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

by Markland, Anna

  If she could put her hands on a dagger, she would dispatch the Baron, Neyll and then her miserable self. Her stepfather had made sure she had no access to escape or weapons, only allowing her to bathe and change clothes on the morning of her wedding.

  He strutted around the Hall, the consummate host, accepting the congratulations of his fawning guests on the marriage of his stepdaughter to an English baron, a Norman nobleman no less. What a fortuitous alliance. Perhaps she might be sick before she reached the bridal chamber.

  Her thoughts constantly drifted to Aidan, but she forced them away. What was the use? She must think of him as Brother Christian—he was lost to her, as she was to him. He was a monk, committed to a life of religious devotion. He wouldn’t leave the monastery for her, a woman he barely knew. It was unlikely he felt the same intense stirrings she did. He’d invited her to share his bed. Of course he’d been delirious with pain—

  It suddenly occurred to her this was Tuesday. Brother Christian would be at the market in Beal, plying his mead and honey. Would he think of her? The memory of his strong body and knee-buckling smile never left her. The bile rose in her throat again.

  One of Neyll’s men strode in and whispered in his laird’s ear. Neyll grimaced, then glanced over to her and smirked. He waved a dismissive hand and the man hastened from the Hall.

  Neyll drained a goblet of wine then came lazily to his feet. Nolana didn’t trust the evil glint in his eye. He sauntered over to the centre of the dais, calling for his goblet to be refilled. He didn’t demand attention, but it came immediately. A hush fell over the gathering. Nolana’s heart beat wildly. She glanced over at Grouchet. He’d passed out.

  “Gentlemen and ladies, and dear daughter Nolana, Baroness Grouchet, it appears we are to be favoured by a guest from the famed Abbey of Lindisfarne, a monk no less.”

  A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd. Nolana gripped the edge of the table as the room spun around her. No! Not Aidan, not here, not now. He could not witness her humiliation.

  All eyes turned to the entrance as a monk entered, accompanied by another well-dressed young man. They were obviously brothers, despite the difference in their garb. A one-eyed man walked behind them. Nolana prayed that Aidan would not look at her. Why was he here?

  “Welcome to you, Brother. We are honoured. Welcome to the wedding feast of my daughter.”

  Aidan hesitated only a moment before his still swollen hand went to the hilt of the sword he no longer wore. He’d come too late. He looked quickly at Edwin. “Do nothing untoward, brother,” he whispered. “We are among enemies.”

  Should he scan the crowd, look for her? He dreaded the pain he would see in her eyes. He’d failed once again to protect someone for whom he cared deeply.

  He bowed to Neyll. “Thank you for your welcome, Laird Maknab. I am Brother Christian from Lindisfarne Abbey.”

  Neyll coughed loudly. “A postulant, I see.”

  Edwin tensed beside him, but Aidan strove to remain calm. “I am indeed a postulant, but Lady Nolana was enjoying the sanctuary of my Abbey and our Abbot grew concerned when she did not arrive safely in Durham. The discovery of the body of one of her guards increased our alarm. I am charged with ensuring her safety. Most of the older monks are not fit enough to journey here in search of her.”

  It wasn’t an outright lie—there was some truth in his words. The Abbot had been distraught, fearful of the ire of the Bishop of Durham. Neyll need not know Aidan wasn’t on an errand for the Abbot, who’d harangued him interminably when he’d told him he was leaving the Abbey.

  “You’ll be sorry,” were the old monk’s parting words.

  In the end, Aidan had bowed and walked away. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done—a foreswearing of the vow he’d made to his parents to atone for their deaths.

  He and Edwin had sent Ragna back to Kirkthwaite with some of the men, then ridden hard to Kolbrand’s Path, seat of the Maknab. He was grateful for the steadfast presence of his father’s old friend, Leofric, who’d sniffed away an embarrassed tear when he’d embraced Aidan outside the monastery. Leofric’s disfigurement rendered him a fearsome sight, sometimes useful when confronting adversaries.

  Aidan’s gut clenched when his eyes fell on Nolana. She was pale and thin, her eyes downcast. Despair haunted her face. Her gown was ill fitting. His heart went out to her—a bride should look radiant on her wedding day. He itched to throttle the monster in whose Hall he stood.

  Neyll’s voice intruded. “You can see, Brother, that Nolana is safe and sound, enjoying her wedding feast with her new husband.”

  Aidan’s eyes followed Maknab’s gesture. An obese elderly man sat with his chin slumped to his chest, his legs splayed. The horror of Nolana’s fate struck him full force. His own sense of loss made him want to weep for her and for himself. He should have listened to his heart when he first set eyes on her.

  Leofric coughed. Neyll seemed to notice him for the first time. “What devise is this your man wears upon his tunic?”

  Aidan squared his shoulders. “We are FitzRams.”

  He paused. Having let his enemy know he was dealing with a Norman family, he deemed it useful to impart the full weight of his identity. “The FitzRams of Kirkthwaite Hall.”

  His words were repeated around the Hall in hushed murmurs of disbelief. Maknab widened his stance, arched his brows, but said nothing. Aidan was sure in that moment that the rumours of Maknab involvement in the massacre of his grandparents were true. He glanced back at Nolana. Their eyes met. Was there a glint of admiration in those green depths?

  He looked back at Maknab. “We shall make it our concern that Lady Nolana enjoys continued good health. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  Without bowing, they turned and left.

  Aidan held on to his despair and anger until they were safely away from Kolbrand’s Path. When they were sure they had not been pursued, he dismounted, doubled over and retched. Edwin stood beside him, his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Leofric kept watch, holding the horses’ reins.

  It was he who spoke first. “Let’s get you back to Kirkthwaite, Aidan. You’ll feel better once you’ve bathed and are in your own clothes. We’ll tend your hands, then decide what to do.”

  Aidan shook his head. “There is naught we can do. I have failed her.”

  Leofric gripped his arm with his good hand and shook him. “Do not lose hope. If it’s meant to be, we’ll find a way to rescue her.”

  “Aye, by God!” Edwin shouted, raising his fist and surprising them both.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  No amount of prodding or poking would rouse the Baron. Neyll was none too happy as he watched his men labour to carry the man to his chamber. He leaned over Nolana menacingly. “Seems you have a reprieve for this night, daughter, but you cannot long escape the inevitable. You will bear that fool an heir.”

  Nolana gritted her teeth. “Or you won’t get full payment?”

  He raised his hand to strike her then hesitated. “Take care, Nolana.”

  She smirked at him. “It won’t be easy for you, will it Neyll, now I’m under the protection of my husband?”

  He clenched his fists. “Don’t be too sure. Get to your chamber.”

  A cold chill settled in Nolana’s bones as she slowly mounted the steps to her bridal chamber, her thoughts filled with images of Aidan. She prayed her husband had not regained his wits. Considering the amount of ale he’d drunk, she wouldn’t be surprised if he slept for a sennight.

  She slipped into the chamber. Grouchet lay on the bed, snoring loudly, his mouth agape. Someone had wrestled him out of his clothing and into a nightshirt. She was relieved Maknab had provided no maidservant for her, no doubt thinking her husband would be the one to remove her clothes. She settled into a chair in a shadowed corner and tucked her knees to her chin. Over and over, Aidan’s proud words echoed in her mind. The FitzRams of Kirkthwaite Hall. Had he come at the behest of the Abbot? Did she dare hope he’d left the monas
tery to find and claim her for his own?

  What did it matter? She was doomed. But she would cherish the memory of his presence, a humble monk refusing to be intimidated by her stepfather. But he wasn’t a humble monk. He was a proud nobleman, as she’d suspected. She would never forget the look of anguish on his face when he learned she was married. If he’d left the religious life for her, would he now lay blame at her door? Why was he in the monastery anyway?

  These questions plagued her fitful sleep. When she woke at dawn, the Baron snored on. She’d spent her wedding night with her loathsome husband, but was still a virgin. She sat bolt upright, trembling at the boldness of an idea creeping into her mind. The Baron’s eating dagger was still tucked into its scabbard on the table beside the bed. Killing him would take her to the gallows, and she doubted she would have the fortitude to commit murder. But if he believed he had claimed his marital rights perhaps he would leave her in peace for a while.

  She tiptoed over to the table and withdrew the dagger, willing the trembling in her hand to stop lest she drop it.

  Let all be well.

  She slowly peeled back the linens on one side of the bed, poked the point of the blade into the pad of her thumb and squeezed. She smeared the oozing bubble of blood on the sheets.

  Let all be well.

  She held her breath when the Baron stirred, licking his lips. When he stilled, she wiped the dagger on the linens and placed it back in the scabbard.

  She must disrobe to ensure the success of the trick. Frantically she struggled out of her gown and lay beside him in her léine, smearing another drop of blood on her thigh. She let out her breath. The Baron’s eyes flew open. She stuck her thumb in her mouth. He turned his head to look at her, raking his gaze over her breasts. He reached over to fondle one.

  Pray to God I look like a woman who’s been bedded.

  “Good morn, wife.”

  She took her thumb from her mouth and forced a smile, hoping she was fluttering her eyelashes in the correct manner. “Good morn, husband.”

  He grinned, but then looked down at his own body. “Good God, so randy I didn’t take off me nightshirt.”

  Nolana’s heart was beating wildly and she felt her face redden. “You were anxious, my lord.”

  He looked at her curiously. Would he believe her? He would punish her severely if he discovered she’d tricked him. Suddenly he reached over and yanked up her léine to peer at her most private place. He traced a fat finger over the blood smeared on her thigh. She stifled a gasp. He smiled then pushed her over to reveal the bloodied sheet. He patted his groin. “Hah! I may be getting up in years, but the old shaft still works, eh?”

  She pulled her léine back down, avoiding his gaze, glad she hadn’t been obliged to look upon the old shaft. She doubted his body would be as pleasing to behold as Aidan’s—but she must stop thinking on that. “Aye, my lord. It works, and I am rather sore this morn.”

  Forgive me, Lord.

  He put his finger under her chin. “I’ll leave you be so you can heal quickly. Mayhap I’ve already planted the seed of my heir?”

  “Mayhap, my lord.”

  Let all be well.

  ***

  Neyll eyed them warily when the Baron escorted his bride to the Hall to break their fast. Her husband was unsteady on his feet and bade her fill his trencher from the servery. He sat down heavily beside Neyll, boasting of his marital prowess with suggestive gestures.

  Men are such arrogant fools.

  She must not get too confident. It was a reprieve only. The sentence had not been revoked. Neither man rose when she approached the table and took a seat. She hoped she was blushing and looked sufficiently ravished as Neyll raked his eyes over her.

  The Baron sliced off a chunk of cold mutton with his dagger. Nolana held her breath, unable to take her eyes off the weapon. He stuffed the meat into his mouth, then spoke, stopping only to swallow. “Off to England today—not a long journey—make it by nightfall—take my bride home—”

  Neyll protested, offering his hospitality, reminding the Baron of his obligation. Grouchet was adamant. “If you want the coin, Maknab, you’ll have to come to England for it. I don’t wander around Scotland with large sums of money on my person.”

  He took a long swig of ale, belched and came to his feet. He grasped her elbow, apparently unaware she’d eaten nothing. “Come along.”

  Nolana was happy to be escaping Maknab’s clutches, but fearful of being taken to a remote English manor. Would she ever see the heather covered hills of the Fells again?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Aidan had to admit he was content to be home. Ragna fussed over him. He wondered how long that would last! She seemed determined to sate his appetite, but he didn’t object. It was good to have a full stomach again. His hands were healing well.

  He’d overindulged in bathing too, ordering a tub every day and luxuriating in the joy of being clean. Leofric jested he was in danger of washing himself away.

  He could not wash away the memory of Nolana’s anguished face. Whenever he remembered his first sight of her at the market his erection grew rock hard. He’d never ached for a woman as he ached for her, though they had barely spoken ten words to each other. Was he bewitched?

  She was now beyond his reach. He may as well have stayed in the monastery. Such thoughts brought on more feelings of guilt. He’d forsworn his pledge to atone. However, the notion of returning to Lindisfarne filled him with dread. He could never don the hated robe again. He was too fond of good clothes and the way they made him feel. Why had he believed he could be a monk?

  He wandered around the house, remembering many happy times spent with his parents and siblings. One day he summoned enough courage to enter his parents’ chamber, undisturbed since their deaths. His hand fell upon the journal his father had kept during the Crusade. Parts of it had been read to them over and over when they were children—they knew it by heart. He clutched the worn and tattered book to his chest, grief rising in his throat.

  The house was quiet. Ragna was napping and Edwin had gone out. He settled into a chair and unfastened the bindings. The parchment was brittle, the ink faded after five and twenty years, but the sight of his father’s firm hand relating the horrors he’d survived reduced him to tears. He sobbed uncontrollably until he could sob no more. Curling up, he hugged the book to his chest.

  When he woke the light was fading. It was supper time and Ragna would be wondering where he was. Somehow he felt better. It came to him he’d never wept since receiving news of the shipwreck. At first there’d been endless days of hoping his parents might have survived somehow. Then came the bitter despair as the unavoidable truth had sunk in. A Yuletide of unbearable grief. Aidan had shouldered the responsibility of consoling Ragna and Edwin, sending messages to Blythe and Dieter in Saxony, and to the Montbryces in the Marches and Normandie. He was the eldest son. He had needed to be strong.

  The codex had fallen open to an entry which described a dream. Worn out and wandering in Asia Minor, Caedmon FitzRam had not known if he would ever see his Agneta again, and was unaware she’d borne him twins.

  The rumours about Xerigordon are enough to make the hairs on the back of my head stand up—except I have no hair. I remember the first time I saw Agneta’s beautiful hair. It was very short! What a bittersweet memory. I ache for her, in my heart and my loins.

  I’ve had a recurring dream. I ride up to a castle. Agneta is there, but she’s been transformed into a tree—a beautiful lush green tree. She smiles at me as I approach, and then I hear a sound. It’s birdsong. I frown, not knowing where the sound comes from. Agneta slowly raises her arms and they become branches. I look up at the branches, and see two birds nesting.

  I wish I could fathom what the dream signifies. I asked a Romany, but all he was interested in was my coin. He mumbled something about the castle foretelling great wealth. That surely can’t be true. Maybe I didn’t understand his language properly.

  Though Aidan knew the
passage well, its full meaning struck him for the first time. “Blythe and I were the two birds. Ragna was right. I am part of the heritage of this family. It is my responsibility to carry on the line.”

  He felt a sudden intimate connection with his father he’d never felt before, despite their bond. Caedmon had ached for a woman, as Aidan ached for Nolana. He didn’t recall his father reading out that part! If only his story could end happily too.

  Happily? Caedmon and Agneta FitzRam had drowned! But they’d lived happy lives with each other and their children. His father and mother would have given thanks that their deaths had saved the lives of their children. The family was painfully aware his mother’s days were numbered in any case. Aidan’s suggestion they sail on La Blanche Nef had not forfeited his parents’ lives. It had saved his own and his siblings’ lives. There was nothing to atone for in that. It was the fault of the drunken captain of the ship that it had foundered and sunk.

  An enormous weight lifted from his shoulders. He tied the bindings, clutched the book to his breast once more, kissed it and returned it to its proper place. He resolved to move into his parents’ chamber, feeling certain it was what they would have wanted.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Baron was too fat to sit a horse and chose instead to ride with Nolana in the wagon. At first she dreaded the journey, but he soon fell asleep and they arrived at his estate without incident as the sun was setting.

  They partook of a small supper. Nolana was unnerved by the pitying looks of the household staff—did they know something she didn’t? It was evident they feared their master.

  She pecked at her food, though she’d eaten little for days. Would he leave her be, as he’d promised, or expect her to fulfill her marital duty now she was in his house? She feared promises meant naught to him.