precious Stewart will be the first to go.’
She was feeling light-headed again, images impending of exile and humiliation swirling in her mind. But this time, she was not alone in her suffering. She had to be strong for Stewart. She took another deep breath and cast down her eyes to assure him she was beaten. ‘It is within your right.’
He laughed. ‘What? You are not going to plead for your safety? I would have thought, at least, you would have a word of defence for our darling boy. Are you not going to beg me? Tell me I am hard-hearted to turn the product of our love off the property he is heir to. Why, when I think of that one night of passion we shared...’
‘Stop!’ She could not bear his mocking a moment longer.
‘Do you remember it differently?’ he said, innocently. ‘It has been so long. Perhaps I am mistaken. If so, tell me the truth of it now.’
She could not speak. Her tongue was frozen in her mouth, unwilling to speak the truth.
‘Talk!’
If this was what he brought to the battlefield, it explained his success. His command was stronger than the fear that kept her silent. ‘We shared no night,’ she said, choking out the words. ‘Only a brief ceremony, the breakfast and two separate rooms at the inn. We did not lie together. The next morning, you were gone.’
He nodded. ‘I promised I would not come to you until we knew each other better. To be gone so soon and with no guarantee of a future...it did not seem fair to either of us.’ For a moment, he sounded almost wistful for the innocents they had been.
Then his voice hardened. ‘When I think of how it was, in those first months... I carried a miniature of you, everywhere I went. I kissed it each night at bed and before battles for luck. I was pure as a monk, waiting for the moment when I might come back to you. I wrote you dozens of letters. There was not a single response.’
She had been too upset to write. At first, she had been angry at him for being so foolish as to fall for the plan, going to what was likely certain doom. She was ashamed of herself as well, for obeying her father when she had known what they were doing was wrong. Later, she had been ashamed for other reasons and angry at him for leaving her alone and defenceless.
He did not notice her discomfiture and went on. ‘When a commanding officer came to me, less than a year later, with the good news of the birth of my son?’ He laughed at this, as though it were a ribald joke in a brothel. ‘I did not have to feign surprise. We all went to a cantina, where I had to pay for the wine so they might drink my health, and to the health of my good wife and heir.’
He had known, almost from the first. It explained why his letters to her had stopped. ‘When you stopped writing...I thought you had died.’ Would he believe that she had cried over him? Probably not. But she had.
‘That news was the making of my career,’ he added. ‘When a soldier has no reason to fear death, it leads to the sort of recklessness that makes heroes. Or corpses,’ he added. ‘I do not like to think of the men under my command who lacked the damnable luck of their leader.’
She’d felt bad enough knowing that he might lose his life because of Father’s scheming. But to think that others had been affected and that she was in some way responsible for their fates made her guilt even heavier. ‘I am sorry,’ she said again.
‘So you keep saying,’ he said with a mocking smile. ‘Tell me now. The truth, for once. Were you with child when we married? Was that the reason that your father rushed to unite us?’
‘No!’ There was much wrong between them, but she did not want to claim a fault that was not hers. Then she saw the change in his expression and knew that it would have been kinder had she lied.
‘So you admit to cuckolding me.’ He shook his head again. ‘Were you really so sure I would die that you did not think I might return to see the consequences of your infidelity?’
The answer to that was very nearly yes. But it was so much more complicated than that. How could she even begin to explain? Having to talk about it at all was bringing on one of her headaches. She rubbed her temple and tried to concentrate. ‘At first, I did not know what to do. I barely understood what was happening to me, much less what to do about it. The longer I did nothing, the easier it became to go on as I had started.’
‘How well does it work for you now?’ he asked, staring at her as though she had confirmed his low opinion of her. ‘And do not apologise to me again. There is no apologising for what you have done.’
There was an explanation. But it had been years since that night. What proof could she offer him that she spoke true? She took a breath and squared her shoulders. ‘At least the waiting is finally over. You will do what you will do. I do not have to imagine what that might be. My only request—’
‘You have no right to request anything of me.’ Once again, she heard the command in the voice and understood how the boy she had married had become a hero.
‘I will do so, all the same. My son is not at fault. If there is kindness in your heart at all, do not let the punishment fall on him.’
‘You mean, on your bastard?’
She had been foolish to hope for better. ‘My son,’ she repeated softly. ‘If you cannot mete out both shares of the punishment to me, then give me time to tell him the truth before he hears it from another.’
‘He does not know?’ For a moment, his anger was replaced by surprise.
‘No one knows,’ she said. ‘A few people closest to me might guess. But no one is sure, other than you and me.’
‘Not even...’ He was wondering about Stewart’s father.
He had been so drunk that night she doubted he even remembered what he had done. She shook her head. ‘No one knows. And Stewart is far too young to understand. All his life, he has been fed on stories of the heroic father he has never met. To find that it is a lie... It will come as a shock.’ This was not true. It would be utterly devastating to him.
‘His heroic father,’ the captain said with bitterness. ‘And who is that man? I wish to congratulate him and make him aware of his responsibility. Or are your affairs so numerous that you cannot fix on a single name?’
She did not think he had the power to hurt her with mere words, but the question stung like a slap to the face. ‘There was but one man and one night. I could point to it on a calendar, if you wish.’ Not that she needed a paper record. The date and time, down to the minute, had been burned into her memory. The clock in the hall had been striking twelve as her life was ruined.
She shook her head, which was still ringing. ‘I will not tell you his name. Nor will I tell Stewart. You are the only father he has ever known. He had been learning to read by following the news of your battles. His first toy was a wooden sword. He has entire battalions of tin soldiers and sets them to fighting each other at every opportunity. His only ambition is to grow to be as brave as you have been.’
‘That is no doing of mine,’ he insisted. But there was a gruffness in his voice that hinted at emotions other than anger. And then the brief flicker of sympathy vanished. ‘You should not have lied to him.’
‘Nor could I have told him the truth.’ It was an awful enough story to carry on her own. She had no desire to taint the boy’s life with it.
