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’s maid .”
After a long moment, Sybilla turned and began walking swiftly toward him. “We’re finished for the day,” she said in a cool voice. Her face was the color of the fog beyond the square window. She did not slow as she neared the table, only set her cup down as she passed by. The clicking of her footsteps echoed behind Julian, and then he heard the scrape of the solar door opening. He did not hear it close, and so he craned his neck around to look over the settee behind him.
The door was open, and Sybilla Foxe was gone.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured to the empty, dark room. “Sorry, Sybilla.”
And he found that he was, because he knew it was to get much worse.
“Oh, come on, you stupid . . . you stupid”—Alys pushed against the hulking beast with all her might—“ cow ! ” Her breath came out of her in an agitated huff when she realized her efforts were for naught. She stood aright and slapped the red and white rump.
“You know if I can’t get you to the barn, Piers will never let me help again.” The cow turned its head lazily, grass poking from either side of its wide mouth as it regarded Alys over its shoulder.
Alys gestured toward the cow with the thick limb in her right hand. “He told me to use this on you, you know. ‘Give her a good whack,’ said he. Is that what you want? Can’t you just mo—”
“Moo-oo,” the cow interrupted.
“Yes, moo-oove ,” Alys cried.
The cow lowered its head to the new spring grass and began to graze once more.
“Bloody good dairy wife I’ve turned out to be,” Alys grumbled and turned to lean her aching back up against the cow’s warm side.
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’s maid .”
After a long moment, Sybilla turned and began walking swiftly toward him. “We’re finished for the day,” she said in a cool voice. Her face was the color of the fog beyond the square window. She did not slow as she neared the table, only set her cup down as she passed by. The clicking of her footsteps echoed behind Julian, and then he heard the scrape of the solar door opening. He did not hear it close, and so he craned his neck around to look over the settee behind him.
The door was open, and Sybilla Foxe was gone.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured to the empty, dark room. “Sorry, Sybilla.”
And he found that he was, because he knew it was to get much worse.
“Oh, come on, you stupid . . . you stupid”—Alys pushed against the hulking beast with all her might—“ cow ! ” Her breath came out of her in an agitated huff when she realized her efforts were for naught. She stood aright and slapped the red and white rump.
“You know if I can’t get you to the barn, Piers will never let me help again.” The cow turned its head lazily, grass poking from either side of its wide mouth as it regarded Alys over its shoulder.
Alys gestured toward the cow with the thick limb in her right hand. “He told me to use this on you, you know. ‘Give her a good whack,’ said he. Is that what you want? Can’t you just mo—”
“Moo-oo,” the cow interrupted.
“Yes, moo-oove ,” Alys cried.
The cow lowered its head to the new spring grass and began to graze once more.
“Bloody good dairy wife I’ve turned out to be,” Alys grumbled and turned to lean her aching back up against the cow’s warm side.
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