“Let’s not fight.” Mati kept smiling at him, and stepped toward him.
“I don’t fight with girls.”
There was a dismissal in his tone as he laid the fillet in her hand. He looked down at the empty hall, as if searching for a woman to bed for the night, as if Mati had begun to bore him. That unspoken dismissal cut Mati with the blade of jealousy, and her sudden anger made her reckless. She thought of a trick Ara had taught her, and in spite of her own misgivings, she used that trick to snatch his attention back.
Mati waited for one long, silent moment until Roland turned his gaze to her again. She did not speak, but smiled a tiny half smile. She raised her arms slowly, deliberately, as if taunting him with the motion, knowing her breasts would rise under her dress as she did so.
His eyes were no longer indifferent, but followed the motion of her body beneath her gown. She laid the fillet over her brow, then lowered her arms again slowly, watching the heat rise in his eyes like dragon fire.
“Don’t push me too far, Mati.”
She did not acknowledge the warning, but simply smiled at him as she picked up her rush light from the wall nook she had set it in. “Good night, Roland.”
He reached for her, but at the last moment, he drew back. His hand shook with the effort not to touch her. “Good night, Mati.”
He was still standing in the hallway when she closed the bedroom door behind her.
Mati could not sleep that night for thinking of Roland. She had taunted him with his desire, but she found herself trapped inside her own. She wrapped a heavy quilt around her body and stood at her window, looking out over the moonlit forest. She would have left the keep and gone out walking if the air were not so cold.
She was cold standing by the window, but she could not face her sleepless bed. The white linen Arabella had hung over the narrow window stirred faintly in the slight breeze. The air held a hint of real spring, the warmth that would come with May. Mati longed for it.
She heard Arabella open the door of her room, and she listened for her teacher’s warm voice to coax her back into bed, telling her that she had brought hot milk up from the kitchen as she often did when Mati could not sleep. Arabella did not speak, however. There was only silence, and the heavy sound of the door closing.
She had started to turn around when she felt warm breath on the back of her neck. She froze. “Ara?”
“No, Mati. It’s me.” Roland’s voice was deep, and his breath smelled of mead.
“You need to leave,” she said.
“I know,” he said. But he did not move.
She drew the quilt around her tighter. The sandalwood scent of his skin was in her nose, and she trembled with the effort not to reach for him. All she wanted was to step toward him, and take that scent in deeper.
Roland was so warm, and the night was so cold, and she was tired of being alone, and lonely. Still, she fought herself. She could not spend her maidenhead before her marriage, not even with him.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.
“I know that, too.”
Still, he stood beside her, the heat of his body warming her as if he was a fire in winter, or a small sun. Mati wanted to draw close to that heat, but instead she stepped away until the stone wall pressed into her back.
He touched her then, both hands taking hold of her upper arms, drawing her close. Mati rallied her own strength, and in spite of his scent and heat that called to her like a siren’s song, she tried to move away. His lips were on her throat, and moved down to the welt on her collarbone. The heat of his body and his lips combined made her stop moving. She clenched her fists inside her quilt so that she would not touch him.
“In all honor, I should not be here,” he said. “In all honor, I should treat you like a sister, as the Church would have me do, as my father would have me do. But I cannot. I will not. You are mine now, and I will not let you go.”
Mati felt his lips on hers, and she was overwhelmed with longing for him. Roland held her close, against his heart, his large hands trapping her against his body. The warmth of him was like coming home.
She opened her fists, releasing her quilt, not caring where it fell. Her hands skated over his arms and up to his shoulders as she pressed her body against his, seeking some kind of relief from the heat that flowed through her. Her quilt fell away, and only his body, hands and mouth warmed her.
Roland drew back from her as from a precipice. He was breathing hard, as if he had run a mile in armor, and when he looked down at her, his breath came faster. The linen of her shift was thin, and he stared at the outline her body in the firelight.
Mati knew that she had to send him out of her room. She tried to pull away, to reach for her quilt, but he would not release his grip on her arms.
“I’m cold, Roland.”
“I’ll warm you.” His hesitation vanished as he pulled her against his chest, lifting her so that her feet no longer touched the ground. His arms were safe, a warm haven as he carried her to her bed.
Mati clutched him close, but he laid her down, and then drew back so that he could look at her against her soft linen sheets. “We should not do this,” she said, in a vain effort to make herself get up and leave him behind. His voice was like warm honey on her skin. She shivered with pleasure when he spoke.
“It’s a sin. I know it. But I won’t turn back, unless you tell me to.”
The heat of his gaze was nothing like Gregory’s. Gregory had seen a body he might lose himself in for a few minutes. Roland looked at her with a deeper warmth, with a warmth that went beyond desire. Mati found that she wanted his touch more than she had ever wanted anything else in her life, whatever came after.
“It is sin,” she said. “But I want you, too.”
“God help us,” he said.
Mati did not think it the right time to bring God into it, but she spoke by rote, as in church. “Amen.”
“I love you, Mati. I have always loved you. I will always love you. You and no other.” Roland spoke those words as if they were a new litany, as if they were a truth being forced from him.
After they made love, Mati felt tears of joy on her cheeks. She did not know how this could end well, how the sun could rise, bringing them out of the darkness. But there was no darkness in her heart. For the first time in her life, Mati felt nothing but joy. In the happiness her love brought, she found that she did not care what might happen tomorrow. Duty and honor seemed very far away with Roland close beside her.
“I love you, Roland,” she whispered. “I don’t care if it’s a sin. I love you, and I always will.”
Roland raised himself on his elbow so that he might look into her eyes. “Love casts out sin,” he said. “Christ himself said that.”
Mati smiled tremulously. “Did He? I don’t remember that sermon.”
Roland kissed her then, and she fell silent, drinking him in, knowing even as she tasted him that this love could only end in disaster. The thought rose into her mind, tempting her away from her joy. If her mother found out, if his father did, she would be sent away, and never see Roland again.
“I can’t lose you,” she said. “I just got you back. I can’t lose you again.”
Roland pressed his lips gently to her temple, pushing back her hair that threatened to fall over one eye. “You will never lose me,” he said. “I left you once. I will never leave you again.”
“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” she said.
“Remember only that I love you,” he answered, his lips on hers. “Let me worry about tomorrow.”
He held her for a long time, the warmth of his body lulling her into sleep. Mati tried to stay awake, but her eyes would not stay open.
When she woke, he was gone, and Arabella sat on the bed beside her.
Chapter Five
Mati moved to sit up, but stopped in mid-motion, remembered the night before. Her joy rose in her heart like birdsong, and she closed her eyes, as if her teacher might see her new-found
love there.
“My lady.” Mati opened her eyes when she heard her teacher’s frightened tone. “He has been here, has he not?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Mati said. She clung to her joy, not wanting anything to mar it.
“The young lord,” Arabella answered.
Mati did not lie again. “Yes. He was here.”
Arabella did not speak a word of judgment but handed the girl the cup of mead she had brought.
Mati drank deep, and the silence lengthened between them. She felt guilty, but oddly elated at the same time. Roland loved her, as she loved him. Perhaps he was right, and God would overlook the sin of it.
“Well, Ara, you say there are ways to trick a husband on his wedding night. I’m going to need to know them.”
“I’ll teach you, my lady.”
Mati hated the thought of marrying another, but even in the throes of passion the night before, she had known that Roland was not hers to keep. The thought made her joy dim just a little. “Did you bring bread?” she asked. She heard the false brightness of her voice, and that it did not sound convincing.
“Yes, my lady. And another orange.”
“The orange first, then bread.” She ate quietly for a while, before Arabella spoke again.
“Did he force you?” It was a quiet question, and Ara did not look at Mati, but down at the rings on her fingers as she waited for her answer.
“No,” Mati said. “I wanted him. I wanted to be close to him. He came to me, but it was as much my doing as it was his.”
Arabella did not speak again, and Mati finished her breakfast.
“Ara, I can’t stand to stay inside today. I’m going riding.”
“Take a groom with you.”
Mati only laughed. She preferred to ride alone. It was something she and her teacher had never agreed on.
She tipped back the tankard and drained the last of the ale. Mati handed her the wooden cup and threw back the bedclothes.
She stood and went to find her old breeches to wear under her skirts. She headed out of the bedroom, but not before she had slipped her hunting knife into her boot. She would not call a groom, but she would not be a fool either.
“Be careful, Mati,” her teacher said at last. And Mati knew that she did not refer to her ride.
It was unacceptable for Norman ladies to ride on horseback. They confined themselves to litters, when they took the trouble of traveling at all. Mati rode to defy Norman custom, but discovered that no one cared what the Welsh savage did, and found at last that she loved being in the saddle. She wore breeches under her skirts and rode astride like a man. She felt free the last few years only when she walked the forest alone, or when she had a horse under her, galloping through empty fields.
She did not stop until she reached the river, a half an hour’s ride from her stepfather’s castle. She had found the river with its tree-lined glade in the first dark days after Roland had gone away. She had come there often when it was warm to grieve. She had cried, missing her friend and companion. Today, she did not cry, but stood on the river bank, remembering her younger self.
She heard hoof beats and turned to face the groom that Arabella had sent after her, opening her mouth to order him home. The sound died in her throat. Roland’s warhorse stopped five feet from her, and he sat on its back for a long moment, watching her.
Mati moved to her mount, for she could not trust herself to be alone with him again, but Roland dismounted smoothly and reached it first. He stood between her and the stallion, his hands on her horse’s reins, and looked at her. “Did you sleep?”
“I did. I woke to find you gone.”
“I could not stay. There would have been talk, and you would have been shamed.”
Mati acknowledged this logic as perfectly reasonable, but still found herself annoyed, both with herself and with him. She knew she could not stay. Already the scent of his clean skin was threatening to undo the last of her reason. “Let go of my horse.”
Roland’s voice was amused when he answered her. “My father’s horse, you mean. And by extension, mine.”
She turned and started walking towards the river. He followed her, leaving his warhorse tethered near her own. He caught her arm by the glade of oak trees and held her still.
“I love you, Mati.”
“And I love you, Roland. But I don’t want to talk about love.”
“No?” His eyes held a bit of laughter then. “And here I was with a love song prepared to sing for you.”
Mati felt the last of her annoyance at him for leaving her alone in the dead of night slip away.
“I’ve brought you something,” he said. The tenderness in his voice moved her as much as it frightened her. Love was beautiful, but theirs could lead nowhere. She fought off feelings of longing and fear, feeling rampant joy take their place. She knew that she should leave him now that he had let go of her horse. But Mati found that she simply could not do it.
“Will you stay here until I fetch it?” he asked. “It’s tied to my saddlebow.”
His hands on her body felt warm through her dress. She met his eyes. “I will stay.”
He moved away quickly, as if he expected her to disappear while he was gone.
Roland came back with a beautifully carved bow in his hands. It was made of light birch wood, small enough to fit in a woman’s hand, and it gleamed with polish. The deer gut bow strand was tightened and well oiled.
He stood a few feet away, offering it to her. “I meant to give it to you after the party.”
Mati reached for it, the wood smooth and supple under her palm. She clutched it, looking up at him. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”
Roland’s arms were around her then, and he sat down on a rock at the river’s edge, pulling her onto his lap. He held her and stroked her long hair without saying a word.
She sat as straight as a ramrod for a long moment, but his arms were the place she most wanted to be. The river shushed by, comforting her, as if they were the only two people in the world. She relaxed finally, and leaned against him.
She could feel his lips on her hair. Mati wanted to taste his lips again, but she kept her cheek pressed against his chest. She watched the water of the river slide by in front of her, her new bow lying across her lap.
Roland ran his lips down to her temple, and Mati started to pull away, but he held her tightly and would not let her go. He trailed his lips down her cheek to her throat. Her fingers loosened, and she dropped her bow on the grass at their feet.
“Mati.” He kissed her lips lightly. “Say it again. Say you love me.”
She took a deep breath, trying to regain control of her breathing. “I love you.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Even if I’m damned for it.”
He kissed her, opening his mouth over hers. Mati lost what was left of her resolve as his lips touched hers. She kissed him back.
Roland pulled her closer, sliding his hands down her back. “I won’t have you in the grass like a peasant girl,” he said.
Mati pulled away, breathless. “No, Roland. We can’t do that again.”
His lips were on her temple, and they trailed down so that he was whispering in her ear. “Yes, we can. Say you’ll see me tonight, alone in your room.”
“If they find out…”
“No one will know. I’m dying, Mati. Say you’ll let me come to you tonight.”
Mati knew she would regret it, that she was in danger of being cast out of the keep altogether if his father caught them. But she loved him, and she wanted him. She wanted more of a taste of love than just one night.
“All right,” she said at last.
Roland stood suddenly, bringing her with him. Mati found she had to lean against him to regain her balance. His breath was warm in her ear. “You won’t be sorry.”
She gave him a wry smile. “I already am.”
Mati pulled away, and found that she could stand on her own without his help. Roland did not let her go
entirely, but gently smoothed her hair back from her face. She was wearing the bone combs he had carved for her when they were children, just before he had gone away. He pulled the combs free and then drew her hair back with them, sliding them into place with surprising gentleness. His hand lingered on her cheek.
He tried to kiss her again, but she stepped just out of his reach, and he let her go.
“Until tonight then,” he said.
“Until tonight.”
Mati picked up the bow he had made for her, and walked to her horse before she changed her mind and threw herself at him. Roland stayed where he was and did not stop her. She raised one hand to him in a wave.
“Thank you for the bow,” she said. She mounted and rode away before she weakened and turned back. Being with Roland was the one place she wished to be in the world, wherever he was. Love had made her weak, but she found that she did not care.
Chapter Six
The evening meal was a long one that night. Another minstrel had traveled up from Bath and sang a little too loudly. Mati wore her blue silk with all the hay brushed off it, and a new shift embroidered with blue and gold flowers at the cuffs and throat. Her hair was loose, for she had left the combs upstairs after her bath.
Margaret sat next to her, pleased with the roses in her daughter’s cheeks. Arabella was silent throughout the meal, and she spent most of the night keeping a worried eye on Mati.
Mati ate everything that was put in front of her and refused to meet Roland’s eyes. The last thing she wanted was for Sir John to notice that anything was different. Roland was no help. Though he spoke and laughed as he always did, more than once she caught him staring even while the minstrel was singing.
Mati went upstairs early, pleading tiredness. Sir John waved her away without looking at her. She only hoped that Roland had the sense not to follow her immediately.
He was the last to leave the hall. Her rush light was lit when he opened her door. She was standing by the fire in the bronze brazier, warming her hands over the small blaze. The shadow of her body showed clearly through the linen of her shift, and he stood by the door for a long moment, looking at her.
The Wolves of Brittany Collection: A Romance Bundle Books 1-3 Page 36
