Page 41 of Lord of the Forest

“You do know how to flatter with your tongue as well as your body.” Having Lancelot so close again had set her all a-tremble. His presence, his masculine quality and allure, filled the space around her. A knot of tension tightened in her stomach—so much depended on the outcome of this conversation, but she could not, as yet, envisage a satisfactory one.

“You have taught me more than you know, Mistress Clemence Fitzpayne, and I’m forever in your debt. You saved me from a bout of sickness, too.”

“You were poisoned,” she interjected. “It was more than just pheasant gone too green. Fortunately, you have a strong constitution.”

“If you’re right about that, all the more reason for me to disappear. Nothing good has yet come of my leaving the forest—I’ve interfered with your plans, thrown a local woman into the horse trough, attracted the interest of a poisoner, and turned out to be a closet Catholic.”

“I understand. I wouldn’t want you to stay if you cannot be easy.” But it would break her heart if he left.

“I court trouble, Clemence.” His eyes were dark, his mouth taut. “I cannot risk bringing that down on you. I should return to obscurity in the forest—mayhap leave the Eastern shires altogether.”

She felt sick. “How should I visit you then? Even if I can convince Father to let me continue with my herb-collecting expeditions in the forest, nothing would persuade him to let me go farther afield unaccompanied. We’d never see each other again.”

He turned her hand over and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. “Then I’ll not go farther away just yet. I’ll return to the forest. If you choose a particular day for your herb hunts, I shall look out for you at the forest margins.”

That sounded better than nothing. “Still not prepared to let me know exactly how to find you?”

He gripped her hand. “Not while danger lurks. As I said once before, I fear I may have blood on my hands. Now that my identity is known, my peril is even greater.”

She hung her head. “I understand. If you leave on the morrow, we’ll return to Clairbourne. I’ll go on my wild plant walk every Tuesday. ’Tis market day and Father likes to view the fowls and pigs and collect whatever news there may be. Mother uses his absence to put the house in order or gossip with our neighbors—I’ll not be missed.”

“What shall you tell them has happened between us?”

Her voice wobbled. “I’ll say we decided we didn’t suit.”

“Your father won’t accept that as a reason—and well you know it.”

“Then, I shall say the attempted poisoning put me off. You feared to put me in peril before the culprit was found and hanged. ’Tis partly the truth, and will serve better than pure invention.”

“When I leave you, I shall leave part of myself behind.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

She feasted her eyes on him—on his ruggedly handsome face, heated gaze, broad shoulders, and powerful chest. She smoothed her fingers over his cheek, then pushed back a lock of his unruly hair. “And part of me will be torn away when you go.”

“I would give all the gold in the world to kiss you now, Clemence. But a fire burns within me. It smolders now, but one touch of your lips would fan it into a blaze that could never be quenched. Then there would be no choice for us, no turning back. I don’t want to steal that choice from you.”

To her distress, he released her hand and turned away.

“Farewell, sweet Clemence. I may have forgotten many things, but I’ll never forget you.”

Before she could reply, the door closed at his back, and he was gone.

All the breath left her body as she collapsed onto the bed. The urge to chase after him and force him to stay was a weight on her chest, crushing her. But how could they put everything right?

She’d never felt so powerless. When the tears came, she made no effort to check them. She tried to stifle her sobs lest she be overheard and, eventually, exhaustion overtook her.

Not bothering to undress, she lay face-down on the bed, cradling her forehead on her arm. Soon, dawn would come, and she’d feel better. Then she could be with her parents again, mayhap even feel able to break her fast—the food would do her good.

It seemed she’d dozed but a few minutes when a ruckus from below had her leaping up in alarm. Flinging open the shutters, she discovered it was full daylight but could see nothing in the stable yard below to account for the row. She must hurry down—were they under attack? Had someone else been poisoned? Had something happened to Lancelot?

She was just lifting the latch when footsteps came scurrying along the passageway, and the oaken panels of her door resounded to a frantic knocking.

It opened to reveal her mother, red-faced and breathless, but fully dressed.

“Whatever is the matter?”

“I bring ill tidings, Daughter. Lancelot has been arrested for murder.”

Chapter Seventeen