Page 79 of Never Love a Lord
Sybilla laid her forehead on John Grey’s knuckles, unable to speak.
“But now you must tell me,” John insisted gently, “why you are doing what you are. Why you will not save yourself.”
Sybilla raised her head. “How do you—”
“I’ve seen Cecily,” John interrupted her.
“Cee is here? In London?”
“Yes. Along with Lord Bellecote, and Lord and Lady Mallory.”
Sybilla was speechless. How had they gotten here so quickly? She didn’t want them to see the end of her this way.
“Sybilla?” John prompted.
She tried to find John Grey’s eyes within the deep shadows of his face. “I love him, John. I love Julian Griffin. I love him how a woman is meant to love a man. A lord, a husband, a master of the hold. In a way that I have never and never intended to love a man in all my life.”
“But, Sybilla, tender feelings aren’t—”
“Listen, please,” Sybilla whispered. “Julian was sent to the king to apprehend me, and his reward was to be Fallstowe. He didn’t have to love me. He didn’t have to believe me. But he did. He does. He knew the facts of my family through his own investigation. He was willing to give up everything he had earned—his honored place among Edward’s court, unimaginable wealth for him and his daughter, the ultimate prize of Fallstowe itself—that the three of us might have some sort of a life together. He has loved me, as I am, for who I am. The only one who ever has, I suppose.”
“And you would reward him with your death?” John asked incredulously.
Sybilla shook her head in the darkness. “If I do not tell the king what he wants to hear, Julian will be implicated along with me. Stripped of his rank. Possibly imprisoned. Lucy will go to noble strangers at the king’s whim, separated from her father for who knows how long. Perhaps forever. Fallstowe and its people will fall to the Crown. I am damned either way. But I would go knowing that those whom I have loved most in this world are safe.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
“I don’t know, Sybilla,” John said. “What if Lord Griffin refutes you? Denies your acceptance of guilt even as he thinks he is saving you?”
“He is not a foolish man, John. I can only hope that he will not, if he but thinks of his daughter.”
John Grey said nothing to counter her this time. Only squeezed her hands.
“Father,” the guard called from beyond the bars.
John looked over his shoulder. “Only a moment longer.” Then he turned back to Sybilla. “I will try my best to be present at the trial, if it is allowed. Perhaps I can vouch for you in some way that neither of us can yet know.”
“John,” Sybilla breathed.
“Yes?”
“Do you think I will go to hell?” To her own ears, her voice sounded like that of a very young child.
As if he heard it, too, John Grey cupped the back of Sybilla’s head and pulled her face toward his to place his lips on her forehead.
“No,” he whispered against her skin. He drew away slightly but kept his face near hers. “But I think there is a chance that you may go to heaven. I’m so sorry. Be steadfast. Stand before your king and speak with the power of your love behind your words in the face of the law. Love is the law, above all else, and God will not fault you for that.” He drew his hand from behind her head to cup her cheek gently and then stood. “I will wait outside the door while you change. God bless you, Sybilla Foxe.”
“God bless you, John Grey.”
Sybilla waited until the barred door creaked shut, the lock jangled, and she saw John’s slender back silhouetted by the guard’s torchlight before she rose to her feet on shaking legs.
She fished out the thin, floppy sandals and rough, wooden comb wrapped inside the light linen garment and laid them on the stones at her feet, placing John Grey’s fine silk kerchief atop one of the shoes. Then she draped the simple gown over one shoulder as she worked to free the bodice of her gown, slipping her arms from it carefully so as not to drop the linen dress on the stones and soil it. She worked the ruined red velvet to her waist and then slipped the scratchy gown over her head.
Then she pushed the red gown over her hips to puddle on the floor before stepping both feet on it as if it were a rug. She bent at the waist to retrieve the kerchief and then turned to the wall behind her, feeling the stones with her fingertips for a trickle of wetness, dabbing the silk there, and then slowly, solemnly wiping her face. She stared at the nothingness of black before her, her eyes dry now, her mind already away beyond the cell.
Chapter 26
The king had dismissed Julian with a disgusted wave of his hand, sending him from the chamber as if he could no longer stand the sight of him. It hurt Julian. Edward was more than his king. Julian had saved the monarch’s life, married into his bloodline, taken a vested interest in the security of the realm. Julian considered Edward his friend.
And now that friend had sent Julian from him like a disobedient dog. And Julian could not readily fault him, for if Julian had had his own way, he and Lucy and Sybilla would at this moment be in the process of leaving England forever, forsaking his king, his friends, his country, the law. Edward must take into consideration the interests of the realm first; Julian understood that.
