Page 15 of Never Love a Lord
“Very well,” Julian conceded with a nod. “What if I tell you what I know. If I am incorrect in any of my findings, or if you wish to offer further comment, you may instruct me.”
She turned to look at him over her shoulder, and Julian realized that she had crossed her arms over her chest and was grasping her elbows. For all of her bluster and strong words, she appeared wary, unsure.
She looked out the window once more. “Very well.”
“Your mother, Amicia, came to this land from Gascony at Christmastime, 1248.” Julian glanced up at her. “As part of the party of Simon de Montfort.” At the last words, Julian saw Sybilla Foxe’s slender throat convulse as if she swallowed.
“That . . .” She cleared her throat, then said in a low voice, “That is correct.”
Julian took a moment to consider her answer. He had not expected her to confirm this so easily. After all, this first admission was only the beginning thread to a much larger knot of yarn. He looked down at his notes briefly.
“She was received by Lady de Montfort at Kenilworth Castle, where she remained until February, when Simon returned to Gascony. She did not return to the place of her birth with him.”
“Why would she?” Sybilla said. “She was married by then.”
“To Morys Foxe,” Julian filled in immediately, not wishing to interrupt the unexpected flow of conversation between them. “They met on these very lands, inside the Foxe Ring, if the stories are to be believed.”
“They are,” Sybilla confirmed. She turned suddenly and walked across the short span of floor separating them. She stopped near the table and retrieved a cup of wine. After taking a long drink, she regarded him, although her eyes did not give the impression that she was entirely present.
“I know the tale by heart—Maman told each of us over and over, from all our earliest memories. She had been out riding with Lady de Montfort and some others, enjoying a particularly mild and sunny day for winter, when she became separated from the party. She was a stranger to these lands and quickly became disoriented. Night fell. She was cold, frightened. A moon rose, so full and bright that it seemed it would fall upon the earth and crush it, and against that brightness, she saw the outline of the ruins and mistook them for a populated place.”
“And Morys?” Julian prompted, held rapt at the melody of her voice speaking at such length. “I have been curious as to why he was out at the ruins in the dead of night, alone.”
Sybilla shook her head slowly, looking to a point seeming to be in a dark corner of the room. “Likely he was out enjoying the mild weather as well.”
“At midnight?” Julian prompted with raised eyebrows.
She turned her eyes to him, and Julian could see the coldness taking over her features once more. “Fallstowe was his life. It is said that he knew each stone, even the youngest sapling, so precious was Fallstowe to him.”
“Do you believe such a fantastic notion?” Julian prompted. “That he knew each stone?”
She stared at him for a moment. “Lord Griffin, I personally know not simply each stone of this hold but even every blade of grass that grows on Fallstowe land. If a bird should fall from the sky and land upon this dirt, I will feel the reverberation of its body in my own bones.”
Julian held her gaze, not minding the frost there at all. In fact, it seemed to rekindle a flame within him not entirely doused from their encounter in the corridor.
“An inherited trait, do you reckon?” he asked quietly.
She didn’t answer him, only took another drink of wine, her eyes over the rim of the cup sending warning arrows encased in ice. She lowered her cup and turned away, speaking to him next in a tone that conveyed that his comment was summarily dismissed.
“They met in the Foxe Ring that night. He gave her shelter.”
Julian followed her with his eyes. He could do naught else. “And they were married very shortly after.”
“Yes.”
“A rather fortuitous match for your mother.”
“Not only for Mother,” Sybilla said lightly, going once more to stand at the window. “The house of de Lairne was quite powerful.”
“I concur—the de Lairne family was powerful, and a connection to them could have been a boon to Morys Foxe, and perhaps an advantage to the king of England as well.”
“Precisely,” Sybilla agreed. “My mother was Amicia de Lairne.”
“Your mother was of the de Lairne house,” Julian conceded. “She took the de Lairne name. But she was not of the de Lairne family.”
Julian saw Sybilla Foxe go completely still. Julian paused a moment, too, wondering at the wisdom of revealing too much too soon. But it would come out any matter. May as well start at the beginning.
“She escaped Gascony with the help of Simon de Montfort after aiding him against the de Lairne house. From the moment she set foot on English soil, her life was one enormous lie. Amicia Foxe was never Lady de Lairne—she was Lady de Lairne’smaid.”
