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

by Markland, Anna

  He leaned into her. “Not hungry, I see. Too anxious to enjoy another romp, eh?”

  She smiled weakly. “I am still sore, especially after the long journey in the wagon.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it better. Come.”

  Her belly churned. Time to accept her fate. Aidan wasn’t about to come charging through the gate on a magnificent steed. She allowed the Baron to lead her by the elbow to their chamber where he summoned a maidservant to assist her. “I’ll go for one last nightcap while you prepare.”

  He’d already drunk several tankards of ale with his supper. How did he remain standing? The timid maid helped her undress and gave her a pretty shift. It was of fine quality, but not new. Should she ask? “Whose—”

  “The mistress before you. She died.” The woman bobbed a curtsey and left.

  Nolana climbed into bed and pulled the linens up to her chin. She would soon be forced to surrender her maidenhead to a brute she did not love. Why had she expected more? It was the fate of many women. She wondered if her mother had felt anything for Neyll Maknab. If she had not—

  Grouchet stumbled into the chamber, already in his nightshirt. At least she’d been spared the spectacle of watching him undress. He staggered to the bed and lay down heavily, thumping his chest with his fist. “A bit winded—the steps.”

  He lay on his back for a while and Nolana listened to his laboured breathing. Only his death could save her now, but he wheezed on.

  God forgive me for wishing him dead.

  He scrambled onto his hands and knees, succeeding after three tries. “Now, the memory of last night’s romp escapes me. Let me see your delectable little body again, my sweet. He pulled her shift up roughly, exposing her. He licked his lips and reached to pull his nightshirt over his head. She couldn’t avoid looking at his maleness. Thanks be to the saints his head was covered momentarily. She might have laughed had she not been so afraid. She stared in fascination at what hung between his legs—a wrinkled prune topped by something the size and shape of a crooked thumb. From what she understood of the marital act, it involved the male member being inserted into the female’s body. She wasn’t sure how that might work in this case. Perhaps there was more to come.

  He tossed away his nightshirt, enfolded his member in a beefy hand and shuffled to loom over her, breathing heavily. She trembled uncontrollably, despite the heat of a hearty fire in the grate. He moved his hand rapidly on his shaft, now peeking out in apparent surprise from the end of his fist. Bile rose in her throat.

  His face was as red as the blood garnet of the signet ring bobbing up and down before her. Sweat poured from his brow. He braced himself with his free hand beside her head. “Only a short while now, my sweet,” he rasped. “Spread your legs.”

  Mammie! The name died in her throat. What good would calling for her mother do? She obeyed him with a whimper and squeezed her eyes shut, setting her jaw. With a grunt, he collapsed onto her, forcing the breath from her lungs. She bit her tongue and tasted blood, bracing for penetration.

  He lay absolutely still. She waited, holding her breath. Why wasn’t he moving? Surely there was more to it than this? Had he fallen asleep? She was afraid to move. It was good if he slept, except she might suffocate.

  She squirmed and tapped his shoulder. “My lord, I cannot breathe.”

  There was no response. She poked more forcefully, struggling to be free, digging her heels into the mattress. It was then she became aware of what was missing—the sound of his laboured breathing. A fierce trembling took hold and dread filled her belly. Could it be she lay trapped beneath a corpse? Had her wish to see him dead come to fruition? Had she cursed him? Would God punish her for this? The chamber spun around her. She fisted her hands and pummeled the sides of his body.

  She didn’t know how much time had passed before the weight was dragged away. Frantic voices shouted. A woman cooed and clucked. Nolana’s nakedness was covered with something warm but rough, and she was carried from the chamber, screaming uncontrollably.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The shock and undeniable relief of her husband’s death kept Nolana abed for a day. She stared into nothingness most of the time, unable to shed a tear. She called on the memory of Aidan’s smiling face as a lifeline whenever the horror of what had happened threatened to drown her.

  She did not want to set eyes on the Baron again, but it was expected she help prepare him for burial. The servants struggled mightily to dress Grouchet in his knightly finery, their noses wrinkled. She came close to giggling on occasion, sinking her teeth in the flesh of her hand to restrain her nervous laughter. He looked ridiculous, but rituals had to be observed.

  It was a relief to have the ceremony over. She inhaled deeply as she climbed the stone steps out of the crypt, shrugging off the niggling feeling of guilt that she’d wished him dead, and now he was. It was evident she’d acquired a reputation as a woman who seduced men to their deaths. If only they knew the truth.

  Her emotions were in knots. She was free of the Baron and was now his only heir, which meant she was a woman of wealth and property. But her stepfather would expect his due. He believed Grouchet had bedded her, thanks to her own chicanery. It was only a matter of time before he learned of the Baron’s demise and her vulnerability as a woman alone.

  Aidan FitzRam too would believe the Baron had taken her maidenhead. He wouldn’t want her. He’d probably gone back to the monastery.

  Safety from Maknab lay in the north, but she’d never make it there alone and a cohort of Northumbrian guards from her husband’s demesne would be of no help. She could not expect it of them.

  The atmosphere in the castle was one of relief. The Baron had not endeared himself to his household. They fawned over Nolana. She’d done the impossible—slain the dragon. Maknab would not hesitate to spill their blood.

  Though they treated her with respect, these people were strangers to Nolana. She felt isolated. She needed a friend. Aidan had been her friend. He’d been willing to aid her though she was a stranger. He might no longer want her, but he was the kind of man who would honour a friendship.

  She wasn’t sure where Kirkthwaite Hall was located, but it was in Northumbria and someone in the castle would know. She prayed Aidan was there and had not returned to Lindisfarne.

  ***

  One of Kirkthwaite’s men-at-arms rushed into the Hall as the family gathered for the midday meal. Leofric came to his feet immediately. The man bowed to his captain. “There is a troop of armed men outside the rampart. They request entry.”

  Leofric glanced at Aidan, who’d come to stand beside him, before he turned back to the soldier. “Whose devise do they bear?”

  “Grouchet.”

  Aidan felt a coil of apprehension in his gut. Why would the Baron’s men come to Kirkthwaite? “Do they appear to be belligerents?”

  The man shook his head. “No, my lord, they are a lady’s escort.”

  She’s fled to me.

  He looked over to Ragna, who’d leapt to her feet, her mouth open—apparently speechless for once. Edwin grinned from ear to ear. Aidan did not stop to think of the implications of such an action on Nolana’s part—her husband would surely pursue her—but the only thing that mattered was she’d fled to him. “Allow them entry. I myself will accompany you. Come, Leofric.”

  The minutes he stood waiting in the bailey were the longest of Aidan’s life. Perhaps it wasn’t Nolana. Who else might it be? Was life with the Baron so unbearable she’d run away? He would kill the Baron if a hair of her head had been harmed.

  She rode into the courtyard, but didn’t smile when she saw him. His shaft soared at the sight of her, but his heart fell. He reached to put his hands on her waist to help her dismount. It seemed long ago when he’d helped her down from the wagon in the grounds of the Abbey. Then she’d worn simple Highland garments, and he’d been garbed as a monk. Now she was dressed like a lady and he wore the clothing of a nobleman. He hoped when he opened his mouth,
words would emerge. “Baroness Grouchet,” he croaked, regretting it instantly.

  She put her hands on his shoulders, her green eyes showing surprise at his attire. “Please don’t call me that, Aidan.”

  Her breasts grazed against him as she slid from the horse, silk skirts whispering against the leather of the saddle. He wanted to press her against him and kiss her, but she was another man’s wife. He couldn’t take his hands off her. “Nolana,” he whispered.

  Leofric cleared his throat. Edwin rushed forward, grabbed Nolana’s hand and kissed it. Ragna appeared out of nowhere and threw her arms around Nolana, who seemed not to know how to respond to this affection from a stranger.

  Aidan wished he was the one embracing her. “You’ll smother our guest, Ragna. This is my sister, Nolana. And you’ve already met Edwin, and Leofric.”

  Was there nothing better to say? She must judge him a cold fish. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Welcome to Kirkthwaite Hall. Please, come inside. We were sitting down to eat. You must join us. Your escort is welcome also.”

  He’d wanted to show his elation that she was entering his home, take her to his parents’ chamber, now his, and ask her to share it with him.

  She turned to give instructions to her captain. Aidan noted the authority in her voice and the man’s deference. Being a Baroness suited her. Gone was the fear and uncertainty. But what had replaced it? There was no smile, no innocence. Disappointment flooded him.

  She allowed him to take her hand to escort her inside, but did not look at him. “I was afraid you might have returned to the monastery, but I see—”

  He tightened his hold on her hand. “I will never go back there. The monastic life isn’t for me. I doubt if they would have me anyway.”

  Was it his imagination or had her hand become warmer? Suddenly she halted and turned to look at him. He had thought the fear gone, but it still lurked in the green depths. “Before you welcome me into your home, I must tell you I am again seeking sanctuary.”

  He took hold of both her hands. “Nolana, I will do anything I can to protect you, but you are another man’s wife. The law of the Church won’t allow me—”

  She gripped his hands. “He’s dead, Aidan. Dead. I wished him dead, and now he is.”

  She sobbed and swayed against him.

  She’d killed him. He would lose her to the gallows. “Dead? Your husband?”

  Everyone had come to a halt around them, listening, mouths agape. He waved them away. Ragna pouted, but Edwin dragged her off.

  Aidan felt the softness of Nolana’s breasts pressed against him. He’d dreamt of fondling her, longed to put his lips on her nipples and suckle. His knees threatened to give way. His arousal throbbed and tingled. She was a rag doll in his arms. She must be exhausted, but he had to know. “How did he die?”

  A deep breath shuddered through her. “I cannot tell you, not yet.”

  He took hold of her shoulders and held her apart. “Look at me, Nolana, tell me you didn’t—”

  She looked at him sharply and pulled away. “You believe I killed him? You judge me capable of such a deed?”

  Relief and apprehension swept over him. “No, but sometimes when a person is—”

  She shook her head vehemently. “He was an old man, Aidan. He suffered an apoplexy and died. I was not responsible.”

  She might still be his! He scooped her up in his arms. “I will take you to a chamber where you can rest. Then we’ll talk. I’m not sure why you need sanctuary if Grouchet is dead?”

  She leaned her head against his chest. “Maknab will want his due.”

  Old resentments welled up in Aidan’s gut. “Maknab?”

  “Grouchet paid him only part of what he demanded. The remainder was due once I’d been bedded. It was dangerous to remain at Grouchet Castle alone. I didn’t know where else to go.”

  Pain snaked through Aidan. The beast had deflowered his lovely Nolana. What had he expected? She was the man’s wife. She might be carrying the Grouchet heir. He kissed the top of her head, savouring the scent of rosemary in her hair. “I’m glad you came here. I will protect you.”

  She’d fallen asleep by the time he laid her on the bed that had until so recently been his.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Maknab bristled. He’d made the tiresome journey to Grouchet anxious to collect his due, only to learn of the Baron’s demise. “What do you mean, dead?” he demanded of the stable boy who cowered before him.

  The boy avoided his glare. “The Baron died—of a fit. We buried him a sennight since.”

  Maknab narrowed his eyes. “And where, pray, is the Baroness?”

  The boy edged away. “Gone, my lord—but I don’t know where.”

  Neyll grabbed the urchin by the throat. “If you’re lying—”

  The boys eyes widened in terror. “She took men-at-arms with her. I swear I don’t—”

  Maknab tossed him to the ground and he scrambled away.

  Where had she fled? He could plunder the riches Grouchet had no doubt amassed, but how much sweeter it would be to see Nolana cower in terror before him, hear her beg. He’d endured years with her simpering mother when what he truly wanted was the red haired bitch who’d never shown anything but disdain and contempt for him—he grew hard at the thought of bending her to his will.

  Suddenly it came to him. The tightness in his chest eased. Adjusting his playd, he turned to his burly henchman. “She’s gone to Kirkthwaite. She thinks the erstwhile monk will protect her. We’ll see about that. Time to finish what my grandfather began. I’ll rid the earth of Kirkthwaite Hall once and for all.”

  ***

  Kirkthwaite was ringed by a rampart and ditch, but it wasn’t a castle and Aidan worried they might not withstand a full scale assault. While he had a goodly number of men-at-arms, they may not be enough. There wasn’t time to send to Ellesmere Castle or to Shelfhoc Hall in the Marches for reinforcements. By the time they arrived, Kirkthwaite might lie once more in ruins, its inhabitants butchered by Maknabs. He was determined not to let such a horror happen.

  He did not want to worry them unduly when he called his siblings together to discuss their defence. Edwin spoke first after hearing Aidan’s concerns. “What we need are more defenders and more weapons.”

  Aidan nodded, rubbing the heel of his hand along his chin. Had his brother suddenly grown taller?

  Edwin continued. “The villagers have as much reason to fend off the Maknab as we do. They laid waste to the cottages in Bolton and killed many of the inhabitants there, not only here at Kirkthwaite. I wager they’d be willing to come to our aid. If Maknab attacks us he’s likely to destroy the village again.”

  Aidan stopped rubbing his chin, then slapped his brother on the back. “Godemite, Edwin, you’re right. They may only be armed with pitchforks and shovels, but they have heart. They’ll be safer within the rampart anyway. Go! See to it. I leave it in your hands.”

  Edwin hurried off, his head held high. “Our quiet baby brother is growing up,” Ragna said.

  Aidan laughed. “He’s older than you are, Ragna.”

  “Yes, but it has never seemed so. Will we be safe, Aidan? I’m a little afraid.”

  Aidan put his arm around his sister. “I’m sorry I’ve brought this trouble here. Perhaps I should take Nolana away—”

  She leapt to her feet. “No! I will not be a party to that. You love her, Aidan, and she loves you. Do not cast her out.”

  “You believe Nolana loves me?”

  Ragna cradled his face in her hands. “Of course she does. Talk to her.”

  ***

  Aidan found Nolana gazing at the many FitzRam family mementoes hanging on the gallery walls. It had been one of his mother’s favourite pastimes, particularly as her illness worsened. A lump rose in his throat and he inhaled sharply. His mother would have loved Nolana.

  She turned to look at him. Sadness still haunted her eyes. She pointed to a small ceremonial dagger. “This is intriguing.”


  Aidan was stunned. Of all the trophies on display, she had chosen the one his mother valued most. He took it down from its mounting and stroked his hand over the ornate handle. “It belonged to my mother. Her Danish grandfather carved it. She believed the Viking depicted there was him.”

  He handed it to her and she accepted it carefully, examining the craftsmanship. “It’s an object of great worth, I’m sure.”

  Aidan took a deep breath. How to explain the dagger, its role in his mother’s journey? “It has a long and significant history. It saved my mother’s life.”

  Nolana handed back the dagger. “Is she still alive, Aidan? I would love to meet her.”

  He had to pause before replying. “No, she died. Both my parents are dead.” He turned away to replace the dagger so she wouldn’t see his agony. He felt the warmth of her hand on his back. “I know what it is to lose both parents, Aidan. I feel your pain.”

  Words stuck in his throat. He leaned his forehead against the lime-washed wooden panelling.

  She rubbed his back. “Your grief is still fresh, isn’t it? How long ago did they die?”

  He turned to face her and choked out the words. “A few months. They drowned—in the White Ship disaster.”

  She gasped and her hands went to her mouth. She squeezed her eyes tight shut and shook her head. “Oh, Aidan.”

  He brushed away a tear rolling unbidden down his cheek. He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Nolana. Grown men don’t cry.”

  She reached for his hand. “A man who cannot cry isn’t a man. Grief is nothing to be ashamed of. You loved them a great deal, didn’t you?”

  He could only nod his head. If he opened his mouth he would blurt out the truth of why they were aboard the White Ship.

  She took both his hands and drew him to the chairs. “Sit with me, Aidan. Tell me the dagger’s history.”

  Gradually his pain eased as he recounted how Agneta’s mother had taken her own life with the dagger in despair after the slaughter of her husband and sons. “Ragna was named for her, Edwin for my murdered grandfather. I was given the names of my mother’s slain brothers, Aidan and Branton.