To the Lady Born by Kathryn Le Veque Page B

herself; the most precious thing she held of value had been brutally taken from her, shame beyond measure heaped upon her as a foolish commander had boasted of his deed.  The thought of Sorrell brutalizing that petite, beautiful woman nearly had Weston exploding; his ability to contain himself grew weaker by the moment.
    “What else do you know?” he growled.
    John didn’t back away although he wanted to. “Nothing more to that regard,” he said honestly. “But I have heard some of the men say that you are following the same path that Sorrell did.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “That you are showing the same interest in her that he did right before he raped her.”
    Weston let go of John’s tunic in a sharp gesture, stunned.  His dark blue eyes were wide. “Are they truly saying that?”
    John nodded. “They are,” he replied. “But they do not know you the way I do. They do not know that you are virtuous and chivalrous.  I know you would never brutalize the lady and have told them so.”
    Weston looked away, horrified. His hands formed enormous fists which he braced against the parapet, hanging his head as he digested what he had been told. It was difficult to consume everything at once but his most prevalent thought was of Amalie; he felt ill when he imagined her going through such fear and torture. She was a tiny scrap of a woman against a fairly large man. He was sure she had fought for all she was worth; he had seen it that night in the vault, the panic she had exhibited when she had awoken in the straw and realized Weston was next to her.  Now, it all made sense.
    Knowing she was compromised, his interest in her should have died at that very moment. For any other woman, it would have; chastity in a woman was the most important thing to him, more important than money or titles or connections. But as repulsed as he should have been, he found that he couldn’t bring himself to feel it. All he wanted to do was pull Amalie into his arms and swear to her that it didn’t matter. The problem was that he didn’t know if he truly could.  His moral code told him one thing while his heart told him another.
    He left the battlements without another word and made his way to the outer bailey, marching through the muddy rivers caused by melting snow. The keep loomed ahead and he looked up at the soaring walls against the blue expanse of sky. He had to see Amalie; he wasn’t sure what he was going to say to her but he knew he had to see her.  His head, his heart, felt as if it was about to explode but he maintained his composure, struggling as he entered the inner bailey and made his way into the keep.
    It was still and quiet as he made his way into the keep through the enormous fore building and took the stairs up to the great hall. A few servants were going about their tasks, two of them seated before the great hearth and stripping great bough of rushes from two huge branches.  He could smell the pine.   He continued up the spiral stairs until he reached the fourth floor where Amalie’s chamber was.  Moving down the dark corridor to her door, he knocked softly.
    His second rap pushed the door open slightly; it had not been locked.  Curious, he pushed the door open further and was met with Esma and Neilie. Esma had garments in her hand and Neilie was sweeping near the hearth.  When they saw Weston, they froze like frightened animals.
    Weston noted their expressions as he moved into the room.   The first thing he noticed was that Amalie was not there. He looked at Esma.
    “Where is Lady Amalie?” he asked.
    Esma swallowed. “She is not here, m’lord.”
    His brow furrowed; he didn’t like the sound of that. “Where is she?”
    Esma glanced nervously at her sister before taking a deep and steadying breath. “She told me to give you a message, m’lord.”
    “Message?” Weston repeated, increasingly concerned. “Esma, where did she go? You know that you are not to leave her alone.”
    Esma nodded