Time to Love Again

by Speer, Flora

“My dear lady.” He went to one knee, seizing both of Danise’s hands to kiss them.

  “Hugo, you must behave yourself,” India cautioned. “And I cannot leave you alone.”

  “There’s a bench under the apple tree,” Hugo said. “If Danise and I sit there, you could walk and look at the plants.”

  “And not hear what you are saying?” Feeling like an elderly aunt, and suddenly understanding at least some of Sister Gertrude’s responsibilities, India waved them away. “Go on, but remember I will be nearby, and don’t stay too long. If we are caught, we will all be punished by an outraged nun and you may never be allowed to speak to each other again.”

  She watched them hurry down the path before she turned her back to give them some privacy. She tried to interest herself in the herbs, and then in the pink and gold sunset that lit the sky. From the direction of the apple tree came the sound of Hugo’s low-pitched voice and Danise’s gentle laughter. The evening air was soft and mild, and it was so quiet that India whirled at the sound of a foot on the grass. She looked anxiously toward the garden entrance, fearing the approach of Sister Gertrude.

  But it was Theu who came through the arched opening in the garden wall. He stood watching the couple at the other end of the path, while India wondered how to explain why she had permitted their meeting and tried to think of a way to convince him not to tell Sister Gertrude about it. Then, as she had done, he turned his back toward Hugo and Danise and stood beside her, looking down at the patch of mint.

  “Did you plan it?” he asked. “Or did she?”

  “We planned it together,” she answered. “Actually, Hugo found the place, and Marcion delivered the message. You might say we all contributed.”

  “At the moment, Marcion is plying Autar with wine. I suppose that is part of your scheme, too – to keep Autar occupied? Or did Marcion or Hugo think of that? It’s how I knew. Marcion never drinks so much unless he has a good reason for it. Then I noticed that the three of you had disappeared. Finding you was easy.”

  “There’s no harm,” she began.

  “Especially not with two of us to watch them.” His hand rested on her shoulder in the gesture that had become familiar to her. “Are you still angry? Still disappointed in me?”

  “Yes.” She was curious about his response to such an answer, but she refused to disguise what she felt.

  “So am I angry,” he said, “and disappointed, too, for I thought you would trust me. I thought you’d know I would never let any harm come to you.”

  “I believe you mean that,” she said, “but if you had been killed at Tours, Hrulund would have killed me along with the rest of your people.”

  “Turpin would not have allowed my death,” Theu said. “He knew that if Hrulund killed me, Charles would have seen both of them executed for the murder.”

  “Theu, what was the purpose of that strange meeting?” India asked. “Why did they send Autar to meet us, and to make certain we stopped at Tours?”

  “They weren’t interested in you and the others,” Theu said. “I am the one they hoped to intimidate. The evening I spent with Turpin and Hrulund was unpleasant as well as pointless. Turpin, at least, must have known from the first that he could not change my opinion of this summer’s campaign. Hrulund was there solely for the pleasure of insulting me to my face. I cannot pretend to understand the workings of Turpin’s mind, but Hrulund is easy enough to read.”

  “I think Turpin had another purpose once you told him I was carrying a message to Charles,” India said. Quickly, choosing her words carefully so as not to further inflame his wrath against either Turpin or Hrulund, she described her midnight interview with the bishop.

  “Turpin may have hoped to make you reveal some secret he could use to his own advantage.” Theu looked hard at her. “Did he harm you in any way?”

  “He did not.” Her answer was as assertive and positive as she could make it. “Turpin’s fingertips barely touched mine when he offered me a glass of wine. I believed then, and still do, that he meant to frighten me by hinting that he wanted me, but what he was really interested in was the content of my nonexistent message to Charles. It was all unspoken threat.”

  “And all Turpin’s doing,” Theu added. “Hrulund would have tied you up and held his precious Durendal at your throat while he openly demanded the answers he wanted. Turpin is more subtle – and more clever. If you were to complain of what he did, he would doubtless say he only offered you wine and conversation and meant nothing more. He would claim you misunderstood his intent, because you are a stranger in Francia and unfamiliar with our ways.”

  She could tell he was angry, and she was glad she had said nothing about her meeting with Turpin until they were well away from Tours.

  “Promise me you won’t quarrel with Turpin about this when you meet at Agen,” she begged. “He could be a dangerous man.”

  “Danger would not stop me,” he replied. “But I will not carry a personal quarrel into the royal court, where Charles would hear of it. No, I’ll say nothing to Turpin, but neither will I forget what he has done to you – and to me.”

  “Perhaps you ought to thank Hrulund,” she said lightly, trying to counter the cold anger she heard in his voice. “It was he who stopped whatever Turpin had planned for me, by coming into the room too soon. Theu, is there no way for you to call a truce with Hrulund?”

  “I would be willing to engage in a friendly competition for Charles’s favor. Such a contest would sharpen our skills and make us both better warriors,” Theu told her. “Unfortunately, Hrulund has not the wits to understand that Charles’s heart is big enough to love all his friends. Hrulund wants to be his only friend.”

  “Marcion was right,” she said. “Hrulund is jealous of you. Theu, about Spain—”

  “We agreed not to speak of what you know,” he reminded her.

  “But it’s about Hrulund,” she persisted. “He was – will be – responsible for—”

  “It seems,” he said, “that where the subject of Spain is concerned, there is only one way I can silence you.”

  He caught her face between his hands and kissed her hard. She pushed at his chest, wanting to finish her warning about Hrulund, but it was like pushing against the stone garden wall. He was immovable. His lips caressed hers, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly while his tongue sent moist flame across her mouth before he plunged it into her, tormenting her with a highly erotic rhythm. Her anger at the way he had treated her since leaving Tours evaporated. She forgot everything but her love for him. She put her arms around his waist and kissed him back until they were both breathless.

  “Too many nights I’ve slept alone,” he said when he had loosened his grip on her. “I suppose tonight will be no exception. I think you are as well guarded as Danise.”

  “We are to sleep in our hostess’s own chamber,” India told him, “Sister Gertrude with the lady in her bed, Danise and me on the trundle, and Clothilde on a pallet on the floor.”

  “I can have no hope of abducting you from that army of watchful Amazons,” he said between a groan and a laugh. “But I will find a way soon, I promise you.”

  “I hope so,” she confessed. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “Trust me. Please. It’s all I ask of you.” His eyes held hers while he awaited her response, his arms still around her.

  “I do. I will,” she said. She caught her breath, remembering the meaning of those words in her own time and knowing she had just pledged herself to him, though he was unaware of it.

  “Now that the roaring in my brain has lessened a bit,” he said, smiling, “I think I can hear Sister Gertrude’s sweet voice. We had better rescue those children before she catches them together. Pst! Hugo! Come here.”

  To Hugo’s credit, he obeyed at once. Danise was not far behind him on the path.

  “We’ll go,” Theu said to India. “You walk with Danise and exchange girlish confidences. I will find a way for us to talk again soon.” He paused to kis
s her quickly, then, after peering out of the garden entrance to be sure their way was clear, he and Hugo left.

  He had been right, for from somewhere close by, India could hear Sister Gertrude talking to their hostess. India linked her arm through Danise’s, drawing the girl back along the garden walk.

  “Thank you for what you did,” Danise whispered. “I am so happy. Hugo says he will return from Spain a wealthy man, and when he does, he will ask my father to let us marry.”

  “I’m glad you are happy,” India said, her heart a bitter lump in her bosom, for she feared Hugo’s plans would never become reality.

  “How good of Count Theuderic not to give us away,” Danise went on. “I saw him kiss you. You see, I was not mistaken – he does care for you. Would you marry him, if he asks for you?”

  India was spared the need to answer this question by the appearance of Sister Gertrude and the lady of the manor.

  “What are you doing out in the cold night air?” asked the nun. “You know it is unhealthy.”

  “It was still daylight when we first came out to the garden,” Danise replied. “We were talking and didn’t notice how dark it has grown.”

  “At least you removed yourselves from the company of the men in the hall,” Sister Gertrude conceded. Still talking while she led her charges away from the garden, she did not notice the amused looks India and Danise exchanged, nor hear Danise’s quickly smothered giggle.

  They were well into Aquitaine, according to Theu only a day or two from Agen, before he and India were able to circumvent both Autar’s constant watchfulness of Theu and Sister Gertrude’s sharp eye for India’s every action. After a long morning in the saddle, they stopped beside a lake to rest and water their horses and to eat a midday meal of the usual bread and cheese washed down with wine grown slightly vinegary during their travels. A little apart from the men, Sister Gertrude was arguing with Clothilde about something and had drawn Danise into the discussion.

  Having allowed her mount to drink its fill, India led it away from the water, looping the reins around the branches of a bush so the horse could enjoy cropping the new grass without wandering off while India ate. She had become fond of the chestnut mare Theu had chosen for her and was patting its neck and talking to it when Marcion came up to her. Behind him she saw Autar looking annoyed, possibly because Theu had suddenly disappeared. Marcion leaned one hand on her horse’s flank as if to examine the animal’s legs, bending his head so Autar could not see or hear him speak to her.

  “Walk straight into the trees, then on to the clearing,” he said softly.

  “Autar,” called Hugo from some distance away, “come here a moment, will you? I’d like your opinion.”

  “Go now,” said Marcion, dropping his hand and stepping away from the horse. He went to Autar, took him by the arm, and began to lead him toward the waiting Hugo. Beyond the men, Sister Gertrude still held forth to Danise and Clothilde.

  India wasted no time in following Marcion’s directions. She plunged into the trees, which grew so thickly and with so much underbrush that for a while she feared she would be permanently lost. But she pressed forward, sensing a thinning of growth ahead, and before much longer she emerged from the trees into an open space that contained a tumbledown shack set in an overgrown field long unfarmed.

  As she had expected, Theu was waiting for her. Forgetting everything except that she loved him, she flew into his arms, letting him crush her against his chain mail, not caring if his embrace bruised her. All that mattered was his mouth on hers, his warm strength surrounding her.

  “I’ve missed you, missed you,” she cried, moaning when he bent to kiss her throat and put his hands on her breasts.

  “We haven’t much time,” he said, pulling away from her. “I told Marcion and Hugo that I wanted to talk with you in private. They will keep Autar occupied for as long as they can, but he’s remarkably single-minded and he’ll soon begin to search for us. India, wait, I can’t let you go now that I have you to myself.” He drew her back into his arms, kissing her cheek and her forehead.

  “Should we be doing this if Autar is likely to appear? Or Sister Gertrude?” she asked in a breathless voice.

  “I need to hold you for just a while, because I can’t bear to look at you without touching you,” he said, his arms tightening about her, “and because I must tell you what I began to understand at Tours, when Hrulund spoke so slightingly of women. As I listened to his cold words, I knew that I could never close my heart as he has done. I have broken the oath I once made to myself. I swore I would never love again, but you have found a place in my heart and I cannot remove you, no matter how I try. Our quarrel over what happened at Tours, and our separation for so many nights, have proven to me how much I love you. Once I swore never to say those words again, but now I cannot help myself. Whatever happens, to you or to me, know that I will love you through all time.”

  “Oh, my love.” Almost in tears from the joy his declaration brought her, she touched his face with both her hands, caressing his strong bones, outlining his fine mouth with tender fingers. “I remember the odd way you looked at me at Tours. I thought you were angry.” Winding her arms around his neck, she kissed him. “Make love to me, Theu.”

  “Truly, my dearest, I meant only to talk to you, to tell you what is in my heart. I would not hurt you, so I cannot lie on you while I’m wearing chain mail. Once, in Saxony, I wore it as a barrier between us, to keep myself safe from you. Now it prevents me from holding you as I would wish.” But even as he spoke he was drawing her downward.

  “It need not keep us apart. I will lie on you,” she told him, sinking to her knees with him, watching him unbuckle the belt that held his sword so he could lay the weapon aside.

  They knelt together on the soft spring grass, arms around each other during a long, deep kiss. His tongue probed the depths of her mouth while his hands searched beneath her tunic, releasing the fastening of her trousers so he could push them away and touch the smooth skin of her thighs.

  “You can’t stop now,” she whispered.

  “This isn’t the way I want you,” he groaned, though he continued to stroke her back and her hips. “Not half clothed and hurried, as if we were doing something wrong. I want you to lie beside me all night, with nothing between us, just your sweet skin against mine and all the time we need to find our deepest joy.”

  “If this is all the time we have,” she told him with remarkable logic considering the pounding of her heart and the way heat was sweeping along her body in response to the constant motion of his hands on her, “then I’ll accept this kind of lovemaking and be grateful for it and not ask for more. So long as it is you who holds me, who enters me and drives me wild with love and longing, I will be happy.”

  Giving him no time to argue the sanity of what they were doing when they might be discovered at any moment, she kicked off her boots and tossed aside her trousers.

  “How can I resist you when your need is as great as mine?” he asked, pulling at the cord that fastened his own trousers. He pushed them downward in a swift motion, then lay back on the grass, lifting his tunic and chain mail up to his waist, exposing himself for her. He reached out to pull her to him, but she was already kneeling at his side. In the warm early April sunshine she bent to kiss the upward-flaring evidence of his need for her and ran her tongue around its velvet-soft tip.

  “No, wait, my dear love. You’ll drive me mad.” He caught her shoulders, forcing her to lie across his chest so he could kiss her mouth with all the frustrated, yearning passion of all the nights since their last night together at Aachen. Even now, even constrained by lack of time and the fear that they might be discovered, his male pride would not allow her to be the dominant partner. Not yet, not until the last possible moment. His hands moved over her hips and thighs, swiftly, urgently, and from the gathering storm inside herself, she knew he could not wait much longer. His fingers brushed between her thighs. Involuntarily she moved against him, then realized he was
only unfastening the bottom of her teddy so he could move the fabric out of his way. He held her face tight for one more near-violent kiss, then tore his mouth from hers.

  “Now,” he gasped. “Right now. This moment.”

  His strong hands grasped her hips, lifting her, then sitting her on top of him so that he entered her in the hard, quick motion she had learned to anticipate with delight.

  And then it was her turn. She felt him dig his heels into the ground to push his hips upward. He had finally relinquished control of their love-making to her, and she relished her position. She drew her hands along his body, enjoying the contrasting sensations of cold chain mail and hot skin. She leaned over him, kissing him on the mouth once more just before she began to ride him like a great, beautiful animal, riding harder and harder. He filled her with his bold masculine strength, filled her more completely with each movement of their bodies until she cried out her wild, exultant passion and then bit her lips together lest someone should hear and interrupt them, for she knew she would die if they were separated now. And at the end, when he had groaned and called her name over and over through an aching, prolonged ecstasy, when her head was spinning and her eyes were unfocused, he half sat up to wind his hands into her hair, to hold her close and kiss her and cradle her head on his shoulder until the tremors convulsing her had ceased and she collapsed, gasping and sobbing, against him, feeling him relax against the earth.

  She lay with her cheek on the hard links of chain mail covering his chest, listening to his heart beat and loving him with all that was in her. When she felt him move and opened her eyes to see what he was doing, he offered her a handful of tiny flowers he had pulled out of the grass next to the spot where they rested. She took the flowers from him, lifting them first to her nose to inhale their soft fragrance, and then to her lips.

  “White violets,” she murmured. “So delicate and so short-lived.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “They survive the snows of winter and the harsh summer sun and heat. They only look delicate.” His hand smoothed down her disordered hair in a gesture so tender she almost wept at his touch.