable now that she was. Looking at her pale face, Maria rushed to her rescue, her expert hands releasing Lucia at once. Lucia sighed in relief. Her fingers worked to pull out all the pins that Maria had painstakingly arranged around her dark curls. Maria looked at her in disapproval, but helped her into her nightgown.

"I think I am rather tired," Lucia said weakly. "Please let Lord Ravenshire know that I will not be able to join him for luncheon, nor supper for that matter."

"Oh child."

Lucia allowed Maria to tuck her into bed. She was tired, mentally weary from sparring with the young general. Maria left to converse with the kitchen staff, probably to arrange for a tray to be brought up for Lucia later. Her body threatened to revolt once more at the mere thought of food. She shut her eyes tightly, hoping that the wave of nausea would pass soon.

She wasn't sure when she drifted off, but when she awoke, she could see that the fog had cleared, revealing the rolling green hills of Ravenshire. Weakly, she struggled to sit up.

"Ah, there she is," Maria said as she backed out of the adjoining chamber. "We were wondering when you would wake up from the dead."

She laid a hand on Lucia's brows, but again felt nothing unusual. She shook her head. Lucia smiled a little at the familiar gesture.

"There's no need to worry about me, Maria. I'm in good health, really."

Maria humphed, but brought a silver tray with a bowl of chicken broth. Despite Lucia's protest, she insisted on feeding her the soup, as if Lucia were still a child. Knowing the futility of any further arguments, Lucia opened her mouth obediently. Maria was not satisfied until all of the soup was gone. Setting aside the tray, Maria now fussed with the covers until Lucia was safely tucked in. Fisting her hands at her hips, she looked at her charge anxiously.

"Shall I send for a half-healer?" she asked.

"No, no," Lucia said quickly. "I don't need any. I think I'm simply worn out by the strenuous journey."

Maria scowled, but left without another word. Lucia sighed, rolling her shoulders to force herself to relax. It took so much out of her, this farce she was playing. Just a couple more months, she told herself sternly. If William indeed married her, she would be able to proclaim her pregnancy in a month or so. Would it not be nice if she needn't hide this monumental news! Her hand covered her lower stomach, where the flutter of life was not yet apparent. I'll be the best of mothers, she vowed silently to her unknown child. I will love you.

William urged his stallion forward, craving the release of his mind through speed. He just didn't know what to do about Lucia. The impending question hung like a teetering blade, making him restless. As he raced across the landscape of his childhood, gusts of sea wind whipped across his face, stinging his eyes with its saltiness and dryness, but he carried forth. Descending down the grassy hills, William suddenly paused, though allowing Shane to pace around impatiently. He looked longingly at the ocean before resolutely turning his mount inland. There was still someone he needed to see.

He slowed Shane down as they entered the little village a couple miles away from the ocean, in the midst of fields of grain. Men and women were working on the fall harvest already, occasionally looking up and unbending their backs. He swung off his stallion when he reached the first cottage, wary of the giggling children dashing out across the street. He saw women hanging laundry outside, felt their stares as he passed each house. As he reached the main square of the village, he veered toward the temple.

An elderly woman in the priestess garb was sweeping the marble steps of the temple. It wasn't as big and extravagant as the other temples that William had seen. It was a humble place, simply for honoring the Gods and the Goddesses. William stood quietly, watching the woman. As if feeling his gaze, the woman stood up, brushing a strand of white hair off her forehead. She looked at William, and slowly, a smile started on her face.

William's face mirrored hers, for he was grinning widely. Taking the last few steps between them, he embraced the old woman. He noted that she had grown more frail. Her hair, only streaked with white when he last saw her, was now completely white, matching the purity of her robe. When he pulled away to look at her at last, he saw the tears swimming in her eyes.

"You have returned," she said, smiling.

"Had you any doubt of that?" William asked teasingly.

Sweeping the dust into the street, she said without looking up, "No, dear child. I've always known you would return." She paused her sweeping, and leaned on the broom, observing him. "You look troubled. What brings you here today?"

William bowed his head, hiding his eyes from her sharp inspection. "Holy Mother, I came to seek counsel of your wisdom in a matter of utmost importance."