Page 22 of The Earl

Chapter 10

“She refuses to listen,” Sabine said to Roysa, ignoring Cait altogether, a tricky business given she was sitting right beside her. In Cait’s bedchamber, no less.

A full day had passed since she had learned of Lady Threston. Since the others had begun their campaign to persuade Cait to appeal to Conrad. And while the thought of accompanying him on the dangerous journey south, with men equally as dangerous, excited her as much as it did the others, she simply would not do it. Not after the buttery. Not after realizing there was a woman in Conrad’s life.

“You are married. All of you,” she said to the women gathered in her bedchamber. By rights all four of them should be sleeping. Instead, they prepared to ride out on the morrow.

All except for her.

“I am nothing to Conrad.”

Sabine threw up her hands. “As I’ve said since yesterday, that is simply not true.”

“Listen to her,” Idalia cut in. By far the quietest of the four, she had a determined manner that made people listen when she talked. “Sabine and Conrad have become close.”

“When I first came to Licheford”—Sabine leaned forward on the padded bench that she and Cait shared—“and Conrad and I learned we had both lost our parents suddenly, his to illness and mine . . .”

Sabine shook her head as if ridding herself of a wretched memory.

“His mother made many of the tapestries in the hall.”

“I know,” Cait whispered. According to Conrad, it had been her greatest joy—she’d loved weaving bright colors into stories for all to enjoy.

“My mother, though not by trade, was a master girdler.”

Cait was happy they’d been able to comfort each other. She too knew the pain of losing a parent and could not imagine if her mother had been taken from them too.

“I am so very sorry,” she said, though Sabine hardly seemed to hear her.

“When he looks at you—” Sabine waited until all eyes were on her to continue. “When he looks at you, I’ve no doubt there is more than any of us understands about your connection.”

That, at least, was true.

Because he had saved her? Because he bore the scar to prove it? Or had that come later, after their years of exchanged letters?

She wanted to ask the questions aloud. Instead, Cait closed her eyes and bent her head down. “If he felt something once, I’ve ruined it.”

“Nay,” Sabine said gently. “Damaged, not ruined.”

She kept her eyes closed. It was easier for her to speak this way, to face their silent judgement.

“After the tournament, we wrote to each other.” That part was easy enough. “I thanked him. I never told Terric, but it continued for many years. Until . . .”

Opening her eyes, she held back the tears that had gathered there, traitors to the story she told herself over and over and over again—that she had no place in this English earl’s life. That he was a better man for not being reminded of the scar he bore.

“Until I stopped.”

There. She had said it. And waited for the inevitable.

“Why?”

It was Idalia who’d asked. And as usual, Cait had no answer. They all were trying so hard to help her. Would they stop if they knew everything?

“He’d become more persistent. Asking for me to return to England, with Terric.”

Cait shook her head.

Say it. Tell them. Just say it.