Forbidden Kisses

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Aidan turned quickly. Edwin’s face plainly showed his consternation. Dread threatened to rob Aidan of his tenuous balance. “Tell me.”

  Edwin took a deep breath. “We followed them, but in Fenwick Wood we came upon the body of one of the Bishop’s guards, an arrow through his heart.”

  Aidan had to sit down. He clung to Ragna. “Nolana?”

  Edwin looked ready to burst into tears. “I’ve failed you, brother. There was no sign of her, but the tracks led in the opposite direction. We followed them to Berwick, but lost the trail.”

  Aidan shook his head and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It’s no matter. I know where they’ve gone. Her stepfather has her. You aren’t the one who has failed, Edwin. That dubious honor falls to me. I’m not my father’s son.”

  Ragna punched him again. “Now you’ve gone too far, Aidan. Father was proud of you. You are more like him than you know. Make a decision. What are you going to do?”

  Aidan squared his shoulders and smiled. “What I should have done days ago. Save the life of the woman I love.”

  Ragna whooped. “Now you’re talking like a FitzRam.”

  ~~~

  Nolana gazed down at the sea, forehead resting on the rusted iron bar across the window slit. It seemed ludicrous that someone long ago deemed it necessary to secure such a small and impossibly high opening. She licked her split lip, tasting salt. Laughing gulls soared and danced on the stiff breeze. Compared to the vastness of the ocean, she was a mere nothing. Was it for this she had been born—humiliation, cruelty and despair? Life should hold more, but as long as men ruled, women would suffer. The only compassionate man she had ever met, ever loved, was a monk...out of reach.

  Loved? Did she love Aidan? No man had made her body ache in unmentionable places. Even thinking of him now in these dire circumstances, moisture pooled in her private place and her breasts tingled. Perhaps she was losing her wits. Would the baron want to marry a madwoman?

  She shrugged. Her fate was sealed. Grouchet would not care about her sanity, provided she was fertile.

  I HAVE FAILED

  The marriage ceremony in the chapel at Kolbrand’s Path was a farce. The priest ignored Nolana’s protestations that she was unwilling. He clearly knew from whence came his stipend. After a patronizing nod and a pat on her head, he droned out the nuptial rites.

  Grouchet swayed on his feet and belched several times, rheumy eyes fixed on her breasts. His breath nearly felled her when he claimed his husbandly kiss. He reeked of decay.

  If she could put her hands on a dagger, she would dispatch her new husband, Neyll and then her miserable self. Her stepfather had made sure she had no access to escape or weapons, only allowing her to bathe and change clothes on the morning of her wedding. For the first time since arriving back in Neyll’s keep, she was to be allowed to sleep somewhere other than in the tower chamber.

  She did not partake of the victuals Maknab had provided for her wedding banquet. She had eaten little food in the intervening sennight and her belly rebelled at the sight of the sumptuous feast laid on by her stepfather. Grouchet must have paid him well for her body. It was more than likely she would vomit before the night was out. Her wedding night. She flinched when the decrepit sot who was now her husband pinched her breast yet again after taking a swig of ale. He had already imbibed far more than was wise. She prayed he might succumb to a drunken stupor before they got to the bridal chamber. Revulsion filled her whenever she looked at him.

  Neyll strutted around the hall, the consummate host, accepting the congratulations of his fawning guests on the fortuitous alliance created by the marriage of his stepdaughter to an English baron, a Norman nobleman no less.

  Nolana’s thoughts constantly drifted to Aidan, but she forced them away. She must think of him as Brother Christian. He was lost to her, as she was to him. He was a monk, committed to a life of religious devotion and discipline. He wouldn’t leave the monastery for a woman he barely knew. It was unlikely he felt the same intense stirrings she did. The delirium of pain had prompted him to invite her to share his bed.

  It suddenly occurred to her this was Tuesday. Brother Christian would be at the market in Beal, plying his mead and honey. Would he think of her? The memory of his strong body and knee-buckling smile never left her. The bile rose in her throat again.

  One of Neyll’s men strode in and whispered in his laird’s ear. Neyll grimaced, then glanced over to her and smirked. He waved a dismissive hand and the man hastened from the Hall.

  Neyll drained a goblet of wine then came lazily to his feet. Nolana didn’t trust the evil glint in his eye. He sauntered over to the centre of the dais, calling for his goblet to be refilled. He didn’t demand attention, but it came immediately. A hush fell over the gathering. Nolana’s heart beat wildly. She glanced over at Grouchet. He had passed out.

  “Gentlemen and ladies, and dear daughter Nolana, Baroness Grouchet, it appears we are to be favored by a guest from the famed abbey of Lindisfarne, a monk no less.”

  A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd. Nolana gripped the edge of the table as the room spun around her. No. Not Aidan, not here, not now. He could not witness her humiliation.

  All eyes turned to the entrance as a monk entered, accompanied by another well-dressed young man. They were obviously brothers, despite the difference in their garb. An older, one-eyed man walked behind them. Nolana prayed that Aidan would not look at her.

  “Welcome to you, Brother. We are honored. Welcome to the wedding feast of my daughter.”

  ~~~

  Aidan hesitated only a moment before his still swollen hand went to the hilt of the sword he no longer wore. He had come too late. He looked quickly at Edwin. “Do nothing untoward, brother,” he whispered. “We are among enemies.”

  He dreaded the pain he would see in her eyes if he scanned the crowd and looked for her. He had failed once again to protect someone for whom he cared deeply.

  He bowed to Neyll. “Thank you for your welcome, Laird Maknab. I am Brother Christian from Lindisfarne Abbey.”

  Neyll coughed loudly. “A postulant, I see.”

  Edwin tensed beside him, but Aidan strove to remain calm. “I am indeed a postulant, but Lady Nolana was enjoying the sanctuary of my abbey and our abbot grew concerned when she did not arrive safely in Durham. The discovery of the body of one of her guards increased our alarm. I am charged with ensuring her safety. Most of the older monks are not fit enough to journey here in search of her.”

  It was not an outright lie...there was some truth in his words. Neyll need not know Aidan was not on an errand for the abbot, who had harangued him interminably when he had told him he was leaving the abbey.

  “You’ll be sorry,” were the old monk’s parting words.

  In the end, Aidan bowed and walked away. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done...a foreswearing of the vow made to his parents to atone for their deaths.

  He and Edwin sent Ragna back to Kirkthwaite with some of the men, then rode hard to Kolbrand’s Path, seat of the Maknab. He was grateful for the steadfast presence of his father’s old friend, Leofric, who sniffed away an embarrassed tear when he embraced Aidan outside the monastery. Leofric’s disfigurement rendered him a fearsome sight, sometimes useful when confronting adversaries.

  Aidan’s gut clenched when his eyes fell on Nolana. She was pale and thin, her eyes downcast. Despair haunted her face. Her gown was ill fitting. His heart went out to her...a bride should look radiant on her wedding day. He itched to throttle the monster in whose Hall he stood.

  Neyll’s voice intruded. “You can see, Brother, that Nolana is safe and sound, enjoying her wedding feast with her new husband.”

  Aidan’s eyes followed Maknab’s gesture. An obese elderly man sat with his chin slumped to his chest, his legs splayed. The horror of Nolana’s fate struck him full force. His own sense of loss made him want to weep for her and for himself. He should have listened to his heart when he first set eyes on her
.

  Leofric coughed. Neyll seemed to notice him for the first time. “What devise is this your man wears upon his tunic?”

  Aidan squared his shoulders. “We are FitzRams.”

  He paused. Having let his enemy know he was dealing with a Norman family, he deemed it useful to impart the full weight of his identity. “The FitzRams of Kirkthwaite Hall.”

  His words were repeated around the Hall in hushed murmurs of disbelief. Maknab widened his stance, arched his brows, but said nothing. Aidan was sure in that moment that the rumors of Maknab involvement in the massacre of his grandparents were true. He glanced back at Nolana. Their eyes met. Was there a glint of admiration in those green depths?

  He looked back at Maknab. “We shall make it our concern that Lady Nolana enjoys continued good health. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  Without bowing, they turned and left.

  Aidan held on to his despair and anger until they were safely away from Kolbrand’s Path. When they were sure they had not been pursued, he dismounted, doubled over and retched. Edwin stood beside him, his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Leofric kept watch, holding the horses’ reins.

  It was he who spoke first. “Let’s get you back to Kirkthwaite, Aidan. You’ll feel better once you’ve bathed and are in your own clothes. We’ll tend your hands, then decide what to do.”

  Aidan shook his head. “There is naught we can do. I have failed her.”

  Leofric gripped his arm with his good hand and shook him. “Do not lose hope. If it’s meant to be, we’ll find a way to rescue her.”

  “Aye, by God,” Edwin shouted, raising his fist and surprising them both.

  TRICKERY

  No amount of prodding or poking would rouse the baron. Neyll was none too happy as he watched his men labor to carry the man to his chamber. He leaned over Nolana menacingly. “Seems you have a reprieve for this night, daughter, but you cannot long escape the inevitable. You will bear that fool an heir.”

  Nolana gritted her teeth. “Or you won’t get full payment?”

  He raised his hand to strike her then hesitated. “Take care, Nolana.”

  She smirked at him. “It won’t be easy for you, will it Neyll, now I’m under the protection of my husband?”

  He clenched his fists. “Don’t be too sure. Get to your chamber.”

  A cold chill settled in Nolana’s bones as she slowly mounted the steps to her bridal chamber, her thoughts filled with images of Aidan. She prayed her husband had not regained his wits. Considering the amount of ale he had drunk, she wouldn’t be surprised if he slept for a sennight.

  She slipped into the chamber. Grouchet lay on the bed, snoring loudly, his mouth agape. Someone had wrestled him out of his clothing and into a nightshirt. She was relieved Maknab had provided no maidservant for her, no doubt thinking her husband would be the one to remove her clothes. She settled into a chair in a shadowed corner and tucked her knees to her chin. Over and over, Aidan’s proud words echoed in her mind. The FitzRams of Kirkthwaite Hall. Had he come at the behest of his superior? Did she dare hope he had left the monastery to find and claim her for his own?

  It didn’t matter. She was doomed. But she would cherish the memory of his presence, a humble monk refusing to be intimidated by her stepfather. But he wasn’t a humble monk. He was a proud nobleman, as she had suspected. She would never forget the look of anguish on his face when he learned she was married. If he had left the religious life for her, would he now lay blame at her door?

  These questions plagued her fitful sleep. When she woke at dawn, Grouchet snored on. She had spent her wedding night with her loathsome husband, but was still a virgin. She sat bolt upright, trembling at the boldness of an idea creeping into her mind. The baron’s eating dagger was still tucked into its sheath on the table beside the bed.

  Killing him would take her to the gallows, and she doubted she would have the fortitude to commit murder. But if he believed he had claimed his marital rights perhaps he would leave her in peace for a while.

  She tiptoed over to the table and withdrew the dagger, willing the trembling in her hand to stop lest she drop it.

  Let all be well.

  She slowly peeled back the linens on one side of the bed, poked the point of the blade into the pad of her thumb and squeezed. She smeared the oozing bubble of blood on the sheets.

  Let all be well.

  She held her breath when the baron stirred, licking his lips. When he stilled, she wiped the dagger on the linens and placed it back in the scabbard.

  She must disrobe to ensure the success of the trick. Frantically, she struggled out of her gown and lay beside him in her léine, smearing another drop of blood on her thigh. When the baron’s eyes flew open, she flinched and stuck her thumb in her mouth. He turned his head, raking his gaze over her breasts as he reached to fondle one.

  Pray to God I look like a woman who’s been bedded.

  “Good morn, wife.”

  She took her thumb from her mouth and forced a smile, hoping she was fluttering her eyelashes in the correct manner. “Good morn, husband.”

  He grinned, but then looked down at his own body. “Good God, so randy I didn’t take off me nightshirt.”

  Nolana’s heart was beating wildly and she felt her face redden. “You were anxious, my lord.”

  He looked at her curiously. Would he believe her? He would punish her severely if he discovered she had tricked him. Suddenly, he reached over and yanked up her léine to peer at her most private place. She stifled a gasp when he traced a fat finger over the blood smeared on her thigh. He smiled then pushed her over to reveal the bloodied sheet. He patted his groin. “Hah. I may be getting up in years, but the old shaft still works, eh?”

  She pulled her léine down, avoiding his gaze, glad she hadn’t been obliged to look upon the old shaft. She doubted his body would be as pleasing to behold as Aidan’s, but she must stop thinking on that. “Aye, my lord. It works, and I am rather sore this morn.”

  Forgive me, Lord.

  He put his finger under her chin. “I’ll leave you be so you can heal quickly. Mayhap, I’ve already planted the seed of my heir.”

  “Mayhap, my lord.”

  Let all be well.

  ~~~

  Neyll eyed them warily when Grouchet escorted his bride to the hall to break their fast. Her husband was unsteady on his feet and bade her fill his trencher from the servery. He sat down heavily beside Neyll, boasting of his marital prowess with suggestive gestures.

  Men are arrogant fools.

  She must not get too confident. It was a reprieve only. The sentence had not been revoked. Neither man rose when she approached the table and took a seat. She hoped she was blushing and looked sufficiently ravished as Neyll raked his eyes over her.

  The baron sliced off a chunk of cold mutton with his dagger. Nolana held her breath, unable to take her eyes off the weapon. He stuffed the meat into his mouth, then spoke, stopping only to swallow. “Off to England today...not a long journey...make it by nightfall...take my bride home...”

  Neyll protested, offering his hospitality, reminding his guest of his obligation. Grouchet was adamant. “If you want the coin, Maknab, you’ll have to come to England for it. I don’t wander around Scotland with large sums of money on my person.”

  He took a long swig of ale, belched and came to his feet. He grasped her elbow, apparently unaware she had eaten nothing. “Come along.”

  Nolana was happy to be escaping Maknab’s clutches, but fearful of being taken to a remote English manor. She would never see the heather-kissed hills of the Fells again.

  A WEIGHT LIFTED

  Aidan had to admit he was content to be home. Ragna fussed over him. He wondered how long that would last. She seemed determined to sate his appetite, but he didn’t object. It was good to have a full stomach again. His hands were healing well.

  He overindulged in bathing, ordering a tub every day and luxuriating in the joy of being clean. Leofric jested he was in
danger of washing himself away.

  He could not wash away the memory of Nolana’s anguished face. His cock hardened whenever he remembered his first sight of her at the market. He had never ached for a woman as he ached for her, though they had barely spoken ten words to each other. He was bewitched.

  She was now beyond his reach. He may as well have stayed in the monastery. Such thoughts brought on more feelings of guilt. He had forsworn his pledge to atone. However, the notion of returning to Lindisfarne filled him with dread. He could never don the hated robe again. He was too fond of fine raiment and the way it made him feel. Why had he believed he could be a monk?

  He wandered around the house, remembering many happy times spent with his parents and siblings. One day he summoned enough courage to enter his parents’ chamber, undisturbed since their deaths. His hand fell upon the journal his father had kept during the Crusade. Parts of it had been read to them over and over when they were children. They knew it by heart. Grief rose in his throat.

  The house was quiet. Ragna was napping and Edwin had gone out. He settled into a chair and unfastened the bindings. The parchment was brittle, the ink faded after nigh on thirty years, but the sight of his father’s firm hand relating the horrors he had survived reduced him to tears. He sobbed uncontrollably until he could sob no more. Curling up, he hugged the book to his chest.

  The light was fading when he woke. It was supper time and Ragna would be wondering where he was. Curiously, he felt better. It came to him he had never wept since receiving news of the shipwreck.

  They endured endless days of hoping his parents might have survived. Then came bitter despair as the unavoidable truth sank in. A Yuletide of unbearable grief. Aidan shouldered the responsibility of consoling Ragna and Edwin, sending messages to Blythe and Dieter in Saxony, and to the Montbryces in the Marches and Normandie. He was the eldest son. He had to be strong.