Summer's Storm

by Denise Domning

  “Not helpless!” Jehan fairly roared in return. “I’m worse than helpless, I’m useless, my legs incapable of holding me. I’m nothing! Gerard is right to reconsider my marriage to Clarice. Who wants their daughter tied to one such as I? Now, I watch you bow and scrape before him,” he jabbed an angry finger toward Temric. “Did you really believe he’d lower himself to our level or that his noble connections would help you? See how wrong you were. While you plot and plan to set him in my place, your precious bastard comes to use you!”

  His final words were barely echoing around the room, before Alwyna leapt to her feet. She whirled, her hand meeting Jehan’s cheek with a loud crack of skin against skin. “How dare you,” she shouted, her voice trembling with emotion.

  “Rob, Tom,” she shouted, turning toward the kitchen door. “Hie yourselves in here. It’s time to take Master Jehan to his bed.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama,” Jehan cried out, sounding like a pitiful child. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, only him. We don’t need him here.”

  Instead of an answer, Alwyna kept her back to her middle son as the servants dashed into the hall. Together, the two men lifted him from his chair and carried him up the stairs. Only when he was gone, did she once more turn to look at the hearth. When her gaze fell upon his empty chair, she breathed out in raging frustration. “How dare he speak so foully to me of my own flesh and blood,” she told the vacant seat.

  Temric reached out to catch his mother’s hand. “Give it no more thought. No doubt, it’s Jehan’s injury that makes him act this way.”

  Alwyna looked at him, pain and anger marking her face. “Nay, that’s not true, nor should you of all people defend him to me. I do enough of that for all of us. By God, but he’s always been jealous of the affection I give you, wanting it as well as what I gave to him. Now, when I need him most, he betrays me. I vow there are times I think he fell apurpose, only because I expected him to rise and take his father’s place after his father died.”

  She gasped at what she’s said, then tears started to her eyes. “Oh, Peter,” she mourned aloud to her departed husband, “I wasn’t ready for you to go. What am I to do now?”

  His heart aching for his mother, Temric rose to embrace her. Alwyna leaned into his shoulder and let what so hurt her fill the fabric of his tunic. The storm ebbed after a moment, then she caught her breath in a final, jerky sob and pushed away to wipe her eyes on her sleeve. “Pardon me,” she managed. “I’m overly emotional these days.”

  From his chair at the hearth’s opposite end, young Peter made a choked sound. His face hollow, the lad stood and pretended a wide yawn. “I’m done for, Mama,” he lied. “I’ll see you on the morrow.” Dropping a kiss on his mother’s brow, he left the room, taking the stairs two at a time.

  Alwyna sighed as she watched him go. “We’re all overwrought, missing your stepfather terribly.”

  “I can imagine,” Temric said. “He was a good man. Come and sit,” he said, leading his mother back to her chair, “and tell me all of it.”

  With a shaken laugh, his mother dropped into the seat, once again wiping at her eyes. By the time Temric sat beside her, she’d fixed a twisted smile upon her mouth. “There’s so much I barely know where to start. Whether his legs work or not, Jehan yet has a wealth of knowledge locked in his brain. But, because he can’t or won’t bring himself to take his father’s place, we stand to lose everything his father and I worked so hard to gain. I should remarry as the guild members urge me to do. If I did, I’d have a partner to take Peter’s, and Jehan’s, place. Easily said,” she added, the words sounding like a cry, “but my husband’s passing has left such a hole in my heart, I cannot bring myself to marry another, even for the sake of business.”

  “So, it’s for your heart’s sake that you hesitate,” Temric murmured, more to encourage his mother on in speech than anything else.

  “Aye,” Alwyna replied, then shook her head to negate what she’d just said. “Nay, that’s not the whole truth. I hesitate on Jehan’s behalf. You heard him. Even your assistance here is intolerable. How will he hate me if I put a new master into the chair he once dreamed of owning? Ach, but he won’t work to keep his place and he won’t give it up and I cannot bear his hate.”

  Again, her eyes filled. She angrily dashed away the tears. “Damn me, if I could but cease this endless crying.”

  When she again raised her face to him, the dark depths of her eyes were filled with pleading. “In January, when I originally asked you to come, it was but to have you at my side for a time to ease my heart. Now, I’m begging for your help. I need you to take Jehan’s place, if just for a little while. Help me buy time enough for him to recover.”

  “You have my aid for as long as you need it,” Temric replied swiftly in relief. In his mother’s need for him, he and Philippa could make their lives here without imposing on his common family. Guilt sparked as he realized that wasn’t true. “However, I don’t know what I can do to aid you. I know nothing of your trade.”

  This time, when his mother’s lips lifted it was in a true smile. “You’re my son, aren’t you? I knew nothing but castle life when I came here and I learned.”

  That made Temric laugh. “I suppose you’re right. What skills I have were taught to me. If I learned once, I cannot be such a dullard that I can’t learn something new. Tell me what you need.”

  His mother sighed, so great was her relief. “I need you to travel on Jehan’s behalf to those hamlets with whom we have buying agreements.”

  Temric frowned. “Isn’t that like throwing me into the fire? I know nothing at all of buying wool. I think I’d be better staying here to manage the warehouse and the weavers, while you travel.”

  “Would that I could,” Alwyna replied. “Nay, it’s a man of respectable age and connection to my family I need to deal with the bailiffs and stewards. I’ll send Tom with you; he was Peter’s servant for years. I think he knows more about wool than I.”

  That only made Temric’s frown deepen. “Are things so dire here that you must entrust such an undertaking to me, an outsider?”

  His mother’s face tightened until her expression was naught but gaunt lines. “Aye. It’s the French. They grow increasingly bold, no longer content to buy from us when they can go directly to the source. I fear if a man from my house doesn’t appear at those villages on our contracted date, they’ll buy our fleece out from beneath us. It couldn’t be happening at a worse time. Just now, if we were to lose even one of the contracts, we won’t survive the blow. I was counting on Jehan’s bride’s dowry to tide us over, as well as hoping her aid would pick up those chores I can no longer do, now that I’m overburdened with the tasks Jehan and Peter once did. You must go for me, leaving on the morrow.”

  “The morrow?!” Temric’s protest leapt from his lips to echo around the quiet room. “What if Philippa hasn’t yet awakened. I can’t leave her without bidding her farewell.”

  Alwyna’s brows arched as amusement danced in her eyes. “Philippa, is it? At least I’ve pried that much from you.” Her expression sobered. “You must leave on the morrow as you need to reach the first hamlet by the day after.”

  It was Temric’s turn to sigh. If he was to guarantee Philippa a life here, he had to do what his mother asked. “Well then, the morrow will find me on the road. Aye, give me Tom and somehow we’ll manage. No doubt by the time of my return, I’ll be every inch a merchant, ready to take your husband’s place in the guild.”

  Alwyna straightened in surprise and stared at him. Although Temric kept his expression bland, her eyes narrowed. “It can’t be true, what I see in your face. You cannot be contemplating joining me in my trade. Nay, your help I crave, but my need is only temporary. Jehan will either improve and take his rightful role, or I’ll remarry.” Her jaw tightened as anger flashed in her gaze. “Tell me this isn’t more of your bitter feelings toward your sire.”

  Here, at last, Temric could let honesty lead him. “Nay, Mama. I no longer harbor any ill w
ill toward my father. I have accepted that his affection for me never wavered, despite what I once deemed missing from his will.”

  “Richard!” his mother cried, leaping up to catch Temric’s face between her hands. She studied him for an instant, pleasure slowly filling her eyes. “God be praised, you have accepted him!”

  In the next instant, pleasure gave way to confusion. “But, if this is true, why haven’t you taken those lands Rannulf promised you? How can you turn your back on what should be yours?”

  Once again, his need to keep Philippa safe warred with his desire to tell his mother all. Left with no reply that could do justice to either, he finally shrugged.

  Alwyna released him and took a backward step. “It’s that girl up there. What have you done, boy? Stolen her from her family?”

  He started, fearing she’d read the truth in his face. “Not precisely.” The words were out before he could stop them.

  “You idiot,” Alwyna breathed, then her jaw set to its most stubborn angle. “You’ll fail, you know. Our home might be a fair hiding place for her, but not for you. You’ll never accept the way we live. Richard, you haven’t a merchant’s temperament.”

  Temric felt his own jaw tighten in refusal. “What point is there to this argument? You need me and I’m available.” Rising, he stretched muscles that ached from this morn’s battle and the day’s long ride. “Pardon, Mama, but it’s been a day like as you wouldn’t believe. I’m off to bed.”

  Alwyna crossed her arms, her tapping toe jiggling the hems of her gowns. “Aye, hide your tale from me, just like you hide that girl from whomever seeks her,” she said irritably. “You won’t be able to hide from yourself. Traveling offers plenty of time to consider the error of your ways. I’ll bid you farewell on the morrow and, when you return, you’ll do the same to me and my life.”

  “Time will tell,” he replied, leaning down to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Good night.”

  “Oh Lord!” his mother cried, whirling for the stairs. “Where will you sleep? I’ve put that girl in the bed I meant for you.”

  Temric caught her by the arm and drew her back to his side. “Mama,” he said quietly, “I sleep with Philippa.”

  “Richard,” she cried in protest, “how can you when you’ve all but told me she belongs to another?”

  “Nay, I told you she was my wife,” he replied. “Say your prayers for my soul if you like, but I sleep with my wife.”

  Leaving his mother gaping after him, he climbed the stairs, then pushed aside the closed draperies that shielded his and Philippa’s bed. The younger maid was asleep on her stool, her head resting on the mattress. Temric gave her shoulder a shake. “Wake, child, time to seek your own pallet,” he said quietly.

  The lass came awake with a yelp. “Oh, master! It’s you. I was dreaming.”

  In the bed, Philippa gave a low moan. Temric lay his hand upon her shoulder. “Hush, little one,” he crooned to ease her.

  To his surprise, Philippa jerked away from his touch and come upright with a start. Her eyes were open and seemingly lucid. She shot a swift glance around the draped enclosure.

  “Where am I?” she cried, then her hand flew to the side of her head. “It hurts,” she sobbed.

  Shooing away the maid, Temric came to sit beside his wife. His heart ached when she flattened herself against the bed’s wooden headboard in an effort to escape him. “This isn’t my home,” she cried softly. “Please, I’m frightened. Let me go home. This is terrible. My thoughts spin and whirl, and I can’t keep anything straight. Who are you?”

  Hurt tumbled through Temric. She had forgotten him. “I am Temric,” he replied, his voice low.

  “Temric,” she repeated, her voice touched with quiet surprise. Reaching out, she traced her finger down the line of his nose, then touched his injured cheek. When she smoothed her fingers against his beard, he closed his eyes against the sudden desire her touch awoke.

  “I do remember you,” she said with not a little relief in her voice. “You’re Temric. You will keep me safe.”

  For all the pleasure in her voice, his was the greater. Happiness surged into joy. All the others she forgot, but not him. He smiled at her. “So I will. Now, lay back and sleep, love. You need the rest to restore yourself.”

  Catching her by the shoulders, he helped her lay back on the mattress. Once her head was again pillowed on the bolsters, her eyelids drooped. Still, she fought to remain awake. “Don’t leave me,” she begged him. “I’ll sleep better if I know you’re here.”

  “I’ll stay,” he assured her. Even before his words were out, her eyelids closed. Within the moment, she was again adrift within herself.

  Swiftly, Temric shed his clothing, then pulled back the blankets. The lamp’s oily glow fell upon her midsection. With a fingertip, Temric touched one of the curling scars that marked her there. It was fine and flat, made by a sharp knife’s tip many years ago.

  His stomach twisted in hate. A man like Lindhurst had no right to live. Worse, in seeing these, he understood Philippa’s fear of him when he’d first kissed her in that distant glade. With a sigh, Temric realized the possibility that what her husband had done to her might render her incapable of sharing her body with him. But, that was a worry for later. For now, Temric slid onto the mattress beside her.

  The linen bedclothes were soft, made so by her body’s warmth. She had her back to him. Knowing he wouldn’t disturb her, he moved closer, fitting his legs against hers, curving his chest against her back. Alwyna’s maidservants had bathed her in water boiled with flowers. Her skin yet bore their faint scent. He brushed his mouth against her shoulder. She was his now, his to hold and keep safe, to cherish and love.

  “Philippa of Stanrudde, you are heart of my heart,” he whispered to her, “and I will be yours when you’re ready to have me.”

  Philippa opened her eyes with a start. In the distance pack animals were braying. A bell clanged, its tone deep and clear. Beneath her head were soft pillows, while the blankets atop her were warm.

  She blinked. Daylight was streaming in through a good-sized gap in the otherwise murky dimness surrounding her. It took a moment before she recognized what surrounded her as bedcurtains, bedcurtains much prettier than those on Roger’s bed. That made her blink again, this time in surprise. There was absolutely nothing familiar about this bed.

  Concerned, she looked through the opening in the drapery, hoping to find something she knew. Next to the bed stood a large chest painted a bold red. Whatever it held was heavy, for it had gouged the floor when pushed into its present position. Farther from her was another set of draperies. These were made of plain fabric sheets hung from the room’s beamed ceiling and reaching all the way to a bare wooden floor. The effect was to make her feel like she was in a cloth-walled room.

  Fighting the pain this caused, Philippa probed her mind for some hint to her location. Images swam before her inner vision: Margaret with her stick held high, a kind woman with dark hair and eyes. Pleasure washed over her. There’d been a reunion with her mother and sister; she’d been reclaimed by her family as one of their own.

  Someone else had claimed her as well. Her mouth lifted. Temric.

  From the deepest recesses of her mind woke another masculine image, this one faceless and dark against a halo of bright light. When this man spoke, his words echoed from the inside outward, rather than penetrate her ears. God? Whoever he was, he’d told her to wait for Richard, but who was Richard?

  At last, her swirling memories coalesced. There’d been a trial between Lord Graistan and Roger before the bishop. With that thought came the memory of Father Edwin’s vow to see her convent bound. Philippa sighed and once more glanced about the room before her. A convent, of course. That’s where she was.

  She pushed back the bedcurtains, hoping to get a good look at her new home, only to squint as the brightness of day’s light made the throbbing in her head worsen. Pressing careful fingers to her temples to still the pain, she narrowed her eyes and
waited for her vision to clear. When it did, she caught her breath.

  A man stood by the arched window, pulling a tunic over his shirt and chausses! If he was here, then this was no convent. The man’s head appeared through the neck opening. Philippa gasped again.

  Temric?! What was he doing here? More to the point, what was she doing here with him?

  She struggled up into a sitting position, only to have her head whirl. Nausea rolled over her. With a groan, she collapsed back against the bed’s headboard. Eyes closed, she cupped her hands to her cheeks as she tried to steady her thoughts. When she finally opened her eyes again, Temric was sitting on the bed beside her, smiling.

  “Good morrow,” he said in the language of the commoners. “How do you feel?”

  Philippa stared at him in disbelief. This had to be a dream. If it was, then there was no harm in answering him.

  “Terrible,” she replied, only to discover her voice was too loud. It made pain stab through her all over again. “I hurt,” she added in a whisper.

  “That’s to be expected,” he replied with a quiet laugh.

  She peered at him through narrowed eyes. This was too real to be dream. She reached out to lay a hand against his chest. He felt solid and warm beneath her fingers. “Am I dreaming?” she asked in confusion.

  His brows rose as he smiled again. “I hope not.”

  Her confusion worsened. “But, if I’m not dreaming this, then how is it I’m with you? Has the bishop given me to you?” Even as she said this, she knew that could never have happened, not when her sister was married to his brother.

  Guilt shot through Temric’s eyes. “Not precisely,” he replied, turning his face away from her as he tugged at the bolsters behind her. “If you insist on sitting up, lean back into these to support you.”

  When he was finished arranging her bolsters, he leaned down to fetch something from beside the bed. It was a wooden cup. “Here,” he said, guiding the cup into her hands. “Watered wine. I expect your mouth is dry as dust.”