A Tapestry of Dreams

by Roberta Gellis

  “I do not know my purpose,” she said honestly.

  Hugh was struck mute and did not dare continue to look at her, so that when Lady Eadyth returned a few minutes later, as Audris said she would, she found both Hugh and Audris staring into the flames on the hearth in what seemed to be companionable silence. Audris was equally accurate in her prediction of the rest of the events of the evening. Sir Oliver monopolized Hugh completely. He began at the table, hardly giving Hugh time to chew and swallow. In fact, if Audris had not pushed chunks of cold roast onto Hugh’s knife and now and again popped into his mouth some of the meat and vegetables from the bowl they were sharing, he would have got little to eat. Actually, it was the gentleman’s duty to pick out the choicest bits of food to give the lady, but it was a custom that Sir Oliver, who did not believe in pampering his wife, ignored unless they were in very high company. Oliver even nodded brusque approval of Audris’s attention to Hugh because it saved him from being distracted from the conversation by choosing his own meal.

  When Oliver had wrung his guest dry of public news, he began to question him about the events of the siege of Exeter, asking about the weapons and tactics used, in case there should be some new wrinkle in the making of war that he had missed hearing. And when that subject was exhausted, he started on Hugh’s own activities, demanding almost blow-by-blow descriptions of the attacks Hugh had led and the sorties he had turned back. His interest was so technical that Hugh answered easily, never wondering whether he would be accused of boasting.

  Oddly, rather than feeling unhappy or impatient at Sir Oliver’s intervention, Hugh and Audris were enjoying themselves immensely. Audris felt a tingle of warmth and a quiver of excitement each time her fingers slipped between Hugh’s lips with a tasty tidbit. The sensation was thrilling, and intensified when her breast or shoulder came in contact with Hugh’s arm as she leaned across to feed him.

  Hugh found her activity equally titillating and amusing, for he had noticed Sir Oliver’s approval. Nor did he feel guilty, even though the hot, engorged sensations of physical arousal made him grateful to be sitting with a tablecloth over his lap and grateful, too, that he did not need to lift it to wipe his hands. The excitement was a clean pleasure. Hugh felt no lustful urge to seize Audris and satisfy himself. He was having no trouble keeping his mind on Oliver’s questions or answering them. His only difficulty was to keep from laughing aloud because he was so full of pure joy.

  Audris and Hugh parted without regret soon after the meal was over. A single meeting of their eyes before Hugh lifted Audris’s hand to kiss it with formal gallantry was sufficient to say all that was needed. A promise of joy without haste or fear was given and received by each. They would have a week, a whole precious week.

  Chapter 11

  Naturally enough, over the next two days while Hugh moved Thurstan and his cortege from Durham to Hexham, the glow faded. It rained both days, which made for slow, miserable traveling, and Hugh had time enough to fret himself sleepless over whether he had misunderstood, understood too well, or deliberately deceived himself. Each time he came back to Audris’s remark about the mare and her later statement that she did not know her purpose, he felt the response surge up in his body and wondered what he was to do if her purpose should become that of the mare. He was less sure when he was away from her that his desire was clean.

  Audris had none of these troubles. She had gone up from the hall to find her loom strung as ordered and had begun to weave. The rich border of blue and silver, a perfect match for that on the first panel, was finished before she sought her bed that night. By the time Hugh arrived in the late afternoon of the second day, the grass and bases of the tree trunks of the forest glade, the feet and lower part of the maiden’s gown, and the cloven silver hooves of the unicorn were finished. When the hail of the wall guard was answered by Hugh’s voice, she did not run to the window as she had two days before, only smiled and finished the pass with her spindle before she tied off the thread.

  Still, what was in her face was final confirmation to Fritha that the red-haired knight with the strange face had become the center of her lady’s existence. Fritha was mute but neither deaf nor stupid, nor did she ever forget anything that Audris ever said. She remembered very well the talk between her lady and the half brother Bruno when Audris had spoken of Jacob and his long labor to win the wife of his choice. She had understood then what her lady wanted from a man. She looked at the joy that blazed in her mistress’s face as Audris hammered down the woof with the comb, a joy so overwhelming, so complete, so inevitable that there was no need to rush to grab it.

  Fritha had been told by her lady that she would not take a husband while Sir Oliver lived, and she wondered if Audris had changed her mind. Despite all signs, Fritha did not think so. In any case she knew that Sir Oliver would not accept the redhead, knighted or not, as a husband for the heiress of Jernaeve. Did that mean her lady’s joy would be crushed out?

  Sir Oliver was startled when he saw Audris emerge from the doorway of her tower and come flying across the hall in her customary light-footed rush—and he was greatly relieved, too. He had heard that she was weaving, and he had been sick with worry that she would emerge from her chamber with terror-filled eyes days hence to show him a completed tapestry of a land devastated by war. That she had broken off her weaving before it could possibly be finished was a good sign. Usually she did that only when the picture had no special meaning.

  “Uncle!” she cried, coming to a sudden stop as soon as she saw him, and then coming closer more slowly. “I heard from my window that Archbishop Thurstan’s men have arrived.”

  “So they have,” he agreed, raising his brows. “But what has that to do with you?”

  “Nothing,” she admitted, laughing. “It was only that their coming reminded me of what I had no chance to ask you the day the unicorn was here.”

  “The unicorn!” Oliver exclaimed. “Whatever are you talking about, Audris?”

  “Hugh Licorne, uncle. The unicorn.”

  Oliver began to laugh. “Call him Sir Hugh, Audris. I thought you had gone mad—or really seen a unicorn.” The last words were very soft, not meant for his niece’s ears, but Oliver believed that if any mortal woman saw a unicorn, it would, in truth, be Audris.

  “Sir Hugh, then,” Audris said obediently. “That day he was here, you were so busy with him that I never had a chance to talk to you myself. If King David has agreed to meet with the archbishop, those plans must have been made some weeks ago at least. Would not the king recall any men sent to spy out our flocks and whether we had patrols? All would be changed long before the talks were over, so watching us now would be to no purpose. And even if any were about, surely they would not try to seize me. That would be a great shame to King David if it happened while he was talking about the truce.”

  Oliver nodded. “Yes, I suppose that danger is past for the time.” Then, thinking of the two days he had spent worrying over her new weaving project, he said sharply, “You could have asked to go out the next day. Why the devil did you start to weave instead?”

  Audris’s eyes opened wide. “But uncle, the rain was pouring down. I had nothing else to do. I could not work in the garden. I would have been drowned. And there was no purpose to going into the hills. The birds would not be flying, so I could not see into the nests anyway.”

  Oliver grunted, which was as close as he would come to acknowledging that his question had been unreasonable. Then he considered what she had said in another context and shook his head. “Well, you are not going to see the nests tomorrow either, even if the change in the weather holds. I will not have you climbing the cliffs so soon after heavy rain, especially where the hawks nest. That rock is all rotten, and the wet seeps into the cracks. No climbing, Audris. I forbid it. A piece of rock could break away…” He fell silent and shook his head again.

  Audris touched his hand lovingly, moved by his constant care for her.
“I am not so foolish,” she assured him. “There are other nests, not on the cliffs. A short-winged hawk or two would not be amiss in the mews, and they nest in trees.”

  Her uncle sighed heavily. “It is neither fitting nor safe for you to climb trees either, Audris. I—”

  “But think how pleased the king was with the falcon you gave him last year,” Audris interrupted, chuckling. “In admiring your gift, he forgot completely that he had not accomplished his purpose and got me married.”

  Oliver grunted unhappily. This was not the first of these discussions, although usually Audris avoided the subject of how the hawks got into the mews because she knew it made her uncle uncomfortable. The numerous and well-trained inhabitants of the mews had been of great value over the years. They had played a major part in pacifying the late king’s rapacity, in soothing bellicose neighbors, and in convincing judges that Fermain’s claims were more valid than an opponent’s. Oliver knew that Audris’s repeated visits to the nests had an effect that made the birds easier to train and less likely to pine in captivity. Nonetheless, both conscience and propriety argued that he should forbid so unusual and dangerous a practice.

  “It gives me so much pleasure to take them and train them.” Audris patted her uncle’s arm and then went on persuasively, “I will take someone with me. Fritha—and Sir Hugh.” She laughed suddenly, a delighted trill of amusement. “Yes, I will take Sir Hugh, and then I can go up on the cliffs with a rope. He is so strong, uncle.”

  “You could still be hurt,” Oliver said uncertainly.

  “A scrape and a scratch at the very worst,” Audris assured him. “He would not let me fall, so I could not be broken anywhere. And what will you do with him all day if I do not take him away? In this season you are too busy to entertain a guest.”

  Since Oliver did not trouble himself much about being polite unless his guests were very powerful men and an advantage could be gained from arranging hunts and other activities to entertain them, he had not even considered that aspect of Hugh’s presence in Jernaeve. Guests were usually passing through and only remained a night or two at the most. Now that Audris had reminded him that Hugh would be with them for a week, he realized that boredom would probably soon cause the young man to follow him around if he was not otherwise occupied. There could be no harm in that, since Oliver’s tasks at this season were all agricultural, not military, but he was not a person who enjoyed making conversation.

  “You are a good girl, Audris,” he said. “If he will go, take him.”

  A happy thought had occurred to Sir Oliver. He did not believe Sir Hugh could know about Audris’s habit of climbing trees and cliffs. Doubtless he would express such horror at her behavior that she would forgo the activity. At that moment, Hugh entered the hall, and the notion regarding him pleased Oliver so much that he went forward with a broad smile to greet his guest.

  “You are very well come,” Oliver said. “Are your men settled below?”

  “Yes, I thank you,” Hugh replied, somewhat taken aback by his host’s warmth, for Oliver was known for his reserve. “It was most kind of you to clear a barracks for them. The weather is so uncertain, and they have already had two nights out in the wet.”

  “There is room enough in Jernaeve.” Oliver waved away the thanks. “But I am glad you are content, for I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “If it is in my power to do, I will be happy to serve you,” Hugh said cautiously.

  “It is nothing to do with the archbishop,” Oliver assured him. “Merely, my niece has been confined to the keep since we first heard rumors that David would not abide by the truce. I would be grateful if you would ride out with her.”

  “Ride out… with Demoiselle Audris?” Hugh’s voice cracked between the phrases, and he choked and cleared his throat before he could get out, “Of course. The favor is to me.”

  Eadyth, who had come forward to greet Hugh also, frowned. She wondered whether it was only surprise at her husband’s precipitate proposal that had brought their guest so close to strangulation. Audris was no beauty, but she had winning ways. Eadyth recalled how companionably Audris and Hugh had been sitting, like old friends, by the fire. Audris must have put him at ease at once, and then she had been so attentive in feeding him when Oliver kept him talking. Of course, Audris would have done the same for any person; she was a sweet, kind girl. But if this young knight had misunderstood her attentions to him and felt he was in some way special to her, was it kind to push him into Audris’s company?

  Eadyth had no fears for Audris; Hugh was poor and ugly, and Audris could have her choice of men. Many richer and better-favored suitors had already been turned away; yet, it did puzzle her why Audris had come down each time Sir Hugh arrived. Usually Audris kept to her chamber when there were guests in the keep.

  As Audris flitted around Oliver’s back, took Hugh’s hand, and laughed up into his face as she thanked him for being willing to assume the burden of her company, Eadyth saw the young knight lower his eyes and swallow. He was clearly unable to reply to this mischievous sally, and Eadyth felt sorry for him. She was reasonably sure Oliver had suggested the arrangement because he did not want Hugh around to bother him. Audris had ridden out alone for years. Eadyth would not dare protest or even urge her husband to change his mind, but she could warn Audris, for Audris would not willingly cause anyone pain; she was just innocent and heedless.

  Stepping forward, Eadyth said sharply, “Audris, stop your nonsense. You are too playful. Do you not see that Sir Hugh has not had a chance to be unarmed? He is tired and wet, too. Go your way and let me see to our guest’s comfort.”

  Oliver looked at his wife, slightly surprised by her sharpness, and then dismissed it. Women were forever finding finicky “manners” to impose on each other—and on men, too, when they could. It was nothing to him. He nodded at Hugh and said, “I will leave you in my wife’s care, then,” and walked away.

  “Can I not help, aunt?” Audris asked. “After all,” she added merrily, “I think I have a debt to Sir Hugh for agreeing so graciously to bear with me for a whole week. Most men—”

  “Audris!” Eadyth snapped. “Do not try my patience. Sir Hugh has been on the road for many days, and between the dust and mud, he will want a bath. It is ready, and the servants are waiting for him. Go your way, I said.”

  Color flew up into Audris’s cheeks. She cast one glance at Hugh, then turned and fled. Eadyth stared after her, startled at her reactions, for most criticism flowed off her niece as gracefully and with as little effect as raindrops flowed off a swan. By the time Eadyth faced him again, Hugh had his own expression under control.

  He had been still reeling under the shock of having Sir Oliver virtually order him to go riding with Audris, which he felt her uncle would try to prevent, when she herself delivered two more shocks. First, her teasing about his acceptance of the duty of being her escort indicated no surprise. She knew what Sir Oliver was going to say, and Hugh was convinced that she had somehow induced her uncle to say it. Then there was the look Audris had given him as she blushed and ran away—so did a young mare nip or nudge a stallion and then flee.

  Lady Eadyth gestured him forward, and Hugh moved with her, dimly hearing her speak of Audris’s playfulness and heedlessness. He was mostly aware that she was talking more than usual and in a higher-pitched voice. “She is very childish in some ways,” Eadyth concluded as she brought him to the doorway of the chamber prepared for him, “for she has not had to bear the burden of man, children, and household. I hope you will not think she means more than to be kind.”

  “I do not mistake Demoiselle Audris’s meaning, my lady,” Hugh assured her, keeping his face expressionless. “Bruno has told me a great deal about her.”

  “Ah!” Eadyth exclaimed, feeling that everything had been explained. “If Audris knows that Bruno is your friend, she will hang on you as though you were her dearest possession, for she prizes B
runo above all others living.”

  Hugh made no reply to that beyond a bow. He never lied. The statements he had made to Eadyth might have misled her, but both were true, whereas to agree to what she had said would have been lying. Although Lady Eadyth’s explanations of Audris’s behavior should have convinced Hugh that his fears of having misunderstood Audris were true, actually her manner had conveyed a meaning quite opposite to her words. Hugh was now sure that it was not because he was Bruno’s friend that Audris favored him.

  At this moment all Hugh wanted was to be away from any person to whom he owed courtesy so he would not have to talk. Nor did he want to think what to do about Audris. In the muddled state of his mind it could do no good, for he had been thinking about little else, without coming to any conclusion, for two days and nights. Thus, he breathed a deep sigh of relief when Lady Eadyth did not follow him into the wall chamber, where a tub of steaming water was set before the small hearth. There was no reason for Lady Eadyth to accompany him. He was no earl or great baron, whom she would have bathed with her own hands as an act of courtesy. For a simple knight, the offer of a bath and the specific attentions of servants was already honorable treatment, but Sir Oliver’s unnaturally effusive welcome had made Hugh wonder.

  Pushing all his problems to the back of his mind, Hugh looked with pleasure at the chamber that would be his for a week. He had never had a room to himself before, except for having slept in this same room on his previous visit to Jernaeve—only that night his eyes had been blind to outward things. He was familiar, of course, with the small rooms hollowed out inside the thick stone walls of a keep. This one was no different from others, lit only by what light came in from the open doorway to the antechamber, where a window was let into the wall facing the bailey, and by several pitch-headed torches in holders fixed to the walls.