Sapphire in the Snow - Award-Winning Medieval Historical Romance

by Townend, Carol

  She sniffed the twilight air. The weather was going to change. She could smell snow. Threatening clouds moved ponderously overhead, but there was something more...

  A sudden sharpening of her senses sent her eyes winging wide and nervous round the gully. She’d best hurry. Balancing an unwieldy bundle of sticks, Beatrice scurried back to the cavern. A snowflake floated down. It was chased by another. They were in for a heavy snowfall. Beatrice groaned.

  Back at the cave, she built a hasty fire. She refilled the waterskin from the pool. Then there was nothing left to do but to sit in the entrance of the cave, staring moodily at the fluttering snowflakes as they transformed holly leaves from darkest green to purest white.

  ‘I wondered when you’d be still,’ Edmund said.

  ‘I thought you were asleep.’ Beatrice gave him a wary glance. ‘I thought it best to get everything ready for the night. I didn’t want to be unprepared like last night.’

  ‘Quite,’ he agreed, in a dry voice.

  Beatrice met his eyes, but his expression was unreadable. ‘The snow is settling,’ she told him.

  Silence. It was not yet dark enough to light the fire.

  She broke the silence. ‘Do you think you will be able to travel tomorrow?’

  ‘Are you keen to be ransomed, or just eager to escape my presence?’ Edmund countered with uncanny accuracy.

  ‘The snow will make our journey more difficult. Especially now we have no horse. And we don’t have much food.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought a little fasting would daunt a novice like you,’ Edmund teased.

  Beatrice smiled, glad his temper had cooled. ‘I haven’t actually committed myself to entering the novitiate. I’d planned to return to the convent in Caen after Anne’s wedding and make my vows then.’

  ‘So you’ve not actually taken vows?’

  His tone was light, so why the guarded eyes?

  ‘No, I’ve made no vows. But I have been committed in my heart for many months now.’ The words she had believed to be true came out stiff and stilted, like lies. Beatrice squirmed. The idea of cloistering herself as a nun had turned unexpectedly grim. A penitential imprisonment now that she...

  He was watching the snowflakes. Beatrice wondered what it would be like never again to look into those deep blue eyes, never again to touch his dark hair, never again to hear his voice... The blood pulsed faster in her veins simply at the sight of him. Without him it would be a cold and empty existence. She must love him, for when he was close by, her whole being flowered.

  ‘It’s dark.’ Edmund’s voice interrupted her thoughtflow.

  ‘I’ll light the fire. It will be an improvement on last night,’ Beatrice said, glad for something to occupy her mind.

  She fumbled awkwardly with the flint.

  ‘Permit me.’ Edmund’s breath warmed her ear.

  ‘I didn’t hear you move,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not crippled.’

  He grinned and Beatrice felt her heart lurch. She thrust the tinder into his hands and drew back. He was so handsome when he smiled.

  ‘It’s plain to see you’re not used to setting fires,’ he mocked without rancour. ‘Look, Beatrice, start with the smallest twigs and the dried grasses. When they’re ablaze, gradually feed in larger pieces of brushwood.’

  Beatrice watched his hands as he worked. They were well-shaped, with long fingers. Fingers that not so long ago had sent ripples of delight coursing through her...

  ‘Do you see?’ he asked. ‘Do you think you could manage it better next time?’

  ‘Aye, thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure. The good sisters probably didn’t think to teach you how to light a fire in a cave in midwinter. You’ll have to chastise them when next you see them.’ He smiled his devastating smile and Beatrice could not but respond. He lifted a hand to touch her, checked himself, and his hand fell back. ‘Come. Time to sleep. You have the blanket, I’ll be warm enough with my cloak and the fire. I think it would be best if we slept apart tonight.’ He looked at her for agreement.

  Beatrice nodded, and avoided his eyes. ‘You should have the blanket–’

  ‘No more quarrels, Beatrice, I beg of you,’ he spoke crisply. ‘I’ll sleep here. In the morning we’ll see about finding more congenial surroundings. I shall be fit to travel by then.’

  Beatrice wound herself in the cloak and blanket, and lay staring up at the rocky roof. Edmund was only a few feet away, his shape just visible in the firelight. He might as well be in Normandy, she thought. He turned over. He could fall asleep at any time. She envied him that. She leaned up on her elbow, but could not see him very clearly. The flickering light showed long dark lashes resting on pale cheeks. His hawk-like nose cast a strange shadow over his features.

  A distant howl penetrated the cave. Beatrice stiffened. The sound curdled the blood in her veins. She held her breath and strained her ears. The hairs lifted on the back of her neck. Wolves! But they were far off, surely?

  It was late January now. January was the month of the wolves, when hunger drove beasts already wild to a frenzy of killing. She remembered a beggar at the convent gate telling her that wolves had eyes which glowed like lamps. And if you saw them shining at you through the night the only thing you could do was pray for a quick ending. The beggar had said more. He had told her that you might survive if the wolf had not seen you first. Aye, that was it. You had to see the beast before it saw you, for if you did not...

  The howling was renewed, a second wolf calling to the first. This one was closer. Beatrice shuddered.

  Hungry wolves attacked people. They were creatures of the dark. The Devil’s own. They hunted in packs and could rip a man apart. Beatrice glanced at Edmund. Surely he must wake. That dreadful sound was loud enough and near enough to raise the dead. The wolves were yowling in unison now. At least a dozen of them. And getting closer.

  Beatrice bolted upright, convinced their shelter was surrounded by circling fiends with lanterns for eyes. She shot across the stony ground, tripping over blanket and cloak in her haste to reach Edmund and safety. She touched his face. ‘Edmund!’ His eyes sprang open. She was shaking all over. ‘Edmund, listen to that. There are wolves outside! Can you hear them?’

  ‘I can only hear your teeth chattering,’ he replied, smiling calmly. ‘You’re cold.’

  Vehemently she shook her head. ‘Listen. We’re dead meat.’

  The unearthly sound filled the cavern. She gave a moan of pure terror and clutched at him.

  He sighed and enfolded her trembling body in comforting arms. ‘They won’t come in here, sweeting. Don’t be afraid. They don’t like fire.’

  ‘D...don’t they?’

  ‘They do not. And if they dared approach, you’ve got a strong Saxon warrior who’d protect you with his life. So stop shaking.’

  His words may have been meant to reassure her, but they did more. They sparked off a warm, happy glow somewhere near her heart.

  Gently, Edmund stroked her hair. She had removed her veil for sleep. His fingers encountered the repressive braids, and a wry grin twitched at the corners of his mouth. She was not for putting temptation his way tonight.

  Beatrice raised her head from his chest. ‘I’m sorry to be so silly.’

  ‘Don’t be. Do you feel better now?’

  A wolf howled. He felt her repress a shudder. ‘Aye, but...but can I stay close by you?’ she asked, her voice no more than a timid thread of sound.

  Edmund tensed. ‘I don’t want you accusing me of rape.’

  ‘Of course I won’t. I didn’t really think...oh, please, Edmund. I feel so much safer near you.’

  ‘Very well,’ he agreed stiffly.

  ‘My thanks. I feel safe with you.’

  ‘Safe with me,’ he muttered.

  ‘Edmund, are you angry?’

  ‘Angry? No.’ His voice was gruff. ‘At least we’ll be warmer this way.’ He shoved her roughly to one side, and rearranged their coverings. When he had done, he stre
tched out on his back, and fixed his eyes stolidly on the cavern roof.

  Beatrice wriggled nearer to his warmth, her hand brushed his wrist. Edmund jerked his arm away. ‘You are angry,’ she said, sadly.

  ‘By all that’s holy, girl! You try my patience!’

  ‘What have I done?’

  ‘I’m no saint, and to lie here, not touching you–’

  The blood-curdling chorus rang out. Beatrice sobbed. Her fear of the wolves was stronger than her fear of Edmund’s wrath. She hid her head against his side, and clung like ivy.

  ‘They’ll tear us to bits! How will we escape?’ she cried, on the edge of hysteria.

  ‘No, I’ve told you. They fear fire and we have a good blaze here.’ His arms tightened about her.

  ‘What if the fire goes out in the night?’

  ‘I’ll make certain it doesn’t.’

  He started to prise her clinging hands from his waist. She whimpered and gripped harder, half expecting to be repulsed. For a second Edmund seemed to hesitate. Then his touch gentled, he angled his body towards her, and long fingers gently intertwined themselves with hers. He drew her up and pillowed her head on his good shoulder. ‘Try to sleep,’ he murmured. ‘I will protect you.’

  Beatrice willed her muscles to relax. If only her head did not throb so. She coughed. She wondered why she felt so hot. It was raw out there.

  ‘You’re burning up,’ Edmund discovered, fingers on her brow.

  She choked back another cough. ‘It is only a chill,’ she croaked and pushed back the covers. ‘I’m tired. Why is it so hot?’ And why was Edmund covering her up again? Hadn’t she just told him she was too hot?

  ‘Beatrice!’ He sounded angry. She didn’t like it when he was angry. ‘You must keep covered. The night air will get to your lungs.’

  ‘I’m too hot,’ she moaned, tossing off the blanket.

  ‘You’ve got a fever. Beatrice, be still. You shouldn’t have gone out without your cloak.’ Firm hands stilled her restless movements.

  ‘I had to go out,’ she mumbled. ‘I couldn’t face the others.’

  ‘The others?’ Edmund queried, puzzled. She must be raving, she slurred her words.

  ‘Anne and her lover,’ she got out. ‘They told me you were to marry Anne, and yet...’ Her voice trailed off into indistinct mutterings.

  Edmund heard a rustle outside the cavern and frowned at the mouth of the cave. Their unwelcome visitors had not gone. Beatrice had not marked the sound, and that was a blessing. Her mutterings became audible once more. ‘Then Morcar came,’ she said clearly. ‘And I went back with him.’

  ‘Morcar?’ Edmund’s voice sharpened.

  ‘He’s a minstrel,’ she said, her voice slurred with sleep.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I wonder what his songs are like?’ she asked with a faint sigh. Her eyelids fluttered and closed.

  Edmund settled Beatrice comfortably in his arms and resigned himself to a long night.

  ***

  Beatrice veered between bouts of high fever and bouts of shivering. One moment she burned up, and flung back the covers, and the next she was like ice and nothing would warm her. She coughed constantly.

  She was vaguely conscious of Edmund’s presence, warming her when cold, holding her tight and rubbing frozen limbs.

  ‘Don’t go,’ she clung to his hand. He was angry with her, and was telling her to do something. If only she could understand him, she would obey. ‘I don’t like you when you’re angry,’ she told him.

  ‘Beatrice, lie still, you exhaust yourself thrashing about. You might be a good healer, but you are a terrible patient,’ he remarked dryly.

  ‘Don’t leave me,’ Beatrice repeated, screwing up her eyes.

  If only everything would come clear again. The flickering firelight cast monstrous shapes and patterns on the stone walls. Was it night or day? She did not know. Her eyes would not focus. She could not see him. Her heart banged. He’d left her.

  ‘Edmund!’ she wailed.

  ‘I’m here.’ A soothing hand stroked her cheek. ‘I’ll not leave you. Only do lie still. You must rest.’

  ‘Cold. It’s so cold,’ she shivered.

  Edmund’s calm voice penetrated the haze of sickness, gradually soothing her. She shuddered in his arms. He was speaking low, and she could not make any sense of the words. His fingers were locked with hers.

  She would remind him when she felt well that she did not speak his foreign tongue. But his voice was gentle and kind, a healing balm. ‘Edmund, why did we have to be enemies?’ she sighed.

  He stiffened, and the quiet flow of sound ceased abruptly, but he did not unlace his hand from hers. She was asleep. And a tiny smile hovered on her lips.

  ***

  Beatrice stirred uneasily in the makeshift bed, aware of an indefinable sense of loss. She coughed and held down a groan – her throat was as dry as parchment. She was alone. Her skin crawled. She sat up. The fire burned, but Edmund was not in the cave.

  Frantic, she looked about. The contents of his pack were strewn on the ground and a wave of relief washed through her. He must have fed the fire recently, for it was piled high with more sticks. He’d not left her, but why had he risked the fire in daylight? For her?

  She grasped the waterskin. It was difficult to swallow, and the liquid seemed to have little effect on her raging thirst. ‘If only Sister Agnes were here,’ she murmured to herself. ‘It is so very, very cold.’

  Shivering, she rolled back into the blankets. She did not want to rise. She could stay wrapped up in here all day and wish for nothing else. Nothing else? She sighed. It was far too difficult to get up. The need for sleep was overwhelming; her eyes drifted shut.

  She missed Edmund’s body next to hers, and his strong arms around her. He had cared for her. Or had she dreamed it? She could not be certain, her head felt stuffed with clouds that blurred all thought. She recalled his voice, calm and soothing, murmuring strange words in her ears. Words that she could not understand, but which gave comfort none the less. Surely she would not dream in a language she herself could not speak? It must have happened. She had had a fever and Edmund had been kind.

  And what of the wolves? Had she perhaps dreamed them into existence? Edmund had said he’d protect her with his life. The afterglow of a remembered pleasure warmed her. She wriggled deep into the blanket, and consciousness slid away.

  ***

  Her head was hammering. She shook it to clear her fogged brain and regretted it at once as pain stabbed at her temples. Groping for the waterskin, she realised the noise had not been in her head, but outside the cavern. She stumbled to the gap.

  There was something out there. Something which grunted and yelped. Every now and then a flash of colour moved in the whiteness beyond the holly. Something was fighting out there, and surely it was not wolves, not in daylight? Beatrice staggered out into the small clearing, and gaped at what she saw.

  Edmund was sitting astride a cowled figure in a ring of trampled and muddied snow in the centre of the ditch. The man pinioned in the slush moved his head from side to side, and groaned.

  ‘Speak up, damn you,’ Edmund growled, pressing a dagger to the man’s throat. The hooded man twisted and writhed.

  Edmund struck him viciously across the face with the back of his hand. ‘Speak, churl! Who told you to follow us? I recognise a Norman when I see one. You were at the hall. Did de Brionne send you to spy on us?’

  Beatrice could not believe her eyes. Was this brutal Saxon and the tender Edmund who had held her so gently the previous night one and the same? She must have been deceived. He was utterly changed. Outwardly his features were the same. Pale, unshaven face, flowing dark hair, that distinctive nose. But the blue eyes which had softened so tenderly now glittered cold as sapphires. That well-shaped mouth curled back in an ugly snarl. Another cracking blow and the cowled head snapped to one side.

  Beatrice stumbled closer. The wretch beneath Edmund moaned piteously. The cowl fell back. W
ide, frightened eyes turned on Beatrice in dumb appeal.

  Recognition whipped through her. She forced her throat to work. ‘Walter!’

  ‘Speak slave, or I’ll slit your gizzard,’ Edmund said, pressing on the knife. A drop of blood oozed on to the blade, and formed a red necklace about the Norman’s throat.

  ‘Don’t hurt him! Edmund, please,’ she begged, holding a hand to her own raw throat.

  ‘You know this man?’ Edmund snapped.

  ‘Aye. And if you did see him at the hall, you must know he cannot speak,’ Beatrice said. ‘What do you gain by torturing him?’

  Edmund’s eyes narrowed. ‘How convenient. A spy who cannot speak to his captor. How very useful. Can he write, perhaps?’

  Beatrice shook her head.

  ‘Then how, pray, will he relay his findings back to the baron?’

  ‘Edmund, you know he cannot talk! You bloodthirsty barbarian – you’re torturing him in revenge for Aiden!’

  Edmund’s nostrils flared. He removed the blade from Walter’s throat and turned a white fiend’s face on her. He ran a finger along the length of his dagger and smiled coldly. ‘Very well, Mistress Beatrice. If he will not speak, perhaps you will in his stead. You will tell me why this man has been following us.’

  He reached out and caught her by the shoulders.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Beatrice saw Walter stand up. Edmund noticed her veiled glance and turned, twisting Beatrice in front of him. His dagger pricked her neck.

  Walter held a stout branch poised to strike, but the threat to his mistress disarmed him and he sagged. The cudgel was flung aside. Walter could not incapacitate the Saxon without risk to Beatrice.

  Confused, Walter waited for the Saxon to make the next move. When the Saxon warrior had abducted his mistress, Walter had followed on Betony, determined to see no harm should come to her. Having a head start, he’d easily outrun the baron’s men. He had followed Beatrice and Edmund to this cavern, but had been too wary to make his presence known.