"You love me?"
"Always and forever." He rubbed his cheek, wet now with his own tears, against hers, the oath Milo had extracted from him echoing in his ears...You'll endeavor to sire me a son....You'll keep your true purpose from Nicolette, and when it's done, you'll leave here and never contact her again. "Oh, God, Nicki."
"I never stopped loving you," she whispered, her hands in his hair. "But it was wrong. It still is."
"This can't be wrong," he breathed against her mouth. The only good thing to come out of this mire of deceit and intrigue was the love that had been born anew between them. How could a love so pure and powerful be wrong?
"I'm married."
"You were mine first." His brushed his lips over hers, tasting her tears. "We belong to each other. We always will."
"But—"
"Shh." He kissed her gently, his hands cradling her head, his mouth gliding over hers slowly, so he could savor this charmed moment. Her lips were salty and hot and sweet, and they felt like wet satin against his, and they were hers, and he was kissing her, and kissing her, softly, over and over again, and oh God, she was kissing him back.
"Nicki...Nicki..."
Her hands were cool on the back of his neck, her breath warm against his lips. She kissed him, sighing. She was kissing him. Nicki was kissing him!
Alex groaned, his joy as acute as pain. Banding his arms around her, he pressed her back against the window sill and kissed her deeply, wanting to prolong this delirious pleasure, to make it stretch out forever and ever.
She held him as tightly as he held her, her breasts crushed against his chest, her thighs firm against his. He felt the delicate bones of her hips, and her womanly softness. Arousal pulsed in his loins, and he stepped back from her, breathless, wanting her terribly, but not here, not now.
Her gaze was knowing, her smile tender as she raised a hand to caress his face. He captured her wrist and kissed her palm. She smiled and closed her eyes, and her expression of sweet rapture undid him. He gathered her in his arms again and closed his mouth over hers and lost himself in her.
They kissed in silence, endlessly, as if time had ceased to exist...or as if they could make it stand still if they just kept kissing and kissing...
Sometimes they kissed softly, their lips barely grazing, sometimes more deeply. He kissed her temple, the exquisite curve of her cheekbone; he lightly tongued the delicate rim of her ear, making her gasp. She kissed his scratchy jaw, tipped his head back to press her lips to his throat.
A knock at the turret door startled them. "Milady?"
"Edith," Nicki whispered shakily. "I'm all right, Edith," she called out. "I'll get myself ready for bed. I don't need you tonight."
"Are you sure, lamb?"
"Quite sure." Nicki rested her head on Alex's shoulder as the old woman shuffled down the stairs. "She may come back."
Alex kissed her hair. "I should leave," he said grudgingly.
"Aye." She looked up at him, her eyes begging him to stay. He lowered his mouth to hers, not wanting to leave, not wanting to lose her, dreading the notion of a future without her. They kissed with violent desperation, clinging to each other, his moans merging with her soft cries.
She broke the kiss, murmuring, "Alex, this is mad."
Sire me a son...leave here and never contact her again...
"Life is mad. We'll have to deal with it." Tilting her chin up, he bent his head to hers. "But not tonight."
* * *
Chapter 18
"Are you sure you're allowed to be here?" Alex asked Nicki as she led him through the abbey's large public square, bustling with servants and lay brothers, to a smaller, quieter courtyard off of it. Monasteries had strict rules regarding the presence of women within their walls.
"This is still considered part of the abbey's public precincts," she said, guiding him toward an oaken door in a low stone building. "If I were to venture into the cloister, Father Octavian would ban me from here permanently."
Alex had been disappointed this morning to find Nicki dressed so demurely for their visit here, in a heavy gray tunic and wimple. She looked very much like a nun—a stark contrast to the Nicki who had kissed him so passionately, and at such length, in her solar last night. It had been well past matins when Alex finally returned to his chamber, and far later than that when sleep finally claimed him.
Nicki knocked on the oaken door.
"Be off!" cried the voice of an old man from within.
"'Tis I, Brother Martin," she called through the door. "Nico—"
The door flew open and an old, tonsured man in a black Benedictine robe drew Nicki into his arms. "Nicolette! My dear! Why didn't you say so?"
"I..."
"Is this him?" the old monk asked, squinting at Alex. "The one you told me about?"
Nicki's cheeks pinkened. "Yes, Brother. This is Alexandre de Périgeaux, my cousin by marriage. Alex, this is my friend, Brother Martin, whom I've mentioned to you."
Brother Martin ushered his two guests through the door and shut it behind them. Alex gaped at the astonishing clutter that filled the prior's quarters. It occurred to him that the old fellow might be quite mad.
Scores of small-scale wooden models and strange devices—some recognizable, some not—were scattered over tables, lined up on shelves and piled up on benches amid stacks of drawings and diagrams. A table-top calculating board stood in one corner, a water clock in another, a small furnace in yet another. The walls of the sizable chamber—save for the windows and shelves—were festooned with maps, calendars, drawings of strange machines, architectural renderings, tables of the tides and suchlike. There were many representations of odd-looking ships, bridges, canal locks and dams. One whole wall was devoted to astrological charts and sketches depicting mystifying arrangements of interlocking circles.
Brother Martin noticed Alex scrutinizing one in which the circles were labeled—if he was reading it right—Earth, Sun, Mercury and Venus. "Ah! You're interested in the motions of the planets, I see."
"Well..."
"This is a particularly interesting chart." From the pouch on his belt, Martin withdrew a small horn case, and from that a curious contraption fashioned of two glass disks connected by heavy gold wire. Perching the strange apparatus on his nose, he peered at the chart through it, the curved glass making his eyes look as if they might pop right out of his face. Dear God, he is mad. Alex glanced toward Nicki to gauge her reaction to this remarkable eye mask, but she was examining the contents of a shelf with her back to him.
"This diagram" —Martin tapped it with a gnarly finger— "is based on the observation that Mercury and Venus are always morning and evening stars and never farther from the sun than twenty-nine and forty-seven degrees respectively."
"Really." Alex couldn't stop staring at the bug-eyed old man. Was Nicki quite safe coming to see him alone?
"Whereas Mars, Jupiter and Saturn," Martin said excitedly, "can be any distance at all from the sun, leading Heraclides of Pontus to the conclusion—quite rightly—that those three bodies revolve directly around the earth, while Mercury and Venus, being inferior planets, revolve around the sun, which in turn revolves around the earth. Pear wine?"
"I beg your—"
"Pear wine," he said loudly, as if Alex were partially deaf. "I have some pear wine. Made it myself. Quite good, if I do say so. Would you like some? Either of you?"
"I suppose."
"I'd love some," Nicki said, turning around. She displayed no reaction at all to the odd accessory adorning the old man's face. Perhaps, Alex thought giddily, it was he who was mad.
The prior removed the strange device—thank the saints—and rummaged among the debris on a work table, producing a flagon and two cups. "I first got interested in the stars in order to determine the dates of the movable feasts. But once I was introduced to the theories of the Greeks and Arabs, well..."
"Doesn't the Church disapprove of pagan teachings?" Alex asked.
"Some churchmen do," Ma
rtin conceded as he poured two cups of wine. "But there don't seem to be any Christians who've written about the things I want to learn." Hearing such an elderly man speak of the things he still wanted to learn made Alex feel less sheepish about taking up reading at the advanced age of six-and-twenty.
Martin handed the cups to his guests. "Any thinking man ought to be able to embrace secular learning—even pagan learning—without turning his back on God. Why did God give us this wild, ungovernable curiosity, if He didn't want us to satisfy it?"
Alex took a drink of his wine, declining to point out that not all men were quite as wildly curious as Brother Martin seemed to be.
As if she'd read his Alex's mind, Nicki smiled. She lifted an astrolabe from a shelf crammed with tools for studying the heavens and blew on it; dust sparkled in the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. "Brother Martin has long been fascinated by the theoretical sciences and mechanical arts," she said, replacing the astrolabe and picking up an assembly of balls, rods and bands. "Is this new?"
Martin nodded. "That's an armillary sphere. It represents the cosmos. What do you think of this?" He handed her a small brass horn. "I'm fitting it out with valves, so it will produce a variety of tones."
"How clever." Nicki studied the horn from all angles and replaced it on the shelf, sipping her wine distractedly. "Brother Martin, I was wondering if you'd had an opportunity to talk to Father Octavian about the matter we—"
"You might find these interesting, being as knight." The old man took Alex by the arm and leading him to a table strewn with prototypes of siege engines and assault towers.
"What the devil..." Alex leaned over to examine a most extraordinary vehicle plated with iron.
"That's an armored wagon," said Brother Martin.
"I see. And the...thing on top of it, with the paddles..."
"Its purpose to generate energy from the wind. Are you interested in energy?"
"I..."
"Then you'll want to see these." The prior steered Alex to a collection of bizarre creations, each more baffling than the last. "Perpetual motion machines," he said. "Or...attempts at them. The point is for the device to move of its own accord, with no outside energy source, such as water or wind."
Nicki cleared her throat. "I'm naturally quite anxious as to Father's Octavian's reaction to my proposal. Did you...happen to have the chance to bring up what we discussed?"
"Yes, my dear. Of course." The prior pointed to the largest of these machines, which featured balls rolling up and down the undulating spokes of a wheel. "I had high hopes for that one. It utilizes quicksilver. But alas..."
"Brother Martin." Nicki tugged on the old monk's sleeve. "Please. What did Father Octavian say?"
"He said he'd think about it. Here." He guided Alex to a table bearing an array of pots containing mysterious substances, along with a set of scales, a mortar and pestle and a slab of asbestos with burn marks on it. Opening the pots one by one, he identified their contents. "Naptha, powdered resin, niter, willow charcoal, saltpeter...and surely you recognize this one by the smell." He opened a leather-covered jar and stuck it under Alex's nose.
Alex choked on the hellish stench of rotten eggs. "Sulphur. What manner of alchemy is this?"
"I'm trying to concoct a missile propellant." Martin handed Alex a metal tube with a handle.
Seeing the little iron balls scattered over the table, Alex said, "This is the weapon Nick—" Careful. "That is, my lady cousin told me about this. It shoots those little balls."
"It will," Martin said, "when I've managed to create a mixture volatile enough to eject the ball at a high rate of speed without the whole business blowing up in my hand." He rolled back a sleeve of his robe to reveal scalding red burn marks up his left arm.
Nicki fussed over him, scolding him for taking risks, but he chuckled indulgently. "Great ideas are worth a bit of discomfort."
"Yes, well...about the stewardship..." Nicki bit her lip. Alex felt for her, knowing how apprehensive she was about the outcome of her petition. He would have taken her in his arms and whispered reassurances if Brother Martin hadn't been standing there. "When he said he'd think about it—"
"Well, those weren't his actual words. Ah! You haven't seen this, my dear." Martin thrust a small model at her. "'Tis a foot-powered lathe."
"It's very ingenious. What exactly did he say? Do you remember?"
"I can't recall precisely," the prior said. "But he didn't reject the idea out of hand. In fact, after we'd talked for a while, he seemed to find some merit in it."
"Truly?"
"I argued most fervently for your cause, my dear. Pointed out how well you manage the castle—extolled your skills in accounting, and your handling of the household staff."
"You...refrained from mentioning Milo," she said.
"I thought that was best."
"If...if you have the chance to speak to him again..." Nicki began.
"I'll continue to influence him on your behalf, my dear." Martin took Nicki by the shoulders and kissed her on the forehead. On the way here, she'd explained to Alex why Brother Martin represented her best hope for securing the stewardship of Peverell. Although very different from Father Octavian in temperament, and despite his refusal to bow down to the abbot's will—or perhaps because of it—he was the only man within the abbot's sphere who wielded any influence at all with him.
"I shall pray for you as well," Martin assured her. "Father Octavian wants to settle the matter quickly. He intends to make his decision by Lammas Day."
"The first of August," Nicki said. "'Tis but a week hence."
"Come back in a week and I'll give you his answer. From the looks of things, I'd say there's an excellent chance he'll grant you the stewardship. Meanwhile, I suggest you try not to fret over it. Whatever he decides will ultimately be God's will."
"Thank you Brother. Thank you so much!"
The old monk cocked his head. "Have I shown you my plans for a vault to store snow during the summer months?" He smiled almost impishly. "One could have icy cold drinks on the hottest days." He turned and began pawing through a stack of drawings. "Now, where did I put that..."
* * *
From the concealing screen of trees at the edge of the woods, Gaspar watched Nicolette and Alex, on horseback, say their goodbyes to that lunatic old prior at the abbey's front gate.
Gaspar had wondered at their destination when they rode off this morning. Their lessons—if they really were lessons and not simply trysts—took place in the afternoons. Always in the afternoons. Thus, when they left together right after breakfast, Gaspar had naturally followed them.
So. Another mysterious trip to the abbey. Gaspar never did have the opportunity to find out why she had come here that other time. No doubt both visits were to fulfill the same covert agenda—an agenda which Alex was now privy to. Given the secrecy of these trips, it seemed likelier than ever that they had to do with Peverell. Lady Nicolette must have cooked up some scheme for keeping the Church from getting their hands on it—a scheme in which she'd apparently enlisted Alex's aid.
Damn that meddling whoreson to the bottom-most level of Hell. If not for him, Gaspar's seed might yet be sprouting in her ladyship's belly. As it was, he'd had to abandon his attempts along those lines. After all, if Alex was crawling up to the solar to tup her every night after the household had retired, Gaspar couldn't very well do the same. Three was a bit of a crowd in bed.
Gaspar had sniffed around this past fortnight for other opportunities to dose her wine and take her unawares, but none had been forthcoming. Every morning she was amongst her staff, tending to castle business, and every afternoon she retired to the woods to disport herself with Alex.
Having pondered the matter in the cold light of day, Gaspar had resolved not to interfere with young Alex's attempts to impregnate his cousin's wife. Although Gaspar didn't like to think of her submitting to the son of a bitch, she had, from all appearances, been doing so since Rouen. And, after all, it didn't re
ally matter whose bastard slithered out of her belly nine months hence; Peverell would be saved from the Church's clutches just the same.
But as for afterward...that was a different matter.
Things had changed. This business with Alex had ignited a seething rancor that burned deep in Gaspar's belly, like a red-hot coal that's rolled out of the hearth and fallen into the rushes. It burns on quietly, unseen and unsuspected until at last the rushes burst into flame.
No longer was he willing to play the fawning lap dog to this highborn whore and her drunkard of a husband. Gaspar was a better castellan than Milo de St. Clair could ever dream of being. Of what import was his humble birth? He was smart and ambitious and a natural leader. By rights the castellany should be his; Peverell should be his.
Had not Henri's own grandfather been lowborn? Yet he'd risen by his wits to the appointed post of castellan, which then became hereditary—proof that one needn't be born to the nobility to become one of them. One simply needs the wit to see an opportunity, and the ballocks to act on it.
And Gaspar had both.
Seeing Nicolette and Alex coming toward him, Gaspar turned and rode through the woods, smiling as the bits and pieces of his nascent scheme coalesced.
Oh, yes. He could do it. He could have it all—Peverell, Nicolette...and sweet revenge. It would help, to start off, if he knew the precise nature of whatever Lady Nicolette was trying to arrange with the abbey. Perhaps Milo knew. If so, it would be an easy matter to coax the information for him tonight. All Gaspar had to do was pour wine down his throat, and he babbled his deepest secrets with scarcely any prompting at all. Then tomorrow, if necessary, Gaspar could sabotage Nicolette's scheme by paying a visit to the abbot, who'd once told him he was welcome in his private lodgings any time.
But only if absolutely necessary. From the way Father Octavian looked at him, Gaspar suspected his interest in him was more of a corporeal than a spiritual nature. The bastard made his skin crawl, but it was critical to the success of his strategy that Nicolette's come to naught. He must do whatever it took to convince Father Octavian to abandon her plan.
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