Page 65 of Lord of the Forest

“Why would it? To all the world, it looked as if he were happy with his lot, well established at Glemham. You were known to have strong hands and a fiery temper—and Walter had buried your dagger along with the body, throwing suspicion upon you if the body was ever found. Certain you had departed this world, he knew you could not refute his claim.”

Lancelot almost wished Walter had been indicted on charges of poisoning. He would gladly have watched him repeatedly immersed in boiling water or lead. Then he recalled what Sir Kester had said about a fiery temper. It was time to rid himself of that fierce reputation. He’d been given the opportunity to forge Hector Lancelot de Glanville anew, and he meant the new lord of Emborough to be neither tempestuous nor vengeful.

So, Mistress Wentworth had aided him in the end. Clemence’s plan had succeeded.

He leaped to his feet. “Where is Mistress Fitzpayne?”

Clemence’s father appeared at his side. “She is fine—no harm has come to her. I have not let her out of my sight since that escapade to Walden. She’s low in spirits, but is in the carriage outside if you wish to speak with her.”

He damned well did. To thank her and to throw himself on her mercy. What a blind fool he’d been! He’d never deny her again. He hastened from the room and thrust open the main door, stepping out into the sunlight.

There stood a covered carriage, the matched pair of horses pulling it still harnessed up. The vehicle looked small, stuffy, and uncomfortable, exactly the kind of enclosed space designed to make him yearn for escape. But it also contained Clemence, which was all that mattered.

He wasted no time and climbed inside. “Forgive me, my darling, for the harsh words I spoke last week. It was cowardly of me to turn my back and walk away, instead of staying until we’d resolved our argument.”

“You are forgiven.” Her voice was soft but halting. He sensed she was far from calm.

He took her hand and kissed it. “Your interference, though unwelcome at the time, has proved fruitful, and I thank you for it. It takes a woman to understand a woman, and you told Mistress Wentworth quite clearly what her choices were. Was it the promise of reward that convinced her in the end?”

Clemence nodded, but said nothing. Her hand felt limp in his, and panic rose in his chest. Despite her words, was it too late for true forgiveness?

“I should never have doubted you, my love. Were it not for you, I might never have been restored to society. If not for you, I might never have been exonerated. If not for you—” It was an effort to get the words out—his heart seemed to be filling his chest, crushing his lungs. “If not for you, I would never have known what happened to my brother.”

Her eyes were moist. “I’m sorry about Paris. It must be so painful for you. Have you remembered anything yet about what happened?”

“Nay.” It mattered less now than it had, now that he knew Paris had been found. What was of prime concern was how to rescue his relationship with Clemence.

“Monosyllabic—just as you used to be.” She let out a rueful chuckle. “But I understand how you must be feeling. I was bereft when I lost Simeon—Sir Kester’s son.”

He must remember that she, too, knew of grief and death, of agony and uncertainty.

“I seek your pardon. Jealous that I am, I always thought of Simeon as being my rival for your heart. I never offered you the pity or the compassion you deserved.”

Her fingers folded around his, and his heart lifted.

“Jealous?” There was a hint of hope in her voice. Was she drowning in doubt and uncertainty, just as he was?

“But of course.” He must reassure her. “You must never doubt my love for you, even if we quarrel.”

“You still love me?” Her voice was stronger now, her grip on his hand more solid.

“Never doubt it, fond wench. You have been my constant companion in times of adversity—you have saved my life and my soul, too, and helped restore to me that which is mine. But none of these things will have any value if you are not with me. I’ll be left with naught but sweet memories and bitter regrets.”

“Then we are still to be married?”

“Foolish woman.” He reached across and pulled her into his lap. “I shall order the banns called immediately. See? I have remembered much of convention and custom—I know about the necessity of the banns. Ofttimes, I’ve wondered if the blow struck by the constable when I was arrested somehow unlocked my ability to remember. But what went before is less important than what is to come.”

She tipped her head to his, smiling, and he kissed her with all the latent hunger that had been building in him. After some minutes, she pushed at him, and he reluctantly released her.

“Lancelot! You are too hasty, sir. You have knocked my hat off, and crumpled my gown.”

He grinned, adoring the delicate beauty of her face, the softness of her skin.

“You don’t mind my eagerness at all, Woman. I see it in your look.”

She widened her eyes, the picture of innocent denial, so he drove his hands into her hair and kissed her again, deeply, thoroughly, with all the love in his heart.

And their kiss swept away all trouble and sorrow, all dark memories and deeds, and he knew that with Clemence by his side, he could wipe all shame from the name of de Glanville, and finally become the man he was meant to be.