Summer's Storm

by Denise Domning

  “It went very well, indeed,” Temric replied.

  For an instant, his mother’s eyes closed and she leaned against the door’s frame, then with a deep breath she straightened and once more looked at her visitor. “Good morrow, Gerard. What brings you calling this morn?”

  Gerard smiled at her. “Why, wedding plans, what else?”

  Alwyna’s answering grin was glorious. “Well then, you must come in this instant. We’ll share a drop of wine and make our plans.

  It wasn’t until Gerard started toward the door that Jehan pivoted on his crutches and caught the older man by the arm. “Wait!” he cried.

  His new father-by-marriage looked at him, a brow arched. “What is it, Jehan?”

  “Why now?” the younger man demanded.

  “Why not?” Gerard retorted. “This betrothal has dragged on so long that Clarice cries she’ll be too old to bear children if we wait any longer.”

  Confusion raced across Jehan’s face. “But, three months ago I was certain you meant to annul our betrothal.”

  Gerard gave Jehan a friendly buffet on the shoulder. “Three months ago you weren’t the man you are today. I can’t tell you how your rapid improvements these past months have startled the whole guild. I’ll tell you now, there were those among us who believed you’d never rise above the twin blows of losing your father and your legs all at once, Master Jehan,” he said, this time emphasizing the title. “And, haven’t you just proved yourself your father’s son and all of us wrongheaded fools? Aye, you’re a bit uncertain yet, but you’re young. I, myself, think you’ve shown you have the same gift for trade that your father owned and it won’t be long before you take your father’s place in the guild.”

  Jehan swayed on his crutches. “I’m overwhelmed,” he mumbled. “Your compliments turn my head. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say thank you to your brother’s wife,” Gerard replied with a quick laugh as he offered Philippa a wink. “Who hasn’t seen her at your side offering her encouragements, eh? A close and loving family makes for strong trade and good business, that’s what I always say.” Offering Jehan another friendly pat on the shoulder, Gerard strode toward the doorway and Alwyna, intent on toasting his way through the plans.

  “Nay,” Jehan breathed as he turned to watch the smaller man enter his home. Turning, he looked at Philippa, his face devoid of color.

  Philippa offered Jehan a cheeky grin. “Although ‘tis tactless of me, I find I can’t resist. I told you so,” she said, sounding very pleased with herself.

  “Nay,” Jehan repeated, now shaking his head slowly from side to side as if to clear cobwebs from his thoughts. “I never thought--I mean, my legs”--his voice trailed away into silence.

  Temric nearly laughed at Philippa’s reaction to Jehan’s oft repeated excuse. The woman he loved rolled her eyes and put her fists on her hips as she once more aimed her sharpened tongue at his poor tortured brother. “Are your brains in your legs, Jehan? Clarice cares only for you, while Gerard cares for naught but your intelligence and skill. Crutches and a packhorse supply all the mobility you need.”

  Rather than please him, Jehan’s expression went from miserable to wretched. What looked like a flash of guilt shot through his brother’s gaze. “What have I done?” Jehan cried out in what was nearly a sob, then wrenched himself around on his crutches and nigh on raced back into the storehouse.

  Concern shot through Temric. Something was wrong with Jehan and it wasn’t just gratitude or surprise.

  “Now, what bit him?” Philippa asked in confusion. “I thought he loved Clarice.”

  Shouting rose from within the warehouse. In the next instant, Tom tumbled out of its opening to sprawl across the cobbles. Temric was already loping for the door when Rob appeared in the opening.

  “Help, help!” the man cried. “Master Jehan’s gone mad!”

  Past stacks of parchment quires, hemp bales and bundles of cloth Temric raced, with Rob on his heels. Jehan lay on the building’s hard-packed earthen floor, his crutches splayed against the far wall, one splintered by the force of his throw. Bright silks, bought in trade for this year’s fleece, were piled softly about him as he tore yet more from their packaging.

  “Cease, Jehan,” Temric commanded, using the voice that brought instant compliance from all his men.

  Jehan dropped the cloth, then sagged, sobbing, into the material. Temric knelt beside him, only to have his brother grab him by the front of his leather hauberk. Tears stained his cheeks. “Run, Temric,” he cried, sounding as if his heart were broken. “Take her and run for your life.”

  Philippa skidded to a halt beside them. “Jehan, what is it?” she cried in concern.

  “Oh, God, but I paid for the fastest messenger I could buy,” his brother moaned. “He’ll come. I know he’ll come, if for no other reason than to punish me for my petty hatred and stupidity.”

  Temric’s worry soared into something worse. His face tightened with it. Catching his brother by the chin, he forced Jehan to look at him. “Be clear, boy,” he demanded.

  “I am a fool,” Jehan cried. “I hated myself for being so afraid to fail. Why try, when I could never be a good as Papa? Then, Pippa came, with her nagging and her pressure. She made me so angry I couldn’t see how she was pushing me into what I was too afraid to do for myself. Now, I’ve betrayed her when she’s done me nothing but good.”

  Frustration and fear snapped in Temric. His grip on Jehan’s face tightened as he gave his brother a shake. “Damn it, what did you do?!”

  Shame darkened Jehan’s cheeks. “Yesterday, when I heard the churchman speak her husband’s name, I sent word to him that he’d find the wife he thought dead here and alive.”

  “You idiot!” Temric bellowed in agony as he thrust Jehan back from him and roared to his feet.

  Beside him, Philippa reeled, staggering back until her shoulders met the goods piled behind her. She sagged against the bales, her face chalk white. “He’s coming,” she moaned. “He’s coming to kill me.”

  Anger raged in Temric. How could God be so cruel as to offer them freedom, then snatch it back from them all in the same hour? So great was what boiled in him, he drew back his hand and dropped a blow onto his brother. Jehan dodged, then caught his brother’s arm. Two months of supporting himself on crutches gave the boy new strength. Hissing in frustration, Temric found he could neither vent what ached in him nor break free of Jehan’s hold.

  “Not yet, Temric,” Jehan said, his tears giving way to new determination. “I vow I’ll willingly submit to your beating, but only after you’ve saved her from him. I gave him our name. He’ll come here looking for me. When he comes, I must be conscious to point him onto a false trail. Now leave, before it’s too late.”

  Alwyna and Gerard pushed through the watching servants. As Alwyna cried out and ran to put her arms about Philippa, Gerard came to stand before the warring brothers. “What goes forward here?” the merchant demanded, confusion staining his round face.

  “It’s my fault,” Jehan cried, releasing Temric to turn a frantic look on his future in-law. “Philippa and I, we played a foolish game of wills, but I’ve unthinkingly gone a step too far. She’s not yet free of one who once owned her. I knew that, but didn’t know his name until yesterday, when I was still a spiteful idiot. I let my ire over something I thought she’d done to me rule and sent this man word of her location. If what I’ve done causes you to retract your offer for Clarice’s hand in marriage, so be it. It’s nothing more than my just reward for such cruelty. I pray you, stay your disgust for me long enough to help me think of a way to save her from what I’ve done,” he finished, pleading.

  Dismay flashed over Gerard’s face, followed by irritation, then quick intelligence warmed his blue eyes. He looked at Philippa. “I gather it hasn’t been a year and a day for you,” he said.

  Temric blinked in surprise. Jehan’s oblique explanation had led the merchant to believe Philippa a serf who was trying to escape her former
lord. It took a year and a day of freedom before a serf could shuck that legal bond.

  Philippa didn’t answer; she couldn’t, trapped as she was in hopelessness. Alwyna had no such problem with her tongue, even if pain pinched her face. “Aye, Gerard, she arrived here just before Midsummer Day.”

  Gerard’s gaze shifted to Temric. “Then, I think me you and she cannot be wed.”

  Given that the man was a potential ally, Temric had no choice but to answer truthfully, although he wasn’t willing to share a word more than necessary. “We aren’t.”

  As he spoke, he glanced at Philippa. Sadness joined the hopelessness in her face. The need to hold her close again filled him. With the lift of his chin, he bid her come. Philippa left his mother’s embrace to find shelter in his.

  Rather than pry for more, Gerard only grimaced. “A pity that. Unfortunately, were you to do the deed now and in haste, it would only seem a dodge on her part to avoid recapture. Nay, there’s no help for it. You’ll have to run.”

  Stripping a ring from his hand, he pressed it into Temric’s hand. “Take her to Bristol. Once you’re there, ask for the wine merchant, John, son of Walter. Tell him he’s to shield her as I shielded him. Now, be gone with you both,” he said, “leaving Jehan and me to plot how we’ll delay and divert her master to buy you time.”

  It was Gerard’s final words that did it. Against all reason, the exhilaration he’d known only a few moments before reclaimed his heart. He and Philippa would ride, but not to Bristol to hide in some wine merchant’s shop. Nay, they’d ride in the opposite direction, toward Dover, praying all the while that Gerard succeeded in finding some way to delay Roger. For from Dover, he and Philippa could take a ship to Normandy and his new home.

  “Then, with many thanks to you for your aid, we go,” he said, clutching Philippa close as he turned and hurried her from the warehouse.

  The empty courtyard was locked in an unusual quiet. Temric pulled Philippa across its cobbles and back out onto the streets of Stanrudde. Now that midday was near, the lanes were crowded with pedestrians. Asses brayed in protest as hawkers pushed their handcarts past them, the men shouting out the value of their wares, be it onions or bits of fabric. The yeasty aroma of newly baked bread warred with the scent of rotting flesh and tanning hides.

  It wasn’t until they neared the city’s main gate that Philippa began to struggle and resist. Startled, he turned to look at her. Her hands were clasped as if in prayer. Terror swam in her eyes.

  “We aren’t going to have this life, are we,” she whispered.

  “Of course we are,” Temric replied, confused by her hesitation. “You heard Gerard and Jehan. They’ll help. Now, come,” he said, once more taking her hand in his, “we must be on our way and quickly so.”

  Instead, she again wrenched free, this time stepping back from him as she shook her head. “Nay, it’s pointless to run. Sweet Mary, there’s no place left to hide now that Roger knows I exist. He’ll search and search.” Her voice quivered as she cupped a hand to her abdomen. “And, when he finds me, I’ll die, my child with me.”

  “Love,” he crooned, catching her by the shoulders to draw her near to him, “he won’t find us. We ride not to Bristol, but to Dover where we’ll take whatever ship will have us and cross to Normandy. Trust me, love. Once he knows we’ve left England, he’ll look no farther. Think on it. His remarriage is our shield. If he reveals your existence, he names himself a bigamist and cheats himself of his new wife’s dowry.”

  Still, fear lingered in her gaze. Temric shook his head as he understood. So many years as Roger’s prisoner had left their mark on her. “Love, how can you stand like a lion before Oswald, who has found you, and quiver like a lamb at the thought of Roger merely seeking you?” he asked in the hopes of prodding her out of her terror.

  Her brows pinched as she wrung her hands. “He might find us on the road,” she cried.

  “If he does, we’ll fight again, he and I,” he assured her. Would that he could properly arm before they met, but to ride the roads outside of Stanrudde as a mailed knight with a single woman at his side would be like a carrying a red pennant, calling Lindhurst to them.

  “Come now, little one, or he’ll find us waiting for him in yon gate,” he prodded once again.

  All he achieved with that was to wring another start of fear from her. “But, he’ll have men with him.”

  Temric considered that a moment, then lifted his brows in scorn. “Nay, I know better. He’ll do no different now than he did when he was bent on murdering you in secret. The fewer men who know you yet live, the fewer he must kill to keep his secret. Were we to wager I’d say he’ll come with no more than two at his side. Now, come.”

  “I can’t,” Philippa cried in terror. “You don’t know him. It doesn’t matter that he’s wed again. The knowledge that another man has loved me will drive him into cruelty. He’ll need to hurt us both as much as he can to soothe his injured pride.”

  “To hurt you, he must kill me first,” Temric told her, trying to ease her fear as he touched her face with gentle fingers. “Remember, he and I met once before and I defeated him. My mother’s life hasn’t made me so soft that I can’t do so again. Love, it’s our future that awaits us beyond that gate. Consider the possibilities if we survive!” he urged.

  This time, when he took her hand and started toward the gate, she followed, keeping pace with his easy lope.

  They were utterly alone. Mounted on one of Alwyna’s packhorses with her skirts hiked up above her knees, Philippa rode alongside Temric on his larger steed. Not a horse or oxcart broke the rolling line of the road. Terror rose. Trying to tame it, Philippa stared at the road ahead of them, as if she could see all the way to Dover and the future Temric promised her.

  Her ability to keep her eyes forward wavered and she shot a nervous glance to the roadsides. Thick stands of elm and beech lined the verge, the trees well-pruned. That meant the poorer folk had already been into the woodland using shepherd’s crook and pruning hook to strip dry and dead branches from living trees. That wood, along with the drying leaves, would serve as fodder for their winter fires.

  Once again, her will wavered. Just as she’d done a thousand times since they’d left Stanrudde, she turned in the saddle to look behind them. The city’s walls were long ago out of sight.

  There was no sign of Roger. This time. Just because he wasn’t here yet, didn’t mean he wasn’t coming after her.

  She shivered. Never mind that the midday sun was warm, she’d never been so cold. Her fingers felt frozen on the reins while her cheeks ached as if they were frostbitten. Worst of all, her heart wasn’t beating. That’s because she was nothing more than the walking dead. Would that she could ride backward in her saddle! If she could, at least Roger wouldn’t have a chance to take them by surprise.

  Only as she once more straightened in her saddle did she realize her mount had slowed and dropped its head toward the wisps of grass on the road’s verge. Temric was now a good three yards ahead of her. With a yelp, she kicked her heels into her mount’s sides until it was once more abreast Temric’s mount.

  Temric glanced at her, his expression calm. “You should stop torturing yourself,” he told her. “Lindhurst will either come or he won’t. If he is following us, I doubt we’ll see him for hours yet. If you need something to do, why not spend your thoughts praying that your husband doesn’t hurt my kin?” He gave a shake of his head and made a disgusted sound. “More fool Jehan for attaching his right name to the message he sent.”

  Philippa caught her breath. Mary save her! Why hadn’t she realized that to protect his secret Roger might have to kill more than just herself and Temric? “Temric,” she cried, “we must return. We can’t leave Alwyna and Peter unprotected.”

  For some reason her protest made Temric smile. There wasn’t the slightest hint of nervousness or worry in the movement of his mouth. Indeed, if the very thought wasn’t incredibly foolish, Philippa might have believed Temric eager to con
front Roger.

  “Love, they aren’t unprotected,” he said, his voice soothing. “If my mother doesn’t do it herself, Gerard will certainly have the guard waiting at her house before Lindhurst arrives. Mye, I don’t think Lindhurst will do them any harm, for fear of being stopped. How’s he going to explain his assault? Say that he seeks his dead wife?”

  Philippa’s head began to pound. She pressed the heel of one hand to her temple to try and ease it. “But, if that’s the case, why are we running? We, too, can call the guard and say he’s assaulting us.”

  Again, he shook his head. “In that, Oswald is both our cross and our savior. Aye, my cousin has agreed to support our ruse, but he can do so only after he leaves Stanrudde. As long as Oswald remains within the city walls, he must support Lindhurst in his accusation of adultery. No matter what harm it may do to his career, he has no choice but to acknowledge that Lindhurst is a wronged, cuckolded husband and grant him the right to do murder.

  “Nay,” Temric continued almost happily, “it’s far better that we meet your husband here, on this empty road with none but the rabbits to witness it.”

  Understanding tore through Philippa. Anger roared through her. “You’re not only hoping he follows us, you want to meet Roger here and soon!”

  His eyes focused directly ahead of him, Temric nodded. The movement of his head was sure and slow. “Aye, and he’ll die this time. On that you have my oath. Those scars he laid upon you are guarantee of that.” When he smiled at her this time, there was no doubting his happiness. “And, when he’s dead, I’ll marry you in the sight of God and all His angels.”

  Philippa gaped at him. “You’re mad! No churchman will ever join us. The marriage of our siblings makes a legal union between us impossible.”

  “I will marry you, Philippa,” he repeated, his smiling warming. It was the promise of many nights in a shared bed, while their children multiplied.