Page 63 of His Betrothed
“My lord, I still don’t understand why you’re here—”
“Let us make a bargain, you and I. I’ll answer some of your questions if you’ll answer some of mine.”
“Some?” Heywood repeated, his mustache twitching with the beginnings of a smile.
“Let’s not make promises we can’t keep, Heywood.”
After a slight hesitation, the bailiff said, “Very well, my lord. But perhaps you would like to sit.”
Spencer limped away from the grave and sat down on a stone bench in the chapel’s shade.
With knees creaking, Heywood sat beside him. “My lord, might I ask thefirst question?”
Spencer nodded.
“Where have you been staying? No one in the village has seen you.”
Spencer knew a lie would be best, if only to protect Roselyn, but Heywood would never do anything to harm her. “I’m staying at Roselyn’s cottage.”
Heywood stiffened. “My sons never saw you.”
“I assure you, I was in no condition to do harm to your Lady Roselyn. She tells me I almost died.”
“A fortnight ago, the channel was filled with ships,” Heywood said slowly.
“My ship went down during the battle, and I washed ashore. I was bleeding from a sword wound in my chest when Roselyn found me on the beach.”
“How fortunate to come ashore near your own estate.”
Spencer smiled. “Believe me, I knew where the battle was taking place, that I had somewhere to go.”
“But youdidn’tcome tothe manor—you stayed with Lady Roselyn. Surely you must not look upon her in a kind light.”
“When I finally discovered her identity, I wasless than gracious. I felt her caring for me was perhaps…an atonement for her sins.” Spencer stretched out his leg, wondering what Heywood would think aboutthatstatement. “So tell me what happened with Roselyn’s ‘marriage.’”
“They are her secrets to tell,my lord.”
“I don’t ask you to reveal Rose’s secrets, Heywood. Just tell me what you saw.”
“Rose?” Heywood echoed softly.
“A slip of the tongue,” Spencer said with a shrug, feeling as uncomfortable as if he’d revealed his own dark secrets.
“Lady Roselyn and Philip Grant were handfasted in London, where they lived for almost a year.”
“Roselyn says he taught her the baker’s trade.”
“Yes. Andshe insists on using it here to support herself.”
“And you buy her bread,” Spencer said.
“The estate buys much of it, yes. After Roselyn gave birth to Mary the Black Death broke out in London, and she brought her husband and child here, the only place she could think of that was safe.”
“But they died of it anyway.”
“Yes,” Heywood said, gazing out over the rolling fields with a sad, farawaylook. “Shewouldn’t let us help her as her husband and babe lay dying.”
“She didn’t want you to sicken.” Spencer’s voice was low, as he thought of Roselyn all alone, surrounded by illness and death. No wonder she seemed almost too calm at times. How else could she live with what she’d seen and felt? “Why did she stay?”
