by Sarah Hegger
In this they were very much of one mind. He cupped both her breasts. Full flesh swelled over his hands.
Alya moaned and shifted.
Hidden by chemise pooled at her waist lay more of her mystery. Enslaved by the lure, he slid his hands over the smooth planes of her stomach.
Her muscles clenched beneath his palms.
Fingers brushing her chemise, he stopped. “May I?”
“Please.” She wrapped her arms about his neck, pushing her breasts high and baring herself to him.
He touched the coarse curls at the apex of her thighs.
On a murmur, she parted her thighs for him.
Henry slid his fingers into the warm wet heaven. His rod leaped in response. He wanted between her thighs, to join his aching flesh with hers.
From the deck came a coarse bark of laughter, a harsh reminder of where they were.
He could not take her here. Not for her first time. To mark their joining as man and wife he wanted more than a hasty, silent coupling aboard a boat. But he could give her pleasure, and watch her come apart for him.
When he brushed the raised pebble of sensation that would bring her to completion, she started, catching her breath.
Henry dipped back between her wet folds, drawing the moisture over her key.
Her hips picked up the rhythm of his hand, moving against him.
He followed the signals her body gave him, using her soft gasps, the undulations of her hips as his guide. The perfume of her arousal filled his nostrils. Soon, he would bury his face in the honey coating his fingers.
Alya went over the edge with a low keen.
Henry rode the wave with her, bringing her down slowly until she slumped against him.
Powerless to resist, he slid his fingers from her and slipped them between his lips. The taste of her nearly sent him over the edge. Female musk that could drive a man out of his mind.
“Henry?” she whispered, the sound sweet and vulnerable.
Henry wrapped his arms about her and drew her against his chest. He lay down amidst her bright pillows and brought her down with him. With Alya tucked against him, her head resting against his chin, peace washed over Henry. Despite the throb in his braies, he was content to lie here and hold her until the steady rhythm of her breathing told him she slept.
The boat plowed through the waves to Anglesea, but Henry was already home.
Chapter 15
Alya woke with the smell of Henry still on the pillow beside her. She buried her face and took a deep breath. Last night, Henry had opened an entirely new world of experience to her. Speaking of these things with Bahir and other women did not come close to the actual experience.
Her limbs felt lose and easy this morning, and she indulged in a long stretch.
Using the water left for her, she bathed and then took her time dressing. She climbed on deck with the morning well advanced.
Smelly Tim nodded at her as he passed. A frown marring his smooth brow, the round sailor stopped coiling rope and watched her.
Morning sunlight catching the growing gold of his hair, Henry stood with Newt and Bahir. As she approached, he glanced up and smiled.
Alya wanted to drag him back belowdecks and make him do more things to her. Her thoughts brought happy tingles all over her.
With a knowing look, Bahir crossed his arms.
Heat climbed her cheeks and she chose to greet Newt first.
A wink and a naughty grin from Newt eased her past the slight awkwardness. “How is our lovely Lady Alya this morning?”
“Lady?” A younger sailor stopped and stared.
Henry scowled at the man.
Dropping his head, the sailor scuttled away.
“Did you sleep well?” Henry’s warm gaze chased the moment away. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Perfectly.” She could not stop the wide smile that spread over her face.
Bahir cleared his throat. “Tim tells me we make good progress this morning.”
“I’m famished.” Newt nudged Bahir. “Come along, big man, let’s find something for me to eat.”
“Do you ever stop eating?” Still grumbling, Bahir followed Newt across the deck.
Alya raised her face and closed her eyes, reveling in the sun and the breeze.
“Alya.” Henry’s tone sounded grave.
Alya wanted to keep her eyes closed and hold her sense of contentment forever. Reluctantly she looked at him. “Aye.”
“Newt tells me there has been some grumbling amongst the men.”
“Again?” Around them, their small crew all seemed to be busy.
“This time it’s not about the treasure.” Henry took her hand in his. “I’m afraid some of my countrymen are struggling with our marriage.”
“Our marriage?” Alya did not see what they could object to. Then again, her uncle’s reaction had taken her by surprise. The truth settled like old bread in her gut. “Let me guess. They do not approve of your infidel wife.”
Henry frowned down at her hand. He raised it to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “They fear what they do not understand. Tim remembers the last holy pilgrimage. He even sailed on one of the boats that took us to Damascus.”
These damned wars. They had destroyed so many lives, hers included. If not for the wars, her father’s life might never have been in danger. She might never have had to run from her home. She would never have met Henry. Which raised a question. “Why did you join the pilgrims?”
Henry lowered her hand to the railing. Staring out to sea, his face grew thoughtful. “I believed it was my duty as a Christian to bring God’s word to the unbelievers.”
Something about his manner made her want to pry further. “And now? What do you believe now?”
On the railing his knuckles whitened. “Now I am not sure what I believe.” He scowled. “I have seen things done in the name of God that made me doubt the existence of the very God they were perpetrated on behalf of. I have done things…” He shook his head. When he faced her, his eyes were colder than ice. “I do not speak of it.”
Alya wanted to protest the manner in which he had slammed her out of the conversation. To hide her hurt, she changed the topic. “We have never spoken of what your family will make of me.”
“My family will accept you.” It sounded more like a threat than a reassurance. “You are my wife and you will be treated with the respect that is your due.”
The looks on the faces of the men about her did not reassure Alya. Over the day, she noticed how many times their gazes tracked her. The way they bent and whispered amongst themselves, glancing at her. When Henry stood beside her, the men reverted to polite disinterest.
Bahir drew the same covert hostility. Except with him, fear tinged their glances.
Henry had served in her father’s home for years, a stranger amongst them with his pale eyes and strange language. In England, she and Bahir would be the strangers, the unbelievers.
How life had turned. It seemed impossible that so much had happened in only a few short weeks.
* * * *
By the deliberately casual way Newt approached him, Henry guessed that he wasn’t going to like what Newt had to say.
Newt leaned against the crate. “Tim tells me we should make England in three days if this wind keeps up.”
“Indeed.” Times beyond counting Newt had sidled into his tent whilst on pilgrimage, shoved his hands deep in his pockets and cast a disinterested stare in front of him. For a moment, he was tempted to laugh as a string of memories rose. “Well, Sir Henry, there was this mule.” Or, “So, Sir Henry, just how attached are you to your surcoat?” And on one memorable occasion, “Now, Sir Henry, is it really stealing when the other person does not even want a thing they have? Especially if I really, really want that thing.”
“Spit it out, Newt.”
Newt grinned. “I hate how you do that.”
Henry waited.
Indeed! Newt and Bahir spent much time together lately. An unlikelier pair, Henry could not imagine. “And?”
“We are concerned by the crew’s reaction to your marriage.”
Hot rage surged through him. “The crew should mind their own business.”
“Ordinarily I would agree with you.” Newt used his best conciliatory face. “However, we are floating in the middle of an ocean, with a king’s ransom belowdecks, and the crew are our best chance of getting home in one piece.”
Newt’s point hit home. Henry had to grit his teeth to stop from lashing out. “So what do you and Auntie Bahir suggest?”
“Harry, you know me.” Newt shrugged. “I’ve spent most of my life telling the world to go suck ballocks. But we think a little discretion would go a long way to seeing us home without further incident.”
“Discretion.” The word tasted vile in his mouth. Years as a slave, with no right to his own opinions and actions, and now again the claws of entrapment rose around him. He ached to tear them away, break free and roar his defiance to God. He steadied his erratic breathing. “What does that mean?”
With those old-man eyes in his young face Newt watched him. “You and Alya are married, the crew know this. Perhaps it would be better not to push that in their faces.”
“I should pretend not to be married to make the crew more comfortable?”
Eyes scrunched against the sun, Smelly Tim stood at the tiller. Another man in control of Henry’s destiny. Henry swallowed the impotent rage and managed a nod. Never again. He stared out to sea. At this journey’s end, he would make sure he held his destiny in his hands.
* * * *
Alya spent most of her time belowdecks. Henry never spoke to her, but something had been said between him and Newt. He didn’t spend his nights with her either. She sensed it had to do with the crew. As much as she comforted herself with the knowledge that in a few short days they would be out of her life forever, it did raise uncomfortable questions about her reception in England.
Anglesea. She tried the name out loud. A distant place. Henry’s home. What would it mean for her?
She spent the time sewing. Never her favorite occupation but with nothing else to do, she copied the dresses Henry had brought her, using the fabrics in the chests from Father. It made her feel closer to her father. Father had wanted her to take her place amongst his people and she could begin by looking like one of them.
Taking pity on her solitude, Newt spent time with her, teaching her new English words and customs. He also had nimble enough fingers to stitch a hem. Although he made her swear on her life never to tell. As Henry’s squire, he’d often sewed up the tears and rents in Henry’s raiment. He told her stories of Henry as a warrior that made her shudder at times. Henry’s fearlessness had often seen him in the midst of battle. She liked better the stories Newt told of Henry’s family. What would they make of her?
Chapter 16
Through a low-lying morning fog the battlements of Anglesea wavered into view and Henry held his cloak about him. The tightness in his chest made breathing difficult. She stood on a promontory, surrounded by sea on three sides, and declared to all who saw her that she guarded these lands. How is it possible he had forgotten how enormous she was? How impregnable.
Jesu, and he had thought never to see her again.
A stiff onshore breeze pushed their small boat forward. Home.
The sun rose and burned off the fog, and still he stood frozen at the railing, his gaze locked on the great keep. As they drew closer greater detail came into view. The mighty curtain wall riding the edge of the cliff. Casement openings appeared in the unbroken gray walls. From those casements, the view of the sea was breathtaking, and ever changeable. Did Mother look out of one of those casements and see their small boat bobbing on the blue sea and wonder who she carried?
A warm hand slid into his. Alya. “Is that Anglesea?”
“Aye.” He could manage no more words past the lump in his throat. Alya’s hands in his provided the only anchor in his whirling world.
“So huge,” Alya whispered. “I had no idea.”
The keep of the renowned Sir Arthur of Anglesea reflected her lord. Large, impressive and ready to do battle with any who would challenge her.
On the tallest tower, Father’s colors streamed in the wind. Dragon’s head proper upon argent. Henry had marched away with those colors emblazoned across his chest. Proud to declare his allegiance to the world.
Alya pointed to a cluster of low thatched roofs. “What is that?”
“The village of Anglesea,” Henry said. “It serves the castle.”
“Castle.” Alya used the English word, slowly and carefully as if testing it on her tongue. Then she said, “Ang-el-sea.”
“Home,” Henry said.
“Coming about,” Smelly Tim yelled. “Trim those sails.”
The prow of the boat slowed in its carve through the water with a slight shudder beneath their feet. Then her nose turned and made straight for the fishing dock that served the village. His village. Would they even know him there?
As if sensing his need for reassurance Alya pressed closer to his side.
On the end of the dock, two fishermen stopped hauling their nets and turned and watched the boat approaching.
“Ho, the dock!” Smelly Tim called.
One of the fishermen raised his hand in greeting. Reedy and thin with distance, the man called, “Who goes there?”
“Henry.” Henry’s voice came out as a strangled whisper.
Alya slid her arm about his waist.
“Sir Henry,” he called across the water. “Sir Henry of Anglesea.”
Both fishermen jerked upright. Their net dropped from their hands.
Henry raised his arm. He searched his memory for the name of the older man. “I see you, Bernar.”
“Lord above!” Bernar took a step to the edge of the dock. “God save us all. It is Sir Henry.”
Yelling as he ran, the other man took off for the village.
Tim threw the ropes. They hit the dock and Bernar started. He leaped forward before the rope could slide away. Splitting his glance between Henry and his task, he tied the boat off.
Gently, the boat kissed the dock and rocked to a halt.
Tears streamed down Bernar’s weathered cheeks. “Saints be praised. It is you. It is Sir Henry.”
“Go.” Alya gave him a gentle shove. “You are home.”
As he leaped to the dock Henry felt weak as a newborn calf and his legs nearly gave way.
Bernard dropped to his knees.
Henry had no words. Tears dropped to the deck between him and Bernar. His or the other man’s he knew not. Henry knelt beside him. “I am home, Bernar.”
Grabbing his offered hand, Bernar squeezed. “We prayed.” He cleared his throat. “We prayed and prayed for your safe deliverance. But we never thought…we hoped, but so much time…”
From the village, figures appeared, streaming toward the dock. Voices raised in question. Other voices raised in praise. The dock shook under the combined weight of many feet.
Familiar faces surrounded Henry. The names rose from the dark place in his memory. Hands touched his shoulder, his chest, his arms. It overwhelmed him, and suddenly he needed Alya.
Henry searched through the people until he located her standing beside Newt looking so beautiful. He wrapped his hand about her and tugged her to his side. With Alya beside him, he found the courage to take one step and then another.
Around them people ebbed and flowed.
Clear as the morning about them the village bells pealed. Rising and falling in a continuous carol, the bells declared him home.
Through the village, the tide of people took him. Henry had no chance to look about him and absorb the changes. Up the hill they went and entered the cool, quiet of the beech thicket. Alya walked with him, her head turning
constantly as she looked about her. Henry tried to familiarize her with all she saw, but his words stopped and started, stuttered and fell into a confusing jumble.
The beech thicket thinned and the meadow opened before them. Too late in the year for the glorious spring wildflowers, and now covered in thick, golden strands of waving grass. And still the bells pealed out their news.
The crowd around them swelled as folk streamed from the castle to see what brought such joy.
The drawbridge clattered under the tramp of so many feet. Beneath the entrance arch they went, thrown briefly into the shade of the great stone arms protecting Anglesea’s front.
The wood gave way to the sand of the outer bailey.
A man pelted though the curtain wall from the inner bailey. The crowd melted away.
Dark hair, broad shoulders, the man stopped.
Henry’s feet froze. He met his brother’s fierce blue gaze. “Roger.”
Roger strode forward, shock and disbelief carved into his hewn features.
Henry lost his hold on Alya as Roger lunged and snatched him into a bone-crushing hold. “Dear God.” Roger’s rough, deep voice in his ear. “Dear God. Henry.”
Henry clung to his brother’s tunic, the linen fine beneath his fingers. Roger smelled of horse, leather and ale, the fragrance of home. Henry’s knees buckled, his control shattered, and he sobbed.
* * * *
Green, everywhere Alya looked and so bright it almost hurt her eyes. The air clung warm and moist to her skin. England smelled of damp earth and growing things. She tried to take it all in as the crowd marched them forward. All attention fixed on Henry, they barely noticed her above the occasional curious glance or whisper.
Newt walked at her shoulder, trying to murmur explanations in her ear but she barely heard anything he said.
The neat village, larger than it appeared from the sea with white houses and what looked like grass on the roofs, flashed past. The women wore skirts as she did, and some of them confined their hair beneath cloth. The men dressed as Henry, only not as fine.
Everyone spoke at once, speaking so quickly she barely caught a word above “God” and “Henry”.
