by Linda Sole
‘Supposing I can never remember?’ she had asked him more than once.
‘You are happy as you are. What does it matter?’
Anne knew she was happy. She had been truly happy since the night Nicholas loved her for the first time after Iolanthe’s birth. It was truly like the first time, a discovery of pleasures and feelings she was sure she had never known before. Yet something was not as it should be. A growing feeling that her life had changed when Iolanthe was born had taken root in her subconscious.
Nicholas was her husband. He loved her and the child and would protect them both. Why should she feel threatened by a name written in a ledger? What should the name mean to her? Why did she feel that she ought to know the Abbess of Saint Innocent?
Anne struggled to shake off the unease that had come over her as she read the entry in her husband’s journal. If she could remember the Abbess there would surely be nothing to threaten her in recalling a woman – perhaps a friend.
She made a determined effort to put the unease from her, wishing that she had not let her curiosity overcome her scruples. Had she not looked in the journal she would not now be feeling so anxious.
It was ridiculous. Why should one devout woman wish her ill – and what could she do to harm her?
*
Anne could not rest. She did not know why but her pillows seemed hard, the mattress lumpy and unwelcoming. Yet in her heart she knew it was her mind that would not be still. She wanted the warmth of Nicholas’s body close to her but he had been working late into the night recently and she missed him.
Throwing back the covers, she went through to her husband’s bedchamber. He was lying on the bed but he had not removed his clothes and she thought that he must have fallen there from sheer weariness.
‘You work too hard, my love,’ she murmured and bent over him. Reaching down to stroke his dear face, she bent and kissed his mouth. ‘Rest easy, husband, for you need your sleep.’
‘Not as much as I need you.’ Nicholas’s eyes were suddenly open wide and looking at her. She saw the heat of desire, an echoing need that matched her own. ‘I was thinking of you, Anne. I did not wish to disturb you if you slept.’
‘I could not rest,’ she confessed. ‘When you do not come to me I am lonely. I love you, Nicholas. You are my soul’s mate, my love, my life.’
He pulled her down beside him on the bed, rolling her beneath him so that his eyes burned down into her, making her arch and whimper with need as his mouth took possession of hers.
‘You are all I desire, my breath, my heart, my soul. You do not know what I have done to make you mine…’
Anne heard the words but her mind did not grasp them. She was breathing heavily, her body aflame with desire as she arched beneath his skilful hands. He had beautiful hands, the fingers long and slender; they played her body like a musician played his instrument, making it sing with pleasure.
Their bodies moved together in perfect accord, sweat mingling as they moved towards the beautiful place only true lovers ever find. When the climax came and ended gloriously, they lay still, limbs entwined, breath easier, Nicholas’s face against her breast.
It was only as she was drifting into sleep that she remembered and wondered. What did Nicholas mean? What had he done to make her his?
THIRTY TWO
Rhoda found the journey long and tiring, though Jonathan was a caring escort. They had kept moving at a steady pace while they remained on Welsh soil for fear of attack, but none had come. Once they were in England, Jonathan deliberately took his time, stopping frequently to allow her to rest. She was grateful for his care but the mild weather had lifted her spirits and the further they rode from her husband and the depressing fortress where she had spent the past months the lighter her mood became. Now she could laugh and tease Jonathan, becoming more like the girl she had been before she left her home that fateful day.
‘I am so happy that Robert sent you as my escort and protector,’ she told him as they rode together, their horses walking slowly through countryside that was becoming greener with every day that passed, the bare branches of winter covered with the glory of spring blossom. ‘Had I been forced to live under Andrew of Exeter’s rule I think I should have preferred to stay in Wales.’
Jonathan inclined his head. ‘That was Melloria’s feeling too. It was the reason that Robert left his brother-in-law in charge at Devereaux. Had he asked Andrew of Exeter to take charge she would have been safer. Melloria’s brother was gallant and brave but unused to the deceit of ruthless barons.’
Rhoda nodded her head. Jonathan sometimes talked about Robert’s first wife. She knew he had liked Melloria, perhaps too much for his own good, but he had not betrayed Robert. She was certain that he was too loyal to his friend to seduce Robert’s wife. It amused her to see the wistful expression in his eyes when he looked at her sometimes. Jonathan felt something for her. How deep his feelings ran she could not tell, because he conquered them and would not step over the invisible line that his sense of honour had drawn between them.
Kerrin was very different. He had never held back, declaring his feelings with passion. Recalling the scene between them in the chapel, she felt an icy shiver at her nape. He had been so angry…so passionate as he vowed to do murder for her.
Was a vow made in chapel more binding? Rhoda felt cold all over as she remembered the look in Kerrin’s eyes. She hated the Earl of Montroy. There was a deep black need inside her for revenge, and it was her feeling of outrage that her father’s murder went unpunished that had prompted her to demand Kerrin’s promise. Had she expected him to refuse? Rhoda wasn’t sure. His threats frightened her but she was determined not to think of them. There were some months yet before her child was born. Anything could happen in that time. Robert might kill Montroy. He might be killed in battle – Kerrin might be killed in battle.
She shook off the fear that had shadowed her since that night in the chapel. For the moment she was free of the need to please her husband or Kerrin, both of whom demanded too much of her. Her eyes moved to the knight riding at her side. Jonathan was satisfied with so much less. A smile or a pleasant word and he would do anything to please her. He was kinder and more considerate than her husband or Kerrin. She felt safe and…loved in his company. Yes, she felt loved and that was a new feeling. Warmth washed over Rhoda as he smiled back at her.
This was the first time she had been truly happy for a long time. She remembered that when Jonathan took her from her father she had not been frightened. She had trusted him. He was not rich and powerful like her husband, but he had land and a house of his own.
She thought wistfully of how pleasant it would be to be the wife of a gentle and kind man like Sir Jonathan Searles. Kerrin would always be jealous if other men looked at her, as Robert was. Although one was a great lord and one a humble knight they were much alike, both ruthless men and arrogant. Her husband had never trusted her. Even though he had taken her maidenhead, he had asked her if she were chaste, doubting her innocence.
Jonathan would worship her. He could not do enough for her – but his loyalty to Robert was too strong. Rhoda did not think that she could overcome the barrier he kept between them. He was her friend but he would not become her lover.
She sighed deeply, feeling regret. Jonathan raised his brows.
‘Why so sad, lady? Do you miss your husband?’
‘No, I am not sad because I must leave Robert in Wales. I pray for his safety every day – but…he does not love me. He married me for an heir but I believe he still loves her…Melloria.’
Jonathan frowned. ‘He will not forget her for she was a good and beautiful lady, but I am sure he cares for you, Rhoda.’
‘Perhaps…’ she smiled at him. ‘Is it wicked of me to want to be first in someone’s heart? Do I ask too much in asking for unconditional love?’
Jonathan was silent for a moment, then, ‘You should not say such things, my lady. You are Robert’s wife and must remain loyal to him.’
‘I know Robert is my husband. I am loyal and faithful, Sir Jonathan – but I sigh because I am not loved. I give all of myself but it is not enough for him. Forgive me, I know you love him. I should not speak of something that cannot be helped.’
Jonathan did not answer her, but she knew that he looked at her often as they rode. When they stopped for refreshment, he lifted her down. Did his arms linger about her a moment longer than necessary or was that merely her imagination?
Rhoda accepted the wine and food he brought her, smiling up at him bravely. Tears glistened on her lashes but she held them back. She was tired and he was kind. It could not be a sin to wish that she had married Jonathan instead of Robert – could it?
*
Jonathan had guessed that Rhoda was not truly happy long since. He knew that Robert’s grief for Melloria had been deep and it had puzzled him that he had married so soon. Surely it would have been better to go on searching for the child he believed might be his own? Had the child been found and the truth revealed, it might have brought healing and relief.
Robert had felt responsible for Sir Henry Morgan’s death. It was this that had led him to marry the girl instead of sending her to a nunnery – at least that was the reason he gave. Jonathan suspected that there were others less altruistic but he had never questioned his friend’s decision.
At first he had thought that his feelings of unease were because it seemed too soon for Robert to marry, but then, as he watched Rhoda, especially at court in Winchester, Jonathan realised that he had fallen in love with his friend’s wife. He had loved and admired Melloria too but that was different. She had always been far above him, a queen amongst women, distant and powerful in her own right.
Rhoda was different from the start. Perhaps because he had been the one to abduct her, he felt almost as if she were his – as if Robert had stolen her from him. Had he been told that she was to be sent to a nunnery he would probably have offered marriage. He had felt vaguely resentful that Robert had married her, but his loyalty was deep. They had been friends for so long that it would have been like tearing out his heart if he had broken with his blood-brother. Yet he did not like to see Rhoda unhappy.
Robert had married her. He should treat her fairly. Jonathan had not seen any sign of neglect in Robert’s behaviour towards his wife. She had clothes and jewels befitting her rank and at first she had seemed happy enough. However, he had seen a change in her at Dyserth. Sometimes her eyes held sadness and her mouth drooped. He had done his best to cheer her, making sure that there was music and laughter whenever she dined in the hall with them, but while Robert was away she had kept much to her chamber. He had imagined that she missed her husband, but now she had confessed to him that she was not happy in her marriage. She claimed that Robert did not love her and Jonathan believed she spoke truly. Whatever had made Robert marry her, he did not look at her as he had once looked on Melloria.
Were his feelings for her no more than the base lust any man might feel for a beautiful woman? If he could show her no tenderness or true caring then he did not deserve her. Rhoda was sweet, innocent and lovely. Jonathan was angered because she was so unsure of her own worth. Any man fortunate enough to have her as his wife should thank God for such a gift.
In the coming months Rhoda would need love and care. There was no telling how long Robert would remain in Wales. The fighting might be swift and the rebels soon conquered but it could drag on and on throughout the year. Rebellions such as the one they were fighting might continue for years, because it was impossible to pursue the rebels into hidden passes for fear of treacherous marshes and ravines. As yet there had been skirmishes aplenty but no decisive battles.
Jonathan made a vow to show Rhoda the love and tenderness that any woman deserved at such a difficult time. Childbearing was long and tedious and many gentle ladies suffered greatly. He was a man of honour and he would not betray his friend. There would be nothing dishonourable between them but he could offer kindness and care – and love. He acknowledged in his mind that he had come to love her over these past months. His love must remain unspoken, but he would do all he could to make her time of waiting as pleasant as possible.
If Robert should be struck down in battle…no, he would not allow such thoughts. They were disloyal and evil. He did not wish his friend to die. Yet at the back of his mind there was a rogue thought that if Rhoda were a widow she might consent to be his wife.
No, it was wrong. Jonathan chastised himself for the thought. Robert had set him in a position of trust and he would not abuse it.
‘We ride out in the morning,’ the Earl of Montroy announced to his men that evening. ‘The King is on his way, his problems in Gascony settled for the moment. A party of rebels have been seen just south of here and we are sent to draw their fire so that the King may make his way safely to Deganwy and establish his court there.’
‘How many rebels are there?’ Kerrin asked. ‘Do we go alone or do others ride with us?’
‘There are a score of us and no more than thirty of them at most. Our part is to harry them but not engage in battle unless forced to it.’
Kerrin nodded, his mind working quickly. He had been waiting his chance since Rhoda left more than three weeks earlier but as yet there had been no opportunity to keep his word to her. Now it looked as if the time might soon be right. In the heat of battle anything could happen. He would not hesitate if the chance came to revenge Rhoda’s father.
Leaving the hall where the men were gathered, Kerrin went outside to take a walk about the courtyard. The work of the day was done, the sound of hammers in the forge and the usual coming and going of bakers, cooks and craftsmen at work had fallen silent.
He climbed to the battlements to look out. In the darkness the mountains were black brooding shapes that fitted his mood. He disliked this country, finding it damp and oppressive, and would be glad to see the back of it. The sooner his work was done and he could claim Rhoda the better.
Turning, he made his way down the stone steps that led back to the compound. As he did so, he saw a man coming up to meet him. He caught his breath sharply as they drew level and looked into each other’s eyes.
Rhoda’s husband. Devereaux had stolen her from him and he tasted bitter gall every time he looked at the man. Their eyes met, cold and fierce, both of them resentful and angry.
It crossed Kerrin’s mind that he could wrestle with the earl, throw him to the ground and be rid of his rival for once and all. Yet there were men on the battlements and men walking in the courtyard below.
Nodding his head, he passed on by, the temptation conquered. He did not need to kill the earl. Rhoda had promised to leave her husband once her child was born. It was the Earl of Montroy she wanted dead. He must do nothing that could bring suspicion on himself, because his chance would come quite soon now.
*
Robert stood watching the knight descend to the compound below. He had seen the hatred in the man’s eyes and knew that for a moment something had passed between them. Had Sir Kerrin been tempted to throw him to the ground? The thought had been in his mind as he’d stood aside and let the younger man pass. Murder was a terrible thing and to kill a man who had done him no harm would be murder. Yet he had been sorely tempted.
His promise to Rhoda was foremost in his mind. He had given his wife his word that he would kill Montroy at the first opportunity and it seemed that his chance might be closer than he had expected. Montroy and his men were to ride out to chase off some rebels seen in the district in the morning. Robert had suggested to the prince that he should take his men and scout in the opposite direction. It should be possible to do his self-appointed task and then take a detour so that he came up behind Montroy’s men. In the heat of battle there was often a moment when a man might kill a friend rather than an enemy. If a bolt from his crossbow should go astray, who could blame Robert?
‘God forgive me,’ he murmured beneath his breath as he made his inspection of the battlements. He had killed men
in battle many times, for there had been skirmishes aplenty since he sent Rhoda home, but he had followed his duty. To kill a comrade in cold blood was no less murder than it would have been to send Sir Kerrin hurtling to his death. ‘No, it must be a challenge.’
He spoke the words aloud, passing a startled guard without a second look. Robert would kill his enemy in combat but he dismissed the idea of using his crossbow. Such an action would be cowardice and beneath a man of honour.
He would seek redress from Montroy when the chance arose but it would not be murder.
*
Kerrin rode at Montroy’s back, as he had done for the past weeks each time they sought the enemy. The earl had thanked him personally for his action in guarding his back, little guessing that his loyal knight waited only for the right moment to despatch him to the hereafter. The scouting parties had seen little action, merely encountering the occasional sniper who fired an arrow at one of them and then disappeared into the woods. It was not safe to follow for the rebels knew their woods best and the unwary could be led into a bog of stinking mud that would suck them under.
It seemed to be the way of these rebel lords. They struck by surprise then ran for cover in the woods or disappeared into the mountains, where, in the winter, it had been impossible to follow. Now the weather was better and the English knights were venturing further from the fortress. There was hope that the battle was being won little by little.
The Earl of Devereaux had routed a large band of rebels some days back and received much praise for his courage and skill. It was the reason Montroy had volunteered his men for this dangerous encounter; he did not like to see his enemy gain glory while he had done nothing but chase off a few rebels who presented little danger to anyone. The band of men they were riding to meet today were reputed to be the elite of the lords who had answered the call of their prince, which meant he might be somewhere in the area. Llywelyn ab Gruffydd had succeeded in rousing the Welsh across the country and the rebellion was widespread, though unlikely to triumph once the King had gathered a large enough force to squash them.
