“For this year,” Alex said, smiling, as if he were sure Frewyn would need to be concerned about next year’s wages. Then he shook his head. “But Byford cannot help in gathering men here. He does not even speak the native tongue. His own is some outlandish language, very musical but totally incomprehensible. Is it likely that some of the men-at-arms come originally from the fisherfolk?”
Frewyn made the minimal movement that served him for a shrug. “You can ask, but most of the men came with me. Still, I think I have the answer to your problem. Take Desiree with you. She speaks the language and can explain the danger and the need to the common folk. She is known and respected as the holder here. Desiree will see that you get the men you need. Will you not, my love?”
Desiree started slightly. She had not heard a word of the men’s conversation. She had been looking past Frewyn and beyond the shields that protected him from the direct heat into the leaping flames in the hearth. Her hands still clutched her husband’s icy fingers, but warmth radiated from her hip, which had rested for a time against Alex’s arm.
She had been furious with him as soon as they touched. Why had he not moved out of her way instead of sitting there like a lump? Of course she had broken the contact between them as soon as she had steadied Frewyn, but the solid support of his arm when she was off balance, warm and strong, remained with her.
All she had heard was Frewyn’s last question, and she answered as she had answered every request he made since his illness struck, “Of course I will, dear Frewyn.”
“I am sure you will, dear heart. And for once I have found a duty that will be a pleasure too. It will take you out of the keep so that you will have exercise and a change of scene, which you sadly need.”
“Out of the keep,” she repeated. “But, Frewyn, I do not wish to go out of the keep and leave you.”
His cold hand twitched in an attempt to press hers. “You are too devoted, dearling, but this is not for your amusement—which you too readily give up—it is needful for our protection. Elias and Pollock will be with me while you are away. Now,” he sighed heavily, “go with Alex and he will explain. I am growing tired.”
Desiree’s lips parted to protest, but she saw that her husband’s eyes were already half closed. She said only, “Of course, Frewyn,” and kissed his clammy brow.
His hand had become limp in hers, so she set it in what she knew was a comfortable position and rose from her seat. Alex was already up and waiting by the door. He opened it for her, standing so well aside that she thought angrily he acted as if she were a leper. She walked past him, back rigid, turning, when she reached the hearth in the great hall, to face him.
“Well, what is this duty that you have convinced Frewyn is more important than my attendance on him?”
“But I-I did-didn’t,” Alex said, stammering with shock. “I would never…” He swallowed hard. “Surely you heard Sir Frewyn say you would be able to explain to the fisherfolk about the threat of invasion and our need for more fighting men. He said you spoke the native language and they respected you and would be more inclined to listen to you. And it is true that a stranger like me, who would need someone to translate for me, would make them uneasy.”
Tears rose to her eyes. “Oh, my dear, dear Frewyn. He always values me far above my worth.”
Alex was appalled. He had become so used to Lady Alinor’s masterful ways that he had almost forgotten how helpless most women were. Now he thought of his mother faced with the task of convincing or ordering the common folk to arm for war, and over the familiar pang of loss almost laughed at how ridiculous that seemed.
At the same time Alex suffered a flash of resentment; he was not asking Desiree to take up a sword herself, only to explain why others should. Her husband said she was able, and her helplessness would make his duty much more difficult. But in the next instant it occurred to him that her reluctance might have nothing to do with the duty itself and everything to do with spending so much time with him.
Did she feel the same eagerness he did at the thought of eating dinner together? Did she look forward to their conversation as much as he did? Not that they ever said anything personal. Their talk was all of the estate, of the progress of the restoration of the two farms, of what would be the least likely to be damaged if it were planted in the fields that might be overrun if there were an invasion.
They always parted without delay, without looking back. They always included Father Harold and Elias—if he was not attending on his master—in their talk. Nonetheless, Alex was sharply aware of the pleasure of being together and his great reluctance to leave her company. Did she feel it too and wisely wish to avoid more time in his company? If so was not she wise?
“I do beg your pardon, my lady,” Alex said. “I should have protested against this duty, which might be unwelcome to you. I—I did not think to object when Sir Frewyn spoke of it because Lady Alinor of Roselynde, Sir Simon’s wife…she is a very forceful lady, indeed, and she does often choose likely men for service in the keep or in arms.”
Desiree, who had been suffering her own qualms since Alex seemed so uneasy over describing what Frewyn had suggested, brightened and asked, “Does she?”
She found herself interested in this Lady Alinor. Although Desiree, starved as she was for affection and approval, had been eager to learn everything Frewyn taught her and very proud of herself and of the delight her abilities gave her husband, once in a while she wondered how others would regard what she did. She knew that Father Harold had been horrified when Frewyn insisted she learn to read and write. She would not give up the skill, but she did not want to be regarded as a monstrosity, either.
“Yes, my lady.” Thinking of Lady Alinor, Alex couldn’t help smiling. “Lady Alinor is a wonder. Except bear arms, I cannot think of anything she cannot do.” Suddenly he began to laugh. “And I swear to you, she does not need to bear arms. She has a tongue like a razor-edged broadsword.”
“And in despite of that,” Desiree said hopefully, “you seem to like her.” Then another idea occurred to Desiree and she went on sharply, “I suppose she did not wield that broadsword against you.”
Laughing even louder, Alex said, “I was her victim as often, mayhap more often, than any other. Being the newest knight in service, in the beginning I was always trying to help her in what I thought too much for a woman.” He shook his head still chuckling between words. “She near burned off my ears for my presumption. Such language!”
“Oh,” Desiree said, and then rather eagerly, “So when do you want me to speak about the invasion and to whom?”
Thinking over what he had said, Alex blushed. “Oh, do forgive me. Lady Alinor is…Lady Alinor. I did not mean to hold her up as an example. I was only trying to explain why I did not tell Sir Frewyn…er…but now that I see you are not willing…ah…perhaps I could—”
Desiree suddenly felt very carefree. It was quite clear that Alex greatly admired the strong-minded and competent Lady Alinor and that the lady did not hold Alex in romantic regard. It was thus a relief to know of another woman who was admired for what some would consider unnatural abilities and that, in his need to build a new life for her, Frewyn had not turned her into an unpleasant oddity. She glanced up at Alex through her lashes.
“Oh, no. I am not at all unwilling. And I think I rather like the example of Lady Alinor, except,” she flashed him a mischievous smile, “that I am afraid I will fail sadly her standard in strong language.” Then the smile faded into a troubled frown. “But I am concerned about going away and leaving Frewyn alone.”
She looked at Alex and then away, and her expression flickered between guilt and desire. Not desire for him, Alex assured himself. The desire to be away from the pall of sickness and misery. Only to think for a while of something other than the dying man.
Her obvious need pulled Alex one way; self-preservation pulled him another. Alex could not help responding to Desiree’s need for relief. He had had his own experience of that, caring for his dyi
ng mother. And he could give Desiree a brief escape. He only had to remind her that it was her husband’s will that she go.
On the other hand, Alex knew it was dangerous for him to offer her that indulgence; he should urge her not to leave Frewyn. It was not because he thought Desiree could do Frewyn any good, but because he suddenly recognized his own violent desire for her company. He was not so abandoned to right and good sense to dream of touching her, but he wanted her with him, to ride with him and talk with him; to share the task of convincing men to serve Exceat, to come with him to see and talk about the work on the farms to be restored.
The desire to be with her was insane. Whether Sir Frewyn lived or died, Lady Desiree was far beyond his reach. He was a pauper with nothing but his sword to make his way…and the favor of his dear uncle, who was sheriff of the shire. Disgusting! Alex thought. Such a thought was disgusting. As if Simon would apply pressure on Lady Desiree to make her accept an unsuitable husband! He must tell her to stay with Frewyn.
“But Sir Frewyn will not be alone, my lady,” Alex said. “You know that Elias and Pollock will watch over him faithfully. And there is really nothing more you could do for Sir Frewyn than Elias could do. When will it be convenient for you to come with me, my lady?”
As he heard the words come out of his mouth, Alex was horrified. He remembered quite clearly that his last thought had been to tell Desiree…no! Lady Desiree…to remain with her husband. But the horror dissipated with the brightness of her smile.
“It is too late today,” she said. “The fisherfolk go early to bed. But they come in from fishing in the afternoon. That will be the best time. Tomorrow afternoon?”
“At your pleasure, my lady,” Alex said.
For one instant, standing an arm’s length apart, they stared at each other. Alex backed up a step, bowed, started to turn away. Desiree drew a sharp breath.
“A moment, Sir Alex,” she said. “I am afraid that Frewyn has never had the strength to explain clearly to me why it is that we face an invasion. I received the summons from Sir Simon, but that only warned of the threat, it did not explain it. After the evening meal, can you explain to me why and what we need to fear? I am afraid someone might ask and I wish to be able to answer.”
“Yes, of course. That is…at least…I can tell you what my uncle—what Sir Simon told me.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, lightly touched the back of his hand and walked away toward her husband’s chamber.
Alex backed up several more steps, allowing the hand she had touched to hang loosely by his side. He wanted to raise the hand and kiss the place Desiree had touched but he did not dare. The hall always had people in it, servants bringing wood and tending the fires, setting up a trestle table on which the broken meats, leftover pasties, wedges of cheese and the ale and wine for the evening meal would be set. Someone might see and wonder why Alex should kiss his own hand.
One part of him knew the fear was ridiculous. Likely no one had seen her touch him. It was his own guilt, guilt because body and soul had leapt at the caress. No, it was not a caress, only an acknowledgment of his agreement to explain to her why England was threatened. After the evening meal. But usually after the meal Father Harold would go to sit with Frewyn while Desiree went up to the solar to check on the work of the women and then to bed. If she remained in the hall, he and Desiree…no! Lady Desiree…would be together without Father Harold or Elias. Did that mean—
“Pardon, m’lord.”
Alex started and moved away from the servant carrying an armload of logs, which he tumbled down beside the iron rack near the hearth. He pulled logs from the bottom and set them on the fire, then loaded the new logs into the rack.
Alex walked quickly away toward his own chamber not permitting himself to finish the thought. Not after the meal, he told himself angrily. He would explain the dangers of being without a king while they ate. Father Harold must have the information too, to explain to the village priest.
Meanwhile he had better give his attention to the lesson in reading Father Harold had set for him. On the second day of his tenure as castellan, after he had reported his work for the day to Sir Frewyn, the old man had asked if he could read and write. And when Alex, rather surprised, had said he could not, Sir Frewyn had ordered that he learn.
Alex had thought it rather silly, after all, Father Harold lived in the keep and could read any messages that came and write answers. However, Sir Frewyn seemed weaker than usual that day, and Alex was not going to argue with him. Thus he had accepted this order as he accepted any order his lord gave. Later in the week, when he was having a very good day, Frewyn had pointed out that Father Harold was as old as he and would not be at Exceat forever, and the new clerk might not be as wise or learned.
By now, when it was growing easier and easier to recognize the letters and even to say aloud combinations of those symbols and hear words he knew, Alex was taking real pleasure in learning. Writing was more of a challenge. His mind saw the symbol, but his clumsy fingers, hard and stiff from handling sword and bow, could not master the small movements necessary to create letters. He kept breaking quills and spattering ink over everything.
Today he had a simple saint’s tale to read and he was able to make out every word of it. Finished, he rolled up the parchment to return to Father Harold and came out into the hall.
Servants were coming from the entrance carrying flagons and cups. A basket of bread, a bowl of dripping and a platter of slices of meat were on the table. Father Harold was coming from the chapel, and Alex hurried across the hall to report his progress and return the parchment. The priest promptly promised to find something more challenging for Alex, and laughed at Alex’s groan.
Actually, Alex was rather surprised at Father Harold’s willingness to teach him. Most priests felt the mystery of literacy should be reserved for those pledged to God. Alex guessed that after the shock of being forced to teach a woman, giving a man lessons was a lesser trial. Keeping his mind on Father Harold was Alex’s last defense against thinking that he would too soon be in Desiree’s company.
While Alex and the priest were talking, Desiree had come to the table and chosen her evening meal. Her expression was blank as she tried to think of a reason to avoid the discussion she herself had demanded from Sir Alexandre. But the formality with which she had named him did not help. She craved and hated asking Alex to explain and she could not amend it because Frewyn knew and had approved.
After Alex had so readily agreed to explain the state of the realm to her—as if, woman though she was she had a right to know and understand—she had gone into Frewyn’s chamber lighthearted and smiling, looking forward to a long conversation with Alex about their trip to Cuckhaven on the morrow and to the trip itself.
And then she had seen Frewyn, eyes closed, head lolling, sagging in his chair. The shock after experiencing Alex’s vital aliveness—for Alex was vitally alive even when he was stammering in embarrassment—froze the expression of pleasure on her face. Fortunately, Frewyn did not see.
By the time she had sat herself on the stool by his side and taken his hand and his eyes had opened, she was sure she looked no different than usual. But she felt different; she felt like a monster, an ungrateful, selfish, pleasure-seeking monster. She had put aside what Frewyn had done for her, yearning for the company of a man she hardly knew just because he was young and healthy and Frewyn was old and sick.
“Dear Frewyn,” she murmured when her husband’s hand twitched in an attempt to squeeze hers, “must I really go to Cuckhaven with Sir Alex? Surely he could take Godric to translate for him or one of the other men.”
Frewyn stared at her for a long moment, closed his eyes for another long moment, and then said, “Has Alex offended you in some way?”
Desiree’s heart leapt into her throat. She understood immediately the fear she had wakened in Frewyn—the fear that Alex, who now held all power in Exceat, no matter how politely he deferred to her dying husband—intended to take her to hi
s bed.
“No!” she exclaimed. “Alex—” she now realized how stupid she had been to call him Sir Alex, she had been calling him Alex since that first night when he had restored Frewyn’s spirit. “Alex is just Alex, but he does not like to be in my company except when we are with you.”
There was another long silence, and then Frewyn said, “Is that so? Why?”
It was hard for Desiree to read the expression on her husband’s face because the muscles were slack and no longer worked as they had before his fit. However, she did not think he was anguished…as he so often was. There was, in fact, an odd gleam in his eyes.
She was so puzzled by it, that she answered almost at random. “Because Sir Simon warned him he must be careful of my reputation.”
To Desiree’s surprise, Frewyn’s lips tightened as if he were angry and he muttered something that sounded like, “Old fool.” But surely Frewyn was not calling Sir Simon an old fool, he had the greatest respect for Sir Simon. Was he calling himself an old fool for having suspected Alex of evil intentions?
“Besides,” Desiree said desperately, “I do not like to go so far away from you. And it must seem strange, even to the common fisherfolk, that a woman should tell them their duty and discourse on the state of the realm.”
“Which is just why you must do it,” Frewyn said slowly, his voice scarcely above a whisper. “You…must hold…so that when I am dead—”
“No! You are not going to die.” Desiree fought back tears and bit her lips. Then she felt his hand move in hers and she looked up. Frewyn’s eyes were open again and his expression was intent and determined. He drew a deeper breath.
“Keep Alex in the background,” he urged with desperate energy. “You give the orders to the headman of the fisherfolk and in their presence see that you give Alex some order they know is an order and that he obeys you.” His head was trembling with the effort he was making.
Desiree tightened her grip on his hand. “I will,” she promised. “I will. But there is no need, Frewyn. Alex keeps his place very well. He speaks always as if his orders come from you. Oh, do not make a sad story out of my desire to stay with you. I love you, dear Frewyn, and I am most comfortable in your company.”
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