“But you said the weapon saved your mother’s life.”
He swallowed hard. He wanted to share his family’s history with her, but it was hard. He would be obliged to reveal his father’s role in the destruction and the Maknab involvement. “When my father discovered he was the illegitimate son of a Norman Earl, he despised himself.”
Nolana’s eyes widened. Aidan continued. “Aye! He’d believed he was the son of a Saxon warrior killed at Hastings. Listen to me. Aye! It was one of my father’s favourite expressions. He was born in Scotland—his mother fled there after the Conquest.”
Nolana smiled. “Your father was a Scot?”
“Ironic, isn’t it? He grew up in Scotland and whenever I hear you speak, I’m reminded of his brogue. Anyway, he wouldn’t accept he was the embodiment of everything he’d despised his whole life. He went off on the First Crusade, unaware my mother was expecting a child—a child that turned out to be twins. Blythe and I. In her despair, my mother sought to take her life with the dagger, but somehow the carving called to her, told her to seek help from my Norman grandfather, which she did.”
He came to his feet, went back to the dagger and traced his fingers over the carving of the Viking. “My mother wanted Blythe to have this after her death. It was made for a woman’s hand. But my twin lives in Saxony, so here it remains for the moment.”
“Mayhap one day you’ll take it to her.”
Aidan shrugged. “Not me, I’ll be too busy taking care of the FitzRam properties to go wandering over Saxony.”
Nolana came to stand beside him. “I heard of the great losses of the White Ship, but I never thought to meet anyone who had lost a loved one. It was rumoured only young people died with the Aetheling.”
Aidan took a deep breath. “My parents were aboard that ship at my suggestion. Ragna, Edwin and I were supposed to sail with William’s party. My mother was dying. I thought she’d have a better crossing on the opulent Blanche Nef. I was the one who should have died.”
Suddenly Nolana knew why Aidan was in the monastery. “You became a monk to atone.”
He remained silent.
Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. “And now you’ve forsworn your vow because of me. I’m sorry, Aidan. I must leave. You need not deny your vocation because of me.”
He took her hands. “No, Nolana. I believed God had called me to atone. I was wrong. Like my father, I didn’t know how to handle the shock. I wasn’t a good monk. Indeed, I hated the monastic life. My father had to endure the horrors of the Crusade before he came to recognize who he was. You are my Crusade—my test. You’ve made me see who and what I am.”
She looked into his eyes. “And what are you?”
He put his hands on her shoulders. “A man in love.”
Nolana did not know how to react to his declaration. She’d sworn never to put her life in a man’s hands. She despised men. A man had died trying to bed her, an experience that filled her with immense shame and guilt. The mere thought of it robbed her of breath. She’d wished him dead. How would she lie with another man without recalling that nightmare?
She hated England and the Lowlands because of all that had happened there. Maknab still pursued her and would harm Aidan’s family. His clan had already wrought enough damage on them, something she was sure Aidan wasn’t aware of. She ached to return to her beloved Fells.
But another ache rose as the warmth of Aidan’s hands seeped into her shoulders. He bent to brush his lips on hers—her breasts tingled. He laved his tongue over her lower lip. The tingle became an insistent prickle that hardened her nipples against the fabric of her léine. He coaxed her mouth open and pressed his lips more firmly, sucking her tongue into his warm mouth. A sound emerged from deep in her throat she’d never made before. She entwined her arms around his neck, twirling her fingers in his hair. He growled, put his hands on her waist and drew her body against his. She felt his hard male length pressed against her most intimate place. Here was no Baron Grouchet. An image of Aidan lying naked in the Infirmary leapt into her mind. Desire spiralled up her spine and settled at the apex of her thighs. She was on fire, hot and wet, out of control.
Nothing good would come of this. She broke away.
He frowned. “What’s wrong, Nolana? I know you feel the same way.”
She glanced up at the dagger. If only she had some talisman to guide her, help her sort out her feelings. “No, Aidan. I cannot. There are things you don’t understand about me. You hardly know me.”
He cradled her face in his big hands. She longed to give her life over to his protection, draw on his strength. “The moment I saw you in the market at Beal, I knew you. I should have listened to my heart then.”
“But you were a monk!”
He chuckled and pressed his arousal against her, nuzzling her neck. “I was trying to be, but my body sent me a different message. Give yourself over to me, Nolana. I will protect you with my life.”
She tore away from him and paced, her fingertips pressed to her forehead. “I don’t want another death on my hands. One man has already—” She stopped abruptly. She’d come close to blurting out the awful truth.
Aidan put his hands on the back of her neck and kneaded his fingers into her flesh. “You are no more guilty of causing Grouchet’s death than I am of bringing about my parents’ demise.”
The burden became intolerable. His strong fingers were igniting flames in her body, sending icy heat from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. A sob escaped her constricted throat. “He died in our marriage bed, lying on top of me. I feared I would suffocate.”
Aidan gathered her in his embrace and cradled her as she wept. When she calmed, he kissed the top of her head. “I don’t love you any less because your beast of a husband died in the manner he did. I ache for the pain it has caused you. He was an old man. When our bodies join, there’ll be a little death, but you’ll love it.”
Her mouth fell open. She should protest, not truly understanding the husky words that had sent shivers to her core, but he smiled and put his finger to her lips. “We must speak of other things first. Ragna, Edwin, Leofric and I have been planning the defences if and when Maknab attacks.”
She took a deep breath. “It’s not right that you are risking everything for my sake.”
He shook his head. “Nolana, this has little to do with you and more to do with history.”
Relief swept over her. “You know?”
“Aye, we’ve suspected it was Maknabs who destroyed our home and killed my kin.”
Icy dread filled her heart. “Neyll will stop at nothing. His clan has long boasted of the killings at Kirkthwaite. But they claim the manor house was totally destroyed.”
“It was. My Norman grandfather arranged for it to be rebuilt, for my mother’s sake. This isn’t the original house. We’ve traditionally spent part of the year here and part at Shelfhoc, in the Welsh Marches. That house belonged to my Saxon grandmother, Lady Ascha Woolgar. It was my father’s birthright.”
“Neyll will be incensed, if he isn’t already.”
“We’re ready for him. My father kept a well-trained troop of men here given our proximity to the border. It won’t be the first time we’ve fought off brigands. The villagers will aid us. They suffered at Maknab hands too. It has taken two generations, but we’ll avenge my family at last.”
***
Aidan was reasonably confident, but could not be certain of success against Maknab without knowing how many men rode with the Borderer. He did not want Nolana to be aware of his doubts.
“Don’t worry,” Edwin kept saying, “I’ve seen to everything we planned.”
Where had this confident new Edwin been hiding? Too bad his father had not lived to see the transformation. His brother seemed to be everywhere at once: overseeing the preparation of weapons, training with the men, practising swordplay and defence moves, inspecting the rampart, reassuring villagers. It felt good to have his brother at his side in this endeavour, and Leofric too had
expressed his appreciation of Edwin’s boundless energy.
Ragna had thrown herself into preparing bandages, readying salves, organizing a makeshift infirmary in the Hall, teaching maidservants to tie tourniquets, lining up pails of water and ewers of ale. Nolana assisted her and the two women worked well together. Aidan had never known his sister to willingly accept anyone’s suggestions, yet now she deferred to Nolana seemingly without rancour. The sight of the pallets ready for the wounded reminded him sharply of the pain he’d endured after the bees swarmed him. Nolana had come to him then, at considerable risk, and done what she could to ease his torment. He was sure she loved him. He had to get her to admit it. What was she afraid of?
He wished he could erase the memory of the Baron’s death. How terrified she must have been. A vision of the old man ravishing her plagued him. He had dreamt of being the one to possess her first. They would never share that intimate joy.
How would he feel if she was with child? Was it possible to love the spawn of a dissolute monster such as Grouchet? Nolana would love her own child, even if she’d loathed the father. Aidan would love any child of Nolana’s.
The Barons’ death had made her a wealthy woman and any son she might carry now would be heir to Grouchet’s holdings. But he suspected she had no love for the Baron’s castle. She was a Scot.
Of course! That was part of her reluctance. She missed her own country. Aidan had never travelled to the north, but he’d heard tell of its wild beauty. How to compete? She didn’t want to live in England, or in the Lowlands, and Aidan certainly could not live in a remote part of Scotland. His responsibilities as the head of the FitzRam family made it impossible.
But he resolved to see her safely delivered there if she did indeed want to return. It would break his heart, but he counted her happiness above all else.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
An outrider careened into the bailey. “Beacon’s bin lit, my lord,” he told Leofric. “Maknab’s bin sighted.”
“How many?”
“Dunno. Didn’t see ‘em mesel’. Jus’ the beacon.”
Leofric slapped him on the back. “Good man. There are victuals in the kitchens.”
Aidan and Edwin strode into the bailey and Leofric gave them the news.
Aidan turned to Edwin. “Our revenge is at hand. Gather the men and get them out to the rampart now.”
Edwin reached out his hand. “I won’t fail you, Aidan. I know in the past—”
Aidan grasped his hand. “This is the present, Edwin. We’ll not dwell on the past.”
Edwin swallowed hard and looked at his feet. “I’d hoped—never mind—we’ll be fine without them. I for one am prepared to fight to the death to defend this place.”
He hurried off, leaving Aidan to wonder what it was Edwin had hoped. No time to be concerned about that. He ran to the Hall. Nolana and Ragna had organised the women of the household and all was in readiness. Ragna came to embrace him. “Go with God, Aidan. You will prevail. I have every confidence.”
He was tempted to ask her who she was, but the sight of Nolana wiping away tears distracted him. He went to embrace her and she clung to him. The feel of her body pressed against him gave him courage.
“Aidan, there is much I want to say to you. I owe you my life—”
“Hush, Nolana,” he said softly. “Let me hold you. We’ll talk when I return.”
He kissed her deeply. “I love you, Nolana. I will not allow Maknab to win. I must go.” He strode from the Hall, not looking forward to riding his horse with a rock hard erection.
***
Edwin had seen to the widening and deepening of the ditch in front of the rampart. Aidan stood atop the wooden palisade and looked back towards the house. At the time of the massacre, Kirthwaite Hall had been woefully defenceless. Things would be different this time. He closed his eyes, imagining the terror of that fateful day. His mother, then a young girl, had hidden in an abandoned barn and watched the slaughter of her father and brothers. His own father had unwittingly aided the Scots in the destruction of the manor house, believing it belonged to Normans. What strange twists and turns life sometimes took.
“Maknabs! Devil take ‘em!” came the cry. Suddenly men could be seen scrambling through the ditch. A volley of rocks rained down from the rampart. Some fell under the onslaught. The rest retreated and all was still.
“Be ready!” Leofric bellowed. “They’ll come again—in greater numbers. That was a test.”
The light was fading. Aidan fretted. “He’s waited until we cannot see them approach. We should have had flares.”
“Light the torches,” Edwin yelled. Within minutes, light flooded the ditch, revealing huddled figures in dark playds edging their way to the rampart. Aidan looked at his younger brother in amazement. “Well done, Edwin. I should have thought of that.”
Edwin winked. “Father’s idea, actually. He mentioned it often.”
Really? What was I doing? Evidently not listening.
Leofric gave the command. “Barrage!”
Again rocks rained down and the figures either fell or retreated.
“Where did we get these rocks?” Aidan asked.
Leofric shrugged. “Edwin’s had the villagers out on the moors, collecting.”
The next wave of lowlanders did not come surreptitiously. They swarmed over the rise screaming like souls possessed. Maknab wasn’t amongst them. Where was the devil?
“Bowmen!” Edwin shouted. Arrows flew, striking many of the invaders, but still more came on, some too close to the rampart.
“Bowmen!” Edwin yelled again, and the scene repeated itself. Aidan felt useless. Edwin was protecting their home single-handedly.
***
Nolana paced, biting her nails. The only casualty brought to the infirmary was a villager who’d been burned lighting a flare. Ragna was tending him. He’d told them of the assaults on the ditch and rampart. “They ain’t got to the rampart,” he reassured them. “Young Master Edwin done a right proper job of defence.”
Still she worried. What if Aidan were killed? A lead weight settled on her heart. If they defeated Maknab, people would die in the victory. Aidan had lit a fire in her belly. She loved him fiercely. Why had she tried to deny it? He wasn’t like the other men she’d known. He would never use or abuse her. She would be safe with him.
She returned to the villager. “What of Sir Aidan? How does he fare?”
The man looked up at her. “Don’t rightly know. I didn’t see him, but there was no hue and cry of his death, so I suppose—”
No hue and cry of his death!
If he died she would do more than cry, she would scream until she went mad. Just as she would go mad living in the Fells without him. Her happiness depended on him. She wanted to run out to the rampart and throw her arms around him. She touched Ragna’s arm. “I must go to him.”
Ragna grasped her wrist. “Nay, I’ll not allow it, Nolana.”
“I must tell him I love him.”
“He already knows.”
She threw herself into Ragna’s embrace. “He might die, Ragna. I’ve been a fool. I want nothing more than Aidan.”
Ragna stroked her back. “He’ll come back, Nolana. I know he will. He loves you. He’ll not allow Maknab to destroy what our parents strove to build. Neither will Edwin and neither will Leofric.”
Nolana choked back the lump in her throat.
Suddenly, the doors crashed open and injured men were carried in. “The rampart’s breached,” one man yelled. “Hand to hand now on the palisade.”
Nolana rushed to aid the wounded, trying to control the fear that swept over her at the sight of their injuries.
You are a true Scot, used to hardship. Where is your courage? Has Neyll purged it? Nay, I’ll not let the scurvy Maknab reduce me to a whimpering fool afraid of her own shadow.
Reassured Ragna and her women had the situation in hand, she ran to the gallery, yanked the Danish dagger from its mounting and ran out into the courtyard.
There were lights on the rampart in the distance. Part seemed to be on fire. She ran towards it.
Let all be well.
Halfway to her goal, she encountered a ring of men, villagers and men-at-arms, armed to the teeth. “Stop, lass,” one of them called. It was Leofric. “Ye cannot go out there. Stay behind us. We’re the next line of defence. If they break through yon rampart, they’ll come this way.”
It would be useless to defy them. She was one woman against many men. He was right. She would bide with them, and await her chance to help the man she loved. Smoke burned her nostrils and made her eyes watery. Weapons clashed out on the ramparts.
Let all be well.
She peered beyond the ring of defenders. A seething mass of men shouted, fought, swung, hacked, screamed and cursed.
“Hold,” Leofric commanded, his mutilated hand held high in the air.
The melee came closer. Were the Scots gaining the upper hand?
“Hold,” Leofric menaced, his hand still raised.
She peered through the darkness and caught sight of Edwin. He was a man possessed, slashing and slicing at anything moving near him. But where was Aidan?
The swirling mass came closer. “Nowwwww!” Leofric roared, lowering his hand and charging full tilt, his sword held high.
The defenders surged forward, farmers with pitchforks, woodsmen with axes, knights with swords. They hurled themselves at the attackers. Nolana did not want to watch, but her eyes were fixed on the snarling, angry conflict.
Then she saw him. All sound ceased. Aidan and Neyll exchanged sword blows like the wooden knights on strings she’d seen children play with in the market. Pull the string, one knight thrusts; pull the other, his opponent parries. She held her breath and crept forward, crouching close to the ground, the dagger still clutched in her hand.
Out of nowhere, a group of mounted knights burst on the scene, hacking at the playd clad attackers. Bloodcurdling screams rent the air. One of the knights yelled a war cry in Latin and brandished his sword. The lowlanders fled. The heavenly host had ridden to the rescue of Kirkthwaite Hall.
Sweet Taste of Love (The FitzRam Family Medieval Romance Series) Page 8
