Autumn's Flame

by Denise Domning

  In admitting this, the darkness on his soul lifted. This brief respite from greed left him feeling wondrously free. Hope filled him. For this moment he found again the contentment of being Freyne's steward. Aye, things would return to what they'd been. If he could but convince her to trust him once more, they would handfast and spend their remaining years in quiet comfort.

  "Clare," he begged, "is there no way to win back your affection for me? No true harm has been done."

  A lie. He'd done murder to the midwife. Her voice seemed to echo within him, crying out for vengeance. Once again, a shadow set on his heart. No matter how he wished it, he'd never again be the man he'd once respected and admired.

  "There is one thing," Clare said softly, "but I think me you'll not happily take so heavy a penance."

  "Nay, there can be no deed too onerous for me," he said, speaking swiftly, as if doing so might help him escape what clung to him. "Tell me and I vow I will do it. It’s your love I want more than anything else."

  "I would have you leave Freyne while my cousin and her son reside here."

  Reginald threw himself to his feet, shocked at her impossible request. "Leave Freyne! How can you ask me to go from the only home I've ever known?"

  She watched him in a sad calm. "How can I let you stay, knowing what I know of you?"

  "I will give you my word," he started, only to fall silent as she shook her head in slow negation.

  "It’s my godson's life you'd have me set into your hands, and that I cannot do, even as I cannot expose what you've done to my cousin or Lord Coudray. If you leave, I will know your love for me is stronger than your need to own Freyne."

  "This is idiocy," he nearly shouted. "The only thing my leaving proves is that I fear exposure."

  "Nay," she said softly, her gaze unflinching as it met his. "The fact that I live after confronting you with this in private is proof you do not fear I will expose you. If I cannot trust my Simon to you just now, you trust me with your life."

  Reginald stared at her in surprise. Clare's death might well have bought him Freyne. He came to kneel before her. "I never thought," he whispered, begging her to believe where he doubted himself.

  She smiled, her love for him clinging to the movement of her mouth. "I know." She raised her hands to comb her fingers through his hair in a gentle caress. "Beneath what has corrupted you goodness resides. That do I believe with all my heart, thus do I love you still. Now, I would have from you proof of your intent toward me and mine. Leave Freyne. When you are certain the avarice has departed you, come for me. It matters naught to me if we live in a hovel for what remains of our lives. I want only your love to bear me company."

  Reginald came to his feet, his hands on hers urging her to rise as well. Catching her in his embrace, he drew her close. Clare rested her head against his shoulder, sighing. In that sound was a tangle of pleasure and longing. "What is your answer?" she murmured.

  "I want your love. The morn will find me gone."

  Even as he spoke the words the greed that had plagued him these past months cried out in frustration and denial. What right had she to cheat him of his home, the only place he'd ever lived?

  By force of will alone did he turn away from this thought. Reginald closed his eyes and leaned his head against hers. God forgive him, but he'd not care to wager on how long even her love could serve as a barrier to his ambition.

  Elyssa fanned herself with her hand as she and Freyne's new castellan strode along the village road that led back toward their gate. Not even the shade of her broad-brimmed straw hat offered any relief from the heat. This day seemed one better fit to August rather than early September, and after a week without rain, her every step woke a fine cloud of pallid brown dirt. The stuff clung to the hems of her now-altered yellow gown and her ivory linen overgown.

  Elyssa glanced at the man whose bigger feet were causing the greatest damage. "God be praised, there's now only the harvest home feast to provide before the season closes."

  Long, lank, and half again her age, Sir Gilbert only nodded shyly. It was a quiet knight Geoffrey had sent to head the army now occupying Freyne. Aye, and the longer Gradinton held his hand, making no move to capture Cecilia or her properties, the more men Geoffrey sent to guard them.

  Elyssa sighed. Although Gilbert managed Reginald's military duties, he was no steward; those duties had fallen to her. Reginald's abrupt departure still galled her. It was as if he couldn't abide living in the same place as she. Yet, a deeper mystery nagged her. Why had one so dedicated to Freyne left without a backward glance?

  Reginald's accounting told the tale. In the margins around his careful tallies were meticulous notes on everything from grain yields to the bloodlines of their bulls and rams. His book was so detailed that Elyssa had known exactly what she owed the villeins who just finished harvested Freyne’s grain: a boon day feast. And if she needed to know what she was required to feed them on that day, it was all there, including how many oxen, sheep, and chickens as well the required cartload of bread, right down to the note that each laborer was to get two cups of ale each.

  "My lady." Sir Gilbert's quiet voice startled her from her thoughts. "Lord Coudray is come.”

  Elyssa stared through Freyne’s open gateway ahead of her. Geoffrey's steed, stripped of saddle and bridle but still wearing the marks of a long ride, grazed in a paddock. This glimpse of Passavant made her heart do the most amazing feat: it leapt, fell, then simmered. “So he is.” The words barely managed to escape her tight lips.

  This had become the pattern for his visits. Geoffrey would give no warning of his arrival, simply appear with one or two men at his back. He’d bide a few days at Freyne, claiming her bedchamber for the duration of his visit then depart. If the majority of his time was spent with Cecilia, summer evenings were long. Once his daughter was abed, Geoffrey joined Elyssa and Clare in Freyne’s paltry garden. Their conversations often lasted until it was full dark with Clare being the one to call the evening to its end.

  If those quiet talks were originally centered on issues they shared in common, such as the houses offering to foster Cecilia and Jocelyn’s continuing success at Ashby, they’d soon expanded to far more individual interests. Although this had taught her much about Geoffrey the man, talking was all she'd had of him throughout the summer.

  Elyssa glared at her dusty skirts. He seemed to have changed his mind about marriage. Not once in all these conversations had the subject been broached between them. Nor had he intentionally touched her, not since the morning of Simon's christening.

  At first she'd been grateful for his new indifference as it put their previous intimacy at a distance. But, as she came to know Geoffrey better her affection for him had grown until desire plagued her. His last stay had left her wanting him more than she'd believed it possible for her to want a man. Mary save her, but each time he departed Freyne the image of Geoffrey sleeping in her bed haunted her dreams for days.

  Damn him anyway. Elyssa scuffed her shoe against the path. If he'd withdrawn his offer, he ought to at least say so to her face. That only common courtesy. Damn her as well. If she had no desire to wed with him, why did she care what he felt for her?

  As she and Sir Gilbert entered the brief dimness of Freyne's gateway, the knight turned to those who guarded their door. "Where is Lord Coudray?"

  "He and Lady Clare left for the river taking Lady Cecilia to swim, sir," one man replied with a bob of his head.

  "Good." Elyssa spewed the harsh word without thought, so great was her relief. The more distant Geoffrey was, the less she was tormented.

  The soldiers looked at her, and the one who'd spoken raised a brow. "My lady, if you like I'll send Robin here"—he jerked his thumb toward his underling—"to fetch Lord Simon and his nurse and send them to the garden."

  Elyssa blinked, her tangled emotions eclipsed by surprise. She hadn't realized her daily habits were so deeply entrenched. The guard was right, this was her usual garden hour with Simon.

 
"Aye, if you please," she said to the man, "and my thanks for offering."

  The soldier smiled, and his Robin raced for the hall. Sir Gilbert followed the man at a slower pace while Elyssa crossed the bailey to the garden's gate. When she entered, she glanced around her in disgust. It was no better in here now than it had been when she'd first returned to Freyne a year ago. In the main this was due to Reginald's departure and Clare's lack of interest in gardening. Elyssa hadn't had time to do anything with the place. At least the pear tree offered a spot of shade, and the air was fresh. She'd barely reached the pear tree before Simon's nurse was opening the gate.

  It had been the fourth day of Simon's life before Berta had conceded that Elyssa was truly starving her son. The girl she provided was dark of hair and eye, and very upright. Johanna's husband had died just before their first child's birth and, only weeks after his death, her babe had followed his sire. In Simon, the young woman found a child to replace the one she’d lost and ease her grief.

  Dressed in a plain red gown, Johanna came toward her lady, a worried frown on her broad brow. If Elyssa gloried in this hour out-of-doors with her son Simon's nurse barely endured it. She'd shielded Simon's face from the sun with a thin cloth and bore over her shoulder a thick blanket to cushion him from the ground's rough surface.

  As Elyssa claimed her son from his nurse, she swept the cloth from his face. Simon squinted as he peered at her. Then, his chubby face widened into a grin of recognition. His arms and legs strained against his swaddling in excited reaction.

  "Oh, how you long for your freedom." Elyssa laughed as she settled herself on the blanket Johanna spread. "Well then my little lad, you shall have your heart's desire." She set to unwrapping her son.

  "My lady, are you certain you should do that? He's not yet six months. What if he grows all crooked?" Johanna clasped anxious hands, repeating the complaint she voiced each time Elyssa freed Simon of his swaddling.

  "What can it hurt him to have his will for just a little while?" Elyssa replied.

  Once freed, Simon grunted in excitement, his arms and legs moving even before she laid him, belly down, on the blanket. Sunlight shot through the branches to dapple his bared skin with golden light as he worked to lift himself. Elyssa ran a finger along the soft curve of her son's skull. Fine golden red hair floated up at her touch.

  Simon grinned, turning his head toward her. Much to his surprise, this motion resulted in him rolling onto his back. No matter. He happily squinted into the light, cooing at the ripening pears hanging above him. His hands raised above him and he began to work in joyful expectation of reaching the impossible. Elyssa laughed at his optimism.

  "His eyes!" Johanna cried out in a new fear, wringing the cloth she'd used to shield his face. "Oh, my lady, he'll be blinded."

  A wry smile twisted Elyssa's mouth. She had no need to worry over Simon; Johanna did it for her. Taking her hat from her wimpled head, she held it between Simon and what he wanted, letting its embroidered ribbons dangle into his face.

  He blinked, his round face alive with surprise at this change. Then he set to bubbling and burbling at the ribbons, his hands opening and closing in even greater expectations. Love washed over her, so deep, Elyssa thought she might die with it.

  There was a sudden burst of noise from the nearby gate. Cecilia's piping tones were unmistakable against the deeper voices of the men who guarded her every move. Johanna's expression eased at the sound.

  "Lady Cecilia will be wanting to bathe Lord Simon. It has become her pet chore." Johanna well knew that where her lady heeded her not, once Cecilia began to beg the deed was done. Simon would be swiftly returned to the safety of her arms and the darkness of the hall.

  The garden gate flew wide. Johanna scooped up Simon as Cecilia raced toward them. Elyssa came more slowly to her feet, her emotions once again shifting beyond her control.

  "Lyssa, we are home!"

  Summer had bronzed her poppet's skin, making Cecilia's pale gray eyes all the more startling. Her blue gown clung damply to her body, while wet strands of dark hair streamed behind her. Cecilia wrapped her arms around Elyssa's waist and set her chin on her borrowed maman's belly to grin up at her.

  Elyssa caught her closer still as her heart set to aching. There'd not be another summer with Cecilia at her side. Eventually Geoffrey would decide on a house in which to foster her. "You have been swimming, no?"

  "Aye, because Papa is here." Cecilia's grin widened into the ultimate display of happiness.

  Elyssa raised her gaze to look at Geoffrey. Frustration and hurt roiled in her. Dear God, but he was a beautiful man. His dark eye patch lay against his summer bronzed skin that turned his scars into naught but white lines. His eye color was a bright blue. Even while damp his hair gleamed like the finest gold.

  Elyssa's gaze descended from his face to the broad line of his shoulders. He'd left off his tunic after their swim, donning only his shirt, chausses, and shoes. His shirt was made of a linen so fine it clung like a second skin to his damp shoulders and upper arms. His shirt strings were undone, and the garment gaped from throat to mid-chest.

  As she stared at the exposed contours of his chest, the need to touch him, to run her fingers over every inch of him, was so strong she shuddered inwardly with it. But Geoffrey wanted her naught at all. Elyssa forced her gaze back onto Cecilia.

  What a fool she was, letting her desires become fixed on him. Did not Geoffrey's casual indifference prove he was a man like any other? She'd been but a momentary amusement, something to divert him from Crosswell's boredom. His interest had died with her departure from his sphere.

  "Did you enjoy yourself?" she asked her poppet, no sign of her new aching in her voice.

  "Aye, I like swimming," Cecilia replied.

  "She does more drowning than swimming," her father scoffed.

  He lay his hand atop his child's head, his knuckles brushing Elyssa's restored waistline in an innocent caress. As he stroked Cecilia's damp hair, his fingers moved along the slight curve of Elyssa's abdomen. The thin gowns she wore were no barrier to sensation and she swore she could feel his skin against hers.

  "She does not," Clare retorted, stoutly defending the lass. Elyssa's cousin was yet dry, having been their observer. "She swims very well, indeed. Her head rarely lowers beneath the water's surface."

  Elyssa glanced to Geoffrey, expecting his reply, then was sorry she did. He smiled that wonderful smile of his, his teeth white against his sun-darkened skin. He leaned close and nigh on touched his lips to her ear. Pure lust flowed through her.

  "What your lady cousin doesn't know is that it was my hand keeping my lass afloat,” he whispered.

  As swiftly as he'd bent toward her, he was gone, turning to look at Simon. Elyssa freed a disappointed breath and chided herself for hurting over his lack of care for her. This was foolish thinking.

  Geoffrey lifted her naked son from Johanna's arms. "What ho? Someone has stolen your clothes, my lad," he told the chortling boy. When Geoffrey raised him high overhead, Simon squealed in enjoyment.

  Cecilia released Elyssa and went to wrap an arm around her father's leg. "Make him laugh again, Papa," she begged. Geoffrey smiled at her request and joggled Simon. The little lad did as his makeshift sibling wished, laughing as he kicked his feet in exhilaration.

  Johanna squeaked in fear. "Have a care, my lord."

  In deference to the nurse's wishes, Geoffrey instantly lowered Simon until they were eye to eye. Hurt spiked through Elyssa. Look how concern over a servant's feelings moved him, while he paid hers no heed at all.

  Simon dug his toes into the man's chest, his wee red brows rising as he considered the face in front of him. With unexpected swiftness, the lad caught the black strap crossing from the patch into Geoffrey's hair. As he dragged it toward his mouth, he brought Geoffrey's face with it.

  "Here now, leave that be," Geoff told him, gently trapping Simon's tiny fist to pry open his fingers.

  Once again Elyssa's hurt surged. Aye Geof
frey was caring and loving toward Simon now, but what would happen once Cecilia left them to be fostered? He'd come no more to Freyne to visit Simon, that's what. Or, her.

  Elyssa caught her arms around her middle. Mary save her, but Geoffrey's departure from her life would leave a terrible, aching emptiness, worse even than what Cecilia’s going would cost her. Didn't he realize how much she needed him?

  Shocked, Elyssa stood stock-still. Mother of God, was this how she chose to squander her hard-won freedom? What was wrong with her?

  Now cradled in Geoffrey's arms, Simon was happily sucking on a shirt string. Cecilia grabbed her father's sleeve, forcing him to lower the lad until she could tickle the babe. Geoffrey's laugh joined to Simon's delighted response sent love rushing through Elyssa all over again. This time, her heart wrapped itself around both boy and man.

  And would not be moved.

  May God damn her soul, she loved him. Elyssa's jaw clenched in fear. Oh, but this was terrible. He needed to leave before she did something she would regret.

  Pushing past Clare, she grabbed Geoffrey by the sleeve and turned him toward her. "No more. Give my son to his nurse and leave my home," she told him, tugging at his arm with all the panic that now raced through her. "Go now," she insisted. "Mount your horse and leave."

  ***

  Geoffrey stared at the woman he intended to make his wife, once again confounded by her. Now what had set her off? There was deep fear lurking in the shadows of her coppery eyes. The urgency in her voice had a strange tone to it.

  As he recognized it, a subtle sense of triumph rose in him. What he heard was desperation. It was the sound of a woman who knew she'd lost the battle and sought to make a final stand against overwhelming odds. The corner of his mouth lifted. He'd breached her defenses, and she sought to drive him from her before he noticed. He gave Simon to his nurse with great pleasure.

  "Lyssa," her cousin cried out, "what is wrong?"

  Elyssa crossed her arms in defiance, backing away from Clare. "Nothing is wrong, save that he must leave."