Wessex Weddings 05 - Her Banished Lord

by Carol Townend

  ‘Aude, we must stop.’ He lifted his head.

  Stop? One hand was draped possessively over her breast. Aude had no recollection of him placing it there, but since it was there, she let it be. His thumb moved, her nipples ached in a reaction that was both pleasure and pain. Instinctively, she shifted against his hand, trying to intensify the contact.

  Stop?

  The mattress rustled, Hugh’s thumb went still and lifted away. ‘Diable, what are we doing? We must go.’ He rolled away from her. Picking up the blanket, he narrowly missed banging his head on the planked ceiling and squeezed through the gap.

  Hugh had not been on her bed for more than a minute, but in that time he had wreaked havoc with her, mind and body.

  Shocked at herself, wondering how on earth kissing Hugh could have driven poor Gil from her mind, Aude straightened her bodice. Her fingers had turned into thumbs. Snatching up the pouch and lantern, she scram bled into the night.

  Outside, Hugh jammed the boards back in place, bracing them with a bundle of reeds he dragged from the pile under the eaves. Taking her hand, he crept to the corner and peered through the gloom towards the main door. The pouch was heavy on Aude’s shoulder. Alfold Hall was quiet, the rain was easing.

  Hugh’s kiss lingered in the back of Aude’s mind. It lay in her mind even as she wondered whether someone in Winchester had recognised him as the exiled Count de Freyncourt. If so, it was imperative he was not caught. Her heart hammered.

  The kiss lay in her mind while she prayed that Dynne stayed put on the bench by the door; they would be very unlucky if he chose this moment to beat the bounds. Reminding herself that that would not happen until the second watch took over, she willed herself to remain calm.

  Hugh was carrying a sack cloth bundle. ‘You found food?’ she whispered. She would think about that kiss later…

  ‘Yes. Are there dogs at Alfold?’

  ‘In the stables, they must be asleep.’

  ‘Thank God.’

  Hugh closed the lantern shutter and they crept across the yard. It had never seemed so large. A dark mass that could only be the church was visible on their right, which meant that Crabbe Wood lay straight ahead, across the fields.

  ‘Horses?’ Aude breathed. They were wrapped in darkness and with the clouds blocking out both moon and star light, it was a strain to see the ground. Ridge, furrow, wheat stubble; ridge, furrow, wheat stubble…

  ‘A little further.’

  They stumbled on in silence. It couldn’t have taken long, but it felt like an age. Finally the farmer’s strips lay at their backs and the trees began to close in behind them. The lantern shutter squeaked and a pale beam of light illuminated their path.

  ‘You can ride Gil’s horse,’ Hugh said.

  Lifting her hand, he kissed it before forging his way along a slender trackway, half-pulling, half-leading her to where the horses were tethered; warm, friendly shapes in the dark that snuffled at their approach.

  Once Aude was mounted, Hugh produced a leading rein and put out the lantern. ‘It would most likely blow out on the ride, in any case.’

  There was even less light in the wood than out in the fields, but Hugh plunged confidently on. A million half-seen trees and shrubs crowded close. Rain-sodden branches brushed Aude’s shoulders and thighs; her skirts clung damply to her skin. How Hugh knew where he was going was a mystery, but Aude had already discovered that this corner of Wessex was criss-crossed with paths and track ways. It would seem that Hugh had found one of the most ancient, and since Gil’s horse never faltered, he must have learned the way so he could ride it blind fold.

  Bracken rustled, the horses’ hoofs sounded hollow on last year’s beech mast. An owl hooted. More rustling.

  ‘Here we are.’

  If Aude’s eyes had been slow to adjusting to the night, her ears were faster. The jingle of a bit-chain and a dull thump told her that Hugh had dismounted. His foot steps drew near and an indistinct form materialised at her side. A pale face turned up to hers, and a warm hand touched her thigh.

  ‘Come, Aude.’

  It was then that she had a most worrying impulse. She wanted to reach for Hugh’s shoulders and allow him to help her dismount. She, who had been riding almost as long as she could walk. She, who wanted nothing more than to be in de pen dent, wanted Hugh Duclair to help her down. And not because she needed his help, but simply for an excuse to touch him again.

  Those kisses had addled her brain.

  ‘I can manage, thank you.’

  But his hands found her unerringly in the dark, steadying her. Briefly, he stroked her cheek, eliciting a burst of starry tingles before he released her. ‘I thank you for coming with me,’ he murmured. ‘I was loath to involve you over this, Brat, but I am glad for Gil’s sake that you are my friend.’

  Brat. He moved away, leaving Aude staring blindly into the shadowy wood. She was his friend, was she? Did friends kiss each other with such devastating intimacy? She had felt his tongue play with hers, and it had neither shocked nor repelled her. Friends?

  There came the familiar click of a flint being struck. Sparks flew. As the lantern flared into life, the beech trees and bracken around them took form. Narrow paths were running off in all directions.

  Gil’s horse shifted, stamping its foot. Returning to her side, Hugh flung the reins over a branch and took her hand. Adjusting the strap of the pouch, Aude tipped her head up. ‘But where are we? There’s nothing here.’

  He struck out down one of the paths. ‘It is true there is nothing now, which is why I hope we shall remain un discovered, but once…’ His voice trailed off as he came to a halt and drew her to his side.

  They had left the main path a few yards back and appeared to be on the edge of a small clearing, but, no, it was not a clearing. The light was falling on chunks of fallen masonry, the sharp edges had been blurred by time. It might once have been an ancient building, but only spirits or ghosts walked here now.

  Ice ran down Aude’s spine as she looked at a crumbling wall festooned with ivy. ‘What is this place?’

  ‘The Saxons call it the giant’s ruin.’

  ‘It is Roman?’

  ‘Yes, it is Roman.’ Towing her after him, he picked his way across the rubble. ‘Most of the people hereabouts seem to have for got ten its existence; at least I hope they have.’

  Aude sent him a swift glance, almost tripping over a chunk of broken masonry. She prayed he was right. Father Ambrose had mentioned a Roman road and if he and the villagers knew of the road, the chances were they knew about this place too. But, responding to another sharp tug on her hand—Hugh’s mind was fixed on Gil—she said nothing and concentrated on staying upright.

  ‘Here, let me take that.’ Hugh relieved her of the pouch as they reached a low wall. Putting the lantern on the wall, he vanished behind what looked like a curtain of ivy. Moments later he was back to retrieve the lantern and lead her through.

  They were in a square room, or what was left of one. A small fire crackled in the middle, flames and smoke rose into the black ness. Most of the roof was gone.

  Gil was asleep, swathed in cloak and blankets under a make shift awning. A rusty iron lantern glowed softly by the boy’s head.

  ‘Aren’t you afraid someone will see the light?’ Aude asked, shrugging off her cloak and dropping to her knees at Gil’s side.

  Apart from the cleared area where Gil and their belongings had been placed, the rest of the floor was lost beneath a covering of worm-eaten timber and dead leaves.

  ‘Not here, not this deep in the wood. Just look at this place.’ Hugh gestured at what might once have been a window, but which now, like the door, was choked with roots and ivy.

  ‘Gil?’ Gently, Aude touched the squire’s shoulder. There was no response, not so much as a flickering of his eyelids. Guilt was a cold knife in her innards. They had delayed too long. ‘Gil!’

  Chapter Nine

  Gil lay unmoving. Hugh was at her side, his eyes grey and intent. G
ently, Aude laid her fingers at Gil’s throat and let out her breath on a sigh. ‘Merci à Dieu. His pulse is weak, but steady.’

  ‘Yes, thank God.’ Hugh looked earnestly at her. ‘He lost much blood.’

  ‘A leg wound, you said?’

  ‘Fool of a boy should have told me how bad it was. The first I knew that it was a real hurt was when he slid off his horse.’

  ‘He was lucky he didn’t crack his skull open,’ she murmured, frowning at some bruising on the side of his head.

  ‘Yes.’

  Briskly, she peeled back the blankets. ‘Pass me your knife, I need to examine the wound. His chausses will have to come off and it sounds as though he may need stitching. I hope he doesn’t need cauterising.’

  ‘You can do that?’ Hugh asked as he hunkered down at her side and handed her his knife.

  ‘I often used to assist at Beaumont, and before that my father needed mending from time to time.’

  Hugh grunted; he knew about Aude’s past life with her father, acting as Sir Hamon’s squire because that was the only way they could stay together after her mother had died. ‘Lord, what a world.’

  ‘Hmm?’ She bent over Gil, the knife blade glinting.

  ‘I never thought to be pleased that your father dragged you round half of Normandy with him.’

  Looking at the dark wetness on Gil’s leg, she sucked in a breath.

  ‘Aude?’

  ‘As you said, there has been much blood loss. Did you put this binding on?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I shall be needing water.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Warm fingers squeezed Aude’s shoulder as, with infinite care, she began peeling back fabric from Gil’s thigh. It was soaked. ‘Hugh, I am honoured by your trust in me. Now be silent, if you please, while I see to poor Gil. You bound this cloth so tight it is a wonder you didn’t stop his blood-flow altogether.’

  ‘You see how he was bleeding—I had to.’ Hugh’s voice was tight with anxiety. ‘Did I make it worse?’

  ‘Most likely you saved him. But if you do not let me work in peace, you might very well make it worse.’

  Hugh pushed to his feet. ‘There’s a spring nearby, I’ll fetch water.’

  ‘My thanks.’

  ‘And then I’ll get the horses into shelter, we can’t leave them where they are. I won’t be long.’

  Aude murmured in response, but Hugh could see that her thoughts were all for Gil. Leaving her to it, he spread her cloak out to dry and went to find the brook.

  Another tumble down building was set at right angles to their hideaway, perfect for a stable, and Hugh had ear marked it as such some days ago. The entire roof had collapsed as well as a wall, but enough remained to keep the horses from sight of the path. Hugh thought it was highly unlikely that anyone would come this way, but if they did, he was determined they would see nothing. Doubtless, these ruins had once formed part of a prosperous Roman villa and the room in which Aude was tending Gil was all that was left of the main residence.

  The wooden bucket made a hollow thunk as he went back to deposit it on the floor by Aude. She was busy with clean bandages and barely glanced at him. He returned to the horses and led them into the make shift stable. Loosening their girths, he set about heaving off their saddles and making them com fort able.

  Later, when he was back in the ivy-hung room again, Hugh fed the fire. Yellow tongues flared upwards, the shadows fell back.

  Briefly, Aude tore her attention from Gil. ‘Are you certain that fire cannot be seen?’

  ‘Quite certain. When we stumbled on this place that was one of the first things I made sure of.’

  Satisfied, she returned to her bandages.

  Sinking back on his heels, Hugh rested his back against a wall and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. With Gil in as safe a pair of hands as he could find, he would snatch a few moments’ rest. The weeks since his banishment had taken their toll and a deep fatigue had taken hold of him. It must be the constant tension, he supposed, the fact that he was at all times braced for the moment when he might be recognised, the moment he might be arrested.

  Aude was murmuring to Gil, her voice low and soothing. Half-opening his eyes, he saw that Gil had come round. She was lifting his head to offer him a drink. Mouth curving, he let his eyelids droop. Of course Aude would know what to do. With Sir Hamon dragging her round every castle and tourney field in the Duchy, she had likely seen far worse.

  He sighed and rubbed his face. When he had handed Louise over to Aude he hoped his cares might ease. Well, so they had. For less than a day. Before leaving his sister at Alfold, Hugh had worried about her constantly. He had questioned the wisdom of bringing her with him. And once she was at Alfold, where she was sure to be safe, he found himself wondering how she was doing. How Aude was doing. Whether they were missing him as much as he was missing them.

  But then Gil had got himself wounded, with the result that Aude had been dragged back into his affairs. Lord. If only he could have done otherwise, but Gil was a loyal friend and he had to do his best for him. It had never been his intention to involve Aude further; the dangers for her were too great, but at this moment he could not regret it.

  Stretching out his legs, Hugh’s boots scuffed the floor, his heels scoring tracks in the leaf litter. He blinked, just able to make out the trace of a pattern.

  Curious, he leaned forwards. Brushing more debris aside, he was able to make sense of it. This floor had been laid with tiny tiles, hundreds of them—the Romans who had lived here had walked across a mosaic floor. The winding design remained clear, surprisingly bright under its centuries-old covering of dead leaves. Three coloured strands were braided together like a plait—cream, ochre, green.

  What riches these Romans must have had. Hugh hadn’t seen a design to match it, not even in Rouen. He had heard that many Roman villas had hypocausts beneath the flooring to heat them in winter. Likely there was one beneath this floor—he and Gil had been discussing this possibility only yesterday. Tomorrow he would investigate.

  Yawning, he slumped back and glanced at Aude. Her hair was not plaited tonight, instead a thick twist hung down her back, burnished and gleaming like copper. No veil. She had been undressing when he had disturbed her.

  His lips twitched. Aude in bed. That kiss. He had enjoyed it far too much. Lord.

  He kept his gaze on her back, admiring the narrowness of her waist and the gentle flare of her hips. She was handling Gil most delicately. Think on that, Hugh, he told himself, think on her skills as a healer. He did not want his thoughts to return as they had often done in these past months, to the Aude of his dreams.

  That fantasy where Aude had greeted him each night in her bed, wearing progressively less and less as the days of his banishment had stretched into weeks. He had, he realised with some thing of a jolt, been using Aude’s image as a distraction from the un pleas ant realities of life as an outlaw. What would she think if she knew? The Aude of his dreams bore no relation to the real Aude, he must remember that. He could not permit his dreams to affect his relationship with the real Aude.

  ‘There,’ the real Aude said, satisfaction in her tone as she arranged blankets over Gil’s chest. ‘He is asleep, properly asleep instead of lying dead to the world. It is fortunate that it is a warm night, he does not feel cold.’

  ‘I thank you.’ When she rose, Hugh found himself holding his hand out to her. It was the real Aude he had kissed, after all.

  Smiling easily, she came to sit next to him by the wall.

  Would she look so calmly at him if she knew the nature of his dreams? Brat.

  His thoughts ran on. In truth the grubby hoyden who had followed Sir Hamon in his wandering life as a landless knight was long gone; at some point she had been transformed into a vision of loveliness. Hugh wasn’t about to admit as much to her though. As he sat there dreamily watching Aude settle at his side, he was struck by a realisation. Aude had come to England to escape her past. He frowned. How ironic, A
ude was at tempting to escape her past, while he was fighting to regain his.

  Still, he wasn’t about to stop calling her Brat, not when it made her eyes spark challenges at him and her cheeks flush in such an en livening way…

  Aude let her head fall against his shoulder. ‘Gil ought to recover well. He needs sleep, and plenty of it, it is very healing.’

  Hugh grimaced. ‘I hope that he may get it—we are hunted men.’

  Sliding his arm about her, he dropped a kiss on her forehead. ‘Get some rest yourself, Aude. I can let Gil sleep till dawn and then we must be on the move.’

  Against his shoulder, her head shook. ‘That wound was deep, Hugh. He will recover, but you must give him chance to heal. If he rides too soon, the bleeding will begin again.’

  ‘Then I shall have to go alone, it will probably be better for Gil in any case. If I am caught, anyone with me will be considered guilty by association.’

  ‘But, Hugh—’

  He cut her off with a yawn. ‘Mon Dieu, I am tired. No arguments tonight, Aude, for pity’s sake.’

  That bright head lifted from his shoulder and large amber eyes frowned into his. Then she nodded and her head fell back. A log shifted on the fire. Overhead, Hugh could hear the wind in the beech trees. In his nostrils he caught the faint scent of summer and musk.

  ‘Sleep, Hugh,’ she murmured. ‘You look as though you have not rested in weeks.’

  ‘Yes, that is about the sum of it.’

  ‘Tomorrow you can tell me what happened, I would like to know what you were doing when Gil came by his hurt and whether you learned anything to your ad vantage.’

  ‘I will tell you everything, later.’ Hugh closed his eyes, the better to enjoy that elusive fragrance that was be guiling him, heart and mind.

  Heart pounding, Hugh jolted awake, reaching for his sword. But all was quiet, there was no need for alarm. There was just the fire light flickering over Aude as she leaned over Gil on the other side of the room. Slender fingers rested briefly on Gil’s forehead, as with her other hand she straightened his cloak. His heart beat slowed.