Winter Dreams

by Robyn Neeley

  He blushed scarlet and mumbled, “I’m called Jacob,” then disappeared before she could embarrass him further.

  She looked down at the kitten, silky and warm in her hands. It gave a huge yawn. It was female, so she must think of an appropriate name. It was half-grown and already hand-tamed and quite adorable.

  “Hello, sweet girl,” she said, grinning as she realized its gray eyes exactly matched Lord Robert’s. She stroked the kitten’s reddish orange fur and closed her eyes as the tensions of the day melted away.

  • • •

  The door-ward bid him good day. “Glad to see you made it back before the fog got too thick, my lord.”

  Robert nodded absently as he dismounted from his black charger. Sigor knew the route so well that he could find his way home through utter darkness, let alone fog, but Robert knew such weather created uneasiness among his retainers and servants. It could conceal an army gathering to attack or drown a man in a deep marsh he couldn’t see.

  One of the stable boys came up to take his reins. As Robert strode across the foreyard, he caught sight of Imma sitting on one of the stone benches, bent over something in her lap, oblivious to the fog rolling in. Drawing nearer, he saw that she was talking to a kitten. Undoubtedly that was Jacob’s doing. He thought every woman needed a cat, never mind that Robert’s dogs found the cats distressing and were constantly getting their noses scratched.

  Imma’s face was relaxed and she smiled as she looked down at the animal. She stroked it with gentle caresses. The objection he had to cats died on his lips.

  His chest tightened. What he would do for her to smile at him that way, for her to touch him with such gentleness. He caught his breath at the very thought, then gritted his teeth and tamped the longing down.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, chastising himself as she jumped and he realized how harshly his words had come out.

  She put a palm to her heart and steadied her breath, tilting her head back to stare up at him, her lip caught between her teeth. He supposed he was rather big and imposing. Just because Elizabeth said it was so didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

  He sat down on the bench a little distance from her so he wouldn’t loom so large. “Is this your kitten?” he asked, his voice coming out a little gentler now. Imma shot him a perplexed look, as if not sure how to answer him. He couldn’t see that the question was particularly complicated. But he sensed Imma could complicate anything. Imagine what she would make of his desire to see her smile at him, his longing to hold her in his arms. It was possible that the very idea would frighten her enough to send her on her way, which would solve one of his problems, but not in any way that would satisfy him.

  “The stable boy brought her,” she explained. “He said I could have her. May I keep her?”

  Robert reached out to touch the animal’s silky fur. The kitten slitted its eyes at him and gave a rusty purr. He was aware of how close he was to Imma, who held the kitten in her lap. He could lift his hand and touch her. What would she do? Scream until the watchmen came running? Draw her dagger? What was the weregild for the unwanted touching of a freewoman? He would be happy to pay it, even if it were one hundred shillings. One thousand. But what he really wanted was for Imma to be willing.

  “What is her name?”

  “Morfydd.”

  “She is a Welsh cat?”

  “Yes,” Imma said, and smiled at him. He stared at her for a long moment, until he became a little dizzy and he realized he had forgotten to breathe. He dragged a breath in. “May I keep her?” she asked again.

  He found himself falling into her violet gaze. “Of course you must keep her.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  He concentrated on keeping his hands on the kitten, which was a great deal more difficult than he would have expected.

  “What were you telling Morfydd earlier?”

  “My lord?”

  “You were talking to her,” Robert said, suddenly feeling foolish. He had had an entire conversation with Imma and she had not fainted from fear. Why did he push further? “When I walked up I thought you were telling her a story.”

  She leveled the violet gaze at him again. “Perhaps I was.”

  “What was the story?”

  She eyed him; her fear was returning. He set his jaw and chided himself. Why had he pushed? Why couldn’t he be pleased with their small progress and leave it at that?

  “Never mind,” he said, lifting his hand away and getting to his feet.

  “It was the story of Peredur, whom you English call Perceval,” she said in a rush.

  “The grail story?” He sat back down, intrigued. “Was this in one of the books you read to Elizabeth?”

  “No, my lord,” Imma said. “In my uncle’s household was Efa, a bard. She taught me the stories. The Welsh legends and tales.”

  “Will you tell me the story?” he asked. He picked up the kitten and put it in his lap. “Morfydd and I are both eager to hear it.”

  At his words, her violet eyes filled with tears. Dismayed, he stared at her. How could he possibly have caused that?

  “My lady?” he asked uncertainly. He disliked feeling uncertain. She kept him so twisted and turned and knotted up he regretted ever allowing her to stay in his household. And yet he did not like to contemplate the thought of her leaving —

  “You are sure you want to hear the story? Simon didn’t like me to tell the tales.”

  “I am not Simon,” Robert said, with what he thought was admirable restraint.

  “If you would like to hear it, then I would like to tell it.”

  The fog thickened as Imma began the story, but neither noticed. The swirling mist enclosed them in their own world, quite separate from the one beyond.

  Chapter Five

  The dawn broke clear and cold. Robert sat his hunter stiffly. The alaunt, bigger and stronger than his greyhounds, was at his side, for they were in search of wild boar today. The hunting-thane had gone ahead and Robert awaited his word, ignoring the other members of the assembled hunting party. He had succumbed to weakness, and he despised himself for it. Just knowing she was there made the spot between his shoulders tighten, though her presence — or absence — should have been a matter of complete indifference to him. That it was not annoyed him beyond measure.

  He had hunted with his falcon just a few mornings before. Imma had gone for a ride, and he had encountered her at the stable. “You’re a falconer, my lord!” she’d exclaimed, and he had immediately suffered the debility he often experienced in her presence, with the breath whooshing out of his lungs all at once. It had taken him a moment to remember to breathe, and then he’d managed a gruff confirmation.

  “I have never seen a falcon hunt,” she said, her eyes shining, and he knew what she wanted, and the bright sharp longing pierced him. What if she might be delighted by the prospect of his company? What if that made her eyes sparkle?

  He had turned away, not before seeing the pleasure on her face turn to chagrin. Despite his hunting success that morning, the alarm he had felt over his feelings had quite ruined his day. Still, he refused to ask her to go falcon hunting with him. To do so would mean that he desired, even required, her companionship, and he would not admit to that. Instead he arranged this hunting party and gave word that he welcomed any of the women of his household to join his small group of retainers. That was not the same as going hunting with Imma, he assured himself. Not at all.

  A few of them had indeed accepted his invitation and joined the hunt this morning. Elizabeth, of course, never missed a chance, though she was as incompetent as she was enthusiastic with her bow. He had to assign a stable boy to oversee her actions and prevent her from accidentally shooting a member of the hunting party instead of the game they sought. Tilly, on the other hand, never attended and wasn’t present today. A weaver who
se name he couldn’t call to mind accompanied her husband.

  And Imma.

  She sat astride her horse, not the gray palfrey she usually rode when she went about with Jacob, but a hunter from Robert’s stable, her back straight, face eager, her hair confined in a long black plait down her back. He hated the plait, though he supposed it was a sensible way for her to wear her hair for a hunt. He wanted to see her dark curls loose. He wanted them to spill across his arm. He wanted to tangle his fingers in them.

  The worn and travel-stained cloak she wore wasn’t attractive either. He wanted to see the curve of her shoulder, and the roundness of her arm, and everything about her today thwarted him.

  “My lord.” The hunting-thane’s voice broke into Robert’s thoughts. The thane thrust the hunting horn toward Robert, filled with the spoor of the wild boar they tracked. Robert took the horn and examined the spoor, then nodded.

  “Lead on,” he said, urging his horse forward.

  The group headed toward Cerne Abbas, in the opposite direction of Glastonbury; they had left the island of Athelney itself in order to pursue the hunt. The hunting-thane rode ahead with the dogs and their handlers. As they rode, Robert directed the hunting party to arrange themselves in the best way to kill the boar when it was flushed from its lair, reminding them to take special care. He had seen a wild boar kill more than one man. Resolutely not looking at Imma, he wished he had given a different command to the hunting-thane this morning. If Imma were hurt while under his care —

  His stable boys had informed him that she was adequate with a bow, for she sometimes joined them in practice against straw men, with the result that his youngest thane, Jacob, had fallen quite hopelessly in love with her. So. She could shoot an arrow. Robert himself carried a spear and a sword. She would be safe. Not that she was any particular concern of his. He wanted the entire hunting party to be safe, even Elizabeth.

  He turned his shoulder on Imma again just as a red deer burst from cover, darting across the open field in front of them. It had not been their quarry, but no matter. Venison was as welcome as boar at a winter table. At Robert’s command, his horse surged forward. He leaned over the animal’s neck as they gave pursuit, the pleasure of the hunt humming in his veins. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Imma near him on her hunter, bow in one hand, reins in the other, plait of black hair flying behind her, all of her attention focused on the chase.

  The buck paused at a ridge. Robert, several lengths ahead of Imma, loosed his spear without slowing his horse. Imma had yielded the first attempt to him, as befitted his status as lord of these lands, but hard on the heels of his throw, her arrow whistled by him. He did not flinch, for he knew he was not in any danger of an errant shot from Imma. Her arrow hit home a moment after his spear.

  The deer stumbled and fell as he and Imma galloped forward, the rest of the party close behind them. Pulling his horse up, Robert dismounted quickly to finish the deer with his knife.

  “That was wonderful,” Imma said. He looked up from where he bent over his task to see that she had dismounted and followed him, her eyes bright, her grin wide and friendly, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. He crouched there, his knife bloodied, unable to look away from her. Her eyes widened as she kept his gaze; undoubtedly she could see the heat in his eyes. The air sparked between them and she stood perfectly still, as if she dared not trigger his predatory instinct.

  A fist crushed his lungs. Did she guess how he felt? How he admired her? She rode like a Valkyrie, and she hunted like a falcon. She had more secret treasures than a ring-giver, and if his retinue had not been five paces away, he would have kissed her right there.

  He did not trust himself to speak. He nodded and turned away to order his hunting-thane master to direct the field butchering.

  Chapter Six

  In the morning, Imma walked across the snow-covered field toward the stable, for her now-daily ride. Partway there, she heard the sound of the Welsh tongue and stopped in her tracks. She turned to see who was speaking.

  A broad-shouldered man was working on the wheel of a cart that had gotten bogged down. A boy standing at the horse’s head shouted encouragement to him.

  She could not help herself, but smiled and called out a greeting. The man stopped what he was doing and stared, then after an interval that made Imma feel unaccountably awkward, dipped his head in acknowledgment. She stepped forward and said, “I didn’t realize there were other Welsh here.” Given how Elizabeth and the other members of Lord Robert’s household despised them, she was surprised to see any of her countrymen employed here.

  The man answered her warily. In that moment, she realized he was not employed here. He was a slave, and his son, too.

  All of her anger against the English flamed in her veins as she moved past the two. It was this her uncle fought against. This he had sent her to heal — and she could not. She did not think another marriage to another piggish English lord in the spring would make any difference. Yet she must do it, and sacrifice what she might want to ensure it. Knowing in the end it would not matter, for when had women ever made peace when men could not?

  “Shall I ride with you, my lady?” Jacob smiled up at her as she entered the stable.

  She dragged her attention from the Welshman and his son and her unhappy thoughts of duty. Jacob no doubt wanted a reprieve from the most unappealing of his duties.

  “That would be fine,” she said, and tried to match his smile.

  The marshy land around Athelney was no place for a good gallop, but that was just as well because Imma’s thoughts were not concentrated on riding. Her palfrey picked its way slowly and carefully over the track, but at least Imma was out of the keep and alone with her thoughts.

  The boy whistled as they rode. So, she was not exactly alone with her thoughts. But he did not intrude and kept his own thoughts to himself and required no conversation of her. Under the circumstances, she was content with that.

  The autumn chill had turned to winter cold, she realized as they rode, turning back a little earlier than she had planned because of the bitter weather. Despite his willingness to abandon his chores on her behalf, Jacob seemed just as happy to return to the warmth of the stable, too. She dismounted and brought the palfrey into the building, leading her into her accustomed stall. She unsaddled the horse and gave the boy the tack to clean. Finally, she brushed the mare down. As a guest — and not an invited one — she did not like to take advantage of the horse-thane, and she never minded doing her own chores. Her uncle had taught her everything about horses, quite as if he had expected her to take up standard and shield and accompany him into battle. It was only when he had noticed she was a woman grown that he sent her to England to marry a cold English and fight his war that way.

  The mindless occupation of caring for the horse soothed her and she felt more herself — until she put away the brush, backed out of the stall and saw with a shock that Lord Robert stood in a stall further up the aisle, examining a big black stallion that stamped its hooves restlessly.

  She caught herself on the rail. She would have to pass by him on her way out of the stable. His back was to her and she only caught a glimpse of his face in profile. His jaw was set, his face its usual iron mask.

  She remembered the hunt, and the glorious ride when the two of them knew exactly what they must do, and had not needed to speak of it. He had looked at her in a way that made her flush with warmth every time she thought of it.

  And yet that selfsame night, his gray gaze had been as cold as ever at table —

  “Nothing can be done?” he was asking the horse-thane.

  The horse-thane shook his head. “I’m sorry, my lord,” he said, clapping the other man on the shoulder. He nodded at Imma and turned to attend to his duties elsewhere in the stable.

  Lord Robert glanced over and saw her standing in the aisle. He nodded in ack
nowledgment as the horse-thane had, but his face was remote and expressionless, as if he had never looked at her with heat and admiration —

  She lifted her chin. Well, that was good, that was as it should be. She was his enemy, and it would be better to remember that.

  Already he had turned his attention from her. He stood staring into the stall that housed the black stallion, blocking her way down the aisle.

  “My lord,” she began. Will you let me pass? she intended to say, but her request died on her lips when she saw the anguish on his face.

  “My lord,” she said again. When he turned to her, the mask was in place.

  “My lady,” he said, his voice calm and impersonal. She realized it was not coldness, nor lack of emotion that ruled him, but rather ruthless control over all of his feelings. She wondered the price he had paid for that control. She knew the price she had paid for hers. Couldn’t he see that? Couldn’t he ease his guard for one moment in her presence, and she in his? They could keep the masks for other people, but why couldn’t they be honest with each other?

  They were enemies, that was why, never able to trust each other —

  “My lord, is the animal injured?”

  “He has come up lame,” he said, as if the matter were of little interest to him. But she knew better, now.

  “He is not in pain?”

  Lord Robert shrugged. “He’s old. It’s hard to say. But I don’t think he has too much pain.”

  “Then why must he be destroyed?”

  “I cannot keep a horse that cannot work.”

  “Why not?” she persisted. “Surely to pasture him would not be overly demanding on your resources.” Many times, she had had a conversation like this with her uncle, and often she could persuade him to listen to her.

  “I am a steward, lady,” Lord Robert said. “I will not indulge my sentimentality at my brother’s expense.”

  She wanted to say, Then I will pay for the animal’s keep, but she did not. Why wouldn’t he allow himself to keep the horse? He was no ceorl lacking treasure. What difference would it make, so long as other animals didn’t starve? Lord Robert was much too able of a steward to allow that to happen.