The dining room door was shut tight as usual but the next door along banged freely open and shut, caught by the unpredictable eddies swirling around the courtyard. Trying to catch the flapping door was a boy of four or five years. One of Diana’s brothers or nephews—his glossy black hair and the shape of his eyes were the same as hers.
Alaric grabbed the door and held it steady. “Here.” He gave the child the handle and let go. Instantly, it whipped back, pulling the handle out of the boy’s weak grip.
Alaric caught the door again and this time stepped into the room with the boy and pulled the door properly shut. Then he saw what the problem was. “You couldn’t shut this, young master?”
The boy nodded, his eyes wide.
Alaric dropped down on one knee and looked at the latch. Part of the door mounting had been bent out of shape and was pressed in on the latch itself, preventing the latch from sliding freely into the other mounting on the doorframe. He worked the latch handle back and forth, loosening it.
“What is your name?” he asked the boy.
“Marcus.”
“You are named for Marcus Aurelius?”
Marcus nodded.
“He was a great man. A strong Caesar.”
The boy grinned, the first Alaric had seen from him. “So will I be!” he declared, jabbing his thumb into his chest. His smile was infectious.
Alaric freed the bolt and worked it back and forth a few times. “See this lump?” he told Marcus. “If you pull the bolt back too far, it catches on the mounting. If you pull it back just enough to open the door, it won’t stick. You see?”
The boy pushed in next to Alaric and looked closely at the latch as Alaric demonstrated his point.
Alaric got to his feet. “I’ll see what I can do about getting it fixed properly,” he said. “Maybe better mountings than those copper ones—they bend too easily.”
Something light hit him squarely in the small of the back. Alaric spun around and saw a small cloth ball lying at his feet.
Minna sat on a low, backless chair in the corner of the room. She and Marcus were alone. The room was small, one of the family’s main rooms, for it had more of the exquisite mosaic floor tiles like those in the dining room. Beautiful carpets hung on the walls. There was little else in the way of furnishing to give a hint of the room’s purpose.
Minna stared at Alaric unwaveringly.
Alaric bent down and picked up the ball. “Did you throw this?” he asked Minna.
After a few moments, she nodded.
“I see.” Alaric moved toward her, walking slowly to avoid startling her. He held the ball out for her to take.
She sat perfectly still, her gaze on his face.
A little disappointed, Alaric dropped the ball into her lap and moved back to the door.
The ball hit his back again.
He turned to face her once more, peripherally aware of Marcus to his right, playing in the other corner. Minna was motionless again. It was as if she had not moved, yet the oddly shaped ball lay at his feet.
Alaric picked up the ball again, excitement stirring. He gently tossed the ball toward Minna. She made no move to catch it and it dropped into her lap.
Alaric stayed still.
After a dozen heartbeats, Minna’s hand stirred. She picked up the ball and threw it back to him.
Alaric caught the ball automatically, his mind racing. Should he treat this as a sign that she was no longer hostile toward him? She wasn’t hiding behind Diana, or cowering behind the nearest cover.
He tossed the ball back. This time she tried to catch it but she made the decision too late and the ball dropped untouched into her lap. But she picked it up instantly and threw it back.
Alaric caught the ball in his left hand and moved back to her. He lowered himself to her height. “Hello.”
Minna held her hand out for the ball.
He gave it to her. “You like playing with the ball?”
She hefted the ball, caught it.
“It’s more fun than working?”
A slow nod.
“You’re not scared of me anymore, are you?”
Another dozen heartbeats went by. Then she slowly shook her head.
Alaric was surprised by the pleasure that simple motion caused in him. He smiled at her. “Thank you.”
She nodded.
“You don’t like soldiers, do you?”
A shadow crossed her face. Her head shake this time was emphatic.
“Is that because of the soldiers who came here and hurt your family?”
Minna simply looked at him, her eyes wide.
“The soldiers with the long hair and the axes.”
Minna shrank back in her chair, drawing her legs up.
Minna knows. Alaric could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest and echoing in his temple. “Minna? The Saxons…did they hurt you?”
A rapid shake of the head. But the girl was trembling violently, making the chair rattle. If they didn’t hurt her, then what…
With the suddenness and surprise of a thunderclap, clues fell into place and showed the bigger picture. The fact that Minna feared soldiers, her closeness to Diana and overlooked until now—when Minna had sent that searing glance Alaric’s way he, a soldier, had been in Minna’s eyes too close to Diana.
Alaric leapt ahead to the conclusion. He gripped the outward curled arms of Minna’s chair. “Minna, they hurt Diana, didn’t they? You saw them attack her—”
Minna clapped her hands over her ears and hid her face in her drawn up knees and screamed and screamed and screamed.
Alaric drew back quickly, horrified. The inarticulate cry sounded like the voice of a tortured soul.
In the corner, Marcus whimpered and from outside came shocked words.
“What is that?”
“What’s happened?”
“Is someone hurt?”
Alaric lifted a hand to comfort the screaming girl but aborted the movement. He suspected his touch would send her over the edge into madness. Helpless, he hovered over her, appalled at what he had done.
The door behind him crashed open. “Minna!” It was Diana’s voice.
Alaric felt a deep wave of relief. He stepped out of the way and turned to face her.
Diana rushed over and scooped Minna up, showing unexpected strength. She perched on the edge of the chair and began to rock Minna in a steady monotonous motion, patting her back and smoothing her hair. Minna’s screaming turned into a harsh exhausting cry that emerged with each ragged exhalation.
The sound was agonizing. What had Minna seen that caused this pain?
Diana continued the rocking, back and forth. She didn’t glance away from Minna. Others were crowding into the room and Marcus in his corner began to cry in small bewildered hiccups. Alaric, feeling useless, picked the boy up and held him, letting him feel the security of an adult touch.
Sosia sailed into the room and sized up the situation. Quietly, she shepherded everyone out and followed them, shutting the door behind her.
And still Minna’s terrified cries went on.
An endless age later the sound began to diminish. Marcus had stopped crying long before and had become a heavy, totally relaxed weight in Alaric’s arm. Alaric guessed he had fallen asleep. The screams tailed off into silence and still Diana did not stop rocking. Alaric heard her whispering quietly that all was well, Minna was safe, Diana was here, over and over again. She had probably been whispering all along but her voice had been blanketed by Minna’s screams.
Finally, Diana slowed her rocking, bringing herself to a gentle halt. Minna was a loose ball in her sister’s arms. Her eyes were shut and her hands were curled against her chest. It looked like she was asleep. Diana stood up, lifting her.
Finally, her gaze lifted to look directly at Alaric. Her blue eyes blazed. “Stay here.” Her voice was flat.
She walked to the door, pushed the latch aside and let the wind pull the door open. She stepped out. A few moments later, Sosia
appeared, silently took the sleeping child from Alaric’s arms and carried him away.
Alaric was left alone in the room. He shut the door and sat down on the chair. He realized that he was trembling. The silence was blessed.
Diana returned and Alaric braced himself. She stood in front of him, hands on her hips. Her fury was almost tangible, it washed over him like a furnace’s heat.
“What did you do to her?”
Alaric couldn’t look her in the eyes. He looked instead at the carpet on the wall, at the colors and patterns. “I asked her what happened when the Saxons were here.”
Diana was silent.
Alaric looked back. She was staring. Not at him but straight through him. Her eyes were wide, seeing far beyond the walls of the room. Her throat worked. As he watched, her face drained of color and turned the sickly gray of whey.
Alarmed, he stood up. “Diana?”
Dots of perspiration gathered on her brow as he looked.
“Diana!”
She came back to herself with a sharp in-drawn breath. She lifted a hand to her brow and wiped at the moisture. Her hand was trembling so badly that she couldn’t coordinate her fingers. She let her hand drop again and looked up at Alaric. “You will never ask Minna about that time again. Nor me. Nor anyone else here.” Her voice was low, deliberately pitched that way, Alaric suspected, to control it properly and disguise any tremor. “Do you understand?”
Alaric clenched his hands into tight fists, fighting the desire to gather her into his arms and give her the same comfort he had just given Marcus. He knew she would recoil from his touch as she would from the touch of a white-hot poker.
“Do you understand?” she insisted.
“I understand perfectly.”
“Good.” She turned and walked toward the door, her back stiff. A pace or two from the door her knees seemed to give out on her without warning. She thrust out her foot and recovered quickly. Then she straightened up, squared her shoulders and without looking back at Alaric, left the room.
Alaric remained standing, taking stock.
He didn’t have confirmation of his suspicions but he didn’t need it, now. Had she been untouched before that raid? Yes, without a doubt.
Had Merlin had foreseen this? Here he was, a man who had every reason to hate Romans, living on the estate of an old patrician family that reckoned its ancestors all the way back to Claudius and beyond. Worse, he was obsessed with the need to have Diana to the point where he was forgetting his duty to Arthur.
And now he knew that no matter how much he wanted Diana, he could never have her, for she would not come to him.
He had been proud to have been nominated by Arthur to do his bidding so far away. Now he wished he was back in winter quarters, bored beyond belief and reduced to dice and women as his only distractions. Life had been infinitely simpler then.
Chapter Ten
Diana hoped Alaric would lack the courage to face her the next morning at breakfast. Then she wouldn’t have to remember he had seen her caught in the dark spell of the red cloud. She tackled her bowl of gruel with the determination of a Spartan, so that she could move onto the rest of her day before Alaric appeared.
She was nearly through when the knock she had been dreading sounded and Alaric walked in. Diana tried to swallow her mouthful. It slid down her throat like a granite rock.
Alaric sat on his stool and reached for the bowl Sosia had left for him. His eyes seemed to have faint shadows beneath them and he moved slowly, as if every move was an effort. But his gaze when it settled on her was sharp, missing nothing. “Good morning.” His voice seemed to rumble in his chest.
“It is.” Her own voice was devoid of substance in comparison. She felt the room shrink around her and the air become thick and warm. Her breath labored. What was this strange feeling? Her skin prickled as if summer heat bathed it. It felt as if the world was holding its breath.
He looked away and Diana found she could breathe again. She shook her head, trying to clear it of the miasmic sludge that slowed her thoughts.
Their breakfast planning went smoothly but the feeling of something about to happen intensified every time she looked up and found Alaric watching her. By the time he left to start his day, her body was stretched drum-tight with tension. Yet his departure was not the relief she expected it to be. It was, in fact, a disappointment.
What on earth was going on?
Minna had woken at sunset yesterday apparently unharmed. She had eaten a hearty meal and mixed with the household in her normal silent way. Alaric had not eaten with them, which suited Diana. It seemed unwise to put Alaric and Minna together so soon after Alaric’s unforgivable probing. Minna avoided the soldiers with more precision than usual but that was the only change.
Today, again, Minna seemed to be herself. Occasionally Diana would notice Minna watching her closely. Once, Diana paused from the task of pouring oil into a decanter and lifted her brow. “What is it? Why do you watch me so?”
Minna merely shook her head and smiled.
By the time the sun was lowering in the sky, Diana felt an exhaustion like that she had suffered those first few bleak days after the Saxon raid, when she had physically worked herself to the point of dropping. Back then her sickened mind and soul, still reeling from the nightmare of the Saxons, had given her no rest.
She hurried through her ablutions quickly. She was tired of endlessly probing at unsolvable mysteries and being alone provided no distraction for her thoughts. She wanted the company of the dining room. Since the solstice, Alaric’s men had been sharing their evening meal and the dining room was a happy place.
She threw her cloak around her shoulders and hurried out of the bathhouse into the abrupt darkness of a winter evening, straight into a darker shape that loomed over her with frightening suddenness.
“Watch out!” It was Alaric’s voice, the words a snapped military imperative.
It was too late. She collided with him and it was like running into a mountainside. The impact of her full weight didn’t move him a hair’s breadth and Diana bounced off him. Her cloak fell away with a flutter.
“Aaaah…damn it!” His arm slapped around her waist and she was lifted off her feet and spun around, as she heard the sound of heavy logs hitting the verandah tiles in a reverberating shower. He had obviously been carrying an armful and she had made him drop them all. Surprise and delayed fright circled through her.
She was pulled up tight against him, her back touching him from shoulder to knee, his forearm running diagonally down from under her left breast, which was pushed up by his arm, across her stomach. His hand curved over her hip.
“Are you unhurt?” he asked and she could feel his voice against her back. His whole body was hot, hotter than her own, so newly emerged from the bath.
Diana had to clear her throat. “I’m fine.”
He was leaning over her a little and she was bent forward over his arm. His hand on her hip was hot too. She felt the hand move against her tunic, each individual finger sliding restlessly against the fine soft wool.
The air thickened. It caught at her chest, worked its way along her skin and underneath it. She closed her eyes. Something was going to happen. She held her breath, waiting for it, wanting to know what it was.
Suddenly she was back on her feet, pushed away. She staggered a little, regained her balance and picked up her cloak. She could see nothing of his face. She tugged at her cloak and a couple of the fallen logs shifted and rolled away. She put the cloak around her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she said at last, not sure why she was apologizing. She knew she had somehow been at fault, though.
“I’m to blame.” He spoke shortly.
“Are you angry?” Diana asked, surprised at his shortness.
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “No.”
She fastened her cloak.
“Are you wearing that tunic to supper tonight?” he asked.
Diana looked down at the white tunic half visib
le under her cloak. It was once Verus’ best, made of soft wool so fine Diana could see the shape of her hand when she held it beneath. The tunic neck was too wide and revealed most of one shoulder but that was safely hidden beneath the cloak.
“Well…yes,” she said. “Why?”
“It’s of no matter.” He crouched and picked up the logs.
“Here, let me help.” Diana picked up the two that had pinned down her cloak.
“No!”
She straightened up quickly.
He added more quietly. “I will see to this. You go to your supper. Look, Sosia is heading for the dining room now.”
Diana looked over her shoulder. Sosia was indeed heading for the dining room, a heavy tray in her hands and another four women similarly burdened behind her. “It is later than I thought.”
“Then go.”
Troubled, Diana walked toward the dining room. Behind her she could hear Alaric stacking the logs.
By the time Diana had finished her meal, Alaric still had not appeared for supper. She tried to dismiss her worry. It was not the first time he had failed to appear for the evening meal. This time, however, the fault lay with her. Not knowing what she had done wrong was irritating and Alaric’s empty chair was an accusing finger pointed right at her.
* * * * *
So far Alaric had cleaned out every stall in the stables, fed every horse and brushed down all the horses bar his own. He was working on Raven now, using long firm strokes. His arms and shoulders ached but he did not dare stop yet. Every time he let up on his concentration, unwanted thoughts swamped his mind.
The softness of her body. He could still feel the weight of her breast against his arm and the unexpected roundness of her hip. He hadn’t seen a hint of that totally feminine curve under her tunic and trews. Above all, her scent. Dear god in heaven and Mithras with the sun, her clean, fresh scent had slipped into his senses and wreathed around them like the trailing fingers of a mist in the treetops.
Alaric realized he had ceased brushing, that he was standing still, his eyes unfocused, his arm resting on Raven’s back. She had stolen the present moment from him once more. Angry, Alaric began brushing again and Raven gave a startled snort. Alaric gentled his strokes and concentrated on what his hand was doing. Lift up, brush back, again the lift and again the long stroke down the horse’s back.
Diana by the Moon Page 12
