Six Shades of Romance

by Darling, P. K.

  “The baron wants to see you again.”

  Her stomach dropped and her mouth filled with salt.

  “Tomorrow, he will meet you in the gardens to break your fast. His cough is gone and he is feeling better.”

  Inside her chambers, she brought out the stack of letters. “Margery, do you know how to read?”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  Briefly, she wondered if the baron would chide her for giving his words to a servant. Yet, how could she continue to think about Nicholas when the proof of the baron’s love and winning her heart might be here? Then she could ignore these feelings for the servant and concentrate on her husband.

  “He says, I have no doubt you wonder about my love for you with me secluding myself away. But know that I have been intrigued about you from the first letter your parents sent me, pleading for my help. Then, when I saw you, I barely contained myself from declaring my love for you. Your hair, the color of the sun, and the way your cheeks color when you are angry or determined, brought joy into my heart. For once, I worried how my appearance would seem to you, a rose inside a thornbush.”

  She felt chills. The baron had a way with words that tugged at her soul. “And this one?”

  Margery unfolded the paper, “My Caroline. I love even the sound of your name. Do not the angels sigh when you speak? How could they not? I overheard your conversation with Nicholas. Do not be so hard on him. He only does what I have required of him. Soon, my beloved, I will see you and touch your cream colored skin, so unlike mine. And kiss your pouting lips. Do they taste sweet like honey or intoxicating like wine? You have given me hope of love and more years on this earth. Please do not spurn me because of my appearance.”

  “Thank you.” Caroline smoothed her hands down her velvet gown. “That’s enough for now.”

  The baron surprised her. His words, his deeds-though through Nicholas-confused and delighted her. Yet, she could not stop thinking about Nicholas’ mouth and hands. She would have to push aside her feelings for Nicholas.

  Aye, tomorrow, she would tell the baron at their meal that she would only be around him or the other servants. That Nicholas should attend him rather than her. Maybe with Nicholas busy with the baron instead, she would remove these lustful thoughts from her mind.

  *

  She tossed and turned until finally falling asleep during the first sleep and dreamed of Nicholas’ kisses. Several hours later, a knock sounded on her door.

  Margery, the servant who tended the garden during the day, filled her role as handmaid at night, opened it. “A moment, my lord.”

  Caroline bolted from her bed. “My lord? Is it the baron?”

  “Aye. He bid you to come to the study. His knee aches from time to time and the fresh air aggravates it. So he cannot meet you in the gardens as he wanted.”

  Suddenly, Caroline’s mouth dried. Part of her was excited and nervous; the other part dreaded this meeting. What would become of her visits with Nicholas? Last night, she had been so sure of her decision, but now she wrestled with the idea of never seeing him again or enjoying his laugh. Or worse, what if the baron found out about their kiss and had him whipped or beheaded?

  She would plead for his life. But best, they stop this issue now before it got out of hand for both of them. Perhaps, after the baron’s passing ….

  At the library, she pushed open the cedar doors. There stood Nicholas. His back was to her as he scanned a parchment in his hands. Candles flickered and fires chewed on logs in the fire. His reddish hair glowed with the light and her breath hitched.

  How could she allow another man to touch her? When this servant, this peasant had stolen pieces of her heart already?

  She wanted to run into his arms and have him kiss her until she could not think. Her duty, her station, everything forgotten but him.

  “W-where’s the baron? I thought he was meeting me here?”

  “He fell asleep waiting, my lady.” He pointed behind her.

  On the couch, covered with a heavy blanket, lay the baron. His white hair was thin on top, something she did not notice when they had dinner yesterday. His breathing was even at least and not as raspy as before.

  “Ready?” He turned and gestured to the bench beside the hearth. “This is by Lagamonn.”

  When she raised her eyebrows, he handed her the scroll. “I-I don’t want the baron to know I cannot read. He has taken pains to write me letters, but—” she whispered.

  “No fear, my lady. He is a sound sleeper. Not even a thunderstorm could wake him.”

  “And if he wakes?”

  “He will not.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “He was so excited about your meal together, that he woke up before dawn. He will probably sleep until noon. Here,” he handed her a slice of bread thick with honey, “eat something.”

  She accepted the bread and ate. “Who is Lagamonn?”

  “An English priest, but also a poet. This is Brut.” She did not answer him, so he continued. “Named for Brute of Troy? The Trojan who was the first king of Britain?”

  She glanced at the ink markings on the parchment. She did not know any of the words or letters. “What is this word?”

  “Brave. And this word says valiant. See the way the letters are shaped differently?” He traced them with his finger. “And this one is a ‘V’ he held up his two fingers and spread them. Now, whenever you see this sign, you’ll know what letter it is.”

  “About earlier today, I … we cannot continue. It is not fair to the baron.” She glanced behind her at his sleeping form. What if this was a test? He wanted to see if she would lust after a younger man or not? “He has been generous, absent aye, but kind from afar.” Her feelings for Nicholas were mounting. She needed to put some distance between them.

  He nodded in agreement, and a stabbing pain hit her heart making it difficult to take a deep breath.

  “And I don’t think I should call you by your Christian name any longer.”

  “I-it’s Smith.”

  “And what is this letter, Smith?”

  Chapter Six

  The next morning, Nicholas greeted her with a tray full of apples, cherries, bread smothered with honey, and a steaming bowl of porridge.

  “We have a busy day.”

  She accepted the tray and picked up the porridge. “We?”

  “Aye. The baron would like me to continue with your lessons of knife throwing and letters. Maybe even teach you the waltz he learned in France.”

  She chewed the bread as she thought. “Have you eaten?”

  “I did. And perhaps after we practice the knives, we can see how well you are with the bow.”

  “A contest?”

  “If you like. Though, I’ve practiced the bow since I could stand.” His smile made her stomach flutter.

  “And the winner?”

  “Will choose the prize.” He finished for her.

  “Let me eat, then Margery will dress me and I’ll meet you at the scarecrow. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you in the archery test just because you’ve been nice to me. I know in part it’s the baron’s orders.” She dreaded the harshness of her words as soon as they left her mouth.

  His frown almost made her take them back, but she had to remind herself that he was only a servant. She was married to the baron.

  After he left, she dressed herself instead of waiting for her handmaid. The woman was probably busy tending the gardens anyway. She bit into an apple as she tugged her linen cotte over her head. Then pulled her emerald overtunic and stomped on her slippers.

  Rushing outside, she chided herself to walk at a set pace. She saw Nicholas standing in the sun and her breath caught. He was handsome with his muscular arms as he threw the knife. Smoothing down her blonde hair, she stopped beside him.

  “There is one other thing you should remember about throwing knives.”

  “Oh?” She folded her hands since she did not know what to do with them.

  “Aye. Only throw a knife as a last resort. When you kno
w you won’t miss. Otherwise, you are throwing away your weapon.”

  She nodded and went to the scarecrow to take out her three blades. Each was stuck to the hilt and she had to pry one loose with both hands.

  “Here,” his hand closed over hers, “allow me.”

  He smelled like pine, musk, and something she could not identify. It made her knees weak.

  “When you’ve mastered a still target,” he removed the daggers and handed them to her, “I’ll rig this target with ropes so that it will move with servants tugging on the lines. Then you’ll get the feel for a moving target.”

  “Thank you.”

  He stood behind her and let her throw. His nearness made her throw before she was ready and the blade bounced off the target.

  “Like this.” He placed a hand on her hip to turn her slightly and the other hand on her elbow. “Keep your arm closer to your head. “Try again.”

  An hour later, after she had thrown until all three tips of her blades stuck into the scarecrow, they ate a picnic beside a fountain in the gardens.

  Margery had laid out a quilt and two plates with grapes, bread, and pieces of duck. Nicholas poured her a goblet of wine as they ate.

  “What’s next?” she asked between mouthfuls.

  “Letters so that your arm rests, then our archery tournament.”

  The wind blew a piece of his reddish blond hair across his cheek, and without thinking, she reached out and tucked it behind his ear. He grasped her hand before she could pull away and kissed her palm. Excitement coursed through her.

  Instead of resisting, she leaned in, thinking he would kiss her mouth again.

  “I see you found the scrolls.” His words made her snap her eyes open.

  Underneath her hand were three parchments. “I-I was going to look at them while we finish our meal.”

  “Of course.” He winked at her.

  She picked up a scroll and squinted at the letters. “What is this one?”

  He wiped his hands on his leggings, and moved to sit next to her. A blush spread up his neck. “That’s Roman de la Rose.”

  When she looked at him, he flustered. “I-I don’t know how that one got in with the others.”

  “Now I’m curious. Indulge me?”

  He looked uncomfortable and Caroline leaned closer to him. “It’s French. It means The Romance of the Rose. I-It’s teaches about the love. A courtier’s efforts to woo his beloved.” His fingers traced over the parchment in her hands. “This word here, Rose, is how he refers to his lady.”

  As Nicholas read the words, she closed her eyes, imagining that he spoke the words from his heart and that she was the rose. When he finished, she opened her eyes. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Some say it’s vulgar. Many in the church want it banned.”

  “No,” she clasped the parchment and his hand to her chest. “It’s love. What is vulgar or evil about what God created between a man and a woman?”

  His free hand rose to her cheek and she leaned into it. “Aye, nothing is more wonderful than love.”

  She was about to kiss him, despite herself, when Margery began ripping up weeds and singing near them.

  “Come.” He stood and held out a hand to her. “Are you rested enough for your bow?”

  “Let’s see if I can beat you with my best weapon.” She smiled and took his hand.

  He did not let go of her hand, but placed it in the crook of his arm as he led her.

  “Thank you for reading the poem to me. Not many would have risked it.”

  “You should hear it in French.” He chuckled. “Do you speak French?”

  “Aye. And Latin and Greek as well.”

  “Then we will tackle French letters and words after you master the English ones. Then you can read me a scandalous love poem.”

  She was grateful that they reached the archery targets. Removing her hand from his arm, she grabbed her bow. With her arrow notched, she took aim.

  She pushed aside the thought of Nicholas watching her and let the arrow sail. It hit the yellow of the target.

  “Not bad.”

  “I’m just warming up.” She notched another arrow and it hit the center. Three more and she turned triumphantly to him. “Do you think to do better?”

  “It’ll be hard,” he picked up an arrow, “but I will do my best.”

  His arrow hit the white part of the target.

  “Come, Nicholas,” she teased, “you’ll have to do better than that if you are to win.”

  After he finished shooting his all his arrows, she was ahead by two.

  “I win.”

  “Aye, my lady.” He hauled her to him. “What do you wish for a prize?”

  She pushed against his chest. “Not this.” But her words came out breathless.

  “No?” He brushed his lips across her mouth. “Not this? Or perhaps this?” His mouth kissed her neck and then he whispered in her ear, “you may have won this contest, but I’ve won since I first laid eyes on you.” He kissed her jawline. “You taste divine. I cannot get enough of you.”

  She threw her hands around his neck and brought his mouth to hers. What would the price of penance be for these kisses when she confessed to the priest? At the moment, she did not care. She only wanted to taste Nicholas’ mouth and feel his hands as he held her to him.

  Chapter Seven

  The days went by and Caroline could not stop thinking about Nicholas. When he was near, she only thought about kissing him. And when he was away from her doing the baron’s bidding, guilt and longing tugged at pieces of her soul.

  When she woke to someone pounding on her door, she thought it a dream. Where was Margery? She shuffled to the door. The chambers were dark and cold. The fire had turned to ash during the night.

  As she reached the door and unlocked it, it swung open. There stood Nicholas dressed in only his tunic and hoses.

  “Why did you not come to the door?”

  “I just did,” she snapped back.

  “Where’s Margery?”

  She glanced around the room and then saw her borrowed handmaid beside the hearth. A log in her hand.

  She rushed over with Nicholas behind her. When he turned her over, Caroline blanched. The woman had black spots along her arm and face.

  “The plague,” she said.

  “We must get you out of here. Send you to your parents, where you will be safe.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’ve already been exposed to it. I will not spread it by running away. I will tend Margery. Go and wash with lye. No one else needs to sicken.”

  Still, she could not get him to leave her side. Soon the word plague spread through the baron’s house. Two soldiers tried to drag him away from her, but after she insisted firmly, he finally relented.

  She fed Margery sips of water and broth that Nicholas brought to the door. Neither she nor the guards would let him come closer. If he got sick, the baron might catch it as well.

  Her seeing the baron again was now out of the question. Her meetings with him would have to wait until Margery recovered and if Caroline did not succumb to the sickness.

  Nicholas, despite her warnings, brought her food and fresh clothes daily. Twice a day, he wrote a letter on a parchment paper and slipped it under the door. He would tell her the letter and sound so she could memorize it. Through the door, they talked for hours.

  When Margery recovered, Caroline now had swellings in her armpits and groin.

  *

  She awoke to her mouth dry as though someone poured flour and salt into it. Someone pressed water to her lips. She drank and then choked.

  “Try to drink some more,” Nicholas said.

  “No.” She shook her head. He could not be here. She had the plague. Whatever happened to her, her Nicolas must live.

  “Shh … it’s alright.”

  “Margery?”

  “Thanks to your care, she is well. She tends the others who have fallen ill. Three have died already.”

  “Three
? In how—how long was I asleep?”

  “Two days. But you look to be feeling better?”

  “Aye.” She saw his shoulders ease. “But what about you? You must not get ill. And the baron?”

  “He is fine. No swellings, boils, or spots. When you fell ill, I could not leave your side. My fears told me if you were away from me, the angel of death would steal you. So I sent Margery to tend to the others, and I cleaned your sores and fed you what little I would you take.”

  “Thank you, but I had rather you have not put your life at risk.” She let out a sigh and patted his hand.

  Strange, when she had first learned of her marriage she wanted the baron to die. Now she found comfort in the fact that he still lived, despite the calamity upon them.

  “The baron requires you,” one of the female servants said at Nicholas’ side, “I will give my lady her bath and food. Let her rest.” She swatted his hands away.

  *

  Caroline groaned and pushed the stew away. She had taken a hot bath and eaten enough for two men.

  Her bedding and clothes burned to keep the plague at bay. In her chambers with clean blankets and gown, she crawled into her bed and fell into a light sleep.

  A bit later, she heard the sound of a boot shuffle on the stone floor. When she pushed to sit up, Nicholas touched her shoulder sending a shiver down her spine.

  “No. I will have you rest.”

  “I have rested enough. Others need my help.”

  “I—I need you. When I thought yo—” He leaned over and brushed his lips across hers. “I could not bear the thought of your passing. I love you and I have to tell y—”

  “You have told me enough.” She placed her finger over his mouth. Then she pulled him down and kissed him. Her hesitance replaced by boldness when she thought she could have died. No longer would she delay her passions.

  “I want to feel your skin against mine.” She tugged at his tunic.

  He threw off his tunic and hoses. She giggled when his red stubble brushed her neck.

  “Now for your clothes, my lady.” His breath made her loins moist.

  She could not get close enough to him. And when as she had been chilled when she first woke, now she was heated all over and her clothes too constricting. She removed her nightdress and kissed him until she relented and let him kiss other parts of her that no one had seen since she was born.