Love's Intrigue

by June Francis

  ‘No, we mustn’t,’ he agreed, and nuzzled her ears and then her throat. ‘Later — we’ll save this for later. We have all the night before us.’

  She did not dispute his assumption that they would sleep together. It was cold in the hall beyond the fire’s circle. Later — in some future that she could not imagine now — she would have to accept that a time would come when he might no longer want her, just as his brother had not wanted Clotilde.

  Their kisses grew more fervent despite their talk of cakes, and it was only the smell of burning that brought Louise to an awareness that there would be no supper if they didn’t control themselves. She struggled out of his arms, telling him just that, and he sat back, his eyes smouldering as he watched her not only save the singeing scones from utter ruin but the stew from drying up completely and sticking to the pan.

  As they ate their food on their knees, John said, ‘It might be best if I brought the mattress down here on the floor near the fire. I’ll pile on more wood and we’ll be as snug as any fox in its hole.’

  ‘What if Agnes returns?’ asked Louise with an air of anxiety, licking a crispy slice of onion from her spoon.

  ‘She won’t,’ said John confidently. ‘We’re marooned, sweeting, and I can only be glad that it’s you I’m with.’ He cleared his bowl and leaned back with a satisfied sigh. ‘That was the best meal I’ve ever tasted.’

  ‘Burnt scones and singed rabbit!’ she exclaimed, unable to prevent a laugh. ‘You’re easily satisfied, my lord. You were hungry.’

  ‘Don’t decry yourself, Louise. You’re a good cook!’ He grinned, rising to his feet. ‘While you finish I’ll go and get the mattress.’

  ‘Can you manage getting it down the ladder?’ She rose hurriedly. ‘You could trip.’

  ‘I’ll slide it down.’ He whistled as he left the fireside and went upstairs. Louise started to feel nervous and wondered what his feelings towards her really were, hoping that he loved her a little. There was a thumping and a bumping, a slithering, sliding sound, and she turned to see the mattress lying at the foot of the ladder. Her nervousness grew as she watched him climb down and drag the mattress towards her. Perhaps she would not be able to please him this time and he would turn from her. She chided herself for so cold-bloodedly planning to have carnal pleasure with a man who was not her husband.

  ‘Stop worrying, Louise,’ John’s quiet voice, a foot from her, took her by surprise. ‘If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. We can just sleep.’

  ‘Sleep?’ She stared at him. ‘But I … ’ She almost said love, but changed it to, ‘Want you.’

  He smiled faintly and drew her into his arms. ‘I want you too,’ he murmured against her chin. ‘So much that it’s an ache inside me.’

  ‘Almost a pain,’ she said, adding hesitantly, ‘But I also have a different hurt, John, all down one side. I don’t know if — ’

  ‘You mustn’t worry so much.’ He rocked her gently before his mouth searched for hers.

  There was after all nothing much for her to be anxious about because once he started undressing her and laying kisses on her throat and breast, and the dark shadows on shoulder and hip, her aches diminished in proportion to her growing desire for him. Her passion matched his and she smothered his shoulders and chest with biting kisses as his hands stroked her thighs and buttocks. Yet he delayed entering her, caressing and nuzzling, licking and nibbling so that he roused her to a fever pitch of impatience and longing, until she forced herself with such urgency against him that he entered her immediately, to her relief. Joined, they became a single pulsating unit giving and giving until both received intense physical pleasure.

  Afterwards she cried against his shoulder and he took her chin in his hand. ‘Regrets, sweetheart?’ he questioned, concern a faint gleam in his blue eyes.

  She blinked away her tears. ‘You must consider me a wanton, but I have never known any other man.’

  ‘You’ve told me so before and I believed you then.’ He kissed her. ‘Why should I change my mind now? Go to sleep, lass. You’ve had a long day.’

  She wanted to believe him, and so, although plagued by self-doubt, she relaxed and slept dreamlessly.

  The next morning Louise woke first and bit back a groan, before managing to rise and put on her chemise. She built up the fire and went to look out of the window but could see little, although she had a feeling that it had stopped snowing. She went back over to the mattress and slid beneath the blankets alongside John. She leaned on one elbow, gazing into his slumbering face, willing him to wake. Gently she ran a finger along his unshaven chin and kissed his mouth. He took her by surprise when he responded and pulled her on top of him. He entered her without any preliminaries. She would never have thought of getting into such a position and was shy at first about moving on top of him, but discovered that she had more control over the pace of their lovemaking and it was very enjoyable.

  But there were other urgent matters to see to as well as their physical need for each other — such as food and drink and the means of keeping warm. ‘We’ll need more logs,’ said John, after he had managed to force the back door open. The front had refused to budge because the snow had drifted against it.

  ‘Will we have to go to the forest?’ Louise uneasily surveyed the white expanse that stretched as far as the eye could see. The snow had stopped falling but what lay on the ground was deep and the air felt colder.

  ‘No.’ His eyes narrowed as he gazed ahead. ‘My father always makes sure there’s a good supply of dried kindling and logs in the barn. I’ll have to dig out a path that far.’

  ‘Perhaps I should help you?’

  He kissed her lightly. ‘Digging is men’s work. I’ll need feeding, woman. You get a meal cooking. And the hose I took off yesterday have holes in the toes. Mother’s sewing basket is on the floor in the far right corner under the stairs.’

  ‘Do you think Agnes will return today?’

  John looked towards the nearest hill. ‘No. If the snow stays off, perhaps tomorrow — or the day after next. It depends how it’s drifted and how deep it is.’ He glanced at Louise, and said seriously, ‘It doesn’t bother you being so alone with me?’

  ‘No.’ She lowered her eyes, suddenly shy of him. He was so masculine and she found herself wanting him again. ‘I’ll soak peas and cut some ham. If I had some leaven I’d make bread.’

  He grimaced. ‘We’ll have to live without it. Yeast is something I don’t know about. I just took it for granted when bread arrived on the table. But there’s a sack of oats in the store-room. You can mix them in much the same way as you do flour with water and make oatcakes. They’re good with cheese or honey.’

  She nodded. ‘I’ll try.’ And reluctantly left him to his digging.

  The oatcakes were not perfect but they filled their stomachs later that day when John came in, ruddy-cheeked and famished. The pottage, though, was good, thick with onions and peas and chunks of ham.

  Half an hour later he drew her into his arms again and made love to her. Afterwards she lay contentedly drowsing in front of the fire beside him, before he stirred and asked her did she want some fresh air and to stretch her legs? They made their way along the slippery path to the barn, where Louise found a couple of eggs while John split logs.

  There was still plenty of pottage over for supper and they had some bottled blackberries on griddle scones after it. Then they lay on the mattress and made love again, and she wondered if it would have been like this if their parents had arranged a match between them and they’d married. She longed to belong to him in name but did not voice such a hope.

  Afterwards they talked of their childhoods, of the cloth trade, of Antwerp and Venice, and John told her about the Knaresborough Fair and how beautiful England could be in the spring. That night it snowed again and Louise was glad.

  Their days settled into a pattern, one that she would have been content to have go on and on, although sometimes her eyes longed for relief from looking out on
the snow and she wondered about Marguerite. Some nights John would read to her from the few precious handwritten books on the shelf — tales of chivalry or stories from the Scriptures. He also talked of his concern for the shepherds and his father’s sheep on the fells. ‘He’ll lose some — bound to in this weather,’ he fretted, pacing the room. ‘He must be worrying, too.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll have guessed where we’ve gone?’ Louise looked up from shortening one of the undergowns she had found upstairs. The mattress had been moved back on to the bed, which was aired and made welcoming with a warming-pan each night.

  His dark brows drew together. ‘Harry’ll tell them I’m all right.’

  ‘You really believe he knows?’

  He nodded. ‘As soon as a thaw sets in, Agnes will arrive first — and then they’ll come,’ he said positively.

  ‘And this life will end,’ she said sadly, and so quietly that he only just caught the words.

  John stopped pacing and knelt on the floor in front of the settle. His blue eyes were intent as he stared into her rosy face. ‘You’ve been so content, Louise? You don’t hanker after your own country? Or towns? You haven’t fretted to seek out Marguerite?’

  ‘Occasionally I have thought of these things, but … ’ She fell silent and lowered her eyes to her sewing again.

  He did not press her to finish what she was saying, only removing her sewing and drawing her into the circle of his arms and holding her tightly.

  That night when they made love he raised her to heights of ecstasy that were new to her and she wondered how she would live without him when eventually he tired of her. Perhaps people really did die from lack of love? But when the time came that he no longer wanted her then she would go out of his life rather than live off his goodwill.

  Two days later the thaw came, and the sound of dripping and rushing water seemed to be heard on all sides. Patches of green showed in the valley and on the fells, and John and Louise squelched their way around the hill to the hamlet, only to meet on the way a woman of middle years, scrawny and dark-haired, who surveyed them both with keen interest.

  The conversation that followed between Agnes and John was so rapid and accented that Louise, whose English was almost fluent, had trouble understanding it. The outcome was that Agnes, with a toss of her head and a sniff, went back to the hamlet.

  ‘What did you tell her?’ asked Louise, her hazel eyes surprised as she clutched at his arm. ‘She seems displeased.’

  ‘I told her to come tomorrow’, that likely my parents would be here then — that we were managing alone,’ he said unemotionally.

  ‘But she’ll believe — ’

  He raised both eyebrows. ‘Not necessarily.’

  She was left wondering what that meant when his arm went about her waist and he sounded reasonably cheerful when next he spoke. ‘At least she was able to tell me that there’s only been a few ewes in lamb lost.’

  She slanted a sidelong glance at him. ‘Your father will be pleased?’

  ‘Ay. It could have been much worse.’ He took his arm from about her and seized her hand. ‘Let’s get back and have something to eat, and then … ’ His eyes met hers and he lifted her chin and kissed her with a great deal of deliberation. It was as if he had set a seal on her, she thought dazedly.

  It was later when John was reading to Louise that he stopped in mid-sentence and did not resume reading, but rather placed the book carefully on the shelf.

  ‘What is it?’ she said slowly, putting down the shirt, which he had torn on a nail in the barn. He did not answer immediately but stood, staring at the wall and drumming his fingers on the shelf. ‘John?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  She rose and went over to him, putting a hand on his arm. ‘What’s wrong?’

  He looked at her but his eyes did not quite focus on her face. ‘It’s Harry,’ he said in a vague voice. ‘There’s something … ’ His hand curled into a fist.

  ‘He — he’s not dead?’ she stammered, pressing her fingers into his arm.

  ‘Not dead.’ He shook his head. ‘We won’t wait for Father to come in the morning. We’ll set out as soon as it’s light.’

  She nodded, her heart sinking as he began to pace the floor again. The idyll was over. Hadn’t she known it would come to an end sooner or later? John’s mind was already reaching out to tomorrow, worrying about his brother.

  And suddenly she was concerned because he was. What could be wrong with Harry?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  NEITHER John nor Louise needed to wake the other the following morning. Both had lain silently, staring into the darkness for a while, before the first shafts of light outlined the shuttered window. As soon as he slid out of bed, she followed him.

  Louise suddenly paused for thought, her hand stilling on the white chemise, and she looked at John. ‘Do I wear women’s clothes or … ?’

  He was silent for a second and then he freed a long breath. ‘The need for pretending you are a youth is over.’ His fingers fastened buttons swiftly as his eyes met hers. ‘My parents might as well know about you sooner rather than later. What they think will make no difference to my plans, so there is no need for you to look so apprehensive.’

  ‘But I like your parents,’ she said fiercely. ‘I don’t want them thinking — ’

  ‘It’s too late to worry about that now!’ His voice was sharp. ‘Let’s not talk about it. Harry’s too much on my mind.’

  ‘Of course! I’m sorry! Worrying about Harry is much more important than talking about my worries,’ she said jerkily, dragging the chemise over her hips with a violence that revealed how distraught she was. ‘It was the same when we first met. Finding Harry was the be-all and end-all of everything!’

  He stared at her. ‘What’s wrong with you? Wasn’t it your need to find your sister that led you to me? You of all people should understand family feeling.’

  ‘I do,’ she cried, running a hand through her hair. ‘But you talk as if your — your mistress meeting your parents is an everyday occurrence.’

  ‘Do I?’ A slight laugh escaped him. ‘I assure you it isn’t. How the mighty are fallen! I wouldn’t even consider such a meeting if it weren’t that you and Harry are both in my thoughts.’ He finished fastening the points of his hose to an overshirt and reached for his doublet. ‘And have you thought that since we’ve been missing Blanche has probably told Mother and Father that you’re a woman?’

  She stilled and her hazel eyes widened. ‘No, I hadn’t!’

  ‘And have you considered that they might trust me not to take advantage of you?’

  ‘I never gave it any thought,’ she murmured. ‘But even if they did, won’t they think it strange that you haven’t told them that I’m a woman?’ There was the slightest hint of mockery in her voice.

  He rubbed his nose and screwed up his face. ‘Let’s not talk about this now. If Harry’s in trouble, as I believe him to be, then their concern will all be for him. Agreed?’

  She hesitated. ‘Agreed.’

  ‘Right! You cook up something hot, while I go and saddle up the horse.’ He pulled on his houppelande and left her to it.

  An hour later they were on their way.

  They met up with Guy and Nat in the middle of the forest. ‘So it’s true,’ said John’s father, shifting his calm, estimating glance from Louise in the russet gown to his son. ‘Louis is a Louise.’

  John nodded briefly. ‘Where’s Harry? What’s happened to him?’

  Guy shook his head, almost in disbelief. ‘It never fails to amaze me these feelings you have. You’re both so different and yet — ’

  ‘Father! What’s wrong with Harry?’ demanded John.

  It was Nat who answered, unable to keep quiet any longer. ‘He’s vanished. Him and Peter!’

  ‘What?’

  Louise glanced at John. Some of the colour ebbed from his face and a muscle in his neck twitched. ‘When? Where?’ he said harshly.

  ‘Knaresborough. Yesterday,’
replied his father quietly. ‘The thaw came the day before last at Hugh’s place. Harry has been restless ever since you went thundering off in the snowstorm after Louise. He said that you were all right, but you know Harry. He doesn’t seem able to stay in one place too long. So when I said that I had some business that needed seeing to in Knaresborough, he jumped at the opportunity and offered to go. Blanche, Nat and Peter asked to go with him.’

  ‘But how did they disappear? Someone must have seen something! Nat?’ John’s gaze moved swiftly to the boy.

  ‘Didn’t see nothing,’ said Nat dolefully. ‘Peter and me had wandered away from cousin Blanche and Harry, and were some way along the riverbank when I was hit on the back of the head. When I woke up, cousin Blanche was slapping me face and I was all wet and cold with lying in the slush. There was no sign of Peter and she said that Harry had gone into some wool merchant’s house while she was buying some gloves, but on knocking at the door to ask after him she was told he’d already left. We looked everywhere we could think but couldn’t find them.’

  There was a silence but for the jingle of a harness as one of the horses moved its head.

  ‘Dykemore,’ said John in a hard voice. ‘It has to have something to do with him.’

  ‘But how?’ cried Louise, her brow creasing. ‘The weather’s been terrible. And how could he know that Peter and Harry were to be in Knaresborough that day? He just couldn’t!’

  ‘Chance,’ replied John. ‘Dorothy must have had more money than I realised. We could have been seen leaving Burford and Dykemore’s guessed we’d go to Yorkshire. It won’t be he who’s abducted them. He’s too indolent to make the journey. It’ll be a couple of his henchmen. They’ll have arrived up here after us and been stranded in Knaresborough because of the snow.’

  ‘But why Harry?’ Louise paused. ‘Of course, they thought he was you,’ she said slowly.

  There was a whiteness about John’s mouth. ‘He doesn’t know that Harry’s in England. Dorothy knew of his being missing, of course, and would have told her uncle.’