Bliss(32)
Author: Lynsay Sands

Kill him, she now finished what she had stopped her maid from saying at the time. Dear Lord, there probably wasn’t a person here at Tiernay who wouldn’t think they were doing her a favor by killing Hethe, and it was partially her own fault. His reputation as a cruel ruler was probably part of it, but it didn’t help that she had made her wishes on the matter so clear with her smelly potions and rotten food.

Which put her in a terrible spot. She had to keep her husband safe from her people, and her people safe from her husband, until she could sort the whole mess out.

Chapter Eighteen

"How is he doing?"

Helen gave a start at the question and turned from closing the bedchamber door to find her aunt approaching down the hallway from her own room.

"Fine. I left Goliath to guard him. He’s still sleeping. But I think he will need another dose of Joan’s tincture soon."

Aunt Nell raised her eyebrows and gave Helen an amused look as they started toward the stairs. "Just how long do you intend to keep drugging him?"

Helen grimaced as guilt consumed her. Since Hethe had refused to willingly take any sedatives, she’d had Joan give it to him in place of the potion for his aching head that first morning. But Helen had continued to keep him drugged these last two days, pouring the potion down Hethe’s throat any moment he showed signs of stirring. She had salved her conscience by convincing herself that it was in his best interests, that his injury had obviously left him confused, else he wouldn’t have said those awful things about her being happy were he to die. But, the truth was she had hoped to sort out this problem of someone trying to kill him before he was up and about and vulnerable again. It wasn’t that she did not think Hethe could take care of himself, but there were so many people here who could be behind the attack, so many who had suffered under his rule.

Helen had spent a good deal of the last two days subtly asking any and everyone if they had seen or noticed anyone on, near, or going up the stairs before the accident. No one had seen anything, of course.

She was no closer now to sorting the matter out than she had been when he was hurt – and in good conscience, she could not continue to dose Hethe. He had slept for two days and his bruises were beginning to fade. No doubt the aching in his head would be gone by now, too. She would have to find another way to see him safe.

Sighing, Helen glanced unhappily over the people gathering for the evening meal as she and her aunt reached the bottom of the stairs and started across the great hall toward their seats. One of these people had pushed Hethe down the stairs. One of her own subjects. Her gaze slid over the faces again, recognizing many refugees from Holden. Serfs and villeins she had taken in after horrible abuses. Abuses most still thought Hethe had ordered. Any one of them might be harboring enough anger and resentment to wish him dead. She could even understand their rage. So many had suffered so much. Who could blame them for wanting revenge?

She felt a chill run down her back. Suddenly, people whom she thought she knew well – some for years, some all her life – didn’t seem as harmless as before. Feeling a sense of danger closing in on her, she clenched her hands at her sides. She had to find a way to be sure none of her subjects would try to kill Hethe again. Could they? Those who were angry enough to kill would remain silent, and if any of her subjects knew of a plot, they were keeping it to themselves – and she supposed she could not really blame them. She might have protected Hethe’s would-be assassin herself before she had learned that he was not the one behind the sadistic reign ofHoldenCastleand its lands. The thought made Helen pause.

"Of course," she whispered, her mind racing. She need not find the culprit. She needed only to pass the news around that Hethe was not the one behind the abuses and mutilations that had occurred. Surely, whoever Hethe’s attacker was would then realize he had made a mistake and leave him alone.

"Child?" her aunt prompted.

"I will stop dosing him now," she said, in answer to the question her aunt had asked her upstairs. "He has healed enough."

Hethe opened his eyes slowly, an instinctive reaction to the pain pounding through his head. A remnant from last night, he realized and grimaced. He should be grateful that a headache was all he was suffering.

He could easily be dead. It had been a nasty tumble he had taken. An angel must have been cushioning his fall when he had pitched down those stairs.

He didn’t feel very grateful though. Oh, he was sure he would be glad to be alive in a day or so, but at the moment his pounding head made death seem a peaceful respite.

"You are really in a bad way," he told himself grimly and closed his eyes. He heard a soft whine from the foot of the bed; then a moment later something warm and wet slopped across his face. Hethe’s eyes popped open and he found himself gaping into the smiling, slack-tongued face of Goliath.

"Dear God," he moaned, pushing the foul-breathed beast away, then glanced toward Helen’s side of the bed to complain. He found her side of the bed empty. Scowling, he sat up slowly, groaning at the stiffness in seemingly every part of his body. Good Lord, he felt as if he had been trampled. Glowering, he glanced at himself and grimaced at the bruises coloring almost every inch of his body. Which explained his pain. Shaking his head, he eased from the bed and swayed dizzily. He felt as weak as a baby. Damn.

Starting forward, he was forced to push Goliath away when the dog stepped into his path.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" he asked irritably as the dog again stepped before him, almost as if trying to stop him from getting up, "I thought you trailed your mistress like a shadow, hmmm?"

Goliath whined, then paced to the door and back.

"Abandoned you, too, did she?" he asked dryly. Moving to the chamber pot to relieve himself, he added, "Well, I shall let you out in a minute. Just let me – " Sweet Jesu , Hethe realized. I am talking to a damn dog .

"Must have knocked my head harder than I thought," he muttered, finishing with his business and hastening to pull on his clothes.

Goliath was waiting patiently by the door when Hethe was finally ready and made his shaky way to it.

He fully expected the beast to bound out and race below to find his mistress as soon as he opened the door, but the dog didn’t. Instead, it kept apace of Hethe, walking him down the hall to the stairs, then accompanying him down those as well. Hethe found himself feeling some affection for the beast.

As he descended into the great hall, Hethe started toward the head table, only to pause halfway there when he realized that while her aunt was there, his wife was not.

"Where is she?" he called out to Lady Shambleau. Goliath promptly set out for one of the side tables.

Hethe hesitated, then followed the beast. The dog led him directly to one of the lower boards. There, he found his wife seated, chattering away. She was so distracted with what she was saying, she hardly seemed to notice Goliath’s arrival, merely reached down to absently pat the dog as she continued speaking to the young woman beside her.

Intrigued, Hethe stepped closer to listen.

"Oh, my, yes. It is true. He did not order Stephen to do any of those things. In fact, he tried to confront him on the matter while we were at Holden, but the man has disappeared. Which is an admission of guilt if I ever heard of one. Do you not agree?" Before the woman could respond, Helen added, "Oh! And he has tried to rectify some of the things that his second did. He has brought back as many of the older women as he could to the castle, and he wants to settle a pension on some of those who were unfairly maimed or – "

"Wife," Hethe interrupted.

Helen stiffened at his voice, then shifted abruptly on the bench to gape up at him. "Husband! You are awake. How do you feel?"

Launching herself from her seat, his spouse hurried to his side to peer at his forehead with concern.

Hethe seized the opportunity to take her arm and hustle her over to the fireplace, out of earshot of Tiernay’s people. Goliath followed at a happy lope, dropping to the ground by their feet as Hethe paused and turned to face her, not releasing her arm.

"What are you doing?"

"Standing, talking to you," she answered cagily.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What was all that blather you were spouting to that woman? And who is she?"

"Oh, that is Gert," his wife answered quickly. "And I was just… talking" she ended lamely.

"You were just gossiping about my private business," he corrected. "And I want to know why."

Helen bit her lip, hesitated a moment, then admitted reluctantly, "Gert used to be from Holden."

"Oh?" He felt his stomach tighten. "And?"

"And there was some trouble."

Hethe looked back to the woman, surveying her more closely. "She does not appear to be missing any limbs," he said with relief.

"Oh, nay." Helen glanced back at Gert, too, and seeing the woman looking their way, she offered a smile, then turned back to Hethe. "Well, you cannot see her ears, of course. She wears her hair to cover it."

"To cover it ?" Hethe asked reluctantly.

"Aye," His wife said apologetically, obviously sorry to have to impart another tragic story. "She was a laundress at Holden."

"And?" he prompted, knowing he really didn’t wish to hear.

"And the beau of one of the other laundresses started paying too much attention to Gert. The girl was jealous and accused her of stealing linens to sell in the village. Stephen sent someone to check her cottage and found evidence. Now, Gert swears she did not take anything. She confided to me that she suspects the other girl planted it before accusing her."

"And?" Hethe asked bleakly. "How was she punished? Stephen cut off her ear?"

"Nay. Well, not exactly," Helen said solemnly, regret in her eyes. "She refused to confess, so they put her in the pillory. She stood there for days. Then Stephen claimed he got the order from you to urge the matter along. He nailed her ear to the pillory. She eventually pulled free but lost a good portion of ear to the effort."

"Oh, God," Hethe breathed in horror.

"Aye."

They were both silent for a minute; then Hethe peered at his wife and slowly shook his head. "I do not understand how he could have hidden such a monstrous streak. Stephen was always the quiet and peaceful one. ‘Twas why I left him at Holden. He did not care much for battle."

Helen patted his arm sympathetically. "He seemed a perfectly nice man to me, too. And I am usually a very good judge of character," she added, as if that would make up for the fact that she, in moments, had not seen what he had missed with years of opportunity.

"You should have something to eat, my lord," she said when she saw him sway. Taking his arm, she urged him toward the head table. "You will feel better after you do."

Hethe knew that food would not help in this instance, but saw little else that would. Shaking his head, he started toward the head table. He had taken several steps when he realized that Helen was not with him anymore. Scowling, he swung around, wincing as the abrupt action sent pain shooting through his head. It did not help when he saw that, indeed, his wife was headed in the opposite direction.

"Wife!"

She paused at his call and turned back questioningly. "Aye?"

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, I was just going to…" Her voice trailed away, and the hand she was waving vaguely toward the other tables sank slowly to her side. Sighing, she moved back to join him. "Nothing. It will hold till later."

Eyeing her suspiciously, Hethe took his wife’s arm and escorted her to their seats.

"How did you sleep?" she asked solicitously as they took their places at the head table.

"Like the dead," Hethe muttered. When she looked disturbed by the remark, he amended, "Very well, t hankyou."

"Oh, good." Helen’s response was distracted and apparently unhappily so, it seemed from the tone, as a servant placed a trencher before each of them. Another servant followed with two mugs of ale. When Hethe started to raise his, she quickly snatched it away and handed him hers own.

"What are you doing?" he asked when she handed his full mug to a passing servant.

"Nothing," she answered innocently, removing his trencher and sliding her own between them.

"Helen?"

She widened her eyes at his plaintive tone. "It is in the marriage contract, husband. You had it put there.

We are to drink out of the same mug and eat out of the same trencher. There you are." She pushed her dish a little closer, encouraging, and Hethe scowled.

"There is no need for that now. That was just to prevent you from giving me bad ale and rancid meat,"

he pointed out. "You are not doing that anymore."

Helen shrugged and plucked a piece of cheese from their plate, avoiding his eyes. " ‘Tis in the contract."

"Yes, but…" He paused, and she glanced at him warily. He saw the fear in her eyes, and his mind made the necessary leap. "You are not worried about bad food; you are worried about poison!"

"Who? Me? Poison? Do not be silly."

He glared at her. "What were you saying to that woman?" When she shrugged and avoided his eyes again, he thought back to everything he had heard, then slammed the mug he had just raised down on the table. "You’re still being forced to tell them I am not an ogre!" Just how long would he be cursed for having made a poor decision in choosing his second? He was not such an awful man, and it was wearing on him to be seen as such. And to have people trying to kill him because –

"I just thought it would be good to spread the word that you were not responsible for the punishments Stephen inflicted."

For a moment more he was furious; then he released his breath on a sigh and forced himself to relax.

She had been trying to help. Catching a movement out of the corner of his eye, Hethe glanced over his shoulder to see Joan approaching.

"Good evening, my lord. How are you feeling?" the old woman asked, her eyes examining him closely.