The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three

by Domning, Denise

  “Aye, go,” Alwyna insisted, then pointed to Temric’s weapons, “but only if you’ll swear you’ll do nothing until the churchman has rendered his decision on the morrow. Where there’s life, there’s hope.”

  “You have my word on it, Mama,” Temric replied evenly as he reached out to touch his mother’s cheek. “I’ve no desire to leave this world an instant sooner than I must.”

  “Good,” his mother returned, tears again filling her eyes. She caught him by the arm and shoved him toward the door. “Go and swiftly, before I flood the hall.”

  Philippa let Temric lead her out the door and down the stairs. In the courtyard, the servants were busy unloading the packhorses. No one paid them any heed as they slipped out the gate and onto the street. Even though Philippa was now accustomed to Stanrudde’s filth and the rush and push of the city’s many folk, all the hubbub today felt as if it would crush her. What lay before them demanded peace and time to become resigned to their fate. That, she could only find in the serenity that waited outside the city’s walls.

  “Temric,” she begged, “might we go to the stables? I need to fill my eyes with trees and feel grass beneath my feet.” One more time, she wanted to add, but couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

  “You’ve read my mind,” Temric replied with a low laugh.

  They paused long enough for Temric to purchase a bit of food and drink to take with them, then went to the city’s Priory Gate. That they passed through gateway unchallenged said Oswald trusted Temric’s honor. Without speaking, they strode past fields scythed down to ankle-deep stubble and orchards now plucked clean. In the day’s misty sky, an uncertain ‘V’ of swans made its way across the heavens. Save for their raucous calls, the wildlands were quiet, a startling change after the summer’s many melodies. All around Philippa, the meadowlands were now a rolling sea of drying grasses, while copse and thicket were stained in glorious oranges, bright golds and deep red. She drew a deep breath and savored the spicy, cool air.

  At last, the little building was at hand. A few late fruits yet clung to the trees that surrounded the fields. As they strode toward the stable, Temric’s massive steed came to the fence. Plucking an apple, Temric went to meet him. Philippa joined him at the fence.

  “What’s his name?” she asked.

  “Horse,” he replied bluntly, then laughed. “I fear there’s no romance in my soul. I’ll leave my noble brothers to name their steeds after great heroes.” He scratched at the gelding’s ears. “You also answer to ‘idiot’ and ‘pig-headed fool,’ don’t you?” The big horse nodded in amiable agreement, then snorted, as if it, too, enjoyed the jest.

  Temric gave the creature a final pat, then turned to face his avowed wife. “So, what now?” he asked gently.

  Uncertainty and fear made Philippa’s stomach twist. The need to escape even thinking about what they faced brought words rushing to her lips. “First, I’d apologize. I should have told you of the babe before I announced it so openly.”

  “I knew,” he replied, smiling.

  It was so succinct a comment that she stared at him in surprise. His smile broadened into a grin. “I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets that couldn’t be hidden. For two months in a row, you haven’t been unavailable,” he said, his voice deepening in remembered passion as he lifted her hand to his lips.

  Philippa’s breath caught at this reminder of their lovemaking. One reminder led to another and she glanced at the stable, where they’d first consummated their affection. The memory of her hands sliding over his bare chest filled her, warming every crevice within her. She looked back at him.

  “Is this truly our last night together?” she cried as tears tried to fill her eyes.

  “It might be,” he replied in quiet agreement.

  Philippa blinked away her tears. If this was to be their last night, then she certainly wasn’t going to spend it in pain. “Then, I know how I wish to spend it.”

  Temric laughed at that. “So do I,” he replied. “I thought that was why we came here.” He extended a hand in invitation. Philippa accepted with a smile, reveling in the thrill his touch sent through her, then let him lead her into the stable.

  Dawn thrust rosy fingers into the stable’s tiny windows, the light just bright enough to pry Temric from sleep. He sighed, his breath fogging before him as he listened to the world stir. On the wing to their wintering grounds, geese and swans barked high above the stable’s roof. The gentle bleat of sheep rose from the meadow, while out of the distant woodlands came the lonely bellow of a stag.

  Philippa shifted, curling closer to him as they shared the warmth beneath the blanket of his cloak. Her hair spilled over him in a silky fall, her heart beating in time with his own. Temric’s senses stirred with her nearness then ebbed into wonder. It was a miracle that his child, created by their love, should grow within her.

  With that, a sense of his own foolishness rose to taunt him. The last time they spent the night here, he’d awakened worrying that his child might be named bastard. How trivial it now seemed with the possibility of death facing them.

  Sadness followed. If Philippa chose to live, rather than die with him, his child would never know how much his father wanted him. Was this what had so tortured Henry of Graistan that his father’s spirit had lingered in Graistan’s chapel all those years?

  In that instant, Temric found his life unbearably precious and the thought of leaving it intolerable. A list of regrets unfolded within him, things he’d wished he’d done, things he’d done and wished he hadn’t. At its head was dismay with himself, that he’d not only refused his father’s love but the name Henry gave him, all over what hadn’t been scribbled on a piece of parchment.

  Beside him, Philippa stirred as she wakened, then stretched. Her skin slid deliciously against his, teasing him just as she no doubt meant to do. Temric smiled at her play. His fear that he might never gain her trust to love her as a man loved his wife had proved spectacularly groundless.

  “Not again,” he groaned, pretending weakness. It was a doomed attempt, for his shaft betrayed him.

  “If you haven’t the strength,” she teased quietly, but her words died away into a quiver. Moisture glistened in her pretty eyes as pain twisted her lips.

  He reached out to stroke his fingers down the curve of her cheek. “We agreed there’d be no more tears,” he said, hiding his own sadness.

  “Aye,” she agreed, battling bravely to bury her own fears, “but now that morning is upon us, I find I’m suddenly jealous for my life.”

  Using his finger’s tip, he traced the outline of her lips, only to smile when she kissed his finger. “There’s no need for you to die, love, not when you can find your peace in a convent.”

  “Nay,” she refused instantly. “Once Roger knows I live, he’ll want to see me dead for certain, especially when he learns I’m with child.” She caught his hand and pressed another kiss to his palm. “Besides, what have I to live for if you’re gone?”

  Although he knew the thought of her death shouldn’t please him, that she would say so to him was precious, indeed. “Then, these last months have been worth the price?” he asked, needing to hear more.

  “You know they have.” Her smile wavered. “Oh, Temric,” she pleaded, “love me until I cannot think.”

  “As you will,” he said softly, then touched his mouth to hers in a gentle caress.

  It was while Philippa yet lay, basking in the pleasure of Temric’s loving that Alwyna’s messenger arrived in the guise of Tom bringing the packhorses to the stable. The servant carried word that Temric’s noble cousin waited for them to appear at the priory. To Philippa’s surprise, her heart no longer trembled, now that the moment was at hand. Instead, there was nothing in her but a deep calm.

  Washing swiftly, more because the water was so cold than anything else, she dressed and plaited her hair as Temric buckled on his weapons. Sharing his cloak with him, her arms wrapped tightly around him, they returned to Stanrudde. If there was n
o hesitation in their pace, neither did they rush headlong to meet their fate as they entered the priory’s wooden door.

  Along the cloister they strode, the morning sun shooting beams of light through the arches of stone that fronted it. The new day gleamed bright white and rusty red off the tile walkway at her feet. On the garden at the center of the cloister a monk sat on a stool, while before him, their legs arranged tailor-fashion, were a group of boys learning the same lessons that Peter had learned.

  Their guide led them into the brothers’ residence and stopped before the first dark wooden door. It groaned as he opened it. Releasing Temric, Philippa caught his hand, then stepped inside, blinking against the blinding shaft of sun that poured in through the room’s single window.

  Oswald sat, erect and tense, in a large and ornate chair, no doubt the prior’s seat, near the back of the room. To one side of him was a clerk’s tall desk, the stub of a candle the only thing atop its clean surface. At first, Philippa thought another man stood behind him, but as her vision cleared, she saw it was only a statute of Saint Peter, for whom the priory was named, set against the far wall.

  Together, she and Temric stopped at the room’s center. With a wave of his hand, Oswald dismissed the guiding monk. The door moaned again as it closed. When that sound died away, there was nothing to disturb the peace save the distant echoes of city life. Oswald stared at them, his face naught but harsh angles and forbidding planes.

  “So,” the churchman said, long after the quiet had become uncomfortable, “Lady Philippa, are you yet set on suicide and murder?”

  Philippa drew herself up to her tallest, meeting his gaze without flinching. How strange that she could feel so calm and certain. “I am,” she replied, her voice soft and sad.

  “Nor did we come unprepared for this meeting,” Temric said quietly, then lifted the edge of his cloak to reveal his sword and dagger. “If you call the guard, Oswald, we’ll die here.”

  Harsh crevices marked the cleric’s brow. He again looked at Philippa. “All this, so that you might avoid the responsibility of your sin?”

  “Nay, that isn’t my purpose,” she replied, the words coming slowly as she took care with her answer. “I freely admit to both adultery and incest, knowing there’s no penance I can do to atone for my wrong. Instead, I take comfort from my certainty that it was God, Himself, who willed me into Temric’s arms. I can but believe that where He guides there can be no wrong done. So too, do I believe that if Temric must die, I must follow, since the only reason I didn’t die at Graistan was for him.”

  Oswald slowly shook his head, then looked to Temric. “And, what of you, Richard? If you live on, will you persist in the sin you do between you?”

  Temric gave a small shrug, his fingers tightening on Philippa’s hand. “She’s mine, Oswald, and I’ll keep her, honoring her as my wife for all of my days. As to her claim that our Lord gave her to me, I can but wonder over it, for it explains how I so easily twisted Lindhurst’s plot to kill her into her rescue.”

  “What?!” The young churchman’s black brows tightened into sharp points as they rose. “Plot?”

  “Come now,” Temric replied, amusement touching his words, “were you so easily fooled by that ruse Lord Lindhurst’s mother played out after I’d defeated her son on Graistan’s field? Nay, they plotted to spirit Philippa out of the keep while he and I battled. Two of Lindhurst’s men waited in Rannulf’s chase with instructions to murder their lord’s wife, with each of them then paid to murder the other to avoid any chance of revelation.”

  Philippa caught her breath as she listened. “I did wonder how you managed stealing me away,” she said to Temric. “Nor does what you say surprise me. Wishing to rid themselves of me would have united Roger and Margaret. It would have galled Margaret to spend her coins to keep me in the convent, while Roger would have hated the fact that I lived beyond his reach. But, how did you come to discover their plot?”

  It was a swift smile Temric offered her. “I forgot you hadn’t heard this tale. Anne tended you after you were beaten and it was to Anne that Margaret offered her pennies to support her in the mummery she planned to present to the bishop. When she made the offer, she didn’t know Anne was connected to me.”

  Words echoed out of Philippa’s fractured memory, startling in their clarity. “Eight pennies,” she murmured. The cost of a brace of stewing hens was all her death had been worth to Margaret.

  “How can you wrench me from the arms of one who loves and cares for me to once more put me within reach of those who planned my death?” she asked Oswald in disbelief.

  Worry flickered in the churchman’s dark eyes. He gnawed on his lower lip for a moment, his gaze shuttered as he thought. At last, he shook his head. “How am I to know this is the truth?” It was more a cry than an accusation that Temric lied.

  “Proof is easy enough to give you,” Temric replied. “Ask Peter, my half-brother. He was present when Lindhurst’s dam offered her bribes. He was also present when Graistan’s men met with Lindhurst’s hired killers. He heard what they said of the plot before they died. Upon your return to Hereford, ask for Anne of Graistan, my cousin, who stood beside Margaret and made the old woman’s false tale ring like the truth. Say to her that Temric bids her to it and she’ll spill her own story of coins exchanged to assure Philippa’s death.”

  Oswald sighed, his shoulders drooping. “In all truth, I cannot help but believe, for I doubted the old woman’s tale from the first,” he said in defeat. “It was hard to believe her concern when she’d previously made such a show of dislike and parsimony. Well, she got her coins’ worth out of her plot. Lord Lindhurst’s new wife is well dowered; I saw the contract for their marriage. I think the girl wasn’t so fresh. Her parents were in great haste to see her wed,” he added in a quiet aside, then retreated into a pinched-brow silence, his fingers pressed to his pursed mouth.

  Again, the silence dragged. Philippa shifted from foot to foot as she awaited Oswald’s judgment. At her nervous movement, Temric released her hand to wrap his arm around her and draw her into the protective curve of his shoulder. At last, she could bear it no longer.

  “I pray you, say something,” she cried. “Tell us what you plan.”

  “Plan?” Oswald’s head jerked up, his expression sour. “What plan can I have when you leave me no option? I’m trapped between all I know is right and what I believe is best. I don’t want your suicide and the murder of your child upon my soul, nor can I give Lindhurst the opportunity to commit murder by exposing your existence to him. Richard is right to suggest that the events revolving around your supposed death would reflect badly upon me with my noble master, should they come to light. The only solace for me in all this is that my faith listens eagerly to your tale of a holy encounter, although I find it hard to believe you the saintly sort to whom such visions are granted. Nay, all I want to do is find some way to hide your true identity and pray that God won’t damn me for it.”

  “You’ll do nothing?” Temric asked in surprise, his arm tightening around her.

  “Aye, coward that I am, I’ll do nothing at all,” Oswald retorted bitterly. “Now, go away the two of you. I’ll bide here a day or two longer as I search for a way to achieve what must be done and cover my tracks whilst I’m at it. I want no hint to remain that I’ve seen what I have.”

  Philippa’s shock was so great that her head spun. To hold herself steady, she wrapped an arm around Temric’s waist, then lifted her head to look at him. Joy glowed bright gold in his eyes, his smile beautiful to behold.

  “We live,” she murmured in disbelief.

  Temric knew he was grinning like a fool, still he couldn’t help it. “So we do,” he replied, yet stunned at this miracle.

  Beside him, Philippa’s eyes lost their focus. He felt her muscles began to loosen. As she lost consciousness and began to fall, he caught her in his arms, cradling her against his chest. As closely as he held her, it wasn’t close enough. They would live. What followed was the n
iggling worry that this was coming too easily, too cheaply.

  He looked at Oswald. “I will never forget the gift you’ve given us this day. If you ever have need, call me.”

  His cousin’s mouth tightened as his dark eyes narrowed. It was more hurt than hatred that filled his gaze. “I doubt I’ll ever sink so low as to need you,” he said coldly. “Rather that you never speak to me again. Now, begone with you.”

  “So be it,” Temric replied, striving to sound humble while every fiber of his being was exulting over this miracle. Giving his cousin no chance to change his mind, he turned and carried the wife of his heart back into the life he now found so precious.

  Philippa regained consciousness near the city’s center. Although she pleaded with Temric to set her down, that her weight was too great for him to bear, that the shopkeepers would think him a besotted fool, he refused. For this moment, he needed not even the slightest separation between them. It wasn’t until they reached the entrance to his mother’s courtyard that her protest changed.

  “Nay, you mustn’t carry me within the gate,” she cried. “Alwyna will fear the worst if you do.”

  Temric stopped and let her feet again touch the ground. “You’re wrong,” he told her. “That she sees us at all will tell my mother to rejoice.”

  As he started into the gate, Philippa caught him by the arm and drew him back. “Nay, we aren’t entering until we settle something. If we’re to live on, I’ll not allow you to waste your life here. Take me at my word; we’ll find a way to hide my existence. Now, tell me you’ll write to Lord Graistan and accept the lands he’d give you.”

  Within Temric, the gates of his prison flew open. Now that the worst had happened, what reason was there to refuse? The relief that filled him was deep enough to make him laugh.

  “Aye, sweetheart,” he said, adopting the tone of a hen-pecked husband, “I’ll do your bidding.”

  As she made an irritable sound, he caught her hand and led her into his mother’s compound. Across the yard, Jehan stood in the warehouse doorway braced on his crutches. The gleam of a smile touched his lips.