Serine caught her breath, but did not argue. She knew Rory had tried to save her from admitting more than need be through the baiting of his brother. She also realized he was fully aware that she had planned to leave him without so much as a fare-you-well. But he did not know that it would have broken her heart to do so, and somewhere deep in her soul she thanked the marauders for their untimely approach, for it gave her more time to spend with Rory.
* * *
The servants arrived bearing bread and meat along with the water for bathing. Serine watched as they prepared the bath, and quickly added some preparations of her own. Deftly she added a bit of the bitter brew; she knew well it would help his wounds to heal more quickly, as well as soak the aches from his weary bones. Rory sank into the water, a look of blissful relaxation on his face.
Serine took a soft cloth and squeezed the water over his shoulders. She remembered how she had wondered if he had a wife when first she had ministered to him thusly, so long ago at Sheffield. She had allowed her imagination full rein and her jealousy for a wife who no longer existed had all but choked her. Now there was neither wife nor husband between them—only the discord caused by her desperate need to return with her son to Sheffield, and his pigheaded stubbornness in keeping her from doing so.
She watched the water slither over his broad shoulders. She took marigold soap and rubbed it over his back. He sighed in contentment. The soap dropped into the water. She reached for it, her hands brushing the water-slick flesh of his thighs. The soap was in her hand, but she did not draw it from the water.
He leaned back and cupped her chin in his large, water-warmed hand. His eyes held hers and then coasted over her face and centered on her lips. They parted and the tip of her pink tongue slipped across. He reached forward and caught it in his mouth and the match was met.
She had removed her rich outer garments and wore only a light smock as wont when assisting with a bath. Water dripped from Rory’s knuckles and fell on her lush breasts, disappearing enticingly down the front of the garment. She wriggled as each drop found a new pathway across her breasts and down her body.
Rory released her lips and followed the moisture his hand had left on her chin, in unerring pursuit until his lips approached their goal. He pushed the smock from her shoulders and down her arms until her breasts were freed. His mouth explored them in joyous torture. Her garments dropped to the floor as his mouth pillaged her warm, inviting contours, and his hands unerringly drew her onto his waiting body where they undulated together, mindless of the time or the cooling of the water or the waves of passion that swept over them and extended itself to the waves of bathwater that sloshed unheeded onto the floor.
And still, even with the first heated thrill of euphoria behind them, even with their bodies sated with the pleasure of the other, it was not enough.
He lifted her against him, and she clasped her legs about his hips, as unwilling to release him as he was to let her slip away. Thusly, he carried her to the bed and they rolled themselves dry, lost in the throes of passion and pleasure until neither could bring themselves to move.
Rory cradled Serine in his arms. His lips touched her forehead as he spoke. “At this moment I cannot bring myself to believe that you really meant to leave me.” There was a wondering tone to his voice and she knew he wanted her to deny that she had planned to leave, and in so doing, now at this most precious moment, he would believe her. But she could not bring herself to do so.
“At this moment I cannot believe it, either. After all, my lord Rory, it was you and your brother who came out with the tale of my proposed escape. I have admitted nothing, other than the obvious fact that I was on the cliffs at a time when I was able to alert your village to attack.”
“And if I asked you to swear on your precious Sheffield that you did not plan to escape, would you do so?”
“If you asked me to swear I would be hurt and the love we have so recently shared would be a mockery.” She would have rolled away, but he held her fast.
“Our love is not a mockery,” he said, forcing her to look into the depths of his eyes. “The world is a mockery and the circumstances that have brought us together and governed our relationship are a mockery, but our love is a gift from the gods.”
“Which gods?” she asked. “Yours, or mine?”
“When we are together, like this, there is only one god that matters, the god of love.”
“And is it that you expect me to sacrifice all that I hold dear on his altar while you offer nothing but the act of indulging your body?”
She had struck true. In giving her pleasure, he took equal pleasure himself. He took her body, he took her love, just as he had taken her child and, most like, her precious Sheffield should she not return within a reasonable period of time.
“I offer you all that I have, Serine. My love, my lands, my help in raising your son.”
“It is a selfish promise,” she murmured, knowing he would not agree. “It is not enough. It will never be enough until you are willing to allow me to return and claim my son’s birthright.”
“That I cannot do.” His voice was sad and seemed far away.
“Then it will never be enough.”
And though the full length of their naked bodies touched, still tingling with the memory of love, their souls had once again been forced apart.
Serine tasted the salt of the tears that trickled down her cheeks and realized they were not hers alone. With a little cry she turned and buried herself in his arms. Despite the harsh words, and the even harsher truth, she would hold him for this little time, and pray God that when the time came, she would have the strength to go.
* * *
On the other side of the stronghold, Guthrie pulled his wife against him and rested his head on her breast. He knew nothing of miracles, nor of the torment storming about the two people who dared to love one another against all odds. He only knew the peace and satisfaction he had when with his wife.
Damask had come from another country and had looked askance on him when first they had met, but her doubts had soon turned to love and her questions to laughter as she sparkled like the sunshine and lit the corners of his world. He dared not think what life would be without her. And even though she was childless, he would not have traded her for all the women in the world.
It did not take a seer like Drojan to know that Rory felt the same love for Serine, and she returned it in kind. It was only her determination to return to her own land that held them apart.
Guthrie, as headman, must think of a way to overcome this obstacle. He would reward Serine in such a way that she could not refuse, and in doing so, bind her to Corvus Croft and to Rory, now and forever. Surely, if he was able to pull off such a coup, luck would shine upon him, and his people would know peace, prosperity, and possibly parenthood, once again.
There was a smile on his lips as he drifted into slumber, determined to put his plan into motion as soon as possible.
Chapter Eleven
The dawn had hardly broken when Guthrie called for a meeting of the council. Rory left his bed with reluctance, not only at having to leave Serine’s loving warmth, but at the singular dread in his heart that his brother might destroy the spark of trust that had been kindled between Serine and himself.
He knew his worst fears were to be realized as soon as Guthrie opened his mouth, and despite his arguments, the council agreed enthusiastically with Guthrie.
With the sun high in the sky the council sent for Serine.
There was concern in her eyes as she took her place before them, although she saw nothing but acceptance in their faces. They all seemed quite pleased with themselves, and somehow Serine did not feel comfortable with their pleasure. She looked to Rory for assurance. He met her eyes and looked away, his face a mask, telling nothing.
Her heart began to beat in her head, blocking out even Guthrie’s voice. It took all her concentration to make out his words. Words that might well seal her fate and that of her son.
“In addressing the council, the Lady Serine has recently proclaimed herself a widow,” Guthrie reminded them. “And while she has our deepest sympathy, we deem to lessen her sorrow with our judgment and grant her dearest wish.”
A glimmer of hope lit Serine’s eyes.
“It has come to the attention of the council that the Lady Serine has had deep concerns about the future of her son, Hendrick. We, therefore, propose to alleviate her fears and provide that which she lacks.” He smiled, and the council nodded in approval.
“As reward for your efforts on the behalf of the people of Corvus Croft, it is the pleasure of the council that you be given in wedlock to my brother, Rory, who is, next to myself, the most powerful man in Corvus Croft. As a result of this union you need not fear having your son taken from you, for Hendrick will surely be son to both of you, as would any issue from your marriage.”
He paused, waiting for Serine to agree.
But Serine did not agree.
“Has Rory consented to this?” she asked. She knew the answer. Of course he had concurred. It mattered little who the woman was, as long as he had his son, or in this case, her son.
“Rory will be a good husband to you and a good father to Hendrick,” Guthrie assured her. “The wedding will take place—”
“The wedding will not take place,” Serine’s voice called out over that of the overlord. “I must spend my year of mourning for my dead husband and cannot consider your proposal until the prescribed time has passed.”
Her words held only a smattering of truth. According to Dame Margot’s message, Elreath had been dead these many months, but the promise of a full year of mourning would buy her the time she needed to take Hendrick and escape. By seeming to go along with Guthrie’s plea Serine would lull their suspicions, and when the opportunity presented itself she would go, leaving Rory and her heart behind.
Guthrie opened his mouth in protest. He was not accustomed to having his gifts refused, but Serine gave the man no time to argue.
“I am not your prisoner. I came here to see that your brother, who is, by your own admission, the most powerful man in the village save yourself, be returned to you hale and healthy after I saved him from the jaws of death. Although he had, by his actions, shown himself to be my enemy, I did not ask ransom, only a trade, like for like. My son for your brother. You, Lord Guthrie, have chosen to disregard my petition and treat me unfairly.”
“What could be more fair than to give you in marriage to Rory, wherein all that he has is yours?” Guthrie asked. “There is nothing left for you in England. Your son is here. My brother is here. You are offered a whole new life of riches, comfort and respect. What is there in England to compare to that?”
“There is Sheffield,” came the answer. “If Rory would be such a solicitous and devoted provider, then let him come with me to Sheffield and raise Hendrick to his majority.”
The council buzzed at her suggestion. Guthrie bent to confer with the other men.
“We understand your love of your home in England,” Guthrie conceded, “and, in truth, if our women were not barren we would most likely consider your request. But our women are barren and each child, as well as each man, is necessary to the survival of our community. You may stay here as Rory’s betrothed until your year of mourning is ended, or you may return to Sheffield, without your son.”
It seemed as though the whole fate of the village hung on the premise that the women were barren and the men would never willingly agree to give up the children they had taken. When she spoke it was as though she but reflected her thoughts aloud. “In other words, my lord, if your women proved fertile and began producing children you would allow me to take my son and return to Sheffield.”
Guthrie looked up in surprise. He had not given the matter thought, for the women were barren, and there was no promise of children other than the ones they had taken. Still, Serine had the knowledge to heal Rory and bring him back from the jaws of death.
“Have you the knowledge to make this happen?” he asked.
Before Serine could open her mouth, Ethyl stepped forward. “My lady has nothing more than the ordinary knowledge of any chatelaine regarding the use of herbs for the welfare of her people.”
Guthrie gave the woman a piercing look. He understood that she was trying to protect her lady from any accusations of witchcraft, for it would surely take a witch to charm the barren women of Corvus Croft into producing children.
He deemed it prudent not to question Ethyl’s words, and turned instead to Serine. “What say you?”
She looked into Rory’s eyes and saw the pain. He wanted her to stay in Corvus Croft, to love his home as he did, and that was impossible when Sheffield lay in peril.
“I would be happy to use what knowledge I have of the herbal remedies to try to release the women of Corvus Croft from their barrenness.”
Guthrie did not even bother to discuss the matter with the council, or with his brother. “Very well. You will be allowed your year of mourning to obtain results. If, at the end of that time, our women are still barren and show no sign of pregnancy, you will marry my brother. Should our women respond to your treatment and bear issue, you will be free to leave and take your son with you.”
“What of the other children of Sheffield?” Serine asked.
“Those who wish to return with you would be allowed to do so. Drojan will oversee your efforts.” He got to his feet, indicating that he had made his final offer.
Serine sighed. She could not fight the men of Corvus Croft and her love for Rory at the same time. A year was a long time. Many things could come to pass, and should she find a way to return to Sheffield with her son, she would do so.
She raised her eyes to meet those of the man she so undeniably loved. Could he see the love that permeated her soul? Love that blurred her judgment and fogged her good sense. But no, only in the songs of minstrels did people see into the souls of their beloved. Rory only saw that she did not want to marry him, and that was not true.
For a moment she thought of returning alone to Sheffield and raising an army to invade Corvus Croft and take back the children, but how could she initiate an attack that might mean the life of the man she loved?
The year would give her time. Time to weave her plans, and time to spend with Rory, for if she had to squeeze a lifetime of loving into that little year, she was determined to do so. And although she felt very little faith that her herbs would make fertile the women of Corvus Croft, it gave her the time she needed to find another means of escape.
She looked at Guthrie and then at each of the council, but it was to Rory that she gave her answer.
“I will accept your offer.”
* * *
To the Celts a betrothal was much the same as the handfast marriage. Rory and Serine would live as husband and wife for the year and at the end of that time they would marry.
Guthrie gleefully reminded them that any issue from the union would be deemed legitimate and eligible to inherit. Rory took a ring from his finger to seal the promise.
And so it was done...quickly. With no preparation and little fanfare. But it was enough to irrevocably change their lives. Within a week Rory told Serine to make ready, for they were moving out of the castle and onto his estates nearby.
To her surprise, Serine found another of her serfs when she arrived at McLir Manor with Rory.
They had but entered the courtyard when a baby’s gurgling laughter came to them above the sounds of carts and horses.
“I thought there were no infants in Corvus Croft,” Serine challenged as the laughter sounded again. “Surely you will not ask me to believe that sound is a figment of my imagination, or perhaps a wandering spirit?” She had said her words in jest, but Rory paled noticeably.
“Take the lady and her party into the hall,” he ordered the steward. “I will see to the laughter myself.”
“M’lord, it is but the lass and her babe that was brought from the Sheffield raid. My lor
d Guthrie felt she would be safe here until she was ready to make a choice as to which man she would take as husband.”
“Husband?” Rory repeated.
“Taken from Sheffield?” Serine stopped in her tracks and looked toward the gardens at the rear of the house. “You mean Gerta and her babe are here?”
She had given up all hope of finding the girl, for there had been no sign of her during all the days Serine had been at Corvus Croft.
She turned to Ethyl, who had just passed through the houseyard gate. “Did you know of this?”
“Know of what, my lady?” Ethyl took in the scene and decided it boded ill for someone. Serine was in a temper.
“Did you know that Gerta the milkmaid from Sheffield was here?”
“I do not know it yet,” Ethyl said bluntly. “I see no Sheffield face other than your own and Hendrick’s.”
Serine wanted to scream at the woman’s indifference. Instead she turned on her heel and started after Rory, who was already rounding the corner of the house. “Are you coming?” she called to Ethyl without looking back.
“I would not miss this for all the world,” Ethyl admitted as she picked up her pace. For it appeared to Ethyl that, having found another woman in residence, Serine had been bitten by the green dragon of jealousy.
Rory did not pause until he entered the well-kept kitchen garden. The scent of herbs mingled with the sweet-smelling flowers. As bright and golden as the blooms themselves were the heads that bobbed among the tall stems as the woman scooped up her child and lifted him toward the sky.
The baby’s delighted laughter ceased midgiggle when he saw the new arrivals.
Gerta caught the expression on her son’s face and turned slowly, bringing him into her arms, where she held him close against her. Her eyes widened.
At first Serine thought the young woman recognized her. However, the next moments gave reasonable doubt that Gerta had seen her at all.
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