Fire Dance

by Delle Jacobs

  "Good morning."

  "What are you doing here?" Melisande squeaked, as the thought dawned on her the more appropriate question might be, what was she doing here, for this was not her bed chamber.

  "It is my bed," he said, and fell back again onto his pillows to watch her. He stretched his long arms outward, then folded them behind his head. The quilt fell away from him, baring a broad chest with a sprinkling of black hair on it. Very likely, he had nothing on beneath the quilt.

  As it was she who broke with custom and slept in a chemise, she checked her own body, relieved to see that at least she still remained clothed. Unlike yesterday.

  That stiff soreness in her body told her she had once again walked. And he knew it. Very possibly, that wasn't all he knew. She dared not ask, but dashed off to her own bed chamber. The door slammed abruptly behind her before she could force her lungs to take another breath.

  But wait. If anything had happened, he wouldn't have been smiling. Why hadn't anything happened, then? He was a healthy man. For two nights in a row, he had not taken what was rightfully his?

  Mayhap he wasn't normal. She had heard about men like that. The stories about the king's court were full of men who did not find their pleasure with women, but with other men.

  Or mayhap he merely thought her too ugly to be interesting. That seemed more plausible.

  Then, what had happened? Could she possibly have walked into his chamber in the middle of the night and gotten into his bed? When she walked, anything was possible.

  Her fingers trembled as she lifted the chemise over her head and sought a cleaner one. This one was stiff with sweat. She ran her fingers through her scalp. It also felt sticky and stiff. It had been one of those terrible nights, then. Yet she had waked feeling warm and content. Could she be wrong?

  Wondering how soon she could contrive to take a bath, she jerked her kirtle off the peg and pulled it over her head, wiggling it into place, then unfurled what was left of her braid to make it into some semblance of neatness.

  The door creaked. She sucked in a quick breath and held it, as the Norman lord entered. She sighed her relief. At least he had taken the time to don clothing.

  "I did not invite you in."

  His smile was impish. "You do not need to. Do you fare better this morning, lady?"

  "Better. Better than what?" Not that she did not know.

  "You were distressed last night."

  "I am often distressed. It is no concern of yours."

  "It is my concern. I am your husband."

  "And I do not wish that, either."

  "You may not wish it, but you cannot change it, any more than can I. And when you cry out to me in your distress, it is my duty to give you comfort."

  "I do not wish it."

  "Then you have only not to call me, and I will not come."

  Call him? Surely she had not. She could not truly say she had not. Who knew but him what she had done? But she would not ask him what had happened. She turned away and attacked the tangles in her hair with her comb.

  "I will help you with that."

  He reached for the comb, but she jerked it away. "I do not need help. I manage my own hair."

  "Your hair is beautiful," he replied, and paused a moment to stroke it. "When you have dressed, we will go down to chapel."

  She stifled the protest that rose in her throat. She could not tell him God did not want her in His chapel. Yet it would not be the first time she had defied God and His order, and lightning had not struck her. Mayhap God had taken note of her plan, might see she meant for some good to come of it, despite that she herself was damned. She nodded, shifting her gaze back and forth from floor back to his dark eyes.

  The gentle smile he gave her as he departed confused her. He did not seem to be a gentle man, but a fierce, aggressive warrior who would take what he wanted at any cost to others.

  Gentle or no, she had no time. Already, she saw signs that the poison was gaining on him. She had little enough time left to find a way to deprive him of that cloak he thought so wonderful, and she had no more ideas how to do it. Thievery had failed, as had persuasion and chicanery. It must have a spell on it. Why else would he cling to it so tenaciously, just as her mother had?

  Worse, she had no idea what she would do with the thing once she got it, for it must be destroyed for all time. Anything buried could be dug up. Fyren had told her the arsenic in the dye would preserve the fabric forever, and it might be so. She had never known whether or not to believe Fyren.

  She could not throw it in the river, for it would poison the water people drank, mayhap the fish they ate. She had never seen the sea, but suspected even it would not be deep enough to be safe. And if she burned it, the poison would be carried into the air by the smoke, where people would breathe it.

  She had once thought of the cavern beneath the castle, where there were several deep pits. No one would be likely to go in them, ever. But water flowed through the cavern's bottom into the becks that fed into the river and would poison her own people. Nay, it must be something that would be safe forever.

  Who was she, to judge forever?

  When the last tangle in her hair yielded to the silver comb, Melisande straightened herself and breathed deeply. From now on, she would watch him as thoroughly as he watched her, would learn everything about him, find something that would give her the opportunity she needed. She would be close to him as often as she might without arousing his suspicion.

  And then, she would betray him, in order to save his life.

  * * *

  "What news of Rufus?" Alain asked of the group of men huddled about the crude map on the oak table in his chamber.

  "He comes by way of Wensleydale, as you thought," said Chrétien. "A messenger has just come and says all goes well."

  "You have sent to Rufus our situation?"

  "Aye. And of the new motte at Anwealda's old holding."

  "And what of the motte, Robert?"

  "Hugh does well. Some villeins and a few archers were killed in the forest while they cut timbers. Anwealda also lost men. You did well to send archers, for his knights were at disadvantage in the wood."

  "And when the palisades are raised, knights will be at disadvantage again. Gerard, you are pensive. What think you?"

  Gerard's soulful brown eyes hardened suddenly, so that Alain wondered about the man's thoughts.

  "I wonder where Anwealda is. He hides somewhere, surely near his holding, for twice he has attacked near there."

  "Where, do you think?"

  "I know not, lord, yet we must find him. Rufus' path must fall through the Mallerstang and the Vale of Eden. And that gives Anwealda too much advantage."

  "Thomas, what think you?"

  "Caverns, mayhap? How else could he hide so many men?"

  "Mayhap," Gerard agreed. "Yet we have not the men to patrol the hills. He could be camped but another dale beyond, and we would not know it."

  A puzzled frown crept onto Alain's face. "Yet did you not say men would not go into the caverns?"

  "Some, it is true," said Thomas. "But some caverns do not have hobs. And some men do not fear them, I think."

  "Has no one taken a captive?"

  "None who will talk, or know of anything."

  "What of Dougal and Cyneric? Do they ride with Anwealda?"

  "We cannot tell," Gerard said. "We have found but one of Cyneric's men. None of Dougal's."

  Alain focused on the map again, frowning, tracing in his mind the triangle formed by Cyneric's southern holding, and the two northern ones of Dougal and Anwealda. This strange fortress Alain now held was right in the middle. "They may all have gone north, then, all the way to Carlisle, to defend it. Alert Rufus to this."

  Gerard moved around the table to study the map more closely. "Wallis reports that not all of Cyneric's knights in the south will fight with him. Some throw their support to Rufus. Also he thinks Cyneric is not so far away, and may not be with Anwealda."

  "If Wallis is
right, Cyneric could attack Rufus' rear, once the king has reached the Mallerstang Common," said Chrétien, drawing his finger over the long valley of the Mallerstang in the center of the map.

  "Or he could besiege us, once Rufus is past, making the king's retreat impossible."

  "Aye. If Anwealda joins him against us, then even if Carlisle does fall, Rufus could be trapped. Is Strathclyde strong enough to resist Rufus at Carlisle?"

  "Mayhap," said Thomas. "If Malcolm sends them help. But we have heard naught of Malcolm."

  Alain rubbed his fingers across his chin. A flash of memory invaded him as he caught the faint scent of rosemary still clinging to his hands. He set aside the image for later.

  "Our plan will not change yet. We must know more before we shift our men again. But keep watch. Our enemy is sly."

  With that, he dismissed the knights to their duties. Alain watched them depart, wondering again the purity of their loyalty to their lady. Did they know of her dreams? Thomas might. He signaled Thomas to remain behind, and said naught until the door closed behind the last of the others.

  "Thomas, do you hear her when she cries out at night?"

  "Hear her, lord?"

  "Aye, the lady. You must have heard something."

  "Aye." Thomas looked like a guilty child confessing he had stolen an apple.

  "Tell me what you know of this."

  "Aye, lord. Sometimes she cries out. But none know why."

  "And none of you goes to her aid?"

  "She does not wish it, lord. We saw last night, by the light beneath the doors, that you went to her. But she has never allowed any of us to see her then."

  Aye, he could understand that. Mayhap she found it too humiliating to be seen so by her servants and friends. "And does this happen often?"

  "More when she was younger. Not so much for a while, but again more lately, since her mother died. I have been locking her door for a long time."

  "You lock her in?"

  "Aye."

  "Does she know this?"

  "Aye."

  "But she is afraid to be locked in." That would explain why she clawed at the wall.

  "Aye, but I am afraid she will go onto the balcony and fall. Be kind to her, lord. She cannot control these things."

  As you find her. No questions asked.

  Rufus's words seemed to echo in his head like a taunt. Aye, he would keep her, as he found her. But he would ask many questions. Not even Rufus could deny him that.

  That explained why they had hidden her from him. They could not have known of the promise Rufus had extracted from him. They surely must have believed, as had she, that the Norman lord would not tolerate a woman out of her competence.

  Nor her lack of virginity, although they might be ignorant of that matter. He did not intend to mention it.

  "You think her demented then, don't you?"

  "It is not her fault, lord. And it is only at night."

  "Aye, that I know. But she is not demented. This is not demons, Thomas. That, I know, too. It is only her fears, and hideous memories. She must have many of them. She must learn to become at ease with her memories, and that will be very hard."

  "I do not think it can be done, lord."

  He was not at all sure, himself. "We will find a way."

  So they all loved and protected their demented lady. And begged him to do the same. He had plans, to do more than merely endure her night terrors. And promises to keep.

  "Lord!" came a shout, and Alain looked down over the balcony rail to see Robert run breathlessly into the hall toward the staircase.

  "Robert? Speak."

  "Word comes from Wallis in the south. Cyneric's men have been seen riding toward our southern holdings."

  "Come, Robert, and show me on my map."

  "Not I, lord, but the rider comes."

  The messenger, one Alain recognized, rushed up behind him, a small man who rode a lithe, long-legged animal. Wallis was wise to supply himself with efficient messengers. The messenger wiped away the sweat from his brow, and stepped up to his lord as Alain reached the bottom step. While the other knights rushed in, Thomas spread out the map on the lord's table on the dais.

  The rider stared at it blankly for a moment, until Thomas pointed out the positions which he had memorized.

  "Think of it as how God would look down on us and see where we are," said Thomas, mimicking Alain's previous words.

  As the concept took hold in the messenger's mind, his face brightened and he traced his route to the north with his finger. He nodded. "Wallis holds his own fief, here, and manages that of Cyneric, here. Cyneric comes out of the hills, here, but we could not discern his direction."

  Alain studied the map and frowned. "Gerard, on the land, rather than on the map, which fief is more easily reached?"

  "Wallis," said Gerard in a curiously guarded tone.

  "Saddle your men, and mine. He will strike there." His finger landed forcefully, not on Wallis' mark, but on the drawn pennon that indicated Gerard's fief.

  "How so?" asked Gerard, his voice low and guarded.

  "Wallis would appear to be the weaker point, as he is spread too thin. But you are the weaker of the two because you have come to us, with most of your men. He will feint toward Wallis, but move against you."

  Gerard's face paled. "If you are wrong?"

  "Best worry if I am right. Wallis is alerted, and can protect himself, but he cannot come to your aid. This is a ruse, but a dangerous one. They hope to draw us away so we cannot assist Hugh, and more, they hope we go to Wallis's aid, leaving Gerard unprotected. But we will do both. Robert, you will ride to the north to aid Hugh. Chrétien, you will stay with Thomas to protect our center."

  "Where is your wife?" Chrétien asked Gerard.

  "At home."

  Chrétien's eyes widened. "Then ride, Alain. Do not let history repeat itself."

  "My word, Chrétien, I will not. But we have no time to waste. See to my wife while I am gone."

  Every available man rushed to assist and put the knights on their way. Alain and Gerard rode south, Robert to the north.

  Alain brought archers mounted on spare horses, that they might reach the destination quickly.

  This mounting of archers was a new and expensive idea, and the men had little training on horses. A well-schooled knight could easily unseat any of them. But they would fight in their usual way, on foot. The horses would merely get them there sooner, and give him an advantage his enemies would not expect.

  Alain set the rapid pace. As they galloped down the valley toward the junction of rivers where Gerard's fief lay, Gerard stood in his stirrups, scrutinizing the hilltops.

  "Be wary of ambush, here," said Gerard.

  Alain nodded, his eyes already scanning for trouble.

  "What did Chrétien mean, lord, that history not repeat itself?"

  "I was too late to save his wife and daughter."

  Gerard said no more as they rode on.

  Gerard pointed to riders near the ridge to their right. "I do not like it," he said. "If they mean to be lookout, they should have been to our left, so they could report without having to cross our path."

  "Mayhap they did not expect us to be where we are."

  "Aye. But they still should have been to our left."

  "What do they mean to do, then?"

  "Watch for us. Draw us to them, lead us to a trap."

  "You think Anwealda might be with them?"

  "It is possible. But, lord, though Anwealda wants his land back, he wants yours more. They may mean to draw you out to my rescue, then take your castle while you are gone."

  "But they draw us toward Wallis."

  "Mayhap they have already taken my hall."

  "We ride there first. We have but one chance to strike. We will go to where the biggest threat is."

  Gerard's relief was evident, despite that he kept silent. Although the man had done nothing to earn his distrust, Alain had not yet lost his wariness of the knight. As man and kn
ight, Gerard was too good, and that bothered him. But now he would have the opportunity to see him on his own ground, protecting his own. Gerard would have the supreme opportunity to betray his lord. If it happened, Alain did not expect to survive the treachery. And if he had trusted the wrong man, all Rufus's attempts for the north could fail. Would fail.