Bliss(34)
Author: Lynsay Sands

"If I were not half dead, I would take you up on that invitation," he murmured.

Helen smiled and widened her eyes. "Invitation, my lord?" she asked innocently. "I am merely trying to dry you." She slid her hand along his growing arousal then, and his breath came out as a sigh of pleasure.

"Dry me well then, wife. You would not want me catching the ague."

Helen chuckled softly at his words, but moved on with her toweling. Despite the interest the lower half of his body was showing, her husband’s eyes were again drifting wearily closed and she knew he wasn’t really up to anything. Finishing a moment later, she tossed her cloth aside and pulled the bedclothes up to cover him, then gently brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. She had intended to tell him about Stephen, but it would have to wait until the morrow. There was something she had to take care of that could not wait, though.

Straightening, she moved silently to the door, eased it open and slid out as soundlessly as she could.

Chapter Nineteen

Hethe’s head was pounding something fierce when he awoke – a state he was becoming used to, unfortunately, he decided as he turned his head carefully to peer at his sleeping wife. His wife who wasn’t sleeping and wasn’t there, he saw with irritation. Did she ever rest? Scowling, he glanced toward the window. The covering was drawn shut, making the room dim except for the light from a small fire in the fireplace. Hethe couldn’t tell what time it was. It could bemidnightormidday. Muttering under his breath, he sat up carefully, then shifted to sit on the side of the bed. There he paused to rest his elbows on his knees and clasp his head in both hands. He felt like hell. Dear lord, waking up one day without a headache was sounding like heaven. He never used to wake up every single morning with a sore head like this, not till he consummated his marriage. If this was the cost of bedding one’s wife… Well, he supposed it was worth it.

Smiling slightly at his thoughts, he glanced around for his clothes, then realized that those he had been wearing the day before were no doubt off being cleaned. Grunting in annoyance, he turned to the chest by the bed and bent over to open it. He didn’t get halfway before his head felt as if it were about to explode and bile rose in his throat. Straightening, he quickly pressed his hands to either side of his head, trying to hold it together until the pain eased. He released a breath of relief when the pain at last abated.

Moving carefully then, he slowly knelt before the chest, and kept his head upright as he opened and rifled through it. Finding a pair of fresh breeches and a tunic, he cautiously straightened and sat on the bed to don them.

Much to his disgust, he was weak and weary by the time the task was done. Hethe decided he was in pitiful shape. Just pitiful. He actually briefly considered lying back down for a bit till he felt better, but, recalling that that was exactly where his wife felt he belonged, safe and snug in bed like a defenseless child, he pushed the thought quickly away. He was no defenseless child or feeble old man. It was bad enough the people here at Tiernay thought him some sort of ogre, he would be damned if he was going to add weak and cowardly to their list of his sins. He was a warrior. Strong and capable and well able to take care of himself. And he was determined to prove that to them… even if it killed him.

Grimacing at the thought, Hethe pushed himself off the bed where he sat to don his boots and slowly made his way to the window. He wanted to know what time of day it was before he staggered downstairs, and a glance outside should answer that question.

He shifted the window covering, gasped as pain shot through his head, then let it drop closed again. It was daylight. Bright daylight. The light stabbed through his eyes and into his head like needles. Well, that answered his question, anyway. Judging by the sun, the great hall would be filled with people partaking of themiddaymeal. He would walk down there and join them and prove to one and all that he was hearty and hale.

Ignoring the weakness that had his legs trembling with every step, Hethe made his way to the door, pulled it open, then jumped quickly back as a body fell into the room at his feet. Blinking through the pain coursing through his head at his sudden movement, Hethe glared at the young soldier who had been leaning against the door. The fellow scrambled quickly to his feet, flushing brightly.

"Good morning, milord," the man-at-arms said quickly and in far too loud a voice.

Wincing at the discomfort it caused him, Hethe scowled at the lad. "What were you doing?"

"Guarding you, milord," the boy answered promptly. Rather proudly, too.

"Guarding me?" Hethe nearly bellowed. He had never needed a guard in his life. Not since he had earned his spurs. The fact that his wife had set one on him just seemed to prove how weak she now saw him. After his fall down the stairs, she had left only the dog with him; now she had him guarded. Where was that dog, anyway, he wondered irritably. He was not at all pleased to find himself abandoned by both his wife and her idiot dog, and left in the care of a wet-behind-the-ears boy. How low had he fallen?

"Who exactly would you be guarding me from?" he asked in grim tones.

The soldier shifted from foot to foot, looking uncertain. "Milady felt since someone had tried to kill you – "

"Where is she?"

"Who?"

"My wife," Hethe snapped impatiently. "Where is she?"

"Oh. She went downstairs to have a word with Lady Shambleau."

Growling, Hethe stepped past the man and started for the stairs, pausing to turn back and scowl when the soldier started to follow. Hethe’s eyes widened when he saw that his guard had multiplied. There were now two. "Who the hell are you?" he asked the new fellow.

"Garth, milord."

"Nay. I mean, where did you come from?"

"I was at the end of the hall. I was to stay there and back up Robert here in case of trouble," he explained.

Hethe blanched at the explanation. Not one guard, but two? Lord love ’em! "I do not need a guard," he snapped.

"Aye, milord. I mean, nay, milord," both men agreed in unison.

Hethe’s eyes narrowed at their patronizing tone. "I said, I do not need a guard. You are released. Go do something else."

The two men hesitated, then exchanged glances.

"What do you think?" asked the young one who had been leaning against the door.

The other shook his head, then urged his friend a few feet away. Presumably, he thought he was out of earshot. He was wrong. Hethe heard every word he said.

"I’m thinkin’," the guard began, "that he knocked his head pretty good in the fall. And I’m thinkin’ Her Ladyship said to guard him. Therefore, guard him we should."

"Aye, but he’s the lord. Don’t we have to listen to him?" the younger man asked, his higher voice carrying even better than the other guard’s, adding to Hethe’s building rage.

"Well, now, not iffin he ain’t in his right mind. Then we have to obey Lady Helen. And I’m thinkin’, like as not he ain’t in his right mind – else he’d appreciate a guard. The man is hated here. There’s more than one person who’d like the chance to slit his throat."

Hethe had heard enough. He was so furious it almost seemed to be choking him. Worse yet, it was a free-floating fury. He couldn’t be mad at his wife for caring enough to post a guard. He couldn’t blame these men for doing their duty. He couldn’t even blame the people here for hating him for what they thought he had done. He was responsible for all of it. Stephen was his man. Had been his friend.

Turning on his heel, he strode down the hall at a fast clip, his anger eating away at him and intensifying the ache in his head. This time he ignored the men when they fell into step behind him. He acquired a third guard at the top of the stairs. The man had obviously been set there as a backup for the other two. Hethe spared him a glare, then started down the stairs, knowing without checking that he now had all three trailing him.

He had obviously judged the time wrong, he saw as he stepped off the stairs and started through the empty great hall. Helen wasn’t there. Neither was her aunt, unfortunately, or Hethe would have asked the woman where his wife was. He tried the kitchens next, not really expecting her to be there, but hoping that maid of hers may be able to tell him something of use. Unfortunately, Ducky wasn’t there either, which annoyed Hethe, but not as much as the fact that he found himself tripping over his guards as he turned to leave the steamy rooms. Glaring at the trio, he headed out of the keep and paused on the steps to survey the bailey. They clanked to a stop behind him.

Spotting Helen walking across the grounds with Goliath at her side, Hethe promptly started down the stairs. His escort followed. He could hear the crunch of their footsteps as he hurried across the bailey, and found the sound terribly grating. It didn’t help that the headache he was suffering seemed to be amplifying the sound in his head. He sped up. They sped up. He started to jog and could hear them running behind him. He was out of breath and out of patience by the time he reached his wife.

"Husband!" she cried in surprise when he caught her arm and drew her around to face him. That surprise gave way to concern as she took in his flushed face. "Are you sure you should be up? Really, it is too soon. You need your rest to heal. Which is why I was drugging you – "

"Wife," Hethe interrupted grimly. "I realize you have run Tiernay for years on your own and are used to giving orders, but pray stop giving them to me."

Her eyes widened, a wounded look appearing, and Hethe was momentarily sorry he snapped. But then there was the sound of skittering stones as his guard arrived and slid to a halt behind him, and he felt himself grinding his teeth.

"Make them go away," he ordered through his clenched jaw. Confusion replaced her hurt look.

"Who?"

"Who? Them, that’s who!" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the three men.

"But they are to guard you, Hethe. Someone is trying to kill you." She was speaking in a reasonable tone meant to soothe him, but it was having the opposite effect. The fury that had been growing in Hethe began to bubble and boil at this further proof of her seeing him as weak.

"I can take care of myself." he snapped.

"I know you can," she said soothingly. "But you no longer need to. You have a wife, and a family, and everyone here at Tiernay to – "

"Kill me?" Hethe interrupted coldly. He had found himself softening when she had said he no longer needed to do things alone, that he had a wife and family now. It had brought a warm squishy feeling rising up in him… until she had added the part about the people here at Tiernay. They hated him and he knew it. The warmth drained out of him to be replaced by rage.

His wife frowned at his interruption, then said quietly. "I should have told you this sooner, I suppose, but you were injured. However, as you seem to think you are ready to be up and about now, you should know that it may be Stephen who – "

"Stephen?" he interrupted in a bellow. "You cannot blame these attacks on Stephen. They did not even start until we came to Tiernay. It was one of your people who pushed me down the stairs, one of your subjects who tossed me off the wall."

Helen stiffened, her eyes narrowing to slits, and she asked coldly, "Isn’t it more likely that it was one of your own people who has been staying here for protection?"

Hethe felt as if she had punched him. His head actually drew back, the sudden movement sending pain through his skull. He was still reeling from it when she added, "Besides, Stephen was spotted in the village tavern the night you fell down the stairs. It is likely not one of my people, after all."

Hethe felt the rage explode within him. Pain, frustration and a sense of failure were all suddenly whirling within him, and he clenched his fists to keep from lashing out. He wanted to hit someone. Anyone. And keep hitting them, and –

Shaking his head like a dog trying to shake off water, he turned abruptly and started away across the bailey.

"Where are you going?" Helen called out in alarm. She hurried after him, his guards hard on her heel.

"I do not know. Anywhere but here." His words were sharp and cold.

"You are running away again?" she cried in dismay.

He stiffened, then whirled on her in a fury. "I have never run from anything in my life!"

"Well, you never stay and face things, either! You told me yourself that you are forever running off to battle. No doubt ’tis easier to play at war than to deal with reality." Helen’s voice was sharp, full of anger. The fact that he planned to just leave was like a knife to her heart, and she was reacting like a wounded animal, snapping and snarling at him.

"Well, at least in battle you know who your enemy is. You do not have to worry about someone sneaking up behind you to slit your throat!" He turned away, then suddenly whirled back, his cold gaze shooting to the three guards. "If these three know what is good for them, they will stop following me."

The threat in his voice was unmistakable. He turned then and continued on across the bailey.

The men hesitated, their questioning gazes shooting to her. She released them with a slight shake of her head. Nodding with obvious relief, they turned and strode in the opposite direction, leaving her alone to watch her husband walk to the stables. Her heart sank like a stone as he came out a moment later, leading his horse.

Mounting up, Hethe "the Hammer," Lord Holden, turned the horse toward the gates and rode away.

Just like that , Helen thought faintly. Get on a horse and go . Taking all her hopes for a happy marriage with him.

Hethe rode quite a while before his anger cleared enough for him to start thinking coherently again. The argument he had with his wife cycled through his head. The part that bothered him the most was her dismayed, "You are running away again?"

He scowled as the tiff replayed itself. He was not running. Running was cowardice, and Hethe was no coward. The fact that he ran off to battle should prove that he was no coward. Hethe frowned as he considered his own words. The fact that he ran off to battle? That didn’t sound very good. Surely he wasn’t running to battle, was he?