Page 24 of Never Love a Lord
“He died because once again de Montfort called on your mother to pay more debt,” Julian answered. “He threatened to out her, to out you as illegitimate, cast a pall on Morys and your sisters. She gave in, and Morys was killed.” He paused. “It’s treason, Sybilla. Your mother committed treason against the Crown. Against her own husband.”
Sybilla said nothing. She could say nothing over the sounds of her mother’s wails inside her head.
“But she tried to make up for it, didn’t she?” Julian pressed, a note of intrigue or something Sybilla could not name in his voice. “She got her revenge on de Montfort the very next year, at Evesham, when she brought Edward word of de Montfort’s son’s unguarded army at none other than Kenilworth Castle, a place your mother knew well, and where she was welcomed. Because of her intelligence, Edward surprised de Montfort at Evesham under his own son’s banner, and the reign of Simon de Montfort was no more.”
Sybilla found that she was shaking her head ever so slightly and so she stopped. “You can’t prove any of this,” Sybilla said.
“But it’s true, isn’t it?” She sensed Julian turning more fully toward her.
“No.”
“You’re lying,” he accused her, bitterness high in his voice. “You’re lying to save yourself.”
“No,” Sybilla whispered this time. She turned her head to look at him.
“Then tell me where I have gone wrong,” he insisted, and his gaze was so intense, so sincere, Sybilla felt for a moment that she might just tell him.
But then she saw her mother’s weak body, lying in bed in the days and hours before her death. Heard Amicia’s pathetic weeping alternating with shrill and slurred demands.
Don’t you see now what I have done? You are the fairest, the richest, the most feared in the land. You have Fallstowe at your command and under your protection. Fallstowe and your sisters, Sybilla. Think of them! If you are to keep them, you must do as I say, and if all must be lost, you must take our secrets with you. There is no cause for Alys’s and Cecily’s lives to be ruined as well. Do not dare to dishonor the proud memory of the man who was your father.
“My mother . . . was a brave woman,” Sybilla said. “And now I must be the brave one.”
“Your mother as good as threw you to the wolves,” Julian declared flatly. “And that is why you think you must be brave, why you have adopted such a demeanor as to make yourself intimidating, untouchable. It’s because Amicia feared anyone to know the truth, and now you fear it, too.”
“If I am not brave, Lord Griffin—” Sybilla queried, tilting her head and giving him a curious look, “if I am not brave, what can you promise me? That Edward will be so impressed by my forthrightness that he will give me Fallstowe? Lay the past to rest? Continue to take my money graciously and leave me in peace with my people, to run Fallstowe as I see fit?”
“He will take back Fallstowe, on the grounds that it was entrusted to your mother on a false and treasonous basis,” Julian admitted. “But if you cooperate—”
“If I cooperate,” Sybilla interjected loudly, “he will what? Entomb me in some nunnery with a stipend? Strip me of my title but allow me to marry a shopkeep? Or perhaps he will at last give his temper free rein and have me imprisoned, hanged? Beheading is too good for someone of my station, after all. I should not be afforded such dignity for daring to thwart him for so long.”
“If only you would allow me to—”
Sybilla slid from the stone, her action cutting off whatever Julian Griffin was about to say. “My mother worked her entire life to ensure that my sisters and I would have the lives that we now enjoy. I will not dishonor her sacrifice by running to London and grasping at Edward’s robes, begging for mercy.”
“Your mother was a servant who did what she did to better her own station in life. Her loyalty was always for sale. She was not noble, in any sense of the word. She got her husband killed and she used you,” Julian accused her, his brows drawing together. “She’s still using you.”
In two strides, Sybilla was before Julian. She raised her hand and slapped his face as hard as she could.
“Do not speak of her in that manner again, Lord Griffin,” Sybilla warned, surprised to hear her voice shaking, mimicking the trembling in her body.
He had moved from the stone before Sybilla’s eyes could register it, grasping her by her upper arms and giving her a shake.
“I did not do these things to you, Sybilla,” he whispered harshly. “And it is through no fault of your own that you are in this situation.”
“It’s charming how you think me so innocent.” She mocked him, her eyes searching his face, her skin aching where he touched her. “Have you not heard the tales of Lady Sybilla Foxe, who has sold her soul to the devil?”
“I have heard the tales. But the only devil I believe you sold your soul to was a frightened old woman. I am not cowed by you. I am not indebted to you. And if you strike me again, I will turn you over my knee.”
“I dare you to try it,” Sybilla hissed.
His fingers tightened around her arms and he pulled her up against him, his mouth hovering over hers.
“You don’t tempt me, either,” he said in a low growl.
“Obviously,” she smirked.
He let go of her then and stepped away. Sybilla could see that he was moved, regardless of his staunch denial. It was as if the air between them was alive.
