An Interrupted Tapestry

by Madeline Hunter

  Giselle returned just as he was tightening the bed’s ropes. He heard her enter the other chamber and then come back out and into her own.

  “At least the straw did not get wet,” she said, feeling the stuffed cloth heaped near the corner.

  He helped her set the mattress on the ropes. She began to pour water from the pail into a chipped crockery bowl set on a tiny table. “Thank you for your help, Andreas. I put some water in your chamber, if you want to wash.”

  His chamber. He did want to wash, since the day had been warm and busy, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted to do it there.

  He walked the few steps into the house’s other upper room, the one Reginald used, and crossed to the tiny addition on its far end where space had been stolen over the street.

  Giselle had opened the shutters that looked out on the lane, and the muted sounds of families joining for meals wafted in. It still contained the simple bed and the wide shelf set on stacked stones that served as a table. There was not much room for anything else.

  Except dreams. Glorious dreams of riches and of daring trading schemes. Hot dreams of carnal sensuality, in which Giselle always appeared.

  How often had he laid on this bed in the still of the night and listened to the sounds of the house, stretching to hear her breathing beneath Reginald’s snores?

  He stripped off his tunic and undergarment. He sloshed water over his shoulders and torso to cool his body of all the heat that the day and his thoughts had raised.

  He heard her breathing, and for a moment he assumed that a nostalgic memory from his nights here had entered his head. Then he realized that the sound was real and nearby.

  Turning his head, he saw her at the low, narrow doorway to Reginald’s room. The moisture of her own washing still dampened her brow, and some wet hairs clung to the sides of her face.

  She did not realize that his attention was on her. He caught the way she observed him, how her gaze slowly traveled over his nakedness. Four years ago she would have quickly retreated if she came upon him wearing nothing but hose and boots, but she had not this time.

  The appreciative, womanly lights in her eyes sent his desire flaring.

  She realized he had noticed her watching him and flustered. Blushing, she looked in his eyes and opened her mouth to speak.

  He looked straight back, and her words died.

  A heavy silence stretched with them standing there, watching each other. Each moment pounded with the mutual acknowledgment they had established in the tavern, that he was a man and she was a woman and something other than friendship now drew them together.

  It could no longer be denied. He would not let it be denied. The power of what pulled between them set his teeth on edge. He barely resisted striding across the small space and grabbing her.

  She held a small linen cloth, old but clean and neatly mended. He reached out his hand to her. Her eyes widened, and she stepped back, as if she feared he was beckoning her to come to him.

  He let her know that was exactly what he was doing.

  She averted her gaze and blushed deeper yet. “I forgot to leave a linen for you.” She threw the towel at him, as if she dared not take the step necessary to place it in his hand. “I will go down and prepare the meal. The evening is fair, and we can eat in the garden.”

  “You are very quiet, Giselle.”

  Andreas did not worry that she would take the observation as a rebuke for being discourteous. Giselle had never required chatter of him, nor he of her. Some of their most pleasant hours together had been spent in silence.

  She picked at the cooked fowl that he had bought on their way back from the galley. Sweet smells of flowers and herbs filled the air of her garden, and the gentle light of evening played off the dark golds and coppers of her hair.

  He had not really minded her silence or her continued distraction. It had meant that he had lots of time to just look at her. A few of her glances suggested that what had happened upstairs occupied part of her mind, but he knew that bigger worries preyed on her.

  “What are we going to do now?” she finally asked. “If Wolford is involved—”

  “If he is, at least we know where we stand. Where is this Wolford to be found?”

  “His castle is south, near the coast, but he has a small manor in Essex, not far from London.”

  “If he has your brother, it is probably close by. I will ride to his manor in Essex tomorrow and learn if Reginald is there.”

  “You cannot ride into Wolford’s gate and accuse him of abducting Reginald. If you anger him, your body will never be found. He and his brothers are little more than thieves. Everyone knows that their men openly rob travelers. They probably took my brother off the road and think there is a rich family to pay a ransom.”

  Andreas doubted the explanation would be such simple brigandage. “I will not accuse Wolford of anything. I will offer to sell him goods and then learn what I need to know. If he has Reginald, he will be glad to hear that the ransom will be paid.”

  She shrugged her acceptance of the plan, but her distraction did not lift.

  “I blame myself. I should have seen where Reginald was headed and said something. Instead, I just trusted and believed.”

  “He was your brother. That is normal.”

  She shook her head. “I saw the furnishings sold. I knew that every month there were more grocers and food stalls where I was not welcome. I kept excusing the evidence. I did not want to accept that no great plan would reverse things and that our fall was permanent. Reginald has been deceiving himself about the truth of that, and I gladly joined in.”

  He would have given anything not to see her face that. The quiet dignity with which she let her illusions die touched him more than any outpouring of tears could.

  The admission appeared to lighten her mood, however. She looked at him and smiled with warm familiarity. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  He joined her as she strolled over to the tree in the garden’s near corner. The bench where she sometimes played her lute was under it. She sat down and patted the place beside her in invitation.

  “Look there. Between those two roofs. That is the top of your house there. It is three lanes over, but from this spot in the garden, it is visible.”

  “So it is.”

  “I was surprised that you bought one in this ward. Normally members of the Hanse live in that enclave near the river, near where the Hanse stores its staples. But then you always said that a trader should live among the people in the city where he made his second home.”

  “I found this ward familiar, and I liked the house.”

  She cocked her head and peered toward the distant roof. “I always knew when you came to London, because that window up there would open only then. There was that long period three years ago when it stayed closed, and I thought perhaps you would never return. But then, one day, the shutters were flung wide once more.”

  “That was after my wife died. There were many matters to settle in Bremen, and I did not make long journeys for a long time.”

  “I was sorry to hear about your loss. When I visited yesterday, I should have asked you about it, instead of thinking only of my own troubles.”

  “It was three years ago. What grief there was is long past.”

  “I still should have asked. Tell me what happened.”

  “She died in childbirth. The babe was dead in her womb.”

  “Oh, Andreas, I am so sorry. To have finally been blessed with a child, and then to lose them both—”

  “The child was not mine, Giselle.”

  She leaned back against the tree trunk behind the bench. He could not see her face with her angled away like that, but he felt her as if he embraced her, as he had near the galleys.

  A long pause beat between them. Not a peaceful, contented silence. He sensed her studying him and heard questions forming.

  “Why did you stop coming here, Andreas? That you bought your own house made sense. It was long ov
erdue. But why did you not even visit?”

  There was no easy answer to that, so he said nothing.

  “You said today that there were other reasons, besides my brother using your name in his ventures. I want to know what they were.”

  “No, you do not. Trust me on this.”

  “I do want to know. I remember the last night you spent in this house. I could tell that you were angry with Reginald, but we also spoke more honestly that night than ever before. Do you remember telling me about your wife? You had been married for three years, but that was the first time you ever spoke to me about her. I felt very close to you and went to sleep knowing that I had a true friend in you. And then you left the next morning, and I never spoke with you again. It hurt me deeply that you would discard my friendship so easily.”

  He turned to see her. She looked like a flaming flower glowing in the shadowed twilight under the leaves. “Not so easily. Do not accuse me of such callousness.”

  “Then why?”

  He debated whether to tell her. If he didn’t, what pulsed between them would never be more than a tantalizing possibility, because she would continue blaming him for the last four years.

  “Did you not think it odd that Reginald was not with us that night, Giselle?”

  “He sometimes went away from the house when you visited. And, as I said, I suspected that you were angry with him.”

  “But this time he did not return until morning.”

  “He said that he got besotted and fell asleep in a tavern.”

  “He lied. He left you alone with me on purpose.”

  She went very still. “What are you saying?”

  “When I arrived in London that time, Reginald was desperate for money. He had committed to some venture that would make his fortune, he was sure, but did not have the silver he had promised. He asked it of me, but he had come to me too often, and it already strained our friendship. I could see he was on the path to ruin, and this venture was no sounder than the others.”

  “So you refused him? Did you assume that I would hold that against you? You should have known that I would have understood.”

  “Giselle, when I refused him, he offered to sell the only thing of value he had left.”

  “What was that?”

  He saw her suspecting the answer before he spoke it. “You.”

  Five

  “He offered you as my leman, Giselle.”

  Her hands flew to her face. She covered her mouth and closed her eyes to try to contain her shock.

  When that did not help, she jumped up and ran away into the garden.

  Seeking its farthest corner, she leaned against the wall. Holding herself with crossed arms, she tried to calm a shame and humiliation so devastating that she shook.

  It had been a day of disheartening revelations, but this was the worst.

  The danger that Reginald faced from whomever held him would be nothing compared to what waited for him with her. When she got her hands on him—

  And Andreas—saints, she would never be able to look at him again.

  Boot steps approached. Horrified, she turned to face the wall.

  “I told you that you would not want to hear it, Giselle.”

  “You should have said that you had grown bored with us. You should have said that our foolish grasping at past glory was pitiful, and you could no longer bear such pretense.”

  “It has become clear that you concluded I thought those things. I decided that I did not want you thinking of me that way any longer.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know why not.”

  “I don’t. Your lying would have spared my hearing that my brother tried to make me a whore—and to a man who did not even want one.” Acknowledging that part of it made her face burn. “Small wonder that you broke the friendship and never came back here after Reginald insulted you like that.”

  He came up behind her. She could feel him all along her back.

  His hands closed on both of her shoulders, and he turned her around.

  “You misunderstand. Reginald did not insult me. He tempted me.”

  She felt her face burn hotter. She kept her gaze on the ground while she tried to reconcile what he was saying with what she remembered of that night. There had been new colors to their friendship. New tones. A heightened intimacy. The air had contained a heavy anticipation, and their bond a luring excitement.

  In fact, she had felt much the same as she had since she visited him yesterday. That night, however, she had not comprehended the reason for the changes.

  Then again, perhaps she had but denied it. Andreas had been a married man, and she was saving her virtue for a knight or lord, for a marriage that would help them regain their place.

  “Are you saying that you made this bargain with Reginald?”

  “I refused his offer. But when he left that night, I knew that he was counting on desire vanquishing my honor, since I knew he would not object. I should have left, too, but I could not. Perhaps I was secretly hoping for a sign from you that you were agreeable. More likely I foresaw that those would be the last hours I would spend with you and could not give them up.”

  She could not ignore what he was saying. If she had been agreeable, he might not have been so honorable, despite his intentions. He was speaking frankly of what he had been broaching all day with those touches and looks. “My ignorance of Reginald’s offer must have been awkward for you.”

  “Torturous would be a better word.”

  That made her laugh. It dulled her embarrassment enough that she ceased wanting to be swallowed by the ground. “More bad luck for Reginald. He betrayed his honor and mine, lost a good friend, and did not even get the money.”

  No, not bad luck. Bad judgment.

  “The next day, I gave him the money. But I also told him we would not meet again. I suspected that he would try to coerce you the next time he was in trouble. I ended our friendship to preserve my honor and your dignity.”

  She did not want to believe this of her brother, but she could imagine it all happening. She could see Reginald, smiling and charming, suggesting this bargain to Andreas, convincing himself that it was not so shameful as it seemed.

  “My brother is such a fool. I have been learning that to my sorrow today, but this story—he did not know you well, despite the years of friendship.”

  The last of twilight was fading, but she saw the slow way he smiled. She saw the way he looked at her, with all of the warmth of the old Andreas, but also the exciting danger of the new one.

  He laid his palm on her face and stroked his fingers into the hair behind her ear. Her cheek and neck and scalp tingled from his firm touch. He tilted her face so that he could see it and so she had to see his.

  “You keep misunderstanding. He knew me very well, Giselle. My marriage was not a warm one and was typical of the family alliances that traders make. When my wife died, I mourned her. I even mourned the child. But mostly I felt anger that being faithful to her and my honor had kept me from having the woman I wanted.”

  His expression mesmerized her. It was that of a man who had decided not to make the same sacrifice again. The veils of his reserve had been falling since she met with him yesterday, and now they were all gone.

  His confidences made everything very clear. She understood the new intensity now. He had wanted her back then, and he was helping her now because he wanted her still. And she had agreed to certain things in accepting his aid.

  She realized that she did not mind that obligation. His touch had her weak-kneed, and the way he looked at her left her breathless.

  He stroked her lips with his fingertips, and she could not control her reactions. They streaked through her, shamelessly out of control. Her heart filled with the joy he had so often inspired. Her spirit yearned for the special intimacy they had once shared. Her body responded forcefully, suddenly eager for more of the touches and embraces that he had given her today.

  He kissed her, and there was no part
of her left to object.

  The kiss left her helpless. She had never guessed that such a small physical connection could create such sweetness, such thrilling excitement. She did not want it to end.

  It didn’t. It went on and on, the one kiss becoming many. Delicious, stimulating sensations slid through her whole body, awakening a determined craving that obscured every other thought. He pulled her into a tight embrace, and she held him too, so grateful for the closeness that her heart ached, so desperate for more connection that she grew frantic.

  Kisses on her ear, her neck, the skin above her gown. Luring kisses, possessive ones. Kisses full of breath that titillated her skin. Masterful kisses that demanded abandon.

  Finally, a new kiss. A nip on her lip, requesting something. A quiet, verbal command to open her mouth when she did not understand.

  The invasive tenderness shocked her. Undid her. It changed her responses from pleasure to need. It insinuated rights to other invasions and other possessions.

  His embrace did, too. Supportive and gentle, it was still an embrace of power. With firm caresses, he touched her in ways that left her gasping and pressing against him and hoping for more.

  His kiss returned to her ear while his hand caressed the front of her waist, rising in seductive strokes to the base of her breasts.

  “Tell me that you want this, Giselle,” he said lowly. “Promise me that you do.”

  She could barely talk at all.

  “Tell me.”

  “I want this, Andreas.”

  He responded with a new kiss, fevered, and hard. A new caress, as his hand rose to her breast. A new closeness, as his knee pushed between her thighs, to press the moisture and ache torturing her.

  The way that he touched her breasts raised unbearable pleasure. She lost awareness of everything except an intensifying hunger. She wanted him to kiss her harder, touch her more, tease her forever.

  A sound abruptly disturbed the frantic bliss. A noise broke through her besotted senses.

  A voice called Andreas’s name.

  They froze and turned their heads toward the sound. A man stood at the doorway to the house. He quietly called for Andreas again.