by Maura Seger
"But that's impossible!" Roanna exclaimed. "Even during such terrible times, no priest would bury someone without at least noting the name and place. There have to be records!"
FitzStephen shook his head flatly, "Not in London. Not anywhere nearby." His black eyes glittered with deepest satisfaction. "Whatever you arranged, Lady Roanna, it was not Christian burial carried out by human agents of the Lord. Only Devil's imps will do your bidding, and they can not serve you here, witch!"
Not even William could prevent the pandemonium that broke out following FitzStephen's revelation. Nor was the warlord the only one to denounce her so vehemently. The dreaded cry of "Witch!" reverberated through the chamber as those who only a short time before had been more than willing to think her falsely accused now adroitly shifted sides and wallowed in righteous fear.
The King and bishop murmured anxiously to each other. Things were not going as they had hoped. To dismiss the charges now would be to invite the vengeful fury of the mob.
Regretfully, William took the only course left to him. He stood, commanding silence through the sheer force of his presence. Without looking at Roanna, he declared, "Only God can judge this woman's innocence. We will submit it to His hands."
Roanna paled. She barely heard FitzStephen's gloating demand. "Let it by ordeal! Submit the witch to the burning brands, and if her skin is marked we will know her guilt!"
The crowd shouted its approval for this hideous custom conceived in the demented belief that divine intervention would guard the innocent Experience showed that it was but a brief step from the brand to the stake.
Though her legs threatened to give way, she managed to remain upright, facing the King. A tiny spark of relief surged through her as William firmly shook his head
"No! It will be trial by combat. Her champion against her accuser." Turning, he eyed the warlord who was on his feet with the rest of the blood-thirsty crowd. Tauntingly, the King demanded, "Unless, FitzStephen, you are afraid to fight?"
Taken aback, the Norman could only shake his head. "No ... of course not I would be honored to take the field in such holy work. . . . But she has no champion."
"That," a low voice announced from the back of the chamber, "is not correct."
The crowd parted instinctively for the tall, powerfully built man who strode forward. Covered in dust and weary from his desperate race, Colin nonetheless presented a threatening vision of barely leashed rage. His features were set in harsh, unrelenting lines as he faced his wife's accuser with deadly intent.
"Find a priest to hear your confession, FitzStephen," he grated. "For by tomorrow eve, only one of us will still be in this world."
Chapter 16
"If there is anything else you would like, my lady," the guard said softly, "you've only to ask."
Roanna smiled as she shook her head. "No, thank you. You've already worked wonders."
Bushing at her praise, the guard withdrew. He was glad to do everything possible for so lovely a lady. But he couldn't prevent a quick stab of jealousy as he thought of the man who was sharing her cell.
Nor was the guard the only one who would be happy to change places with Colin, at least until dawn. The other men on the watch had eyed him enviously as he accompanied Roanna back from the hearing chamber. Few of them thought it odd that he chose to remain with her when he still had his freedom and could have gone anywhere he liked. Confinement in the small room high in the keep was a small price for the delights he would undoubtedly enjoy. Although come morning, he might have to pay far more dearly.
"You'd think he'd want a good night's rest before fighting FitzStephen," one of the guards muttered.
"There's more important things than sleep," an older and wiser compatriot informed him. "Any man worth the name would choose to spend what could be his last night on earth just the way Algerson's doing." He whistled softly. "I'll tell you this much, by tomorrow there'll be no doubt left in his mind about why he's fighting."
"Some say it's a mistake to lie with a woman before battle," a young sentry suggested. "Weakens a man, it does."
The older guard laughed bluntly. "You sure haven't been around much, lad, if you believe that. Before, after, or during, any time's a good time for f—"
"All right, now!" the watch captain intervened hastily. "There'll be no talk like that with a lady about. Get back to your posts." The men went off grumbling, but with no real malice. Although they would be reluctant to admit it for fear of being thought womanish, each was privately glad that the Lady Roanna was not spending this night alone.
Outside in the courtyard before the keep, a high wooden stake had been pounded into place. Tinder-dry faggots were piled around it and bleachers were set up to accommodate what would undoubtedly be a large crowd of eager spectators. The men who had come to have such affection for their beautiful prisoner could only pray that God would intervene to prove her innocence before it was too late.
Seated at a small table covered with linen and illuminated by a brace of candles brought by the thoughtful guards, Colin silently echoed their hope. He spared no concern for the possibility of his own death. If Roanna was not saved, the world would become a joyless desert in which he had no wish to endure.
His eyes followed her unswervingly as she moved about the cell, unpacking the food brought by Lady Margaret No detail of her appearance went unnoticed. Each was cherished as further evidence that despite all the horror she had passed through, her spirit and beauty remained indomitable.
By tacit agreement neither spoke of the desperate events that had brought them to this point Their time together might be all too short to waste even a moment of it in fruitless recapitulation.
"Margaret has outdone herself," Roanna declared, her voice deliberately light "This is a feast"
Colin's answering smile did not reach his eyes, which remained intently focused on her. Rising, he helped lay out the fresh bread, roast chicken, cheese, wine, and honey cakes Margaret had apparently thought essential to their well-being.
Though he had barely eaten since leaving East Anglia three days before, he had no interest in the food. But conscious of Roanna's anxious glance, he would try to do justice to it
When the meal was ready, they both sat for a moment in strained silence as each searched for some innocuous topic of conversation. Under such tense circumstances, it was difficult even to remember the ordinary, commonplace things they had once talked about After he had silently rejected half a dozen gambits, Colin was relieved when Roanna said, "Tell me what happened in East Anglia. Were you successful?"
He nodded swiftly. "I met with both the lords William asked me to see. They're willing to come to court provided he guarantees their safety, which he has already said he will do."
"That is good news! Now if only a few more will be as sensible, this talk of war can be stopped."
The moment the words were out Roanna bit her tongue. She would have given almost anything to recall them, but could not Nor could she avoid Colin's inevitable question.
Abandoning all pretense at eating, he demanded, "What talk? Has something new happened?"
Reluctantly, she nodded. "Alaric says some of the lords are very upset about my being accused. He's had a hard time preventing them from challenging William. I told him that's just what FitzStephen wants, and that it must be avoided at all costs. But he is doubtful about how much longer peace can be maintained, especially if. . ."
She broke off, unable to go any further. Unspoken between them was the knowledge that if the battle the next day went against Colin, the cry for vengeance would be irresistible. Many more lives, both Anglo-Saxon and Norman, would be lost because of their deaths.
The succulent repast had lost its flavor. Even the wine seemed bitter. Colin put down his cup, noticing as he did so that Roanna's scant appetite was also gone. The small portions she had taken lay almost untouched before her. Her slender hands trembled slightly, and her face,, which had been unnaturally flushed but a short time before, was now ashen.
; "I... I guess I'm not hungry," she murmured, catching his eyes on her.
Colin nodded gently. "Neither am I." He studied her bent head for a moment before suggesting, "Why don't we see if the guards have better appetites?"
Once the men were convinced their lovely prisoner and her lord really did not want the food, their windfall was eagerly accepted. Excited exclamations filtered down from the guard post as the cell door closed behind the sentries.
When they were alone again, Roanna and Colin faced each other. There was no need for words. Silently he opened his arms and silently she went into them.
For a long moment, they were content simply to touch. She nestled into his chest as his proud head rested against the silken fall of her hair. The powerful arms that held her were gentle but firm, mute reminders of the immense strength leashed within him. But though Roanna longed to take comfort from it, she could not forget his vulnerability.
FitzStephen was a highly skilled and experienced warrior. Moreover, he would have the added advantage of fighting in a manner to which he was well accustomed, against an opponent used to different weapons and tactics. Colin would need all his ability, and a large measure of luck, to carry the day.
The image of him battered and bloodied, on the verge of death, rose all too easily in her mind. Roanna shivered convulsively, prompting Colin's instant concern. "You're cold! You should be abed."
Even as she opened her mouth to assure him she was perfectly warm, Roanna thought better of it He was, after all, only taking her where she most wanted to be. Carried across the room, she was gently lowered onto the sleeping pallet stuffed with straw and covered with clean, soft blankets.
Colin hesitated before reluctantly withdrawing his hands. He wanted so badly to touch and hold her, to lose himself in the full possession of her womanhood. But he believed she must be exhausted after her ordeal. The fear he had briefly seen in her tawny eyes the last time they made love had left him more acutely aware than ever that his own desire depended on hers. The mere thought of forcing her made him feel only revulsion and self-disgust.
But for Roanna, there was no question of force. Her body was already on fire with desperate need for him. Mutely, she reached out, following the path of his retreating hands. Seizing them in her own, she drew them loving back to the ripe curve of her breasts.
"Colin . . . please .. . don't leave me. ..."
The slate gray eyes fastened on hers turned to molten silver. A low groan broke from him as he slid down on the pallet beside her. "Roanna ... are you sure? . . ."
Her answer was the touch of petal-soft fingertips stroking across his brow, over the hard ridge of his high cheekbones, along the stubble-roughened line of his firm jaw. Her tips, light as a butterfly's wings, followed the path of her caress. By the time they settled gently against his mouth, Colin was shaking with the force of his desire.
"The guards. . ." he muttered thickly into her mouth.
"Are very discreet"
Willingly convinced, Colin rose swiftly. He stripped off his clothes, vividly aware of Roanna's gaze fastened on him. She could not bring herself even to blink as the full length of his magnificent male beauty was revealed to her. A soft moan rippling from her, she opened her arms to receive him.
Big, urgent hands slid under her tunic, slipping it swiftly over her head. The tumult of her golden curls fell in wanton disarray over the straw mattress as she stretched languorously. Colin's breath caught in his throat. No matter how often he saw her like this, his wife's loveliness never failed to stun him.
Despite the gathering crescendo of his passion, he could not resist the need to savor her lingeringly. His strong, skilled hands drifted down her satiny length, stroking and caressing until she thought she would go mad from the sensations he provoked. A hot, moist tongue circled the glowing globes of her breasts before at last flicking repeatedly over her aching nipples. She whimpered softly as his mouth closed on her, suckling the swollen buds erotically.
Languid warmth grew within her, flaring ever brighter as his lips wandered over her silken belly to tease the soft inner flesh of her thigh. Trailing fiery kisses down the full length of one slender leg, he followed the path of the other back to the nest of honeyed curls sheltering her womanhood.
Pulsating with need, Roanna tried to draw him to her. But Colin resisted. He brought her repeatedly to the burning edge of fulfillment. Her soft cries and unbridled response fanned the already white hot flames of his desire. But not until he had sent her spiraling again and again into near-painful rapture did he at last give in to his own almost intolerable passion.
The surging power of his manhood thrusting within her shattered Roanna's last slim grasp on consciousness. She cried out helplessly as the dissolving mist of ecstasy engulfed them both.
Colin loomed above her, huge and dark in the candlelight. She could not make out his features, save for the quicksilver gleam of eyes that stared down at her adoringly.
Her body was the flesh-and-bone expression of her spirit, and as such he found it beautiful far beyond mere physical bounds. The all-encompassing love he felt for her made him at once humble and exultant Surely the God who had granted his creations such wonders would not now abandon them?
His love became a living prayer flowering in his soul as he reached for her. Roanna melted against him. Her body was an instrument of joy that had but one purpose, to hold off for some little time the darkness threatening to engulf them. Soft where he was hard, yielding where he demanded, she merged with him in an eternal dance of consecrated union. Together they reaffirmed the infinite power of life even while surpassing all mortal limits.
Much later Colin stirred under the blankets he had dazedly dragged over them both in the aftermath of their passion. Roanna was snuggled against him, soft and delicate beneath his hand. The thick fringe of her lashes cast shadows over the pale curve of her cheeks. Her breath was warm against the bronzed column of his throat. He knew by the gentle rise and fall of her breasts brushing his chest that she was asleep. His embrace tightened around her carefully. Throughout the remainder of that night, he held her close against him, cherishing each precious moment.
Too soon the first faint rim of light showed against the eastern horizon. As the burning eye of the red sun climbed into the sky, Colin rose to arm himself. His hands were steady and his face resolute as he prepared to do combat for the life of the woman who was more to him than life itself.
Chapter 17
The enclosed field in front of the keep was crowded. William and the other dignitaries occupied the small grandstand draped with heraldic banners. The bleachers on either side were packed so tightly that hardly a breath of air could move amid the occupants. Those not fortunate enough to get seats were jammed into the far side of the bailey, behind a bulwark of men-at-arms who knew they would be hard pressed to keep the mob under control once the action began.
Though it was not yet noon, the day was already warm. Barely a cloud showed in the cobalt sky. A flock of ravens perched on the palisade, peering balefully at the strange goings-on. Along the nearby river, the tide was heading out A soft summer breeze carried the fecund scent of rotting vegetation and salt spray.
A few square-sailed merchant vessels drifted past, but most ships were securely tied up at anchor. The usual crowds were missing from the dockyards and markets. Most people had chosen to stay inside, waiting with differing degrees of fear and anger to hear the outcome of the great event taking place within the royal stronghold.
The eyes of all those privileged to witness it were fastened on the door of the tower through which the accused would be brought along with the two men who would be the means by which God decided her fate.
Though wholly Norman, the crowd was divided in its sentiments. Some confidently expected to see FitzStephen triumph. They made derisive comments about the lack of fighting skill among the Anglo-Saxons and offered contemptuously high odds in the betting that quickly sprang up.
Others were less certain. There
were those who remembered the prowess Colin had shown at Hastings and recalled that it had taken half a dozen Normans finally to bring him down. They suspected he would fight even more fiercely today, and were not anxious to predict the outcome.
Many were not so hesitant. The large faction of the crowd that sided with the Bishop Odo in his desire for accord with the Anglo-Saxons were frank about who they wanted to see win. They detested FitzStephen not merely for his political stance but for his willingness to attack Colin through Roanna.
When the tower door at last swung open, the mob pressed forward eagerly. Boos almost drowned out the cheers as FitzStephen strode forward. His long, hard body was encased in black armor. A massive war sword was strapped to his side. Behind him, a squire carried his plumed battle helmet, while another held the shield emblazoned with a fiercely snarling wolfs head. The horse he would ride was a massive ebony stallion whose glistening hooves pawed the ground impatiently as steam shot from his flared nostrils.
The Bishop Odo appeared next. His usually smooth features were distorted by a worried frown, the product of his unsuccessful struggle to convince Colin to wear Norman armor. It was bad enough that he had only recently learned to fight from horseback. To go against FitzStephen without full protection was, in the bishop's opinion, sheer madness. He had even tried to lend his own equipment, only to have the offer politely but firmly rejected.
"It would only hinder me," Colin had explained calmly. He had deliberately decided to make no concessions at all to Norman ways. Instead of the heavy metal armor that would both protect and weigh down FitzStephen, he wore his usual leather jerkin and chain mail. The coppery pelt of his hair still hung to his massive shoulders, defying the new, much shorter style. His powerful legs were bare beneath his short tunic. Only soft leather boots covered his feet and calves. Even his weapons appeared lighter and less threatening than those of his foe.
