rise to her defense. After a long moment, when nothing was forthcoming over and above Biddy’s renewed sobs of despair, she looked at De Gournay, only to find him returning her gaze as calmly as if they were discussing a recent repast.
The Wolf had said he and Nicolaa were lovers. If it was true, it would explain Nicolaa de la Haye’s open hostility. It also made Servanne wonder what kind of man would bring his mistress to a meeting with his future bride.
“Bastard,” she said evenly. “I called him bastard. What would you call a man who used you and flung you aside like a scrap of soiled linen?”
Nicolaa arched a raven brow. “I might call him lover, if he was any good.”
Servanne’s cheeks were flushed, her hands were balled into fists. There was the bitter, coppery taste of blood in her mouth from where she had bitten down on the fleshy pulp of her lip, but instead of tearing Nicolaa de la Haye’s throat out, shred by shred, as she longed to do, she startled everyone present in the chamber by sinking slowly down onto her knees in front of De Gournay.
“Good my lord, I am most deeply grateful for everything you have done on my behalf.”
“My lady—?”
“Even so, I would beg one more small favour of you.”
Wardieu looked down upon the bowed head, a puzzled frown gathering across his brow. “What is this … favour?”
Servanne tilted her face upward, the shine of unshed tears bright in her eyes. “If you could but spare me the necessary escort to see me safely back to Wymondham, I would gladly compensate both you and your men for any inconvenience you have been caused.”
“You would prefer to return to Sir Hubert’s estates?” he asked in amazement.
“I cannot, in faith, remain here, my lord. Not when I am no longer worthy of your … respect, or … consideration.”
“You would wish to reconsider the terms of the betrothal agreement?”
“I would wish to release you from all promises, my lord,” she corrected him quietly. “Your good name must not be besmirched by the stain my own now bears.”
Behind them, Nicolaa de la Haye smiled with satisfaction. Her smug good humour lasted only until she saw Wardieu lean forward with studious care and bring Servanne de Briscourt up off her knees.
“I appreciate your concerns for my good name, Lady Servanne, but be assured I am well able to defend it myself. As far as I am concerned, nothing has happened to make me any less determined to share it with you in holy wedlock.”
“I … do not want your pity, monseigneur.”
“I reserve my pity for fools and cripples. In my opinion, you are neither. Nor should you be held accountable for the actions of a depraved outlaw. I am satisfied the terms of the marriage contract have been met. It is my wish that we put this unpleasantness behind us as quickly as possible and look only at what lies ahead.” He paused and tucked a finger beneath her chin. “Unless of course, it was never your wish to marry me, in which case, I would not force you to do so now against your will.”
Servanne’s senses were reeling. “You would allow me to return to Wymondham?”
“My lady, if, in the few short days remaining before our wedding is to take place, you cannot reconcile yourself with the idea of becoming my wife, I will escort you back to Wymondham myself.”
Servanne searched the depths of his eyes for signs of duplicity, for any hint he was someone other than the man he claimed to be … but if there was something there, it eluded her. It gave her little comfort, however, for evidence of him possessing any other shreds of emotion eluded her as well and she was left with the chilling impression he knew only hate and anger.
“I … will accept your hospitality, of course,” she whispered. “Until then.”
“Good. Then it is settled. My men are making preparations, even as we speak, to break camp and return to Blood-moor with all haste.”
“Bloodmoor?” Biddy gasped. “In this weather? I absolutely forbid it!”
The blue eyes turned crystalline as they moved slowly from Servanne’s face to focus on Biddy.
“I cannot allow it,” she said, displaying an unusual disregard for self-preservation. “I cannot conceive of such a heartless notion. Why, we have just escaped a wolf’s lair where our lives and safety were in constant peril! Can you not see my poor lamb is exhausted? Would you ask her—