by June Francis
‘I’ll have one soon enough,’ he replied, stripping off his wet houppelande. ‘But I want to make certain that you don’t catch a chill.’ He placed the garment he had discarded, and her cloak, on one of the chairs near the fire, and vanished up the ladder in the corner of the room.
Louise sipped at the ale, finding the feeling of warmth that it sent trickling through her blissful. The cat rose from its place by the fire and settled a little further away. It gave a perfunctory lick at one of its hind legs then tucked its nose into its tail again. She envied its savoir-faire because now she was a little more comfortable and warmer it occurred to her that there was need for her to do some thinking. If the snow continued to fall then she and John would have to spend some time in this house and she knew that was not good if she was to get him out of her heart. Yet she soon came to the conclusion that there was nothing to be done and that she might as well make the most of his company because sooner or later they would part.
A moment later Louise heard the thud of feet on the ladder and John reappeared with a couple of blankets flung over his shoulder and clothes clutched in one hand. ‘You can change in front of the fire. I’ll have to go and see to the horse,’ he muttered with a frown. ‘I’d forgotten about it with worrying about you.’
‘I’m sorry to be of trouble,’ she said quietly. ‘But there’s really no need for you to worry. I’ll be fine soon.’
‘I believe you’d say that even if it wasn’t true.’ His voice had softened. ‘I admire your courage, Louise Saulnier. There are not many women around like you.’ His words warmed her as much as the ale and she could not take her eyes from him, watching him place the clothes over the back of the settle and drop the blankets on her feet before sitting down on the edge of the settle. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘Ay,’ she replied, grimacing. ‘Is there any food?’
‘I’ve got some of the game we shot in my saddlebag. I could skin a rabbit and Agnes can cook it if she’s able to get back here.’
‘You think she mightn’t?’
‘It’s still snowing.’ His expression was serious. ‘And, although she’s likely to have only gone to the hamlet, if the snow continues to fall for the rest of the afternoon it wouldn’t make sense for her to try and get back tonight.’
She nodded. ‘I understand that. But what if the weather doesn’t let up and we’re stuck here for days? We’ll need more food than two rabbits.’
He smiled. ‘There’s plenty of flour and salted meat in the store-room, as well as fruit and sheep’s cheese, and other provisions. Also the chickens are probably in the barn out of the weather. And if we can get to the shepherd’s house on the hill there’s mutton to be had. Not that that’s possible right now. But we won’t starve. So you mustn’t worry but rest.’
Her mouth firmed determinedly. ‘I feel that I’ve rested long enough. Could I not help you? I could skin the rabbits.’
Both his dark brows elevated. ‘You really know how?’
‘It was something useful I learnt living in the wild,’ she said with a grin, pushing herself up into a sitting position. ‘Now you go and bring me the rabbits and then see to the horse.’
He hesitated. ‘Are you sure you shouldn’t be resting?’
‘Go and fetch the rabbits before you do anything else,’ she said imperiously.
He went, and she flopped back against the cushions and closed her eyes briefly, feeling her aches, but she only lay there a minute before sitting up and searching for the clothes he had spoken about. Those which were his were obvious as were the ones he intended for her. Women’s clothes! His mother’s, perhaps? She began to peel off her damp surcote.
Louise was just fastening up a cream undergown when John entered the house, looking like a snowman. He stopped abruptly and there was a look of appreciation on his face. ‘That fits all right? There are more clothes upstairs, which belonged to my half-sister. Mother never gave them away, hoping one day that she might have a daughter of her own.’
‘This is lovely and warm and the wool is really soft.’
‘It’s Cotswold wool.’ He came towards her, the rabbits swinging in his hand, and he placed them on the table. ‘You must know that English sheep produce the finest wool there is. Some of the best comes from the Cotswolds.’
‘Around Burford?’
He nodded. ‘As soon as it’s possible to travel I’ll have to return there and sort matters out with Dykemore.’
‘You’ll take me with you?’ she said quickly. ‘I’ve been thinking that if the man that Harry gave Marguerite to is a wool merchant, then maybe she’s living in that area.’
Again he nodded. ‘It’s possible that I could know him with his being in the trade. We must get his name from Harry.’
She barely hesitated before saying lightly, ‘The sooner the better. It seems an age since I set out to find my sister.’
There was a silence before he said, ‘I know Harry and I have said that your sister is better off in England, but have you thought that she might consider it so?’
Louise quashed any qualms she might have on that score and shook her head vigorously, picking up a saffron surcote from the settle. ‘You think Marguerite will be content to be a servant in England?’ She forced a laugh. ‘My sister will be as ready to return to France as … I am.’
‘You’re so sure?’ he said quietly. ‘Perhaps she’s not so unhappy as you make her — or yourself — out to be.’ The tone of his voice changed suddenly, ‘Let’s talk sense, Louise! We’ll find your sister by all means, but if she’s well fed, well clothed, and well treated — as she may well be if she knows something of the clothier’s trade — then be prepared for her not to be so willing to go back to Normandy.’
Louise had listened in growing dismay. ‘You believe that she’ll be swayed by material advantages,’ she said hotly.
‘If she’s got any sense she will be.’ His voice was dispassionate. ‘How long do you think the pair of you will last in that forest winter after winter? Swallow that pride of yours, and accept that you and I could have some kind of future together.’
She stared at him and a line of scarlet ran under her skin. ‘You made me an offer something like that before and I said no,’ she whispered.
He nodded. ‘Ay! We didn’t know each other that well. Even now I’m not asking you to give me an answer immediately. Shall we see how well we bear with each other’s company while we’re here?’ His blue eyes were intent as he gazed at her. ‘It’ll be a good testing ground.’
‘I — you and me — here. Will we — sleep together?’ she stammered.
His dark lashes swept down, concealing his thoughts from her. ‘If it’s not what you want — no.’ He went over to the fire, removed the ale that still simmered there, and poured himself a measure into a tankard. ‘Of course it does get extremely cold here at night, but if you wrap up well you should sleep all right.’ He darted a glance at her. ‘I’m sure you managed to keep warm the last couple of nights without me.’
‘Ay!’ Her hands moved agitatedly over the surface of the gown. ‘Let’s leave it for now. Shouldn’t you go and see to the horse? I’ll start on the rabbits. Where’s a knife?’
He took the one from his girdle and held it out to her. ‘Don’t cut yourself.’
‘I’m not that much of a fool,’ she said pettishly, snatching it from him. ‘Now leave me be, John.’
‘There’s no need to be anxious, my sweet.’ He kissed the tip of her nose and she felt tears start in her eyes. ‘Everything could be worse.’ He downed the rest of his ale and picked up his wet houppelande. ‘I won’t be too long.’
‘Be as long as you like,’ she flung at him, before shuffling painfully over to the table. She removed the cat, which was sniffing at one of the rabbits.
‘Sweet Jesus! You’re walking like an old woman!’ He followed her over. ‘Leave them for me and lie down.’
‘I don’t want to lie down,’ she flashed, rubbing at her cheeks. ‘I’m bruised, that’s
all, and there’s nothing you can do about that.’
His brows knit. ‘I’ll find you some salve later. But are you sure you’re all right?’
‘We have to eat,’ she said fiercely. ‘And you’ve got to see to the horse. And if there are chickens then you’d better feed them. Is there any water to stew the rabbits?’
‘Use ale.’ He scowled at her. ‘The well doesn’t generally freeze but it’s something extra to think about and I’d rather not worry about it now.’
She glanced at him, hating the thought of his having to go outside in the blizzard again but knowing it was necessary. ‘Very well, then I’ll cook them in ale as you suggest. Have we any onions and turnips and herbs? Salt? I know you’ve got nutmegs.’
‘I’ll see what’s in the store-room.’ He left her to the task of skinning and cleaning the rabbits and was only a few’ moments fetching the vegetables, which he left on the table near to hand, before disappearing outside again.
Louise tried to give all her concentration to her task but while her hands busied themselves her thoughts were chaotic. The more she tried not to think about how comfortable and pleasurable it would be sleeping with him the more it filled her mind. She forced herself to hope that the missing Agnes would turn up, and as soon as the cut rabbits and vegetables were simmering over the fire she went slowly over to the window to see if there was any sign of her. The glass was cold to her touch and it was almost impossible to see out because the snow was banked up on the sill and the daylight was already fading, and the only sign of movement was the falling snow.
Louise went back over to the fire and stirred the stew before limping through the door that John had used. Her eyes searched shelves. There were jars of honey and wine, and bottled pears and blackberries and dried fruit, flagons of wine and ale. There were sacks of cereals, dried beans and peas, as well as salted hams and onions hanging from the ceiling. She found a bowl and ladled some flour into it, and took down a jar of honey, then she remembered that there was no water.
Frustrated, Louise went back into the hall just as John entered it. ‘I was going to make some griddle cakes,’ she called, ‘but I don’t think they’ll taste quite the same with ale.’
‘We could melt some snow for swiftness’s sake,’ he replied, wiping his hand across his wet face.
‘I won’t need much,’ she said quickly. ‘And I’d rather not have to send you out again, but if you’re really hungry … ?’
‘I’m really hungry,’ he said emphatically. ‘Just get me a bowl. I don’t want to come further in and drip all over everywhere.’
She hurried as much as she could and it was only seconds before she was placing a small pot of snow on the griddle and she had turned back to him.
‘Could you help me off with my gloves?’ He was slumped against the wall by the door, having removed his hat, and she realised how tired and wet he must be.
She went over to him and eased the sodden cold leather from each finger. ‘You must come by the fire. You look exhausted.’
He nodded and forced himself away from the wall, saying unevenly, ‘It’s been quite a day and I’ll probably be all right soon, but could you do the honours with my houppelande as well? My hands are frozen.’
‘You’ll have to bend,’ she said, concealing her concern as she undid his buttons and felt him shivering under her hand. ‘More ale for you, and into warm clothing.’
‘It sounds good.’ He smiled faintly. ‘I’d like to lean on your shoulder but I suspect it would hurt.’
She returned his smile, and said brightly, ‘Arms round waists and we’ll manage that way. It’s not far to the fire.’ They crossed the room and she was reminded of how many times they had needed to help and support the other in the short time that they had known each other, and could not prevent herself from thinking that must mean that their relationship was perhaps more than just sensuous.
John refused to sit on the settle in his wet state, swaying close to the fire as he ordered Louise to bring a chair closer. He sank into it, and shut his eyes. She took a cushion from the settle and dropped it on the floor before kneeling awkwardly to rid him of his boots. It was not an easy task but she managed it. He did stir himself to help and opened his eyes. Relieved that he showed some signs of life but worried about his staying any longer in the wet clothes, she chided him to get up and undress while she poured him some ale, turning her back on him.
John roused himself and did as he was told, albeit slowly, but he did not bother dressing, just took a blanket and wrapped himself in it before settling in the chair again.
Louise turned when she heard the wood creak and their eyes met. ‘That’s better, is it?’ she said jocularly.
‘Wonderful.’ He smiled. ‘Where’s that ale? And how’s the food coming on? It smells good.’
‘The food will be a little while.’ She handed him a tankard and he took it with a murmur of thanks. ‘Perhaps you’d like a handful of dried fruit to eat with it while you’re waiting? I can get some for you before I start on the scones.’
‘It’s me who should be taking care of you,’ he said softly. ‘You’re hurt.’
‘You took care of me before.’ Her tone was warm. ‘I’ll rest soon.’
‘Good.’ He stretched out his bare feet towards the heat as she went over to the store-room. ‘How are you feeling now, lass?’ he shouted. ‘Your head not giving you too much pain?’
‘It aches a bit,’ she called, her voice slightly muffled. ‘But nothing to worry about, and I suppose my other aches and pains will take a few days to be gone but at least I haven’t broken any bones.’ She came back into the hall.
‘You did well keeping in the saddle so long.’
She laughed. ‘Don’t you think I’ve had plenty of practice in the last weeks? I’ve never spent so long on a horse before in winter.’ Sitting on the corner of the settle, she poured some raisins from a jar into a small bowl and held them out to him.
He took a few and tossed them in his mouth, chewing as he glanced up at her in the saffron gown. Her copper hair had grown a little and was curling about her head like a burnished halo. ‘We seem to have spent most of our time together travelling and being tired and dirty,’ he said quietly. ‘It’ll be good if the snow does last and we can stay here and rest.’
‘You — might find it tedious with just me for company,’ she said hesitantly.
‘I never did before.’ His eyes held hers and the expression in them caused her to catch her breath.
‘You mustn’t look at me like that,’ she whispered, getting up quickly and taking the melted snow from the griddle.
‘Like what?’ His voice was deep and low. ‘As if I was thinking how beautiful you look and how I never want to see you in a boy’s clothes again? You’re too womanly for such garb.’
‘I’m not beautiful,’ she murmured, delight at his words rippling through her. ‘My hair’s too short and my skin’s not pale enough.’
‘Your hair will grow and I like it as it is anyroad, lass. As for your skin, it’s soft beneath my caress and glowing and healthy to my eye. As for your shape, I consider that quite perfect. Your breasts and your waist fit my hands’ span beautifully. As for — ’
‘That’s enough!’ She was blushing.
‘Come here.’
‘No. I’m making cakes.’
‘The scones can wait. I want to kiss you.’
‘But I didn’t say that I wanted to kiss you,’ she said, trying to steady her breathing as she poured honey and water into the flour, which she combined with nutmeg and cinnamon.
He rose and came to stand at her shoulder. ‘You do, though, don’t you, dearest Louise?’ The uncertainty in his voice caused her to twist her neck and look at him.
Suddenly it was only he and she that was important. ‘Ay.’ Turning completely round, she held up her face to his and their lips met in a kiss that was gentle at first but deepened and demanded before they drew apart for breath. ‘I’ve started the cakes so I must finish
them,’ she said in a flurried voice, moving away from him. ‘You go back and sit by the fire.’
‘Don’t be too long,’ John lipped her finger before leaving her.
Louise’s hands worked with a swiftness that revealed her agitation. When she went over to place the flat cakes on the griddle he was not sitting but standing over the fire, with the blanket wrapped about him like a toga while he stirred the stew. Their eyes met and she could not stop her mouth from smiling as she gazed at him.
‘I never thought of your being able to cook,’ he said, moving the pot of stewing rabbit to the right so that there was room for her to place the scones on the griddle.
‘My aunt — the sister of my mother — taught me,’ said Louise. ‘She died when I was fourteen and father hired a cook, considering that I had enough to do taking over the running of the household and looking after Marguerite.’
‘I suppose you’ve missed being the mistress of your own household since the fall of Caen?’ He put down the wooden spoon and sat on the settle.
‘I stopped thinking about it an age ago.’ She placed the last scone and sat a few inches away from him. ‘Staying alive was more important than wishing to turn time back,’ she added with a lack of rancour.
‘I wish that you hadn’t suffered the way you had,’ he said vehemently, ‘and yet you wouldn’t be the Louise you are now if you hadn’t.’ He put his arm round her.
‘No.’ Hesitantly she rested her head on his shoulder. ‘There are some things I would have been terribly afraid of doing.’ There was a shy note in her voice.
‘If you refer to what I think you do,’ he said softly, ‘then that would have been a pity because it was good between us despite what the priests say about such pleasures.’
She lifted her head and looked at him. ‘Don’t let’s talk about priests and sin!’ Her tone was urgent.
‘I don’t want to talk about them, sweeting,’ he said tenderly, his mouth covering hers with a passion that instantly roused an overwhelming response within her.
‘We mustn’t forget about the cakes,’ she said unsteadily against his lips. ‘It would be a shame for them to burn.’
