by Delle Jacobs
She flinched at his sharp breath. She was no fool. She knew what that meant. That she was asking for trouble.
With a sigh, she reached for the dipper, to ladle clean water over his scalp. He leaned back his head for the water to pour through his hair, and the black hair glistened in the amber firelight.
He stood abruptly, with water running downward in rivulets, capturing all the black curls on his chest into undulating waves. Melisande whirled away, her mind already brimming with what her eyes had seen. She forced her gaze to the fire. His chest again rumbled with his humor as her face flared into raging red.
"The soap, Edyt."
"Aye." Edyt swung her arm around behind her and felt the weight of the soap pot leave her hand.
Like a cat which had misjudged its leap and pretended it hadn't, she focused a fervent interest on the flames, stirred the coals, threw on another fagot, all the while listening warily to the splashing and swishing behind her. At least he chose to wash the rest of his body himself.
Yet, she might have liked that too. Aye, to run soapy hands over those strong muscles–
A noisy surge and splash distracted her once again from her attention to the fire's embers. She turned, and instantly regretted it, for his fiery gaze transfixed her.
There he stood before her, utterly naked. Holy Mother! Was this the man she was expected to marry, all lean and muscled, black hair and skin glowing pink from the steamy water? Hard muscles to sweep her into his arms, carry her away whether she willed to go or not. Strong hands to pull her close, caress places she didn't want touched. And the other–
Melisande swallowed hard and broke the charm, lowered her gaze. But not far enough. Instantly she recognized her mistake and returned to the somewhat safer view of his face.
In his black eyes, she saw blatant, pure lust, as naked as the man himself. A man caught suddenly and unexpectedly in the rush of desire. She wanted to flee. Dared not.
With sudden, overwhelming clarity, Melisande understood she had been terribly wrong. All Normans were not alike, after all.
CHAPTER 5
Nay.
Alain forced himself to turn away. However he might want her, and he realized with a jolt like lightning that he did, he must be more responsible than that. He had pledged himself to fair treatment for all those of the hall, and what his mind and body were considering for her was anything but fair. It could ruin her. Destroy her. And he had grown to like the girl, melancholy though she was.
He had not thought of her in that way before this moment. It had come to him like a blow, when he had seen something akin to it in her own eyes. That made the attraction doubly dangerous. Not to him, but to her.
It would not do. Then in place of taking her into his arms, he reached for the soft linen cloth she had placed on the wooden bench, relieved that he did not have to take it directly from her. He made great work of the toweling off, even more of dressing, meaning to make the point clear to her that she could be safe with him. He had to make it equally as clear to himself.
Clothed at last, and relieved that his body had chosen to take the hint, he turned again to face her. In her hands she held the folded purple mantle as she walked toward the bath house's low door.
"Edyt. Where do you go with that?"
"I thought to take it to the fuller, lord. It needs to be cleaned."
"Does it? It does not seem dirty to me."
"It is the smell. It has the smell of death about it."
"I have not noticed anything. Leave it, Edyt. Such fine garments should not be cleaned, save when they must."
With a thoughtful frown, the girl lifted the fabric to her nose and sniffed. Her nostrils flared. "It is still there. The fuller will get it out."
"Edyt, I say it does not need it. Mayhap the smell is mine, rather than the garment's."
"It is not. But two people have died in it, lord."
"It is not cursed, I am sure."
"I only object to the smell, lord."
"Nay, I tell you. And why do you fold it, if you intend only to have it cleaned?"
"I– fold things."
"Well, do not bother with it, Edyt. It is not your concern. Leave it."
The girl stared with her enigmatic blue eyes as she lay the cloak down on the wooden bench before turning away. As she stepped outside the door, brilliant sunshine bounced off her pale yellow hair and made it glow like first sunlight on dewy spider webs. He caught his breath.
Odd girl. And forgetful of her manners, too.
But he'd speak to Thomas about correcting her, rather than do so himself.
* * *
Nay.
Nay, nay, nay! If he told his body often enough, mayhap it would cease its provocations. He had never been a man to be controlled by his passions, and he was not willing to allow it now. Alain had caught himself staring over the top of his silver-trimmed horn cup full of dark wine, watching the girl as she moved about the hall and supervised the supper meal.
He was not the only one. The hall was full of knights and soldiers who followed with covert eyes the servant girl with the yellow braid. Gerard, he thought, showed more than common interest. Mayhap there was an attachment between them.
The thought raised his hackles, yet it was a thought worth pursuing. He'd be less inclined to follow his passions if he knew her to belong to another man. Then that was what he must do. He did not want entanglements that would obstruct his marriage, and it certainly would not be advisable to maintain mistress and wife in the same hall.
He had never intended to have a mistress, once married. Not before now. Nor did he want to ruin the girl, who, despite her servitude seemed to be gently born. He knew little about her, save that she was freeborn, and served where her mother had served before. Mayhap a family down on their fortunes.
"There is little enough to worry us, Alain," said Robert, drawing Alain's attention back to the knights who ate at the trestle table with him. "We do not need all of them, do we?"
"We do not?" He had lost the train of the talk.
"One disgruntled archer, Alain. It is no cause to hold so many here for defense. The castle does not need such a large force until Rufus comes. We should see what needs to be controlled down river."
"Aye. But we will do as we are bidden, and defend and hold this castle. When Rufus needs more men, he will call for them. They will stay, for now."
"You make too much of a scratch, Alain," said Chrétien. "Rufus knows naught of this valley, save what we report to him."
"Your scratch has naught to do with it, Chrétien. What think you, Thomas? Is the threat against this castle more than one disgruntled archer?"
"Aye. Much more."
"Then, from where comes the threat?"
"Strathclyde, largely."
"And not among the knights of this demesne?"
"There are those, as well. Those who have no wish to be in the service of a Norman king, nor to cede their land. You must realize, lord, much of this land has been passed down from father to son for hundreds of years. It is a hard thing to give up willingly. So they would ally with Strathclyde."
"Strathclyde is Malcolm's, now."
"Aye. They would change that, too."
Alain caught his attention wandering, and again forced his gaze away from Edyt and her butter-yellow braid. If he must think about how her hair would flow about her body, he'd do it later.
"And how does this fit with Fyren's plans?"
"They merely take his place. Anwealda, especially." Thomas swirled the dregs of his wine in the maple maser he held. "I am not as knowledgeable as you believe, lord, for I was not always privy to their secrets. What I know, I know by the directive of Lady Melisande, who bade me listen at walls."
"Fyren did not trust you," surmised Chrétien. "Then, why should we?"
"You should not, on so little knowledge. You would not expect those of this hall to trust you, yet. Neither do we expect such a thing of you."
Chrétien gave a small and solemn nod. "I s
uspect his distrust recommends you, if he was the thief of souls that we have heard."
"And you, Gerard?" asked Alain.
The man's brown eyes seemed almost to be burning. Was it jealousy he felt?
"I support you as my Lady Melisande bids me."
"And you have no opinion?"
"Nay."
"Ah. And where might she be, that she commands you so well?"
"I have told you, she is gone. I have naught else to say."
Alain considered Gerard more closely. "You are a man of divided loyalties, then. For how could a knight pledge to the same lord who seeks his lady to wed against her will?"
"I have given my word, as she asked of me."
"But will you not defend the lady against me?"
"Mayhap."
"And if you know her whereabouts, you will not tell me."
"I will not."
"Nor will I," said another knight, Wallis by name. "I hope she is gone forever."
"Do you? How so?"
"I hope she may never be forced to share the bed of a Norman."
Two Normans leapt up to the challenge, reaching for their swords before they realized they had none on them. Wallis shoved back the long bench where he sat with the Saxons, almost as if no others sat upon it. But he too had no sword.
Alain jumped, grabbed both of Hugh's arms before he could leap across the table; Chrétien bound Robert. Thomas and Gerard held Wallis fast.
"Enough! There will be no brawls in my hall!"
"You heard him. You think you can trust such a man at your back?" Hugh struggled against Alain's strong grip, then realized it was his lord who held him, and calmed.
"Better to know a man's heart, Hugh. Now, sit, or leave the hall."
All three combatants sat, sullen frowns across their faces. Alain, sensing the volatile moment had passed, glanced about the hall. Edyt stood with the serving women and pages, her frightened doe-like eyes fixed upon him. He had the perplexing notion that he did not want to displease her.
"The lady's fate is not in your hands, Gerard, nor yours, Wallis. Mayhap those who choose to protect the lady will come to recognize she is meant no harm."
"Nevertheless, you question our loyalty, lord," reminded Gerard.
Alain leaned back in the lord's chair and slowly nodded. "But I spoke wrongly. We confuse fealty with loyalty, and they are not the same. All of you, by virtue of your fiefs, owe to me your knight's service. And if I do not get it, you will not keep your land. It is a time-honored exchange. But that is not loyalty. Your loyalty I must earn, just as it has been earned by your Lady Melisande. I mean to do that. But the task is mine, not yours. In the same way, you may earn my loyalty to you."
The Saxon knights glanced sideways at each other and of a mass swirled their wine in their cups. Alain suspected he was not entirely believed. But he would take his own counsel, and let time prove him right.
Satisfied that peace was restored, Alain also sat and returned to his horn of wine. Normans were only rarely liked in this country, for the brutal memory of the Conqueror's savagery in the North still hung heavily. He had heard over the years that many from Northumberland and Durham had fled into Strathclyde, and some might well be among the population here.
He meant to do well by these people, but some would suffer. That was the nature of conquest. If it placed the lady in jeopardy, would Gerard and his men rise up against their new lord to protect the lady? Likely, they would. In an odd sort of way, he admired that.
Alain sought a less volatile subject. To the Saxons he asked for descriptions of their holdings. He was a generous man, but, they would learn, not so much that he would reward men if they turned against him. It was something he could not resolve at the moment, but would have to, soon. And without the lady, there was little chance of that.
But where could she have gone?
Alain finished the wine in his horn, and realized that he was beginning to feel the flush. His hand had an odd shake to it as he set the silver-trimmed horn down on the white linen cloth. Too much wine, no doubt.
* * *
"Lady, I did not mean– "
"Hush," said Melisande. "For all that you would help me, you will surely be my death. This is my battle, Gerard."
"But if he should find– "
"If he should, then I tell you, you must leave what happens to me. You cannot divide the knights. And you cannot fight against him without destroying everything I treasure."
"Aye. But do you not think another way might be found? As the lord is not yet wed, mayhap it would be enough if he merely knew why."
"You know enough of Normans, Gerard. Do you think he would be so easily satisfied? This hall will never be truly his without that wedding, and all know it. I will not have it."
A shadow fell between them. Melisande's breath sucked in sharply. Gerard straightened his back, drew his lower lip into a tight line across his teeth. Even within the darkness near the entrance, Melisande could recognize the Norman lord by his shape and the way he walked as he approached. His keen eyes surveyed them both separately and together, and an odd smile quirked at one corner of his mouth.
He wore the purple cloak. He wore it every day, doting on it as much as had her poor mother, and as innocently. And why would he not? The magnificent garment on the magnificent man. Surely he looked more regal than a king.
"Good morrow, Edyt, Gerard. Is aught amiss?"
Her mind raced backward to recapture the last words spoken, that he might have overheard. And she hastily replied.
"Nay, lord, only that I wish Gerard to speak to his knights about bones thrown to the dogs at supper. I will not have it in my– your hall, lord. I beg your pardon, that I should be so bold as to claim it for my own, but– "
Again the corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes slitted into narrow amusement. "It is naught. As long as you think of it as yours, you will give it good care. Then I agree, Gerard, and my men are equally as guilty. I also do not want bones on the floor of my hall. See to it that the word is known among all those who sup with us."
Melisande watched Gerard's reaction, prayed he would catch the spirit and carry it on.
"Aye, lord, it shall be done." Gerard gave a slight, court bow to the lord. An unusual abruptness marked his step as he turned to leave through the same pair of doors where the Norman lord had entered.
"Gerard," he called. Melisande had seen him do this before. He had caught her off her guard, too, with this trick.
Gerard did not know. But he gave naught away in his face. "Aye, lord?"
"I would have you tell me all the places the Lady Melisande might have gone."
"I know not, lord."
"Mayhap you do not. But I will have from you all those who are related, or who might be friends. We will not get far, to search only within these walls."
"Aye, lord." Again, although with a nearly hidden spark of defiance, Gerard turned and left.
Alain then turned to her. "And you as well, Edyt. Bring me some wine and come to the lord's chamber. I will write the names of all those you know."
"I do not think I can help you very much." But Melisande already knew him for the most determined of men. Resistance only made her more obvious.
She felt his eyes boring into her as she hurried to the buttery. But she could not tell what was in the soul behind them. Did he see something in the way she walked? Had someone accidentally told the Norman enough that he saw a connection between the servant Edyt and the missing lady?
She requested a jug of the deep red wine the Normans had brought with them. A surge of apprehension coursed through her as she returned, so that she had to force her feet to an even pace.
He waited in the hall. She had not expected that. But she was quickly learning to be wary of his unpredictable behavior. Within it lay many traps, all of them with hard, sharp teeth. He said he meant her no ill, but once he learned her secrets, he would change his mind.
Melisande again matched the rhythm of her steps to cal
ming breaths. She smoothed her face to her mask of nothingness. As she followed him, each footfall on the stone floor echoed quietly, like the faint swishing of leaves on a gusty day. She counted them as she did when descending into the cavern below. In its turn, the enforced pace brought her more composure. Mayhap she would survive one more encounter.
