The Hall was noisy with the sound of men relaxing: eating and drinking their fill after many days marching and camping rough. She looked around with distaste.
“Where is he?”
“Sir Guy is in the solar, awaiting you. I’d told him you were asleep in the inner chamber—sorry, my lady, I thought you were—and he said he’d await you there, in private. I’m sorry, my lady, but there was little I could do.”
She shook her head in distress and ran up the steps to the solar. Guy was there, standing with his back to the fire, waiting for her.
“You tricked me.”
“Nonsense,” his voice and gaze were haughty. She couldn’t believe it was the same man. “I may have failed to tell you a few facts, but that was hardly tricking.”
“You said you were here to see me, when in fact you were here to take my money back to the King. I presume that is why you are here?”
“Indeed. The King has sent me for the money.”
She strode across the room and delved into her coffers. “There,” she extended a heavy leather bag out to him, “take it. And give it to the King.” He took it from her. His eyes, narrowed, a cool grey-brown in the morning light, never strayed from her.
He shook his head. “I will not.”
“What?”
“The King has granted me this gold. He has proved very grateful for my services over the years. He wishes to repay the few friends he has left.”
“My gold is payment for my freedom. I don’t care who receives it so long as I am free.”
“The King has proved so generous in fact that he has granted me, you.”
A deathly hush sat upon them both. Neither moved. Angelique broke the stasis as she brought her hand to her throat and rubbed her chest in a futile effort to stem the panic that was beginning to fill her.
“I have paid for my freedom.” Her words emerged like empty husks: tokens, without effect.
“No-one is free in this world, Angel.”
“I would have been if it weren’t for you. I despise you Guy. That you should stoop to such depths to trap me. So it is my lands the King has promised you. It is my body the King has given you. It is my gold that will be yours.”
She tried to walk away but he reached out to her and held her firm.
“Let me go.”
“No. Not until you hear me out. I tried to tell you earlier but you would not listen.” She struggled under his touch but he did not lessen his grip. “You were always mine, all along. The King agreed to a match as recompense for my services. You were never going to be free. The King was determined to marry you off, the more so for your determination not to be married. But I wanted you to want me.”
The fire in his eyes suddenly lessened, but the heat felt more intense, as his grip tightened around her hand.
“I wanted to make you see just how it could be, being married to me. But you won’t let yourself will you? You always need to act out of principle, don’t you? Seven years ago you wanted to give up everything for me. Now? You insist on running from the inevitable because of what I stand for. For the love of God trust in someone other than your own misguided notions.”
He flung down her hand and strode towards the door.
“Where are you going?” She stepped towards him as if to follow but stopped when he turned back to her, arrested by the despair in his eyes.
“You want me gone. I will go.”
She shook her head, not wanting him to go now, despite everything. “I don’t believe you. You wouldn’t leave now, not after…”
“Not after what? After you’ve told me you want nothing more to do with me?”
“I don’t believe you’ll leave just because of that.” Her body trembled, but she continued to meet his anguished gaze, clamping her mouth together in an effort to control her treacherous body that wanted only to follow him. “You’ve too much too lose.”
“You understand nothing, do you? Yes, I could claim all that you have. The King has not only given me you, but your lands and the last payment you were to have made him. I have everything, Angel. But it was you that I wanted. But it is you that you won’t give me.”
The slam of the heavy oak door as it hit the jamb filled the silence left by her unspoken words.
“Sir Guy and his men have sent word they are returning this morning from Norwich.” She ignored her steward’s raised brow and rose from her accounts and paced to the window. She barely registered the sweeping views across the marshes to the upland heath, ablaze with autumn color; barely smelt the sweetness of the apple harvest that overlay the warm, salty sea air. Since he’d left, only two days before, her thoughts had been filled with him—nothing but him.
“Good.” She turned and paced back to the table, alternately flexing and fisting her hands as she walked.
“So am I to understand that there will be no voyage north today either?” Daily he asked her when they would be sailing for the north and daily she delayed her trip.
“Not today. Make sure we provide a good dinner for them and proper accommodation. Make sure they are comfortable. Make sure…”
“Yes my lady?”
How could she tell him to make sure that he stayed this time?
She waved her hand in dismissal and Angelique sat down at her papers once more. But the neat figures swirled before her eyes and all she saw was his face. She closed her eyes but the intensity of her feelings increased as the reality around her faded, giving way to the memory of him alone with her, of the heat of their connection, and the stony, empty loss she’d felt ever since he’d left her.
She rarely cried since the first beatings she’d received at the hands of her husband. Then, she’d realized that feelings were not going to protect her, they would make her more vulnerable. Now, as she watched her tears drop onto the pages of accounts, smearing the ink, she discovered she had no choice but to feel. Nothing mattered—not her money, not her freedom—compared to her love for Guy.
Suddenly she heard the thunder of hooves across the bridge. Heart pounding, she brushed away her tears and descended to the hall and out to the bailey. But instead of Guy, tall and imposing, filling the space with his presence, she was shocked to see the bishop being helped stiffly from his horse.
“Lady Angelique. I trust you are well. And where is Sir Guy?” The bishop looked over her shoulder as if expecting him to appear at any second.
Angelique contained her confusion beneath the mask she’d habitually worn before her husband. In her experience it never served any purpose to show men her thoughts. “Sir Guy is not here at present.”
“But he is due back today? I have only today to bless the marriage, as the King has requested.”
Anger flared but was swiftly contained. “If he is, you know more than I. He has been gone for several days.”
Suddenly a second set of men cantered into the bailey. It was Sir Guy. He rode into the square of packed earth sending chickens and children flying. He swung off his horse and approached them, his face lowered and serious.
“Apologies for keeping you waiting, my Lord Bishop. But I have only just heard that the King sent you here.”
“You are in particular favor, Sir Guy. The King asked me to come personally and bless your union.”
“No!” Angelique’s voice sounded louder than she’d intended. It would not pay to alienate the bishop. “My Lord Bishop, I simply mean the bans have not yet been posted.”
“A recent legality for which the King has given dispensation.” He turned to Guy. “No need to worry about the bans, Sir Guy. Let us proceed with the business of marriage and then I can be on my way once more.”
Only then did Sir Guy turn to her, although his words were aimed elsewhere. “Bishop, if you’d excuse Lady Gresham and myself for a few moments.”
Angelique heard the bishop grumbling under his breath as her steward escorted him into the Great Hall with the promise of refreshment. But she didn’t see him. She had eyes only for Guy, who stood, one foot squarely pla
nted on the step above him as he looked up at her, his gaze challenging and fierce. She’d never seen him this way. Not when they last met, nor when they were young. This was a different man. This was the powerful man whom the King wished to keep loyal, not the man who’d made love to her.
She could barely think, barely breathe as he followed her into the solar. He was here to stay, here to marry her after all. Only his absence had made her realize the truth of his last words to her.
“You are here to marry me then?” She had to know for sure.
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s common knowledge with your men and within my castle that we’ve lain together. That I obviously consented; the door was not barred… We are married in their eyes already.”
“So reasoned, so cold, by Christ.” He slammed his fist on to the table. “And that is the only reason you’d marry me because you think I would betray you with the knowledge of our love-making?”
“I…” She couldn’t speak. Her feelings took over, drowning the words that she’d formed in her mind.
“That you cannot trust me?”
“I have trusted before and been let down.”
“That was your father. That was your husband. That was not me.”
“You tricked me, Guy. You bedded me under false pretenses.”
“Only because I wanted you to want me without duress. Only because I live in a world where things are forced. I did not want to force you. We are not all the same. Am I really so bad that you cannot trust me, Angel?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know any more.” Tears threatened. “I only have myself.”
“Face it. You don’t want anyone else.” Still she said nothing. With each long moment she saw his face fall into a grim line. “Come, we mustn’t waste the Bishop’s time any further.”
He stood to one side waiting for her to pass. She hesitated when she was level with him but his eyes were hard as they looked down on her: hard and hidden. She’d lost him. She walked down into the hall, knowing that unless she took control she’d lose something far more precious than she’d ever held—an opportunity for a happiness she’d not known to exist.
“I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time, Bishop.” Guy’s powerful voice filled the hall.
The Bishop’s bushy eyebrows beetled with annoyance as he chewed on a piece of lamb. “’Tis not what the King’s heard.” The Bishop looked from Guy to Angelique and then back to Guy. “He’d heard you’d lain together and that my blessing was a mere formality.”
“Then he’s heard wrong.”
Angelique felt a dagger twist in her heart at his denial.
“The King will not be pleased.”
“I will tell him of the change of plan myself.”
“And the scutage payment? He was expecting payment in lieu of your fighting services.”
This was news to Angelique and she looked suddenly, fearfully at Guy, knowing he didn’t have the sort of money the King sought, knowing that he was sickened with war.
“He will receive my services.”
The Bishop’s disapproving frown settled upon Angelique. “It seems, my lady, that you will be left in peace once more. I will go directly.”
She cleared her throat that had thickened at the thought of Guy risking his life and limb in the constant battles in which John was engaging in France. She’d seen evidence in the scars on his body. She knew that his bravery would always ensure he was first in line. She knew that if he left she may never see him again.
“No. Please, finish your meal. You have ridden far. But excuse me for just one moment, I need to fetch something.”
Alone, once more in her solar, Angelique plucked the bag of gold out of its hiding place. It had been meant to buy her freedom. And she would use it as such, still.
Guy’s eyes were upon her as she descended once more into the solar. But she turned, instead, to the bishop.
“This I believe will pay the scutage.”
The Bishop took the bag from her hands and opened it eagerly. “Yes, I’m sure the King will agree to this.”
“No, Bishop,” Guy’s voice was powerful, brimming with anger. “It is not Lady Angelique’s scutage to pay.”
“Yes, it is. We are already married in the eyes of the Lord.”
“What is it that you’re saying?” The Bishop asked.
“We have slept together more than once. I agreed to the marriage contract and I hope Sir Guy does too. I wish you to bless the marriage.”
Within two steps Guy was by her side, his eyes searching her face, his whisper, for her ears only. “Why are you doing this? For me? To save me from war, is that it?”
She shook her head. “No, my Lord Guy, I do it for me.”
Within the hour the formalities were complete. Unlike her first wedding there was no music, no decorations, no feasting or rich clothes. Instead there was only Guy’s large, warm hand, cradling her own; only the heat in his eyes seeking out hers with the promise of passion to come; only a sense of absolute stillness within, absolute certainty about the rightness of their being together: protection, passion and a deep, heart-felt peace.
While Guy was busy with his men, Angelique escaped out onto the marshes. The sun lay lazily on the horizon, spinning the last of its light across the wet mud, turning the low bushes to fire. She watched a flock of marsh birds swoop and soar in playful formation before alighting on the slick banks of a creek. She’d always thought such freedom lay beyond her. It had taken Guy to show that it lay within her.
She’d reached the old chapel by the time she realized she was being followed. She smiled to herself as she slipped inside and looked up at the darkening sky through the ruined roof, before turning to the east, where a full moon hung close to the evening star. Then, without waiting for him, she entered the small nave and curled up on the stone seat, feeling the warmth of the sun that had soaked into the ancient stone.
Guy sat down beside her and brought his arm around her shoulders and gently pulled her to him. She closed her eyes against the light of the moon and reveled in his strength: a strength that touched her all the more for how his love contained it. He was not driven to prove how strong or how powerful he was, he had nothing to prove except his love for her. And he’d proved that fully.
“So this is where you come when you want to escape. Your game is up, my lady, I now know where to find you.”
“The game was up the day you returned, my lord. I used to come here because it reminded me of you. And now you have robbed me of that purpose.”
She felt his lips upon the top of her head as she relaxed further against his chest.
“What made you change your mind?”
“Something you said; about trust, about who to trust. I remembered when we were children and you lied for me when I stole my mother’s brooch from my step-mother. You took a beating for it. You, who would never steal anything in your life.”
“I remember it well.”
“I trusted you then. And I trusted you with my life all those years ago when I was promised to another. But then, somewhere in my marriage, I’d ceased to trust. Anybody.” She tilted her head so that she could see his face. “But I do now. I trust you with all my heart.” She melted into the warmth of his embrace. “Umm, you are so warm.”
“Keeping you warm is my only concern.” His lips brushed first one cheek and then the other. “And I can think of other ways.” His smiling lips sought hers in a brief kiss. “First your lips. We must make sure they’re cared for first.” He pulled away and looked at her.
“Of course. My lips.”
“Of course. But what next I wonder.”
She shrugged playfully. “Umm. Let me think. How about,” she pointed to her neck questioningly.
“You are so right. How could I have overlooked your neck.” He pushed her coif away and brushed his fingers down the side of her throat. She closed her eyes as his lips pressed their heated warmth against her cool skin. Shivers ran down her body. He
pulled back all too soon. “And where else, my Angel, requires warming?”
She gave him her widest-eyed gaze and pointed a wavering finger to her chest, where her breasts were already tight with need.
He laughed. “Ah, but you are clothed. In order to warm you with my hands, with my lips, I shall have to expose your body to the night.”
“It is not so cold. Sometimes such things are necessary.”
He pushed open the front of her surcote and slipped off the brooch that held her kirtle together. She could feel his lips smiling as they found their targets over the top of her fine, linen shift.
He pulled away, too soon, leaving two moist patches on her shift where his mouth had been.
“Perhaps you should lay down on my cloak, my lady, so the fur can warm you beneath and I can shelter you from the night air with my body.”
She swallowed. “It’s certainly an idea. One worth trying I think.”
The white of the fur shone under the moon’s silver light as he swept it around and down onto the stone floor. She lay back upon its softness, transfixed by the way the moon had robbed him of color, yet still his eyes held a depth of kindness and heat that was only for her.
“Know this, my Lady Angelique, I’ll always keep you warm, always keep loving you.”
“And I—”
But her words were lost as his lips and body pressed against hers, making her aware of every sensation as if for the first time: the delicate chill of the moonlight on her skin, the exquisite friction of his body against her, and in her, and the pounding of his heart, indistinguishable from her own.
The End
Awakening—A Medieval Romance (The Gresham Chronicles) Page 4
