CHAPTER 23
Arthen stared after his wife and son with a grin upon his face, hardly waiting for the time he would go home to them. Dutifully, he lingered to chat with those who wished to speak to him and John about their archery business, coming to see they were all rather astounded by Marian's victory and willing to give far more credit to the teacher than was due. In spite of his attempts to tell them he'd had an apt pupil, who'd already taught herself to handle a bow, most people seemed to think it was his uncanny skill as a teacher which had made Lady Marian win.
After a while, Arthen became tired of the talk, and sought a bit of solace before deciding to head back home to Emma and Robin. But a richly dressed serving man soon came to claim his attention, telling him that his lady wished to talk to him about archery lessons for her son. She was a most noble lady, the servant said with deep emphasis, who did not like to mingle among common folk. So would Master Archer step aside, where my lady awaited in the shade? Arthen suppressed a deep sigh, as he made himself follow the servant, because he'd always thought little of noble folk who believed themselves above all people. Yet he reasoned that the lady in question might take offense at ayeoman scorning her summons, and he did not want to make a big thing out of a little one. The servant led him to a secluded area by a copse of trees where a heavily veiled woman was waiting, accompanied by a small retinue of servants. She was heavily dressed for the hot day, and at first Arthen assumed she must be old and frail. However, her voice was young when she commandingly dismissed all her servants in order to speak to him alone. And Arthen froze at the sound of it.
"Why, Master Archer," Rowena said as she removed the veil and hood she'd been wearing, to glance straight into his eyes.
Arthen's heart stopped cold. If Rowena revealed who she was, it would be their doom. But why would Rowena wish to harm them now? Hadn't she gotten her heart's desire of getting away from what she called the small, petty life of a yeoman's wife?
“You look well,” she said, with a wide smile meant to make her look bewitching.
Arthen stared at her. Never in his life would he mistake Rowena for Emma again. And, like so many times before, he wondered how he could have been so reckless and foolish to have fallen for a woman who was not Emma. Rowena and Emma might be sisters, but, apart from their quick, clever mind, there was nothing that made them alike. Emma was brave and honourable, where Rowena was reckless and deceitful.
“What do you want?” he asked in a voice he made as cold as his eyes.
“Oh…” Rowena gave a laugh filled with cold mirth. “I see. You like the tame little bitch better than me. Because you’ve always wanted a woman who will bend to you.”
“Don’t speak of her like that!”
“I’ll speak of her any way I please. She is my sister. Or doesn’t she know it yet?”
“She does. Your mother told her. Hild’s at Severborough now, the priory. She–”
“I know. I do not care. As far as I’m concerned, she’s no longer my mother. Not anymore than the other bitch who resides there. Lady Edith – cruel and conniving. I do not care for either of those women. They’re nothing to me.”
“Hild is your mother. She worries over you.”
“You tell her she need worry no longer. I’m done with her. And with this petty life. I have a different life now.”
“Why are you here then? Do you seek to wreck this new life your sister and I have built for ourselves? Just as you seek to wreck everything according to your whims?” Arthen asked, letting her hear the full bitterness in his voice.
Rowena shook her head, and waved her hand in an unconcerned gesture.
“My lord husband and I came to England. We’ll be away in a week hence, to go back to Normandy where we now reside. I’ve been to Court. Didn’t you hear? I am Lady FitzUrse now.”
Arthen shrugged, because he’d never been concerned with titles. She might call herself Lady FitzUrse, but she was still Rowena. And by the cold, triumphant way she was now gazing upon him, he understood she’d found what she had sought in her new life. Emma still worried over her and wondered if she was not unhappy to be married to a man like FitzUrse, but Arthen had at last understood that Rowena had the fate she truly deserved – the one she’d always wished for.
“I’m glad your dreams came true,” he said in a level voice.
“Yours too, I see. Of having a meek woman by your side. One who does not wish for anything more than a petty, small life,” Rowena countered with a feral smile.
“You know nothing of my dreams. You never cared for them. And you know nothing of Emma,” Arthen countered.
Rowena adjusted her circlet and veil. She wore a dainty, embroidered veil, and Arthen supposed Emma would have liked the look of it and of the rich, deep green dress which her sister was now wearing. Emma liked beautiful things. Yet Emma liked far more to make beautiful things than to wear them, and she had given up gladly the luxury of wearing such clothes. Several times she’d laughed about them and told him how confining they were. Far more confining than the simpler, sturdier clothes common women wore, she’d said in earnest.
“There used to be greatness in you. We both could have risen. That’s why I married you. That and that other thing between us. The heat – you do recall it?” Rowena’s voice now turned from shrill to husky.
“Aye, there was heat between us. Heat I mistook for love. Yet you never loved me,” Arthen countered, now pushing away the hand she was laying upon his shoulder.
“You never loved me either,” Rowena countered, but her voice did not sound bitter or concerned. “If you had, you would have done what I had asked. And we could have had it all. Heat and greatness. But your dreams are small.”
“You’re right. I just thought I loved you. I was only deceiving myself. And you. For that I beg forgiveness,” Arthen said with a small incline of his head.
He knew the words needed to be spoken between them because he’d come to understand she had been right to seek a life away from him. He wasn’t what she’d sought and he had not given her what she truly craved. Rowena craved greatness instead of love. Was the greatness she craved just a way to make up for love? He did not know, yet he now understood that, just as she hadn’t been a good wife to him, he had not been a good husband to her.
Rowena cast him a cold, disdainful look.
“You needn’t humble yourself. It does not suit you. I liked you better when you were bitter and angry. The meek bitch has made you tame, I see.”