by Anne Herries
‘Yes…’ Elaine nodded. ‘I have heard of this…but is it not immodest for a man and a woman to dance together thus?’
‘Yes…’ Gelda hung her head and mumbled something.
‘What did you say?’
‘It is for lovers…whether they are betrothed or not.’
‘Wash your mouth out, woman!’ Marion cautioned.
‘She speaks only what she has heard,’ Elaine said. ‘Thank you for telling me. I wondered…’
As her ladies left her to seek her bed alone, Elaine wondered why Zander had ordered his soldier and the slave girl to dance for her. Had he wanted to see how she would react to something so sensual? Why should he—unless he wanted to evoke a mood…a mood of love and sensuality that would prepare her…
Elaine’s cheeks were on fire as she ran to her cold bed and scrambled inside. Such immodest thoughts! Zander was far too honourable a knight to think of such things. She was not yet his wife—might never be. How could he ever think of coming to her bed, if the church had not first blessed them?
Zander stared out into the night from the battlements. His heated thoughts had brought him here, as if with the cold night air he would drive out the hot need and longing that had built inside him in the hall.
Had Elaine realised what her beauty did to him? The scent of her, of her hair, was more intoxicating than any wine, but she seemed unaware of her power.
She’d been but an innocent child when he had left for the Holy Land and he an untried youth. Since then he’d known his share of women, though in his heart he’d remained true to the woman he loved. The rigours of war were such that men sought relief in many things—wine, dance and song were some, but a warm body to cling to in the deep of night when the nightmares came was something they all needed and found in the willing camp followers. He’d known his share, though not as many as he might have had he chosen, for he was popular with the women, especially the slave dancers they’d rescued from cruel masters.
One of the dancers had been very beautiful. Esmerala had taught him to dance as she danced and the hot insistent beat of the drums and pipes had brought him to fever point. Grieved by the death of friends, his heart and body in need of comfort, he had claimed her as his own and she’d given him much pleasure, though when she left to return to her own land, he had forgotten her, for she had meant little to him but the comfort of a soft body. He was not her first lover and knew that she would find another as pleasing to her as him. Zander knew that despite his disfigurement there would always be a woman available to him if he chose to look for comfort. In the dark of night they could not see his face and he could pleasure them enough to make them forget his scars—but Elaine was different.
From Elaine he wanted so much more. The sensual dancing had aroused his needs. He was haunted by the scent of her, by his need to hold her and touch her, feel her soft skin beneath his as he loved her. Had he escorted her to her chamber that night he could not have held back from her. She belonged to him. She was his and he wanted to claim her—but his pride forbade it. Even if she came to him with softness and talk of love he would doubt her. He would fear the day she realised that she was caught, trapped into marriage with a man who was not the man she’d loved. No, he must resist his needs…he was not worthy of her.
The Zander who had gone away might be there somewhere deep inside him, but that man of ideals and high values had changed, disappeared, replaced by someone who had been killed in battle. A man who was tainted by the death of innocents, though he’d spared those he could—but he’d been there as their blood was spilled, trodden into the sands of the land they called Holy. He had taken the life of a man he’d once called friend, and though in justice he could do no other, it haunted him still.
He’d heard dying men call out to their god as they lay bleeding, heathen and Christian side by side, unanswered by their various gods until someone took pity and drove a sword into their throat to end their pain.
What kind of a god could be so pitiless? Zander asked himself. What kind of men were they who carried the Cross of Jesus and claimed victory in his name? What kind of man was Zander de Bricasse?
The answer could not please him, because he knew that whatever he was he was not worthy of the woman he wanted with such a burning need—a need that made his groins ache and kept him wakeful.
Her chamber was next to his, in so much as it could be reached by a long walkway that did not take him through the hall. It was not particularly convenient, but better than having to climb the stair to her solar via the hall, thus advertising his intentions to any that observed. Her servants had arranged it so because they thought he would be her husband and they would occupy the rooms when they were wed. He thought that one day he would purchase a house with a more comfortable arrangement so that he could simply walk from his chamber to hers…if he wed her.
He was uncertain of what he ought to do. She had made it clear at the start that she expected him to keep his word to her—but would he wrong her by taking what she offered?
Zander had seen her beauty that night as never before, seen the sensual lovely woman she’d become and desired her. As his men sang, drank and danced, he’d known a burning desire to go to her that night and make love to her—but if he did that they must marry. He could not dishonour and then leave her.
She would wed him willingly. He knew that, just as he knew it was what he wanted in his heart—but it was not right. She was too pure and lovely, like a goddess or a queen. His touch would sully her. He could only defile her.
He turned away, looking up at the moon, a howl of pain in his heart, though he was silent. How could he in honour go to her when he knew what it must mean for her?
She might think she still loved him now, but what of the years ahead—what if she began to see the blackness of his soul? He had lost his faith while she held hers fast. He no longer loved God, nor did he hate him—he simply did not believe.
Rising to the sound of swords clashing against shields and feet thudding below her in the courtyard, Elaine looked out. She’d heard such sounds all her life, for men-at-arms must train every day to retain their strength and skill. It was a fact of their age that no baron was safe within his castle unless he had strong men to keep out those that would try to steal what he had. England was a lawless land with its King gone to fight the heathen and a prince who cared only for his own pleasure on the throne. The barons made war on each other if they pleased and stole their neighbour’s cattle, sheep—and sometimes his wife.
Zander’s men trained hard. They fought as if it were for real, knocking their opponent off his feet and forcing a surrender, if they could. Sometimes a man was slightly hurt—a fact of life, though not intended by his brothers-in-arms, but preparation for the real thing. It was a moment or two before she realised that one of the men training was Zander. He was fighting hard, though she could see he was sweating more than was usual and, even as she watched, he stumbled. His opponent stepped back and lowered his sword. Had the fight been for real Zander would probably have died before her eyes.
As she watched in horror, he got back to his feet and began to press forwards, forcing his opponent to fight harder. Elaine feared that he would collapse and could hardly bear to watch, yet she could not draw away. Not until he was exhausted did Zander call time and lean on his sword. His opponent slapped him on the back and praised him and, at last, he smiled and shook his hand.
Elaine stepped back from the window, afraid that he would think she was spying on him. She turned as her ladies entered, bringing her a gown of silk in one of her favourite shades of green.
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Not this morning, Hilda. I need a working gown. I mean to begin as my mother would. The house has been too long without a mistress. we must check the stores so that we can begin to prepare for the winter. I would know what linen we have and what preparations are on the shelves of my stillroom—and whether we have stores to feast again this night as we did last.’
‘Lord Stornway sent a load of preserves and food, which Lord Zander had ordered for us, lady. The steward says we are well stocked with all we need.’
‘Indeed?’ Elaine was slightly annoyed to hear it, for it seemed that Zander was taking over her tasks as chatelaine. He was acting as if he were her lord and yet he had not asked her to be his wife.
Just precisely what did he think he was about? What did he want of her? He gave so much, he must want something in return.
Remembering a look in his eyes the previous night, Elaine thought she knew what Zander wanted. He felt desire for her, if nothing more. Had he kept a distance between them because he thought her still a child?
No man had kissed her lips since he’d left—or none that she’d allowed, though one or two youths had tried it in their cups, to their sorrow after she’d kicked them. Yet Elaine was not innocent. She had understood the meaning of those gyrations the dancers made, and the sensual music of drums and the lyre had not left her untouched.
She tossed her head, determined to have her way. ‘I shall start as I mean to go on—summon my ladies and I shall assign you all duties. I want to know everything there is in the house: silver, pewter, pots and chattels. You and I will make a start with the linen…’
Hearing the woman’s sigh of resignation, Elaine smiled. Her people had grown lax and must mend their ways, for she intended to be mistress in her own home.
Chapter Seven
Zander noticed the bustle and stir as he entered the house. He could smell lavender and beeswax and every maid or serf in the house seemed to be busy.
‘What is going on here?’ he asked of a passing housecarl.
‘Lady Elaine has set us all working. She wants an inventory of everything—and those not put to that are either scrubbing or polishing, my lord.’
‘Ah, I see.’
A little smile touched his lips. It seemed that Elaine had decided to show her authority and take the reins into her own hands—or perhaps she had been as restless as he had after the previous night. Perhaps her blood had heated watching the dancers, as his had, which was one of the reasons he’d pushed himself so hard in the training yard. He’d slept but fitfully the previous night, for the dancing had aroused such need in him that his mind was filled with pictures of what might have been.
Zander had found it difficult to sleep with Elaine lying in such close proximity. He’d wanted to walk through the door and passage that connected them and claim her for his own, but he’d resisted valiantly. She was a gentle lady and would have been shocked had he taken her from her bed, kissing her awake and then making love to her. Besides, he could not afford to let himself become seduced by her beauty and the softness of her skin.
Once he felt strong enough, he must go in search of their mutual enemy and force Newark to meet him in single combat. It was the only way to settle what was between them, for otherwise many lives could be lost and too much blood spilled.
Going to his chamber, Zander stripped off his clothing and began to wash the sweat and dirt from his body with cold water from a silver ewer. He used a washing cloth and a scented soap to smooth over his skin before applying some of the oil that he’d purchased on his travels. It smelled of musk and ambergris and, if rubbed into the skin, kept his muscles from aching and helped to heal the wounds he’d received when the renegade Saracens had found him burying Tom. He would have died that day, left to bleed out his life alone beneath a burning sun, had not Janvier and his servants found him in time. He dismissed the thoughts, for those pain-filled nights were behind him.
After it had been oiled, his skin gleamed. He eased his shoulder back and forth, feeling the way the stiffness was gradually easing. Zander had learned long ago that only exercise would ease the aching caused by stiffness after a wound healed. If he continued to practise hard, he would soon be back to two-thirds of his old skill, though he was not sure he would ever regain his full fitness or dexterity. Elaine’s mixture had certainly made a difference, but the process of healing was slow and tedious to a man in a hurry. The scar on his cheek was still painful sometimes and he wondered if he should submit to Elaine’s healing, but some stubbornness within him made him hold back.
Hearing a sound behind him, he turned and saw Elaine staring at him. The slight noise was her indrawn breath as she saw him standing, naked to the waist, a drying cloth slung casually about his lower body.
‘Your back…those scars…’ She said and then blushed. ‘Forgive me…I did not know you were here, my lord. I came to bring these.’ She placed a pile of clean linen on the bed and made to withdraw. Zander caught her arm, preventing her from leaving.
‘The scars you mention are long healed,’ he said, his eyes burning into her. Suddenly, he remembered the way the sensual dancing had made him feel; the need to hold her and kiss her that had been aroused in him the previous night was so strong that he felt it sweep over him, destroying his good intentions to keep a barrier between them. She was here, in his chamber, the scent of her so sweet and enticing that he moved closer, letting it fill his senses and driven by a hunger he could not control. She looked so cool, fresh and lovely, so desirable that he forgot all his good intentions as a surging need took hold. Zander knew that this was wrong; she was too far above him, but he could not control the fire blazing through his body. He wanted her, more than he’d ever wanted any woman, and the need tore at his resolve to remain aloof. Before he knew what he did, he had reached out and brought her close to him, holding her as he bent his head to kiss her on the lips. She gave a little start, but his kiss was soft and after a moment he felt her relax, her body moving closer of its own volition. Zander smiled a little and released her, gazing down at her. ‘I have wanted to do that since the first moment we met again. It has been a long time since we kissed, Elaine.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ She smiled at him and then reached up to touch the livid scar on his face. Even the softness of her fingers hurt him and he flinched. ‘Will you not let me try to heal this for you—or allow Janvier to use my poultice?’
‘I thought it was healing slowly?’
‘Yes, but I can make it feel so much easier, take away the tightness that causes puckering and pain.’
‘Then send me the balm and I will apply it myself.’
‘As my lord wishes. You shall have it this night,’ she murmured and turned to leave. Once again he caught her, this time by the wrist.
‘You do not feel revulsion at the sight of my scars?’
‘Revulsion? How could I feel anything other than sympathy for your pain and the wish to help you?’
‘I have seen other women look at my face and flinch away.’
‘Then they are fools, my lord.’
‘Or perhaps you are more compassionate than some.’
‘Anne Stornway would have healed you had you let her.’
‘Yes, she is a remarkable woman.’ Zander felt her pull away, but held her still. ‘You are more beautiful, Elaine, and younger. Do you wonder that I feel it wrong to take advantage of your promise?’
She stilled then and looked up at him. ‘I thought you had forgot it?’
‘How could I ever forget you or the vows we made before I left?’
‘Then why…?’ Her cheeks flushed. ‘I have not changed, Zander.’
‘You think not?’ He smiled, arching his right eyebrow. ‘I see many changes. The girl has become a woman, I think. I believed you still as innocent as you were, but I was wrong.’
‘Of course I have grown up, but in all else I am unchanged. My love is as strong now as it ever was…’ Now her cheeks flamed, but this time she did not run away. Instead, she waited for him to speak. When he did not, he saw her hand tremble. ‘Do you wish me to release you from your promise?’ she whispered. ‘Is there another you love?’
Zander swore beneath his breath. ‘No! In the name of heaven, if there be one, I say it is not so. Do not look at me that way, lady. I would not desert you—but if we were wed you might be a widow before the month
is out. And if by some good chance I live and Newark dies…’ He shook his head. ‘My lady, you do not know what I have done…what I have been since we last met. I tell you truly that I am not worthy of you. I could not help myself when I kissed you, for I have thought of it so many times through the years—but I should defile you.’
‘Why do you not tell me what haunts you so?’ she asked, holding herself proudly.
‘I am shamed by things…’ He shook his head. ‘If I told you, you would hate me. I cannot see hatred in your eyes, for it would kill me.’
‘What can you have done that is so terrible?’ she asked. Still she looked at him, but he saw the uncertainty and knew the doubts were close. ‘I pray you tell me, my lord.’
‘I have killed too many, seen too many slaughtered…some were soldiers, but others were innocents, Elaine.’ She flinched and her eyes darkened, but she did not turn away. ‘A child…I saw a child killed as it clung to its father’s knee and he begged for mercy. I should have done something…acted sooner. Too much innocent blood was spilled that day.’
Now he saw a flicker of fear and revulsion in her eyes. He wanted to stop, to leave it there, but was forced to continue by an unstoppable tide from within.
‘We were told the renegades lived in the village and we were ordered to clear them out, to spare no one—but we were not told they would be hiding amongst women and children…innocent women and children. Just as we were due to leave the camp, I was called to attend the King and I sent…a friend I trusted with the men who served me. I gave orders that they should take prisoners and bring them back to our camp for trial, but I had forgot how much my friends had suffered. We had seen too many of our number cut down and killed without mercy.
‘In their blood lust and zeal my men swept into the village on their destriers. They called for the renegades to come out and fight, but they hid and sent out women, children and old men…’ Zander shuddered, for the sight burned in his head and the screams echoed in his ears.
