"I see," Willa murmured, but the girl wasn't finished.
"One of the footmen told me that his squire claims he rarely sleeps. He says that every time he does, Lord D'Orland is troubled by nightmares that leave him thrashing and crying out for his late wife. He begs her to forgive him, though the squire knows not what he has to be forgiven for."
Willa knew, but remained silent until the girl said, "Well, if there is nothing else?"
"There is," Willa stood abruptly. "I will need your dress."
The girl's eyes widened in shock and she began to back away, but a quarter hour later Willa had talked Joanne - as Willa had learned was her name - out of the gown and into helping her.
" 'Tisn't going to work," Joanne said mournfully as she helped Willa stack the last of several folded gowns in her arms. They made a nice bit of wall to hide behind.
"Aye. It will," Willa assured her. "You just say what I told you to say and stay behind the door. Are you ready?"
The girl nodded, but still looked doubtful as she followed Willa across the room. When they reached the door, Willa paused and took a deep breath. She was about to attempt to escape her singing quartet of guards.
Hugh had told the four men that they were not to let her out of their sight... ever. They had taken him at his word and followed her everywhere since that first embarrassing trip into the woods. The only place they had not followed her was into their tent, and that was only because Hugh had told them to stand point around the tent instead. Once they had arrived at court, Hugh had stationed them outside her chamber and she knew they were still there now. She wished to lose them for a little bit.
Releasing her breath, she opened her mouth and called out loudly. "They need a good washing! They got muddy on the journey here!"
"Aye, m'lady!" Joanne answered equally as loudly when Willa turned an expectant gaze to her.
"Here, let me get the door for you!" Willa shouted at the door and nodded encouragingly at Joanne. She then ducked her head and lifted the stack of gowns in an effort to block her face as the girl moved forward. The moment the door was opened, Willa sailed through and scampered down the hall at a near run as she heard it close behind her. She didn't dare look back to see if the guards had noticed anything amiss, but turned the first corner she came to with a breath of relief. Stopping at the first niche she came across, Willa set the gowns down, then continued on her way.
Joanne had given her instructions on how to find Tristan D'Orland's chamber. Willa followed them now, her hand at her waist to settle her suddenly nervous stomach. She wasn't at all sure she was doing the right thing in going to meet her father. There was a possibility that the man wanted her dead. However, the tortured individual Joanne had described did not match the cold-blooded killer who had tried so often to end her life. Willa had to see for herself just what kind of man her father was.
Raucous laughter made Willa glance around as two men came out of a room and moved down the hall ahead of her. She slowed her steps so as not to catch up to them, then turned down the next corridor. This was where Tristan D'Orland's chamber was. Joanne had said it was the third door on the left. Willa counted them out. Stopping at the third door, she pressed an ear to it and listened. There was no sound from inside. She almost used that as an excuse to turn and walk away, but caught herself before she could. It was cowardice that was urging her to do so, and she knew it.
Taking a deep breath, she raised a hand to knock, then simply opened the door instead and slid into the room. At first, she thought the chamber was empty. There was no one in the chairs by the fire, nor on the bed. Then a movement drew her gaze to the window as the man standing there turned slowly to peer at her.
He wasn't what Willa had expected. Her father was about the same age as Lord Richard would have been had he still lived. But Lord Richard had spent the last decade leaving war to younger men. His body had reflected that, his muscles atrophying and a paunch developing. He'd looked his age. This man did not. Though his hair was pure white, without a hint of the fiery red-blond coloring he'd passed on to his daughter, Tristan D'Orland was as strong and fit as a man twenty years younger. He was tall, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. He had the posture and bearing of a warrior. His eyes were the same blue-gray as Willa's, sharp and startling in his tanned face. All in all, he looked like what he was: a warrior.
"I did not send for a maid. What - " He paused, his eyes sharpening on her. Several moments passed in silence as he examined her from head to toe. When he finally spoke, his voice had lost much of its strength. "What is your name, girl?"
"Willa." Several moments passed as she awaited some reaction. Then she recalled that the name would mean nothing to him. Lord Hillcrest had named her. She left the door open and stepped further into the room as she said, "The man who raised me named me that because I was willed to him. My mother asked him on her death bed to tend me and keep me safe. She feared my true father might kill me, did he know I lived."
"Your true father?" he echoed weakly.
"Aye." Willa could not bear to see the mingled hope and fear on his face and turned, moving in the direction of the fire. "They say I took his coloring and have his eyes, but that I look most like my mother."
"Juliana," she heard him breathe.
Willa fought the urge to look at him and forced herself to continue toward the fireplace as she said, "They say he loved my mother dearly, but that he was terribly jealous. She had a dear friend who was like a brother to her, but my father feared there was something more to their friendship. His jealousy made him unbearable. He began to drink and that made things worse. Nothing she said could convince him that she loved only him and that there was nothing between her and her friend. They say - "
A crash made Willa glance toward him warily. He'd been holding his sword in his hand when she entered, as if he'd been polishing it and had carried it with him to look out the window. The sword now lay on the floor amongst a basketful of apples that had been sitting on a chest beside him. Either he'd moved and banged the chest, or he'd dropped the sword and it had toppled the fruit. Whatever the case, he now knelt trying to collect the spilled fruit. However, he could not seem to hold onto the red globes. Every time he picked up more than one, the first apple slid from his hand.
Willa hesitated, then moved to his side and knelt to help. They worked in silence, replacing the fruit in the basket, but she could feel his glance roving over her as they worked. Once all the apples had been gathered and returned to the basket, Willa picked it up and stood.
Lord D'Orland stood as well, grabbing at her hand when she turned to set the basket back on the chest. The move startled her and the basket tipped, sending the fruit back to the floor. Willa started to bend to again collect them, but he held her in place.
"Forget the apples. Tell me this man's name. The one who named and raised you and kept you from your father," he ordered harshly.
Willa met his gaze and said solemnly, "I think you know."
"Tell me," he insisted.
"Lord Richard Hill - "
"Hillcrest," he finished. It sounded like a curse. His eyes closed briefly in pain and Willa was alarmed to see him sway slightly. Then his eyes opened again. "The bastard stole you from me. All these years and he - "
"He saved me from you," Willa said quietly. "He knew you would kill me did you know of my existence."
"What kind of monster has he painted me to be!" Lord D'Orland cried. "I would never harm my own child. Nor anyone else's, for that matter."
"The night my mother fled you, were you not about to storm into your chamber to shake me loose from her belly because you thought me another man's child?"
"Nay! Dear God, no!"
Willa frowned at this denial, then asked uncertainly, "You were yelling and furious?"
"Aye. I was," he admitted. "Garrod had just told me that Juliana's maid had told him she planned to leave me to go to her Thomas. Aye, I bellowed. I was furious that she would think to leave me. I was going to stop her. But she had already sneaked out of our room when I got there." His face twisted with remorse. "I was too late. She had already fled to be with her lover. If I had just been a bit quicker, perhaps she would still live. Perhaps - "
"She did not flee you to be with Thomas. She did not love Thomas; she loved you. My mother fled because her maid had told her that you planned to rid her of me. That you felt 'twas better to be rid of me with my uncertain parentage, and beget another babe as heir."
"Nay!" He stumbled back a step, horror clear on his face. "I would never - Why would her maid - ? How could Juliana believe that of me?"
"How could you believe she would be unfaithful to you?" Willa countered and he sank wearily to sit on the chest.
"I - she was beautiful." He shook his head helplessly. "Her laughter was like birdsong. Her smile made me heart-sore. I knew every man must love her on sight. Juliana, however, never seemed to notice the men chasing after her. Except for Thomas." His expression darkened with displeasure. "With Thomas she could talk and laugh for hours. They spoke of things that had happened long ere she and I had even spoken to each other. I felt unnecessary whenever he was around, like a fifth wheel on a cart. I tried not to let it bother me, but he came so often and always seemed to be there. He was like a constant canker on my arse."
Willa winced at his choice of words. They made her think of Hugh and how angry he was going to be when he found out about her slipping from her guard to visit the man he believed was trying to kill her.
Lord D'Orland shifted impatiently, drawing her attention again. "Garrod tried to soothe my suspicions. However, the very fact that he had noticed when I had not voiced my fears aloud told me that he found their friendship suspicious as well."
"Thomas told Papa - Lord Richard," Willa corrected quickly, a twinge of guilt singing through her when he winced at the loving term. "Thomas told his father that my mother loved you. Lord Richard said that Thomas and my mother were close from the time they both arrived at Claymorgan as children. He said there was nothing but friendship between them."
Lord D'Orland stared at her, his gaze moving over her features. There was deep pain in his eyes, and a bit of wonder, too. He stood and took a step toward her. He cupped her chin and he marveled, "You look so like her. If not for your coloring, I would think you were her ghost come to haunt me for being such a fool." His eyes met hers and he smiled faintly. "Do you know why I chose your mother to wed?"
Willa shook her head the tiniest bit.
"I saw your mother for the first time when she was but six. She accompanied her parents to a tourney in which I was participating. Juliana was a sweet little thing. Even then, she showed promise of being a beauty, but that was not what drew me to her. I had a page at the time, a skinny lad her own age. He was new and nervous, with the unfortunate habit of wetting himself whenever I yelled at him. She and her parents happened to be walking past my tent on one such occasion. I yelled, he wet himself as usual, and I fear I was less than sympathetic. I berated him for behaving like a babe. Your mother stopped. Her parents continued walking, unaware she was no longer with them. She simply stood there and glared at me until I took notice of her. When I finally scowled at her she berated me for being so mean."
His face lit affectionately at the memory. "She was not the least bit afraid of me and berated me with a passion, championing my page. Then she patted the boy on the shoulder, told him not to be afraid and hurried off after her parents. She had such heart." His eyes filled with tears. "I was a fierce and powerful warrior. Grown men trembled in my presence, yet this little snippet of a lass had the mettle to stand up to me, I found myself watching her throughout the tourney. At every turn, I saw signs of the courageous, honorable and loving woman she would be. I approached her father about a match and agreed to claim her two weeks after her sixteenth birthday. And I did." His hand slipped away from Willa's chin. His voice was bitter when he said, "Then I destroyed her with my jealousy."
Willa felt her heart squeeze at his pain and self-recrimination. She knew he'd suffered them these twenty years. "I think, my lord, that you had aid in forgetting your honor. It seems to me 'twas encouraged."
"Mayhap. But 'tis no excuse," he said. His next words told her that he misunderstood the aid she was referring to. "I do not understand what her maid hoped to gain. Why did she lie to us both that day? Well... to Juliana and Garrod," he corrected.
Willa bit her lip, wondering how to explain that it had not been the maid she was referring to. Then her father suddenly brightened. "Garrod! I can hardly wait to tell him I have found you again. He shall be most pleased at this reunion."
"I somehow do not think so," Willa disagreed.
"Oh aye, he will," Tristan D'Orland assured her. "The day your mother died, all I could think of at first was tending to Juliana. But as we neared my keep I began to think that I should bury you with your mother. Then the fact that Hillcrest had not offered your body made me pause. I began to think that perhaps you were not dead as he'd claimed. When I spoke these thoughts aloud to Garrod, he volunteered to find out for sure one way or the other. He stayed near Claymorgan for weeks, asking questions and searching for news of your existence. Everything he learned, however, seemed to indicate that you were, indeed, dead. He returned quite distressed. I think he had imagined returning triumphant with you in his arms. He was quite distressed at your loss."
Willa turned away, hating to disillusion him. "About Garrod - "
"Is this not a touching scene?"
Willa turned sharply at those sarcastic words and found herself staring at a tall, red-haired man with a most unpleasant face. Her father confirmed his identity when he said, "There you are, Garrod. We were just talking about you."