Sweet Taste of Love (The FitzRam Family Medieval Romance Series)

by Markland, Anna

  As he should!

  Unable to stand any longer, Nolana slipped to the floor beside the armoire. Gradually, everyone but the Infirmarian left. Darkness fell, plunging the room into deep shadow. A lone candle flickered beside Aidan’s pallet, casting him in a strange glow. The mounds snored. She huddled in the playd, mouthing a mantra learned at her mother’s knee.

  Let all be well, let all be well, let all be well.

  Her eyelids drooped.

  ***

  “Water.”

  Nolana’s head jerked up. Where was she? Had she heard a voice?

  “Water.”

  Aidan.

  A snake coiled in her belly. She peered around the side of the armoire. All was in darkness. The candle by Aidan’s palette had burned out, but in a shaft of moonlight she discerned the outline of the Infirmarian slumped in a chair in a far corner. She crept to Aidan’s side and looked at him. His eyes were still swollen shut. He licked his lips. “Water.”

  She espied a pitcher next to one of the sleeping mounds. Silently she tiptoed to it and inhaled. It was ale and would have to suffice. Returning to his side she held the pitcher to his lips. He gagged at first then slurped greedily, his head falling back to the palette when he’d slaked his thirst. She put her chapped hand on his forehead.

  He inhaled sharply. “Nolana?”

  She withdrew her hand as if she’d been burned. How did he know she was there? She hadn’t uttered a word.

  “Nolana?”

  Something had lodged in her throat. “Aye, Aidan. I’m here.”

  “Bees,” he whispered. “The bees. Wasn’t their fault.”

  She touched his forehead again, tears streaming. “I know. Drink another sip.”

  He held up his hands. “I cannot hold anything. My hands—”

  “I’ll hold it for you.”

  He accepted more ale, drinking greedily. She spied the salve they’d used to soothe his pain. Scooping out a portion, she carefully dabbed it on his swollen flesh. It smelled of garlic, and something else—urine? “I am afraid to hurt you. My hands are rough.”

  He moved his head, his lips a tight line. “You have the touch of an angel. You cannot hurt me.”

  She smoothed ointment across his eyebrows, but was afraid to apply it to his eyes. “I wish I could see you,” he rasped. “The sight of you would heal me instantly. I see you often in my dreams. My neck pains me, am I stung there?”

  She put both hands on his neck and smoothed them down the length of it, pressing her thumbs to the soft place below his Adam’s apple. “I cannot feel anything.”

  “I feel something.”

  She blushed to see the linens tent at his groin and hastily withdrew her hands.

  “Don’t stop. Your touch soothes me.”

  She stole a glance at the still sleeping Infirmarian and put her hands back on Aidan, gently pressing her fingers into his neck and shoulders. She kissed his forehead. He raised his head to press his lips against her breast, inhaling deeply. Driven by a need she’d never felt before, she let her hands wander over the muscles of his chest, savouring the silkiness of the faint dusting of black hair.

  “Climb into bed with me,” he urged.

  She pulled back, alarmed. “You’re delirious, Aidan. You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re lying on a pallet in the Infirmary.”

  He clamped both arms around her waist. “Nay, my sweet love, we’re at Kirkthwaite, in the lord’s chamber. On the morrow we’ll sleep late.”

  Kirkthwaite? This man was the lord of Kirkthwaite? How often she’d listened in disgust to the auld men of the Maknab clan boast of their murderous rampage at Kirkthwaite thirty years before. They claimed to have destroyed the manor. This man was lord there? What was he doing in a monastery?

  She had to get away, but didn’t want to alarm him. She lay his arms down gently, careful not to touch his hands. “Hush, Aidan. Rest now. I must go. If they catch me here—”

  She pecked a kiss on his forehead. His brow was fevered.

  “Don’t leave me,” he whispered faintly. “I need you.” A deep breath shuddered through him and soon he was snoring softly.

  Sniffing away the tears, she pulled the still damp playd over her head and crept from the Infirmary. She’d longed to be more than a chattel in a man’s eyes. But Aidan was a monk. The bitter irony of it all.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Godemite, Aidan!”

  Aidan forced his eyes open a crack. The swelling had lessened and shapes were discernible without much pain if he peered through his lashes. Relief washed over him. “Ragna!” he rasped.

  “Edwin is here too.”

  Edwin’s face floated into his field of vision. “Edwin, thank God you’ve come.”

  He closed his eyes.

  “Look what they’ve done to you, brother. You are coming home to Kirkthwaite now.”

  He shook his head slightly, instantly regretting the movement. “No, Ragna. I want you to do something for me.”

  “I’ll not take no for an answer, Aidan.”

  He took a deep breath, imagining his sister with her hands on her hips, petulant chin thrust out. “Listen. I cannot talk for long, you must listen, for once.”

  He heard his sister’s snort, but Edwin asked, “What is it, Aidan?”

  “There is a woman here. Her name is—”

  Ragna snorted again. “You’re delirious. This is a monastery. I’m the only woman here.”

  He opened his eyes just as Edwin pushed Ragna out of the way, none too gently. “Go on,” Edwin said.

  “Nolana Kyncade sought sanctuary here from her stepfather. The Abbot is sending her to a nunnery in Durham. You must prevent it. Take her to Kirkthwaite. Keep her safe there.”

  Ragna sulked at the foot of his pallet, arms folded across her chest.

  Edwin shook his head. “But who is this woman, and on whose authority are we to do this?”

  Aidan’s head was pounding. “She’s a Scot—”

  Ragna stamped her foot. “A Scot?”

  Edwin turned to her. “Ragna, hold your tongue. Can’t you see he is in pain and trying to tell us something important?”

  Ragna’s mouth fell open.

  Well, well. Edwin has found his backbone.

  “Thank you, Edwin. This woman is not suited to religious life. You must safeguard her at Kirkthwaite. Her stepfather may pursue her and force her into an abusive marriage.”

  Ragna stopped pouting. “What father would do that? Who is he?”

  Should he tell them? They would find out soon enough. “Neyll Maknab.”

  Both siblings gasped, but said nothing, then Ragna asked, “Where are they keeping her?”

  “I don’t know. She has come secretly to see me twice while I’ve lain here, but yesterday she didn’t come. You’ll speak to the Abbot and force him to give her the choice. I must be assured she is safe.”

  Edwin saluted. “It will be done.” He hurried from the Infirmary.

  Ragna leaned close to Aidan’s ear. “What is this woman to you?”

  How to explain what he did not understand? He swallowed hard. “She’s a young woman in trouble, Ragna. I want to help her.”

  His sister put her hand on his forehead. “I had better assist Edwin. I can be more forceful.”

  Aidan chuckled. “I don’t know, he seems to have found some courage. Did he actually salute me?”

  Ragna shrugged and left, but in minutes she and Edwin returned, both agitated. “She’s gone already.”

  Aidan’s heart plummeted. “What?”

  “The escort from Durham took her yesterday.”

  Aidan struggled to sit up. He reached out his still swollen hand and gripped his brother’s arm. Edwin’s eyes widened in surprise. “Edwin, you must pursue them. Take a contingent of our men-at-arms and go after them. They must not reach Durham. Promise me!”

  Ragna put her hands on Aidan’s shoulders. “Calm yourself. We will do your bidding and see her safely delivered to Kirkthwaite. Yo
u must rest and get well. Then we’ll speak of your return home.”

  Aidan had no strength left to argue. He collapsed onto the bolster and closed his eyes. “Thank you. Go quickly.”

  ***

  Nolana’s heart ached that she’d been denied the opportunity to say farewell to Aidan. She’d finagled only one other visit to the Infirmary, narrowly avoiding getting caught applying salve to his hands. He was in greater pain and seemed to have no recollection of his suggestion she share his bed at Kirkthwaite, proving her suspicion he’d been delirious. She was relieved. There was no future for their relationship. But her heart raced at the image of them abed together, limbs entangled.

  The escort from Durham consisted of two elderly nuns in a wagon accompanied by five mounted guards. They had brought a novice’s habit, and she was forced to leave behind her playd and léine, her last links to her roots. Sister Magdalena stuffed Nolana’s hair into the confining coif, remarking that it would be an easier matter once they reached the mother house in Durham where they would crop it short. A leaden weight settled on her heart. It was her mother’s weakness that had brought her to this. She would never forgive her. She should be relieved she would be shut away, protected from men—but Aidan, oh God, Aidan.

  She rode in the back of the wagon. The nuns ignored her. The two guards riding behind ogled and smirked, elbowing each other in the ribs. The procession navigated the causeway and turned south to Durham. After a mile or two they entered Fenwick Wood. It was eerily silent. No birdsong. No creatures stirring. The horses grew nervous and a sour taste rose in Nolana’s mouth. She held her breath and scanned the thick wood for an avenue of escape.

  They rounded a bend. Her mouth fell open. In the middle of the track cowered Jennet, shoulders hunched. A burly giant bearing the Maknab devise on his tunic held the back of the old woman’s neck. Nolana’s blood turned to ice in her veins.

  The guards reined in their horses. Their leader addressed the giant. “You there. Make way. We are emissaries of the Bishop of Durham. These women are under his protection.”

  Nolana did not see the silent arrow that pierced the man’s heart until he grunted. His body slipped from the horse and thudded to the ground. Sister Magdalena screamed in outrage, and the remaining guards fled into the forest. Nolana gripped the sides of the wagon when Neyll Maknab sauntered out of the wood. The giant had forced Jennet to her knees. Nolana stood up in the wagon, hoping her icy fear didn’t show. “Let her go. She’s just an auld woman.”

  “I didn’t mean to tell, I didn’t,” Jennet wailed.

  Neyll smirked. “She was most forthcoming concerning you and your whereabouts. It took little persuasion.”

  Nolana climbed out of the wagon and knelt by Jennet, pushing away the giant’s hand. She put her arms around the sobbing woman. “You’re a brute, Neyll Maknab. You prey on defenceless women.”

  Nyell strolled over to her and fingered her veil. Sister Magdalena made a sound of protest but he silenced her with a look. “Nonsense. I am the soul of generosity. Instead of killing these women, I intend to let them go on their merry way, without you of course, daughter.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of Durham.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Sister Magdalena urged the horse forward. The wagon pulled away. Nolana watched them go as she came to her feet. “I am not your daughter. My father was a noble man. You are not.”

  Neyll smacked her across the face. She reeled and stumbled into Jennet. “Noble or not, I am the man who holds sway over you and you will obey me. Your precious crone had best be gone, before I change my mind.”

  Jennet looked pityingly at Nolana then scurried off into the trees.

  A Maknab man held the reins of the dead guard’s horse. Neyll took her hand and dragged her to the animal. “Mount, Nolana. And don’t think to escape. I am done chasing you. My patience is at an end. Next time you run I will kill you.”

  Nolana clung to the pommel and the stolen horse was led north towards the border.

  ***

  She sensed the moment they crossed into the Lowlands. The tension left Neyll’s shoulders. Here he was feared and he feared no man. It took but a day to reach his tower stronghold at Kolbrand’s Path, but to Nolana it might have been a journey to the other side of the world.

  The habit chafed her thighs and bottom and by the time they arrived she was sore and exhausted. The hated stone towerhouse loomed before her in the fading light. The crashing waves of the North Sea hurled themselves against the outer ramparts of the fortification. She’d been elated to escape this wretched place where she’d known nothing but unhappiness. She shivered. What punishment did her stepfather plan? She hoped the aged Baron, her intended betrothed, wasn’t in residence.

  They passed over the ditch and through the wooden palisades. Someone lifted her from the horse. Her knees buckled when her feet hit the ground and she leaned against the animal.

  Neyll came up beside her. “Take her to the tower.”

  Her feet never touched the ground as two men lifted her by the arms and bustled her off to the chamber at the top of the tower. They dumped her on the pallet bed and withdrew. She heard the bar drop into place. Too exhausted to cry, she curled up and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Infirmarian allowed Aidan out of bed. The swelling around his eyes had improved considerably and he was enjoying a stroll with Ragna in the Abbey garden. His sight had not been affected by the stings. Hopefully his hands would soon be back to normal. He walked arm in arm with his sister. It felt good. They’d never been close. Aidan and Blythe were—well, they were twins. Ragna was several years younger than he was, and she’d always been independent—a hellion. Everyone in their family called her the Wild Viking Princess, saying she took after their Danish ancestors.

  She must have sensed what he was feeling. “It’s good to walk with you like this, Aidan. You and I have never been friends.”

  He smoothed his hand over hers. “But we love each other just the same.”

  A tear trickled down her cheek. “We can do no less as the children of Caedmon and Agneta FitzRam.”

  He took a deep breath. “May God have mercy on their souls.”

  Ragna snorted. “If they aren’t welcome in Heaven, there is no hope for the rest of us.”

  He squeezed her hand and they continued their stroll.

  “Tell me about Nolana Kyncade.”

  Aidan pulled up sharply. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  Ragna punched his shoulder, reminding him of when Blythe had done the same thing years ago in a garden in Germany. “You aren’t hiding your feelings for her very well, Aidan. Why don’t you admit you’re in love with her?”

  Aidan walked on, studying his feet, then turned to face her. “I made a commitment to God, Ragna. How can I renege? Nolana is God’s way of testing my mettle.”

  Ragna opened her mouth to reply, but her gaze fell on Edwin, who was hastening towards them, escorted by a monk. “It’s Edwin.”

  Aidan turned quickly. Edwin’s face plainly showed his consternation. Dread threatened to rob Aidan of his tenuous balance. “Tell me.”

  Edwin took a deep breath. “We followed them, but in Fenwick Wood we came upon the body of one of the Bishop’s guards, an arrow through his heart.”

  Aidan had to sit down. He clung to Ragna. “Nolana?”

  Edwin looked ready to burst into tears. “I’ve failed you, brother. There was no sign of her, but the tracks led in the opposite direction. We followed them to Berwick, but lost the trail.”

  Aidan shook his head and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It’s no matter. I know where they’ve gone. Her stepfather has her. You aren’t the one who has failed, Edwin. That dubious honour falls to me. I’m not my father’s son.”

  Ragna punched him again. “Now you’ve gone too far, Aidan. Father was proud of you. You are more like him than you know. Make a decision. What are you going to do?”

  Aidan squared his shoulders and smiled. “Wh
at I should have done days ago. Save the life of the woman I love.”

  Ragna whooped. “Now you’re acting like a FitzRam.”

  ***

  Nolana gazed down at the sea, forehead resting on the rusted iron bar across the window slit. Why had someone long ago deemed it necessary to secure such a small and impossibly high opening? She licked her parched lips, tasting salt. Laughing gulls soared and danced on the stiff breeze. Compared to the vastness of the ocean, she was a mere nothing. Was it for this she’d been born—humiliation, cruelty and despair? Surely life should hold more promise? But as long as men ruled, women would suffer. The only compassionate man she’d ever met, ever loved, was a monk—out of reach.

  Loved? Did she love Aidan? No man had ever made her body ache in unmentionable places before. Even thinking of him now in these dire circumstances, moisture pooled between her legs and her breasts tingled. Perhaps she was going mad? Would the Baron want to marry a madwoman?

  She shrugged. Her fate was sealed. Grouchet would not care, provided she was fertile.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Nolana did not partake of the victuals Maknab had provided for her wedding feast. It was more than likely she would vomit before the night was out. Her wedding night. She flinched when the decrepit sot who was now her husband pinched her breast yet again after taking a swig of ale. He’d already imbibed far more than he ought. She prayed he might succumb to a drunken stupor before they got to the bridal chamber. Revulsion filled her whenever she looked at him.

  For the first time since arriving back in Neyll’s keep, she was to be allowed to sleep somewhere other than in the tower chamber. She’d eaten little food in the intervening sennight and her belly rebelled at the sight of the sumptuous feast laid on by her stepfather. Grouchet must have paid him well for her body.

  The ceremony in the Maknab chapel was a farce. The priest ignored her protestations that she was unwilling. He knew from whence came his stipend. After a patronising nod and a pat on the head, he droned out the nuptial rites. Grouchet swayed on his feet and belched several times, rheumy eyes fixed on her breasts. His breath nearly felled her when he claimed his husbandly kiss. He reeked of decay.