Domning, Denise Read Free Page A

hear 'my lady, my lady' from my lips? Place no wagers on it, for I'll yet make a pauper of you. You'll have no groat of what should be mine and Philippa's after me."
    "What great hurt could I have possibly done to you before my seventh year to make you despise me so?" Rowena sank into the chair her mother had vacated and cradled her head in her hands. Her parents, locked in a selfish war of hate, had made her their weapon of choice. "Why vent your spleen on me and not Philippa if she is bastard as he says?" Her voice was steady, but within her grew a cold emptiness.
    Her mother narrowly eyed her. "If he thinks the world will believe his claim now, after so many years have passed, he is mistaken. I will name his words vicious lies. Aye, I will call your whole marriage contract a lie, fabricated by your father to deny me the chance to regain for Philippa any of the wealth my father stole from me. My father," she went on, her face evilly twisting, "may his soul rot in hell, who saw me wed to the Oaf of Benfield to humble me after my mother's death. Me," she laughed, still incredulous despite the years, "for whom no less than an earl had once been considered. But he never dreamed he'd outlive all his sons and see his daughter's children be his only heir.
    "Now, your father foully names my beloved daughter a bastard to leave her with only the paltry fields she took with her when she wed.
    "How your father loves you," she said with a crooked grin. "He wanted a powerful husband for you, one who could keep these stolen lands from their rightful owners. It mattered naught to him what sort of man he was. I will give you warning now, Rowena. He is a hard, cold man who seeks only wealth from his marriage to you. Try and cross him as you did your father this morn, and he'll snap you between his hands like a dry twig."
    Rowena sagged. Her strength, far overstretched by the events of the day, gave way. She hid her eyes as the words slipped from her in a whisper. "Help me, Sweet Mary Mother of God, I am afraid, I am greatly afraid."
    "You?" Edith asked with a sneer. "You, the haughty, commanding woman who so recently dared her father to beat her to death, are afraid?"
    Rowena shrugged. The movement of her shoulders conveyed both insolence and vulnerability at once. "Life has taught me bitter lessons, madam. I am, as you have said, commanding. I am also prideful and solitary by nature. The priest at the convent admonished me to adopt gentleness and meekness in my manner." She drew a shaky breath. "I swear by the Virgin, I tried, I truly did. I cannot change. It is not in my nature to be less than I am. Now tell me, Mother, how well will my husband like me?"
    Her mother smiled in grim satisfaction. "Poor rich heiress. He will not like you at all, but, then, you have been purchased for your lands and your womb. No matter whether you bear him sons or no, I do not imagine you will live long after Philippa receives the rights to my inheritance, and you are poor once again. He's killed two wives before you, you know."
    She twitched the soft material of her skirt away from her feet, then went to the window and opened the shutter. Light once more filled the room. Edith stared out at the sky for a long moment before speaking once again. "God curses women who dare to dream of love or who hope for respect. Arrogant brat, you thought you would fly free of all this with your convent-inspired ambitions? Well, welcome to earth with the rest of us sinners." There was a tap at the door. "Come," she called out.
    Several maids entered bearing a ewer of water and arm loads of clothing. When her mother turned away from the window, her hate was once again well hidden behind a bitter mask. "Stand up, daughter. You must be dressed now."
    It was pointless to resist, so Rowena did as she was bid. All too soon the maids had washed away the signs of her travels and her hurts. She donned a fine linen chemise, then an undergown of deep blue. Its high neckline had been